Cobra Clearance (6 page)

“
YEAH, HACK. MILLIONS DIED
. Now back to work.” Levi picked up a folder from the pile of papers. A note was clipped to it, addressed to him.

RECEIVED THIS LAST NIGHT. RETIRED COLONEL. M.P. CORPS. WORKED FOR ME SOME YEARS BACK. HE'S THE D.O. LISTED ON THIS LOG—HE KEPT A COPY AS A SOUVENIR. HE MADE COPIES. SENT ONE TO FBI AND THIS ONE TO ME. DOESN'T KNOW I'M INVOLVED IN THE CASE—HE THOUGHT IT MIGHT BE OF INTEREST BECAUSE OF THE NAME YOU'LL SEE IN IT.—BAKER

Levi opened the folder and found a U.S. Army Duty Officer's Log inside, dated February 25, 1991—the first Gulf War. The log captured the daily activities of an MP unit guarding an Iraqi POW holding area, one day before hostilities ended. An entry on the second page was highlighted in yellow. It listed a prisoner identified as “Amahl” and mentioned the circumstances by which he had been taken prisoner. Levi read the six-page log to the end, and found a Polaroid photo of “Amahl” taken against the backdrop of a barbed-wire holding area. In the rush of events the photo had been stapled askew to the back of the log, but it was
the
Amahl. The colonel evidently had a memory for faces.

Levi waved the log at the others. “Look at this. Our troops captured Amahl during Desert Storm. It seems he tried to blend in with some Iraqi soldiers when a battalion of Abrams tanks overran their position. He's mentioned here because the alarms rang when our guys figured out that he wasn't an Iraqi soldier.”

“So close and yet so far,” Michael quipped.

“Wait. It gets worse. They sequestered him until someone from Intel could arrive, but when they went to get him they discovered that he'd escaped.”

“I was in Desert Storm,” Dentz said. “Lots of POWs vanished in the chaos.”

Levi nodded, read the log again, and found something else. The Duty Officer had come upon an MP talking to Amahl through the barbed-wire fence shortly before he was sequestered. The officer had admonished the MP and ordered him back to his post. Levi scanned through the names of the MPs on duty, then put the paper aside. By the time they called it quits at 11:00 p.m. it was buried and forgotten among the other reports.

Michael hurried to his room and took off his shirt, shoes and socks. He placed the shoes near the door, having learned long ago to be ready to run on short notice. After calling home he was reaching for the TV remote when he heard four knocks on the door, then two more. He padded across the carpeted floor and opened it. “Come on in.”

Levi walked in and gave Michael a cop's once-over. “Old habits, huh?”

Michael glanced at his lean bare torso. “You know how it is.” He dug into the room's fridge and pulled out two bottles of Bass Ale. After handing one to Levi, they plopped into a pair of club chairs and clinked the bottles together. “It's good to see you.”

“Been too long.”

“I'll say.” Michael put on a smile. “So, tell me about your friend from the other night.”

“Ships in passing. We went into town for some eats.” He paused. “I slept with her, in case you're wondering.”

“I'm not and you don't need to feel guilty about it.”

“But I do, and I'm going to tell Anita about it when I talk to her tonight.” Levi leaned forward. “What do you think she'll say?”

“She married you outta love. Don't worry. She knows you're lonely; she'll be fine with it.” He showed soft eyes. “You're back
up on the grid. That's good. Nadia misses you something awful, and my boys need to see more of their hero.”

“You're their hero.”

Michael guffawed. “I'm their old man.”

“That's not how they talk about you.” Levi held up a hand before Michael could respond. “Yeah, I'm lonely. But I have you and Nadia. And the boys.”

Michael thought, yeah, he's got us and maybe that connection is all that sustains him these days. Damn, I'm glad we became brothers. Otherwise he might…

They'd met in college, got hired as cops afterward and shared a house with a free-spirited Russian Jewess named Nadia. Levi began a relationship with her, but when she and Michael fell in love, he unselfishly stepped aside and went to the FBI. Michael and Nadia married, and named their first son Levi Hart Bailey. They produced another. Nicholas was eleven now and bragged often about his father, the retired police captain. Meanwhile, Special Agent Hart married Anita Vail. They named their son Michael.

After Levi was promoted to ASAC, the Harts moved to San Diego where he took on a deep-cover assignment. ASACs are supposed to manage other agents, but his superb ability to infiltrate a variety of social strata was needed. One day the case took him far from San Diego—and then Michael got that phone call in the middle of the night.

“They're dead, Michael. Both of them. Dead.” Levi's voice had been so flat and detached that Michael thought he was referring to his agents, until he said the names.

An addict desperate for money had burst into Levi's home, then shot Anita and Michael to death. Detectives arrested him the next day. He confessed to killing Anita and even described how little Michael—all eighty pounds of him—charged down the stairs and flew into him with both fists. The gunman said he admired
the boy's bravery, and felt bad about putting a bullet through his brain. It happened on the Hart's tenth anniversary.

Three days later, Michael and Nadia stood alongside Levi in the stern of a boat as he scattered the ashes of his wife and son atop the crest of a Pacific swell. Two months after that, he walked into the SAC's office and handed in his resignation. Then with barely a farewell to anyone he contracted out as a Law Enforcement Professional, or LEP, and shipped off to Baghdad for a year, to identify and capture the gangs that were planting IEDs. Two years after his tour, he came to Vanguard International.

Michael raised his bottle. “To the boys, to Anita, and to Michael.” But after the toast, Hacksaw's prophesy of dread at the bar echoed. He looked into Levi's eyes. “Brother? If anything happens, promise you'll bring me home to my family?”

“Come on, stop your worrying. You're beginning to sound like my grandma.”

“Yeah, you're right.” He paused. “It's just that Hack said something. We all know how prescient he can be. Hell, I don't know… maybe it rubbed off on me.”

“Well we don't want any bad karma. Okay. It's official, and I'm being serious here. I'll make sure you get home.” He gulped down some beer and cracked a smile. “Now that we've got that outta the way…you feel like gettin' your butt kicked?”

“Humph. Think you're man enough?”

Levi snorted. “I know I am. How do you want it? The usual?”

“Five bucks a hand?”

“Make it ten.”

“Twenty.”

“You're on.” Levi drained his beer. “Get the cards. I'll break out more brews.”

The game was an excuse to unwind but still discuss the case. They played on, hoping for the epiphany that can surface during
a state of mental relaxation. Levi was down two hundred eighty bucks when four knocks at the door were followed by two more. He got up, peered through the peep-hole, and opened the door for Joe Tucker.

Tucker marched in and got down to business. “Baker just sent a text. We've been given a green light to review the parking garage tapes.”

Levi said, “Tomorrow morning, then. I'll take Michael with me. With luck, we'll find someone in those tapes worth speaking to.”

“Concur. And if you do find someone, I'm confident that success will follow. Why? Because you guys are good with people, especially you, Michael. So, good hunting.” The business done, he turned and walked out of the room.

T
he next day Levi and Michael donned suits and drove to FBI Headquarters in Michael's dark green 750Li BMW. Levi, knowing all about Michael's poverty-ridden childhood, had talked him into buying it. “You don't need to count every penny anymore, buddy. Hey, you deserve the best.”

They waited in the lobby until 8:00 a.m. sharp, when a gray-haired, tall and trim man stepped through a security door into the lobby.

Levi stuck out his hand. “Good to see you again, George.” He introduced the ASAC in charge of the photo analysis division to Michael.

George issued visitor badges and led them inside. “Our analysts have pored over the tapes of course, but you're welcome to review them.” He tapped the American flag pin in his lapel. “We're all on the same team.” After a brief walk through hallways overflowing with fast moving personnel, he ushered them into a tiny office containing a desk, two chairs and a computer. A fortyish woman appeared as if on cue and George said, “This is Ms. Collins, my chief analyst. She conducted the initial review and will get you started. Now if you don't mind, I'm due in a meeting.”

Collins pointed to the computer. “I've already set it up for you. It's from a single surveillance camera view of vehicles as they approach the parking garage cashier. I cataloged all of them for a period
two days pre- and two days post-assassination, then ran the plates through NCIC. I got a hit on a gray Toyota minivan.” She pointed at the screen. “It's indexed on the tape as Suspect One. The van left minutes after the attack and it came back as stolen. Go figure, right? Still hasn't been found.” She pushed a stray hair from her forehead. “It's our sole item of interest, at least so far.” Ms. Collins provided a brief tutorial of the program, an abstract of her findings, and her phone extension. “I'm two doors down. Call me when you're done or if you need anything.” She left them alone.

Levi said, “Proceed.” Michael tapped the keyboard and the monitor came to life. They began with the indexed Suspect One, then settled in to review a steady stream of cars, pickups, minivans and SUVs arriving at the cashier's booth before and after the attack. Four hours later they concluded a cursory first round and rubbed tired eyes. Then they began an intensive and much more exhaustive second round. Levi leaned back afterward and stretched his arms. “Ten minute break, then we start over.”

Fueled by coffee brought to them by a gracious staffer, they began the third round. They were fifteen minutes into their task when Levi leaned close to the monitor. “Hold it. Back up a few frames.” Michael entered the commands, wrapped his fingers around the mouse and waited. “There,” Levi said. Michael left-clicked. The image of a mature black woman in a uniform appeared in a blur at the camera's outermost limit. “Parking attendant? Hmm. Do a slow-mo.” Michael keyed-in the command. Her uniform did resemble that of the white-haired man in the booth. “Stop,” Levi whispered. He unfolded a floor plan of the garage. “Let's see where she's situated.”

Michael placed a finger on the floor plan. “She could've been coming from that door along this wall here. It opens onto the street, see?” He traced a diagonal path that nicked the camera's
outer range and stopped at a symbol. “Rest room.” He glanced at the video's time stamp. “This is nearly two hours before the assassination.” He punched in a command and when the woman's image appeared again he froze it and zoomed in.

Levi got out the abstract. “The only witnesses interviewed were the male cashier and the manager. And the manager wasn't even on the premises at the time.” He squinted at the screen. “Who is she, why is she there, and why wasn't she interviewed?”

“Slip up? Or maybe she was on a list to be interviewed, but was ill.”

“Or she's an accomplice.” Levi edged closer. “Roll tape.”

They watched her blurred image disappear again, only to reappear thirty minutes after the suspect minivan departed. When the camera showed her changing places with the male cashier in the booth, Michael said, “She seems to have been…”

“Waiting. But for who?”

Michael touched a finger to the time stamp. “Not who. What.”

“Hmm. I see where you're going with this. It was four o'clock when she swapped places with the guy. Shift change.”

“Let's curb any summary judgments, take our time and follow through with this.” Michael ran the sequence again. And once more after that. Then he settled back into his chair. “I think I know what's going on. She arrived far in advance of her shift.”

“Because?”

“Because she's poor and has to take the bus to work. She has to make transfers. That means she ends up arriving a good ninety minutes before she has to clock-in.”

Levi regarded his friend with kindness. “And you know about these things. Because you've been there.”

Michael shrugged. “Yeah, well…listen, we need to find her. Now.”

Michael's BMW drew plenty of stares as he parked in front of a rundown duplex in Suitland, Maryland an hour later. He was about to knock when the door opened and an ageless woman appeared. Her dark face was crisscrossed by thin lines resembling a waffle grid, and she wore her hair piled high atop her head. The men produced their credentials. Michael sensed her inherent fear of officials and smiled disarmingly. “Please. Don't be afraid. We're not from Immigration.”

She glanced at the credentials and settled her brown eyes on Michael's. “You come about that day. Don't you?”

Michael picked up on her Jamaican accent. “Has anyone interviewed you?”

“Nobody talk to me about that day, not ever.” She opened the door further, then stepped aside. “Come in, please.” She showed them into a small but tidy living room and gestured toward a pair of frayed easy chairs. She offered refreshments, but when they declined she settled onto an equally worn couch.

Michael said without overture, “You arrived early for work that day.”

“Yes. I come in early. The buses, don't you know.”

“Is that why nobody's spoken to you? Because you hadn't punched in yet?”

She shifted in her seat and made tiny fists. “Maybe they thought I not there, because they see I not on the schedule to arrive yet. But I was.”