Extreme Measures (28 page)

ARLINGTON, VIRGINIA

N
ASH hit the key fob, and the side door of the minivan popped out and rolled back on its own. He sat just behind the two front seats in the middle and then dumped King Charlie into his plush car seat. After wrestling with all the different straps, buckles, and clips, he started the van and began backing out of the driveway with his little, cursing one-year-old yapping it up in the backseat. The National Counterterrorism Center was less than five miles away. Nash had time for one, maybe two phone calls at the most. He thought of calling Rapp or Ridley, but there was no sense in alarming them at this point. They had enough on their minds. There was one obvious choice, and it was Scott Coleman. Nash called him and passed along Johnson’s address and the construction site where he was currently working. Coleman was read in on the program, so Nash did not have to explain to him what was going on. Coleman told him he’d have some answers within the hour.

At the security checkpoint for the NCTC the guard jokingly asked to see Charlie’s badge. Nash laughed along with the middle-age guard even though he wasn’t in much of a joking mood. After he was cleared and Charlie was given his visitor’s badge, Nash pulled into his spot in the underground garage and freed Charlie from his restraints. With the diaper bag on one arm and Charlie in the other, Nash took the elevator up to the sixth floor and into the bullpen. This was Charlie’s third trip to the National Counterterrorism Center and he’d been out to Langley at least as many times. Usually on Saturday mornings, so he could give Maggie a chance to sleep in.

By the time Nash reached his assistant’s desk she was on her feet with arms out.

“Come here, Charlie.”

Nash handed him over and set the diaper bag down on the side chair. He looked up at the wall of TV screens and asked, “Anything new this morning?”

Jessica had worked for Nash for three years. She also helped out with two other Langley guys assigned to the NCTC. “That Coast Guard chopper that went down yesterday…”

“Yeah?”

“Last night the divers recovered all four crew members. Preliminary report says they all drowned.” She took her finger and rubbed the wattle under Charlie’s chin. “They went back down first thing this morning and found seven bullet holes. Four of them appeared to have pierced the engine compartment. The FBI has a team headed down to verify, but the divers say they were fifty-caliber rounds. Armor-piercing.”

“And they think it was a drug shipment?”

“Yep, but there’s only one problem.” Jessica pointed across the floor at a cluster of desks and said, “Alberto from DEA says they rarely shoot at our birds, and he’s never heard of them doing it so close to shore.”

Nash wondered if the cargo was more than drugs. “Let me know what the FBI finds out.” He looked over at the corner office and asked, “Is Mr. Crabby Pants in?”

“Yep,” Jessica replied as she gave Charlie a little tickle under the arm. “You’d better leave the kid with me.”

“He’s in that bad a mood?”

“No worse than usual.”

“That’s all right,” Nash said. “I’ll use him as a shield.” He took Charlie back and said, “One more thing. Call the dean of students at Sidwell and find out when he’s meeting with my wife.”

Jessica frowned. “Shouldn’t I just call Maggie?”

“No… in fact, tell them you’re checking on her behalf.”

“What’s going on?” she asked suspiciously.

“Rory beat up some kid… it’s a complicated story, but the short version is that the little spoiled shit had it coming.”

Jessica was a mother of two young boys. She understood the program. “Was it on school property?”

“Yes.”

“And knowing Sidwell, I’m sure they have a zero tolerance policy.”

“That’s right. And if I know my wife, she’s going to go in there today and kiss some major ass and make this thing go away.”

“And you’re not invited?”

“That’s my guess.”

“I’m on it.” She said as she sat and reached for her phone. “I’ll let you know what I find out.”

Nash walked over and knocked on Harris’s door. A loud voice told whoever was there to go away. Nash knocked again and then grinned as he heard a slew of curses erupt from the other side.

As the door started to open, Harris could be heard growling, “What kind of dumb mother…” The last word got stuck in his mouth as soon as he saw the smiling little towhead in Nash’s arms.

“I need to have a word with you,” Nash said in a grim voice.

Harris took a step back and motioned for them to come in. As soon as he closed the door, his entire demeanor changed. He rubbed his hands together and then reached out for Charlie, who willingly lunged forward. Harris held him tight and kissed his big pudgy cheeks. “Oh… Sheila is going to be jealous when I tell her you stopped by the office.”

Nash smiled. Sheila was Harris’s wife, who leapt at the chance to watch Charlie any chance she got. The show Nash and Harris had put on for everybody in the office on Monday had been prearranged. The two worked very hard behind the scenes to share information, and Nash thought it would be best if Harris let everyone in the office believe he was furious over the story in the
Post,
when in fact he had known about the basics of the operation from the beginning.

Harris saw Charlie looking at his desk, so he sat down in his chair and said, “I don’t let anyone touch my desk, but you, little buddy, you can touch anything you want. Go ahead.” After a moment he looked up at Nash and said, “What’s wrong? I can see by the way you’re standing there like you need an enema that you’re not having such a good morning.”

“I’ve got a problem.”

“How bad?”

“It depends.” Nash shrugged his shoulders, and then appeared to be lost in thought.

“Buddy,” Harris said, “you can trust me.”

“I know I can, I just don’t know if I want to lay this mess at your feet.”

“We’ve talked about this before.” There was a clang as Charlie knocked over a blue FBI mug filled with pens. “That’s okay,” Harris said reassuringly and then looked back up at Nash. “I’m with you on this thing. I’m not going to break any laws on my end, but I’m not going to turn your ass in either.”

“You need to be really careful on this. No electronic fingerprints… No paper trails. I’d prefer it if there weren’t any phone records.”

“I know how to work the system. Tell me what you need.”

Nash looked out the window for a moment and then said, “A friend of mine has gone missing.”

“Good guy or bad guy?”

“Good guy.”

“How long?”

“Not sure.”

“When was the last time you heard from him?” Harris asked while he reached out and squeezed Charlie’s thigh.

“Yesterday afternoon.”

“That’s not very long.”

Nash sighed. This was going to be hard to express, why he was so worried. He settled on saying, “Considering the circumstances… it’s an eternity.”

Harris nodded. “You want me to check the morgue?”

Nash hoped it wasn’t the case, but it had to be done. “You told me you had some buddies downtown… D.C. Metro.”

“I know a bunch of guys down there. A few owe me some pretty big favors.”

“Good. Just keep it real quiet. You don’t want this traced back to you.”

“I know how to handle it. Just give me the basics.” Harris stuck out his big mitt, palm up, and said, “Charles, may I please use that pen?”

Charlie looked at the pen and then carefully placed it in Harris’s hand. He smiled at his own accomplishment.

Harris rubbed Charlie’s back and said, “You’re a smart little boy. Too smart for the Marines. You’ll have to go into the Navy like your uncle Artie.” Harris grabbed a sheet of paper and said, “Shoot.”

Nash thought of a dozen off-color remarks he could make about the men who sailed the seven seas, but kept them to himself. Thinking about Johnson, he said, “Six feet tall, African American, approximately one hundred and eighty pounds.”

“How old?”

“Late twenties.”

“Anything else?”

“He has an Airborne tattoo on his left bicep.”

“Name?”

Nash shook his head.

“All right. I’ll have a buddy of mine check the morgue for John Does.”

“Thanks,” said Nash while plucking Charlie off the desk. If something had happened to Johnson, he would never forgive himself.

“Don’t you have to get your ass downtown?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, good luck. Don’t take any shit from those peckers.”

At the door Nash stopped and said, “I’m not the one who’s going to need it. Rapp’s the one they have in their sights today.”

CAPITOL HILL

R
APP stood in front of the witness table, his right hand in the air. He repeated after the committee staffer who swore him in. It was possibly the first time he’d ever taken the oath in front of this or any other committee, for that fact, where he actually planned on telling the truth. He knew this was one of the reasons so many of them hated him. His lack of respect drove their overfed egos wild. Professional parsers, bullshitters, and liars, they couldn’t get through a day without bending the truth in some drastic way, but God forbid someone come before their hallowed committee and do the same.

When he was done he sat down and looked up at the nineteen senators arrayed before him. They were sitting in judgment behind a heavy wood bench that curved around him and back like a horseshoe. The Judiciary Committee was without a doubt the most partisan in the Senate, due almost solely to the abortion issue and the fact that, in addition to the myriad of issues they faced, the committee was also charged with the confirmation of federal judges. Unfortunately, it affected everything that came before the committee. Of the nineteen members a dozen could be considered the most radical in the Senate.

Rapp was alone at the long witness table. He had chosen to make a statement that this problem started and ended with him. He had mixed feelings about how this was going to proceed. A very weary part of him had hoped they would be reckless enough to do this in front of the media. It would finally bring things to a head. It would force them to confront their lack of discipline and leadership. Anna would have loved that. His face being flashed all around the world would have all but assured that his days as a field operative would be done. In all the nights he’d been thinking about this, though, he knew they’d blink. These hearings were for show, and these vain men and women did not like to be embarrassed.

Their chairman was moving this thing along faster than they were used to. She wanted Rapp in her crosshairs before he changed his mind and lawyered up. But there were others who simply didn’t like the idea of a hearing with so many unknowns. They were used to getting written testimony in advance – kind of like getting the answers to a test and then making up your own questions. The whole system was rigged to their advantage, and Rapp was looking forward to dropping a few surprises on them. This was the one silver lining of a closed hearing. They were far more likely to grant him some latitude. If the cameras were present, and they sensed anything embarrassing, they would rally around each other like a pack of hyenas, howling and snapping until the clamor reached such a level that it would drown out the words of the witness. In a closed-door session, he stood a far better chance of being able to finish a point, and hopefully get them to put party politics on hold.

Chairman Lonsdale removed her reading glasses and set them in front of her. Rapp looked up and noticed that her demeanor had changed drastically during the fifteen-minute recess. The first ninety minutes of the morning had been spent hearing the testimony of Captain Leland, who had been flown back from Afghanistan. Lonsdale and her colleagues had treated him with the sensitivity a prosecutor would afford a rape victim. Now they were going to get their pound of flesh from the rapist.

With a disapproving frown, Lonsdale said, “Mr. Rapp, I trust you paid close attention to Captain Leland’s testimony.”

Rapp had been ordered to sit in the gallery during Leland’s testimony. “I did, Madam Chairman.”

“I considered it to be very truthful, yet,” Lonsdale said as she held up a sheaf of documents, “quite in contradiction to the written statement you have provided us.”

“Are you saying that you find my statement to be false?” Rapp asked.

“I do, as a matter of fact. You look perfectly healthy, Mr. Rapp, whereas Captain Leland has obviously been physically assaulted.” Lonsdale gestured to Leland, who was now sitting in the sparsely populated gallery flanked by his two recently hired attorneys.

Rapp looked over his shoulder at Leland, who was in his Air Force dress blue jacket and a matching sling. His head was tilted in a way that made his black eye impossible to miss. Rapp returned his attention to Lonsdale. “So without hearing my verbal testimony, you’ve already made up your mind?”

“You will be given an opportunity to plead your case, but at this point it is obvious that you have an uphill battle, Mr. Rapp.”

“Well, it certainly is reassuring to have such a fair and impartial chairman presiding over this hearing,” Rapp said in a voice full of sarcasm. “And you wonder why such an alarming number of people choose to exercise their Fifth Amendment right when called before this committee.”

Lonsdale’s eyes narrowed, and she was about to respond to Rapp’s charge, when there was a commotion at the back of the room. Rapp resisted the urge to look over his shoulder, since this was the cue for the first big surprise. Lonsdale and then every other senator turned their attention to the center aisle of the committee room. Rapp heard the deep baritone voice and resisted his desire to smile. He knew what was about to happen, and understood perhaps better than most that it was going to be a historic moment. One where the legislative branch was about to be challenged on their home turf by a cabinet member of the executive branch.

“Madam Chairman,” the voice boomed louder than anything that had been heard that morning. “I apologize for the intrusion, but I have something here that has a direct bearing on the matter before you.”

Rapp found it safe now to turn and look at England. The secretary of defense was in his mid-fifties and had a full head of gray hair. He was widely known in Washington to be one of the more amiable cabinet members. He walked past Rapp’s table without looking at him and stopped at a long wooden table that sat between the witness table and the raised dais. The senators all began sharing looks that ran the gamut from amusement to concern.

“Secretary England,” Lonsdale said with trepidation into her microphone, “this is a closed-door hearing, and since you are not on the witness list, I am going to…”

England slammed a four-inch sheaf of documents down on the table and loudly announced, “I won’t take but a minute of your time, and since you, Madam Chairman, have seen fit to involve yourself in the day-to-day affairs of the Department of Defense, I find it my duty to return the favor.”

“I beg your…”

“That’s quite all right,” England shouted, refusing to yield the floor. “Esteemed members of the committee,” he said as he looked from one end of the bench to the other in a casual sweeping motion, “I have in my hand a signed statement from General Garrison, the commander of the Bagram Air Base, Afghanistan. That would make him Captain Leland’s commanding officer. He was present during the incident that you are now discussing.”

“Secretary England,” Lonsdale said in a sad, irritated voice, “this is highly irregular. If you…”

“No more irregular,” England said in a singsong voice, “than the chairperson calling a friend at the Justice Department in the middle of the night, and having that friend initiate an investigation on one of my bases.”

“Mr. Secretary,” Lonsdale started in a strained, casual tone.

England was not to be denied his moment, though, and once again refused to yield. “The United States military has a long history of policing itself. On the rare, and exceptional, occasion when they have failed to do so, the Justice Department has intervened. But never,” roared England, “in the history of this great country has the Justice Department moved to investigate an incident so clearly under military jurisdiction a mere forty-eight hours after it has occurred.”

“Mr.-” Lonsdale tried to speak.

“Which,” hollered England, “leads me to the conclusion that this entire thing is politically motivated.”

“How dare you come before my committee and put forth such baseless allegations?” Lonsdale shot back.

“Baseless… Please explain to me, Senator Lonsdale, why your boy at Justice would only bother to get a statement from one person involved in this incident?”

“Because,” Lonsdale shouted, matching England’s intensity, “he was the aggrieved party.”

“Did your man think of getting a statement from General Garrison? He was, after all, the only neutral party to the incident.” England took a quick look at the panel and saw all heads turned to Lonsdale to hear her response. After an uncomfortable silence, England waved the document in the air and said, “Never fear, the air force did it for you. They are actually quite competent at this kind of thing.” England motioned to a staffer that was sitting to his left. “Please do me a favor and hand these out to the committee members.”

“Mr. Secretary,” Lonsdale said, her anger barely in check, “I do not need to remind you that all documents are to be submitted to this committee in advance…”

“I’d like to make a motion for an exception.”

Lonsdale didn’t have to look. She knew Gayle Kendrick had made the motion. She reached for her gavel, but before she could get her hand around the mallet, the motion was seconded by another half dozen senators from both parties.

“The long and short of it, ladies and gentlemen,” said England, “is that General Garrison corroborates Mr. Rapp’s testimony, and says that Captain Leland has either misremembered the events of that evening or has made them up.”

Lonsdale felt as if she were drowning and someone had just thrown a brick at her head. Her mind splintered, running off in eight different directions trying to find a way to regain control and momentum. She felt a touch on her shoulder and out of habit leaned back. Wassen was there, as he’d always been. He threw her the lifeline she needed to stay afloat by giving her a question.

With her cheeks still flushed from the embarrassment of England’s revelation, she grabbed her microphone and said, “I would like to remind the committee that Mr. Rapp striking Captain Leland is but a single issue before us. Secretary England, as long as we have you here, I would like to know why you don’t seem at all bothered by the fact that an employee of the CIA put on the uniform of a United States Air Force officer and snuck onto one of your bases with the express intent of circumventing the Uniform Code of Military Justice and the Geneva Conventions.”

The room fell quiet, and all eyes turned to England for his response. With an incredulous shake of his head he said, “That’s his job, people. This is what he’s supposed to do.” He made eye contact with several of the senators who were nodding agreeably. “We might not want to talk about it in civilized circles or, God forbid, in public, but his job is to go kill these bastards before they kill us.” England’s plain words had a sobering effect on the committee. In a softer tone he added, “We get caught up in all the crap that goes on in this town, and we forget one simple thing.” England pointed at Rapp and said, “He’s on our side.”