The Money Trail

by J. C. Fields

  Griffin smiled. “Yes, it was, but I changed my mind. Joseph seems to have a better feel for the flow. Sorry, Carl. You’re still in charge of personnel.”

  Wood gave the president a suspicious smile. “I see. Do you wish my resignation, sir?”

  Griffin hesitated. He stared at the top of his desk for several moments and then looked up. “Actually, I do.”

  The Chief of Staff’s eyes widened and a look of panic crossed his face for just a moment before returning to a neutral expression. “May I enquire as to why?”

  “Dmitri Orlov.”

  “Beg pardon, sir?”

  “Carl, please do not insult my intelligence.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

  Griffin stood, his face turning crimson. “How dare you debase this sacred office. I know you have committed treason in your attempt to cover your indiscretion.”

  “Sir?”

  “We know, Carl. We know.”

  Wood took a deep breath. “Since when?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “I see.” His demeanor changed, shifting from contrite to contempt. “And what do you propose I do, Mr. President? Fall on my sword for you?”

  “No. You will submit to a lie-detector test.”

  “No.”

  “Want to spend the rest of your life in a federal penitentiary?”

  Carl Wood stood straight and crossed his arms. “I want a lawyer.”

  “You will probably need more than one.”

  Silence filled the Oval Office as Griffin pressed a button on his desk phone. “Ms. Tillman, please send in my protection detail.”

  Less than two seconds later, four members of the President’s protection squad stormed into the room. They surrounded the former Chief of Staff and looked to the President.

  “Gentlemen, please inform Special Agent Ryan Clark his presence is needed at the White House.”

  The lead agent nodded and the four men escorted their charge out of the Oval Office.

  Taking a deep breath, President Roy Griffin picked up the phone on his desk and said, “Ms. Tillman, please call FBI Agent Sean Kruger. Tell him I have a confession to make.”

  ***

  Sean Kruger’s voice emanated from the speaker phone on the Resolute Desk. “Mr. President, this may have been the better strategy.”

  “Sean, spare me the politically correct BS. Just tell me if I screwed up.”

  Kruger chuckled. “Far be it from me to tell my president something like that.”

  “Sean, we’ve been friends for over five years. I need real and truthful counsel right now.”

  “Very well, Mr. President.”

  “Please call me, Roy.”

  “Very well, Roy. I really believe your actions may have been the correct path. After thinking about it on the flight home last night, I may have been mistaken in my original assessment.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, no bullshit.”

  The president chuckled. “Thank you. Explain.”

  “We need Orlov to panic. Panic tends to produce actions hastily conceived and not properly thought through. I need Orlov to lash out like a wounded animal. Once he does that, JR and his team will be able to undermine the Kremlin’s confidence in the man. The seeds have already been sown. We just need a little fertilizer to bring it to fruit and I believe you may have provided the needed manure.”

  Griffin chuckled. “Good.” He paused, his brow furrowed suddenly. “You said team. I thought JR worked alone.”

  “He has a very knowledgeable recruit.”

  “Should I worry about this recruit?”

  “Jimmie Gibbs doesn’t believe so.”

  The President smiled and looked over at Joseph, who nodded. “Very well. I will leave this in your capable hands.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President.”

  “Uh, Sean, should I fire the Secretary of Education?”

  “Once again, Mr. President, above my pay grade.”

  “In other words, yes.”

  “A good decision, sir.”

  The call ended and Griffin grimaced. He looked at Joseph. “Will anybody ever call me by my first name again?”

  Shaking his head, Joseph smiled. “Your wife will, but no one else may for a long time, Mr. President. Not for a long time.

  ***

  The split screen image on the wall-mounted television showed the CNN anchor on the left and two members of Congress on the right. Joseph turned up the volume to better hear the subject matter.

  “…my Oversight Committee and the Select Committee on Intelligence, chaired by my colleague, Congressman Tony Holt, will be investigating the recent seizure of three large banks by the Griffin Administration.”

  The CNN anchor, one of the network’s multitude of young attractive females, continued her questioning. “Why do you feel this needs to be investigated?”

  Holt answered. “We feel the Griffin administration overstepped their authority. My committee will be investigating why a rogue FBI agent seems to be in the middle of several other recent abuses by this administration.”

  “Who is the agent, Congressman Holt?”

  “I would prefer not to divulge his identity at the moment, as we are currently preparing subpoenas for our investigation.”

  “President Griffin has only been in office a short period of time. How can you claim his administration is already abusing its authority?”

  “That’s why we have subpoena power, to investigate if they are.”

  Joseph rolled his eyes as he listened. Standing with his arms crossed over his chest, he wondered where this sudden expression of defiance for the new president came from. Turning down the sound, he reached into his pocket for his cell phone and made a call.

  “Kruger.”

  “Are you watching CNN?”

  “I try not to watch those channels, Joseph.”

  “Did you know you are now classified as a rogue FBI Agent?”

  “By whom?”

  “Congressman Anthony Holt. He’s chairman of the Permanent Select Committee on Intelligence. They’re the committee with oversight over the FBI and DOJ.”

  “What’s the context of his classifying me as a rogue agent?”

  “The seizure of Orlov’s banks.”

  A dozen seconds of silence passed before Joseph heard, “Really?”

  “Yes, really. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “Yes, I’ll have JR look into it.” He paused for a heartbeat. “Have Clark or Knoll talk to Yanovich. He might have some insight.”

  “Consider it done.”

  ***

  “What do you think, JR?”

  JR’s left hand covered his mouth as he stared at his computer screen. Alexia stood off to the side with her arms folded over her chest.

  JR looked up at Kruger. “I think he’s dirty.” He pointed to his computer screen. “His history on the committee has never been anti-administration. He’s always been kind of an ass-kisser for the presiding president for the past two election cycles. Political party be damned, he swings both ways.”

  “Orlov?”

  JR nodded.

  Alexia cleared her throat.

  Both Kruger and JR looked at her. JR smiled and prompted, “You have an idea?”

  “There’s a way to check.”

  Kruger tilted his head and JR looked like a proud father. Kruger asked, “How?”

  “I check in with my Mexico City hacker persona.”

  JR frowned. “How do you explain your silence?”

  Alexia’s eyes sparkled. “I tell them I had to relocate.”

  “Are you going to tell them where?”

  She shook her head. “Not this time.”

  Both men looked at each other and grinned. JR returned his attention to Alexia. “Go for it.”

  ***

  The prisoner interrogation room smelled of sweat and Lysol, with a lingering background of cigarette smoke from the time smoking was permitted in the roo
m. Peter Yanovich’s expression told Ryan Clark what he needed to know. The man was scared.

  Sandy Knoll leaned against the interrogation room door, towering over Yanovich. Ryan Clark, sitting across from the attorney, started the questioning. “Peter, we need information.”

  “I need out of here.”

  “We can put in a good word for you with the Attorney General.”

  The lawyer’s eyebrows rose. “The Attorney General? What’s he got to do with this?”

  Giving Yanovich a grim smile, Clark leaned forward in his chair. “Your case was referred to the DOJ instead of the local District Attorney’s office.”

  The prisoner looked at Knoll and then back to Clark. He repeated this several times before speaking, his voice now an octave higher than normal. “What the hell for?”

  “They changed the charges against you from violating the Foreign Agent Registration Act to Domestic Terrorism under the USA Patriot Act to accessory to murder. Trace amounts of elements used in the manufacture of A-232 were found on a pair of shoes in your closet.”

  Yanovich stared wide-eyed at Clark. “You’ve got to be kidding me?’

  A shake of the FBI agent’s head was his answer.

  The attorney’s wide-eyed expression verged on panic.

  “Plus, we caught the man who sprayed it.” Clark chose not to go into detail about the Frenchman.

  “How? Why? I mean, come on guys, there’s no way…” He stopped, his expression changed from shock to recognition. He narrowed his eyes and smiled slightly.

  “I get it. What do you want?”

  Clark returned the smile. “Anthony Holt.”

  “What about him?”

  “Is he under Dmitri Orlov’s control?”

  The attorney sat back in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest and smiled.

  “Get me a deal. Get me out of here and I’ll tell you everything I know.”

  “Which is?”

  “More than you think I know.”

  “How do I know the information you have is worth it?”

  “You don’t, but you’ll just have to trust me.”

  “Something I’m not inclined to do right now, Peter.”

  “You want to know about Holt?”

  Clark nodded.

  “Okay, here’s a sample. Interview a woman by the name of Elizabeth Townsley. I don’t know where she lives now, but she graduated from the University of Arkansas in Fayetteville in 2013 or 2014. Their alumni center might know. She can tell you a lot about Holt.”

  Standing, Clark nodded. “If this pans out and I get you a deal, will you tell us about Orlov’s operations in the US?”

  “Oh, yeah. Get me out of here first.”

  ***

  The drive to the Arkansas Alumni Association building located north of Bud Walton Arena on North Razorback Road in Fayetteville brought back unpleasant memories for Kruger. As Jimmie Gibbs drove the Range Rover past the arena, Kruger stared at it from the passenger seat. It was the first time he had returned to the site since the terrorist attack five years earlier. Gibbs slowed the SUV.

  “Is this where it happened?”

  Kruger nodded, lost in his own thoughts. After a dozen seconds, he said. “I first noticed the white van traveling at a high rate of speed on MLK Boulevard and then turn onto this road. I was standing there.” He pointed to the west entrance of the huge arena. “Aazim Abbas drove the van off the road onto the grassy area straight at me.” He looked over at Gibbs. “I’m told the explosion occurred less than thirty yards from my position. I don’t know. I don’t remember anything after I saw the van until I woke up in the hospital.”

  Gibbs smiled. “Yeah, it can happen. Glad you survived.”

  Chuckling, Kruger looked back at the site. “Me too. If I hadn’t, Stephanie would have killed me.”

  Both men laughed as Gibbs pulled the black vehicle back into traffic.

  After displaying their FBI credentials and explaining the reason they needed to contact Elizabeth Townsley, the director of the center gave them her cell phone number. But not her address.

  Back in the Range Rover, Kruger called the number. He heard a soft voice with a southern accent answer.

  “Ms. Townsley, my name is Sean Kruger. I am a Special Agent with the FBI. I need to schedule a meeting with you.”

  The voice was hesitant. “A meeting? About what, Agent?”

  “Congressman Anthony Holt.”

  “Where are you right now, Agent?”

  “Fayetteville campus, we just spoke to the Alumni Center.”

  There was silence on the other end of the call. Finally, after a few awkward moments, he heard, “I work at the Walmart Home Office in Bentonville. I can meet you at a Starbucks located at 102 and Walton Boulevard. How soon can you be there?”

  “Give us thirty minutes.”

  “Us?”

  “Yes, there will be two of us, Ms. Townsley.”

  “I see.”

  “Will that be a problem?”

  “No, I’ll be waiting.”

  Elizabeth Townsley shook their hands after Kruger and Gibbs showed her their FBI identification. Noting her handshake was firm and her clothing professional, he assumed she worked in a managerial job for the giant retailer. Her blonde hair, which she wore in a ponytail, appeared natural. Blue eyes stared at him with apprehension and a touch of suspicion.

  After receiving their coffee, the three sat in the back of the café away from the rest of the afternoon crowd. She wasted no time in starting conversation.

  “What did you want to talk to me about?”

  Kruger smiled. He liked getting to the point. “We need to know about any relationship you may have had with Congressman Holt.”

  “Why do you think I had one?”

  The question, while not unreasonable, was not the one he anticipated. “So, you did have a relationship with him?”

  Townsley displayed a sly smile. “I didn’t say that. I asked why you believe I had one.”

  “Did you?”

  The smile remained. “We can dance around this until our coffee gets cold, Agent. Tell me why you want to know and I will respond to your question.”

  “Holt is under investigation,” Gibbs answered. “That’s all we can say.”

  The woman openly laughed, with a touch of bitterness. “Finally, somebody figured out the man is an asshole and no, I did not have a relationship with him.”

  Kruger spoke in a soft voice as he tilted his head. “Did he rape you, Elizabeth?”

  The woman’s smile vanished as she stared at her coffee. After taking a sip, she nodded slightly. “I thought with the whole ‘MeToo’ movement I could finally come out and accuse him of it, but after seeing how other assaulted women are treated by our so-called leaders in Washington, I decided I’d just keep my mouth shut.”

  “Are you married, Elizabeth?”

  “Not yet. Engaged.”

  “Does your fiancée know?”

  She nodded as she studied the coffee cup again.

  “I told him about it one night when we were discussing marriage. He wanted me to speak up, but changed his mind after seeing what other women have been through.” She looked up at Kruger and Gibbs, wetness welling in her eyes. “He’s a good man, agents. I don’t want to cause anything to come between us.”

  “I understand, Elizabeth. But we need to understand the severity of Holt’s attack on you.”

  After a phone call, the woman’s fiancée arrived and supported her while she told the two FBI agents her story. Over the course of the next hour, Gibbs and Kruger learned about the attack on Elizabeth Townsley.

  Chapter 37

  Plano, TX

  The first flight out of Springfield to Dallas-Fort Worth allowed Kruger to park his rental car in the driveway of Kyle Sandifer’s son’s home by 9:40 a.m. After showing his FBI credentials and conferring with the no-nonsense security detail still watching the house, he was escorted to the kitchen.

  As he entered, Sandifer stopp
ed pouring water into a Cuisinart coffee machine and gave him a grim smile. “I appreciate you calling ahead, but will assume this is not a social visit, Agent Kruger.”

  “No, sir, it is not.”

  Kruger watched the attorney return to preparing the coffee. His normally professionally styled hair was disheveled, displaying more pronounced streaks of gray. His usual ramrod straight posture was gone, replaced by slightly slumped shoulders. Kruger detected the beginnings of puffy dark circles under his eyes and a loss of weight.

  “What has transpired, Agent?”

  “Your office remains locked and closed. No one on your staff has been contacted by the new owners with any explanation.”

  “Dear God.” Sandifer closed his eyes, slowly shook his head and stared at the caramel colored water flowing into the carafe. He remained silent until the coffee machine hummed and sputtered the last drips of water through the grinds. Reaching for two mugs in the kitchen cabinet, Sandifer looked at his guest. “Coffee?”

  Kruger nodded and the two men sat at a small bistro table in a breakfast nook off the kitchen.

  “Mr. Sandifer…”

  “Please call me Kyle, Agent.”

  “Our investigation has turned up information which is, quite frankly, disturbing. Kyle, I have a few names I need to ask you about.”

  “I’ll do my best, Agent. Who are they?”

  “We know about Donald Pittman. However, the following individuals have come under scrutiny over the past few days. What can you tell me about Anthony Holt, Carl Wood and Jane Friedman?”

  Sandifer let his breath out slowly and studied the liquid in his coffee mug. He was quiet for almost a minute. Kruger patiently waited.

  “How much do you know?”

  “I would prefer you tell me what you know.”

  The attorney nodded and stood. “Give me a second,” he said as he turned toward the doorway.

  Kruger watched as the man left the kitchen and returned twenty seconds later. He placed a black PNY flash drive in front of the FBI agent.

  “When I started to suspect something amiss with the sale of our company to Orlov, I started scanning files. I didn’t know the man well enough to trust him.” He pointed to the small device. “That contains twelve of my most provocative files. There were more, but those individuals have left government or passed away. The files on that disk are of current high-ranking members of the Washington elite. All were my clients and all were involved in career-ending missteps I helped them—resolve.”