“Anything come up at the scene? Unknown prints? Any possible DNA on this guy?”
“No. Nothing.”
“How often was he there?”
“Twice. Two days apart. Once the day before the shootings and once three days before.”
“Let’s go back to the video. I want to see every scene this guy is in.”
*
Dark watched intently for the fourth time. Each set of videos.
Red Beard had been there for a half hour the first time and forty-five minutes the second time. He had signed the guest book both times, but it was impossible to see from that distance what was written. Not likely to be his real name and address anyway.
Dark slowed the second visit to frame by frame. Looking for something, anything, he could use. Red Beard was a large man. Six three or four. Easily two hundred twenty pounds. He carried himself like an athlete. Clearly in very good shape. He spent time at several computer stations, examining this and that, but always very careful to not touch anything. He spoke very authoritatively to the three men he met with. Almost like a military officer himself.
Dark went back to the first visit video. Same thing. Nothing to use. Nothing touched.
C’mon, man. Cough. Sneeze. Something.
And then he saw something.
Scrolled back. Watched it frame by frame.
Went back to the second day’s video. The day before the shootings.
He picked up the phone. Dialed.
A voice answered.
“How soon can you get me to Colorado Springs?”
Chapter 23
The next afternoon, Dark walked into the hut with two FBI agents, one the Special Agent in Charge, SAC, of the Denver JTTF. Looked around.
It was a mess. Still a crime scene.
Fifteen chalk circles. The computers had all been taken. The desks and chairs all over the place, probably close to where they’d been left by the assassins.
Bullet holes through the sides of the hut letting in random rays of sunshine that reflected floating dust.
Dark said a silent prayer and walked purposefully to the third table to the left of the front door. He squatted on the balls of his feet and stared. Left, right. Left, right. Left, right. Sweeping his gaze back and forth, ever wider.
And there it was.
He put on a pair of surgical gloves.
Looked up at the nearest agent. “That’s what I came to find.” Pointing. “May I pick it up?”
Receiving a nod in return, he picked the pen up from off the floor against the wall. Pretty sure it was the one he’d seen Red Beard drop after he’d signed the guest book. The one that Red Beard had surreptitiously looked around for both days as he had left the hut. The one that frame by frame videoing had revealed rolling against the wall. In this precise spot.
Dark placed the pen in an evidence bag and handed it to the nearest of the two FBI agents.
“Here’s hoping Red Beard left something of himself on this pen. Let’s get Quantico to thoroughly check it out.”
“Yes, sir.”
Chapter 24
Two days later, Dark looked down at his chirping cell phone, looking for caller ID.
Finding it, he smiled.
“Dark,” he said into the phone.
“The Colorado Springs pen analysis is in.”
“And?”
“Three identified users left DNA on the pen.”
“Any unidentified?”
“No.”
“Sock it to me.”
“One just-deceased militiaman, one living food delivery worker already questioned, and one former SEAL.”
“Tell me about the SEAL.”
“Andrew S. Teeter. Sniper. Highest rank achieved was petty officer third class.”
“Was?”
“Yes, Dark. Was. It appears that Seaman Teeter, Cheese to his friends and colleagues, was killed five years ago on a secret mission in Iraq.”
“Confirmed?”
“Yes, Dark. Confirmed. Confirmed at the highest levels.”
“Tell me, then, how he left his DNA in that hut?”
“I’m thinking that’s why we pay you the big bucks, Dark. You’re supposed to tell us that.”
*
Dark sat in the office looking at slow motion film of Seaman Teeter next to those of Red Beard. Red Beard was Teeter all right. Either that or his unrecorded, and thus, in all likelihood, unborn, twin brother.
But how did Teeter rise from the dead as Red Beard, or, more appropriately now, as Lazarus?
But, of course, as was more likely, Teeter never died.
Then, by whose authority was he now reincarnated as a self-appointed vigilante, under the watchful eye of some as yet unidentified senior intelligence officer? And what, if anything, did this tell us about the identity of the senior intelligence vigilante? And his agency?
He leaned back and picked up the pictures of Teeter and the red bearded Lazarus. Staring at them for a clue.
He then picked up the pictures of the three members of the Rogues Task Force. Looked at them one by one. Shuffled them together. Looked at them again. One by one. Which one of you is the traitor? Which one of you is betraying the principles of his country? Who are you and what brought you to this? By what rationalization do you now assassinate, acting as prosecutor, judge, and jury?
He picked up the picture of Teeter. Thought back to their first meeting together. Looked his picture in the eye. What do you know, Cheese? Which of these three have you conspired with to bring you back from the dead and into vigilantism?
Talk to me, Cheese. Where are you? What are you up to?
He stared at the picture, then again at those of the three Task Force members. One by one.
He then picked up the phone.
“We need to talk,” he said to the familiar voice at the other end of the line.
“You and me?”
“No. Not with you. With him.”
“The President?”
“Who else?”
*
Dark’s cell vibrated. He looked over at it, set his scotch down. Caller ID blocked. He answered.
“Yes?”
“Dark?”
“Yes, Mr. President. Thanks for calling.”
“No formalities?”
“None needed, Mr. President.”
“What can I do for you?”
“This investigation I’m running for you.”
“Yes?”
“I have your absolute guarantee that only the three of us know I’m involved and my identity?”
“Yes. Absolute.”
“Okay. Who do you think is the traitor, sir?”
“I have no idea. If I did, we wouldn’t need you, Dark.”
“How sure are you that it’s one of the three?”
“We’re certain it’s one of their agencies. Pretty confident, but not certain, that it’s at least one of them. What do you have for me, Dark?”
“I have a piece of evidence that comes close to sealing it, sir.”
“Is that a pun, Dark? I had no idea you would stoop to that.”
“So the FBI has told you about the identity of the man in Colorado Springs?”
“Yes, a Navy SEAL dead for five years, right?”
“Right.”
“There’s more?”
“Right.”
Dark waited for the President to break the silence. He needed to be sure this next piece of information was a total surprise.
“Dark?”
“Yes, sir?”
“What is it?”
“I’m afraid that you already know.”
“Actually, Dark, I don’t. And I don’t have time to play games. This is about number one hundred on my list of current priorities. I wouldn’t be involved in this at all if it didn’t need to be so completely secret.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“So tell me now, or let me know when I can call and find out what you can or want to tell me.”
“Yes, s
ir. You see, Seaman Teeter has ties to me and to each of the three members of the Rogues Task Force.”
“I see. Does that help us in some way?”
“It makes Nancy or Colonel Edwards the most likely.”
“Because?”
“Because his link to Linda is not through the CIA.”
“What is his link to Linda, then?”
“Through her husband.”
*
That evening, Dark was sitting in the corner of a D.C. bistro, back to the wall, glass of scotch in his hand, five inches of documents on the table.
A man approached his table, tall, jeans, cowboy boots, blue shirt. Stopped and waited.
Dark looked up. He tried not to show his surprise. The long red moustache and five years passage of time didn’t work to disguise the man before him.
“To what do I owe this astonishing pleasure, Cheese?” He started to get up.
“Don’t get up. Can I join you instead?”
“Sure.” He gestured to the chair to his left. “Can I buy you a drink?”
“Sure.” Cheese sat down. “Funny, but you didn’t look astonished.”
Dark waved the waiter over and Cheese ordered a beer.
“I still work at masking my emotions.”
“That’s funny, I heard you were retired.”
“And I heard you were dead.”
“I heard that, too. But not everybody has heard that. Where’d you hear?”
Dark shrugged. “Here and there.”
Cheese’s beer arrived.
“Cheers.”
“Cheers, Cheese.”
“Since you’re clearly not dead, what have you been up to?”
“This and that? And you? Are you retired?”
“This and that. And, yes, I’m retired.”
“Would you be interested in a job?”
“Is it legal?”
“Partly?”
“Doing what?”
“The only thing that would cause me to look for you. Investigations. Your talent. What you do best. We need information. Lots of information.”
“We?”
“Some friends of mine working on a project. A special project of ours.”
“Do I know these friends, Cheese?”
“Some. Not all.”
They sat for a while in silence.
“But sorry. I interrupted your work,” Cheese said, pointing to the pile of papers. “Looks like retirement isn’t taking hold.”
Dark smiled.
“Would it be better if we got together some other time?” Cheese asked.
Dark began to wonder about this meeting. Were they being observed? And, if so, by whom? Which side? Was Cheese being followed? Was this a test? Was this entire operation clandestine government after all? Was it possible that Cheese was working both sides? Was it possible that Cheese knew that he was a target? That Dark was looking for him? Was this an attempt to find out what Dark knew or suspected?
“No, now is fine, Cheese. Let’s start with who you work for.”
“Unh-uh. Too soon. Too risky.”
“Do you work for the government? The U.S. government? Who?”
“Unh-uh. Actually, I came to interview you, not vice versa.”
“Okay. But the chances of hiring me are remote until after I find out who you’re working for Cheese.”
“Obviously.”
“So, go ahead with your interview.”
“How do you feel about terrorists?”
“I’m against them.”
Chapter 25
It was 3:30am. Same Watergate garage.
“Teeter approached you?”
“Yes. Sat down and joined me for a drink, actually.”
“What did he want?”
“We’ll get to that. Briefing you wasn’t my reason for getting together. That can wait. What I’d like you to tell me is how Cheese found me.”
“If I tell you I have no idea, will you believe me?”
“No.”
The passenger sighed. “You want a written affidavit from the President telling you that you can believe us?”
“I wouldn’t believe that either. No point.”
“Let’s take a giant step backward here, okay Dark?”
“Sure.”
“The President and I need you for this assignment. Let’s not have ridiculous conversations. We’re both professionals. Let’s agree from here on out that if there are secrets to conceal, the President and I agree to not answer your questions. Usual protocol. We won’t lie to you. Agreed?”
Dark noted that reciprocity was not requested.
“Agreed.”
The passenger waited for him to go on.
“How did Cheese find me?” Dark said.
“I have no idea.”
“And you just guaranteed me you wouldn’t say that if you knew.”
“Right.”
“So is it just a coincidence, or do you have a theory?”
“Neither of us is going to like concluding it’s a coincidence.”
“And the President won’t care.”
“Right, the President won’t care. It’s your and my problem.”
Dark drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “One more time, who knows I’m working on this?”
“Just the three of us. We’ve worked hard to guarantee that all the agents you’ve worked with don’t know who Dark is, and that you only work where nobody would recognize you.”
“I’m not also under surveillance, then.”
“Not by anybody official. Not to our knowledge.”
“How would one of the Task Force members have handled it if they had found out you’d brought me in?”
“They bitch to each other about everything. About how they’re being followed, about the false leads, the attempts to trick them. I would guess that they would have brought it up at a meeting or an internal communication. But we’ve seen and heard nothing of the sort.”
“But they each know me. If one had found out, would he really tell the others?”
“I think he would. They’d have no reason to withhold the information.”
“The guilty one would.”
“I would think the guilty party would have the greatest incentive to blow your cover.”
“Precisely. Either that is exactly what Cheese was doing, showing up as a threat to blow my cover, or it was a remarkable coincidence.”
“And if they blow your cover?”
“Then my involvement is over and you’ve lost the chance to find his partners.”
“Did he have any accomplices in the restaurant? For cover?”
“I wondered about that myself. The only possibility was a young Asian woman in the corner by herself. Maybe Thai. Maybe Malaysian.”
“You get a picture?”
“Only in my head. There was nothing suspicious about her except she was alone, came in after me, and was still there when I left.”
“Are you surprised Cheese is killing terrorists?”
“We paid him to do it in Afghanistan. Once I got over the surprise that he’s still alive, no.”
“The question is, who’s paying him to do it now?” He looked over at Dark. Getting no response, he continued. “How does Cheese know each of the three possible traitors?”
“For starters, I’m increasingly uncomfortable calling them traitors. These three have had very successful careers as very patriotic intelligence and military officers. They are all three patriots. Even if one of them has turned vigilante, to our knowledge all they have done is do a better job protecting Americans in their new role as vigilantes than other U.S. government and military officials are doing. And don’t forget, one or two of them are totally innocent.”
“Noted. How did Cheese know these patriots then?”
“As I told the President, I’m not sure he does know Linda. He knows both Nancy and Tom from debriefings upon his first return. And then, subsequently, from his reported inferences and accusations about domestic ter
rorist activity.”
“And he doesn’t know Linda?”
“I don’t know. I know that Cheese knows Linda’s husband.”
The passenger cocked his head, frowned.
“How?”
“I’m not a hundred percent sure, but I think General Simmons got Cheese declared dead, then out of Iraq.”
“How could a Marine General get a live SEAL out of Iraq disguised as a dead Seaman?”
“Not my specialty to be sure, so I don’t know for certain. But I think a Marine General with a wife who’s a spook might be able to find a way.”
*
Seven hours later, Moose passed out copies of Teeter’s picture to the Rogues Task Force.
They each looked at the picture, then at Moose.
“Nice picture, Moose,” Nancy said. “This is Petty Officer Andy Teeter, Navy SEAL, killed in Iraq, I believe, on his fourth tour of duty.”
“Are we playing ‘What’s My Line’ today?” Linda said. “Why are you showing us this guy’s picture?”
“Anybody else recognize this picture?” Moose asked.
“I do,” Tom replied. “Nancy’s right. He was a SEAL sniper.”
“Linda? Flip answers aside, you recognize this picture?”
“No,” she looked more closely. Frowned. “Should I? The name sounds familiar, but I don’t recognize him. How old’s the picture?”
“More than five years,” Moose answered.
“Okay, I’ll bite, Moose, who’s Teeter?”
“The undead Teeter shows up in two videotapes inside the Colorado Springs militia Quonset hut. One, the day before the assassinations, and the other, two days before that.”
Fuck, Samms thought. How could Cheese have been that careless? He was supposed to be in disguise. What the hell?
“I’m not sure we should be surprised to find ex-SEALs in some of the militias, Moose,” Linda said.
“Even dead ones,” Tom said.
“If you all are right, and this guy was in the hut, then your information is wrong is all,” Nancy said. “Was he killed in the attack?”
“Actually, he wasn’t in the militia. In both videos, he’s seen signing in to the guestbook.”
“What name did he use to sign in with?” Tom asked.
“We’re not likely to ever know,” Moose replied. “The killers left their Uzis and unused ammunition, but took the guest book with them. At least that’s what we assume, since it wasn’t there at the crime scene.”
The Point Of A Gun: Thriller Page 12