Dark Heart

by James Phelan

  “You really think Harvey is funneling back-door illegals into the country?” Somerville asked. Walker nodded. “For what?”

  “Money,” Muertos said. “And perhaps the power that comes with that.”

  “I don’t buy it.” Somerville squatted down and scooped up some pages, part of the security clearance of Senator Lewis. “And the Senator?”

  “We’ll soon find out,” Walker said. “He and Harvey go way back though.”

  “We need proof of his involvement,” Somerville said.

  “Almasi and Bahar were using the Senator’s house,” Muertos said. “Isn’t that damning enough?”

  “But we can’t yet assume that he’s part of this,” Somerville said. “That he knew Harvey was using the house for the Syrians. Unlike Walker, I need ironclad proof at every step of the way. Something that will hold up in a court of law. And we’re talking about taking down two men who help make the law.”

  Muertos said, “So, they’re innocent until proven guilty? Even Harvey?”

  “Afraid so,” Somerville said. “Have either of you seen on the news any comment or reaction from Lewis that his house is no more?”

  “No,” Muertos said.

  Walker shook his head.

  “Maybe he’s buying the line on the news that it was a gas accident,” Somerville said. “Maybe he has no involvement.”

  Walker pointed to a picture of Harvey. “But we know definitively that Harvey sent those two Homeland agents there to kill Almasi and Bahar at the country house, and that while there they detained us, called Harvey, and got instructions to kill us.”

  “And how’d you get that information from the Homeland agents?” Somerville asked Walker.

  Walker gave a guilty shrug.

  “See?” Somerville said. “I think until I catch one of these Homeland guys in an illegal act, my hands are tied.”

  “The guys from San Francisco looked like they had a very different skill set from the two who tried to kill us this morning,” Muertos said.

  “What’s that mean?” Somerville asked.

  “Muertos is pointing out that they were the A Team,” said Walker, “sent to silence her, and by extension, me, because she’d mentioned my name to the big Homeland guy, Krycek, back in Germany. I took one out of the fight, we got away, and then Harvey was forced to clean house on the west coast, using his two B Team guys.”

  “What about Agent Hayes?” Somerville asked. “Who can she identify?”

  “Almasi and Bahar,” Walker said. “And two Homeland agents.”

  “They were the ones to pull her over?” Somerville said.

  Walker nodded. “The timeline is: they picked her up, dropped her to the Syrians, then they came after us. The Syrians were then tasked with taking out Overton, Bennet and Acton, while those guys headed west to take care of us.”

  “But you messed things up for them,” Somerville said.

  “Least I could do.”

  Somerville took the binoculars and checked the view. All clear.

  “Right,” Somerville said. “I can use testimony from Hayes and Acton. And the unconscious so-called B Teamer, if I can get him to talk. The one who spoke to you will be inadmissible.”

  “You’ll get a chance to interrogate the two A Team guys soon enough,” Walker said.

  Somerville motioned across to the empty suite. “You really think they’ll turn up there?”

  “I think they’re close,” Walker said. “And you need to make sure they’re completely out of the fight this time, until I get to question Harvey.”

  Somerville nodded, but she didn’t look sold, like letting Walker get to Harvey first would be a bad idea.

  “Walker,” she said, “you know that even though your father was there in Syria, this might have nothing at all to do with his Zodiac terror program, right?”

  “I know.”

  Somerville nodded. “You can question Harvey. But don’t jeopardize my case, okay? If the buck stops with him—or even Senator Lewis—I want to throw the book at them, okay?”

  “Deal,” Walker said.

  “That big one scares the hell out of me,” Muertos said. “Krycek.”

  “He’s just a big bully, and uses his looks to intimidate. He’ll learn his lesson soon enough.” Walker pointed to the piece of paper he’d marked HAYES. “But what’s bugging me is that the connection is missing. I don’t believe that Hayes was made by chance, tailing Almasi and Bahar. How’d they make her, if Overton’s little four-person operation was so close-knit? They got a jump on her, with the two A Team guys. We need to figure out how.”

  “Maybe while she was tailing Almasi out of DC,” Somerville said. “The two Homeland guys were also tailing him, as an escort of sorts, to make sure he got to the Senator’s house safe and sound?”

  “I’m not so sure,” Walker said. “I think there’s a missing person here, someone who connects them. Someone who told Harvey about Overton’s off-books surveillance op.”

  “This is Homeland Security and Washington DC we’re talking about here,” Somerville said. “They can pretty much watch anyone they want, even Secret Service agents on a side project.”

  “I think that person is going to turn up in the suite next door when they track those Homeland phones.”

  “Maybe.” Walker took the small binoculars and surveilled the suite. The door was still closed, the room empty of people. He stayed behind the curtains, watching.

  “So, what’s your next step?” Somerville asked.

  “Short of getting whoever turns up to talk, we need to dig deeper on Senator Lewis,” Walker said. “There are too many unknowns in his background. He’s been a Senator for fourteen years and was in banking before that—his life before politics is largely vacant but for some social events. Harvey’s the opposite: he’s all there in his service records and security-clearance forms. Four years in Kabul. Made a name for himself for getting things done. And you know what area he excelled in?” Walker pointed to a page. “Handling the flood of people-smugglers, and the drug trade out of Afghanistan, the two shadow economies often overlapping. He stamped out a bunch of human traffickers. Rooted them out and smashed their networks. Ruthless—he had a good team of private contractors kicking down doors and executing the top guys throughout Afghanistan, Iraq, Libya and Syria. So successful they sent him back during the Arab Spring to report on the refugee streams out of the Mid East and northern Africa, keeping eyes on all known and suspected traffickers. He spent a couple of years in the region, and his recommendations led to networks in each country being shut down by a specialist taskforce that preceded the one Muertos here was on. So, when Acton said Harvey was in Homeland from the get-go, he was wrong, technically. He was still Army until six years ago, but he’d been their military liaison with Homeland Security since 2002, as well as working across DEA taskforces. And we’ve got all his postings, all his secrets, laid bare from the moment he joined the Army at West Point, to twenty-four years later when we arrive at today.”

  Walker fell silent. He rearranged the piles of paper, some of them twenty pages thick. There was no reference to an Agent Krycek, so he figured he might be an off-books private contractor personally reporting to Harvey. The two Homeland guys from San Francisco were both ex-Army. Both had served in Afghanistan, with the 110th, which wasn’t Harvey’s unit, but there were tens of thousands of Army guys rotating in and out of Afghanistan and Iraq and JSOC over the first decade of the wars there, so they may have made contact prior to Homeland. Walker had been in Kabul overlapping the times of all three of them. He’d crosschecked records, and there was nothing indicating that they had been attached to Harvey’s anti-people-smuggling outfit. But they’d been attached to a lot of door-kicker units looking for HVTs, and no doubt a lot of the human-trafficking kingpins were rated as High Value Targets.

  “Senator Lewis was on Intelligence Oversight, and came out smelling real good when Harvey did his work,” Walker said. He held up a picture of the Senator shaking Harvey’s
hand in Kabul, dated just before the Senator’s first re-election. The then Vice President was in the photo too, along with his entourage. “It was a big political win, because he’d fought to give more funding to the project. It enabled Senator Lewis to get on all sorts of powerful committees, where he’s remained entrenched as a real powerbroker.”

  “So,” Somerville said, “he definitely benefited from Harvey’s work.”

  “Acton mentioned something about Harvey having political ambitions,” Muertos said.

  “Yep,” Walker said. “And looking at all this, and knowing the ambitions of each man, I’d put a C-note on a joint ticket of Lewis and Harvey. One’s got the power and influence of the political class, the other military and Intelligence experience who has recently segued into the political appointment of Deputy Secretary of Homeland.”

  He put the papers down on the floor and studied them from afar, then went back to Harvey’s posting dates.

  Somerville’s cell phone rang, and she answered it, listened, then kept the line open.

  “Two Homeland agents are in the lobby, they’re getting the manager to provide a master key,” Somerville said. “One of my agents on the desk says they sound like your pair: one really big, completely bald, and one regular sized, both hard-cases.”

  “That’s them,” Walker said. He held the glasses to his eyes and watched the scene across the way. Waited. It didn’t take long. Inside a minute, the door to the apartment opened. But it was too soon for the Homeland agents.

  A single figure entered the room, pistol drawn.

  Secret Service Agent Blake Acton.

  61

  “What the hell?” Muertos said. “Why is he there?”

  “I’m gonna find out,” Walker said. He used the hotel landline to call one of the burner phones and watched Acton through the small glasses. He could have called Acton’s cell, but he preferred it this way.

  Walker watched Acton stare at the phone on the bench when it started to ring, just as he’d entered, as if he was thinking, That’s a coincidence. Then another moment, another ring, and he looked at the number and saw it had a local area code. Then on the third ring Acton looked around, checking for the set-up, a camera or something, but saw nothing. Then came the fourth ring, incessant, and Walker watched Acton calculate that he had no other lead to go on, so he picked up the phone and answered it.

  But he didn’t speak. He answered the call with his left hand, his right holding a large Glock pistol, not his Service-issued Sig, and not his back-up compact, so it was a burner gun, for a dirty job. Acton put the phone to his ear and listened.

  “How did Bahar miss you on his kill op this morning?” Walker said. He pressed the speaker button and then put the receiver on the table.

  Acton remained silent. But he looked around the hotel suite. Saw nothing. Did a double-take at the windows—then ducked out of view, behind a small wall by the entry. They could hear him breathing. Big guy, big breaths. Adrenaline pumping. Decisions forming.

  “He didn’t miss you, did he?” Walker said. “You were never on the hit list. You weren’t on it, because you sold out your own people. Overton and Bennet. And Hayes. But they kept her alive. And that added a complication for you.”

  Still, Acton was silent.

  “My question is: why’d you let me leave your house?” Walker asked. “If you’re in this with Harvey, why’d you let Muertos and me out of your sight?”

  Again, silence.

  “I can guess it was two things,” Walker said. “You wanted to keep up appearances to get your family out, and to look good in front of Hayes. Because the other option was to kill us all, and you couldn’t do that, you’re really not that capable.”

  Finally, Acton spoke. “Why don’t you come in, Walker,” he said, his tone sharp, direct. “Meet me. Let’s talk about all this. Work something out. You’ll be well taken care of. They’ll even find a good job for you. You’ve got talents.”

  “Who’s they?” Walker asked.

  Acton was silent.

  “Lewis and Harvey?” Walker said. “They’d never invite me on the payroll.”

  “Why’s that?” Acton asked.

  “Because I’m the kind of guy they hate.”

  “A patriot? They’ll love it.”

  “Incorruptible,” Walker said.

  Acton was quiet a beat, then said, “Look, Walker, you’ve got this backward,” Acton said. His breathing and voice changed, from one of calculated reasoning to one of urgency, clutching at straws, trying to change tact. “I’m here at the hotel because I had the phones tracked to this location. I’m here to help you out.”

  “Then why have the gun drawn?” Walker said.

  Silence from Acton.

  “Whose Glock is it, anyway?” Walker asked.

  Silence.

  “If you want to help,” Walker said, “there are two of Harvey’s guys headed to you right now. How’s that going to play out? You going to arrest them? Or work with them?”

  Silence.

  “Or you can leave,” Walker said. “If you want to help, you can talk to the FBI, tell them everything you know, everything you’ve done. Help us arrest Harvey.”

  “Now, why would I do that?” Acton was walking around, looking for a hidden camera. “Why would I help the FBI arrest a guy like Harvey?”

  “To avoid two counts of being accessory to the murder of two Federal Agents, for a start. Aiding and abetting human trafficking. Should I go on?”

  “Is that what you think this is about?”

  Walker looked to Somerville, who motioned him to go on with the questioning, and he replied, “What else is it about?”

  “You assaulted those Homeland guys at my house,” Acton said. “One of them saying Harvey’s name under duress means nothing in court, you know that. You’re in trouble here, Walker. Me talk to the FBI? Please. How about you give yourself up to me and I can help you out. You’re a smart guy, this is your chance to get on the right side of all this.”

  “Nice try. Those two idiots back at your house were the B Team, and they tried to murder Muertos and me, two innocent citizens. And they had the body of Almasi in their car. Notice I said had. It was in their boot. Now we have it.”

  Acton paused for a beat, then he said, “Homeland can trace their own vehicle. They’ll clean up.”

  “It’s no longer in their car.”

  Acton took a breath, then said, “Where’d you dump a body in broad-daylight DC?”

  Now it was Walker’s turn to fall silent. He wanted to give Acton room to speak. To reveal.

  “Where are you?” Acton asked.

  “A step behind you,” Walker replied. He could sense another shift in Acton; he was spooked.

  “I can find you,” Acton said. “DC is a small place. Washington is the most surveilled city in America. How long do you think it’ll be before we catch up with you?”

  “Agent Acton, if you’re part of this, and I think you are, now’s your chance to come clean. One chance. I’m not the law. But you can come clean and get out of this. But if you’re in my way, and you’re a part of this, you’re going to leave a wife and kids behind.”

  Silence. Just Acton’s heavy breaths. Then, “I’m coming for you, Walker. You hear me. You have no idea what you’re into. And you know what? You’re nothing. And this is my town. I’m going to destroy you.”

  Walker let Acton hang a moment, then said, “Good luck, buddy. And my advice, for the sake of your family? Up your life insurance.”

  “You want answers, I get that,” Acton said. He was breathing fast now, pacing across the room. “This thing with Muertos’s husband, with your dad, with the dead guy—what was his name? Bloom? He was like a father to you, right? You really want to find Almasi’s American contact who’s running it all, for what—vengeance? What’s that gonna do? What’s that ever done?”

  “Seems you know a lot about all this all of a sudden.”

  “I checked you out, Walker. And you’ve got a choice he
re. You’re already on the outer. Come chat with me. Let’s work something out.”

  “It’s about justice,” Walker said. “And it’s coming your way.”

  Then there was a noise, and Acton moved toward the center of the suite’s living room, facing the door.

  The two Homeland guys had gained entry, and they stood facing Acton. One was Krycek, the other was from the hospital back in San Francisco, the guy Walker hit with the injection, and he had a silenced pistol pointed at Acton. They were having a little pow-wow, but Acton had ended the call, so Walker and the others could no longer listen.

  Somerville spoke into her phone and ordered her agents in for an arrest.

  Walker watched through the glasses. The two Homeland guys facing Acton, the three of them talking. He kept expecting half a dozen FBI agents to storm the room. He watched, waited.

  The wait was long. Two seconds. Three. Four. Then it happened.

  The smaller Homeland agent kept his silenced pistol pointed at Acton—then his hand jerked, and Acton’s head become a cloud of pink mist as his body fell to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been suddenly cut. Two seconds later six FBI agents rushed the room, weapons raised, commands yelled, and the two Homeland agents put their hands on their heads and dropped to their knees. Walker watched them being cuffed, disarmed and then led out of the suite.

  “Acton’s down,” Walker said, passing the glasses to Somerville.

  “He deserved it,” Muertos said.

  Somerville looked to her, but she was listening to her agents via an earpiece connected to her cell phone. “Clean arrest of those two. Confirmed, Acton’s dead.”

  Walker said, “Tell them to check the master suite’s wardrobe.”

  Somerville relayed the message.

  Walker watched through the glasses as a pair of FBI agents moved to the bedroom, where they opened the slide-across mirrored wardrobe—and jumped back as the body of Almasi fell out.