At the top of La Bajada Hill, Santa Fe spread out below him and the mountains filled the horizon. Kerney barely noticed the soft sheen of mare's tail clouds nestled in the foothills. He keyed his microphone, spoke to the detective sergeant on duty, and asked for a court order to access Father Mitchell's e-mail accounts.
He gave the sergeant enough information to start the paperwork process, tossed the microphone on the passenger seat, called Sara on his department cell phone, and left a message for her not to come to Santa Fe for the weekend. He was going to be busy after all.
Outside Applewhite's hotel Bobby Sloan ate a gooey jelly doughnut and sipped lukewarm coffee from a vacuum jug, hoping the sugar and caffeine would keep him going. He hadn't eaten a real meal since lunch yesterday and he knew better than to load up on food if he wanted to stay awake.
While he didn't like going hungry, the upside was his stomach gas had eased off considerably. Maybe it was time to think about changing his diet.
Applewhite didn't move until ten in the morning. But when she did, she left in a hurry. Sloan tailed her to the Rodeo Road Business Park, where she parked and went inside a building marked by a sign on the front lawn that read, APT PER FORMA Five minutes later Charlie Perry arrived to join the party, followed by Lieutenant Molina, who parked at an adjacent building. He spotted Molina with his binoculars, and Sal pointed in sequence at the row of cars in front of the APT Performa building and made a camera clicking motion with his finger. Bobby got busy taking photographs and running plates.
He finished up as a car eased into an empty slot. The plate registered in his mind as he snapped the shutter: it was the same vehicle that had breezed through the guard checkpoint at the air base without stopping.
He got three good shots of the driver's face before the man entered the building.
Sloan accessed the floppy disk with the driver's license photo and MVD record he'd saved last night. The driver was Timothy In gram and he had a Kirtland Air Force Base address.
For whatever it was worth, another player in the game had been identified.
Tim Ingram tried without success to get interested in the shapely legs of the young woman who led him down the office corridor. Instead, the image of Applewhite sticking the syringe into Fred Browning's neck replayed through his mind, as it had since he'd awakened.
At a conference room Ingram gave the woman a weak smile, pushed through the door, and found Applewhite, Charlie Perry, and Clarence Thayer huddled at the far end of a large oval table. Thayer made a "join us" gesture and Ingram took a seat next to Perry. Applewhite looked at him briefly, expressionless.
Ingram concentrated his attention on Thayer, noting the expensive black wool turtleneck under a perfectly tailored gray sport coat. He'd last seen Thayer in army fatigues with colonel's eagles on the collar when both had been tasked to the SWAMI project. Officially, Thayer had "retired" to start APT Performa and Ingram had "resigned" from the service to go FBI. In truth both remained serving officers, as did Applewhite.
That left Charlie Perry the only true civilian in the room and therefore the one most likely to be slam-dunked should the need arise.
"Good, you're here, Tim," Thayer said in his Back Bay accent.
"Soon as I could make it, sir," Ingram said, thinking that Thayer could easily pass for a Kennedy with his lanky athletic frame, good looks, and patrician style.
"This is your show, Charlie," Thayer said, smiling graciously at the special agent.
"Bring us up to speed."
Nervously, almost turned away from Thayer, Perry laid out what he knew.
Kerney had factual knowledge he was being watched; factual knowledge that Phyllis Terrell's murder had been cleansed; factual knowledge of Mitchell's probe into SWAMI; factual knowledge of the existence of the SWAMI project. Additionally, he had made a hard evidence connection between Father Mitchell and Phyllis Terrell.
"Are there any other holes that need plugging?" Thayer asked.
"One of the Santa Fe detectives made a copy of the Mitchell evidence Agent Applewhite seized under a court order," Perry said.
"It's in Kerney's possession."
Thayer swung his attention to Applewhite.
"Does that cause a problem?"
"Not for SWAMI, sir," Applewhite replied.
"Although it could bring public attention to sensitive matters of an historical nature."
"Which is not our immediate concern," Thayer said.
"Anything else, Charlie?"
"Arrangements have been made to have the official autopsy report show that Randall Stewart's death was accidental. Kerney knows better. When the report comes out, he could decide to challenge the findings. The report won't be released until Monday. Stewart's body will be held until then."
"That gives us enough time to set the problem aside for now," Thayer said.
"By Monday we'll have closure."
"Also," Perry said, "Kerney is moving for a court order to get Mitchell's e-mail correspondence."
"The files have been sanitized, so let him have what's left. Is he acting alone or mobilizing his departments resources?"
"As far as we can tell, except for some minor paperwork assistance, he's doing this solo," Charlie replied.
"The primary investigators, a detective and a lieutenant, are attending a law enforcement training seminar."
"Very good," Thayer said, smiling in Ingram's direction.
"I'm tasking Agents Applewhite and Perry on a special assignment and I need you to temporarily fill in. Monitor the situation and handle any cleanup items. You'll have full operational control."
"Yes, sir."
Thayer nodded and opened a slim folder.
"We shut everything down in forty-eight hours. Here's the preferred scenario if our difficulty with Chief Kerney cannot be resolved in a less extreme manner. A few years ago Chief Kerney earned the displeasure of a Mexican drug lord named Enrique De Leon In fact, he did it more than once, but I won't go into details. To retaliate De Leon approached a high-ranking Mexican army intelligence officer who happens to have his hand in the drug cartels' pockets while drawing a nice retainer from the CIA. De Leon asked the officer to make available two highly trained Cuban assets for the express purpose of removing the source of his annoyance."
Thayer turned a page.
"Unfortunately, both men were killed in a plane crash while machine-gunning a squad of Mexican federal police who were protecting a drug shipment, so the officer has been unable to fulfill De Leon request."
Thayer patted the folder and looked at Applewhite.
"Senor De Leon continues to express an interest in Kerney's demise, which has been well documented by several DEA agents in Juarez as well as a highly reliable Interpol informant.
De Leon is in Juarez expecting to meet with you and Agent Perry this afternoon in the hope that you might be willing to take the contract.
"He knows you're Americans, believes that you're former CIA field operatives, and that you're now freelancing in the States. He has no reason not to trust the officer who supplied him with the information, although you both will be carefully scrutinized. You're expected to leave enough of a trail so the Mexican authorities can document the visit. DEA, of course, will confirm the Mexican report.
Your true identities will not be revealed. Make your arrangements with De Leon and then come back to Santa Fe."
"Is all this necessary?" Charlie asked.
"In terms of establishing plausibility, yes," Thayer replied.
"In terms of taking definitive action, I hope not. But that will depend on what Chief Kerney does or doesn't do over the short term."
Ingram knew that Thayer was placating Perry. Thayer wouldn't be talking about a removal sanction if the hit hadn't already been approved.
Applewhite must be creaming in her pants. Ingram kept his expression neutral, but inside his stomach turned over.
"Maybe I should talk to Kerney again," Perry said.
"I think we're at a point
where it's best to let Chief Kerneys actions speak to us," Thayer replied.
"I don't like this," Perry said.
Thayer nodded in agreement.
"None of us do, Agent Perry. But we keep our disagreements within the family, so to speak, which you apparently forgot last night when you made unauthorized contact with your superior and asked to be removed from your assignment. That request has been denied."
Charlie's jaw dropped.
Ingram remembered a commercial that used to run on television when he was a kid.
Charlie, the talking tuna fish, would swim around in the ocean trying to get caught by the world's best tuna company. But Charlie wasn't good enough to get hooked, processed, vacuum-packed, and served up in a white bread sandwich.
Sorry, Charlie, you poor son of a bitch, Tim thought grimly.
Chapter 11
Molina pointed at the car containing Perry and Applewhite, tapped his finger on his chest to signal he'd take the tail, and followed the two agents down Rodeo Road. Bobby Sloan stayed put. Clarence Thayer and Timothy Ingram walked out the front door of APT Performa, Thayer talking earnestly, his hand on Ingram's elbow.
Sloan cracked his window, pointed a high-powered directional mike at the two men, and cranked up the volume. A gust of cold air wiped out everything but wind noise in his headphones. Whatever Thayer had said to Ingram made him stop in his tracks. The wind died down.
Thayer said, "The order comes direct from CG INS COM Major. You're to backstop Applewhite and handle any contingencies."
"Yes, sir." Thayer said more, his words lost in another blast of air through Sloan's headphones.
Sloan knew CG meant commanding general. He knew INS COM stood for the U.S. Army Intelligence and Security Command. That meant Ingram was no Salvation Army major.
He followed Ingram to Charlie Perry's hotel. Ingram went in and came out quickly, carrying luggage. He slammed it into the trunk of his car and wheeled out of the parking lot, driving fast. The man acted like a very unhappy camper.
Sloan put the Blazer in gear and scooted into traffic four cars back.
Ingram led him to the airport. Lieutenant Molina came out of the terminal as Ingram toted luggage inside a nearby flight school building.
Bobby flashed his lights at Molina. Sal walked over and got in the Blazer.
"Well, here we are, LT," Sloan said.
"What's up on your end?"
"Applewhite and Perry are airborne in a private plane," Molina said.
"No flight plan was filed.
I got an ID on the plane. It's leased to APT Performa."
Sloan watched as Ingram come out of the flight-school building and hurried across the tarmac to a waiting helicopter. The chopper revved up and took off.
Bobby read off the numbers, "N-0-four three-zero Oscar Whiskey."
Molina used the laptop to connect with the FAA aircraft identification Web site.
"Have you got a make on your guy?"
"His name is Timothy Ingram. Albuquerque address out of Kirtland Air Force Base. But I think he's probably military. Thayer addressed him as 'major."
"
"I'll ID the chopper, you check for a flight plan," Molina said.
"Be right back," Sloan said, exiting the vehicle. He went into the terminal, flashed his shield at the video camera above the entrance to the tower, got buzzed through, and asked for a flight plan for the chopper. Nada. Coming out the door Sloan saw Lieutenant Molina talking on a pay phone.
Molina hung up as Sloan approached.
"The chopper didn't file a flight plan," Sloan said.
"It's registered to a Department of Energy subcontractor," Molina said.
"Touch Link Satellite Systems. Ingram is the director of security.
Guess where they're located."
"On an air force base in a galaxy not too far away?" Sloan replied, straight faced.
Tired as he was, Molina laughed.
"Kirtland."
Sloan glanced around the parking lot.
"We're here with two unattended vehicles, Lieutenant. Let's slap some tracking devices on them."
"Get the slim Jim," Molina said.
They jimmied open the cars, planted homing devices that tied into the Global Positioning System, and put bumper beeper vehicle-tracking devices on the undercarriages.
Sloan filched Ingram's car registration and proof of insurance from the glove box and smashed the rear license-plate lights. He kicked the glass fragments under the vehicle.
"What's that for?" Molina asked.
"Just in case we want to stop him for a traffic violation."
They talked about tagging Perry's unit at the APT Performa offices and decided not to do it. The vehicle was parked too close to the entrance under direct video surveillance.
In his unit Sloan keyed up the radio and asked one of Andy Baca's agents for a beacon check. Molina handed the slim jim to Sloan through the open Blazer window while they waited for a response.
"You're up and running," the agent said.
"Ten-four," Sloan said. He keyed off and looked at Molina.
"What's next?"
"We've got some downtime," Molina said.
"Let's try to get a meeting with the chief."
Helen Muiz insulated Kerney while he cleared off his desk. He waded through the important stuff, first concentrating on the affidavit for the court order to access Mitchells Internet account. He passed the information on to criminal investigations and spent twenty minutes in a phone conversation with Cloudy Herrera's lawyer. He listened to threats of legal action, demands to restore Herrera to patrol duty, a thinly veiled accusation of racism, and a final pitch to resolve the problem before it became "politicized."
Kerney resisted a desire to laugh, told the lawyer he would think about it, and hung up.
Helen brought papers so Kerney could prep for a meeting with Larry Otero. Larry had hired a new secretary and put the five-year strategic planning process back on track. He needed sign-off approval to implement new department standards on child sexual abuse investigations and wanted Kerney to review the final field training reports on six new academy graduates due to start independent patrol.
Kerney signed off on routine matters, reviewed management information reports from the various units, and put non urgent items in a pending file. He called Helen into his office and gave her documents to be routed.
She put a note on his desk. Molina and Sloan had made back channel contact through the sheriff's department. They wanted an ASAP meeting with Kerney and were standing by at the law enforcement academy.
"I'll meet with them as soon as possible," Kerney said, wondering why they'd broken off surveillance.
"Did Chief Otero consult with you on his choice of a new secretary?" he asked.
"Yes, indeed. She'll fit in very nicely, I think," Helen replied.
"You have a meeting with Mr. Demora at city hall in an hour."
"Push it back for me, will you?"
Helen flashed a disapproving look.
"I'll see what I can do. Are you ready for Chief Otero?"
"Send him in."
Larry Otero came in stiff and formal. Kerney forced himself not to clock-watch as they worked their way through the agenda, wondering what was eating his number two.
They finished up and Kerney commended Otero's good work. He got a curt nod and a frosty look.
"Let's take a walk," he said.
He led Otero out of the administrative suite to a basement room, closed the door, and asked Larry what was bothering him.
"I've got people questioning me about this special training you sent Molina and Sloan to," Otero said.
"Questioning you about what?"
"The training supervisor knows nothing about this academy class. He says it's not on the schedule. The union rep wants to know why other officers weren't offered a chance to sign up for it, and the two detectives forced to pull doubles and work the weekend on short notice aren't happy campers. What's going on,
Chief?"
"I've put you in an awkward situation," Kerney said.
"Big time, Chief."
"I won't do that again." Kerney explained what Molina and Sloan were really doing. Otero's look of skepticism faded when Kerney laid out the facts of the faked evidence in the Terrell murder case, the hard evidence of a tie-in between Father Mitchell and Phyllis Terrell, and the listening devices he'd found at his quarters.
"If I get the boot because of this, you're going to have to run the department," he added.
"Not likely. Demora will have me back in technical services within a week. What can I do to help?"
"For now, just keep covering for me," Kerney said, "and make whatever decisions you need to. Act like it's business as usual. I'll call if I need you to do more."
They separated on the first floor. Otero went to his office thinking it might be wise not to get too attached to the three stars on his collar.
In the years since Kerney's graduation from the law-enforcement academy, the facility had been transformed from a spartan, barracks-style operation into a modern campus with comfortable classrooms, up-to-date equipment, and a strong training curriculum.
After learning why Sloan and Molina had dropped their surveillance, Kerney asked for a briefing.
Andy Baca walked in just as things got started.
"Don't let me stop you," he said, sliding into a seat.
Kerney nodded and made notes while Sal Molina talked. Molina sketched the recent events at APT Performa, the airport, the appearance of Timothy Ingram on the scene, and the little they knew about him.
"Ingram may be military," Molina said, passing over the verbatim transcript of the snatches of conversation between Thayer and Ingram that Sloan had picked up outside of APT Performa.
"But he's carried on the books as the security chief for Touch Link Satellite Systems, headquartered at Kirtland. The company has a big government contract to do remote nuclear weapons disarmament monitoring."
"More hush-hush stuff," Kerney said. He wrote down IN GRAM Molina nodded.
"But what it has to do with us is anybody's guess. We put vehicle-tracking devices on the cars at the airport parking lot."
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