Show No Mercy

by Brian Drake

  Dane already had too many deaths on his conscience, Lilly Klove and Rachel Satasini among them. How many more before the violence stopped? If it ever stopped.

  “Did you see this one?” Dane said. He turned the screen back to Lukavina.

  “Symposium on Cyber Security, Seattle,” Lukavina said. “Why do you like it?”

  “Civilians, business leaders, and government representatives,” Dane said. “The capitalists Graypoole claims are the problem. All in one place. A strike there will disrupt several major companies and threaten Wall Street. It’s a target he can’t resist.”

  Nina, McConn, and Stone remained quiet.

  “Change your tune?” Lukavina said.

  Dane grinned.

  Lukavina studied the information on the symposium provided by headquarters, and agreed with Dane’s assessment. “Problem is,” he added, “I can alert Homeland, but that’s about all. Unless you have an idea.” He raised an eyebrow at Dane.

  “All we need is some equipment and gas for the jet.”

  “Make me a list.”

  35

  They needed most of the rest of the day to prepare but the CIA provided more clothes, weapons and ammunition, Dane receiving his requested .45 automatic, not his beloved and gone Detonics but instead a Colt Gold Cup. Nina got a new Smith & Wesson M&P Shield.

  Dane and Lukavina stood outside the jet as a fuel truck attached long hoses to the wings and began pumping gas. The others were already aboard.

  “I hope you’re right about this,” Lukavina said.

  “We’ll know soon enough.”

  The fuel truck driver disengaged the hose from the wing. Dane turned to his friend and they shook hands.

  “Thanks, Len.”

  “Bag your limit.”

  Dane boarded the jet. Nina and McConn sat quietly, Nina with a drink in hand and a glass on the table beside her. McConn tapped a finger on his upper lip. Stone wrapped up a cell call and pocketed the phone. A grin split his face.

  “What’s up?” Dane said.

  “I asked my people to send some extra goodies,” he said.

  “Like what?”

  “You’ll see. We’ll make a stopover in Reno to collect.”

  Nina said, “Sit and have a drink, darling.”

  Dane joined her and she passed him the other glass.

  Kassandra Ramos spooned some cat food into the dish and looked around for the stray. If he was hiding, he was very good at staying invisible. Cars drove by the house; a jogger; a young woman walking her dog. The neighborhood had been nothing but quiet since she and Ramos took the place and none of the neighbors had bothered to bring them a fruitcake. So much for civility. But she knew that was for the best.

  She dropped the empty can into the trash bin and went back inside. Ramos, in the living room, dropped three sleeping bags on the floor, still rolled tight. She helped him stuff new pillows into pillow cases.

  “The cat outside?”

  “He’s hiding,” she said. At first he had been annoyed about the animal, but his attitude faded quickly. He knew she was going to feed the cat anyway so he wasn’t going to waste time making a fuss.

  Ramos checked his watch. “Black’s people should be here soon.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “A little.”

  She whipped up toast and eggs and they sat in the breakfast nook. The kitchen table, covered with a highly-notated city map, had not been used for meals at all.

  Neither spoke as they ate. Wheels were spinning inside their heads. Planning the job, following the airport shuttle day after day, and preparing for Teke’s arrival had taken up so much time and effort, there was little energy left to chit-chat. Kassandra wasn’t bothered by the silence. They were on a mission. They could chit-chat about trivia once the mission successfully ended.

  Later that afternoon, a van pulled up in front of the house. Three men exited. Black’s smugglers with the bomb. They entered the house with the suitcase. Nobody gave their name. The man in charge placed the case on the floor of the living room. The explosive was packed in foam, and he spent two hours going over how to set the bomb. He tested Ramos and Kassandra and guided them further through each step. Once they proved proficient, he wished them luck and left the house with his two associates.

  Ramos and Kassandra gathered around the kitchen table and went over the map again, each step of the plan again, and watched videos they had taken of the conference center and the surrounding streets.

  Now that they had the bomb, the mission felt real.

  They decided to go out for the evening, and while Ramos was in the shower, Kassandra slipped out to check the cat’s food dish. It was empty. As she refilled, the cat slithered from under the deck and rubbed against her wrist. Kassandra smiled and scratched the cat behind the ears. The cat arched his back and purred and when she stepped away, vigorously dived into the food.

  “All right,” Stone said, “it’s Christmas time.”

  They had landed in Reno to collect Stone’s goodies, and those goodies came in a knapsack. He’d left the plane and the others on the southern tarmac for twenty minutes. How he met his people, Dane didn’t want to know.

  As the plane taxied to take off for the final stretch of the journey to Seattle, Stone and the others stood around the table and Stone opened the pack.

  “We have custom-made Interpol identification cards,” he said, “and ear buds so we can talk to one another.” He dumped the pile on the table.

  Dane picked up the ID containing his picture. The card looked real. The leather wallet looked perfect. Dane cocked an eye at Stone. “How did you square this?”

  “I’m a nefarious character,” Stone said. “Probably better you don’t know.”

  The pilot told them to find a seat while they took off. Once in the air, they examined the new items.

  “I don’t know how well this will pass inspection,” Dane said. “If they call Paris and check on us, we’ll be found out very quickly.”

  McConn said, “They’ll be too busy, Steve.” He was looking good for a man who took a hard tumble on blacktop. Most of the cuts and bruises were under his clothes and healing, but a few marks on his face remained on display.

  “We’re going to have to use our charm, wit, and powers of persuasion to see that they stay that way,” Nina said, “or I can just flash my rack.”

  “The solution to all of your problems, isn’t it, dear?”

  “Works on you all the time.”

  Dane’s cell rang, which kept him from commenting on the muted laughter from McConn and Stone. He turned away and answered.

  “Yes, Len?”

  “FBI and Homeland Security are already on-scene in Seattle,” he said. “The agent-in-charge is Toby O’Brien.”

  “Do they know about the Graypoole connection?”

  “Whole ball of wax, minus the 90% still classified.”

  “We’re working up our plan now.”

  “Does it include a lot of deception and sleight of hand?”

  “False representation, actually.”

  “Even better.”

  “Everything is going to be fine, Len.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Not really,” Dane said, “but it helps to keep saying so.”

  “I’m sending you some more intel, by the way. There are some of Graypoole’s operatives we haven’t been able to find included in Kader’s notes, including Jose and Kassandra Ramos. If he sent Ramos and his wife to the US, and with Mueller gone it’s a good bet, that’s more than likely who you’ll be looking for. I’m sending their dossiers.”

  “I’ll put them on the big screen so everybody can see them.”

  “Stay in touch, Steve.”

  “Copy that.”

  36

  Steve Dane blended perfectly with the others entering the Washington State Convention & Trade Center. The main entrance was more steel-and-glass with the name of the center emblazoned above the doors. Voices and footsteps echoed inside, th
e polished floor reflecting what little sun streamed through the glass-walled interior. Most of the sky was gray, but nobody inside seemed to care, or maybe they were so used to the conditions they didn’t notice.

  Dane wore a black suit with a blue tie, part of the supplies provided by Lukavina. The suit fit, but not as well as his tailored options. However, he figured a humble Interpol man wouldn’t have a tailored suit, so the off-the-rack look would help his presentation.

  Nina, McConn and Stone were elsewhere on the site. Dane’s job was to find the FBI agent, Toby O’Brien, and introduce the man to the idea Interpol was here too.

  Dane crossed to a pair of security guards watching the crowd mill about.

  He showed them his Interpol ID and gave the phony name on the card. “John Reisbach.” Dane wondered if Mr. Reisbach really existed and if so, would he object to the use of his name in such a way? What if he was a footballer with a temper? You just never knew when appropriating such things as names.

  The guards looked at him with indifference as he spoke. One was older, the other younger, both rent-a-cops with as much investment in their job as a rat in his cage. “I’m here to see Toby O’Brien,” Dane concluded, “the FBI agent-in-charge. Where can I find him?”

  The older of the two security men deferred to the younger. The younger man pulled a walkie-talkie from his utility belt. “Lewis to Unit 4. Where’s the FBI guy? We got somebody here says he’s Interpol and needs to see him.”

  “Stand-by.”

  Dane waited. The older guard watched a passing woman who wore a tight blazer and pencil skirt, heels clicking on the floor, hair bouncing on her shoulders. She embraced a man on the other side of the room. The older guard looked sad.

  The walkie-talkie crackled to life and whoever Unit 4 was provided directions.

  The younger guard said, “Go that way, take the escalator up to the second floor, and head left down the hallway.”

  “Thanks.”

  Dane proceeded through the crowd. The escalators were straight ahead, the centerpiece of the wide area, surrounded by stone columns leading up from the floor to the upper levels. One escalator went up, the other down, and for the brave, a set of stairs waited between them. Nobody was using the stairs. Dane joined the upward flow.

  He stepped off at the second floor and moved around a cluster of business people who didn’t understand clustering so close to the escalator was creating a back-up of bodies who had to sorry, excuse me and pardon their way around one another. Said business people were speaking so animatedly and so oblivious to their surroundings, however, that Dane figured they probably thought they were all alone.

  The empty hallway ahead beckoned to Dane. He passed closed doors on either side. Voices from an open door. Dane stopped in the doorway and tapped on the frame.

  Two men in suits stood around a small table looking at a layout of the conference center. They stopped talking and turned to Dane.

  One was taller than the other. He had sandy-blonde hair and wore glasses. His gray Brooks Brothers suit was standard-issue. “You Interpol?” he said.

  Dane showed his credentials. “Downstairs call?”

  “Downstairs was the only one that called,” the man said. He took Dane’s ID from him and scrutinized it. Dane sniffed. The man had probably never seen an Interpol ID before.

  The man handed it back. “My office didn’t say a word about your visit.”

  “I didn’t get your name.”

  “Hal Morgan, Homeland Security.”

  The other man at the table, he little rounder in the middle with a bald patch, extended his hand. “Toby O’Brien, FBI”

  Dane shook O’Brien’s hand. Hal Morgan made no move to offer his.

  “So what about it?” Morgan said.

  “What about what?”

  “My office. Not a word about you.”

  “I don’t work for your office,” Dane said.

  “Not my point. We already have O’Brien here. I don’t want this place overcrowded with suits looking for the same fish.”

  “That’s the trick, isn’t it? And pretty much why I’m here. Graypoole isn’t only wanted by the US. I’m representing European interests so we don’t overcrowd the place.”

  “Graypoole is our collar,” Morgan said.

  “You mean mine,” O’Brien said. “I’m the only one in this room with arrest powers.”

  Morgan grunted. “Just you, Mr. Reisbach?”

  “No. I have three associates. I came here to say hello first.”

  “I want to see all of them, ASAP,” Morgan said. “My people need to know you’re not suspects.”

  “Which means you suspect everybody in this building?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  “What kind of intel do you have pointing to this place as the target?”

  “All I got is what the Pickle Factory sent over,” Morgan said. “In other words, I don’t got nothin’.”

  Dane stifled a laugh. He hadn’t heard that particular nickname for the CIA in a long time. His favorite was Clowns in America.

  “Hal, why don’t you excuse us a moment?”

  Morgan glared at O’Brien, back at Dane. “I could use a break, sure.”

  He stepped out.

  O’Brien cleared his throat. “We’re all a little edgy, I’m afraid.”

  “I understand. We’re not here to get in your way, just observe.”

  “We can honestly use all the eyes we can get. Have you seen the size of this place?” O’Brien gestured to the blueprint on the table. “I have people here and here, but we’re stretched thin in this area and around here.”

  “What about facial recognition?”

  “The cameras here are only closed-circuit. I have a man in the security office looking at faces on monitors. Not very efficient. He’s going to miss something.”

  “If Graypoole’s people enter the building.”

  “If this building is the actual target.”

  “What else are you doing?”

  “We’ve arranged for barricades out front,” O’Brien said. “That’s going to cause traffic problems and other inconveniences, but we’ll have a detail of cops to help.”

  “Is there anything specific my people can help with right now?”

  “Stay in touch, wander around and see if anything jumps out at you.” O’Brien stuck out his hand. “Hal is pretty high-strung but he’ll come around.”

  Dane shook. “Okay.” He gave O’Brien his cell number. “Shout if you need me.”

  37

  The conference and trade show started in earnest about two hours after Dane and his team arrived. The conference center entry way and walkways became ghost towns as everybody filled the speaking rooms and display areas.

  The rent-a-cops stayed at their posts while FBI agents roamed around. Three days passed with the conference going as scheduled. Agents with bomb sniffing dogs checked the parking garage in two-hour intervals. O’Brien’s barricades arrived and were positioned out front to prevent vehicles from getting close to the main entrance. Traffic in front of the center backed up for blocks in every direction.

  Dane, Nina, McConn and Stone observed the activity with a growing sense of dread. Dane especially. Maybe it wasn’t too late to go back through the Kader file and find some cages to rattle.

  Dane left the building for the garden in the back of the building, where hedgerows and trees formed a maze among a squared off concrete path. The cool air and gray clouds only made his mood worse, plus there were No Smoking signs everywhere. How could he relax without a Montecristo? He found a bench and sat down. The point of a hedge leaf poked his neck, so he moved to the left.

  Nina wandered over and sat beside him. She wore a gray suit, heels, white blouse, her hair tied back in a bun, but she still managed to look ravishing. No federal agent Dane had ever seen could match her.

  “Well?”

  Dane shrugged.

  “We can’t just quit,” she said.

  “I know. But if w
e are on the wrong place, a lot of people are going to die.”

  “We can only wait.”

  “I wish I could be as calm as you.”

  “You mean a cold-hearted bitch?”

  Dane cracked a smile.

  “That’s the difference between you and me,” she said. “One of us has to have a little empathy.”

  “You don’t?”

  “I do, but I’m also the realist. If we’re in the right spot, we can only wait for Graypoole’s people to make a move. We have no idea where they are at or where to look, so we can’t be proactive. The Feds seem to have the place wrapped up pretty tight. If and when something happens there will be plenty of guns on-scene. You’re just afraid of being wrong.”

  “It was a wild guess to begin with.”

  “Some of the greatest events in history were based on wild guesses.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  The wind blew a little but the building didn’t allow the breeze to reach them.

  “I don’t like that Homeland Security guy,” Nina said.

  “He gives me the evil eye every time we’re within spitting distance. I think he’s going to be a problem.”

  “What kind of a problem?” Nina said.

  “The kind who will want to lock us up if he thinks we’re not who we say we are. What good are we then?”

  She rubbed his back. “Everything will be okay.”

  Dane put an arm around her and squeezed. “You’re becoming more like me every day.”

  She rested her head on his shoulder and Dane looked up at the sky. Everything was not okay. The ghosts of battles past wouldn’t sleep. Graypoole would strike like a tidal wave. The only question was where.

  Dane walked down the hall and entered O’Brien’s office.