Cobra Clearance (9 page)

Once they were alone Susan said, “I think it's wonderful that you guys work together. They're something, those two.” She fell silent, then said, “Especially Levi.”

“Yes. He…”

Susan continued as if she hadn't heard. “It wasn't just his looks, although both he and Michael
are
beautiful. It was his poise. I found it so intriguing when we met. Oh, sure—I'd seen him around campus, saw other women giving him the eye. At first I couldn't understand his attractiveness. To some women, yes. But to so many? Then I saw it. Like an explosion.”

Monica said, “It's always been obvious to me. Devastating charm. Effortless, subdued; lethal.” She glanced at Susan and said kindly, “Something tells me you're still under his spell—and that you don't mind it one little bit.”

Susan flushed red. “Is it that obvious?”

“That you're still in love with him? Why shouldn't you be? He's wonderful.”

“And so dashing. He's exactly what I'm looking for in a husband.”

Monica gave her a sudden, wary glance. Dragon Team was more than a collection of high-speed operators. They were family and she felt very protective of all the guys. She wondered if she should warn Levi, but decided not to. He was a grown man and quite capable of taking care of himself—whether in a bar room or, she suspected, in a bed room. Still, her antennae had gone up in reaction to Susan, and not in a pleasant way.

Susan Kane felt electrified when Levi returned. She hadn't been able to get him out of her mind since they broke up all those years ago. Now here he was. She stole sidelong glances at him, marveling at how relaxed he still was, and watching his slow deliberate movements as he drank his scotch. She readily recalled his wonderful economy of motion, his confidence in everything he did. She found it all the more fascinating since he was of average size and build—yet larger guys would turn aside to let them pass. He'd made her feel safe, secure; excited to be with him. She began thinking about the future, where they might live, maybe even have a family. She squeezed his arm. “I remember how kids and puppies were always drawn to you. I said it then and I'll say it now—you'd make a terrific father. Ever think of having kids?”

“I, um…” A shadow fell across his face, then vanished.

Her mouth puckered with amusement. “Sorry. I forgot. You're a guy, and I asked that question. The one that so often sends bachelors fleeing.”

“It's not that.” He made eye contact. “I'm a widower, Susan.”

“A widower?” She cringed inside. “Levi, I'm so sorry. What happened?”

“I was at work. Some guy looking for drug money got into our house. He shot my wife and son to death.”

“Oh my God. Your son? That's—that's terrible!” She examined his face. It was set, stoic. “I—I feel so bad for you.”

He continued matter-of-factly. “I loved Anita with my whole being. I adored my little boy. When it happened it felt as if someone had ripped my heart out. But nothing will bring them back and I'd be doing their memories an injustice if I wallowed in self-pity.” He looked at her and waited.

Not sure what to say or do, she said, “Tell me about her.”

“She was an attorney. Really great one, too.” He smiled. “Gosh,
I was always so proud of her. She handled corporate bankruptcy cases, made the big bucks.” His voice got quiet. “We met on a Friday in a courthouse hallway. She was wearing a blue satin blouse, and God, she smelled so clean and fresh—like a sunlit morning. I asked her out. By our third date I learned she was a pianist. She played Debussy for me a few days later. That's when I knew. So did she.” A brief flash, unbidden, lit his face. Then it darkened. “She and my son were killed three years ago. On our tenth anniversary.”

“Levi. I…”

“It's okay,” he said in a strong clear voice. “Life can be ugly and we either let it swallow us or we move on. Me? I'm for moving on.” He looked directly into her eyes. “You always made me feel goofy in a good way. You're brilliant, gifted and among the most beautiful women I've known.” He grinned at her. “I also liked the way you hauled my ass up and down that racquetball court. The one behind our dorm, remember? You challenged me, made me want to be a better man…and, we were friends.”

A thrill ran through her.
Now's my chance at marriage.
She said, “I have an out-and-back flight tomorrow. But I'm going to call in sick and…”

“No. Don't do that. Bad career move.” He eased away. “Besides, I don't care for that sort of ploy. At any rate I'll be swamped with work all day.” He touched his fingers to her cheek. “You'll be here tomorrow evening. We'll see each other then.” He made a show of checking his watch. “Now if you don't mind, I really need to get going.”

She didn't want this night to end but to insist would mean disappointing him. He valued truth, so truth she would give him. When he walked her to her room, she gave him a simple kiss and said goodbye. There was always tomorrow.

AT FANNEX THE NEXT DAY
Tucker called the team to order. “Item one. The Bureau's still washing the sketch through their recognition systems.”

Levi cracked a knuckle. “George will lean on 'em.”

“It's always in the details,” Baker growled from one of the plush leather chairs.

Tucker set them to work reviewing an influx of reports and media blurbs. At noon they broke for lunch. While the others went off-site, Levi and Michael ventured into the cafeteria with its institutionalized odors, and swaying mobiles bearing security reminders.

Michael said after they set their trays on a table. “So…Susan Kane.”

“It was good seeing her. But…”

“But you remember why you broke up with her. Still…”

“Still, we were lovers. And we had good pillow talk. Not great, like what Anita and I had…” He stared at his friend. “I want nothing more in life than to have another family. But it could never be with Susan.” Then he half-smiled. “I do miss the pillow talk, though.”

Levi was on fire to see Susan that evening. She'd been on his mind since lunch. It'd been almost three years since he'd been with a woman—really been with one with passion, instead of a desultory encounter meant only to fill that empty space. He and Susan had been friends. Sure, he ended their relationship when he understood that he would never love her. But he did like her, and felt grateful for her companionship.

He worked until 11:00 p.m., then joined her at the hotel bar. He watched her small gestures, the soft light reflecting off her blonde hair and the smiles she offered during her upbeat chitchat.
The energy was right, the signals were clear, and later a trail of their clothing began inside his hotel room door and ended at the base of the bed.

Afterward, Susan lay draped across Levi with her head on his shoulder. Her hair was damp and limp, her green eyes lively as they exchanged a private smile. She kissed his chest and ran her long fingernails along his body, but when she came to an angry scar on his left hip she stopped. “This is new. What happened?”

Levi hesitated. OPSEC ruled his life, but the necessary deceptions left a bad taste in his mouth. His eyes went up and to the right. “A hunter thought I was a deer.”

In truth, he'd been shot years ago during a midnight gunfight with a suspected rapist. He had come upon the attack while on patrol. When the suspect fled, he pursued on foot. The suspect was still fifty feet away when he turned and began shooting. A bullet grazed Levi's hip. Levi returned fire and hit him twice in the chest. But the suspect was amped on meth and raised his pistol again, so Levi slammed two more hollow points into his chest. When the suspect still didn't go down and was about to fire again, Levi put a bullet through his forehead. The autopsy revealed that the four rounds to the chest had been so tightly grouped together, that they appeared as a single wound.

Susan kissed the scar. “I'm glad you're okay.”

“Thanks.” All at once he got up and walked naked to the window. Pushing aside the drapes and peering at the night sky he said, “Looks cold out there.” Then catching her reflection in the glass, he said quietly, “I'm glad you're here, Susan.”

“I am too.” She said happily, “I still love looking at your body. You've the most exquisite hands and feet.”

“My hands?” He held them up and examined them with indifference. “They let me hold a beer.” He wiggled his toes. “They get me to the beer.”

“Oh, no you don't. You're an Adonis.” She gave him a wry look. “But I'm sure plenty of women have told you that.”

He looked away, a gentleman's method of keeping his private affairs in order.

“Okay. I deserved that.” Staring at him, she turned quiet. “I never told you this, but when we first met I just naturally assumed you were Jewish. I mean…your name? Levi Hart? But when we finally made love I saw that you couldn't be.” She flicked her eyes at his waist. “Either that, or there's a Briss amiss.”

He glanced down and chuckled. “Yeah, I get that a lot. But no, I'm not Jewish.”

Bursting into laughter she cried out, “So there were plenty of girlfriends.” But holding out her arms to him she whispered, “Doesn't matter. We have each other again.”

He went to her. They kissed, they touched, and in time their bodies came together of their own accord. Afterward they slept and woke and loved again.

WHILE THEY WERE SLEEPING
, an ATF entry team acting on a tip about unlicensed weapons assembled inside a rural sheriff's office for a pre-raid briefing. They wore dark BDUs, Level III vests, and carried submachine guns and shotguns. The air was chill and there was no moon. Their night vision equipment would be put to excellent advantage.

BRENT KRUGER JERKED AWAKE
. It was 2:00 a.m., and too quiet. He pulled on khaki trousers and shirt, then boots. Grabbing a .45 from the nightstand, he walked through the dark rooms until he reached a window facing the compound. Stars dotted the New Mexico night sky, but there was neither moon nor ambient light here in the high desert.

A set of night vision goggles were on a table next to the window. He swept them up, flipped the power switch and scanned the yard. When he picked up the moving form of a sentry in a dark uniform he relaxed, but not entirely. His guts twisted. He scanned further. A strip of light showed beneath the armory door.

Kruger slipped outside and crossed the yard in swift measured steps. Putting his ear against the armory door, he heard the muted rattle of a tool dropping on the concrete floor, then the back and forth scuffing of shoes. He held the .45 along the outer seam of his thigh—none of that Hollywood baloney of pistols raised and held close to the head; that was the antithesis of trade craft, and bound to get a shooter killed if he tried that nonsense. Taking a firm grip on the .45, he plunged through the door and roared, “What the hell are you doing here?”

T.J. Jackson looked up in horror. “Brent! Jesus. You scared the piss outta me.”

“You probably did piss.” Kruger looked around, then regarded Jackson in his black T, desert cammies and heavy boots. “Explain yourself. What're you doing?”

Jackson scurried to one side, revealing an 81mm mortar on the floor. “I was checking it over.” He held both hands up like a supplicant and whined, “I couldn't sleep.”

Kruger stared at him with veiled eyes and growled, “Don't touch anything unless you check with me first.” He relaxed his grip on the pistol. “Now get out of here.” He turned and walked out. He knew Jackson would obey.

A shudder coursed through Jackson's body. He studied his shaking hands and wondered how he had gotten himself into this mess, and how he could extricate himself before Kruger killed him. Then he heard something; he spun and stared at the door.

THE ATF ENTRY TEAM LEADER WHISPERED
, “Go.” Seconds later the string of armed agents streamed through the door, guns and eyes moving in all directions.

“Clear,” an agent shouted from a bedroom. Others also shouted, “Clear.”

The team leader took a stance in the center of the main room and paused. Then his nose wrinkled and a look of disgust swept over him. “Oh my God.” He glanced down at the stained carpet and spoke into his mic: “Get K-9 in here ASAP. We've got a body.”

In fact, they had three bodies—decomposed male corpses inside heavy-duty garbage bags crammed beneath the floorboards of the rural Virginia farmhouse. Later, the team leader stood on the broad front porch to clear his nostrils of the sickeningly-sweet stench. As he gazed idly at the private airstrip fifty yards from the barn he thought, looks long enough to handle a twin engine. Hmm. Wonder where they got off to?

W
ild Bill Dentz got to the coffee service first. By the time the others poured their morning caffeine he was already reading the Daily Intelligence Summary—the DIS. Monica and Sawyer cleared one end of the table and began charting a timeline of all that had been learned of the assassination, and drew lines to boxes labeled with information, details and conclusions. The data were paltry and until they could add a name to the artist's sketch, the chart meant little. All hands turned in to sift, evaluate and discuss.

Levi's cell rang at 5:00 p.m., and after he finished the call he informed the team that the Bureau had conducted the most thorough physical search possible of the “Halay Taxi Way” cab, but found nothing of interest. What fingerprints they did obtain after a search that included the use of ultraviolet lights were run through various data banks but no single hit stood out. “Dumb ass luck,” Levi muttered.

It was past midnight when Levi parked his rented Mustang in the Hilton's lot. It had been a drudge day and he wanted nothing more than some booze and a snooze. On entering the lobby he surveyed it as usual, then proceeded to the elevators.