Binder - 02

by David Vinjamuri

  “What happened to the guys who were shooting at me?”

  “The troopers arrested the helicopter pilot for making an unsafe landing, public endangerment and all that. Nobody on the bridge witnessed any shooting other than the shots you fired. Apparently you were legally seconded from state to the FBI today, so there won’t be any charges. You’re very lucky nobody on the bridge was hurt. They stopped and questioned some of the guys who were following you but they had carry permits for their weapons.”

  “It figures. I met Eric Price, by the way.”

  “I want to hear about that conversation. Every word of it.”

  “I’m happy to oblige, but I really need to find some dry clothes first.”

  Nichols dropped a duffel bag at my feet. “You’re in luck. This is from your military friends. They gave it to me after we spoke this morning.”

  “Thanks.” I looked at my watch. “By the way, how did you get here so soon? It’s been less than an hour since I broke out. Were you on another helo?”

  Nichols didn’t answer, just looked at me steadily.

  “They pulled you off the case?”

  “I was providing office support for the team until we got the ‘no go.’”

  “I’m sorry. I think this is my fault.”

  “Nope, this is just about me. I want to debrief you before my colleagues get here. I want to hear the whole story. Did you get anything useful out of going into the National Front compound other than a BASE jump?”

  “I’ll answer any question you want if we can do it while you drive. But I’d better change first.” I stood, grabbed the duffel and headed to the restroom before she could think to say no.

  26

  The sky was overcast. Not with an ordinary sort of haze, either, but cloudy like the mountain gods were building statues in the sky. They lit up from above where the moon peeked through. The wind on the ground was brisk, pushing the Suburban gently back and forth as we followed Route 60 west out of Charleston. We listened to the radio for a few minutes as we drove. The hurricane had kissed Florida and was headed up the Atlantic coast, destined for the New York area. We were assured the windy night had nothing to do with the storm. I didn’t buy it.

  “Where are we headed?” Nichols asked.

  “We need to talk with the leader of the Reclaim camp. Her name is Roxanne. Roxanne Chalmers. I was hiking with her this morning. Your people didn’t detain her, did they?”

  “No. We’ve had a team on her all day, though. Do you want me to confirm her location?” I nodded and she grabbed a radio to make a quick call. Nichols had a terse dialogue with the dispatcher that was so laced with codes and oblique phrases different from those I’d used that it was impossible to follow. When she put down the handset she spoke again. “She’s at the campsite. Why are we visiting her?”

  “She’s at the center of everything that’s happened. It was only when I went to see her that the National Front started trying to kill me. They put someone undercover in her camp. Then you guys put someone else undercover in her camp. I’m pretty sure it was National Front people who staged the bus incident to kill your undercover guy. And there’s still the question of why Jason Paul was blackmailing her if the result was that the mine was failing.”

  “How could you know that? About the mine?”

  “My old boss had mixed motives for sending me here. He asked me to come and find the daughter of a friend, but he had the National Front on his radar from the beginning. They caused some trouble overseas.” I was treading the narrow line between interagency cooperation and illegally disclosing classified information. But she’d taken a risk on me already. “You obviously know that his organization has been assisting my investigation.”

  Nichols snorted. “I picked up on that when they invited me into the tractor-trailer they sent for you.”

  “Right. That’s not all of it, either. The, uh, specialty of my former outfit was electronic surveillance and recon. A big part of that is gathering computer information. They did some background work for me on the mine operation.”

  “They hacked the mine’s computers?”

  “That would be illegal,” I answered, not contradicting her.

  “And Hobart is failing?”

  “Output was down significantly after the Reclaim group split up and Roxanne took charge in September. Paul told me that he had video of the two other leaders sabotaging his site over the summer. That’s apparently what caused the split in the camp—the same one that sent Heather Hernandez running off to CC Farms and then the National Front with Anton Harmon.”

  “Wait. You’re saying the mine did worse after they stopped the sabotage?”

  “Yes. There would have been some residual effects for a few weeks, but not into this month. So if Paul had video proof and showed it to Roxanne, he wanted something from her. He wasn’t trying to get her to back off, because handing the tape over to the authorities would have accomplished that. He obviously wanted something else. But I don’t know what it was. It’s easy to see what she was getting, though.”

  “Shutting the mine down?”

  “Right.”

  “What could Paul possibly get out of that?”

  “I don’t know,” I conceded. “That’s what I’m hoping we can figure out by talking to Roxanne.”

  “And how does this relate to the National Front?”

  “Another good question. But a bunch of analysts are pouring through a mountain of data right now, trying to figure that out.”

  “Data?”

  “From the National Front.”

  Nichols kept her eyes on the road, but her grip on the wheel tightened. “That’s why you went in there, isn’t it?”

  “I was looking for the girl. But that was part of it, too. That’s what my outfit wanted most, I think.”

  “Jesus, they were playing you all along. The girl was just an excuse for them to get you to check out the National Front.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think it’s that simple. But if you’re asking then yes, I feel a little used.”

  “And you let those National Front guys take you just so you could get inside the building?”

  “I didn’t blow my own cover. They had me pegged from the moment I walked into the festival tents. Which raises another question.”

  “Yes?”

  “Who else on your end knew I was going in?”

  “You think the leak was from the Bureau?”

  “It had to be. Think about it. The folks on my side are all soldiers in Virginia.”

  “But they wanted you to be detained by the National Front people.”

  I shook my head. “It doesn’t work that way. They knew I’d have found a way in, whatever it took. That’s what I’m trained for. But it’s always in my hands. They would trust me to finish the mission.”

  “You’re not in the Army anymore,” she said.

  “I’m not saying I’m happy with my old commander. He wasn’t upfront with me. But I’ve known the guy for a long time. There was always a line. He withheld, manipulated, pressured. But he wouldn’t have sold me out, and neither would anyone else in that unit. What about the FBI?”

  Nichols raised a hand off the wheel, then lowered it. She glanced out the side window, at stands of sycamore and maple flying by. “We haven’t made a lot of progress in the last two years. Every time we get a lead, it dries up. Our undercover agent was killed. So I guess it’s a fair question. The National Front task force knew you were going in today. That’s about a dozen agents—a couple here and the rest in Washington. Plus the Special Agent in Charge in Pittsburgh, and his assistant here in Charleston.”

  “Do those people know where we’re headed right now?”

  “No.”

  “Why?” FBI agents have a pretty strict investigative procedure. They do not chase down leads on their own as a rule.

  Nichols glanced at me briefly, making eye contact. “I’ve pissed some people off in the last twenty-four hours. They weren’t happy with me
to begin with, and there’s a pretty good chance they’ll use some of this stuff to end my career. Unless I can get a break in this case. Maybe even then.”

  “I’m sorry. This is my fault. I don’t want to make your life more complicated.”

  She drove on for a mile in silence and I thought we were done, but then she answered.

  “I understood the Navy. I’m not saying it was perfect. It was challenging to be a woman and fly the Super Hornet. But I got how it worked. There are so many objective tests. Fighter pilots are under a microscope. If you do well, handle the pressure, work your ass off and find a way to do whatever they ask you to do, you advance. Not forever, but far enough.”

  I nodded. She’d been a commissioned officer while I was a non-com, but the story was more or less the same.

  “It’s been different at the FBI. I was second in my class at Quantico. They told me a smaller field office would give me a better chance to contribute immediately. But it hasn’t worked out like that. I understand hazing. I’ve been there. I know how it goes when you’re the junior person. But some of the guys in this office, they think I’m around to make coffee and take notes. Not just for awhile, but forever.” Her eyes flicked out her side window again.

  “Have they hit you on performance reviews?”

  “Yeah. Just low enough to make me look bad.”

  “Don’t you rotate soon?”

  “Normally at the three year point—so next spring. I’ll work in a bigger office. But as things stand, I’ll go in with a reputation.”

  “For what?”

  “Not being a team player. Not being one of the guys.”

  “Did one of those guys get too friendly?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. I’ve been dealing with that kind of stuff for so long that I don’t always notice anymore. I’ve got defenses. If a guy stands too close I step back. If I get an invitation I don’t like, I have an excuse that’s fake enough so he knows he stepped across the line. I don’t think twice about it. I’m used to guys looking. I figured out a long time ago that I was going to have to work harder than any guy to get taken seriously. But I don’t know how to do that in this office.”

  “Is it a cultural thing? Being in this part of the country, I mean?”

  “No, not at all. They’re all transplants. The biggest jerk is from California. Local law enforcement and state police, they’ve been great. They kill you with kindness.”

  “I guess you can hang on and see how things are on your next assignment, but I get how that’s frustrating.”

  “I thought you might.”

  “More than you know.”

  “So what’s your story? How does someone who can do what you do end up behind a desk?”

  “It’s hard to live that life forever. It changes you.”

  She made a sound in her throat. “What do you do at the State Department?”

  “I’m an analyst. I follow weapons transfers around the developing world.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “I’m not bad at my job. I speak a few of the languages. I understand the equipment better than some of the academics.”

  “But?”

  “Part of the problem is that I don’t have the PhD. The admiral—the guy who hired me—didn’t care. But the new guy is an academic. He doesn’t think I belong there.”

  “And the other part?”

  “It’s what you said. Part of me can’t stand being in an office. I wake up every morning and think ‘Oh my God, I’m going to be putting a suit on and getting on the metro every day for the rest of my life.’”

  “I have those days, too.”

  “At least you carry a gun.”

  “There is that.”

  27

  We sat on boulders near the stream, watching each other in the moonlight. Roxanne must have expected the questions we’d ask because she’d immediately taken us out of earshot of the Reclaim camp.

  “It’s time, Roxanne. We need the whole story. More people died today. You have to tell us everything.”

  “I need to read you your Miranda rights. And I’m going to record what you tell us,” Nichols said. I exhaled loudly, exasperated, but she ignored me. She pulled a card from inside her jacket pocket and repeated the familiar warnings.

  Roxanne looked at me, pleading, but I shook my head. “They’ll find out everything soon anyway, Roxanne. If you don’t help them, they’ll come down harder on you. Just don’t lie about anything, even a little thing. Lying to a federal officer is a federal crime.” I didn’t look at Nichols as I said that.

  Roxanne lowered her head slowly and her shoulders jerked convulsively as she started to sob. Nichols and I just sat there silently until she finished and looked up.

  I started to ask a question but Nichols pointed to the recorder and shook her head. She withdrew a small notebook computer, flipped it open and told Roxanne that she was going to type Roxanne’s statement at the same time she recorded it, and that she’d print it out for Roxanne to sign when they went in to the FBI office. Nichols started with simple questions, asking about dates and events that we already knew. When she had Roxanne in a rhythm, she struck.

  “When Jason Paul from Transnational Coal showed you video of your co-members planting explosives to sabotage the operations at the Hobart Mine, did he ask you to do something in return for his silence?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, we’ll come back to that in a moment. Did Mr. Paul give you any additional reasons to cooperate with him?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did he offer you?”

  “He said he’d make sure the mine closed forever.”

  “What?” Nichols and I looked at each other, startled.

  We sat there in silence for a moment, the three of us each wrestling with the implications of the words Roxanne had spoken. Eventually, Nichols repeated her question.

  “You’re telling me that Jason Paul promised to shut down mining operations at Hobart permanently if you cooperated with him?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what exactly did he want in return?”

  “Josh and Amy had to leave the state. He wanted to approve anything we did to slow down the mine in advance after that. And he said he would need other things.”

  “What things?”

  “He didn’t say. Not then, anyway.”

  “How was he going to shut down the mine?”

  “He said he had information—damaging information—about the mine owners. Things they had done before he took charge that were illegal. Dumping toxic waste, faked assessments, proof they’d bribed officials. He showed me one report he claimed would bury the mine in litigation for twenty years.”

  “Why would you believe he would end his own career?”

  “I didn’t have a choice, did I? I couldn’t let Amy and Josh go to jail. But...I believed him, the way he said it. Like it was beneath him to lie to me.”

  “There was more, wasn’t there? He asked you to do something else, didn’t he?” Nichols asked. Roxanne hesitated, then nodded. “What else did Paul ask you to do?”

  “He called me Wednesday afternoon—the day of the attack—and asked me to make sure our bus left Hobart at 6 and that I wasn’t on it. I asked him what was going on. He told me they were going to scare the kids. Said he needed to show his management he was taking things seriously. I said hell no, but he reminded me what would happen if I didn’t cooperate. He also told me the kids would fight if I was there and someone might get hurt. He said nobody was going to listen to me if I tried to blow the whistle.”

  “Did you really believe that?”

  “No,” she said and started crying again. Nichols just waited and let the tears exhaust themselves before she continued. Roxanne talked for nearly an hour. Nothing she said was new, but Nichols went through all the details to make sure she extracted everything Roxanne had to offer. Then Nichols put cuffs on her and we walked her back to the Suburban. Nobody saw us leaving the camp in the dead of the night. />
  * * *

  “You like her, don’t you?” Nichols said as we stood in the cool, damp air after she’d put Roxanne, handcuffed, into the back of her Suburban.

  “What she’s done...it’s horrible. But, yeah, I do.”

  “Why? She’s responsible for two deaths.”

  “She is, but she doesn’t think like we do. It’s not about people for her. I think she would have done anything to stop that mine.”

  “Then why feel bad for her? She walked into this with her eyes open.” Nichols’s voice was softer than I’d heard it. Barely a whisper.

  “This girl I’m looking for—Heather. Her father left her when she was three. Her stepdad and her mom didn’t try to find her when she stopped writing over the summer. Her friends here at Reclaim knew that Harmon was bad news, but they did nothing. Her roommate at CC Farms knew what kind of guy Harmon was, but she didn’t do anything, either. There was even a guy who had a crush on her at the National Front compound who knew Harmon was abusing her, but he never stood up for Heather. Roxanne...she let Heather down, too. She let all those kids on the bus down. But at least she has the decency to be ashamed for it. I think she may be the only one.”

  Nichols put a hand on my shoulder. It was just for a second, and her touch was light, but it made an imprint. Then we got back into the Chevy and headed back to Charleston.

  28

  Nichols kept me out of custody again that night. Assistant Special Agent in Charge Daniel Levisay had a full head of steam when he intercepted us in front of the FBI Resident Agency in Charleston. He was the local man in charge, down the chain of command from the Pittsburgh field office. He was also Nichols’s boss.

  Levisay handcuffed me on the spot, marched me inside his Spartan office and sat me down forcibly on a plain wooden chair in front of his desk. Nichols had moved to intercept him but I shook my head quickly. Levisay was a bit plumper than I expected for an FBI agent, with a shiny bald head, a smooth baby face and narrow eyes. He lapsed unconsciously into the third person while he was yelling at me—a finely tuned mix of threat and remonstrance. He talked to me as he would have to a five-year-old, speaking slower when he used large words. He assumed I had no idea how serious an offence shooting people or starting a forest fire might be. He vowed that I would spend the rest of my life in jail when the FBI got into the National Front compound and gathered forensic evidence of my crimes there, though we both knew any traces of evidence were long gone. But still he pushed on, openly speculating on what other federal crimes I might have committed.