Cobra Clearance (11 page)

P
resident Cohen picked up the yellow legal pad that he'd been jotting notes on and shifted in his chair until he faced Baker. “I've not been in office ten days and I'm already encased in a bubble.” Cohen tapped a finger against the pad. “Take the Savannah River Works Project, for example. My advisers insist that Melchior proposed it. Now I discover that maybe he did and maybe he didn't. Who am I to believe?”

Baker pointed to a portrait of Harry S. Truman on a wall of Cohen's private study, nestled behind the Oval Office. “Truman encountered a similar problem. Roosevelt never informed him of the bomb, and Truman had no opportunity to acquire his own advisers before decision time arrived. So he relied on FDR's men to provide insight into the plans for its use or non-use. Some said yay, others nay.”

Cohen hunched forward and rested a forearm on his leg. “Yes, yes. And too many of them were in fact pushing their own agendas. What's your point?”

“Find someone you trust and pull 'em in. Someone who'll give it to you straight.”

“The way you did when you shouldered your way past Westmoreland's yes-men? And warned him that the siege upon Khe Sanh was a diversion? That the VC were certain to break the Tét truce?”

“Something like that.”

“It was exactly like that. And he didn't listen, and the VC launched simultaneous attacks in all directions.” Cohen closed red-rimmed eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I inherited this office without a mandate of my own. Therefore I'll form my own, and it begins with economic stabilization. That in turn will permit us to do something for those who are in desperate need.” He opened his eyes and looked at Baker. “But I'll need help if I'm to succeed.”

Baker shifted in his chair. “To paraphrase JFK, unselfish victories often have a single father, but serve a thousand orphans.”

“Hmm. I like that—and I'd like you to join me in my endeavors.” As Baker reared back he said, “You would come aboard as one of a cadre of personal advisers. Unofficial, of course. That way you can still run Vanguard, and practice law.”

A microsecond passed before Baker said, “I stand ready to serve in any capacity, Mr. President.”

“But?”

“A sabbatical, sir. To begin the moment we locate the thugs who murdered Melchior. I want to be there.”

Cohen studied Baker's face. “What is it you haven't told me yet?”

“One of my team leaders called moments before this meeting. We may have established a link between Amahl and the leader of a domestic hate group. Federal law enforcement resources are strained, but one of my star players worked for the Bureau. I want to pursue that link.” He cocked his head to one side. “I'll lure Amahl onto our turf, and into a Khe Sanh of his own.”

“And you want to participate in this—endeavor?”

“If only to have my last hurrah?” Baker shook his head. “Don't insult me.”

“No, you would never ask for something so selfish.”

“The team in question is short one operative. Sure, I could reassign someone else, but they won't have time to mesh and the team needs cohesiveness. But I know them well, and they're comfortable with me.”

President Mark Cohen pondered the request in silence, then exhaled noisily and looked Baker in the eye. “Sell me on your plan first.”

JOE TUCKER HUNG UP
after notifying Baker of the Kruger-Amahl link, and returned to the conference room with its cups of coffee and stacks of papers. He was about to sit when Levi handed him a note. He read it without comment and stuck it in a shirt pocket. “Okay,” he said to the team. “Let's summarize what we've found so far. Then we'll argue each point's pros and cons.”

Michael cleared his throat and began ticking off items on his fingers. “Amahl and his men kill Melchior and escape.” He extended a second finger. “ATF conducts a raid in Virginia. They find three bodies. Amahl's men.” He ticked off another finger. “We learn of a mystery man who was at the garage, and we believe it was Brent Kruger. He's a white supremacist and Melchior's black…we have motivation.” He held up another finger. “Amahl has a previously unknown son living in Zurich, and NSA has detected phone traffic between the terminal and Albuquerque—about an hour's drive from Kruger's location.” Michael crossed his long legs and said, “Finally. Kruger had contact with Amahl at the P.O.W. compound twenty years ago. All three elements for a case against Kruger exist: motive, means and opportunity.”

Levi sipped coffee from his mug and sat back. “True, but it's no secret that plenty of other racists wanted Melchior dead, or that anti-Semites around the world don't want Cohen to live longer than he has to.”

“But Michael's argument is sound,” Tom Sawyer began. “Listen. Amahl enters into a contract of sorts. A sporting venture if you will. ‘We burn the black man for you, and you zap the Zionist for us'.”

Dentz held up a hand like a traffic cop. “Sounds far-fetched.”

“Nothing's far-fetched since 9/11,” Sawyer countered.

“And because nothing's far-fetched,” Levi interjected, “TSA does not profile airline passengers. Why? Because Timothy McVeigh showed that any white, clean-cut war veteran can also be a terrorist.”

Sawyer cleared his throat and spoke slowly, feeling his way. “Forget far-fetched. Why would Amahl commit to such a contract? One possibility is that he wants to spark a race war. He must know that we're on the ropes economically, and if Kruger's able to assassinate Cohen as part of a
quid pro quo
, stocks could drop off a cliff. Once the economy's shot the real shooting begins—black on white, neighbor on neighbor, riots for available foodstuffs. But to be certain of this, we'll have to infiltrate Kruger's enclave.”

Tucker pulled Levi's note from his pocket and waved it in the air. “Levi already came to that conclusion and he's recommended a split—my group to Zurich, his to New Mexico. I concur.” He looked at Levi with a glimmer of admiration.

“Wait,” Levi said. “There's more to it.”

“There is?” Tucker looked sidelong at his ATL.

“Amahl won't settle for a simple one-two punch. He'll use a three-pronged plan. A triad. I'm betting he's got a third attack already in motion.”

“Then that's why we have to get Amahl, and you have to get Kruger.” Tucker dropped his voice. “The Feds have no assets to spare. Baker will push to have this given to us. Assuming another assassination plot at a bare minimum, we're already against the clock. If we get the green light we'll do our splits two days from now. Levi's split might have to fly to Albuquerque without him
though, since he'll need time to prepare his undercover identity. Now let's get ready to deploy. Give your official passports to Sawyer, so he can run them over to State for their Schengen Visas.”

Dentz said, “One other thing, Boss. Let's photo-shop Kruger's army ID photo to make him look older. Then Levi and Michael can show it to their witnesses for a positive ID. The more proof of a conspiracy we show, the greater our chances of getting the job.”

Michael turned around in his seat and looked at Dentz. “Very good. That hadn't even occurred to me. Who knows—might open the door to a broader conspiracy.”

THE YOUNG MAN IN BLUE T-SHIRT,
white shorts and flip-flops ambled along South Beach's palm tree-lined streets. Tourists from around the world flocked here, so Zafir's dark complexion was commonplace. But there were so many scantily-clad, long-limbed girls about that he ached. Praise God that I have been sent here, he thought. The brief prayer, unbidden and forbidden, jolted him into paying heed to his task, so he put on mental blinders. A short time later he reached the post office on Washington Street.

After pausing to let a pasty pensioner in a green leisure suit pass through the door, he went inside and opened the postal box as he had done each day for months. But this time his breath caught. He looked over his shoulder, then reached in with trembling fingers and snatched the letter. Slipping it inside his shirt, he hurried to the Alton Road apartment that he shared with three others.

“Come here,” he said after he rushed inside. While his colleagues gathered in the tiny living room, he pulled the window shades. His face held a reverent calm as he said, “It has come.” Then he showed them the letter, postmarked Zurich. As the oldest among them, he slid his index finger inside the seal and broke it. “God willing, this
will be it.” His hands shook as he unfolded the piece of paper.

One of the men looked impatiently over Zafir's shoulder. “Praise Allah,” he said.

“Yes,” Zafir said. “Praise Him, for it has come.” He held up the photocopy of Amahl's passport for all to see. “Now we begin.”

The young men turned quiet. Zafir had a sudden need to confirm that the items entrusted to him were accounted for. He went to his bedroom, opened the closet door and flung away dirty laundry concealing the strong box. He carried it to the center of the room where the ceiling light was stronger and took the key from around his neck. The others gathered around, and when he raised the lid they gazed at the six half-liter vials nestled in their padded partitions. Zafir felt honored to have been entrusted with the vials. He didn't understand the North Korean markings, but knew that in theory, a mere eight ounces of the Type-A botulinus toxin, properly dispersed in the atmosphere and carried by the trade winds, could kill all human and animal life on Earth. He closed the box and hid it back inside the closet.

T
ucker had set the team members to a new evaluation of their earlier analysis when Baker entered the conference room. Baker nodded at them and asked, “May I see that Duty Officer Log?” After Tucker plucked it from the table, they went to the far end of the paneled room where he handed it to Baker and pointed to the relevant entries. “The identity of the MP seen talking to Amahl was never entered. Hack suggests we contact your friend and confirm that it was Kruger.” Then he told Baker that an on-site photo shop had aged Kruger's appearance in his army photo. “Levi and Michael are heading to D.C. to show it to their witnesses.”

“Great work from all hands, Tuck. I'll call my friend and then I've got some work to do. Tell Michael and Levi to remain in D.C. for a meeting this evening.”

MICHAEL NUDGED LEVI
. “There's Baker.” After confirming Kruger's photo with the Jamaican woman and the Ethiopian cabbie, Michael notified Tucker, who in turn told them to meet Baker at the Treasury Building. After they greeted Baker, an agent appeared outside the after-hours entrance and escorted them through the tunnel. A few minutes later they were shown into the president's private office—the one in the living quarters, on the third floor of the White House.

Michael noticed dark rings around Cohen's eyes as he got up from his desk and walked with brisk steps to welcome his late-night guests. Baker introduced them, and when Cohen shook Michael's hand it wasn't a politician's pump, but something genuine.

Cohen invited them to sit and then nodded at Baker in a way that said, show me what you've got. Baker began in a relaxed manner. “Sir, you told me to sell you on my plan. These gentlemen are here so you can personally see what we have to offer.” He spent the next four minutes of Cohen's valuable time outlining the information that Levi and Michael had uncovered, Dragon Team's conclusions, and a feasibility study they had done. Then he described a plan that grew from the study, a plan in which elements of Dragon Team would scour Zurich in an attempt to locate Amahl's son and perhaps Amahl himself, while Levi infiltrated Kruger's gang with Michael as his handler. Baker concluded, “Dragon Team uncovered a link between Amahl and Kruger. We want to develop our op and lure Amahl here for capture.”

Cohen shifted in his chair and looked at Levi. “I read your background report. It seems you have a remarkable ability to move at ease between any number of disparate groups.” Then he lowered his voice. “I also understand that tomorrow's date holds great significance for you.”

Michael watched Levi's face as he replied. “My wife and son were murdered three years ago tomorrow, sir.” He paused. “Tomorrow would have been our thirteenth anniversary. I prefer to remember the day as a celebration of their lives rather than for the terror they endured.” He fell silent, and Michael noted the peace that came over him.

Cohen said in a kind tone, “Only you can know how terrible you must still feel for their suffering, and for your own loss.”

“Yes, sir.” Levi paused. “But you also know pain. There was your son.”

“We were talking about
your
pain.” Cohen closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Then he looked at Levi and said, “But yes, there was also my son.” He shook his head. “Who knew there'd be a gunman on campus that day?” Cohen's gaze softened. “I'm gratified to see that you honor your wife and son, rather than dwell on the past. I wish I could find that place within myself.”

Levi blinked several times, glanced at Michael, then said, “That's very kind of you, sir.”

“I know that you and your family are of another faith, but with your permission I would like to say a Kaddish in their memory.” When Levi's lips began to move silently the president leaned forward. “You
know
the Kaddish?”

Levi closed his eyes and intoned, “
Yitgaddal veyitqaddash shmeh rabba. Be ‘alma di vra khir'uteh
…” He continued for another five lines, then paused and waited.

Cohen whispered the response. “Y
ehe shmeh rabba mevarakh le ‘alam ul ‘alme ‘almaya.
” Stopping, he looked at Baker and Michael. “May His great name be blessed forever, and to all eternity.”

“Forever, and to all eternity.” Levi opened his eyes. “I learned every prayer there was to offer, sir.”