by Gary Ponzo
Stevie dropped his bag with a grunt. “Man, I could use a cup of coffee.”
“It’s already made,” Julie said from the bedroom.
Nick went and poured Stevie a cup of coffee, then placed the cream and sugar on the counter next to the cup with a spoon. As Stevie prepared his drink, Nick looked at the duffle bag.
“Is that everything?” Nick asked.
“No, I’ve got another case out on the porch.” He took a sip of the coffee and sighed. “So, tell me what you need.”
“We’ve located Barzani’s safe house,” Nick said. “He left in a hurry, so I need you to go over there and inspect every centimeter of that place. He’s shrewd, but he left clues behind, I’m sure of it. We just need to figure out which ones matter.”
Stevie glanced at the clock on the wall. “I’m ready anytime.”
“Okay,” Nick said. “I’ll go wake up Tommy and have him take you there.”
“Tommy, as in your cousin?” Stevie asked.
“Yeah,” Nick said. “That okay?”
“No,” Stevie said with a tired smile. “That’s better than okay. I need the entertainment.”
Chapter 16
President Merrick sat slumped back in a chair in Press Secretary Fredrick Himes’ office. He was reading the Washington Post with his legs crossed while Himes worked on notes for Merrick’s upcoming press conference from behind his desk. Himes’ office was a small, white room with the American Flag prominently displayed behind the desk.
“Isn’t that a little old fashioned?” Samuel Fisk said from the doorway, pointing to the newspaper in Merrick’s hands.
Merrick didn’t turn his head. “I hear you’ve been searching the White House for me.”
“I have,” Fisk said, leaning against the door jam and folding his arms. “They’ve just increased the terrorist threat level again. That’s twice in five days.”
“I know. I’ve already read the reports.” Merrick squeezed his eyelids shut, then reopened them. “That backlit screen is just too harsh. Sometimes I just need good old fashioned paper and print.”
“Is your statement finished?”
Merrick lowered the newspaper and looked at Himes. “Freddy?”
“Just about,” Himes said, his face glued to the computer monitor.
“What’s the main theme?”
“We don’t negotiate with terrorists,” Himes said flatly. “Should they want a serious conversation, we’ll have one. If they just want to threaten, we can do that as well.”
“I see,” Fisk said. “By the way, John, have you been playing online poker again?”
Merrick turned a page. “Is there something you want to tell me, Sam?”
“Well, apparently your little bluff with Hakim has worked.”
Merrick shut the newspaper so fast, it almost ripped. “And?”
“He’s on his way to the airport as we speak.”
Merrick slapped his hands together. “Yes.” He turned to Himes. “Get this news out to Nick in Arizona. Maybe he can do something with it.”
“Can I ask you something?” Fisk said.
“Sure.”
“What exactly are you going to tell him when he asks you about your withdrawal strategy?”
Merrick folded the newspaper and placed it on Himes’ desk. “Well, to be honest I never thought it would get this far.”
“I know,” Fisk said. “That’s why I asked.”
Merrick leaned back in the chair. “You know Sam, you can be a real pessimist sometimes. I just bought us another twenty four hours. Maybe I just saved some lives out in Payson. Maybe Barzani sees this as a positive sign and gives us enough time.”
“Enough time for what?” Fisk asked.
“Enough time for Nick and Matt to catch the bastard,” Merrick said, putting some mustard on that last word.
Fisk shook his head. “You put a lot of pressure on those two. How many bullets do you think they can dodge?”
“I don’t know,” Merrick said, looking outside the double window at the South Lawn. Thunderstorm clouds threatened to the east. “I guess I’m always banking on their experience to pull us through.”
“Did you notice Barzani didn’t mention LAX once in his message to the television station?”
“I noticed.”
“Any idea what that means?”
“I wish I knew,” Merrick said as lightning lit up the eastern sky. “I wish I knew.”
• • •
Nick entered his office right at 8 A.M. and shook hands with the deputy behind the receptionist’s desk. He held a rifle in his left hand.
“Good to see you again, Hank,” Nick said with a grin. He pointed to Semir, lying on the cot behind bars. “You have any trouble overnight?”
“None,” the deputy said.
Just then the door to Nick’s inner office opened and another deputy came over and shook Nick’s hand.
“I want to thank you guys for filling in,” Nick said. “I can take over from here.”
Outside a Humvee came into view and half a dozen soldiers came jumping out to set up a perimeter around the building.
Hank gestured outside. “Looks like you got some serious protection.”
Nick pulled up on his arm sling. “Yeah, well I’ve earned it.”
The two deputies gathered their stuff, leaving Nick alone with Semir. Nick pushed the keypad on a metal cabinet which hung on a wall behind the desk. When the door opened, he took out a key from the cabinet and walked over to Semir’s holding cell.
Semir sat up and carefully watched as Nick unlocked the door. He seemed startled when the Sheriff entered the cell and took a seat on the opposite side of his cot.
Nick noticed Semir glimpse at the open cell door. “Don’t even think about it,” Nick said. “There’s a platoon of soldiers out there just dying to shoot someone.”
Semir slumped back against the wall.
Nick gestured to the bandages on his face. “You okay?”
Semir gently nodded.
“I want to apologize for what happened out there,” Nick said. “That old guy was a jerk.”
When Semir remained quiet, Nick added, “He’s dead now. My cousin Tommy shot him.”
Semir gave nothing away.
Nick looked down and picked at a fingernail. “I wonder what would’ve happened to you if Matt hadn’t stepped in?”
Nick let the concept sink in before he continued.
“I don’t believe we should have troops in Turkey right now,” Nick said. “I think it’s a mistake. The only reason we’re there is because Turkey is part of NATO. They’re an ally and we need to show support to our allies.”
Nick was a professional interrogator. Unlike most of his colleagues, he understood the difference between law enforcement interrogation and intelligence interrogation. Nick wasn’t there for a confession. In fact a confession could actually hurt him because it would only reinforce the fact that Nick and Semir were opponents.
Now, he sat next to Semir, on the same cot, behind the same bars. For that moment, they were no longer enemies. Nick rubbed his fingers across his forehead and said, “I’m going to tell you something I haven’t told anyone. Not my boss, or my partner. No one.”
Nick waited a second for Semir to give him his full attention.
“My wife Julie is pregnant.”
Semir’s eyes rose.
“That’s right,” Nick said. “She doesn’t want anyone to know until the she’s three months along. Apparently, that’s when the baby has a better chance of going to term.”
Finally, Semir said, “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I felt like sharing. I feel it’s part of communicating. Maybe there’s more common ground between us than you think.”
Semir looked down. Nick could tell he was thinking about the comment.
Nick adjusted his arm sling, momentarily grimacing until he found the right spot.
“Either Barzani or I have to die, Semir. I think you understa
nd that.”
Semir nodded.
Nick waited again before saying, “Who would you have your money on, if you were a betting man?”
There was no arrogance on his face when Semir said, “Barzani.”
“I see,” Nick said. “What makes you believe that?”
“Because I know something you do not.”
“Ah.” Nick wagged a finger at Semir. “Now you’re sharing. That’s good. What exactly is it you know that you think I don’t?”
Semir looked genuinely sad. His expression had so much compassion, Nick’s eyelid twitched. “He’s going to send someone after you, which you will not be able to survive.”
Nick didn’t want to hear it, but his professional side had to know. “Who?”
“I don’t know his name,” Semir said. “But he will not fail.”
Okay, Nick thought, that was a big concession for the young man.
“Thank you, Semir,” Nick said. “I appreciate your honesty.”
Nick checked the time on his cell phone. He pointed the remote at the TV and CNN sprang to life. It was the top of the hour and Nick didn’t have to guess what the lead story would be. He’d received word from President Merrick’s press secretary an hour earlier which story was the lead that morning.
“I think you may enjoy this news update,” Nick said.
On the screen, a female reporter sat stoically behind an oval news desk and said, “Good Morning, here are the top stories. Turkish Prime Minister Hakim Budarry is making an unscheduled visit to the White House later today. Reports are he’s meeting the President about the possible withdrawal of U.S. troops from Turkey. Budarry has been steadfast in his opposition on the occupation of the KSF in Kurdistan. It is possible the President is attempting to help negotiate peace talks between the KSF and Turkish officials. President Merrick has announced a press conference at 8 P.M. Eastern Standard Time.”
Semir couldn’t hide the faint smile growing on the corner of his mouth. He looked at Nick and wordlessly made eye contact. The report seemed to lighten the mood in the cell. Just two men understanding their roles in the political power play they were in.
Nick was about to click off the TV when the reporter said, “And in Baltimore this morning two FBI agents were found dead outside an eastside apartment complex. Agents Rolley Chandler and Ed Tolliver were shot by a sniper at 12:40 A.M.. Neighbors claim to have heard the gunshots, but no word on any witnesses. There was also a woman murdered in the very same complex at around the same time. Officials say there appears to be a connection between the three killings. No word yet on the identity of the woman.”
Nick turned off the TV and dropped the remote on the cot. He stared at the dark monitor while the blood drained from his face and left him lightheaded. He felt as if he’d jumped from a tall cliff and desperately wanted to go back. Julie thought the move to the mountains would solve their problems. Now Nick understood, his family had no future as long as Barzani was alive.
As his mind raced with ideas and maneuvers and wishful fantasies of a terrorist-free world, he heard a voice next to him.
“Back home we have a saying,” Semir said with a dour expression. “Don’t go buying any green bananas, Agent Bracco.”
Chapter 17
Matt watched Stevie Gilpin take fingerprints, examine the contents of the refrigerator and extract DNA samples from the toilet. But it wasn’t until Tommy walked into the kitchen from the backyard that they finally got their first break.
“I think I got something here,” Tommy said, holding up a cigarette butt.
At first Stevie didn’t appear impressed. He grabbed a pair of forceps from his duffle bag and clenched it around the cigarette butt Tommy was holding. “Let’s see.”
He held up a magnifying glass to the butt and smiled. “Ah,” Stevie said. “This is good.”
“What is it?” Matt asked.
“Well,” Stevie said squinting through the magnifying glass with one eye shut. “This particular cigarette is Turkish. A very rare brand.”
Stevie put the magnifying glass down and looked at Matt. “How long did you say these guys were here?”
“At least six months,” Matt said.
“That’s great,” Stevie said.
“Why?”
“Because chances are they had to purchase them here. How many places sell Turkish cigarettes in Payson, Arizona?”
Matt finally understood the significance. He smiled. “Only one.”
• • •
President Merrick stood in the kitchen and leaned over a plate of leaf-wrapped finger food.
He held up one of the wrapped pieces and asked, “What’s this called?”
The chef, who was on the opposite side of the stainless steel table, said, “It’s called Dolma. It’s stuffed with a rice and meat mixture.”
Merrick took a bite of one of the pieces. “Mmm. This is delicious.” Then the spices kicked in and he flipped his fingers at the chef.
The chef grabbed a bottle of water from the massive refrigerator and handed it to him. Merrick guzzled down half the bottle before coming up for air.
“Geez,” Merrick said. “You trying to kill me, Jason?”
“No sir,” the middle-aged chef said, concern on his face.
Merrick dropped the rest of his Dolma into the chef’s open hand and patted the man on the back. “It’s okay,” he said, coughing. “As long as the Prime Minister likes it, that’s all that matters.”
“He’s just left the Map Room,” a voice said.
Fisk entered the kitchen and headed for the plate of Dolma.
Merrick grabbed him. “Don’t do it, Sam. It’s lethal.”
Fisk took a bite of one, then smiled. “What’s the problem?”
Merrick folded his arms across his chest. “Just wait.”
Almost a minute passed and Fisk took another bite to finish off the Turkish delicacy. He pulled a paper towel from a stainless steel wall dispenser and wiped his mouth, then threw the paper into the trash.
“C’mon, you wimp,” he said, leading Merrick into the hallway toward the Oval Office.
As they walked down the corridor, Fisk grabbed the bottle of water from Merrick’s hand and took a swig, then handed it back and burped.
Merrick grinned. “Is there any food you can’t eat?”
As they approached the Oval Office, a tub containing half a dozen cell phones sat on the table outside the room. There were no cell phones allowed in the Oval Office during official meetings. Fisk handed his phone to a secret service agent standing against the wall. Merrick simply set his on vibrate. He was the only exception to the rule.
Hakim Budarry was dressed in a grey business suit and introduced his two assistants, while Merrick introduced Fisk. Press Secretary Himes and Chief of Staff Paul Dexter were already situated near the couches across from the President’s desk.
Merrick waved everyone down into their seats. Budarry sat in the tall guest chair directly across from Merrick who found his seat.
“Well, Mr. Prime Minister, it’s a pleasure to have you here at the White House,” Merrick said with a genuine smile.
Budarry nodded. “Yes, Mr. President. It’s a true honor to be here.”
Merrick pointed to the table behind Budarry and said, “Would you care for something to drink?”
“No, thank you, Mr. President,” Budarry said. “I would like to discuss our relationship, if you don’t mind.”
“Our relationship?”
“Yes,” Budarry said. “I understand there have been some rumors that you are considering removing U.S. troops from my country. Is this a misunderstanding?”
Merrick sighed. Even though he knew these would be the first words from Budarry’s mouth, he still wanted more time.
“Mr. Prime Minister,” Merrick said. “You do understand the turmoil in Turkey is spilling over into our country now. Yes?”
“Yes, I do.”
“And you do realize we have to protect our citizens any way we can,
right?”
“Yes, of course. These KSF terrorists are brutal scoundrels who will stop at nothing to—”
“Stop.” Merrick held up his hand. “Please, don’t start this conversation. I know who the KSF is and what they want. Their tactics are primitive and severe, but their demands are nothing more than a place to live in peace.”
“Oh, Mr. President, you have no idea the type of war mongering criminals these Kurds can be. Temir Barzani is a madman.”
“Yes, I know,” Merrick said.
“Then you will not be removing your troops from my country?”
Merrick looked straight at Budarry. “I can assure you—”
From behind the Prime Minister, Samuel Fisk got to his feet and nodded toward Merrick’s private office. His face burned with tension.
Merrick stood and said, “Pardon me for just one moment, Mr. Prime Minister. I need to tend to one item very briefly.”
Fisk opened the side door to Merrick’s office and held it for him as he entered the room. At the same time, a secret service agent who was sitting in a guest chair sprang to his feet. The second the door was shut, Fisk walked to the far window and waved Merrick over.
“What are you doing?” Fisk asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, didn’t you remember my brief on this guy? I told you not to look him in the eyes. It’s a sign of sincerity.”
“But I’m being sincere.”
Fisk took a breath and folded his arms. “Boy, for a valedictorian from Yale, you can be one dumb son of a bitch.”
“Sam, make your point.”
“He came all the way from Turkey to assure his security from us and you’re about to let him off the hook.”
“I’m not going to lie to him, Sam.”
Even though they were in a soundproof room, Fisk leaned his head forward and whispered. “You don’t have to. If you’re going to tell him we will not be reducing our troops in Turkey, make damn sure you’re not looking him in the eyes when you tell him. He’ll take that as a sign of insincerity and not trust you.”
Fisk raised his eyebrows. Merrick finally understood. If the Prime Minister believed Merrick wouldn’t pull out of Turkey, he wouldn’t be motivated to work with the KSF. But if he didn’t trust Merrick, he might be forced to negotiate more aggressively. Or do something even more drastic. Without U.S. support Turkey could easily be overrun by the Kurdish faction of their population and Budarry could not afford to see that happen.