“Don’t worry, if that avenue doesn’t pan out. Uthie needs a reeducation lesson about hiding things from El Muerto. I have to move fast to catch my buddy Collister before he does any more damage. Are you still planning on flying into town for me?”
“I’ll be there at 8 am your time. Does that work for you?”
“Yep. I’ll be at Monterey Regional from 7:30 on.”
“I’ll have a guy looking like James Bond meet you at Departures. He’ll have a bored expression, and an arrogant attitude. His name’s Clyde Bacall, and he looks like Will Smith. He’s the only one right now I trust around me. He’s been in combat with the Rangers. CB believes he knows everything about everything, but I like him, and you can trust him.”
“We’ll need a guy like that on this. The logistics on me being a courier have to be perfect, including the driver I arrive with. Make sure he spit shines his shoes, and presses off his Ranger duds. I’ll talk to you in a while after I introduce Uthie to my new propane torch.”
“Ouch. Until then, my friend.”
“You…you cannot simply torture me! I…I am a prisoner. Take me back to Atwater!”
Gus sighed. “Oh for God’s sake, dummy. Tell Muerto what he wants to know. He has time to double check anything you give him on our way. If he finds out you’ve been truthful, your journey into hell will be painless. You can’t be stupid enough to think we’ll allow you to walk away no matter how Muerto has to obtain the facts. Do yourself a favor, and start talking. Keep in mind Muerto is like a human lie detector.”
Silence.
“Okay. I tried, Muerto.”
“I am unimpressed with your good cop, bad cop act. Take me back to Atwater at once!”
“Remember, Muerto, this is one of Jerry’s favorite loaners: untraceable plates with no GPS tracking. He won’t like it if you redecorate the interior.”
“Paul’s working another angle. He’s cool with us taking Uthie to the Valley. I hate to ask this, Payaso, but can you empty out the meat locker while I’m gone? Have John put my girls in the safe-room when you’re ready to leave. With Uthie, we’re going to have standing room only. I kept meaning to do it, but it’s been one thing after another.”
“I know. Maybe this would be a good time to call in Geezer. He can help John and me with loading chores, and then watch the house while we go for a cruise. We’ll need to get out there a long ways this time, Muerto.”
“I’ll give him a call. I meant to check on him last night until the Rashidi brothers planted bombs on my house.” Nick took out his phone, but held the call when Sadun spoke.
“Habib and Akim Rashidi?” Sadun sat and leaned forward.
Nick chuckled appreciatively. “How many Rashidi brothers do you think we all know, Uthie? Want to tell me how you know them.”
Sadun dropped his head dejectedly. “Those jackals blew a simple plan to follow your every movement, draw you into the open, publicly discredit you, and reveal your true profession. Then Collister felt you would only have one way you could survive, by taking his offer of employment. When Formsby and his men disappeared while sent to recruit you, Collister contacted me. He explained Formsby had to go into hiding suddenly, but that he believed he had another way to force your cooperation. He wanted your CIA boss out of the picture, and he believed you to be the perfect tool to get it done. When I heard his plan involved the Rashidis, I had my lawyer Wargul get a message to Collister not to use those two dolts. I know them. They are hotheads, who believe we can browbeat anyone into compliance with silly tricks and outrage. I have used them before where a simple propaganda task was to be performed, never on an important mission. Now, all is changed.”
“Nice start, Uthie. Tell me the leak Collister is using in the DOJ now, and tell me if the name Salvatore means anything to you.”
“Can I buy my life with the name?”
“No,” Nick answered, “but you can buy your death. Ten minutes into my partner, Mr. Propane Torch’s interrogation starting at the bottoms of your feet, and believe me, that name will seem like the greatest bargain on earth.”
“I can help you bring down Collister! I can testify against him. I know what you’re thinking. I-”
“No!” Nick interrupted with a hand wave. “You don’t. If you knew what I was thinking, you’d be singing the name I asked for as if you were doing an aria with the Hallelujah Chorus.”
“Douglas Cameron…” Sadun muttered, after seeing in Nick’s eyes only the immediate and absolute fulfillment of what Nick threatened. “Collister influenced your DOJ to replace Nancy Pettinger with another of his dupes. Collister knew of my transfer before your US Marshals did.”
“Sit tight, Uthie.” Nick called Gilbrech. “Douglas Cameron.”
“No way… it can’t be! He’s the son of Senator Diane Cameron from Maine. Why in hell would a… oh never mind, Nick. Let me put my people on ripping his life apart in the next instant. I’ll call you with what I find out.”
“No problem. We’re still an hour away from either a happy faced Sadun at room temperature, or an absolutely twisted faced, horrified Sadun screaming for death. I hope for his sake, Douglas did the deed.”
“Please forgive me for praying it’s not true.” Gilbrech disconnected.
“You didn’t make my boss very happy with that name drop. I’m not familiar with his Mom, Payaso. Do you know who Senator Diane Cameron is?”
“Only by typical East Coast political hack reputation – the usual anti-Second Amendment, pro-abortion, and climate change polar bear hugger public stances.”
“That wouldn’t explain her offspring selling out his country. How does Collister immediately replace one traitor with another so fast, Uthie?”
“With Nancy Pettinger it was money. The one time I crossed paths with the woman, I was to deliver a file and a payoff. When I tried to engage her in conversation, she cut me off and said, ‘show me the money’. Collister blackmails others who have become embroiled in gambling or sexual indiscretions, and he has at least four layers between him and the action.”
“I’m impressed,” Nick admitted. “People do not fool me often. When you gave us Nancy Pettinger’s name as a last resort to having me make alterations on you until you did, I did not suspect you of hiding a name. I understand why you took such a gamble. You thought Collister would free you some way, and I wouldn’t torture the shit out of you because I went away happy to get Pettinger’s name. He almost did succeed in freeing you. It makes me suspicious of you possibly having another name in reserve.”
“I know you will kill me no matter what. I would not be in this car driving to my death if Collister had listened to me about the Rashidis. Admit it. If not for those two imbeciles invading your life so stupidly, would you have ever found the connection between me and Collister?”
“Although you knew Collister planned to have Formsby recruit me, did he tell you he suspected Formsby didn’t disappear mysteriously?”
Sadun stared at Nick with dawning realization. “You killed Formsby and his men! You had Collister’s name already! Why then… shit!”
Nick and Gus enjoyed Sadun’s obvious recognition he had been played. “I see he didn’t share with you that he suspected I had indeed retired Formsby, and while doing so, I likely extracted his name from Formsby. The people he sent to intercept the transfer were to kill you and the Marshals. I think Collister suspected you to be the last link endangering him publicly. He probably thought there was a chance to nail me too. Today’s botched mess will really shake his tree. I think you’re telling the truth, Uthie. One other thing, are you familiar at all with the name I asked about earlier: Salvatore?”
“I don’t know that name, but I didn’t know everyone Collister had on his string. If I did, I’d tell you. Are you going to kill him?”
“Hopefully tomorrow.”
“Good. Will you torture him?”
“Sure,” Nick lied. “Would you like me to spend some extra time with him since he sold your butt down the river?”
Gus and Nick packed away Uthman Sadun in a body bag, and placed him on their gurney for transport to the meat locker.
“It’s only 7:30,” John said. “You guys really made good time, and we don’t even need to interrogate him. I’ve been watching the news. It’s a media mystery. They have dead fake highway patrolmen, drugged US Marshals, a missing terrorist, and no clues.”
“We had to alter our plan a bit when the unscheduled ambushers arrived,” Nick replied. “It all worked out in the end. Uthie filled in the missing pieces to our puzzle. Tomorrow, I’ll go with Paul to jam the last piece into place. It’s a good thing Paul has eyes on Collister. After he confirmed Douglas Cameron’s appointment to the Department of Justice job held by Pettinger was indeed influenced by Collister, there will be someone on Lee’s tail from now on until I can deliver his final message.”
“It’s too bad Sadun didn’t know one way or the other about Salvatore,” Gus said, as they walked the gurney toward their horror interrogation room and freezer. “What’s your feeling about Salvatore, Nick?”
“No matter what he’s into, I’m not killing him, except in self-defense,” Nick stated. “My take on him is he gladly took what he thought was simply an information gathering security matter. Phil probably thinks he was assigned to watch me as another step in shutting down problems related to Nancy Pettinger’s department.”
“Killing Jean’s boyfriend’s Dad would be very bad, Muerto,” John said. “Besides, you have too much going already. You must fly to DC, kill Collister, and then fly back here in time to chaperone Jean’s dance on Friday. Add in killing her dance date’s dad, and that is one bridge too far, my friend.”
“Tell me about it. Once Collister’s gone, we’ll allow justice to work its incompetent magic, and nail the Douglass Cameron leak. In the wake of all that, we’ll see where Salvatore winds up on our persons of interest list. “I’m going to bed after we tuck Uthman in for the night. I’ll have to get an early start tomorrow. I’m glad I had my uniform cleaned and bagged after I used it last.”
“We’ve never seen you in uniform, Muerto,” Gus said. “Will there be pictures?”
“Oh sure, Payaso. I’ll get Collister to do a selfie with me. Maybe we can get Paul to photobomb our wonderful meeting.”
“There’s no need to be sarcastic, Muerto.”
* * *
“This is Clyde Bacall, Nick. He’ll be driving you to the Congressional Apartments with your briefcase and eyes only files on Formsby.”
Nick smiled at the tall man in a black suit, and held out his hand. “You do look like Will Smith. I guess Paul told you we can’t wear our MIB suits to this wingding. We’ll have to be dressed to the nines in our uniforms.”
Bacall shook Nick’s hand. “So you’re the big bad? You’re a legend where no one can read your file, and all we have about you is rumor, and urban horror tales. Even Mr. Gilbrech speaks about you in a whisper. What makes you so bad?”
“I eat spinach mixed with lima beans,” Nick answered with grim featured seriousness. Gilbrech laughed while Bacall frowned at his boss’s enjoyment of Nick’s reply. “Anyway, you don’t have to call me ‘big bad’ – just Nick will do. When we get in the air, let’s do a quick review of how to proceed from the time we arrive at Collister’s place to how we make our exit.”
The three men took their seats aboard the private jet’s spacious interior seating, complete with table between them. Nick noticed Bacall staring across the table at him. He could tell the man was a killer. Nick knew the look. I wonder what this guy has a hard-on for me about, Nick thought. Once they were in the air, they unfastened their seat belts, relaxing slightly. Gilbrech sat next to Nick. He seemed surprised at Bacall’s attitude as well.
“Do you have a problem I don’t know about, Clyde?”
“Yes Sir. I was in the Rangers with Carl Stou. I’d like to know why the Big Bad felt it necessary to murder him along with Formsby. I’m assuming, of course, Formsby and his two men didn’t disappear into thin air after meeting with you, McCarty.”
Nick smiled across at Bacall, but said nothing. What was the use of explaining the unexplainable? What am I going to say to him, tough break for your friend, wrong place, wrong time, or maybe he should have taken a job at McDonalds?
Paul Gilbrech gave Bacall a dismissive gesture. “I told Nick I trusted you. Maybe that was a mistake on my part. It may be you’re in the wrong department, Clyde. Unfortunately for you, we have numerous leak problems already.”
“Meaning what, Sir, he kills me too? Carl never had a chance, did he?”
“Do you mean did I say one, two, three, draw. Uh… no. Everyone has a chance, and choices,” Nick answered. “Carl made a bad one working for Formsby.”
“Carl was a war hero. What the hell are you, McCarty?”
Nick shrugged. “I’m a killer. I don’t draw, paint, or quilt. I kill people, many in cold blood without thought, hesitation, or mercy. You’re right. Carl never had a chance.”
Gilbrech leaned forward. “Why am I only hearing of you serving with one of Formsby’s men now? I read you in on the files, and you never mentioned Stou to me. You’re a problem for me, Clyde. Nick will be wondering what the hell you’ll be doing if he runs into trouble. So will I. We’re going after a traitor in a very high position. I can’t have you on the fence as to our mission. I needed you behind this action one hundred percent now, during, and after.”
“You’re going to have me killed.” Bacall reached for his weapon, only to be staring into the business end of Nick’s .45 Colt.
“Don’t do this, Agent J,” Nick said calmly. “Paul’s not going to have you killed. He’s trying to make you understand how important it is for you to do your job on this mission, and shut everything else in your head off. After it’s over, you do your next job the same way, only in a different department, and you keep your mouth shut. This is a black op. You signed on to do this type of work, but you’re not cut out for it. There’s nothing we can do about that today. Calm down, kid. You’ll live through this if you remember who you work for. You don’t work for a traitor like your buddy Carl did. Take your weapon out with two fingers, and hand it to your boss. Then we’ll go over this mission in straight forward terms. I will explain exactly what you are to do. Am I clear?”
Bacall did not see Nick’s draw, nor did he see any sign there would be even an instant’s warning before Nick killed him. He opened his coat slowly with his left hand, reached inside with thumb and forefinger, and drew out his Glock 9mm. Gilbrech took it from his finger hold. Paul looked to Nick. The Colt was back in its holster. Nick clasped his hands in front of him on the table.
“Here’s how we do it. Paul will set the drop-off time with Collister, so he knows exactly to the minute when we’ll be at his door. You’ll park in the complex, and walk with me through the complex to his apartment. If he has a man outside, watching for us, we will wait with him until Collister allows entry. You will remain next to his man, whether he goes inside the apartment, or stays outside the door. I will deliver the file, allowing Collister to enter the code Paul will give him for the briefcase lock. Collister will open the case, take the contents, and close the case. Then, we leave. Clear enough, Agent J?”
“What happens to Collister?”
“He dies. That’s not your concern,” Nick replied. “Do you understand what you are to do?”
Bacall nodded. “Yeah. Watch the guy I’m with.”
“Exactly. You do not take your eyes off him. Collister is my problem. If he has more than one man with him, they will both be your concern. You will then drive me back to our plane, and I go home. What do you want Agent J to do after I catch my plane ride home, Paul?”
“Go home, and start thinking about other jobs he’d like to do in the CIA,” Paul said, putting the Glock into his own suitcoat pocket.
“If you need direction, I’ll think of something for you, Clyde. No matter what though, you will forget about today forever. There is a term we use for men and women who don’t become actively involved in black ops. It’s not an insult. It’s just a simple classification. We call them Snow Whites. We don’t have whistle-blowers at this level, my young friend.”
Bacall noticed Nick again smiling at him. “I understand.”
“Good. What next, Nick?”
“Did you bring your dress uniform with you, Agent J,” Nick asked.
“I have it.”
“Let’s get dressed, and then we’ll do a couple of walkthroughs with Paul acting as Collister. You and I must be military from the moment we leave the car until the moment we slide back into it for the ride to the plane. Every movement must be precise as if we were delivering nuclear codes to the Pentagon. We will be stern, no nonsense, and stiff. We’ll repeat our performance until Paul thinks it looks good. He was a Marine, so I have no doubt he’ll take great pleasure in pointing out any discrepancy in our performance.”
“You got that right you army pukes,” Gilbrech joked. He handed Nick an envelope. “Here’s your new nametag and ID set, Major Gibbons. Get dressed. Let’s see what you got.”
Nick checked the ID packet. “My first name is Alvin… like the chipmunks?”
“Get over it. What were you expecting, Stone Cold or Razor Reddig.”
* * *
Lee Collister opened his door when the coded knock from his driver and bodyguard sounded. He had been working steadily behind the scenes trying to get on scene information about Uthman Sadun’s disappearance. What he knew for sure was his men were all dead, and the US Marshals were alive, although found drugged in the back of their transfer vehicle. Word from Pacific Grove was Nick McCarty went into hiding with his family after the botched bomb attempt, and morning after gun battle. Phil Salvatore proved to be a solid asset in the area, a simple dupe who thought he was an undercover agent. He had called with what he could find out from the police, claiming to be a friend of Nick’s. Collister began to have hope McCarty had not found out his name.
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