by Jake Devlin
(Author's note: The remainder of this section has been redacted at the request of certain people who wish to remain anonymous. Consideration has been provided by them to the author. Sorry; it was really eye-opening. But it was long; 18 pages. JD)
* * * * * *
-38-
Five Months Earlier
Saturday, July 9, 2011
1:25 p.m.
The Seafood Shack
Bonita Springs, FL
As the SUV left the parking lot, Pam came back in and said, “Okay. Let's go finish our drinks, guys. I've got a few minutes before I'll need to head up there and get started on the paperwork.”
Jake said, “Oh, geez, I completely forgot. I asked Angela to keep an eye on our table.”
Pam said, “Let's hope she didn't take that literally. Oh, sorry, Joe.”
Joe said, “I'm sorry. What?”
Pam said, “Nothing; never mind.”
Jake said, “How do you do that, Pam? I'm still shaking and you're calm as a zucchini and making a joke.”
“Cucumber, Jake, not zucchini.”
“Oh, sorry; old habit, old joke.”
“Compartmentalization, Jake, that's all. It's another old habit of mine. From the job.”
As they got to the table, Angela saw them and said, “Nobody touched anything, Jake.”
Jake smiled, “Thanks, Angela.”
“So what's going on?”
Joe looked at Pam, who nodded and said, “Sure, it's okay.”
“Me and Jake helped Pam catch some fugitives.”
Angela smiled. “Sure you did, honey; sure you did.”
“No, really, baby.”
Pam interjected and said, “Yes, Angela, they did.” Jake nodded.
“Really? You're not pulling my leg?” She looked up and around the patio, fluffing her hair. “Okay. Where's the cameras?”
“No, baby, no cameras; it's for real.”
“I'm Secret Service, Angela.”
“For real?”
“For real.”
“Wow. And my Joey helped?”
“Yes, Angela, he did.”
“Oh, cool. Honey, are you okay?”
“Yeah, I'm fine. But Jake got a little --”
“Oh, Jakey, Jakey, are you hurt? Is that your blood?”
“Yup; but I just pulled some stitches. I'll get it treated soon.”
Pam glanced at Jake and mouthed “Jakey?” Jake shrugged and sipped the last of his wine, focusing his attention on the bottom of the glass.
He winced and looked up as he felt a hand on his injured shoulder; it was Beverly's.
“Can I get you another, Jake? Pam?” Pam shook her head.
“No, thanks, Bev. We've got to head out. Just the check, okay?”
“No check. A lady on the lanai paid for you two, left a big tip on top of that. She said to give you a big thanks from, ah, George.”
Pam gasped, then took a deep breath and sighed.
“Oh, that's very nice, but I can't accept. I'll have to go talk to her.”
“Not possible; they left a few minutes ago.”
“Oh, dear. I can't accept gifts. I'm a Se- – federal employee.”
Jake said, “Well, I was going to pay anyway, so could you think of it as a gift to me, and let it go at that?”
“Well, that's a stretch, but … wait, I can't even let you pay for me; I was going to go Dutch.”
Jake, perplexed, said, “Oh, geez. I have no --”
Angela interrupted. “I have an idea. How about this? Pam, you give Jake whatever half the bill would have been, and that should let you off the hook, right?”
Pam and Jake both looked at Angela in amazement, and then Pam said tentatively, “I guess … I think I could be okay with that, maybe. Jake, what do you think?”
“I think … I think … I think that's your call, Pam.”
“Oh. Um … okay, I guess that'd work. How much was the check, Bev?”
“Let's see.” Bev pulled some checks from her pocket and thumbed through them. “38 dollars and 27 cents. That woman gave me fifty bucks in case you wanted dessert or more drinks.”
“So why don't you just give Jake twenty bucks and call it even,” Angela suggested.
Jake said, “Fine with me.”
Pam pulled out a twenty and a five and gave them to Jake. “Works for me. Thanks, Angela.
“And Bev, the next time you see them, please, please, please pass on my sincere thank you, okay?”
“Will do. Jake, you know your shoulder is bleeding, right?”
“Yup. I'm going to get it fixed as soon as we leave.”
“Which should be right now,” Pam said, swigging the last of her Mimosa. “I'm sorry, guys. Joe, thanks again, and Angela, so nice to meet you.”
Angela smiled and said, “Backatcha, Secret Service lady.”
Bev, perplexed, said, “Secret Service?”
Pam looked at her, put a finger to her lips and said, “Our little secret, okay?”
Bev zipped her finger across her lips. “Yup. And next time you're in, I'll be your secret server. Shhh.”
Pam chuckled. “Next time I'm in, I'll probably be retired.”
“Oh, don't wait that long.”
“Not that long; about three weeks.”
“Really? Congratulations. We'll have a party.”
Angela said, “Oh, I love parties. Can we come, too?”
Bev said, “Sure. But you look too young to retire.”
“Why, thank you, thank you very much.”
Bev chuckled, “Wow. Are you an Elvis fan, too?”
“Not as much as you, but yeah.”
“Cool.”
“Oh, Bev, that couple that was sitting over at that table, they won't be coming back. I'll take care of their check.”
“Oh, the Dunns?”
“You know them?”
“Sure; they've been regulars here for years.”
“Well, you won't be seeing 'em again. Do you have their check?”
“Sure.” She pulled out another check. “Here. 57 dollars and 83 cents.”
Pam reached into her bag, pulled out Dylan's wallet and took out four twenties, examined them closely and gave them to Bev. “Keep the change, Bev. But I'll need a receipt, okay? Handwritten is fine.”
Bev wrote one out and gave it to Pam, who tucked it into the wallet and put it back in her bag. “That's a big tip, Pam. Thanks.”
“Thank you, Bev. But now I'm afraid I really have to run. Bye, y'all.” She leaned over and gave Jake a peck on the cheek, nodded at the others and headed for the archway to the parking lot. After three steps, she started giggling and turned back.
“Jake, say goodbye to Steve for me, okay?”
“Okay.”
Pam then burst out laughing. “And to Bruce.”
Jake laughed, too. “Okay.”
Beverly, Angela and Joe all said in unison, “Bruce?”
Jake, now laughing uncontrollably, managed to say, “Long story. Another time. Thanks, all. I've got to go get this looked at. Bye. Oops.” He pulled off another paper towel and pressed it against his shoulder on top of the other bloodied one.
After a minute or so, he followed Pam out of the archway, carrying his doggie box and leaving three very perplexed people behind, shaking their heads and mumbling, “Bruce?”
But when he got out to the parking lot, he saw Pam sitting behind the wheel of a dark blue SUV, dabbing at her eyes with another towel as her shoulders shook. Jake couldn't tell if she was laughing or crying, and he debated going over to see what, if anything, he might do to help or if he should just let her deal with whatever was bothering her, but then she sat up, started the engine and drove off, heading west, saving Jake from making a decision. He started his car and headed east to the clinic, briefly puzzled. Then he figured it out.
“Compartmentalization.”
-39-
Saturday, December 17, 2011
10:57 a.m.
The Eiffel Tower
Paris, Fran
ce
Two men in expensive business suits, one light gray, one black, strolled around the edges of the crowd in front of the Tower, chatting very quietly.
The man in the black suit, speaking English with a mild Italian accent, said, "20 million Euros is a lot, even for us."
Light gray suit shrugged. "I understand, but that's his price. Same terms: half down, nonrefundable, the remainder when the job is done, and, of course, the life of your principal as collateral."
"As usual; no problem. Guaranteed no blowback on us?"
"Guaranteed. You know his reputation for discretion."
"That's why we came to you. We need complete deniability."
"That you'll have, absolutely. He's never let you down, has he?"
"No, but he's never done a head of state for us before."
"Not for you."
"You mean -- no, I shouldn't ask, should I?"
"No, you should not."
"Can he get him even in the White House?"
"Well, obviously that's tougher, but he can do it."
"We need it done immediately, if not sooner."
"He's got one job to finish first, but he'll get to him as soon as that's done. You'll need to be patient."
"How patient? We need it done by the end of January at the latest."
"January? No problem."
"And nothing extra for the tougher security?"
"Nope. His price is always the same, no matter the target, from an unfaithful husband in Milano to any head of state anywhere. No discounts, no extras, ever."
"I guess that's why he's called The Egal- --"
"No, no, no; none of that. You know better."
"Sorry."
"Sorry? Sorry doesn't cut it. You want him to come after you?"
"No, no, please."
The man in the gray suit stared at him for several moments, then relaxed a bit, but didn't smile. He held out a business card.
"All right. See these numbers?"
"Yes."
"Memorize them."
"Okay." He paused. "Got 'em." Gray suit took the card back.
"I'll expect to see a deposit for ten million euros in that account by close of business Monday."
"You'll have it."
"Then we're done. Now walk away."
The two men parted. After a few moments, the man in the black suit pulled out a cell phone and dialed, speaking in rapid Italian, translated as follows:
"Gaetano here. Write this down." He repeated the numbers he had memorized, but too quietly for the woman with shotgun-miked sunglasses to record or hear them as she moved closer. "Repeat them back." He paused. "Good. Ten million euros to that account by close of business Monday." Another pause. "No, you don't. HIs (inaudible)-ness has authorized this himself -- minchia! No, that wasn't for you. Take care of it. I'll be back by tomorrow night." He closed his phone and headed toward the Metro.
The woman with the miked sunglasses pulled out her own cell phone and dialed. "Authentication 4583021. They've met and agreed. Get to the KSK Triplets and tell them we need 'em again, and this time they'll be going after The Egalitarian; they'll love that. I'll be in the office in about fifteen, and Ilario can translate the Italian stuff."
-40-
Five Months Earlier
Saturday, July 9, 2011
5:25 p.m.
Bonita Springs, FL
When Jake drove home from the clinic, new stitches in his shoulder and his wallet another $217 lighter, he did his now-habitual surveillance detection route through Bonita Shores and detected nothing.
After he'd parked the car and replenished his wallet cash from the hidden safe, he went upstairs, put the doggie box in the kitchen fridge and booted up his PC.
He found 13 emails in his inbox objecting to Donne legalizing abortion in his book, all in the same format and with exactly the same wording.
“Well, well, well, so it begins.” He created a new file, named it “Abortion,” and filed the emails there.
There was also one supportive email, which liked the Al Capone tax idea, and seemed personally written. Jake sent a quick thank you email to that sender.
His stomach grumbled, so he went to the fridge, cut off a third of the remaining burger and nuked it, then he settled in … again carefully … at his PC and continued working on the novel. He also put a sticky note on the PC tower that said, “Stevie Bruce :-) how to use?” By the time he finished his snack, he had that figured out.
-41-
Monday, December 19, 2011
11:30 a.m.
The White House
Washington, DC
Donne's chief of staff escorted the Director of Central Intelligence, Grant Costello, and his deputy, Lou Abbott, into the Oval Office, where Donne and his Attorney General, Lannie O. “Bud” Longstreet, were awaiting them, standing near the couches in the center of the room. Emily nodded to Donne and then returned to the outer office.
Donne walked over and enthusiastically shook both their hands. “Grant, Lou, again, great job leading up to last week. And you've passed my congratulations on to everybody involved, right?”
“Yes, we have, Gordy,” Grant replied. Lou nodded, her jowls bouncing slightly.
“Good, good. Lannie, you remember Grant from when we did that stuff with him in Riyadh back in '05, right?”
“Hi, Grant; good to see you again.”
“Hey, Lannie; been a long time.”
“And, Lou, this is Lannie Longstreet, my AG. Lannie, Lou, Deputy DCI.”
“Lou, good to meet at last. I've heard good things about you.”
“Nice to meet you, Lannie.”
“All right,” Donne said, “enough blah-blah. Sit, sit, and let's get started.” Grant and Lou sat on one couch, facing Donne and Longstreet on the other. Donne picked up his ever-present clipboard.
“So, Grant, have we gotten anything good out of those AQs yet?”
“Just a little bit, Gordy; they're tough nuts to crack.”
“Where have you got them?”
“Are you sure you want to know that?”
“Look, I don't care about plausible deniability; that's for the politicians. So yes, I want to know. And you know Lannie and I are both cleared.”
“Okay. They're in our chalet in Andorra, in the mountains north of Soldeu, only accessible by helicopter.”
“Good, good. All okay with the Andorran government?”
“Yup, everything's fine. They have no idea we're there, and we're keeping the same low profile we've had for twenty years.”
“Good. I don't want any international incidents this soon.”
“Right. Everybody's clear on that. It's just a corporate retreat.”
“Good, good. But I want you to squeeze these jihadists as dry as you can. Lannie and I have the written guidelines for you. Lannie?
“Right here, Gordy.” He gave Grant a six-page memorandum.
“You'll find that memo gives you a lot more leeway in dealing with those bastards. And it's Top Secret/USAP, of course.”
“Of course.”
“You'll see in there that we're getting rid of all that softy politically correct bullshit jargon that the last administration foisted on everybody. These guys are radical Islamists and terrorists, plain and simple, and we're gonna call 'em as we see 'em. No more pussyfootin' around, no more walking on eggshells for any of us. We're at war, period, and they are the fuckin' enemy, period. And my priority is intelligence over prosecution; kill or capture. This nation's security is my top priority, period. And Lannie is okay with that, and will make sure the DOJ and FBI are on board. Right, Lannie?”
Lannie responded, “Already started. I'm getting some backlash, of course. But Mere is on board.”
“Keep it going, and keep me posted on that, and feel free to point the finger at me. It is my policy, and I've got pretty thick skin.”
“Will do. Oh, Mere is Olivia Meredith Gwynn, FBI Director.”
“Grant, you and Lou can go over that later, and if y
ou have any backlash, same thing; feel free to make me the bad guy, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Now, your people are paying special attention to anything at all around the holidays coming up and the anniversary of bin Laden's death next May, right?”
“Absolutely, Gordy; HUMINT, SIGINT and all the rest, everything lined up on that. We've already heard some things and we've closed down seventeen cells around the world that were planning attacks, some here, some in Europe and a few in Indonesia and the Philippines, even one in Australia. Got 97 AQ's in custody, and we're interrogating them in thirteen locations around the world, some with the host government's permission, some way under the radar.”
“Good. Again, no incidents, okay? Keep all of your hotheads in line. But squeeze 'em hard and get the intel.”
“Absolutely.”
“Good, good. And I've pardoned all your guys and the soldiers that the previous AG prosecuted, and they've all been released. Politics, yecchh. I've also ordered them to be reimbursed for their legal fees and added some big bonuses for damages to their lives and their reputations.”
“We and they all appreciate that, sir.”
“No, no, Grant, no more 'sir,' okay? It's Gordy. And that goes for you, as well, Lou.”
“Yes, si- – I mean Gordy.”
“Good. Okay, anything else – oh, I know about the fatwa that's been issued on me by that nutjob in Iran. You guys are on top of that, right?”
“Of course, Gordy. But you know that a bounty like that brings all sorts of pros, amateurs and nutcases out of the woodwork. But I'm sure you've got enhanced protection around you, even beyond the Service.”
“We're on top of that, Grant. Got some new technologies that even you don't know about yet.”
“Really?”
“Really. Some are still only in prototype at DEI, but some are fully operational. And when you do see them, they'll blow your mind.”
“Looking forward to that, Gordy.”
“Soon, Grant, soon.”
“Okay; I'll be patient.”
“Good, good. Okay, any questions, thoughts, concerns?”