Foreign and Domestic

by A. J Tata

  Then locked it.

  Chapter 39

  “Okay, asshole, this room is sealed tighter than a ram’s ass,” Bream said. “You’re looking good for a whole bunch of shit and before I turn you over to the hounds, I need some answers. We’ve got one John Doe of Arabic descent at Fort Brackett and two in Suffolk. Who are these people and where did they come from?”

  Mahegan eyed the general. It had been two days since he had stood toe-to-toe with the man in his office. No longer carrying the confident look of arrogance, the general appeared wild-eyed and just short of frightened. Mahegan had seen the look many times in combat, especially on fresh, young troops. The lack of any combat experience would account for Bream’s absence of confidence here. Mahegan knew false bravado when he saw it, and this was certainly a display. Still, the general had used the old high school debate trick of attacking with a question.

  Mahegan ignored the question and asked, “How can I help you?” Pausing a moment, he then added, “Sir.”

  Exhaustion began to claw at the back of his mind like a dredge raking his brain. The adrenaline dump had carried him through the night, but now he was feeling the cumulative impact of two days with little rest or food.

  “You can help me by answering my questions or telling me what the hell happened out at sea. I’m good with either for starters.”

  Mahegan paused. He played out several scenarios in his mind and landed on the most probable.

  “You involved in all that gold moving around out there?” Another pause. “Sir.”

  Bream studied him a second before replying.

  “You don’t have any idea what you’re saying, soldier. Just tell me what happened. You’re wanted by about five different agencies right now and I can help if you cooperate.”

  “Are you offering me a deal, general?”

  Bream opened the zipper on his Army combat uniform and yanked down his T-shirt, showing his bare chest.

  “Not wearing a wire, soldier. This is between us. But, yes, if you tell me what happened at sea, I will do my best to see you get treated fairly.”

  Mahegan’s lip turned up a fraction, his best imitation of a smile.

  “I have to assume, then, that if I don’t cooperate, you’ll do your best to see that I am treated unfairly.”

  “Your words, not mine.”

  “Well, here’s what happened. I jumped from an airplane onto a ship named Le Concord. It was filled with Arabic terrorists. It came alongside another ship called the Ocean Ranger. The Ocean Ranger appeared to have a lot of gold and ammunition on it. I’m talking bricks of gold, like you might see at Fort Knox. And I’m talking bombs, like you might find at an old bombing range. And I’m also talking about MVX-90 detonators, like you might find at an electronic warfare testing range.”

  “Gold?”

  “Yes, gold.”

  Mahegan paused. He noticed Bream leaning forward, his jet-black hair disheveled. The man licked his lips and Mahegan thought he saw some sweat start to bead its way through the perfect stalks of hair. The general nodded at him as if to say, “Go on.”

  “And so the terrorists boarded the Ocean Ranger and attacked the crew. It was like something out of a pirate movie. They then transferred all of the gold and all of the bombs and all of the MVX-90s onto Le Concord. Then the terrorists blew up the Ocean Ranger and it appeared to be sinking as I left.”

  Mahegan spoke calmly, as if he had witnessed a simple shoplifting crime.

  “Wait a minute. You’re telling me the Ocean Ranger sank and that this Concord ship escaped? With this supposed gold you keep talking about?”

  “It was dark, but that’s how it appeared to me,” Mahegan said.

  He figured this was his only move. If Bream was dirty and working the gold, Mahegan knew he would pursue any chance to recover it. The Army had taught him that the best deception schemes gave his opponent a dose of what he wanted to believe. In this case, Mahegan felt as though the only reason that the Army version of internal audit might be on the scene was because of a deep, personal interest. There was no way that a three-star general would be on a Coast Guard patrol boat in the Atlantic Ocean interrogating a suspect unless the circumstances were extreme. Extreme to the point of personal involvement. Mahegan also noticed the way Bream focused on the gold, not the ammunition or the MVX-90s.

  Bream studied him for a long moment, seeming to regain some of his composure. He ran a hand across his face as if to wipe away what Mahegan figured was bad news to him. When Bream looked up at Mahegan, he looked even more tired and worn than before.

  “Frankly, I don’t believe you. How did you see all of this?”

  “What’s hard to believe is that you don’t have Paslowski out here doing your bidding and keeping someone between you and your problem.”

  Mahegan watched Bream stare him down with his best general’s glare.

  “Agent Paslowski is trying to find your girlfriend, Lindy Locklear. It seems she’s disappeared.”

  Mahegan rifled through their last moments, digesting the news. She had dropped him off at the airfield to link up with Dakota. She was going to head back to the bungalow and wait. The only thing he could think is that Copperhead had come after her. Nix or Falco. Or both.

  “Where’s Paslowski looking?”

  “That’s part of a federal investigation. An agent goes missing, they pull out all the stops.”

  “An agent?”

  “Little slow on the uptake, aren’t we, Mahegan? You sure you’re not in over your head? She’s with Treasury. The Terrorism and Financial Intelligence Department, known as TFID. She’s been tracking all this gold you’ve moved out to sea. She works in their terrorist finance cell.”

  Mahegan processed what Bream was saying. His assessment had been pretty close.

  “Gold that you think I’ve moved out to sea?”

  “You’re good for the whole thing, man. I mean this just keeps getting better and better. You raced through Copperhead yesterday and stole those MVX-90s and apparently some gold. You’ve traded or more likely sold that to terrorists. It will take me ten minutes to add something to your bank account or toss a duffel bag of counterfeit money in your room at the Queen Anne’s Revenge. And now we’ve got you as the last one to see a federal agent before she disappeared.”

  “So what do you want from me? Just book me or whatever you guys call it.”

  “In due time. Tell me what you saw. All we got was the distress signal that you attacked the Ocean Ranger. There are probably ten recorded radio calls by different ships trying to assess your location because they saw you as a threat. But we know nothing about another ship, this terrorist ship you claim exists.”

  “Okay. I spent most of my time in the water. You see I’m wearing a wetsuit. I found the lat-long on a GPS, that’s global positioning system, and bummed a flight over the location. Then I jumped, landed on the terrorist ship that now has your gold and bombs on it and is steaming back toward the Middle East.”

  Bream leaned back and smiled at Mahegan. It seemed like a forced grin, almost a grimace.

  “I’ve got nothing to do with this, soldier. I’m investigating on behalf of the Army before I turn you over to the wolves. Because assuredly, once the FBI gets its hands on you, we will never have another crack at you. All this time I was actually going to give you a break on the murder in Afghanistan. I understood that you probably snapped in combat. It happens. Maybe even upgrade your discharge.”

  Mahegan ignored the general’s obvious attempt at provoking him.

  “Right. Then why are you out here interrogating me, general? It makes no sense, unless . . .”

  “Unless what, Mahegan? This is about national security, son. It doesn’t get any more serious than this. We took an oath to the Constitution of the United States to protect and defend against all enemies, foreign and domestic. Looks like we’ve got both here.”

  “You’re damned right it is. I love these lofty terms you bureaucrats use. You know what national security me
ans to me? It means preventing my buddy from being killed while I’m doing your bidding. It’s a pretty simple concept.”

  Another smile creased Bream’s face.

  “Well, you failed there, didn’t you, soldier?”

  The corral in Mahegan’s mind went wide open and thoughts and emotions raced forward like wild, unbroken mustangs. He was actually glad he was handcuffed. Otherwise, he knew he might harm the general, maybe kill him.

  Therein, he knew, lay his problem. He had an “on” switch and an “off ” switch, but little in between. In the end, he refused to lose his temper in front of this pompous bureaucrat. Bream had advanced through the military, in Mahegan’s view, because the organization promoted mediocrity while weeding out the highly competent and the highly incompetent, advancing those of marginal competence and risk-taking ability.

  “What’s the matter, Mahegan? You were all full of cock and bull before. Thinking about Colgate?”

  “Yes, sir. Thinking about Colgate and how one of your MVX-90s killed him.”

  “I’m done with you, asshole. Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to get on my airplane and fly back to DC. I’ll be in the office by eight a.m. This is a black operation and no one will ever know I was here. Meanwhile, you’ll be escorted to federal custody and charged with the bombings of Fort Brackett and Suffolk Compound as well as the destruction of an American vessel. You admitted to being on the terrorist ship Le Concord and I will make sure the FBI knows this. Meanwhile, you’ll be charged with two, possibly three, murders in North Carolina. The federal part will take a few years, during which you will be in Fort Leavenworth prison. Once convicted of treason and murder, the state courts can have their bite at you if they wish. You’ll get the needle for certain, but I’m sure the families of those you killed will want their vengeance. That’s how this is going to play out.”

  Mahegan felt that Bream was describing an “either-or” scenario to him, so he said, “Or?”

  “Or, nothing. There’s no way for you to recover the gold or the munitions that you sold to the terrorists.”

  “So there’s no way to make this right in your world? Not even if Adham is involved?”

  Bream paused. Mahegan knew that for Bream to survive in the “meritocracy” as long as he had, Bream must have understood nuance and subtlety. He needed to have someone between him and the problem.

  “Adham? Go on.”

  “If I jumped into this thing once, I can get there again.”

  “And do what? Take over the ship and turn it around? Then waltz into a port and say, here’s your terrorist?”

  “No. Look. I’m a liability to you right now. I know. I know. You don’t have to say anything.” Mahegan held his cuffed hands up in mock surrender, as if warding off an attacker. “So the way I see it, you can gamble on the chance that I don’t talk or that no one believes me that you flew all the way out here to interrogate me. There’s a fifty-fifty chance, though, that something I say will get traction. Then, at the very least, your gig is up, possibly forever. You overplayed your hand here trying to reel me in. Put out that BOLO when I fell off the grid. I can see how that might happen. It was a bold move, for sure.”

  Mahegan then shifted gears, turning his disgust into false platitudes. He figured Bream had been hearing it all of his life from his subordinates, from whom he required such nonsense. Figuring that Bream didn’t have the spine to kill him, or have him killed, Mahegan played his only angle: Bream’s ambition and inflated ego.

  “So, I see it this way. You have absolutely pulled off an incredible feat here. The only problem is that you’ve got nothing to show for it except a loser former captain put away in prison for something he didn’t do. Is that the legacy you want? I don’t think so. I saw probably ten million in gold. That will buy a lot of retirement, general. And I know where that boat is going.” Mahegan kept talking, not wanting to give Bream a chance to think just yet.

  “So what have you got to lose? You said yourself this is a black op. You can dump me overboard when we’re near the beach and I can swim in. You guys found an abandoned Bombard, but it wasn’t me. I’m still on the loose. Meanwhile, I’m on the way to find your stash. The only thing I need is a way to get in touch with you once I get the ship under control.”

  Bream turned and looked at the locked door, then leveled his eyes on Mahegan.

  “Where is it going?”

  “Now why would I give up my only hole card? You know how this works, general. You’ve been slaving away in the Army for thirty-plus years. The give-and-take of the bureaucracy, sir. This is just another angle you’ve got to work.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We found you, we can find this boat. You’re so full of shit, Mahegan, your eyes are turning brown. You want to reach me? Call the Inspector General hotline.”

  Bream paused as if to reflect. “You know, I graduated from the Academy in 1979. As I said the other day, we were the last class with balls. All male. They brought the bitches in for class of 1980. We all had LCWB inscribed on the inside of our rings. And I’ll admit it takes balls to do what you’ve done, Mahegan. But treason? I cannot respect that. Find me Adham, maybe.”

  Bream stood and walked out of the room.

  A strange mix of exhaustion and adrenaline overcame Mahegan. Squaring off with an Army three-star was no small feat, yet at least he had fit another piece of the puzzle together. Bream had the inside dirt on every officer in the army. He was the J. Edgar Hoover of the military, trading secrets and trading information. Bream could place a dragnet on him one hundred miles long up and down the North Carolina coast involving all the big-name agencies. And he could walk out knowing he was spotless. Mahegan knew that one of two things was going to happen.

  Every authority known to man was going to press charges against him for their piece of the action and he was going to be in the system for a long time. Or, something else would happen.

  Mahegan was banking on something else.

  Chapter 40

  About an hour later, something else happened.

  He could tell the patrol boat had been maneuvered into port by the forward-reverse machinations of the engine he heard and felt from the deck below. The motor turned off, and soon he began to wonder if he was alone. He heard no voices and, barring guards on the dock, felt no vibrations of boots moving along the deck.

  He opened the desk drawer that had been facing Bream and found a heavy gauge paper clip sitting in the pen tray. He bent it and went to work on his cuffs. A minute later, he was free.

  The door was locked, though he heard footsteps and muffled conversation on the other side directly before it opened.

  “Well, there you are, son.”

  Mahegan turned to find Dare County Sheriff Mitch Johnson standing in the dark doorway.

  “Sheriff, what the hell is going on?”

  “That’s what I’m here to ask you. Seems like we need to talk.”

  “Get me off this boat and let’s go somewhere.”

  “I had to fight to get a few hours of custody of you so I can get what I need for the murder investigations. For once, locals trumped the FBI. Plus, the Coast Guard made the colossal screwup of docking here in Wanchese, which is Dare County property, not a Coast Guard base.”

  “Okay.”

  “Of course, it helps when my brother is the captain of the ship. And he docked here, not in Atlantic Beach where a few dozen federal agents are waiting for you.”

  Johnson led him to the top deck. Before they departed, Johnson nodded at a tall figure standing in the captain’s bridge. The angle of the stairwell gave them a view into the back of the command center. “Thanks, Lonnie.”

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about, bro.”

  Johnson turned back to Mahegan. “In case someone notices us walking off this boat, I need to you do the perp walk off this here cutter.”

  Mahegan held out his hands as Johnson used his own cuffs. After thirty minutes they had departed the dock at
Wanchese and arrived at the sheriff’s house. Mahegan checked the clock on the sheriff’s dashboard and saw that it was seven a.m. He looked out of the window and saw that Johnson lived on Croatan Sound at the end of Rogers Road. His home was a yellow Cape Cod with weathered rust-colored shake roof shingles. The shutters were black and appeared freshly painted. The driveway led to a garage in the back of the house, which also put them thirty yards from the sound. The nearest home was a hundred yards up Rogers Road on the opposite side of the road. Wetlands separated this spit of land from the rest of the homes.

  It was private.

  “Follow me,” Johnson said, opening the door.

  Mahegan followed him into the backyard and onto the deck. They entered through a French door. Inside, the home was well appointed with all the right touches, but something seemed off. Perhaps it was too sterile. Mahegan determined that it was missing the warm feel of a woman.

  “Nice place, sheriff.”

  “Been in the family for years. Just me in here now.”

  Mahegan nodded. “Anything we can do about the cuffs?”

  Johnson stared at him.

  “I’m taking a big risk bringing you here, son. But you’re my only shot. So, don’t jack me over here, okay?”

  “Depends on what you want me to do. If it’s legal, I’m good.”

  “Well, we might have a problem there. I want my niece back. Those scumbags have kidnapped her. Probably killed my nephew, J.J., too. Along with Miller Royes. Legal? Who gives a shit about legal when they’ve got your family?”

  It was back to the killings. Interesting.

  “So now it’s one killing, one possible killing, and a missing person?”

  “Yes. While you’ve been playing cowboy, we’ve been investigating. I’ve got something to show you.”

  Mahegan nodded. His instincts from the beginning were that Johnson was a trustworthy man. He had nothing more than a few brief interactions on which to base this judgment, but sometimes those gut reactions were the most accurate, like the first answer on a multiple-choice test.