I leave with the six original folders put back together, and six of my very own copies, minus the giant red TOP SECRET stamps, but in neat black three ring binders. It's late enough that I can drive back up Central to the Hat and do some pastrami for lunch before driving home. I feel like I did when I cut class in high school.
My bodyguards don't change expression when I pull in the parking garage, but I'm sure they are mighty happy that I am not dead. Or maybe not, given that my death would let them get back to meaningful work.
I get through the first binder, stop, put the six originals into an Albertson's bag and run down the stairs and out to the feds. Half hour later we are parked at FBI headquarters and I am running inside. Perez meets me at the front desk, but I drag her off to the side so no one can hear.
"Make up a story," I try to sound serious, but I'm not sure it works, "tell them these were on the balcony this morning or something, but you and Flaherty need to read these NOW."
"Come on." She leads me back to the desk, makes them give me a visitor badge and we head up stairs. Flaherty's in the conference room. Kiana walks us in, puts the bag on the table, and looks my way.
"We got a present this morning from a friend." I think the special agent gets the message because she instantly is leaning forward as if she's about to leap out of her chair.
"Files on Mohammed Naziri, Abdul Hassan, a blond man named Scotty Hammels," I point to his picture on the bulletin board, "another man we've seen named Mike Palmer," another point, "and Ali's two very much alive sons."
Flaherty sits back in the chair, hard.
"They worked for an inter-service task force gathering local intelligence in rural Afghanistan, commanded by an Air Force officer. Major Steven O'Connor."
I let that sink in. He must have done well to earn his promotion.
"Ali had two brothers who still lived in a northern province with their families. We knew the Taliban were coming into that province with the permission of the local tribal leader, but we handed the security over to Afghan forces anyway. Instead of stopping them, the Afghan army helped them slaughter an entire village. Ali lost his only siblings, and more than a dozen close relatives."
"Jackson Ali shot up the command center for his unit, then disappeared along with the other five. The Air Force bombed a house two weeks later on intel that there was a high value terrorist leader inside. When the SEALS went in after, they didn't find the intended target, but they found our friends' stuff, and the leftovers from a lot of bodies. Someone declared them dead and everyone moved on."
"We've got fingerprints in the files. What do you want to bet that they match the fingerprints from the Marquis and Perez's altered Mustang chip?"
Then I shut up. Actually, I've told them basically all I know, so it's the smart move, not just a timing thing.
Perez spreads the six files with their glaringly bright TOP SECRET labels across the table. Flaherty grabs Jackson, Perez settles for Jefferson, and I take the blond. We read in silence for about 20 minutes, until we've each had a selection of files.
"I think I need to go to Vegas," Flaherty is the first one to talk, "and have a chat with my Colonel. Kiana, let's see about getting a warrant for his phone records. Nothing we've got here would be admissible in court, if they'd even let us enter it into evidence."
Perez nods, then talks. "If he wanted to bring that nuke into the US, it would be easy. No customs inspection, nothing. Load it on a plane, pick it up in Vegas. We'd never find it."
Flaherty grabs her phone and makes one quick call, and one longer one. By the time she's done with the longer one, my two bodyguards are standing outside the conference room, obviously the recipients of the first call. I try my best not to take the hint, but eventually I give in, and let them take me home.
Perez shows up about nine, totally dejected. No warrant, the supposedly friendly judge they picked unwilling to issue it based on top secret documents with no provenance without passing it by the military bureaucracy. The judge kept the files at the request of that bureaucracy, saying he'd return them if, and only if, he ruled in the FBI's favor.
No meeting with O'Connor, whose staff claims he's not returning to Nellis until next week. They have a bright and early with him next Tuesday.
We know the story now, revenge served somewhat cold, but that doesn't mean we're about to close the case. In fact, if O'Connor is really involved, and gets wind that we're coming, things could move long before we know where to look for them.
"Air Force, we may have done nothing except show our hand to the bad guys. We weren't even smart enough to run the fingerprints before we lost the files."
I walk over to the cabinet where I keep my plates, pull out the file copies I made and hand them to her.
"I could kiss you."
"You better. But I don't think we should give these out without making more."
"Everything's closed for the night," she says, standing up, "Can you think of something we might do to pass the time?"
Chapter 29
In the morning after my run we have the FBI guys drive us to the Copies and More on Sepulveda just north of the airport, where they wait outside while we illegally copy our illegally obtained top secret government documents. Nice.
Then they drop me off for a day of policing the airport, the original document copies and a set of new copies cleverly hidden in my locker, and take Perez north to make Flaherty happy with another set of copies. We're all probably going to jail.
I meet Perez later at Ariela's restaurant, the FBI guys getting their usual from her as well. They have probably put on five pounds since starting this detail, and need to run with me, but they leave that duty to another agent.
Morning run, no sign of bad guys, quiet flight to Hawai'i, no bullets, long call from Perez, no phone sex. Visit from the Defense Intelligence Agency and the Naval Criminal Investigative Service to the FBI office inquiring about certain files, no Leroy Jethro Gibbs. We're pretty well covered for the night of the break in, Perez under surveillance, me in Kona, Flaherty in the office until late, but if the Colonel knows the files were stolen, he'll also figure out pretty quick who stole them.
Friday night I make the trip to Afghanistan, dividing my time there between drug fields and potential terrorists. Long day of flying Saturday, the remnants of a typhoon causing us problems all the way home. Perez and I collapse about 30 seconds after getting to my place, and I have a dreamless, fogless sleep until well after my normal running time.
We spend the day engaging in wild speculation and re-reading files until the FBI guys remind us we are due at my mom and dad's (I guess they are hungry, mom let us know last week she was making her world famous mac and cheese this week). Later, I work off the calories from all that cheddar by trashing a large weapons cache and 100 acres of poppies.
Monday I do a simulator day at work, apparently also required as a consequence of having parked a $50 million plane in the grass, though I already did in real life what they are making me do for pretend.
By Wednesday night I can no longer find any poppies in Afghanistan, but there seems to be an unending supply of arms caches that need tending to, and I make a quick trip back to Iran as well to ensure that they are not rebuilding.
Perez is not nearly as happy as I, the meeting with the Colonel on Tuesday not only revealing nothing, but attended by DIA officers investigating Perez and Flaherty.
I take off for my run Thursday morning, planning a double loop to deal with all my pent up tension before going in to be Officer Packer, but not warning the FBI guy in advance. Two flashes of the being watched mojo on the first one, then intense constant attention on the second. I make the assumption that our blond friend is standing on the observation deck once again, and make a sharp cut toward the stairs as I get to it.
The light goes into my inner hand, making me stronger and faster than a normal human, no intention on my part of changing. Simon Packer wants to take this guy down for his girl friend without the help of any salami wielding superhero.
I take the stairs three at a time until ten stairs from the top I see the blond head of hair headed the other way. The observation deck is circular, maybe 50 feet in diameter, with two twenty foot wide appendages on the eastern edge, one the stairs coming up from ground level and the other the walkway leading to the Hyatt and convention center.
Fast as I can I finish the last few leaps of stairs and turn east to follow, slowing down only long enough to extract my SIG from its holster. He's 20 yards in front of me, running pretty fast. Takes me 20 yards to catch him, matching his speed about 10 feet behind, yelling "stop, police," a couple times.
He actually stops, but turns, his right hand flashing a weapon. I speed up, and crash into him shoulder first, driving his back into the ground. Off balance, I land only partly on him, and he is on all fours trying to get up when I right myself, lunge, and pull his legs out from under him.
I leap forward, grab his right arm, drive him face first back down, and apply one of the holds Lope taught me seemingly eons ago. He's about to try something when we both hear "Freeze, FBI" from behind, and he relaxes, giving up.
My tail is panting, I am not. He tosses me his cuffs, not sure where he had them in his running clothes, while he simultaneously covers the bad guy with his weapon and collects both of ours. I help Mr. Hammels to his feet, not gently, and have the pleasure of assuring him that he is well and truly under arrest.
Then the three of us basically stand there looking stupid for 10 minutes until my tail's partner appears, then the four of us basically stand there looking stupid until three cars come screaming down the road, lights and sirens aflashin', four agents, plus Perez and Flaherty, popping out as they stop.
Flaherty has one of the agents take my statement while she and Perez listen, all standard procedure except I assume that normally one of the agents present does not keep hitting the witness in the arm. She pauses only to call LAX and tell Sergeant Johnson that I'm not coming in, and why.
When I'm done lying to the FBI, they have my tails take Hammels to lockup, assign two of the agents who just came to guard my building, and Flaherty and Perez take me home to shower and change, then back to the FBI building with them.
I get to stand in the observation room behind the cool two way mirror as a very gruff senior agent tries to intimidate some information out of Hammels. He manages to get exactly what I expected, a long angry stare.
Eventually, they take him to his cell, and Flaherty offers to buy lunch down at the Santa Monica pier. I guess that qualifies as party time for an FBI agent.
While we're walking the pier eating hot dogs, I ask her if she can take the surveillance off me now. Perez hits me, and gives me a perfect how could I be so stupid look.
"You did exceptional work this morning," Flaherty starts in on me, "You shouldn't let me down this afternoon."
We walk on in silence for a couple steps, she finishes another bite of dog and slaw.
"They'll be coming now," she continues, "Whatever this is, they'll be coming for you."
Chapter 30
We spend the afternoon walking the parking garage of the Hyatt running every license plate there, but none of them are stolen, and none of them shows up with any name we recognize. Hammels didn't have keys on him, so likely that he was dropped off anyway.
He had a phone on him, but it was housebroken or jailbroken or whatever they call it, and all the info was wiped clean when the techs turned it on. A specific keystroke sequence required on startup , or a custom app would delete everything. The carrier had it calling, and be called by, only one other number, another unregistered one, and currently off and untraceable.
And, again according to the carrier's records, Hammel's phone had only been used near the Hyatt, my apartment building, and Downtown Disney. The phone at the other end had also been used near Disneyland, in downtown LA, and in Riverside, always in a moving vehicle, and always for less than a minute.
Perez and I eventually get to her aunt's for dinner, and home for some serious passion. There's five more of these guys out there, plus O'Connor and whoever he's got with him, plus a nuke. Even a superdumbass should be worried, and I am.
Once Kiana's asleep, I sneak out and blast to Mexico. New plan, shorter time line. No more fields, only production facilities, transportation infrastructure (e.g., POS trucks used to drive drugs and drug dealers around), offices and the Big Kahuna's houses. Four days, I think I can clear Mexico in four days, and then visit some serious pain and suffering on the LA connections.
If I survive the next few weeks, I can always come back and clean up what I missed.
The weekend is weekday, as in Perez spends Friday, Saturday, and Sunday with Flaherty running any potential lead they can find, and watching their interrogator continue to work on Hammels. Kiana's so intense, I even have to take the FBI guys to mom and dad's alone on Sunday. I tell them I can't tell them anything, but I may soon reach the point that I will be suggesting to them to leave town. Dad did it last time and didn't ask, maybe he'd do it again.
