by Wolf Riedel
“He’s a great guy,” replied Paddock. “Super dependable and really knew his shit. I mean he works this stuff in his civilian life so he’d had tons of experience. When he came to us looking for a position to earn some extra cash on weekends he really made my life here a hell of a lot easier.”
“What job was that?” Sal asked.
“This cell is linked to the CENTCOM J6 Automatic Data Processing Equipment Administration cell. We basically do network systems management and administration for the deployed special ops task forces; manage their systems and their links into other systems. Lewis basically took over one of our weekend shifts; twelve on, twelve off, twelve on. He’d done his Saturday shift but then failed to come in this morning.”
“Is there any aspect of this job that could lead to his death?” asked Sal. “Any security vulnerability?”
Paddock gave the matter some thought before shacking his head. “I don’t think so,” he said. “Whenever you talk system administration there is some risk. That said, we’re not privy to operational planning except in the overall sense of providing data services to the force in general. We don’t get involved in specific operations and generally do not have access to operational data. On top of that while we do have server level access to some pretty serious stuff here, it’s not like if you had Jim’s password that you could log in as a system administrator here. You’d have to have access to specific workstations to get in. On top of that as soon as we heard of his death we shut down his user account and did a review of its use. In short he logged off when he left work yesterday and his account has not come back on since.”
“You can track that pretty well?” asked Sal.
“Oh, yeah,” said Paddock. “Everything is logged within the systems.”
Sal looked over to Mark.
“You said he was looking to earn some extra cash,” said Mark.
“Yup. I interviewed him for the job and he made no bones about it. He didn’t want to do another tour. He was making more money at his civilian job than the army would pay him and even with the extra money he’d get on a deployment he’d just barely be breaking even. What he wanted to do was earn his civilian salary and make some extra cash in his off time. The way we organized the shifts he got the equivalent of three days pay with us every weekend. On top of that he still had time in the evenings to attend local weekend gun shows.”
“He did gun shows?”
“Yup whenever he could. I bought an AR-15 and a pistol off him myself. He bought them stock and then upgraded them with custom gear. He put a close quarter battle reflex sight, a green light laser and a new rail interface on mine. Pretty much anything you can get in the SOPMOD system he’d be able to buy and install for you from the civilian market.”
They’d become bogged down in the evening traffic leaving the South Tampa peninsula for home. All around them cars alternated between jerking forward in spurts of a few dozen yards and idling listlessly. The toxic fumes of their cumulative exhaust seeped into the cab of the SUV.
Sal whacked the steering wheel of the Suburban with both hands. “What the fuck,” he said. “I’ve become a shit magnet. What is this? The hundredth time we’ve gotten stuck in a traffic jam trying to get out of town? It’s bloody well a Sunday. It should have been dead easy to get to the 275.”
The way home from SOCCENT to Lakeland required running the Selmon Expressway north and then making their way through a host of streets around the core of Tampa in order to get to the I-275 and then the I-4. Most business days the link was a horror show but on the weekends usually not so much.
“I hear that there’s a plan to build a connector between the I-4 and the Expressway,” said Mark.
“Spare me. They’ve supposedly talked about that for decades and I have yet to see a shovel in the ground. You and I will both be dead and gone before that gets done. In the meantime we get to wind our way through downtown again.” Sal looked up at the blue Tampa PD building a few blocks away. “Maybe we should just park the car right here and see if Bill’s still in.”
Mark momentarily flirted with the idea but a minor movement from the car ahead of them sparked his optimism that the situation was clearing up.
“Nah,” he said. “With luck we’ll both still make it back to the girls in time for supper.”
Sal’s response was cut short by a buzz on Mark’s Blackberry. Mark pulled it out of its holster and clicked Send.
“Chief Winters,” he said. After a brief pause he took the device from his ear and clicked on its speaker.
“ . . . heard that there might be a killing that you’re investigating,” said the voice from the phone.
“It’s good to hear your voice again too, Alonso. How are the wife and kids?” said Mark looking over to Sal who in response rolled his eyes and returned to concentrating on the once again static traffic.
Alonso was Alonso Tejeda, a reporter for the Tampa Bay Times—Winner of Six Pulitzer Prizes. Alonso had followed them closely during the case of the murdered Russian FSB agent and had managed to get a fairly extensive interview out of Mark after the culmination of the case with the death of the Chechen killer Dzhabrail Tasaev in London, Ontario. CENTCOM had decided that publicizing the details of the case would be advantageous for the command and had assigned a public affairs officer to manage Mark’s participation. Since then Alonso had looked on Mark as his personal source into military felony investigation in south and central Florida. Mark’s opinion of, and use for, Alonso was much less favorable but he recognized the need to keep the reporter in his hip pocket and on good terms. The press had its uses and he quickly came to the conclusion that mobilizing the press in the hunt for the girls could be a very good thing.
“Since when do you care about my family?”
“I’ve always cared, Alonso. Just because you don’t invite me over for barbecue and a beer doesn’t mean I don’t care.”
“Don’t bullshit me. . . . You want to come over?”
“I’m on my way home and my wife has dinner on the table, but thanks for asking.”
“Again with the bullshit. It doesn’t become you Mark,” Tejeda said. “Let’s get serious, okay? What do you know about the killings in Ocala?”
“Why don’t we start with you telling me what you know, Alonso,” said Mark.
“Guy named Lewis and his wife get whacked in their garage in Ocala. Guy’s a reservist with the Green Berets and you’re the lead investigator on the case. How am I doing so far?”
“Not so good,” Mark said. “Yes to Lewis and his wife killed. Yes to him being a reservist with a Special Forces company. No to my being the lead investigator. Ocala PD has the murder case and we’re assisting. What do you know about the girls?”
“What girls?”
“Haven’t you seen an Amber Alert through FDLE? Don’t you guys track that stuff?”
“I don’t have a thing on that,” Alonso replied sounding genuinely confused.
“Shit,” said Sal.
Mark shook his head. “Take another look and follow up with them. I can give you some stuff but it’s got to be non-attributable, okay?”
“Yeah, I’m good with that. Non-attributable.”
“The Lewises have two daughters, Megan twelve and Emma almost eleven. It’s highly likely that they were there at the scene of the shooting but they’re missing, possibly abducted. The Marion County Sheriff’s office has that part of the case. Their lead investigator is one Sergeant Gary Dunn.”
“Got it.”
“Alonso. The following is off the record. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“My theory right now is that the perps are from the Tampa region. I have absolutely no idea why the girls were abducted. If it was because they were witnesses, then they could have been killed right there on the spot so my guess is that there’s another purpose for that; one where they want them alive. Problem is that if the heat gets too intense then they’ll become a major liability. I think a state wide search for the girls is a g
ood thing but if the word gets out that we’re looking specifically into Tampa then we’re risking the girls’ lives big time. Get it?”
“Yeah. I do. Anything else?”
“Nope. Have a good one, Alonso.”
CHAPTER 6
Gulf Blvd., Redington Beach, Florida
Sunday 04 Mar 07 1730 hrs EST
Phil prodded the thermometer into the hamburger and carefully read the temperature. “One fifty,” he said. “A few more minutes yet.”
Phil and Kurt were deeply ensconced in the ritual of North American outdoor cooking; minding the slow progression of the destruction of E. coli by the direct application of heat on a gas grill while ensuring that the meat didn’t turn to charcoal. The task was such a delicate one that they couldn’t possibly divert their attention to the slicing of buns, tomatoes and onions and the preparation of potato salad, tasks all left to Marie, Heather and Tara. At most they were able to hoist their beers for a sip.
“You always use a thermometer?” asked Kurt.
“Sure. Don’t you?”
“Nah I just probe them from time-to-time with the spatula.”
“That’s what I’d expect from a northern savage like you.”
Kurt shook his head. “You come from Minneapolis. Geographically speaking, my home town, and for that matter all of Southern Ontario, lies far closer to the deep South and its barbecue culture than yours does. Maybe that’s why you need all those tools to judge the doneness of your meat rather than intuition.” Kurt gathered himself together with an air of self-righteousness and walked toward the table and chairs set out on the lanaii. “Having been duly insulted this northern savage shall dedicate the rest of the evening to sitting in this chair, drinking his beer and enjoying the sunset.”
Phil laughed and glanced toward the beach where the sun was already well down in the sky. Another hour and it would be below the horizon.
Phil’s home was a three-storey Spanish style house with its gated driveway fronting on the west curb of Gulf Boulevard and its back yard on the Gulf’s white beach. The upper two storeys held bedrooms and Phil’s office/bedroom suite. The latter had a wide balcony which overlooked the Gulf. The main level was a massive open concept area whose back half constituted a kitchen and living area that was separated from the lanaii, the pool beyond and the beach beyond that by building-wide sliding glass panels which could be drawn back to unite the indoor and outdoor areas seamlessly.
The land that the house stood on, as well as three adjoining plots, was bought by Phil’s father, a lieutenant with the Minneapolis police, decades before when the price of waterfront properties was still reasonable. A small cottage on one of the properties served as the family’s holiday retreat for years as his parents built the big house with their own hands bit-by-bit as time and money were available. After their deaths, Phil and Heather had inherited the property although she sold out her share to Phil and his wife Diana several years before Diana was killed. Her death in 2002 by a drunk driver occurred while Phil was commanding a battalion in Afghanistan and was preparing for an assignment to SOCOM in Tampa.
Since then Phil’s family life had taken a backseat to his professional one. His children, Brian and Tracy had continued to live with Diane’s parents in Kentucky while they continued going to a private high school there. Phil’s romantic interests had been few and far between until he had met Marie.
Phil was just reaching for the thermometer again when his Blackberry rang.
“General Sambrook,” he answered.
“Sir. It’s Jackson. Do you have a few minutes to talk?”
“Yeah, hang on,” Phil replied. He held the Blackberry aside and turned to Kurt. “I’ve got to take this he said. Can you finish up the burgers?”
Kurt nodded. “Sure no sweat.”
Phil turned to head into the house and to go up to his office. As he went he called back over his shoulder, “And for God’s sake use the thermometer—one sixty and not a degree more.”
Dusk was gathering and all the dishes save one had been cleared away from the table to the dishwasher by the time that Phil returned to the lanaii some thirty minutes later. He had sat down next to Kurt to eat the, by now, thoroughly dried out burger while the others chatted amongst themselves across the table from him.
“That was one sixty when I took it off,” said Kurt pointedly.
Phil waved his hand in dismissal. “Couldn’t be helped,” he said. “I’ve eaten worse.”
“Do we have a problem?” asked Kurt referring to the telephone call and not the burger.
“Probably,” replied Phil. “That was Jackson. The duty staff was looking to hook me up on a video conference with some folks in Afghanistan. They got me linked in on the secure lines in my office.”
Phil took another bite while he considered how much he could say with the others around the table. Neither Marie or Heather were a problem with their security clearances but Tara was another matter. Finally he shrugged.
“Nicholson has a problem that’s been developing and yesterday it looked like it might have hit a crisis point.”
Heather’s ears had perked up at crisis point. “Who is Nicholson?” she asked Marie.
“Colonel Nicholson commands 10th Mountain Division’s 3rd Brigade Combat Team—Task Force SPARTAN—in Regional Command East,” Marie said softly. “They were supposed to rotate back home when 10th Mountain was replaced by the General Rodriguez’s 82nd Airborne Division last month but have been extended in theater for four months. They’ve given half of their area of operations to the 82nd’s 4th Brigade Combat Team. Colonel Schweitzer commands that and it’s called Task Force FURY.”
Phil nodded. “Nicholson’s brigade has the 1st Battalion of the 3rd Marines attached. The Marine Corps has also created a special forces command called MARSOC and last summer they stood up their first Marine Special Operations Company. One of those, MSOC-F, has been deployed to Afghanistan where it came under command of our CJSOTF-Afghanistan and from time-to-time was tasked to work within TF SPARTAN’s area of operations.”
“So what’s the problem?” asked Kurt.
“Long story short, Nicholson’s had problems with them since they got there. You know what it’s like when you have a special forces organization and a line unit in the same AO; communications between them aren’t always the best. On the one hand you need to maintain security for the special ops but on the other you have to have damn good coordination so that you don’t screw up each others operations and tactical objectives. Nicholson said that MOSC-F would classify their missions and send them up to CJSOTF-A for approval and not tell Nicholson about them.”
“What does Lou have to say about it?” asked Kurt. Colonel Lou Todd being the current commander of CJSOTF-A.
“He’s not a fan of them either and basically says they disregarded specific CJSOTF-A procedures and occasionally altered their approved battle plans unilaterally.
“The thing right now is that there was a VBIED strike reported on them yesterday that they said was apparently supported by a small arms ambush near Bazar Mar Koh in Nangarhar Province. That’s on the A-1 Highway between Jalalabad and the Pak border. The report said that they fought their way out of the ambush and made their way back to the base. Their only casualty was one Marine wounded in the initial VBIED.
“Since the initial report there have been folks from Nicholson’s PRT as well as ANA, MPs and an explosives exploitation team sent in and the reports that Nicholson has been getting back point to a large number of civilian dead and wounded as a result of the ambush. There’s a heavy suspicion that the VBIED was the only real enemy activity. The civilian evidence is that the shooting came entirely from the Marines and that, so far, there has been no sign of any enemy small arms, no brass at the site; nothing.”
“Do you want me to do an Article 15-6 investigation?” asked Kurt.
“No. Not you,” replied Phil. “I’ve discussed this with the Marine Corps and they’re wanting an investigation.” Phil sighed
and continued, “I will be ordering an Article 15-6 and CID will also be investigating but I think this one is going to be a major political lightning rod. Hell! Let’s be honest; it’s going to be a dog-fuck. Quite frankly there is no international component up there which would be aided by your involvement. On the other hand, despite the Corps’ wanting this, the rank and file Marines will go nuts about the fact that the Army is investigating their boys in the first place. If I put a Canadian in charge of it they’d have fits of apoplexy just before they call in every senator and congressman with a Marine connection. No. I’ll be appointing Pat to do this one. What with a concurrent CID investigation I want you to monitor the matter together with Winters.”
Kurt nodded. “Being that they’re Marines I bet the Navy will want NCIS to look at this instead. CID will probably be sidestepping on this. The Afghans, however, will be all over this by the way it sounds.”
“No doubt.” Phil sat back discarding any idea of finishing the burger.
Kurt sat back as well and took another pull at his beer. “Changing the subject, how is Harvey’s resignation going to affect things here?” Two days before, Francis Harvey the Secretary of the Army had tendered his resignation after being asked to do so by Secretary of Defence, Robert Gates. The action was in response to several critical articles published in the Washington Post respecting problems at the Walter Reed Army Medical Center. Gates himself was a new appointee having been put in place by Bush in January following Rumsfeld’s resignation the previous November. That resignation had come in response to the so called Generals’ Revolt and the poor performance of the Republican Party in the Congressional mid-term elections.
“I don’t see an issue there yet,” replied Phil. “His initiatives to improve the army’s effectiveness with uparmored HMMWVs, and MRAPs and force modularization are all well underway. Geren’s stepped up in the interim and I’m betting he’ll get the nod for the job. He’s been undersecretary for the last year and I don’t see any big changes in direction in the near future.” Phil paused and took a sip. “Nah. The Iraq surge is going in, come hell or high water. All we need to have happen is that Bush stops fucking the dog on troop numbers. Of course, once that happens, we’ll have to get the troops in place and show some positive results.” Another pause and another sip. “Sometimes I think you Canadians had the right idea when you decided to stay in Afghanistan but out of Iraq.”