Black Flagged Redux (11 page)

"Could it be a drug operation?" Sharpe asked.

"The thought crossed my mind, but the facility is in the open and the RATCOM system would leave tracks. I asked DEA, and they've seen these used by the big boys for their own personal airports, but never at a distribution point."

"Yeah, it wouldn't make much sense. Can we get the records of traffic into the airport since it became operational?" Sharpe said.

"Eric and I talked about that and decided that it might present a few problems. First, we have no idea which firm handles the site, but this is potentially the least of our issues. Without a subpoena, the firm would have to willingly talk to us, which, given the nature and expense of the service, seems unlikely. I'm afraid that even asking questions might tip off Sanderson," O'Reilly said.

"I think you're both right. What else did you find?"

"A second site was gobbled up by Mr. Galenden at the same time, a hundred square miles surrounding an abandoned town…here," he said, and the screen changed.

"Located about sixty miles south east of the airport, in a mostly flat area. There's not much information available on the site, but I found references to towns rising during the speculative years following the discovery of oil in Nuequen and falling shortly after that. Unless Mr. Galenden suddenly discovered something his father hadn't forty years ago, I'd say this was an odd choice for a land status conversion," Hesterman said.

"It would be a poor choice for a headquarters or training compound. Too exposed," Sharpe said.

"Exactly," O'Reilly added. "There is evidence of significant improvement to the town, but mostly superficial. Cleaned up, a few new structures, but beyond that, not much has been done. One of the ex-military guys said it looked like a combat town."

"Interesting. Close Quarters Battle training site?" Sharpe said.

"Could be anything, but it's fenced up on all sides. Someone wants to keep people from wandering too close. As for a headquarters? Take a look at this," Hesterman said.

The flat-screen monitor changed to a satellite image of trees and a river valley that ran northwest to southeast out of the Andes foothills. Structures were evident along the thick pine tree line, tucked together on the western side of the valley. Several larger buildings appeared in the open, clustered at the northern end of an improved dirt road that ran adjacent to the river. Based on its location in the foothills, and the immediate presence of a decent, shallow river, this would be a fly fisherman's paradise. The area was world renown for trout and fly fishing expeditions.

"Something tells me this isn't a fly fishing lodge," Sharpe said.

"Well, if it is, it's brand new and operates year round. January 2005, Mr. Galenden set aside a massive tract of land in these foothills. Over four hundred square miles of valleys and mountains," Hesterman said.

"How the hell did you find this camp?"

"A ton of patience. I requested comparative pictures, at the highest level of detail available, and spent some time alone with a computer."

"A lot of time. We were pretty sure he had given up and had started surfing internet porn," O'Reilly said.

"If anyone had cared to join me staring at thousands of satellite images, you could have put your dirty minds at rest," he retorted.

"Eric and one other agent volunteered for the job, but after about forty minutes of staring at satellite images, the other agent suddenly found more important work to do," O'Reilly said.

"He nearly slithered on the floor to get out of there. Anyway, after laboriously comparing imagery, I finally discovered a dirt road that did not exist in 2004, leading into this river valley. I subsequently found these structures, which also did not exist in 2004. I verified this by comparing two similar strings of imagery. One taken in October 2004 and the other taken in July 2005. I couldn't find any other changes to the infrastructure of this zone.

"Check this out. Ever hear of Google Earth? It's a civilian application created by Google that overlays publically available satellite imagery onto the entire planet. You can literally scroll around the earth and zoom down to street level. It was launched in 2006. I had heard of it, but I wasn't sure about its accuracy or level of detail. Let me tell you. I'm not sure we need to go crawling to the National Reconnaissance Organization (NRO) anymore. I used it to correlate most of the images, and the level of detail is frightening. I still like the NRO imagery for clarity, but look what we can do with it," he said and started manipulating the screen to follow his words.

"We can start out in Nuequen and travel west along Route 22, heading to Zapala, then turn south on Route 46. Moving along until right here," he said and stopped at what appeared to be a random point on Route 46.

"I don't see anything," Sharpe said.

"That's where Google Earth shudders to a halt for us. The imagery is older than 2005. Hold on…hold on…there!" he said, and the screen split, showing roughly the same image.

"The 2005 NRO image shows an unimproved dirt road. Unfortunately, we can't conveniently follow the NRO imagery like Google. But, if you follow Google Earth for about ten miles or so, you'll come to this point. The NRO imagery shows people around the buildings. Welcome to Sanderson's lair."

"Nice work on this, Hesterman. Almost like finding a needle in a haystack," Sharpe said, pausing for an uncomfortable period of time.

"Worried about taking this to Ward?" O'Reilly said.

As usual, Dana had read his mind. Keith Ward, Domestic Terrorism's director, had initially opposed Sharpe's request to continue pursuing General Sanderson's group, but a few well-placed calls from above had changed his tune on the surface. Ward had expressed enough of his feelings about Sharpe's "pet project" to leave him with no delusions that his direct supervisor felt that it was a waste of time. To be fair, Sharpe and his team had very little to show for their efforts over the past two years, until recently.

During DTB's last weekly department head meeting, he announced the information they had uncovered by ATF agents in Los Angeles, along with their renewed focus on Argentina. The looks from Ward and the other task force leaders painfully reminded him that nobody really cared about his "pet project" anymore. Fortunately, nobody dared to shut it down. A personal inquiry from Director Shelby had a long shelf-life, especially if you had your eyes on moving up in the organization. Since he had never been officially swatted down, Sharpe assumed that Keith Ward had bigger plans at the FBI.

"Actually, I'm worried about not taking it to Ward."

"Bypassing him?" O'Reilly said.

Hesterman backed up from the computer table, so they could all face each other to talk.

"How confident are you in this imagery?" Sharpe said.

"It's all pretty circumstantial, but it's certainly worth a closer look. I'd feel comfortable requesting that NRO give us some face shots," Hesterman said.

"Face shots?" O'Reilly said.

"Close ups from a satellite. It would require the temporary repositioning of a reconnaissance satellite into a stationary orbit above this area. It's not a simple request. So based on what we have here, you'd feel comfortable making the request?" Sharpe said.

"Yes, sir."

Sharpe took his cellphone out of his suit jacket and speed-dialed a number that he rarely used anymore. He stepped into the far corner of the Joint Operations Center and lowered his voice.

"Director Shelby's office. How may I direct your call?"

"Good morning, Margaret. This is Special Agent Ryan Sharpe from DTB. The director personally asked me to keep him apprised of an investigation."

"I remember, Agent Sharpe."

"I have new information pertaining to the case that he needs to see."

"I'll pass this along to him immediately and be back in touch with you to set up a meeting," she said.

"Thank you, Margaret. I appreciate your assistance," he said.

"I'll be in touch," she said, which meant ‘don't call back to check on this.’

Sharpe snapped his phone shut and turned to Hesterman.

"Stay close and make sure all of these images are portable and organized. The director's office could call us back in minutes. We don't leave the building until the director does," he said, starting for the door.

"Whoa! What are…wait a minute. I'm not going to see the director," Hesterman said.

Sharpe gave him a strained look and walked back over to him. "Let's keep it down. The walls have ears around here. Of course you're going. I can't make all of this magic happen or explain it nearly as well, though you will have to economize your words and cut out any attempts at humor."

"What? No…sir? I think O'Reilly is the best agent for the job. She's earned it," Hesterman whispered.

"Earned what? I don't want to sing and dance in front of the director. This is all you. The guy sort of gives me the creeps, anyway. Likes to touch my shot-up arm and grimace like he feels my pain. It's a little creepy," she said.

"It's all you, Hesterman. Put on your game face," Sharpe said.

"You'll do great, Eric. Seriously, you know the ins and outs of this imagery, and I liked the way you presented it to me. I can't possibly drag O'Reilly in there again. Admittedly, it's a little creepy when he touches her arm," Sharpe said.

"He better not touch me," Hesterman said.

"No guarantees. Stay close. When the director calls, we jump," he said and left the Joint Operations Center.

Chapter 10

11:20 AM

FBI Headquarters, Director's Office

Washington, D.C.

Frederick Shelby, director of the FBI
,
stared intensely at Special Agent Hesterman for several uncomfortable seconds. Sharpe had given Hesterman the full briefing on what to expect from the director and hoped the agent didn't fidget. The director hated fidgeting under pressure, and often did whatever he could to elicit what he considered to be an undesirable trait. Eric held it together, only breaking eye contact a few times, but remaining silent and composed until the director spoke.

"This looks promising, Agent Sharpe. Very promising. Agent Hesterman? Excellent job with this discovery. Solid presentation skills I might add. Sharpe. I would like a moment alone with you," he said and turned to face one of the vast windows in his office.

Sharpe patted Hesterman on the back and winked at him. "Can you find your way back?" he whispered.

"I'll figure it out," he said, suppressing a grin.

Hesterman collected the meticulously prepared folios of support documents and satellite imagery, and removed the portable hard drive connected from the computer connected to the director's wall mounted flat-screen monitor.

"See you in a few," Sharpe said.

Hesterman started to walk to the door.

"Agent Hesterman?" the director said.

"Yes, sir?" he said, turning to face the director, who continued to stare out at the inner courtyard of the J. Edgar Hoover building.

"You had one hell of a senior year playing for Michigan. Starting linebacker for an undefeated season. Rose Bowl win over Washington State," he said.

"Thank you, sir. It sure beat the year before," Hesterman said, not sure if he was pushing his luck.

"Damn straight it did. I lost a considerable amount of money on the '96 season. Made up for it your senior year, plus some, so I won't hold it against you."

"I appreciate that, sir. Wolverine?"

"Lacrosse for four years. Graduated in '62, which was one of the worst football seasons in history up until that point. Keep up the good work, Agent Hesterman," the director said, and Sharpe signaled for him to leave.

"Take a look at this," the director said, still facing the window.

Sharpe walked over to join him and stared out at a busy courtyard, filled with agents and support staff, mostly clustered in small groups.

"Can you imagine? Having the time at two in the afternoon to take a little sun break out in the courtyard?"

"Not really, sir. This is the first glimpse of the outside I've seen today," Sharpe said.

"Well, nobody comes to headquarters to enjoy the sun. Especially not while they're on the clock," he said.

Sharpe made a mental note to avoid the courtyard, even if it represented a shortcut to another section of the building.

"
Keith Ward won't be happy to know you've gone over his head with this."

"I felt you needed to see this first, without it being watered down," Sharpe said.

"I can appreciate the fact that you had the guts to do it, despite the consequences."

"Surprisingly, it wasn't a difficult decision, sir."

"That's called personal integrity, and it's by far my favorite trait in a person, especially another agent. I'll need to make a few calls on this. I should be able to convince the right people at the Pentagon that we need a look at Argentina. I presume you'd like to keep the CIA out of this?" Shelby said.

"I assume that was a rhetorical question, sir?"

"Very well, we'll leave our scheming brethren out of this one."

"What will you do if the satellite photos ID our man?" Sharpe said.

"Do my very best to rain fire and brimstone down onto him."

Chapter 11

3:45 PM

Nuequen Province

Western Argentina

Jessica's attacker committed nearly everything to the overhand, downward knife strike, leaving her with few options. Her attacker possessed a startling combination of agility and raw strength, which had so far left her with little margin for error. For the past minute, which seemed like an eternity, Jessica poured every ounce of skill, power and most importantly, instinct…into staying alive long enough for him to make a fatal mistake. At one hundred and twenty-four pounds, her five-foot-seven-inch frame was lean and exceptionally muscle toned. She could physically match up against most men in a hand-to-hand combat situation, but her current situation was far from normal. This man was a highly trained killer, with more than an eighty pound advantage, and he'd wanted to taste her blood for as long as either of them could remember.