“I think it’s time for me to make that call to Mark Byrnes,” Cleary declared, a touch of arrogance having returned.
When he reached for the phone, Sandor slammed down hard with the butt of the Walther, nailing Cleary’s hand. “Not just yet,” he said as the man yanked his arm back with a pathetic yelp. Sandor pulled out his cell and hit a button. Raabe answered on the first ring. “Come on in, both of you. The front door is open.”
When Raabe and LaBelle joined them in the small room, Cleary could do nothing to hide his surprise at seeing his agent from Dallas. “What is this?” he demanded.
LaBelle stared down at him without answering.
Cleary turned back to Sandor. “If you claim to have some right to be here, I want to see a warrant and I want to call my lawyer. If not, the three of you need to get the hell out of my house right now.”
LaBelle was still looking at his boss as he said, “You were the only one I told about Bergenn and Raabe going to see Felipe. You were the only one who could have given them up.”
“Other than you, that is.”
No one replied as Raabe removed a digital recorder from his pocket, hit PLAY, and they all began listening to the recordings of the three phone calls Cleary placed just a few hours earlier.
Halfway through the first conversation Cleary said, “I want to call my lawyer. Now.”
“Sorry pal,” Sandor said. “This is a matter of national security. You’re not making any calls to anyone. You told your friends that we’re looking for the shipment to arrive in Newark, that Baltimore is the safe bet. That was our play, and it suits us fine. You’re not meeting with some shyster who’ll be passing along any messages. We don’t even want your friends down in Mexico knowing you’re in custody. You’re being held incommunicado until this is over.”
“I have rights.”
“Of course you do, although I voted to take you out right here, but some people think you’ll be more valuable alive. We’ll go visit them and see about your rights.”
For a moment no one spoke as the tape of Cleary’s phone calls continued playing.
“You’ll hear it all enough times, believe me,” Sandor told him as he reached out and turned off the machine. “So what was it all about? Greed?”
“Greed?” Cleary’s voice was thick with anger. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, you pathetic little policeman. You have no sense of what it’s like to spend your life fighting a battle no one will ever let you win.” He shook his head, as if the truth were so obvious. “People want to use narcotics, it’s a fact of life. No one can stop the demand and it’s too profitable to shut down the production. So I spend my days shoveling sand against the tide, and for what? My agents are murdered, the governments in Colombia and Mexico sabotage every viable plan to stop these criminals, and at the end of the week I take home less money than some twenty-six-year-old punk banging computer keys on Wall Street who doesn’t produce a single useful thing in the world.”
Sandor burst out laughing. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got? A speech about the poor frustrated bureaucrat who couldn’t deal with the harsh realities of the world for another day?” Cleary started to move, but Sandor leveled the barrel of the automatic at his face. “Ah, ah, ah,” he said.
Cleary stopped.
“So that justifies you joining their side?”
Cleary responded with a look as cold as death. “You can’t prove a thing. Those calls don’t mean anything.”
“We’ll see. Meanwhile, I still haven’t heard how you can justify the murder of thousands of innocent people. How does that factor into your mantra of self-pity?”
“Your fairy tale about anthrax, you mean?”
“Fairy tale?”
“Why would the cartel risk polluting a cargo of narcotics worth millions of dollars to import biological weapons?”
“You tell me.”
Cleary stared at him as if he were speaking to a moron. “They wouldn’t.”
“But Adina would.”
Cleary began to say something, then stopped.
“Gentlemen,” Sandor said to his colleagues, “please give us a moment.”
LaBelle turned to leave, but Raabe hesitated. “Jordan . . .”
“It’ll be fine. I think Mr. Cleary wants to tell me something privately.”
Neither Sandor nor Raabe paid any attention to Cleary’s protests.
“I’ll be right outside,” Raabe said, then followed LaBelle out and closed the door behind them.
“So,” Sandor said as he turned back to Cleary, “you want to tell me about the anthrax?”
“I already told you. The Sinaloa Cartel is not in the business of terrorism, except to the extent it protects their business interests. There’s no reason they’d be transporting biological weapons into the United States.”
“So you say, but I don’t believe you.” Sandor had been holding the automatic at his side. Now he pointed it at Cleary’s face. “You know about the toxins, and I want you to tell me about them right now. By the way, I’m not interested in any long-term interrogation.” He cocked the hammer on the PPK.
“You’re not going to just shoot me, Sandor.”
“Don’t bet on it. You’ve already called me a renegade, and I’ve already told you I’d just as soon see you dead as listen to anything you have to say. At least I’m offering you a choice.” Sandor leaned on the desk, the barrel of the Walther not more than two feet from Cleary’s eyes.
“I don’t know anything about anthrax,” Cleary said, his voice less certain now. “There are rumors of a big shipment coming from Venezuela. They say Adina might be involved. The only thing I’ve heard about anthrax comes from you.”
“That’s all you got?”
“That’s all I know.”
Sandor nodded. “Who else you working with in the DEA? You don’t look smart enough to be doing this on your own.”
“I want to call my lawyer.”
“You keep saying that and I have to tell you, it’s really annoying.” Sandor moved the gun to within a foot of the man’s eyes. “You’re sure there’s nothing else you want to tell me first?”
“Screw you.”
Sandor stood up and removed Cleary’s revolver from his waistband. Without another word he calmly walked around the side of the desk, fired a shot into Cleary’s knee with his automatic, then fired a shot from Cleary’s revolver into the ceiling.
The door burst open and Raabe came rushing in with his gun drawn. Cleary had fallen out of his chair and was on the floor, writhing in pain.
“It’s under control,” Sandor said with a shrug. “He went for a gun in his desk drawer, I wrestled it away from him, but when I grabbed his revolver both weapons went off.” He didn’t even bother to look down at Cleary as he added, “Unfortunately, he seems to have been hit in the leg.”
The sound of the gunshots also brought one of Byrnes’s NCS teams onto the scene, the other two men holding their position outside.
Sandor repeated his story, then said, “Don’t bother with an ambulance, it’ll attract too much attention. Just walk him outside between the two of you, then take him to the Gables and lock him down.” He had another glance at Cleary, then said with a smile, “We wouldn’t want some pain-in-the-ass innocent bystander getting in our way.”
Cleary, barely able to string words together, did manage to spit out a disjointed string of expletives.
Raabe turned and glared down at him. “If I were you, buddy, I’d shut the hell up and be thankful his gun only went off once.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
BALTIMORE, MARYLAND
SANDOR LEFT RAABE and LaBelle with the men from NCS and drove to his next stop, a restaurant called Chazz, on Aliceanna Street near the harbor in Baltimore. Cleary had warned his cohorts that Newark was under watch, leaving Baltimore a relatively safe harbor. That meant no one in the Coast Guard or DEA wanted to give any sign that security had been tightened around the port. Sandor arrived alone, ch
oosing this Italian restaurant, renowned for its authentic coal-oven pizza and casual attitude, as a suitable place to meet with DEA Agent Evan Walters, designated by the task force to spearhead the efforts here.
Walters was waiting at the “owner’s table,” which sits in an alcove against the far back wall of the main dining area. Sandor had barely taken his seat when the man staked out his territory. “I want to be clear, I’m only seeing you as a courtesy. I don’t want some spook acting outside his authority to screw up our operation.”
“Nice to meet you too.”
“We’ve got a full Coast Guard presence in Baltimore, my team is on full alert, and the locals will back us up as needed. So, what else can I tell you to get you on your way?”
“I’m glad to see the era of interdepartmental cooperation is alive and well in Charm City.”
Before Walters could respond, a waiter came by with menus.
“We won’t be eating,” the man from DEA told him. “Just bring me a club soda with lime.”
“Jack Daniel’s, rocks,” Sandor said. After the young man ambled off to get the drinks, Sandor said, “I assume you’ve been fully briefed about the danger of the toxins in this shipment.”
“Of course.”
“We don’t know if the narcotics have been contaminated, which we doubt, or if the poison is hidden inside the cargo, which is more likely.”
“Please tell me something I don’t already know.”
“All right,” Sandor said, leaning forward and lowering his voice. “If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t even have a clue these goods are on their way here. So save the tough-guy act for someone you can impress.”
Walters was a thickly built, broad-shouldered man, at around forty just a couple of years older than Sandor, and apparently just as ready to mix it up. For a moment it looked as if he was going to come out of his chair and across the table, but he apparently thought better of it. Instead he said, “I’ve been warned about you, Sandor. A loose cannon if ever there was one, which is exactly what we don’t need right now. So unless you’ve got something to tell me that might help with this assignment, I’m outta here.”
Now Walters did begin to rise, but Sandor fixed him with a dark look that warned him to sit his ass back in the chair. The man was somewhere between standing and sitting when Sandor said, “You’ve got some major leaks in your agency relating to this shipment. My guess is that you haven’t been read into that part of the program.”
Walters lowered himself back into his seat. “Has this been confirmed up above or is this a story you just invented?”
“We’re not sure if we’ve identified everyone involved. The only reason I’m even discussing this with you is that Dan LaBelle says you can be trusted.”
“Is that why you’re here?”
“I’m here to tell you that you need to watch your back on this operation. We can’t afford to have anyone warning Adina or Sudakov that we’re still targeting Baltimore.”
When the waiter returned with their drinks, the looks on the faces of his two customers told him he best not ask if they’d changed their mind about ordering food. He quickly left them alone again.
“This mole in the agency, is it someone highly placed?”
“I can’t tell you that,” Sandor said, “but it doesn’t matter. The concern is that he may not have been working alone.”
Walters nodded.
“You’ll be hearing back from LaBelle or an agent in my department, Craig Raabe. You’re not to discuss this with anyone but the three of us.”
“Got it.”
Sandor drank down half of his whisky. “You’re going to have to play this pretty close to the vest within your own agency.”
“I guess so.”
“You know a Russian dealer in Brooklyn, Timur Vaknin?”
“I know of him.”
“He’s likely the buyer here, at least for some of the cocaine, if that information helps.”
“It might.”
“I also have intel that the trucker supposed to take the goods away is Transnational.”
Walters gave an appreciative nod. “That will definitely help.”
“Good,” Sandor said, then drank off the rest of his whisky and stood. “I’ve got a flight to catch.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE
NEW YORK CITY
SANDOR WAS GLAD to be back in his apartment.
The Company plane made the short flight from the BWI Airport to Teterboro, New Jersey, where a car was waiting to take him home. Now he had time to do some stretches, shower, put on clean clothes, and draw a few deep breaths.
He went to his bedroom, unlocked the panel in his closet, and took out the metal box where he kept his weapons, emergency funds, and other tools of the clandestine trade. He was already armed with the PPK so he strapped on an S&W .38 snub-nose revolver in an ankle holster, took extra ammunition, then replaced the box and began pacing from room to room while he waited for a phone call.
Craig Raabe was still in D.C., coordinating the information being gathered. LaBelle had also stayed behind. Based on what they had put together so far, Sandor was convinced of three things. First, he believed Adina’s target was New York. Baltimore and Washington were possible, but the intel developed from the discussions coming out of Washington Heights pointed to an attack somewhere in Manhattan.
Second, the information Raabe got in Mexico, as reinforced by the ongoing interrogation of Mateo, indicated a short timeline. A container ship from the western reaches of the Gulf of Mexico was likely heading up the east coast of the United States and would arrive in Baltimore in less than two days.
His third premise was far more speculative. He did not believe the anthrax was still inside the shipment of narcotics.
This was one time, he admitted to himself as he paced from one room of his apartment to the next, he hoped he was wrong. If the toxin was still within the cargo container it should be easier to intercept. It would also give them these next two days to identify the ship carrying the contraband. If he was right, he feared the means for a widespread biological attack was already inside the country.
It would be classic Adina, like the unmanned subs he launched in the Gulf Coast that were nothing more than a diversion from the real destination of the weapons that had already been smuggled into Louisiana. And that was only one example of how the Venezuelan terrorist played chess. Even if the rumors were accurate about Adina having become persona non grata in Caracas, and the analysis in Langley was correct that he needed to cash in on the narcotics shipment, Sandor was still certain of the man’s priorities.
He would be focused on the attack against the United States and would do everything he could to make that happen.
The airports were being watched, but the photos of Adina being circulated were only computer enhancements of old pictures. The border authorities from Texas to California were on alert, but it was a mammoth job with all of the traffic coming across every day. Worst of all, it was likely that Adina had sent the toxins by messengers, possibly through more than one route, staying away from the epicenter of his assault, making detection even more difficult. Added to this dilemma was the fact that anthrax is a virtually odorless powder and—unlike an explosive device—would not be easily identified by X-ray.
He went to the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of water, and drank down the entire thing. Then his cell phone rang.
“Sandor?”
“It’s me. You get the warrant?”
“Done,” Bobby Ferriello told him.
“Perfect. When will you be ready to go?”
“We’re ready now,” the narcotics detective said. “We have a SWAT team prepared to move into position.”
“We don’t want to make a bigger scene than we absolutely have to. No way of knowing who else is watching.”
“Understood.”
“I’m on my way.”
————
Sandor picked up his old Land Rover from the garage down the street and to
ok off for Brooklyn. When he arrived at Ferriello’s precinct he was not shown to the lieutenant’s office, but to a large space on the floor above. There were more than twenty officers present, ten of them in full combat gear.
Ferriello was standing with a couple of uniformed men, studying a map and a series of photographs all pinned to a fabric board against the wall. Sandor was escorted in and greeted by Ferriello. “I have to admit, the way things were left at Vaknin’s place I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you again. At least not all in one piece.”
Sandor nodded. “When they had me down in their little dungeon I wasn’t so sure myself.” He had a quick look around. “Your war room?”
“Something like that. Hey everyone,” Ferriello announced to the group, “this is Sandor. He’s with the feds, riding shotgun with me.” The brief introduction was followed by a series of quick nods and hellos, then Ferriello led Sandor to the map. “These are the positions they’ll take,” he explained as he pointed to buildings in Brighton Beach. “Three two-men SWAT teams on these rooftops, the other four men will be deployed at ground level. Once we get inside, no one is leaving the place without one of our men having a bead on him.”
“Everyone understands that we want to avoid a show of force unless it’s necessary, right?”
“Absolutely.”
“We need to take Vaknin, get his computer, his records, whatever else we find. We’re running out of time, but we also can’t afford to scare his friends away.”
“Understood.” Ferriello paused, then added, “A lot of the men and women here have been waiting a long time to nail this guy. We’re happy to get the chance.”
“That’s good,” Sandor said. “Then let’s try not to screw it up.”
Ferriello forced a smile. “Damn, and I almost forgot why I hate your guts.”
————
The heavily armed SWAT teams rolled out first. Their job was to reach their positions without being seen, then signal the all-clear. They traveled in a single, unmarked van.
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