“Oh VB, that’s awful,” she said, laughing. “Where are you?”
“Past the bridge, about five minutes out,” he said, “I know I’m getting close ‘cause my car is starting to draw looks from the Mercedes and Beemers passing me. Driving those cars in this crappy salty weather is a crime. Wait, that’s the new Range Rover. Boy that’s a pretty fucking vehicle.” VB switched on his snooty, nasally, clenched teeth Kennedy-esque accent as he spoke to the driver zipping past him, “Carlton? Thought that was you. You’re looking aces, man. I see you picked up Rover’s new Supercharged Autobiography, love it. Please tell Sloane we send our best. Pardon? Thursday? No can do, we have a preevy engagey at the club for—“
“Did I call you for a reason?” Comina interrupted.
“How you making out?” VB asked.
“If you’re wondering how I’m able to work this case and also submit daily fabricated reports for my fake case while working a full time undercover job, I’m managing by foregoing sleep,” Comina said, “If you’re asking have I found Katia’s link to Pembury yet, well, I’m sucking eggs. There’s a hundred leads here. Forty-five new businesses in the connecting towns. Sixty people arrived on visas in the last three months, fourteen possible significant drug movers, there’s even eighteen people on our own department’s review list around here. Who knew the sleepy South Shore was so full of potential bad guys? I should start locking my doors. You’re also tying my hands a little by asking me to not leave footprints in our main databases. I’m doing everything under aliases and hacks, which is taking time.”
“Yeah, sorry, but we can’t risk exposing our hunt. I don’t know who Semion has on his team yet,” VB said, “My Orthus mole is sure something is heating up, but we don’t have a seat in the inner circle yet.”
VB crested a hill and saw the subtle oval road sign he’d been looking for. As he turned his unmarked government issued sedan in front of its manicured little knoll, he noticed the wide boulevard he’d entered was curiously devoid of any snow. There weren’t even any slushy piles along the curbs. It hadn’t been plowed, or even sanded. He didn’t want to think about the possibility that the street might actually be heated. The sweeping curve of the road led him over a hill where he could see the vast buildings of Gloria’s foundation spread out along the beach, and the private marina and lighthouse beyond.
VB said, “Have you tried looking for a newly opened Chinese restaurant? Maybe one surrounded by missing neighborhood dogs?”
“Very funny,” Comina said, “I should get back to work, unless you want me to go home and shadow you remotely.”
“No,” VB said, “I’ll just be getting my ears gnawed on for an hour by a stuffy, self-important politician, which you might enjoy but wouldn’t be overly productive. Sam feels Gloria is just trying to make a name for herself in her first week in the big office, and show she’s connected to the field. I’m close by and convenient, but not Washington close so she can ask stupid questions as she’s not in the DC fishbowl. Who knows, maybe she’s heard something useful. I’ll just turn on that VB charm and then be on my way.”
“So you’ll just act stupid?” Comina said.
“Uh huh,” VB said, “Talk to you later.”
“Be careful,” she said.
He cut the connection as he pulled into a large parking garage behind an impressive all glass conference complex. Following the instructions his boss sent he turned down a service road and continued around to a parking structure in the back. He looped around and down in the virtually empty garage until he came to the lowest underground level and drove up to a solid roll-down door.
Before he stopped it slid silently up.
As he pulled forward he saw several rows of covered cars disappearing into the dark on the left and a fully equipped auto repair shop on the right. The floor of the shop was covered in shiny black and white tiles, like a winner’s circle checkerboard.
He recognized the pretty woman from the smiling photo of her in The Post, he just wasn’t prepared for how tall she was in person.
Gloria was standing in the middle of the shop floor, just above the oval logo of her foundation. She was holding a wired box attached to a ceiling swing arm. VB assumed it was the garage door control as she waved him towards an empty parking space and let the box swing away behind her.
VB parked, and walked to the small circle of light below a single overhead halogen. He shook the new National Security Advisor’s hand.
“Director Barton, so good of you to come.” Gloria said, “I recall meeting your lovely wife. Stunning woman. Must have been five years ago?” She gave his hand a firm pump. Gloria was even taller close up, and pretty in a deliberately crafted way. Her hair was pulled back under a crisp blue baseball cap with a picture of an aircraft carrier and ‘USSN GEORGE BUSH’ embroidered above it in bright gold letters. She wore a thick fleece zip up jacket with leather sleeves. The jacket had a small Department of Justice logo on the chest.
Barton found that funny enough to almost laugh out loud. As a member of the president’s National Security Council, or NSC, Gloria didn’t directly oversee any enforcement agency. The Attorney General ran the Justice Department, and the FBI, and reported only to the president. Gloria had a strong dotted line to all agencies of course, and as she had the president’s ear now she could certainly affect the FBI, but VB didn’t work for her.
The general consensus in the enforcement world was the dozens of advisors within the NSC played a vital role; they confused the issues and got in the way of real police work so congress had something to fund, and argue about with the president.
Gloria certainly knew the org chart, but VB had also heard the woman thought everyone worked for her. She had acted that way even when she was a junior senator from Connecticut when his wife shook her hand at that fund raiser. That was just a few short years ago, so the woman must have more going for her than just her New England blue blood name. Her rise to the top had been meteoric…especially considering she knew not thing one about police work, as far as he knew.
“Five years sounds about right,” VB said, impressed with her support staff for the wife thing. He said, “Congratulations on your sudden, unexpected appointment.”
“Oh, thank you. It was a true shame we lost Bill,” she said, “but we’ll continue his good work.”
Barton noticed she did the typical beltway pause for a dead career before she continued.
“I appreciate you coming down to the cape,” Gloria said, “My schedule doesn’t have many holes these days but I always like to connect with the field when I get the chance. Apologies for meeting in my garage, but I’m expecting my mechanics in a bit.”
Gloria swept her hand around in a large arc and said, “So what do you think of my little foundation? I’m surprised we haven’t had you and the kids down for a visit and a sail, totally my mistake. My parents started it as a place for the less fortunate on Cape Cod to come and use our summer homes. I expanded it to let the children stuck on Long Island and Connecticut have a place to play in the summer so they didn’t have to schlep all the way to the Hamptons.” She leaned in close to VB, bumped his arm with her elbow and said, “And then I guilt their parents into doing the right thing and donating.”
VB looked at the covered cars with their expensive looking logos and cloth covers and said, “That’s wonderful, and do you teach these poor kids the proper way to drive a Ferrari, too?”
“Oh no,” Gloria said, smiling, “These are the foundation’s private collection. They are gifts from serious supporters and we use them for fund raisers, parades, loaners for VIP donors. It just affords us another avenue to give something back.”
“Yes, I can see that,” VB said, “So Gloria, how can I help you? I’m just a field ops director but I’d be pleased to answer any questions you may have. I wasn’t asked to prepare anything…”
“Oh I’m just interested in casual conversation, you know, catching up on what you’re seeing on the streets,” Gloria said, “
How are you viewing this issue with some of our files turning up missing? Your boss seemed a little out of touch on the issue.”
“You mean our files at the FBI?” VB said, “I was very concerned about that. I’m sure it was hackers, but we can’t rule out they didn’t have help. Probably someone higher up with access, and not in the bureau. Just a guess, but it’s what we typically find.”
“Hackers?” Gloria asked.
“Yeah,” VB said, “Hackers. Probably from China, or Russia. Industrial espionage.”
“Chinese hackers. Interesting,” she said, “What’s your take on some of our defense contractors landing on the no-fly list for no reason? I mean, how does that even happen?”
VB appeared to think about the answer as he scratched the back of his head, and looked at the exit.
He was suddenly feeling very stupid.
The fact that Gloria was Semion’s mole smacked him as hard in the face as the realization that he might never make it out of this garage. He wished Comina was in his ear, telling him how dumb he’d been…and then telling him how to get the hell out.
Chapter 31
Ben hopped out of Hamish’s truck after it stopped in front of the goat pen. Spot and Smudge leapt over the center console from the back seat and bound through the open truck door, following the boy as he trotted across the driveway to the farm house.
He opened the back door just long enough to toss his school backpack on the kitchen table, give Mimi a quick kiss, and grab a handful of dog treats from the jar on the counter. He jogged towards the barn with the pups still on his heels.
Mimi joined Hamish at the back door with two cups of tea. She raised her cup to the coyote sentries as they trotted past.
Hamish took a cup and they watched Ben pat the wagging wild dogs as he fed them the dog biscuits.
“You’re late,” Mimi said, looking up at the thick winter skies hiding the setting sun, “I assume one of your stories ran long, again?”
Hamish tried to hide his grin. “His friends are very interested in the wolves,” Hamish said, “It’s important to foster a sense of wonder about the natural world in their young media-polluted minds.”
Mimi chuckled and said, “When the pups first brought One Ear around Ben wanted to bring her to school for show and tell. Come to think of it, Spot was the one who talked him out of it.”
“I met his teacher, Mr. P.” Hamish said, “Fitting name, that. Ben’s right, the guy is half a poof and Christ can he talk the devil’s balls off. I can see why schools struggle with kids trying drugs and committin’ suicide. Kels also gave me a quick tour of her clinic when I dropped her off.”
“What did you think of the place?” Mimi asked, taking a sip from her steaming cup.
“You could bloody build a dog in that back room,” Hamish said, “Christa would shite a stethoscope.”
Mimi looked up at him, and as they went back into the house she said, “You are not allowed to speak to my wee grandson ever again.”
In the snow near the barn Ben shoved the biggest young hunter, Racket, off of him. The wild dog spun and snatched a glove off his hand, and as Ben grabbed for it the quick brown and gray coyote bounded around in circles, keeping it just out of his reach.
Spot and One Ear’s daughter Piff were conversing near the open barn door. The dogs chatted about another late January low pressure front they sensed was moving in, and the snow that was likely to accompany it.
Spot licked the girl coyote’s snout, and gave her instructions to shoot back to the den. Hurry little one, he said, Run fast and bring your mom back as quick as you can.
He wanted to talk to One Ear before nightfall. He thought it would be good for the young hunting coyotes to receive more of Hamish’s police dog training, and with the weather rolling in it was best to start the training first thing in the morning.
As he watched the quick young hunter bolt away Spot thought about his family’s plans to move away from the farm. It was time to push that along if he could. There was something about the meeting with Director Barton that worried Spot, and he knew Hamish felt the same way. Hamish had shown Mimi and the Hogan’s how to use the assault rifles and ANFO explosives. He also had them each make up a Go Bag. Ben already had an emergency backpack that he kept under his bed. It held his satphone and various other emergency supplies. Christa had helped him equip it the day after the fight in Canada and now each of the family members had one. They stocked them with bottles of water, first aid gear, cash, passports, flashlights, knives, anything they thought would come in handy in an emergency, and they stashed them in a convenient place. Ben’s also held Smudge’s little chicken plush toy when she wasn’t sleeping with it.
Hamish had also shown Mimi the modifications Christa had made to the pups’ service vests. She was impressed with the Kevlar inserts, but she also gave the pups grief for being bloody reckless fools as she sewed up the hole in the side of Smudge’s vest from Jia’s bullet.
Mimi also cleaned up the embroidered lightning bolt logo on the chest piece of Smudge’s vest. She had scraped it pretty raw at some point and Mimi knew how much she liked it. Smudge had watched the animated BOLT movie over and over as a puppy when she was recovering from her near-death parvo bout.
Spot watched Piff cross the field in a flash and disappear into the woods. He turned to watch Racket playing keep-away with Ben’s glove, and his furrowed brow loosened and he started to wag. He jumped in to snatch away Ben’s other glove.
Chapter 32
VB wondered how he had not seen it. The angels that typically sat on his shoulders, and guided his radar, had apparently left him. He thought they may have been busy following around that scary Hogan kid and his savant dogs.
When he had told Comina the shit was stacked high and reached all the way to DC, he had been right. He was just tragically wrong about how high it stacked. It goes all the way, and he had horribly underestimated the Mogevichs. Turns out that bastard Semion has some big round hairy ones, he thought, He and his crazy daughter went right for the top bitch.
No, he corrected himself, It was worse than that, they created that top bitch. Loyal, it looks like I missed the forests and the trees this time, and I may have just fucked us both with a big Russian dildo.
“Yeah, Sam mentioned something about Homeland’s screw up with the no-fly list,” VB said, “I wouldn’t know. New York’s not my responsibility, obviously, but it’s still troubling. We’ve been out of the Orthus case for a few weeks now so I’ve haven’t been paying attention. Hope that didn’t land on your plate. I mean, hate to have them pissed at you. It sounds like those Mogevichs are some crazy fuckers.”
He watched Gloria’s face as he said it, and he could see the nails being driven into his coffin. Her flinch spoke volumes. She was in deep with the Russians, but he wondered how willing of a traitor she had been.
“Yes,” Gloria said, “They can be a handful, but the company is also a valued supplier of our national security needs. So you’ve been off that case for some time?”
Barton nodded, unzipped his windbreaker and put his hands on his hips. His thumb rubbed the bottom of his shoulder holster. Knowing his hand was inches from his Glock, and its twelve shells loaded with hundred and forty grain hydroshok loads, was always comforting.
He said, “There wasn’t anything happening in Pembury and we didn’t want to waste the resources. After the incidents this past fall the brass wanted us to keep an eye out down there, but all was quiet so we pulled it.”
“So your team has been reassigned?” Gloria asked, “Your top girl there, Loyal? Is that her name?”
“Yes, agent Loyal Comina,” VB said. He heard a noise behind him. It could have been snow melt dripping or it could have been a car part flexing in the heated garage. But it wasn’t. He knew it was something else. “She’s neck deep in another assignment entirely,” he said.
“I just love that name, especially for one of ours,” Gloria said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “Is Loyal h
er real name, or is it an alias, or some charming ethnic kind of nick-namey thing?”
“Oh I’m sure you’re right, it must be an ethnic thing. You know how they are,” Barton said. He noticed she was wearing an earpiece. It was tiny, but it had almost fallen out when she moved her hair and she had to press it back into her ear.
“So she’s off the case then?” Gloria asked, “What is she working on now?” It was clear to VB Gloria was struggling to manage the questions being fed into her ear. She was clearly realizing they were not questions a top level West Wing advisor would ever ask.
“I’m just curious about how you guys work, do you have a stack of cases to put her on?” she asked.
As Gloria’s face worked hard to hide her duplicity, VB had made up his mind.
He moved fast.
Barton spent an hour every morning in the basement of the field office training with his department’s security supervisor. He was in phenomenal condition for fifty-six, and his reflexes were honed with the same daily regimen SEAL teams used.
While Gloria was just beginning to understand what had happened he’d pulled his pistol and leapt behind her. He pressed the muzzle to the back of her head and scanned the garage over her shoulder.
Before she could utter her outrage he smacked her on the side of the head with his cupped hand and caught the earpiece as it flew into his palm.
He popped it into his ear and immediately a thickly accented Russian voice spoke to him.
“Very good, Director Barton” the man said, and VB quickly placed it as being from southern Russia, or to be more precise he assumed it to be from Orenburg, which that fucking smart dog Spot had correctly pointed out as being near the border of Kazakhstan in the Ural mountains.
The metal garage door rolled down and closed with a soft bang.
Let Slip the Pups of War: Spot and Smudge - Book Three Page 15