by Lee Gimenez
A perplexed look crossed Lewis’s face. “In what way? In his speech today, Taylor said the investigation was complete. Although I can’t stand the bastard, I have to give him credit. He actually sounded presidential.”
Erica rubbed the scar on her cheek. “Steve feels the Secret Service may be complicit in the assassination.”
Lewis uncrossed her legs and stood up. “Are you crazy?”
Erica held her palms in front of her. “Please, Senator, hear me out.”
The color had drained from Lewis’s face, but she sat back down. Then she rang the bell that was on the coffee table. The maid entered the room and the senator ordered two white wines.
The maid came back with the drinks a minute later, placed them on the coffee table and left the room.
“Go on,” Lewis said.
“Yes, ma’am. Steve was out there for several days, studied the crime-scene area. He says there’s no way the Secret Service could have missed the assassin’s location.”
The senator looked skeptical. “I know Steve’s a hunk and probably a stallion in bed. Sure that’s not clouding your judgment?”
Erica’s face turned red, but she didn’t respond, instead waited until her anger dissipated.
“This has nothing to do with that, ma’am. If Steve says there’s something going on, I believe him.”
Lewis smiled. “Okay, I can see you’ve got the hots for him. But you’re right, I’ve seen his CIA file – he’s a good agent. Plenty of commendations. If he saw something that smells, he’s probably right. The problem I have is that the president has just announced to the whole damn world that the Chinese are behind it. What do you say to that?”
“I don’t know what to say, ma’am. Except that something’s wrong. I think there’s a cover-up.”
“That’s a serious charge, young lady. You’ve got no evidence. Just speculation.”
“I know, Senator. I also know that there have been two high level deaths in a matter of weeks and they may be connected.”
Lewis picked up her glass and sipped the wine. She was quiet a moment, then said, “There may be three. The press didn’t really talk about it much, but a four-star Navy admiral died in Las Vegas recently. His body was found with two dead hookers. The LVPD chalked it up to a murder-suicide. Lots of drugs involved. Anyway, the Pentagon was able to keep it low-key.”
Erica’s heart began to pound. “There. You see? This may be a lot bigger than we both realize.”
Lewis finished her glass of wine. “Maybe. Maybe so. I’ve got to say, it does seem to have a bad smell.” She put the glass on the table. “I want you to leave this matter with me. I’m going to dig into it. I’ve got a lot of contacts in Washington. If there’s something here, I’ll find it.”
Erica grinned. “Thank you, ma’am. I’m glad you’re on my side.”
“Thank you for coming to me. By the way, didn’t I say you could dispense with that ‘ma’am’ crap? Makes me feel old.”
“Sorry, ma’am…I mean Megan.”
“That’s better.” The senator leaned back on the couch, crossed her legs. She glanced at her watch. “Listen dear, it’s getting late. Why don’t you spend the night here? I can put you in one of my guest bedrooms.” She smiled and added, “Or you can share mine.”
Erica gave this some thought. Surprisingly, she found the idea oddly appealing, but finally decided against it. “Thank you, Megan. But I need to get back home. Hope you understand.”
Lewis continued to smile. “I do understand. But I’m not giving up on you. Not by a long shot.”
***
Bobbie Garcia peered through the night vision goggles, saw the woman exit the home and get back in the Ford Explorer. Garcia’s black SUV was parked across the street and from that vantage point, he could clearly make out the woman’s identity. She was the meddlesome FBI agent, Blake.
The Explorer wound around the long driveway and eased into the light Bethesda traffic. He lost sight of her in seconds, but that didn’t matter. His target was inside the house.
But the general had been very specific. Just observe. Take no action, at least not yet.
***
Erica Blake reached the end of the street, took a right and slowly circled around the block. She had spotted the parked SUV when she left the senator’s house. It was a Suburban with dark-tinted windows, similar to the one she had seen prowling around her apartment a week ago. She didn’t believe in coincidences and decided to check it out.
She parked her vehicle on a perpendicular street, grabbed her compact Nikon from the glove compartment and walked to the corner, careful to stay out of the line of sight of the Suburban. The vehicle was still there, and from the wisps of smoke coming from the exhaust, she could tell it was idling. Although the street lamps gave off decent light, the windows of the Suburban were almost black and it was impossible to make out who was inside. Nevertheless, she focused the camera lens on the vehicle and snapped a few photos. Maybe the tags would provide a clue.
She was about to approach the SUV when a stream of police cars, lights flashing and sirens blaring, roared past her on the street. They were heading east, toward downtown Bethesda.
After the black-and-whites moved through, she spotted the Suburban pull into traffic, heading west.
Sprinting back to her Explorer, she quickly got in, drove back to the senator’s street and stepped on the gas, the tires squealing as she weaved in and out of traffic after the Suburban.
Minutes later she realized the vehicle must have turned into one of the side streets, because the Suburban had vanished.
***
Beijing, China
General Wu Chang was livid, his hands clenched into fists. He was in his office, staring at the three TV monitors that sat on a long credenza behind his desk. The TVs were tuned to live satellite feeds of three American news broadcasts: ZNN, Fox and CBS. Chinese subtitles scrolled at the bottom of the screens, but since his English was flawless, he listened rather than read the commentary. All of the news broadcasts were showing variations of the same story – massive anti-Chinese demonstrations had broken out across the United States. The images were coming from different cities: New York, LA, Chicago, Miami, Kansas City. Spontaneous, flag-waving marches had begun hours after the president’s address, and were now turning into angry mobs. The Chinese consulate in Los Angeles had been surrounded by a large, rock-throwing crowd, and the LAPD had sent in SWAT teams to break it up.
His recalled President Taylor’s speech and his face turned beet red. The bastard had lied. Chang knew for a fact his government was not involved. It was bad enough that the president had never returned his calls, and now this. Damn him, he thought. What the hell is he trying to do?
The general muted the sound on the TVs. Then he loosened his military tie and unbuttoned the top button of his freshly starched uniform shirt. This was a disaster. His dream of one day ascending to the head of the Politburo was evaporating with each passing minute. The Premier was calling him every half hour, demanding an explanation. But he had none. The American’s actions baffled him. What was the man’s motive?
He stabbed the intercom button, brusquely said, “Get me a drink!”
A moment later, Captain Lin came in the room and placed a large tumbler on his desk.
The young woman was well aware of the current events and her eyes were wide with fear. “Can I get you anything else, General?” she said in a low voice.
He glared at her, picked up the glass and took a long pull.
“Would you like a massage, General? That always relaxes you.”
“Get the hell out of my office!” he growled.
Lin drew back as if he’d slapped her and she quickly left the room, closing the door behind her.
Chang went back to staring at the TVs, surfing through the other American channels, ABC, NBC and the rest of the alphabet soup, but the scenes they showed were all depressingly the same.
The intercom flashed on his desk and Lin’s nervous vo
ice came on. “Sir – ”
“What the hell do you want? I told you to leave me alone!”
“I’m sorry, General. It’s the Premier. He just called. Needs to see you immediately.”
That made him pause and he willed himself to calm down. “Thank you, Lin. Let him know I’ll leave now.”
***
The tall, ornate, double-door was flanked by two uniformed soldiers, carrying their rifles at parade rest.
“I’m here to see the Premier,” Chang said to one of the guards.
“He’s expecting you, General.” The guard said, as he opened one of the doors and stepped aside.
Chang went into the massive office. Large Chinese tapestries and historical oil paintings hung from the walls. At the far end of the chamber was an ornate wooden desk, flanked with flags of the People’s Republic of China. Floor-to-ceiling windows showed a view of the congressional buildings and beyond, downtown Beijing. Behind the desk sat Premier Tse. Tse was a big man, but the office was so large he was dwarfed by the room.
The general had been to the premier’s office many times, but usually under much better circumstances. Chang strode through the vast office, his boots clicking on the intricate in-laid marble tiles. Moments later he approached the desk and stood at attention.
“Premier,” he said. “You wanted to see me.”
Tse glanced up from his desk, a grim look on his face. “At ease, General.”
Chang relaxed his body a fraction, but said nothing.
“I’ve been watching the American news,” the premier said.
“As have I, sir –”
“Do not interrupt me, General.”
“Yes, sir,” he responded, his stomach churning.
“Chang, years ago I personally assigned you the responsibility of handling the American relationship. And you have performed admirably. Until now. What do you have to say for yourself?”
“Premier, the recent developments in the U.S. are baffling. The new president is not acting rationally. As you know, there is no basis for his accusations.”
“That is true, Chang. But what is his motivation? Is it possible the investigation into the assassination is flawed? Or is it an intentional deception?”
“I’ve asked myself the same questions, sir. It’s possible President Taylor is thinking about the upcoming election and wants to increase his popularity.”
“Don’t the Americans desperately need us to fund their debt?”
“Yes, Premier. They are financially bankrupt.”
Tse tapped his pen on the desk for a time and looked pensive, but remained quiet. Eventually he said, “General, you will continue to head our American communication efforts. You still know more about them than anyone else. Work our network of spies in the U.S. State Department and elsewhere. Get to the bottom of this.”
“Yes, Premier.”
“And one other thing, General. If you fail in resolving this problem, the consequences to you personally will be severe.”
Chang had been around Chinese politics long enough to know this meant more than a demotion. His life was at stake.
He saluted crisply. “Yes, Premier. You can be assured I will correct the situation.”
***
Chang was back at his office, furiously thinking about his next steps. He was not at all confident about his promise to the premier, but at least he’d bought himself some time.
He pressed on the intercom. “Hold my calls, Lin. I don’t want to be disturbed.”
“Yes, General,” she replied.
Turning to his computer, he tapped in the secret number to a secure line at the U.S. State Department. Minutes later, the woman’s face lit up the screen.
14 Days to Zero Hour
Washington, D.C.
Erica Blake was sitting at her desk doing paperwork at the FBI building when she decided to call. She tapped Steve’s number on the cell phone and waited for him to pick up. Yesterday she had thrown away her regular cell phone, replaced it with an untraceable ‘burner’ cell.
When he answered, she said, “Got anything on that license plate number?”
She heard a chuckle from the other end. “What, no foreplay first?” he said. “At least say hello, how are you.”
“Sorry, Steve. This mess has me really wired.”
“I can tell. Okay, here’s the scoop. The reason you couldn’t trace that government plate is because it was issued to a government agency that doesn’t exist. It’s a dummy cut-out, a drop-box agency that certain classified groups use to prevent people from tracking them.”
“Classified how? Like the National Security Agency?
“Could be Erica, or DoD Intelligence. Even the CIA uses it sometimes.”
“Why would spooks or the Department of Defense be monitoring Senator Lewis?”
“Don’t know.”
“Okay. Maybe this is all connected to Carpenter’s murder. Lewis has been sniffing around.”
“Maybe, Erica. Listen, here’s another wrinkle. I was able to trace the plate another way. The Suburban is registered in the state of North Carolina.”
“So?”
“You know what’s located in North Carolina?”
“Enough with the suspense, Steve. Just tell me, damn it.”
“Okay, beautiful. I can tell you’re in no mood for games. Fort Bragg is located there.”
“Like I said, so?”
“Bragg isn’t just a military base. It’s also where the country’s Special Forces are headquartered.”
Erica mulled this over a moment. “There may be a connection – the equipment used in the Carpenter killing was military-grade black ops.”
“Bingo.”
Her mood lifted and she smiled to herself. “Thanks, Steve. We may be getting somewhere now. You’ll keep digging?”
“Of course. How about dinner tonight?”
Her mood brightened some more. “You got it. Call you later.”
She hung up, put the phone down, and went back to her paperwork.
Just then her desk phone buzzed and she picked it up eagerly, thinking it was Steve again. But it was her boss, Justin Temerius, demanding to see her immediately. Her mood soured instantly.
Turning off her computer, she slid on her blazer and headed to the elevator.
***
Erica knew immediately something was wrong. Two stony-faced, dark-suited agents were stationed outside Temerius’s office, and through the glass walls she saw a third one standing to one side of her boss, who was sitting behind his desk.
When she approached the office, one of the agents by the door opened it and stepped aside. He followed her as she walked in and he took a position in the corner of the room.
Temerius had a somber look on his pasty white face. He pointed to the visitor’s chair, said, “Have a seat, Erica.”
“What is this, a wake?” she said sarcastically as she sat down.
“This is no time for one of your jokes, Erica.”
She shrugged, then leaned forward in the chair. “What’s this about?”
Her boss tapped on a large manila envelope on his desk. “Before I show you this, I have a couple of questions for you.”
She was about to mouth off at him, but bit her lip instead. With witnesses around, she had to be careful. “Okay. Shoot.”
The hint of a smile crossed his face. “I gave you a direct order to stay away from the Carpenter case. Isn’t that right?”
“Yeah. So?”
“Isn’t it also a fact that I took you off that case and assigned it to another agent?”
She didn’t like where this was going and simply nodded.
“I didn’t hear your response, Erica. Didn’t I take you off that case?”
“Yeah.”
“Didn’t you turn over your case file to the other agent?”
“Yes, damn it. So what?”
He opened the manila envelope, took out a sheaf of black and white photographs, and with a smirk slid them on the desk toward
her.
Her stomach began to churn as she picked up one of the 8 by 10s, studied it closely. It was a grainy photo, obviously taken with a long lens, showing two vehicles parked in a desolate park. A man and a woman were standing next to each other, talking. The photo was stamped with the day and time. She put down the first photo, picked up the next, a close-up which clearly showed her talking with Detective Gray. She glanced at the other pictures, which confirmed a variety of details, such as the vehicle makes and license plates.
Erica threw the photos back on the desk, stared at Temerius, but said nothing.
“You disobeyed a direct order, Erica. You continued working on the case, well after you were taken off of it.”
She shrugged. “What are you going to do, shoot me?”
His face hardened. “No. I’m going to do the next best thing. I’m terminating your employment with the FBI.”
Her jaw dropped. “You can’t, you bastard. You can’t do that.”
The smirk was back. “I can and I have. I’ve already reviewed this with the deputy director. I have his blessing.” He reached into his desk, took out a white envelope and pushed it on the desk toward her. “The details are all here.”
She ignored the envelope, her eyes boring into his.
Her hands clenched into fists and her face turned beet red. Then she rose slowly from the chair and planted her fists on his desk. Her heart pounding in her chest, she said, “I’ll appeal. You won’t get away with this, you son of a bitch.”
“Appeal away,” he replied. “The process takes months, even years. And with your background of insubordination, you won’t win.”
She almost reared back and punched him, but saw the agents in the room take a step toward her.
“Don’t do anything rash,” Temerius said. “I’d hate to arrest you for assault.”
She stood up straight, tried to calm her raging anger.
Temerius gave her a cold smile. “I’ll need your gun and your badge.” He paused, and a moment later added, “And your vehicle keys too – the Explorer is government property.”
She set her face into a stony mask and slowly took out the Glock, the badge and keys and let them drop to the floor.
He stood up and shook his head slowly. “Defiant to the bitter end. That’s your downfall, Erica. Your Achilles heel.”