Albatross (32 page)

Davis’s thoughts were now interrupted by a familiar face and voice. It was unmistakably Helms.

“Move aside, young man. I am the FBI deputy director of this region. This act of domestic terrorism and this crime scene should be under my control.”

Cratty intervened and allowed him in. Davis didn’t know the guy beside him, but she was sure he was important. He had to be as old as Helms.

Davis was on her feet, feeling slowly returning to her arm, a big bump on her head, a laceration on the side and front of her face, and dry blood in her hair, mouth, and knuckles.
The bruises are going to be really bad in the morning,
she thought.

Helms slowed to a stop, looked her up and down, and just took in the sight. Davis anticipated his response.

“Davis … you look like flattened shit.”

Yes. You are con istent —charming in a marine way
, Davis thought

“Helms … it’s been too long,” Davis responded with a very faint smile.

Andersen was the first to jump in. “Does anyone know who Alexander J. Burns is?” he asked innocently.

Every operations center person in the room stopped what they were doing and set eyes on Andersen, as if he had invoked Satan’s name on an innocent child. The response alone answered the question. It was obvious to Davis that Helms and this guy had had no idea of who Burns was and were feeling out of the loop. Davis looked at Cratty, who was also still.

“Fuck,” Cratty said as she took out her cell phone to see if any signal was restored.

Davis responded next, “Jesus Christ … that was Alex Burns.”

Davis refocused her thoughts and looked up to see that Helms’s friend, Andersen, was obviously frustrated.

“Okay. Can someone bring me up to speed because I had a material witness in my custody who claimed this was all part of a master plan of more than four years.”

“Where is your witness now?” Cratty asked urgently.

Davis’s hope for a possible break rose like a heated geyser. Then her stomach fell as Andersen shook his head no, killing any hope of salvation.

“Gone. Like he was never there. My notes are gone. My technicians tell me that all audiovisual recordings were fried as a result of an electrical surge and then totally nuked by a vicious virus or worm from within my own police station, which means this bastard had access to everything in the station.” It was evident to Davis that Andersen felt stupid, fooled, and idiotic.
Almost as bad as she must have looked to everyone there
, she thought.

Cratty looked around to her people. “Stop gawking, people, and start a sweep for all the missing items. Burke, get everyone out to a five-block radius and search home to home if you have to. If any of you want to go home tonight, find Burns and my data. Now, people!” Davis saw that Alpha shift was not used to their boss barking orders. They jumped to action. Cratty then turned her attention back to Davis. Davis could easily see that there was regret in Cratty’s eyes.

“I have to report into the chairman regarding this breach. Davis, bring our colleagues up to speed about the infamous Mr. Burns.”

Davis knew what that meant. Alexander Burns’s file was top secret. Classified information was on a need-to-know basis only. Cratty giving Davis the green light to bring Helms and Andersen into the loop meant that Davis’s career was either completely destroyed or significantly damaged. Her agency usually had issues with staff that failed to protect national security. At the same time, Davis agreed with Cratty that these two guys needed to know. Dizzy, Davis leaned up against a wall as another agent handed her missing gun to her. Davis checked her gun and saw she needed to put the safety on before she started her unofficial briefing.

“Alexander Burns was part of the team that went in to kill Oman Sharif Sudani on May 1, 2011. The plan was straightforward, a real smash-and-grab operation.”

Davis noticed that Andersen had a look of recognition on his face.

“Did the intelligence on his location come from a detainee at Guantanamo Bay who directed you to couriers?” Andersen questioned.

Unsettled by his knowledge of classified data, Davis gave the nonverbal for yes, but she didn’t know how he could have possibly known that information.

Andersen gave no indication of letting her know how he knew.

Now it was Helms who was totally out of the loop.

“Please go on, Davis. At least I am brand new to knowing this guy,” Helms said.

“Anyway, the plan was delayed because of a logistics issue that Burns was managing. Even though we had the presidential order to proceed, Chairman Daniels signed off on the plan, Burns had reservations, fearing that the mission could be jeopardized. As it turns out, he was partially right. A helicopter did crash. Legend has it that Burns got everyone out but something happened and he was KIA.”

“But I recall that there was no loss of life in taking out Sudani,” Helms contributed.

“True. He wasn’t KIA as much as he was MIA for a short period of time. It gets really murky, but somehow, he got injured. He was found by the Red Cross and finally identified, and then he was put into special care at the veterans’ hospital stateside. After that, there was an incident where something happened to him. I still don’t have full clearance to access Burns’s entire file. He was involved in missions I had never heard of or seen any reference of. Burns’s record was completely sealed by our boss, the chairman himself. The word in the field though was that Burns changed, and then we lost track of him altogether. A three-man team watching him was killed. All three were seasoned—one agent and two associates. Some believe he is dead too.”

Davis slowed down as her headache was really taking form. She continued with her briefing of sorts.

“Many of us are convinced he is out there, seeking revenge and waiting to strike. Why he’s pissed and wants to get back at us is anyone’s guess. I sure as shit don’t know. Still, more believe he has joined forces with either the North Koreans or Chinese or both. Regardless, everyone at my level knew that the chairman dedicated resources to find Burns and never did.” Davis stopped. Her head was really pounding now. Her trip down memory lane only heightened her anger at being so close to capturing Burns and his escaping with classified data.
Dammit
, she angrily thought.

“So it is very possible that everything David Caulfield said was true. His wife is killed. Burns saves his life and changes. Burns trains an entire team to get to this special room. All this to get critical, classified data. But for what?” Andersen said, perplexed.

Davis fell silent, and both Andersen and Helms turned to face Cratty.

Davis could easily see that Cratty was not happy. The phone call with the boss hadn’t gone well, she was sure.
For a pretty woman, she had quite the scowl on her face
, Davis thought.

“Gentlemen, thank you for your assistance, but I need you to leave this crime scene. Ms. Davis, you need to surrender your gun, badge, and ID and return with me to the bunker.” At that moment, two relatively large agents came from behind. Not too close, but clearly, they were there to ensure compliance. Davis was a fighter, but she knew this had to run its course. She knew that Helms knew this bureaucratic nonsense was bullshit and that the former marine would help her later on if she needed any assistance. Davis was pretty sure she would need help.

Before Davis fell between the guards, Cratty stepped in her path.

“I’m sorry,” Cratty said in a low voice. She sounded quite genuine. Her eyes seemed determine.
I wished I had gotten to know you better,
Davis thought.

Davis sighed and handed everything over and followed Cratty with her two guards in tow.

One possible upside to all of this might be that I will get to meet the chairman in person
, she thought. He was a man of mystery. Davis didn’t care much for the director, though. She was positive that Cratty was going to get the promotion to deputy director before this debacle. After?
We had Burns and his “new team” and let him go?
Both of our careers are done here
, Davis was convinced.

As both men watched Davis, Cratty, and her team leave, Helms gave Andersen the nod to leave as well. Andersen agreed.
Nothing more to learn here
, he thought.

As Andersen and Helms were on their way out, Andersen took a detour into the bank. He noticed that the place was not crowded, but there was staff around. Helms didn’t even ask Andersen what he was doing. Andersen casually asked for the day manager to hopefully learn some information. Andersen saw that Helms recognized the approach—active cop/quiet cop. Once the bank’s day manager arrived and Andersen asked some questions about the camera and the closed circuit TV system, it was apparent that the computer issues had compromised a great deal of the bank’s tapes by turning them into black afterimages or unrecognizable pixelated forms.

On a lark, Andersen asked what might have seemed to be an unusual question. “By the way, you wouldn’t happen to know an African American or Latino man in his late forties, very professional? He also happens to be blind and has various injuries on his face.”

The response was immediate. “Oh, you must mean Mr. Coleridge. He is a very interesting man. He always came in with his assistant. A very attractive, dark brunette woman. She always wore a nursing uniform of sorts,” the manager explained.

Yes, that fucking name again
. Andersen tried to keep his fists from balling up and maintain a casual, calm tone. Without seemingly skipping a beat, he kept going while Helms watched the magic happen. “I was wondering when the last time Mr. Coleridge was here was. Samuel T. Coleridge. He is associated with an industrial company, correct?”

It was evident that the manager knew that Andersen had detailed information on a bank customer. “Actually … I really can’t give out that information on a private customer.”

Andersen knew that the manager had to offer some resistance and not casually release such confidential information. But Andersen was in no mood to be blocked. He just moved ahead. “I’m not asking for his social security number, though I can get that in ten minutes.”

Andersen looked at Helms.

Helms, who was still wearing his FBI windbreaker and tactical vest, picked up on the signal and opened his cell and started talking, “Janeson … get me the social security number, background information, and a judge’s order for Samuel T. Coleridge, aka David Caulfield. While you’re at it, get the names of all the employees and persons of interest who may bank here. I am going to need a federal judge and twelve—no, wait a minute. Detective Andersen, a bank this size probably will need about thirty to forty agents to go through all of the files and security boxes, right? Could we borrow some of your guys to help out?”

“Actually, I can only give you fifteen, but I am sure I can get Commandant Welch from the state troopers’ barracks to help out. About twenty guys there, I bet,” Andersen added.

“I don’t know how the judge is going to take hearing that we received no cooperation from the bank personnel during this national crisis,” Helms said to Andersen with some of the best acting he hadn’t seen since his work at Guantanamo.
Nicely done, Helms
, Andersen thought, concealing a smile.

It was evident to Andersen that the manager visibly weighed the needs of his two hundred high-profile clients who valued their privacy against this one man’s. It had to be an easy decision as long as word did not get out. It had to appear to the manager that if he refused access, the police and federal agents would tear his bank apart, and he would lose those precious patrons.

After he cleared his throat, the manager pressed on, “Mr. Coleridge owns a green energy company called Renewable Green Energy, Inc. Up until last weekend, the company had some cash in our bank, but mostly, they were auditing and working on making our bank more energy efficient.”

“Did Mr. Coleridge ever ask about upstairs?” Andersen asked.

“He actually had an incident where he accidentally went upstairs and ran into the security team up there about three months ago,” the manager confessed.

Yes … of course it was accidentally. No one would question a vision-impaired person getting lost. This Caulfield guy is fucking brilliant,
Andersen thought to himself.

Andersen sighed and looked at Helms. So that was it. David Caulfield had been telling the truth. It was all planned out, including access to information and data for this very location, which just so happened to be the former employer of Alexander J. Burns. This was not an inside job that Davis’s bosses were going to attempt to hang on her. She was just doing her job and a victim who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. This plan had been in the making for years—times, locations, decoys, and resources all carefully prepared. There were probably backup plans to the backups. There were undoubtedly fail-safes and codes in place that were there “just in case.” This was all done by a team of civilians who had been trained by a specialist so that they could compromise the US government and negotiate for either their lives or more. Andersen knew that if this was all true, someone—David or Burns or someone from that team—would be calling him or someone like him about their demands. While Andersen had no idea about what exactly Burns and his crew had walked away with, he had no doubt that Burns would be willing to rain down hell on all of them to protect his team.