FATAL eMPULSE Read online

  “He charges escort services on a company card? What an idiot.”

  Willy chuckled. “Not only that, but I hacked into the escort service and got the address where Devon had girls show up. Oh, by the way, Joe flew out last night and should be arriving any time with a set of identity papers for both of you, including credit cards and cash.”

  “Let me give you our hotel here in Fort Lauderdale—”

  “Forget it, Mr. G. Already have all that information.”

  “How’d you…my cell phone.”

  “Uh-huh. Not only can I tell which hotel you stayed in, but what room number. I’m so good, I know you were quite the gentleman last night—slept in the chair and gave Alena the bed.”

  “You know, Willy, sometimes I’d like to think I have a little privacy—even from you.”

  “Hey, someday my electronic eyes may save your life.”

  “I got Beck on the other line. Just get word to Joe that we’ll meet him here at the hotel. Ship me everything you have on Devon. I may have a plan to track this jerk down.” He transferred back to Beck. “You still there?”

  “Where would I go, Gerrit?”

  “You talk with Willy about the latest on Devon?”

  “No. What did our little geek turn up?”

  Gerrit passed on the information. “My guess, this guy pulled out of Miami and returned to his old stomping grounds until further notice. He probably has his crew searching Miami for us right now.”

  “And feeding the two guys you shot to the alligators.”

  “Look, I’m going to need a few tools. Once Joe gets here, Alena and I are going big-game fishing in the Key West area. Can you get me some supplies?” He gave Beck his shopping list.

  “You know, the local FBI office must be kept in the dark. I had them on standby until I received further information about yesterday. But this Key West thing, they’d have to report to someone up the chain before they give you what you need. Let’s take a different approach for this op. I have a Cuban contact, a friend, who lives in Little Havana. He and I worked together in the past, and he can get his hands on what you need.”

  “I hope the cards Joe brings have unlimited credit.”

  “Ouch. It sounds expensive.”

  Gerrit laughed. “We’re going with one of the fastest boats money can rent.”

  “Just watch your back, O’Rourke. Someone is out there trying to put you out of business. I’ll see what I can find out. Until then, keep your eyes wide open.”

  “Later, Beck.” He terminated the call and turned back toward the hotel. Forget the coffee. They needed to move fast as soon as Joe arrived.

  The man lowered his newspaper and watched Joe approach the ticket counter. He raised his sleeve and spoke into a mike. “O’Rourke is leaving Miami. I missed him when he flew in, but I’ve got him in my sights now.” He waited for Devon McAllister to give final instructions. They missed an opportunity to find out who O’Rourke met here—probably that couple who shot up the crew at the hotel last night.

  “You lost him inbound? How did that happen? He was to lead us to the others.”

  “Sorry, boss. I’ve got him now. You want me to let him go or…?”

  There was a pause on the end of the line. “This doesn’t change anything. We have our orders. Move in and do what you have to do. When it’s done, call me. This time—no screwups.”

  McAllister hung up on him. The boss had spoken.

  He carefully folded up his newspaper and began following O’Rourke. The old man checked in at the counter and left his baggage to be loaded by the airlines.

  He pulled out a federal ID that would allow him to wander anywhere in the airport’s secured area. The ID looked real, but it was as phony as a TV evangelist selling miracles. This was going to be too easy.

  He reached into his pocket with a gloved hand and pulled out a sealed envelope as he followed O’Rourke’s luggage on the conveyor belt. Looking around, he saw no one watching. He grabbed the old man’s bag, unzipped it, and slipped the envelope inside. After zipping it up, he let the bag continue on its way, then he made his way out of the airport.

  Now, to hunt down all the others, one by one if that was what it took. Someone put a million-dollar bounty on each of their heads. It was time to make some real money.

  Chapter 19

  February 24

  White House, Washington, D.C.

  “The call went through, sir.” The White House aide thrust his chin toward the phone on the president’s desk. “Staff alerted him that you called.”

  Stephen picked up the receiver. He swiveled in his chair, staring out at the south lawn, his elbow resting on the Resolute desk. “Mr. Prime Minister, this is President Chambers about our meeting coming up in three weeks. Looking forward to revisiting your country, sir.”

  “Mr. President, my country is looking forward to your visit with great anticipation. It means so much during these difficult times. To show the world that we stand together.”

  “It is an honor. Friends and allies need to demonstrate their commitment to each other.” Stephen knew the prime minister didn’t need to spell out what he meant by “difficult times.”

  Prime Minister Idan Shalev received a copy of the latest DIA intelligence reports Stephen couriered to Israel a few days ago. DIA, along with collaborative intelligence from NSA and other agencies, picked up unusual flight patterns between Iran and Syria, warplanes deployed by both nations and billed as a joint military exercise program.

  Iraq weakly acquiesced to use of their airspace to facilitate this exercise. Ever since Iran did their saber rattling in the Strait of Hormuz, flexing their power to shut down traffic through that area, they’d let it be known who wielded the most power in that corner of the world. At least in Iran’s eyes.

  Iran’s neighboring countries looked on uneasily, not wanting to intentionally antagonize that country and looking to the U.S to see what reaction might be forthcoming. Israel placed their military on high alert.

  Stephen needed to assert his country’s commitment to its allies, particularly Israel, after the damage perpetrated by his predecessor. The man who formerly sat in the Oval Office foolishly expressed a spirit of conciliation among this country’s sworn enemies—even rogue nations like Iran and North Korea—while turning his back on Israel. As a newly elected president, Stephen wanted to quickly and strongly show his commitment to the Israeli government in no uncertain terms. And to make it clear to the world that the United States would never back down from terrorism—ever.

  There would be no ambiguity in his administration.

  “My staff will continue to work with your people to make sure everything goes well. I think we picked an appropriate time to publically stand together.”

  Idan let out a long breath. “I believe the message will be very clear to Iran.”

  “I hope so. Their current military actions are provocative—and they know it. We must make it clear that their aggressive actions will not be tolerated.”

  “I pray for both our countries that Iran stands down. I will not allow them to threaten or harm my people, Mr. President.”

  “Nor will I,” Stephen said, a promise he knew Idan would hold him to.

  “Excellent, I look forward to your visit.”

  Stephen thanked Idan before hanging up. He pressed a button. “Tell Stan I need to see him.”

  A few minutes later the door sprang open, and Stan Goodfellow, chief of staff, briskly entered. His charcoal-gray suit and red tie gave him the air of an executive on the move. His receding hairline only gave his thinning brown hair a distinguished look, not a strand out of place. For a man in his forties, Stan kept himself in good shape in spite of the horrific hours he kept.

  Stan approached the desk, his green eyes studying the boss. “How did the call go, Mr. President?”

  “Good. Shalev has been reassured there will be no ambiguity about our commitment to his country when we meet.” He rose from the desk and stared out the window, his ha
nds clasped behind him. “We agreed to keep this visit on a need-to-know until I arrive. Are we clear?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll coordinate with Secret Service and the military regarding security and limited personnel within intelligence.”

  “I trust you to handle this right, Stan. No slipups. The stakes are too high. Countries like Iran will test my resolve. I do not want there to be any doubt. Those who try to hurt our friends will be punished.”

  The chief of staff nodded and quietly left the office.

  Beck Malloy stood alongside the fountain of the World War II Memorial, just south of the White House, looking toward the Lincoln Memorial. This was a place he often visited when he needed a respite from the bustle and grind of FBI headquarters a few blocks away. Chill from a blustery February wind cut through his coat, and he tightened his grip on a cup of Starbucks coffee. He worked his shoulders back and forth, trying to ease the stress locked inside.

  Phil Sutherland, his group supervisor, eyed Beck’s coffee as he walked up. “We should’ve met in my office. A lot warmer and not a waste of my time.” He grimaced. “Not even a cup for me? You’re really ticking me off.”

  Beck handed him the cup. “Cream, no sugar, right?”

  Sutherland accepted the drink, smiling. “Now I know you want something. I’ve seldom known you to try to butter me up like this. And I cannot be bought for a cup of java—even the high-end stuff.”

  “You have a suspicious mind, Phil.”

  “I have every right to be on guard. Last month alone you were in a shootout in Seattle and a raid along the Juan de Fuca Straights. I’m even getting calls from our Canadian counterparts about that operation. They thought we were dealing with a bunch of terrorists. I shudder to think what kind of situation you might get into next time.”

  “To tell you the truth, I don’t know what I’ve stumbled into. Big money. Powerful contacts. International ramifications.”

  “Damn.” His supervisor breathed deeply. “I knew this would turn into a major headache. Your shadowy friends are going to bring you down.”

  In the distance, Beck studied the monument of one of the men he admired most—Abraham Lincoln. This WWII Memorial always made him pause to think of another great man, his grandfather, who fell on the bloodied sands of Iwo Jima. Beck came here to remember those like his grandfather who gave the ultimate sacrifice in defense of their country.

  “Five years ago you gave me a free hand to follow up on cases that seemed to fall out of the norm. I never realized where it might lead.”

  Sutherland’s face tightened. “Nor I. Don’t know how long I can protect you. I’ve got the big shots upstairs screaming about all the procedural violations you’re racking up—failure to check in when you slipped from one RA field office to another, failure to report up the chain on issues of national security and intelligence matters. The list goes on. And then when the SAC here found out you’d been meddling in Senator Summer’s death investigation last year, you can’t believe the heat I took over that.”

  Beck sighed. “We knew I might light some fires when we started taking on these kinds of cases. I appreciate you giving me the latitude to operate how I see fit.”

  “That’s just it, Beck. I may not be able to continue. I’m getting pressure, not only from within the bureau, but from other agencies and congressional contacts.”

  Beck raised his eyebrows. “Congressional pressure?”

  Sutherland took another sip, and then cleared his throat. “They want me to find out why you’re asking about Stuart Martin. They are very nervous—and they want me to make you back off.”

  “Anything from the director’s office?”

  “Not yet. But I expect his office to be giving me a call any day. It is just a matter of time.”

  “Hold ‘em off, Phil, until I know what we’ve got. A contact just advised that this Martin character traveled to France and met with a known terrorist.”

  Sutherland shook his head. “Here we go again. Have you brought the CIA into the loop on this?”

  Beck paused for a moment before answering. He did not want to put his boss in a compromising position, but he didn’t want to reveal all he knew. In many ways, Sutherland was a by-the-book kind of guy, and this gray area Beck lived in made his boss very nervous. Did Sutherland pass on more intelligence up the chain than he really needed to in order to cover his own rear end? “Let me say this, Phil. I learned this through some CIA back channels and a military contact.”

  “The military? You talking about your friend Colonel Thompson?”

  Beck tensed. He had been very careful to shield his contact with Jack.

  “You think others aren’t watching? That West Coast raid last month shone a big spotlight on both of you. Maybe the media was in the dark, but everyone who counts knew what you guys did. Our SWAT guys wondered where all the military hardware came from during that operation. And that prototype helicopter used in Albuquerque? We both know you did not get that from the FBI.”

  “I was nowhere near that helicopter.” Beck gritted his teeth. Now word would get out to the wrong people and he could not stop it. If those shielded behind layers and layers of bureaucracy, started flagging Jack’s and his movements—where they traveled, who they saw, what resources they marshaled—the other side would be in a better position to comprise operations, even terminate those he tried to protect.

  He squared off with Sutherland. “Listen to me carefully, Phil. You’re gonna have to run interference for me on this one. My gut tells me there might be a lot at stake. I need time to find out what’s going on—and stop it if I can.”

  He ran a hand over his face. “You’d better move fast. I don’t know how long I can keep the wagons circled around your little party. I’ll do what I can.”

  Beck squeezed Sutherland’s shoulder. “Thanks. There may be a lot of lives in jeopardy. I need to protect them for as long as possible.”

  “There’s already a target plastered on your backside, my man. Just be careful.”

  Turning toward the Lincoln Memorial, Beck looked at the monument one more time. One time he’d read a speech Lincoln gave about our nation’s survival that he never forgot: “At what point then is the approach of danger to be expected? I answer, if it ever reach us, it must spring up amongst us. It cannot come from abroad. If destruction be our lot, we must ourselves be its author and finisher. As a nation of freemen, we must live through all time, or die by suicide.”

  There was an enemy within. Men willing to tear this great nation apart because they never believed in this country in the first place. Traitors might be a more apt term. It took patriots like Lincoln and Washington, men willing to make the ultimate sacrifice, to keep us free men. They knew that our greatest weakness, our greatest vulnerability, lay from within. It was what Beck, Jack, Gerrit and the others fought against, the Fifth Column inside our government.

  He looked at his boss. “Just buy me some time, Phil. Buy me some time.”

  Chapter 20

  February 24

  Shehidler Khiyabani, Baku, Azerbaijan

  The Russians are coming. Atash Hassan waited impatiently, uncertain where this meeting might take him. As Iran’s MOIS intelligence chief, he knew about the man he was about to meet. Very powerful. Very deadly. He must be on his guard.

  A cold, harsh rain swept across the polished tiles of the Shehidler Khiyabani, known by Westerners as Martyr’s Lane. Hassan visited this place before and appreciated the history. Today, he would meet a Russian he desperately needed and deeply mistrusted.

  Ivan Yegorov.

  Several of Atash’s armed guards stood warily at the edge of the curb, eyeing each motorist as they passed. This main thoroughfare of Parliament prospect connected with Mehdi Huseyn, the two asphalt arterials connecting to form a V-shape. Atash stood at the connection, tensely waiting and watching.

  Azerbaijan sat between many cultures, and tried to get along with everyone with a few exceptions. They did not greet its Iranian and Russian visitor
s with open arms. Historical significance of this site would not be lost on Yegorov. Nearby, a Muslim cemetery held the bodies of those killed at the close of World War I during the throes of the Russian civil war. Armed resistance between the Azeri’s, Armenians, Bolsheviks, and Mensheviks exploded into intense and brutal conflict, and many of those Muslims killed during this war lay buried nearby.

  After the Bolsheviks came to power, they leveled the cemetery, removed the bodies, raised a statue in memory of one of their own Russian heroes, and built an amusement park over what was once a graveyard—as if to add insult to injury. Bitter memories remained. When the Soviet Union collapsed, Azerbaijanis tore down the amusement park and statue, resurrected a national heroes’ cemetery, including those bodies that fell when Russian forces invaded Baku.

  Now, relations between Iran and Azerbaijan had dangerously deteriorated, causing Atash and his network of spies and provocateurs to tread carefully. Three men recruited by Atash’s agents were snatched up by the Azerbaijan Ministry of National Security (MNS) and accused of planning to attack employees of a Jewish school in Baku.

  A few months later, twenty-two people were arrested by MNS and accused of plotting to attack Israeli and U.S. embassies in this city. Azerbaijan’s security office claimed these suspects had been recruited, trained, and armed by Iran to gather intelligence on foreign governments and to be used for future attacks.

  One of his men whistled sharply and he glanced up, seeing a car coming their way.

  The Russians have arrived.

  He motioned to one of his men, and the guard raised his arm and spoke into a sleeve mike. Just as the Russians pulled to the curb, one of Atash’s own cars pulled up. The rear side window of the Russian car rolled down and Yegorov leaned out. “You want to ride with me?”

  Atash shook his head. “My men will drive. We follow.”

  Yegorov shrugged and rolled up his window. The two-car caravan moved down the Mehdi Huseyn. Bare trees lined the roadway on the right after they passed the twin-sphered mosque. On the left, Hassan peered up at the majestic trio of glass-enshrouded Flame Towers, part of the country’s six-billion-dollar-a-year face lift to remake the city into a modern mecca, basically fueled by profits from the oil fields around the Caspian Sea. He looked away and thought about how much Western decadence would follow this money, taint the people with impure ways.