The Last Election (23 page)

Special Agent Gibson took copious notes as Clay provided detailed directions to the location of the truck. “And this truck will contain evidence that will directly link President Bonsam to the assassination attempt, the riots, and the RenCen explosion,” Gibson said skeptically. “Am I missing anything else?”

“No, I think that pretty well covers it.”

Gibson pulled out his cell phone and placed a call to the lead FBI crime scene investigator in Detroit. “Get your best team together and have them meet me in the command center.”

Gibson’s skepticism remained. He looked at Clay and said, “So where are the agents who belong to this truck?”

“They are dead,” Clay replied.

Gibson’s eyebrows shot straight up. “And how do you know this?”

“I,” said Clay as he dragged out the “I” sound, “saw them.”

“You saw them? Where are the bodies?”

“Well, unless there was a trash pickup this morning, they are in a dumpster in an alley off Woodbridge Street.”

Gibson stared at Clay. Without taking his eyes off him, he pulled out his cell phone and hit redial. “I’m going to need another CSI team.”

Clay started looking around the room and whistled innocently.

“Come with me, Mr. Jackson. We’re going to take a little ride on out to Woodbridge,” Gibson said.

Martineau jumped up and said, “I’m coming with you.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but you cannot come along. There have already been attempts made on your life,” Gibson replied. “It’s too dangerous, even with the Secret Service there. You should stay here.”

Martineau took a step toward Gibson. She put her hands on her hips, cleared her throat, and said, “I’m coming with you.”

Gibson looked at Martineau, and then over to Clark. Clark waved his hands in front of himself indicating that he was not getting involved in this discussion. Gibson looked back over at Martineau and said, “All right ma’am, you’re welcome to come with us.”

Clay looked over at Martineau and said, “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Mr. Jackson,” she replied. “If what you say is true, I want to see it for myself,” and together they walked out of the office with Special Agent Gibson.

As they exited the building, Martineau stopped, turned to Clay and said, “And one more thing, Mr. Jackson.”
 

Martineau’s expression was stone cold. Clay looked at her suspecting she was about to remind him that he could be facing serious jail time. “Yes, ma’am?” he replied nervously.

“I get shotgun,” she said as she took Gibson by the arm and headed toward the investigator’s car.

Gibson once again had his notebook out as he stood with Clay and Martineau behind the yellow crime scene tape. “Let me see if I got this straight. You were recruited by a secret agency, full of spies and assassins and whatnot. Am I right so far?”

“Yes,” Clay replied.

“And you were on a covert mission to wipe out the Michigan Militia, but a secret agent named Jorge Delgado double-crossed you and tried to kill you.”

Clay nodded his head once, “Correct.”

“And so you went looking for Delgado, and you found him in this alley, lying there dead,” he said as he pointed to the body bags lying in the alley, “along with two other secret agents who were also dead. That’s your story?”

“That’s the story I’m sticking to,” replied Clay.

“Now wait a minute, Mr. Jackson,” Gibson sternly said, but before he could continue his phone rang. He let out a sigh and answered it, “Special Agent Gibson.”

Gibson’s eyes remained on Clay as he listened to the CSI agent on the other end. The CSI team had located the truck that Clay had described. He continued to listen for several minutes as the CSI agent described the treasure trove of evidence within the truck. There were high-powered automatic rifles, handguns with laser sights, and military-grade explosives with electronic detonators. The agent also indicated that there were bloodstains on the floor, and they had already shipped samples to the CSI lab for DNA analysis. Gibson’s expression never changed.

Finally he hung up his phone and looked at Martineau. “His story about the truck checks out. The CSI team leader can’t believe what they’ve found inside.”

He then turned his attention back to Clay. “Now, about these bodies….”

Before he could finish the sentence, Martineau cut him off. “Special Agent Gibson, I know how busy you and the entire Bureau have been since the president was nearly assassinated and riots broke out all over town. Mr. Jackson’s story is convincing enough for me. It appears as though these three poor souls just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. It would be impossible to find the culprits responsible for these deaths. I’d write this one off as a tragic act of random violence during the rioting. Let the Detroit police take it from here.”

Gibson raised one eyebrow and stared at Martineau. “These three poor souls,” he said as he again motioned to the body bags. “These three poor souls, who were found in a dumpster decked out in state of the art tactical uniforms, two with their skulls crushed and the third nearly disemboweled, were victims of random violence.”

Martineau looked over at Clay, and together they nodded their heads in agreement with Gibson’s assessment.
 
Gibson’s face remained emotionless as he clicked his pen and flipped his notebook shut. “Works for me,” he said.

Chapter 58

The following afternoon Special Agent Gibson returned to City Hall. He entered the command center and was surprised to find Martineau inside. She was looking over the report that outlined the initial findings at the site of the Marriott explosion. “This is incredible,” she said to herself.

“What’s so incredible?” Gibson asked as he approached Martineau.

“People in Canada are finding pieces of the Marriott in their yards. It’s a miracle that only six people were killed in an explosion like that. Lieutenant Governor Purnell’s order to have the National Guard swiftly evacuate downtown saved a lot of lives.”

“You’re right,” he replied as he thought about the magnitude of the explosion. He then asked, “Is Clark here?”

“He’s in his office,” Martineau replied.

“Come with me, I have more news about what has been discovered in Delgado’s truck.”

Clark and Clay were in a heated debate as to whether surviving gunshots to the chest at close range while wearing a bulletproof vest was more impressive than surviving a helicopter crash when Gibson and Martineau walked into Clark’s office. “Don’t get up,” said Gibson.

“Hadn’t planned on it,” replied Clark.

Martineau and Gibson sat down in the chairs in front of Clark’s desk. Gibson turned to Clay who was leaning against the windowsill and said, “Slide on over here, Mr. Jackson. You’re going to want to hear this, too.” Clay took a seat on the end of the couch closest to Clark’s desk and sat up straight, still unsure of what Gibson had in store for him.

“The contents of Delgado’s truck are truly unbelievable,” Gibson began. “Delgado had enough military weapons and explosives to conquer a small country. Everything he had was state of the art.”

“Not the kind of stuff you pick up from a local gun store, huh?” asked Clark.

“Not quite,” replied Gibson, “but there is more. The phones that Delgado was using had an encryption system unlike anything the techies at Quantico have ever seen. They say it’s highly unlikely that they will ever be able to determine who he was calling or who was calling him.”

“Too bad,” said Martineau. “That could have helped us root out even more of Bonsam’s spies.”

“On the bright side, we found Delgado’s laptop computer,” Gibson went on. “It also has a highly sophisticated encryption system, however, Quantico has already begun to decrypt some pieces of information.”

“Anything useful?” asked Clark.

“Not yet, but Quantico believes that they will find more soon. The info uncovered so far appears as if it came from some kind of laundry list of Delgado’s operations, operations that he had already carried out and operations that were yet to come. Much more time will be needed to piece it all together.”

Gibson then looked toward Clay. “We did find a few nuggets of info regarding the Michigan Militia. It appears to corroborate what Mr. Jackson here has told us.”

Gibson gave a nod of approval to Clay. Clay nodded back.

“There were other bits of information that completely puzzled the techies though. They found vague, cryptic entries about ancient Maya artifacts. Clay, does that mean anything to you?”

“Nope, it means nothing to me,” replied Clay. “I never heard Delgado talk about Maya artifacts.”

“What in the world does that have to do with anything?” Martineau thought aloud.

Gibson shrugged his shoulders and continued with his report. “Sam, here is the main purpose of this visit. We did discover information that is going to lead to some arrests. The warrants are being prepared as we speak.”

 
“Arrests?” Clark was surprised to hear that. “Really? Who?”

“Well, the number one person we plan to visit first thing tomorrow is Mr. Darius Robinson. He is the newscast producer for DMBC.”

Chapter 59

Special Agent Gibson fastened his seatbelt and made himself comfortable. “Thanks for the lift, Dave.”

“Thanks for letting me come along for this arrest,” said Detective David Delaney. Delaney was the head of the Detroit Police Department’s Homicide Division. “For a
Federale
, you’re all right.”

Gibson laughed. “Well, I’m really going to need your help. This should be interesting. I can’t wait to hear what Robinson has to say about Delgado.”

“Me, too,” replied Delaney.

 
“This Delgado character must have been pretty arrogant. He must have thought he’d never get caught.”

 
“Ignorant is the word I’d use,” replied Delaney. “He had the type of phones and a computer that you would only see in a James Bond movie, yet he left that information about Robinson and DMBC lying around his SWAT truck on a note pad, metaphorically speaking of course.”

“Maybe it was false info planted to mislead an investigation if he ever got caught.”

“Well, we’re about to find out. We’re here.”

“Darius, your coverage of the rioting was phenomenal. People are already talking about a Peabody Award coming our way.”

“Thank you, Marty,” replied Robinson. Martin Schoenberg was the President of DMBC and Robinson’s boss.

The two men were sitting in Schoenberg’s office on the stately leather couches near the large picture window that overlooked the trees of Grand Circus Park.
 
Schoenberg pointed toward the award display case that sat beneath an original Renoir that he had inherited from his grandfather. “I have a spot already selected for it,” said Schoenberg eagerly.

Schoenberg looked up as he saw his secretary peering around the slightly opened door. “Come in,” he said as he waved her forward.

She slid into his office, never fully opening the door, and then shut it quietly behind her. “Sir, the FBI is here to see you.” Robinson’s heart started to race, but on the outside he remained calm.