The Devlin Deception: Book One of The Devlin Quatrology (54 page)

Eileen Tavestory, the new but experienced Secretary of State, looked
around the room, nodded and said, “Yes, other than Pakistan,
North Korea, Iran, Syria, Egypt, Venezuela, Cuba, Mexico, China,
Russia, Libya and some others.”

“Great. So as soon as any of these bozos start to move their
dollars, your teams will move in and either confiscate or burn their
caches or just surveil and report, depending on their assigned
targets and priorities.

“Grant, Dave, your teams in Mexico and Colombia are prepped for
heavy resistance?”

The directors of the CIA and DEA both nodded.

“And, Grant, you know that your legit agents will be able to
convert their safe house stashes for the rest of the year, right?”

“Right, Gordy. As for the rogues, too damned bad.”

“Good. Any questions?”

The director of the DIA spoke up. “We're fully authorized for
deadly force if needed?”

“Absolutely, General, especially with the drug cartel assholes,
the arms runners and the human traffickers. And we are more
interested in intelligence than in prosecution when it comes to any
prisoners.

“Any other questions?”

Nobody else responded.

“Okay. Operation Dragon Scramble is a go. Keep me posted.”

As everyone stood to depart, Donne touched the Director of the Secret
Service on the shoulder and said, “Pamela, hang back a second,
would you?”

“Sure.”

Once the door had closed, Donne waved the Director to the couches,
where she settled her substantial bulk onto one while Donne took a
seat on the opposite one, picking up the clipboard and setting it
beside him.

“Two things I wanted to discuss with you, Pamela. First, it's
been three months since I promoted you into Mark's slot when he
retired. Any problems settling in?”

“Well, sir, I've been in the Service for 35 years, and worked
pretty closely with Mark the last five, so it hasn't been too
difficult so far.”

“Good, good. No problems with the security team I brought with
me?”

“Well, a few of the agents are a bit disgruntled at playing
second fiddle.”

“In a major way?”

“No, just the usual ego stuff; I can handle it.”

“Good. Now, the other thing is this: I've been hearing about a
few agents on advance teams last year breaking protocol and letting
hookers into their rooms with sensitive materials in plain view.
That was before I took over, but it's apparently an ongoing concern.”

“Yes, sir; it's a cultural thing, going on since the mid-90s,
but only with a small minority of the male agents. I hadn't been
able to push to change that until you promoted me, but now that I've
been investigating, I've fired seven agents so far, with fourteen
more on suspension, and they'll most likely be gone soon, too.”

“Good.”

“But it cost me one of my top investigators, CIA experience,
science and accounting, also did some honey-trapping in the '80s.
She took retirement as soon as she turned 50, after a really nasty
conflict with her boss last summer down in Florida, and now she's
working with a private security company. I've tried to get her to
come back, but she says she's very happy where she is.”

“What company is that?”

“Uh … oh, it's Optimum Protection. Is that –
yeah, that's it, O-P.”

“That's a DEI company; no wonder she's happy there.”

“Oh. Can you help get her back?”

“Sorry, Pamela; I don't mess with people's choices. And I'm
not in charge or even involved over there anymore, as you know;
conflict of interest.”

“I understand, sir. Just thought I'd give it a shot.”

“No problem; no need to be anything but forthright with me.”

“Her boss was one of the seven I just fired, and good riddance.
Still a ways to go with the investigation, though.”

“Anything I can do to help you with that?”

“I don't think so, sir, at least for now. I've got a pretty
solid handle on it.”

“Good, Pamela, very good. If you need anything, just call.”

“Thank you, sir; I will.”

“And, Pamela, you can call me Gordy, okay?”

“Okay, Gordy. Thanks again.” She pushed a loose strand
of gray hair away from her eyes, struggled to get up from the couch,
accepting a helpful hand from Donne, and slowly made her way to the
door. As she reached for the handle, Donne said, “Oh, Pamela,
one question.”

“Yes, sir – I mean Gordy?”

“What was that agent's name, the one at O-P? No promises, just
curious.”

“Pamela Robertson-Brooks.”

“Could you send her file over? Especially anything about that
conflict with her boss.”

“I'll do that as soon as I get back to my office,” Pamela
said, smiling broadly. “You should have it in ten minutes,
max.”

“Appreciate it. Good lu- – wait a minute. Did you say
'Robertson- Brooks?'”

“Yes, si- – Gordy.”

“Was she the one who was married to the Beige Man, the CIA guy
who was killed in '90 or '91? Uh, Zach? Zach Robertson?”

“That's her, and yes, that was him.”

“Oh. He was a legend. I met him once. So nondescript, he
could fit in anywhere, almost invisible.”

“That he was. She was shot in the same op that got him killed
and came to us right after she recovered.”

“They had her doing honey traps all through the '80s, right?”

“Right; codename 'Pepper.' But when she came to us, we paid
for her to get an MBA, forensic accounting, and she was top-notch.
She also rotated into the presidential protection detail twice,
overlapping Clinton to Bush and then Bush to Obama. Best I ever
worked with.”

“Hmm. I do want to see her file. Thanks.”

“Okay. Ten minutes and you'll have it.” She headed out.

Once the door closed, Donne returned to his desk, picked up a paper
from his inbox, then set it down and buzzed the intercom.

“Emily, could you have the kitchen send up my usual, please?”

“Sure, Gordy. Uh, can I suggest --”

Donne chuckled. “No, no, Emily, I'm just fine with the grilled
ham and cheese. Save your mothering for your grandkids and your
hubby, okay?”

“Okay, boss.”

“Maybe someday I'll try something different, but – oh,
remind me to call Jean-Claude tomorrow. I want to see how he's
enjoying Paris and see if he can come back for that state dinner in
July.”

“Will do, Gordy. Mid-afternoon his time?”

“Probably about two; the restaurant should be quiet then.”

“Got it; in your calendar for eight a.m.”

“Thanks. And Pamela will be sending a file over soon. Can you
get it in here as soon as it shows up?”

“Will do. She told me about that when she left.”

“Thanks, Emily.” Donne clicked off and went back to the
papers in his inbox, finished them up in just over an hour, then,
with Pamela's file in hand, headed over to the Residence, where he
settled in for a much-needed good night's sleep.

-111-

Sunday, May 6, 2012

9:17 a.m.

Bonita Beach, Florida

The Mimosa twins began their day strolling north
and south from their usual spot on the beach, near the boardwalk from
the Collier County parking lot, Jill going south, Carie north. Jill
glanced into the gazebo with the AA meeting and saw that all seemed
to be going normally there. She walked to the southernmost gazebo
and turned back north, scanning the slowly growing crowd, ignoring
the men ogling her young, lush body. As she neared the boardwalk,
her sister's voice came over her earbuds.

"Jillybean, got a possible situation up here
near Pop's, by the volleyball net. A young couple just set down a
beach bag and turned back north, where they came from. It may be
nothing, but they're acting a little hinky, so I'm gonna follow them.
You got your tool kit with you?"

Jill replied "Rodger Dodger, Carie Berry.
I'll check out the bag."

"Yup. It's the yellow one right by the
post."

"I see you. Got it. Be there in a sec."

"Okay. Keep me posted."

"Will do." Jill meandered up to the
bag, opened it, lifted up a corner of a folded beach towel and looked
inside.

"Oh, geez, it's a bomb, all right; C4 and
ball bearings, with a timer set for noon and a backup cell phone
detonator."

"Can you defuse it?"

"Of course. But I've got to sort it out.
Blue, red, green, black ... hmm. I don't see any booby traps, at
least. Amateur hour, looks like. Okay. Here goes." Jill
pulled the blue and red wires together, then the green and black ones
separately, pulled out a pair of wire cutters, then a second pair,
held her breath and simultaneously cut all four wires. The timer
stopped and Jill exhaled.

"Got it. Gonna pull all the detonators out
now. Done. Think we can use some C4 sometime?"

"Oh, yeah, Jillybean. Take it all back to
the van."

"Will do. Uh-oh. Some of the locals are
watching, and a couple are pointing cell phones at me."

"Got your floppy hat down, Jillybean?"

"Oh, yeah, CB, all the way down. Casual,
casual. Okay, I think I'm clear, but my cover may be blown. What
are your guys doing now?"

"Just coming up on Access 2. Can't tell if
they're parked in there yet."

"I'll head up your way in the van, back you
up."

"Good. Ah, not Access 2; they're going on.
Maybe they're not in one of the accesses; maybe they're in one of the
McMansions. You might want to put some speed on."

"Will do." Jill walked nonchalantly
back to where they had dropped their own towels, picked those up and
jogged out to the Collier lot, climbed into their van, got it started
and headed out.

"Okay, Carie Berry, on my way."

"We're coming up on Access 3."

"Damn; the light's red. But there's a car
ahead ... ah, here we go."

"Okay. Just passing Access 3."

"Just starting the curve onto Hickory ...
okay, passing Pop's."

"Good ... hold on ... okay, they're angling
up toward Access 4. Maybe 50 yards to go. I'm about 30 yards behind
'em."

"Just passing Access 3. Silencer on, taser
charged."

"Mine, too."

"Descriptions?"

"Mid-twenties, maybe younger. He's about
five-eight, medium weight, short dark hair, clean-shaven, I think,
red and black striped jams; she's maybe five-three, heavy, long dark
hair, black scarf, dark brown one-piece, yellow skirt, small red
over-the-shoulder bag."

"Got it. How you wanna play it?"

"Barcelona?"

"Naw. How about London?"

"Sounds good. But I don't want to spook them
or get burned. Can you get there before they do?"

"I think so. Ah, here's the flag."

"They're about twenty yards from the
boardwalk. Great timing, Jillybean."

"Oops. There may be another one, 50-ish,
skinny, full beard, just standing on the boardwalk, looking your way.
He's a little hinky, too."

"Can you take him out of play?"

"Sure, no problem. Okay, outa the van now,
and it's blocking this end of the boardwalk."

"They've seen him, JB ... and ... yup, a
quick wave. He's with 'em, not a local."

"Anybody else around?"

"Just some locals coming south at the
shoreline. So not London. How about Joberg?"

"Okay. I'll hold off till they meet up."

"Good. I'll be right there once you've
contained them. Silencer on, taser charged."

"Okay ... ah, here they come. Excuse me!
Are you leaving?" Carie could hear muffled voices in the
background, then "Hold it right there; hands up. HANDS UP!
DROP THE PHONE! DROP IT!!"

"On my way, JB."

"I SAID DROP IT!!! Aw, shit. Okay. I've
tased him, CB, covering the other two. But he pushed a button and
the phone in the van is ringing."

"Boy, he IS twitching, huh?”

“Oh, yeah – CB, look out! She's --”

“No, girlie, don't even THINK about it! Oh,
fuck."

"Geez, CB, she's twitching even more than he
is."

"Now, buddy, that's both of our tasers. So
if you fuck around, a gunshot is a LOT more painful. Jillybean, can
you get the door, get the flex ties and tape ready? And gag him.
Good. Now keep him covered while I ... well, well, well, a little
handgun in her bag, looks like a tunnel gun; haven't seen one of
those in a looonnngg time. Okay, buddy, now you and I are gonna get
your girlfriend into the van. No, you WILL touch her ... NOW! Heave
ho. Geez, she shoulda gone to Fatties Anonymous. Okay. JB, keep
him covered while I flex-tie and gag her."

"On your knees, raghead. And quit crying.
Geez."

"Okay. Now the old guy, buddy. I said NOW!
What are you, a germophobe?"

"Maybe he thinks he's Howie whatsisname, CB."

"Well, Howie, here's my offer. You pick up
his feet and I won't have my sister shoot you. Deal or no deal?
Which one? That's better. Heave ho. Geez, JB, I coulda done this
by myself; he's nothin' but skin and bones. Good."

"Back on your knees, Howie. Or is it Kamil?
Abdul? Zafir? Rashad?"

"All set, JB. Now, buddy, hands behind your
back. Good. Now get over there and sit down on the mattress, feet
together. Good. Now roll over on your side, bend your knees back
up. Good. This may hurt a teeny weeny bit. Just don't wiggle
around; you might dislocate your shoulders."

"Hogtied 'em all, CB?"

"Yup. And I got some car keys from the old
guy."

"Umm ... probably fit that old green sedan,
rusty. Yup. Guess we oughta take it along."

"I'll drive the van; you follow, okay?"

"Sure. I'll check the trunk first. Let me
get my gloves on."

"Cool. Where'd you put the chloroform, JB?"

"Glove compartment. And the C4 is on the
front passenger floor, the electronic stuff in my bag. Holy shit! I
think we've got a couple hundred pounds of C4 here, detonators and
wires and phones separate. And I saw a laptop on the passenger seat.
Jensen'll love that."