Lethal diversion, p.11
Lethal Diversion, page 11
“I thought you were done with me?” Bolan asked when he answered the call.
“I thought I was, but I’m not calling for me, so I guess that works out.”
Bolan kept his silence, glancing at the GPS unit and hooking a left a full block before he’d have been forced to turn around.
“Anyway,” Seles continued when Bolan didn’t say anything, “Washington sent out someone to take over the situation here. I’m calling for him.”
“What are you talking about?” Bolan asked. “From what I could tell, Allison seems to be doing a pretty good job.”
“I thought so, too, but apparently, they think us yokels need to be shown how to run things. The new guy is NSA, name of Vincent Walker. He walked in here with a hard-on and it’s getting bigger by the minute. You know him?”
“One of those, huh?” Bolan said. “I don’t know him, but I know his type well enough.”
“Well, you’ll be happy to hear he has set his sights on you. He wants you to come in to the EOC and debrief.”
“Not so much happy as vaguely annoyed,” he said. “It’s lucky for me that I don’t answer to him.”
Bolan could hear Denny chuckling on the other end. “You know you’re likely to catch hell when it all comes out in the wash.”
“Maybe, maybe not. What I do know is that I don’t have time to answer a bunch of useless questions from some bureaucrat. I’m above his pay grade whether he likes it or not.”
“I’m not telling him that!” Seles said.
“Then I’ll tell him myself. Put me through to him.”
Bolan waited on hold as he continued to maneuver through the streets to the house of Abdul Batin, the name the imam had given him. He parked half a block down, and was using his night-vision-capable binoculars to scope out the house when Walker came on the line.
“What is this about you not coming in for a debrief, Agent Cooper?” he said, skipping right over any preliminaries or pleasantries.
“I don’t have time for it right now,” Bolan said. “I’m on a trail.”
“You’ve got balls, Cooper, I’ll give you that. But when I say come in for a debrief that’s what I mean. Now get your ass back to the EOC.”
“Listen to me, Walker, and pay attention. There is only one way this is going to go and it’s my way. I don’t know what authority you think you have over me, because you don’t have any. I will continue to feed the information I find as I uncover it, but I don’t work for you.”
“This is supposed to be a joint task force...” Walker started to say, but Bolan cut him off.
“I’m not part of any task force. While you sit around the EOC and make everyone miserable, I’m going to be doing my job. I suggest you leave me to it, and I’ll leave you to yours. I’ll contact you when I have more information.”
Bolan hit the end button on his cell phone, cutting off the call. It began to ring again immediately, but he hit Ignore and turned it to Vibrate. He had more important things to do than satisfy the power-hungry urges of a Washington bureaucrat.
* * *
WALKER SLAMMED THE PHONE DOWN so hard it actually hurt his hand. It had been a long time since anyone had spoken to him that way, and as far as he was concerned, hell itself would freeze over before it ever happened again. He punched Matt Cooper’s information into his computer.
“The prick might think he can get away from me, but wait until I have his superiors hand me his balls for breakfast,” he muttered to himself.
The file loaded briefly, but before he could read more than a name, the file went blank and a message popped on screen: ACCESS DENIED.
“What?” Walker said. “Unbelievable.” He backtracked to the main screen, then typed in what the NSA called an Alpha Code—it was a top-level clearance code that would give him access to virtually anything in the federal databases, except the nuclear launch codes. He typed in Cooper’s name once more, and again, his file loaded just a name. The rest of the fields were blank, then a new message popped up: TS/SCI/PEO. ACCESS DENIED.
He’d never seen such a designation before. Shaking his head in disbelief at his inability to bring up the DEA agent’s file, he tried one more time, and failed again. Walker pushed back from the desk, then used the intercom built into the phone to call Seles into his office. The FBI agent stepped inside within a couple of minutes.
“I was just about to leave,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
“I want you to track down Agent Cooper and I want him arrested.”
“On what grounds?” Seles asked. “Last I knew, he was an officer of the law, not a law-breaker.”
“Are you questioning my authority?” Walker asked.
Seles shook his head. “Not at all, but if you’re having me arrest someone I need to know the charge.”
“The charge is espionage.”
“You’re joking, right?” Seles asked. “I don’t understand.”
“I never joke, Agent Seles, and you don’t have to understand. Now, ping his phone for coordinates, track him down and take him into custody. This isn’t your show to run anymore and you will obey my orders or you can get the hell out of my investigation.”
Seles turned to leave, still shaking his head.
“And Agent Seles,” Walker said, “if you come back here without him, I’m going to assume that you’re part of whatever he’s up to. And then I’m coming after you.”
The man didn’t reply, but simply let the door shut behind him. Walker turned back to the computer screen to stare at the security message again: TS/SCI/PEO. In all his years of government service, he’d never seen it before. Not one time.
The common denominator in every “near miss” tonight in trying to catch the terrorists was Matt Cooper. Perhaps it was because he wasn’t a federal agent at all, but a plant, or some kind of double agent. Either way, he’d have some answers and soon.
It was the only thing that made any real sense. As a Deputy Director for the NSA, Walker had access to the highest levels of intelligence in the government. If a simple personnel file had been sealed off, then something—or someone—wasn’t right.
Until he found out what or who, everyone was a potential suspect, but he had a feeling that it all started and ended with this Matt Cooper. As soon as Seles brought him in, Walker knew at least a hundred ways to make a man like that spill his guts. He’d pry his secrets out of him and find the trail that everyone else had overlooked.
All of this Detroit mess would be over by sunrise, and he’d be on his way to the top.
14
The house, a small once-white bungalow in need of a fresh coat of paint, regular trash service and an owner that knew something about hedge-trimming, appeared quiet as Bolan approached. The sun would be coming up soon, but for the time being, the darkness held, and that served his purposes as he slipped up the driveway and around the back of the house. The door there was also dark and he looked carefully for any sign of motion lights before he moved in closer.
He tested the door and found it locked, but used his tool to pick it silently. Bolan eased the door open and stepped inside, shutting it just as quietly as he’d opened it. The back door led to the kitchen, and he was surprised to see that the room was spotlessly clean. The inside of the house didn’t match what the outside had led him to expect. He’d imagined wading through cockroaches and mounds of unwashed dishes. A couple of plates and some cheap silverware were drying in the dish rack.
On cat’s feet, he moved past the kitchen, peering into the dark, empty living room, before turning and moving down the hall. Light pooled through the crack at the base of one door. Bolan leaned closer and listened. A television was on, though the volume was turned low. A faint rustling of paper, but no conversation. Batin was alone.
Bolan leaned back and lashed out with one boot, kicking in the door. Batin was sitting at a desk. He yanked open a drawer, sticking a hand inside, as the Executioner drew the Desert Eagle from his shoulder rig.
“If you want to live, you’d better get your hands where I can see them.”
The Desert Eagle was a large, intimidating weapon. Batin slowly withdrew his hand from the drawer, placing it with his other on top of the desk. Bolan moved forward and placed the muzzle of his weapon on the man’s forehead.
“You are Abdul Batin?”
The man offered a very small nod of his head.
“Good. You and I are going to have a talk. You are going to answer my questions, and I will let you live. If you don’t, then this is going to be the longest night of your life. Nod if you understand.”
Small beads of sweat were breaking on Batin’s nodding forehead, and Bolan lowered his weapon. Like the kitchen, this room was meticulously clean. There was a laptop computer on the desk, several pieces of paper, and a suitcase on the bed. He looked more closely and saw that one of the sheets of paper was an itinerary for a flight leaving out of Detroit in a few hours.
“Planning a trip?” he asked.
“To visit family in California,” Batin said.
Bolan picked up the sheet of paper. “This was purchased less than an hour ago,” he said. “People don’t usually buy their tickets at the last minute.”
“Family emergency,” he said, clipping his words. His eyes hadn’t yet left the muzzle of the Desert Eagle.
“More like an impending emergency here,” Bolan snapped. “Now, who’s behind the bomb we found tonight...or should I say, the decoy?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Batin said, his words heavily accented by both his culture and his fear.
Without any warning, Bolan flipped the pistol around in his hand and smashed the butt onto the top of Batin’s hand. Bones cracked with the force of the blow. Batin cried out and reflexively cradled the hand against his chest as he rocked back and forth.
“See, things were going so well. I was asking questions, you were telling me lies, but there was communication. Then, you had to pull out the old ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’ line. We both know you do.”
Batin kept his silence, and Bolan had to admire the man’s resolve. Sadly, things hadn’t even gotten harsh yet.
“Listen to me carefully, Batin,” he said. “Under normal circumstances, I’d have more time to play games with you. I’d ask nicely and we’d spend some real time getting the answers out of you. But the way this night has gone, I suspect I don’t have much time at all.”
He waited to see if Batin responded, and when he didn’t, Bolan continued. “You’re in a real hurry to leave town, Batin, which makes me think that I should drop you in the nearest cell downtown. Once that bomb is about to go off, you’ll talk. You’ll sing opera if it means saving your own life. But I can’t take the chance that something would happen to you. So, I’m going to ask one more time. And either you answer me—truthfully—or I’m going to take you apart a piece at a time.”
Bolan pressed the Desert Eagle into the man’s left elbow. “I’ll start by blowing off your arm, Batin. Now, who is behind this? Who am I looking for?”
“Yasim, Malick Yasim,” Batin stammered. “He told me I would be helping the cause if I gave the information to the imam, but I don’t know anything else!”
“Sure you do,” Bolan said, “but we’ll get to that in a minute.” He stepped back and pulled out his handheld, hitting the button that would autodial Brognola on a secure line. Before the call could go through, the sound of the front door bursting open, followed by loud voices, stopped him. He hit the end button and slipped the device back into his coat.
In the small house, options were limited, so Bolan stepped to one side of the door frame, ready to take out the first person who stuck his head in the room. The voices moved down the hallway, calling out “Clear,” and he realized that it was law enforcement. He was sliding the Desert Eagle back into its holster when Seles stuck his head into the room, training his own Glock on Bolan.
“If you came to help, Seles, I think you’re a little late,” he said.
“Put your hands up, Cooper. I’m placing you under arrest.”
A bit stunned, Bolan cocked an eyebrow. “Aren’t we supposed to be tracking down terrorists instead of arresting each other?”
“I’m here to take you back in to the EOC, Cooper. You’re to be debriefed and possibly charged with espionage.”
Walker was flexing his muscles, Bolan realized, but there was no way that Seles could know that. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I have my orders.”
“From Walker,” he replied. “You aren’t seriously going to let someone come in and derail us during this mess are you?”
“Just take out your gun and put it on the desk, nice and slow.”
Bolan removed the Desert Eagle from his holster, then set it lightly on the desk, out of Batin’s easy reach, and held up his hands. “Just bring this guy along with you, too. He’s a material witness and was the one who flipped on the warehouse. I’ve already gotten a name from him.”
Batin jumped to his feet and began yelling. “I don’t know what he’s talking about! This maniac breaks into my house and smashes my hand! I want my lawyer and medical attention. I will sue this whole city.”
Seles stepped forward and looked at Batin’s hand, which was already swollen and turning terrific shades of dark blue and purple.
“Christ, Cooper, what did you do to him?” He turned the officer behind him. “Have this man cleared by the paramedics before we take him back to the EOC and then give us the room.”
The officers pulled Batin along with them as he loudly protested his treatment. Seles holstered his weapon and walked up to Bolan.
“I don’t know what in the hell is going on here, Cooper, but Walker wants you brought in. You’ve been lone-wolfing it all night, and he seems to think you’re the reason we’ve been running in circles. I need to know right now if you’ve been playing us. Are you some kind of spy for them?”
“Denny,” Bolan said, “if I were a spy, I’d have helped them kill you at the warehouse. You’d be dead. This is just Walker trying to flex his muscles because I wouldn’t do what he wanted. He’s trying to be a hero and make himself look good.”
Seles sighed heavily, and rubbed his hands over his face. He looked tired, but at this point, Bolan figured they all did. Everything they’d found so far had been one dead end after another, but if he could give Brognola the name he’d gotten out of Batin, maybe they’d have something solid to start with. He started to say this to Seles when several gunshots rang out in the living room, ridiculously loud in the small space of the bungalow.
Seles drew his Glock and Bolan grabbed for his Desert Eagle without thinking that the FBI agent might not approve. He gave Bolan a quick glance, nodded, then the two of them went down the hallway.
The two officers who had been escorting Batin were lying on the living-room floor, while paramedics worked feverishly to stem the flow of blood from their wounds. Both had been shot at nearly point-blank range and it didn’t look good.
“What the hell happened?” Seles yelled.
One of his team members who’d been stationed at the front door explained, “The suspect had a gun hidden. He waited until he could use the paramedic as a shield, then shot Johnson and Parker. He was out the back door so fast...” He shrugged. “We didn’t give chase because we weren’t clear on his status and there were Johnson and Parker to think about.”
“Damn it!” Bolan cried. “Now all we’ve got is a name and nowhere to look for it!”
“Clear down the scene,” Seles ordered, “then return to the EOC. We’ll meet you there.”
“You’re still taking me in?” he asked, incredulously.
“No, but you’re coming in all the same. Let’s get Walker out of our hair and figure out what’s next.”
“I had what was next and you and Walker blew it. Let’s go and get this done.”
* * *
THE CORPORATE OFFICES OF AJ Engineering and Manufacturing were of no interest to Yasim, but they were part of a carefully designed industrial park. The outer line of buildings was offices, while behind them were storage facilities and warehouses. Access to the office buildings was simple—they faced the street and had public parking—but getting to the storage buildings was a bit more difficult. The grounds were fenced off with a twelve-foot-tall chain-link electrified fence topped with coiled barbed wire. Automatic motion lights and an active foot-patrol security presence ensured that getting close without being seen was virtually impossible. No reasonable expense had been spared, but the facilities were used to store very expensive materials ranging from computer components for the defense industry to the detonator that he needed to acquire in order to complete the bomb.
The bridge-wire detonator was small, but used gold and platinum components. Individually, it would be worth a small sum, but a large stockpile of them, stripped down for their valuable metal, would be worth a fortune. The company that made them, AJ Engineering and Manufacturing, was a supplier for large commercial mining operations all over the world that used the detonators for blasting. Fortunately, while the security systems in place here were formidable, they were less concerned with the people who worked for them.
Yasim had spent three months working nights as a temporary security guard to gain the information he would need to access the facility successfully and steal the detonator Sayf required.
Reaching the first exterior gate, Yasim pulled the unmarked cargo van to a stop and rolled down the window. The illuminated keypad glowed a soft green as he punched in the code he’d stolen from the security-office computer—he hoped that it was still valid. The code was thirteen digits in length, and the upside—if it worked—would be an invisible entry. The downside was that an invalid code would automatically alert the system, locking down the gate and sending a notification of a breach in progress to both security guards and the local police.
