For a bit of fun, how would you like one of the characters to have your name?  All you have to do is fill in a simple form.  If you come up with a good reason, I'll name a character after you and you'll be sent their profile so you can show your friends.  You will really be a character then.  You'll have to read the book, though, to find out where they appear.

Chapter 15 – Getting Started

Two weeks had passed, and everybody had relocated to their new homes and settled in.  Gerry had called another meeting, and everybody had driven in their newly leased cars.  It almost looked like a Kia convention in Gerry’s driveway.  Mind you there was still room for another twenty cars.

Inside the house, all nine of the applicants, along with Gerry and Joe, were seated in the huge living room.  A roaring fire heated the room, and Joe threw another log on it every so often.  A huge urn of coffee sat on a table along with a good selection of doughnuts and muffins.

Gerry started the meeting.  “Welcome everybody.  I hope your moves were smooth and easy.”  Everybody nodded.  “Good.  Now it’s time for all of you to earn your keep.  Joe is going to brief you on our first new miscreant, but before he does so, I wanted to take this opportunity to set some ground rules.  Firstly, everything we are doing is completely legal and above the board.  However,” he added “we do have several sources of information that may not be completely legitimate.  They tip us off and provide core details of the who and what, but it’s our job, or rather your job, to verify that information and then decide how we should use it.  If you think it warrants a TV campaign, and if Joe agrees, that’s what Feet to the Fire will do.  Joe is the ultimate decision-maker.  He doesn’t have to run anything by me. Right, Joe?”

Joe stood up and moved in front of the fire keeping his back to it.  “Correct.  We now have an unlimited budget.  I want to split the eight of you into two teams; one to do research and the other to do planning.  We’re going to rotate responsibilities so you will all be involved in all aspects.  Karen, I want you to head up one team, and Barry, you the other.  These positions will also rotate until it is clear who the best people are to head up the teams; then, we’ll finalize those positions. I do want to stress that you are all a single team; nobody is more important than anybody else.  If there are any personality conflicts, you need to resolve them between yourselves.  All of you are smart people and should be able to get along with one another.  Is that understood?”

Everybody nodded.  “Okay” continued Joe.  “To start with, I’m going to assign the teams, but you’re free to decide amongst yourself who works best with whom.  It will likely take a while but then we’ll firm up the teams and continue as best we can.  So let’s get down to business.  Currently, we are running a multi-pronged campaign targeting a Republican member of Congress, Dick Sussex, from South Carolina.  There is a full briefing pack on him for each of you on the table over there.  Read it and absorb it before the morning.  Briefly, though, he’s totally corrupt and is taking money under the table from two corporations who are trying to get some very favorable legislation passed.  We’ve been running a print campaign, but so far, it doesn’t seem to have had any effect on Sussex, who is completely amoral and self-serving.  Starting tomorrow, we’re going to raise the stakes and start running TV ads targeting him.  Any questions?”

Karen Childress raised her hand.”Yes, Karen?”

“Are we targeting just him or the companies that are giving him money?”

“That’s a great question” interjected Gerry.  “Joe and  I have been discussing this, and we have agreed that we are going after those corporations in a big way also.  To that end, I have bought a large number of shares in those companies, and I’m going to dump them on the market in a few days.  This will crater those companies’ share price and should cause a revolt amongst the shareholders.”

“But won’t that cost you a fortune?” asked Brian.

“In the short term, yes, it will, but I’m selling short by borrowing stock on those companies, so I will be buying back at a lower price.  It may cost a few million, but it’s insignificant.  I’m also going long on their main competitors, who I feel are a better bet, but the competition has kept their stock price down.  I’m hoping to reverse that.  With the cratering of the stock price along with the negative publicity generated by the TV campaign, we might be able to get the current boards of directors ousted.”

Steve Richards spoke up, “Sorry to be dense, but I don’t understand what you mean by borrowing the shares?”

“Good question, Steve. It’s traditional to borrow stock from a broker.  I pay them a fee and settle up when I return the stock.  If the price has gone down, as I’m betting it will, then I make a profit; they make a handling fee, often referred to as a short interest fee.  In addition to the stock loan fee, the broker may also earn interest on the cash collateral the short seller, which is me, must provide. When you short-sell, you need to maintain a margin account and often deposit cash or other collateral to cover potential losses.  The broker really takes no risk in these transactions.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, what sort of a position are you talking about?” asked Karen.

“$500 million, more or less” replied Gerry.

A couple of weeks earlier, that number would have blown all of their minds but they were now used to the world that their benefactor lived in.

“Do we have actual proof that Sussex has been taking the money?”

“No, not actual proof but we know it to be true.  Sussex could sue us, but I think it’s unlikely, as that would generate more bad publicity for him.  If he does, however, we’ve got better lawyers and more money, so I’m not worried.”

“What’s the end game?” asked Daphne Stevenson.

Joe replied “To discredit him and, with any luck, force him to resign.  It’s also to take down the companies that are bribing him, or at the very least, to stop them from getting the legislation they need to pass.  That’ll hurt them far more. All their shareholders care about is making money.  They don’t care how it is done but they will care when the share price craters.  We’re banking on that.”

“Joe,” asked Steve Richards “you indicated that you have a new target.  Who is that and what have they done?”

“Her name is Deirdre Williams and she is the senior Senator from the state of Vermont. She and her husband, George, have been engaging in insider trading.  She’s on a couple of trade committees, hears things about companies, and passes the information on to George.  He either short-sells or goes long based on that information.  It’s kind of an open secret in the Senate but we’re going to blow it wide open.  The team that is doing research will gather all of the proof they can, hand it over to the other team and together you will come up with a plan to disrupt and hopefully stop the Williams’ activities.”

“Excuse me for asking,” said Daphne, “but don’t they all do that? Senators and Congressmen, I mean?”

“Most of them, yes” replied Gerry, “but the Williams’ are particularly egregious and greedy, which is why we’ve singled them out.  Our end goal is the same, which is to force her to resign, although she seems particularly shameless.  At the very least, we want her off the committees she’s on.”

“When do we start?” asked Karen.

“Tomorrow” answered Gerry.  “Today, you work out who’s on whose teams and decide who does what.  Tonight I want each team to go out to dinner together and strategize over a meal.  In the morning, you’ll all go to our offices and start work.  Joe will give you any guidance you need but it is really up to you to figure out the best way to get things done.  We have a number of contacts who support our goals but who don’t work for us, and who will be providing information as and when they hear it.”

Joe interjected, “Some of those contacts are paid for the information, and some volunteer it.  You don’t need to worry about that as they all know how to reach me to settle up.”

Daphne raised her hand. “I do have one question.  Is there a limit to the number of people that will be targeted at any time, or does it depend on timing and circumstances?”

“That’s a great question, Daphne” replied Gerry.  “Up until now, we’ve had limited resources, so we’ve really had to limit our campaigns to one at a time, but now, with the extra funds and especially with all of you, we are free to go after as many dishonest politicians and businesses as we want.  I’d be more than happy to have 4 or even 5 people in our sights simultaneously.  Any other questions?”

After the meeting had ended, everybody left except for Doug Carmody who had asked for a private word with Gerry and Joe.

“I have a confession to make,” he said.  “I was asked to apply by Homeland Security to find out what you were up to, but now that I have, I’ve found myself in total agreement with what you are doing, and I can’t continue without owning up.  I know you will send me home, and that’s okay.  I shouldn’t be here.”

Gerry and Joe both smiled. “Why are you smiling?”

Joe replied. “We knew, Doug.  We did extensive background checks on everybody, and yours didn’t match what you told us.  We’re smiling because we had a bet between us whether you would come forward.  I’m delighted to tell you that I won the bet.”

“That’s great,” answered Doug.  “If you could give me a day to pack up and move out of the house, I’d be very grateful.”

“Doug,” said Gerry. “We don’t want you to move out.  We want you to continue as before.”

“But why?  I’ve deceived you and passed on information about your operation to Homeland.  Why would you not want me out of here?”

“It’s very simple.  We chose you because we felt that you could contribute, and we’re keeping you because you came forward and told us the truth.”

“But what about Homeland?”

“I presume that you’ve already reported everything up until today?”

“Yes.”

“Then go back to your masters, bring them up to speed, and tell them you’re out.  You were brought out of retirement for this job and are returning to it.  Can you do that?”

“Absolutely” replied Doug.

“Good.  Then there is nothing more to be said but welcome to the team.”

“I should let the others know,” said Doug.

“No” answered Gerry.  “They have no need to know and I don’t want to take the chance that there would be some resentment if they found out. We know and that’s all that is important.”

“Thank you both so much.  I won’t let you down, I promise you.”

“We know.”

Doug Carmody left the house.  Before driving away he made his last call to Homeland to report on the morning.  As he hung up the phone he smiled to himself; he could just imagine the conversation that would be going on.  He was still somewhat shocked that he hadn’t been sent home immediately, and immensely grateful to his benefactors.  He would make them proud.

Steven Whistler and Kyle Richardson met as usual in the conference room.  Kyle had called the meeting after receiving the call from Doug Carmody.

“So, what’s up?, asked Whistler.

‘Doug Carmody called.  He told me who Hawkins’ group is targeting: just a couple of dirty politicians, as we had suspected.”

“Ok, but there’s something else?”

“Yes.  Doug says he’s out and won’t be reporting anymore?”

“So he’s out of the group?”

“No.  He’s staying on and working with them.”

“I can’t have that” replied Whistler.  “We should let Hawkins know that he has an infiltrator and he’ll send Carmody packing.”

“There’s a slight problem with that” answered Richardson.  “He confessed to them what he had been doing and they are keeping him on.”

“Why would they do that?”

“Who knows!  I wouldn’t, but then again, I’m not Gerry Hawkins.”

“So we send somebody in undercover, they get given a million-dollar house and a high-paying job, and we get diddly squat!”

“That about sums it up except that we now know that Hawkins’ is running a legitimate operation.”

“I suppose that’s something” replied Whistler.  “I don’t exactly buy it but we don’t have the resources to waste any more time on it.”  He thought for a second.  “Shut the operation down immediately.  Send over the file once you’ve collated all of the expenses.”

“Will do” answered Richardson as Whistler got up and left the room.  He, like Whistler, had a nagging feeling that there was something they weren’t seeing but he couldn’t put his finger on it.  Had he known about the second team, he would have been very concerned indeed.

Chapter 16 – Isaiah

While Joe’s first team had settled in, Alexander had put the second team through a rigorous training program.  They were all extremely fit, so the physical activity hadn’t bothered them and the secondary activities had interested all of them.  Alexander had interviewed each of them separately to find out if they had particular skills that he could use, and which they could teach the others.

He had been delighted to find out that Harry Jones and Jacob Handley both were experts with locks, so he had asked them to order a complete set of different locks and several sets of lock picks.  When everything had arrived, they were set up in a room and the others were taught how to pick locks.  Cory Bateman had proved to be a natural, and both Harry and Jacob had reported to Alexander that he was better at it than they were.  Cory had then been ‘promoted’ to a trainer position and the three of them soon got the others to be highly proficient.

Alexander had Damian, his secret weapon, to get through or bypass any electronic security systems, so he didn’t need any of the seven to have that particular expertise, although he had discovered that Rufus Black was also highly proficient in that area.

Most of the training they had been put through was surveillance and they ran daily practice drills in the nearby towns of Ventura and Santa Barbara.  Following somebody who knew you was almost impossible, so they randomly picked individuals and followed them on foot and in cars.  While one team followed somebody, a second team used drones to follow and record them.  Those recordings were then reviewed that evening and critiqued.  Once on-foot training had been completed, they switched to car surveillance and picked some of the individuals they had followed home as their targets.  This meant finding a place to park where they could see and not be noticed and waiting for their target to leave.  It was incredibly boring work and they were sometimes in place for eight hours or more before they started moving.

By the end of the second week, they had become highly adept and were working together as a very efficient team.  It was time for them to start earning their pay.

Alexander called everybody to a meeting the next morning.  “Okay,” he started.  “It’s time to start work.  We’ve got two targets, Congressman Dick Sussex, and Senator Deirdre Williams.  Sussex is taking money under the table from two companies in the aerospace industry who are both vying to get government contracts.  Williams is insider trading.  We’re going to focus all of our efforts on Sussex for now.  I want him followed and photographed whenever he meets with anybody to see if we can get physical evidence of money changing hands.  Cory, I want you and Rufus to break into his house while he’s at work and see what you can find.  He lives alone so there shouldn’t be a problem.  You’ll gain access as a TV repairman, and we’ll have a van here tomorrow with all of the correct markings. We’ll have a work order inserted into their system so if anybody checks up, you’ll come up as legitimate.”

“Won’t he be suspicious if he finds out that we were there and he hadn’t reported any problem?”

“We’ve got that covered also.  The work order says that there was a problem with the box, and you were investigating that, so there was no need to enter the house.  One of you will be seen outside while the other picks the lock on the back door and goes in.  Then he’ll disappear around the back of the house, and join in the search.

“What about bugs?”

“No. He’s a little paranoid and there is a possibility that he has his house swept.  We should be able to clone his phone when he goes for his regular morning coffee.”

“Who’s going to do that?” asked Rufus.

“I have a very attractive young lady who’s going to accidentally run into him and hopefully get close enough to do that.  He has an eye out for the ladies so I’m hopeful.  Once we have the phone cloned, we’ll be able to listen to all his conversations and see his texts.  One of my specialists will handle that side of it and report back to me.”

“How long are we going to focus on Sussex?” asked Cory.

“Until we get incontrovertible evidence that he’s taking money.  We’ll then pass that on to Feet to the Fire, who are already targeting him, and they will use it to put pressure on him.  Then we’ll move on to Williams.  Both she and her husband, George, are involved.  She gets the information and passes it on to him.  They are making millions, so it’s not small-scale corruption.”

“What is it with all these politicians?  They’re supposed to be serving the people, and yet all they seem to do is line their own pockets!” exploded Cory.  “They’re not fit to serve Hamburgers at McDonalds!” he continued.

“No argument from me,” replied Alexander, “but all we can do is force the worst offenders out of office.”

“And what if we can’t?” asked Rufus.

“We’ll come up with a different way,” said Alexander.  “I’ve got some ideas on that but now is not the time to discuss them.”

“I’d kill them,” replied Cory.  “They don’t deserve to live.”

“I don’t disagree with you, Cory,” said Alexander, “but that is a completely different road to go down.  Just out of curiosity, who agrees with Cory?

Every hand immediately went up which pleased Alexander.  He had been waiting for the subject to come up but hadn’t expected it to happen so quickly.  It had, after all, been the plan from the very beginning, and now it was time to start implementing.  Joe had chosen his team well.

Later that morning, Alexander made sure he was alone and entered his secret room where he called Joe.

“Yes, Alex.”

“The subject came up and they all seem to be on board with it.”

“That’s early.  We hadn’t expected it for at least a month.”

“I think that everybody is sick and tired of the corruption in Washington and feels that it is time to drain the swamp.”

“Well, on that, we are all agreed.”

“What about Gerry’s army buddy?” asked Alexander.

“He feels that it’s his responsibility.  He regrets having let it slide and now that sicko is in a real position of power.”

“You and I could take care of it for him.”

“He knows that but wants to handle it himself.”

“Do you mind if I call and see if I can get him to change his mind?”

“I don’t mind you calling, Alex, but he’s not going to change it.”

“How sure are you of that?”

“100%.”

“Okay, but please let him know if he needs me or the team to run any interference to let me know.”

“Will do.  Chat later,” said Joe and ended the call. 

Moments later, Gerry’s phone beeped signalling an incoming text.  The message was short ’Talk?’  Since he was alone in the house, he called Alexander.

“Alex, what news?”

“Joe’ll brief you but it’s all good.  He tells me you want to handle Isaaih?”

“Yes.  He’s my responsibility.  I should have had him court-martialled, but instead, I let him off, and he’s now in a position to do real harm.  I can’t have that on my conscience.”

“I understand,” replied Alex.  He knew the background and totally agreed with Gerry.  Isaiah was a psychopath and would do untold damage if left unchecked. “When?”

Gerry took a second before replying. “Soon,” he said.  “I’d like one or two of your team to run surveillance on him for a few days.  I want to know if there is a pattern to his movements, specifically when he’ll usually be home and what the security is like there.”

“No problem.  Cory and Rufus will be perfect for it.  I’ll ask them first thing in the morning.”

“Thanks, Alex.   Keep me posted.”

“Will do, but what about the other matter?” asked Alex.

“Not yet but we’re getting close.”

“Let me know.”

“I will.  Later, Alex,” he said as he ended the call.

Alexander quickly texted a short message to Cory Bateman and Rufus Black asking them to come to his office.  When they got there, he had them sit down.

“I’ve got a surveillance job for the two of you.”

“Sure,” replied Cory.  “Who and were?”

“His name is Isaiah Jenkins.  He’s a Washington lobbyist and spends most of his time there but when Congress isn’t in session, which is now, he lives in Pacific Palisades.  I need you to run full surveillance on him and for one of you to search his townhouse while the other is keeping an eye on him.  In particular, look for concealed weapons.  I need a full report within a week.”

“What’s he done?” asked Rufus.

“That would be a long list” answered Alexander, but what I can tell you is that he’s a very bad guy.  We also know that he’s a psychopath.”

“How do you know that?” questioned Cory.

“He murdered an entire family in Kuwait.  The father looked like he was reaching for a weapon so Isaiah shot him dead.”

“Seems reasonable.”

“Yes, it was,” agreed Alexander, “but then he shot the mother and two young children dead without any hesitation.”

“Why isn’t he in Leavenworth?”

“A decision was made not to prosecute him.  The person who made that decision has been haunted by it for decades and has asked me, us, to help.”

“Fair enough,” replied Cory.  “What’s the end game?”

“Just surveillance.  Somebody wants to talk to him privately, and safely.”

“This isn’t a kill mission we’re talking about, is it?” asked Rufus.

“That’s not the intention,” replied Alex, “but Isaiah is dangerous, and shit might happen.  Are you okay with that?”

“Yeah,” said both men in unison.

Alexander handed over a file to Cory.  “Everything you need to know is in there.  Any questions, ask.”

Surveillance went without a hitch.  Isaiah wasn’t at all security conscious and had made no attempts to shake off a tail or even find out if he had one.  Cory had entered the townhouse one morning while Isaiah was at the gym in Santa Monica and had thoroughly searched the place.  He had found two weapons in the living room, and another in the master bedroom. 

He had then left, went to a nearby hardware store, and bought a new lock identical to the one on the back door.  Returning, he quickly swapped the locks out.   It would be much easier for whoever wanted the chat with Isaiah to use a key and the likelihood that Isaiah would try to access how own townhouse by the back door was very small.  Even if he did, he would just put it down to a faulty lock and call a locksmith.

When he reported what he had done to Alexander and handed over the keys, Alexander smiled.  “Clever.  Sneaky little bastard, aren’t you!”

Cory smiled.  “Some might say that,” he agreed.

That evening Alexander headed out from The Haven on his motorcycle.  He had arranged to meet Joe halfway to hand over the keys and the surveillance report.  The two men met up at a coffee shop in Marina del Rey, had coffee, chatted for a few minutes, and then left to return to home, or in Alexander’s case, base.

When Joe handed the keys, and the report to Gerry, Gerry’s eyes widened in surprise.  “Well, that makes it easy,” he said.

“Indeed it does.”

Isaiah Jenkins had served with Gerry and Joe in Kuwait.  He had been a lieutenant in charge of a patrol when they had come across a small group of Iraqi refugees who were trying to get out of the war zone.  While interrogating the leader, Isaiah had thought the man was reaching for a weapon and had shot him dead.  He had then executed the others without hesitation considering them to all be a threat.  Afterward, they searched the bodies and found no weapons.  It was murder, pure and simple and Isaiah should have been court-martialled and imprisoned for life.  Instead, he had managed to talk Gerry out of filing charges, and Gerry had regretted it ever since.

After leaving the army, Isaiah joined a lobbying firm and had risen very fast.  He was now CEO of the same lobbying company and was always in the news as a Washington insider, and power broker.  Gerry knew that he was a complete psychopath who would do anything to advance his career and was suspicious that Isaiah’s rise to the top had involved getting rid of the one person who would have stood in his way and who had been killed in a hit-and-run accident.

With only a few months left to live, Gerry had decided that he, and only he, needed to deal with Isaiah before he could consolidate his power and run for Congress.  Cory and Rufus had been running floating surveillance on him for the past week and had reported to Alex that he was a creature of habit and was generally home before 11 pm most nights.  He lived in a townhouse in Pacific Palisades with minimal security and not very good locks.  Gerry knew that he could get in using the new key, bypass the security, and be inside without anyone knowing.

He decided that he would go to the office the next evening and have Bill Hampshire wait in the Mercedes outside while he used the secret room to leave the building and make his way to Isiaih’s home.  That part of the plan went without a hitch and by 10 pm, he was safely inside Isaiah’s home waiting for Isiaih to return.

At 11 pm, the front door opened, and Isaiah walked in.  He went straight to the living room to pour himself a nightcap.  Seeing Gerry sitting there with a silenced pistol in his right hand, he stopped dead.  “What the …”

“Isaiah” interrupted Gerry, “You know exactly what this is.”

Isaiah sighed.  “Why now?”

“I’m terminal, Isiaih, and I’m not willing to go to my grave without settling with you.”

“So you don’t expect to get away with it?”

“Oh, I fully do,” replied Gerry, noticing Isaiah’s slight movement towards the drinks cabinet.  “If you’re looking for this,” he said, holding up a Glock 27, “It’s not there.  Sit down, Isaiah.”

“Screw that, Gerry.  If you’re going to shoot me, get it over with.”

“Isaiah,” replied Gerry.  “Sit down so we can have a talk, and maybe you can convince me that you’re not the same person.  Or I can kneecap you, so you have to sit down.  Your choice.”

Isaiah glared at Gerry but sat down opposite Gerry in the 2nd of the two chairs.  Gerry smiled inwardly.  He had been expecting Isaiah to sit down in that particular chair since there was a .38 caliber Smith & Wesson revolver concealed in the armrest.  Gerry had known it was there when he had entered the room and had removed all of the bullets from the chamber before replacing it.  He was expecting Isaiah to go for it.

“Why, Isaiah.  Why did you kill those people.”

Isaiah glared at him.  “Why do you care?”, he demanded.

“Why,” repeated Gerry without bothering to answer the question.

“Do you think I care about some ragheads!  It was war, Gerry.  I saw a threat, and I dealt with it.”

“The man.  Yes.  I can see that.  He made a move and you reacted.  But his family didn’t do anything, and you executed them.”

“They were all a threat, just like you are these days.”

“What do you mean by that?”, asked Gerry, genuinely interested in where the conversation had just gone.

“You, and that goddamn foundation of yours. Trying to clean up Washington by focusing on a few guys stupid enough to get caught on the take.”

“Well, that’s true enough,” replied Gerry “but we had to start somewhere.  The problem is that you and almost all of the Washington insiders are corrupt.  What’s worse is that you think it’s okay.”

“Yeah, we do.  The public is always quick to vote against their best interests and why shouldn’t they be taken advantage of.”

“You haven’t changed, Isaiah, have you?” replied Gerry with a hint of sadness in his voice.  He had considered Isaiah a friend once but that had been before Isaiah had revealed his true colors. There was a blur of movement as Isaiah’s hand pulled the revolver from its hiding place and an ominous click as he pulled the trigger and the hammer fell on an empty chamber.  Frantically he pulled the trigger twice more with the same results.

Gerry shrugged and squeezed the trigger of his automatic, sending a bullet straight into Isaiah’s forehead.  There was a brief look of surprise before Isaiah crumpled to the ground.  Gerry stood, walked over to the body, and looked down at it for a second.  He would have liked to have spat in Isaiah’s face, but that would leave DNA traces, and he wasn’t willing to do that.

Placing the Glock on the drinks cabinet, he carefully reloaded the revolver that was in Isaiah’s hand.,

Moving quickly, he plugged his phone into a controller unit and opened the back door.  Putting a DJI Mavic mini-drone on the step outside, he stepped back into the shadows and launched the drone.  Studying the phone display, he expertly flew the drone around the immediate neighborhood,  checking to make sure that nobody was around.  Seeing that the area was clear, he stepped outside and pulled the door closed.  Ten minutes later, he was at his car and guiding the drone to land on its roof. An hour later, he exited his own building, got into the back of the Mercedes, and was on his way home.

“Everything okay, boss?” asked Bill Humphries, who had waited patiently in the car for almost three hours.

“Just fine, Bill.  Any problems?”

“A cop came by, I told him that you were working late, and I was waiting for you. He said no problem and carried on.”

“Great.”

The two carried on talking for the short drive home where Bill pulled into the spacious garage.  He quickly got out and opened the door for Gerry.  “Night, boss.”

“Night, Bill, and thanks,” replied Gerry as he went inside the house and closed the door.  Bill was one of the few people who knew about Gerry’s secret room and exit, and he knew that Gerry had been somewhere other than his office, but he didn’t care.  He was immensely loyal to Gerry and would have gladly taken a bullet for him.

Inside the house, Joe was watching a Clive Owen movie on Netflix, and waiting for Gerry to return.  Putting the movie on pause, he turned to face Gerry and asked “Any problems?”

“No, none.  It went without a hitch.  He didn’t even seem that surprised.”

“Guilty conscience?”

“Perhaps.  Or perhaps he’d always known it would end that way.  Either way, it’s over.”

“How do you feel?” asked Joe, emphasizing the you.

“Oh, I’m fine, Joe.  It’s not as if I haven’t killed before.  We all have.”

“I know, Gerry, but that was in combat, and it’s different.”

“I’m not sure that it is.  I didn’t feel any different when I pulled the trigger, and I don’t feel different now.  I just feel relieved that I’ve taken care of something I should have taken care of back then.”

“Fair enough.  I’m going to turn in unless you want some company?”

“Thanks, Joe, but I’m good.  I’m going to have a nightcap and turn in myself.”

Chapter 17 – Nazaré

Gerry had been watching the weather conditions in Portugal for the past couple of weeks.  Finally, he saw what he had been waiting for; a massive storm coming in over the Atlantic that would hit the coast of Portugal in the next few days. 

Picking up the phone, he pressed key #3 and was immediately connected to his chief pilot.  “Yes, Gerry?”

“Get her fueled up and ready to go.  We’re leaving first thing in the morning.”

“Where are we going?”

“Portugal.  Either Lisbon or Porto whichever is best.”

“Okay.  We should probably refuel in Washington.”

“I thought we could make it without refueling?” asked Gerry, knowing that his Gulfstream G650ER had a range of more than 7,000 miles.  He had bought it a year previously for $78 million.  Even though it had been a big capital expense and cost more than $3.5 million a year to operate, he hadn’t hesitated.  Money was only any good when you used it, and he liked nice things.

“We can,” replied Stuart, “but it’s a long flight and I’d feel better with a full tank.  Plus we can stretch our legs.”

“Okay, no argument from me. There’ll be three of us on board.  Myself, Joe, and Alexander.”

“How long will we be there?”

“Just a few days.  We’re heading up to Nazaré to watch some of the biggest waves on the planet hopefully.  You and Colin are welcome to come up with us.”

“Thanks, boss.  I think we’ll do that.  Seeing it in real-time is amazing.”

“If we’re lucky,” answered Gerry. “Wheels up at 8.”

“You got it.”

Gerry hung up and texted Alexander that they were taking a trip and to be at the airport by 7.30 the next morning.  He then called Joe over the intercom. “Joe, we’re taking a trip first thing tomorrow.  Pack for a week.”

“Where are we going?”

“Nazaré.”

“Big storm?” asked Joe knowing that would be the reason for the trip.

“Oh yeah, huge.”

Joe didn’t need to ask where they would be staying.  When he was young, Gerry had been an avid surfer.  Five years ago, he had bought a large house overlooking the Nazaré cliff, and they had made several trips since.  He also sponsored a couple of the world’s top big wave surfers, and they were able to use the house as their base.  He knew they would probably already be there or on the way, but since the house could comfortably sleep ten people, there would be plenty of room for them all.

“Alex is coming too,” said Gerry.

“Terrific.  What about his team?”

“He’s sending them all to Washington.”

“Sussex?” asked Joe.

“Yeah.  It’s time we moved on him.”

“I agree.  What are we doing about Williams?”

“Alex has got Damian doing some snooping.  I want to see what he comes up with before tasking the team.  What about your group?”

“They’re doing as much research as they can.”

“Everybody getting along?” asked Gerry.

“Famously,” replied Joe.

“Great.  Let Bill know that we’re leaving at 7 am, please.”

“Will do,” said Joe and ended the call. He immediately buzzed Bill and told him to be ready.

It took 2 days for Isaiah’s body to be discovered and the story became the headline on most of the news channels because of Isaiah’s outsize influence in Washington.  Lobbyists are universally hated for what they do but everybody loves their money and largesse.  Big corporations and groups spend billions of dollars every year on lobbying to pass favorable legislation, and politicians are more than willing to help in exchange for tangible and intangible benefits.  As head of one of the largest lobbying firms in the Capitol, Isaiah had been a prime mover and instigator.

As usual, conspiracy theories abounded.  It never ceased to amaze Gerry and Joe how gullible people are and how desperate they are to believe in things that fit their limited worldview, no matter how ridiculous they sounded to intelligent people.  The craziest of the ‘theories’ was that Isaiah had been murdered on the orders of the President.  Joe, Gerry, and Alex had a really good laugh when they heard that one.

Before the news broke, Alexander had called Cory and Rufus into his office.  “In the next day or two you’re going to hear that Isaiah Jenkins was found shot to death in his townhouse.  I just wanted to let you know so it doesn’t come as a great surprise.”

“What happened?” asked Cory.

“He pulled a gun on the person who was trying to have a conversation with him” replied Alexander.

“Is that it?” said Rufus.

“More or less,” replied Alexander.  “Do either of you have a problem with this considering you had him under surveillance on my orders?”

Cory and Rufus exchanged a quick glance and then both shook their heads.  “He was a scumbag,” said Cory “and he won’t be missed.”

“I agree,” said Rufus.

“Good” replied Alexander.  “Let the others know that you’re all heading to Washington first thing in the morning to run a detailed surveillance operation on Dick Sussex. I want to know everything he does, who he meets, where he goes, and what he says.  I want him covered from early morning to late at night.  I want you to focus on him, but if you feel there is somebody he’s meeting that deserves your attention, don’t hesitate.”

“How are we getting there?”

“I’ve chartered a private jet leaving Santa Barbara at 8 am tomorrow, and I’ve rented two townhouses on Dupont Circle, which you are going to use as a base.”

“How long will we be there?” asked Rufus.

“Until we have enough information to move on him” replied Alexander.  “A minimum of two weeks is my best guess but if it takes a month or more, I’m good with that.”

“Will you be coming?”

“No. I’m leaving shortly. I’ve got to make a trip to Europe and’ll be gone for a week or so.  I’ll fly into Washington on the way back.”

“What about the equipment we’re going to need?”

“You’ll take it with you, but if you need anything else, text me, and I’ll get it ordered and delivered to you.”

“Okay.”

“Get photographs of everybody he meets and send them to me.  I’ll get them identified and then decide if they need to be followed also.”

“How will you get them identified?” asked Cory.

“I can’t tell you that,” replied Alexander.  “Suffice it to say I can access some very sophisticated sources.”

Cory and Rufus nodded.  They had suspected that Alexander had connections with one of the three-letter agencies, and this supported that theory.

“You going somewhere nice?” asked Rufus.

“As a matter of fact, I am,” replied Alexander without telling them where he was going.  His training and natural tendencies made him very secretive in that he never shared information unless it was important for somebody else to know.  However, in this case, he didn’t know where he was going just because Gerry had called him to say that the three of them were taking a trip the day after tomorrow.  What he did know was that it would be somewhere nice.

An hour later he was on the road to Laguna Beach.  He didn’t mind getting up early but being home would mean a considerably later start.  Plus he had a date for that night that he’d just arranged.  Life was good.

With a cruising speed of 550 mph, the Gulfstream ate up the distance to Portugal while its passengers relaxed in the extreme comfort of a $78 million private jet.  On board, the three passengers strategized over their big and ambitious plan and agreed that it was coming together nicely.  Alex’s team of 7 had already landed in Washington and set up shop ready to start full surveillance the following day.  They had been warned to watch out for counter-surveillance.

Despite the Gulfstream’s speed and comfort, the journey took 12 hours, which included a one-hour stop in Washington Dulles to refuel. They touched down in Lisbon at 4 am local time.  Everybody on board had slept for at least a few hours so they were all ready for the hour and a half drive to Nazaré.  Joe had called ahead and reserved the largest SUV the rental agency had to offer, and by 5.30 am they were on the road with one of the pilots driving. The SUV pulled into Gerry’s driveway at 7.15 am, having been delayed by a traffic accident.  Everybody but Gerry and Joe headed for bed to get a few hours before heading to the cliff to watch the big waves.

The storm was in full force so the prognosis for some really huge waves was very good.  Nazaré is unique in the world of big waves due to the Nazaré Canyon, an underwater geomorphological phenomenon that allows the swell to form perfect giant waves that can reach up to 30 meters high.  The Nazaré Canyon is the largest underwater canyon in Europe. It is about 170 kilometers along the coast and reaches a staggering depth of 5,000 meters.

The waves at Nazaré are so big and dangerous that only the best big wave surfers in the world can handle them.  Even so and with the skill they have, there are occasional fatalities and often some very bad injuries.  One of the best of them, Andrew Cotton had, in 2017, suffered a huge wipeout and had broken his back.

One of the most famous, if not the most famous, photographs of the big waves had been taken by Helio Antonio, a local photographer.  It shows several massive waves towering above the cliff and fort.  The waves are so big that it appears as if they are about to land on the cliff itself.  Fortunately for the thousands of people who turn up every day to watch them, the cliffs are a safe spot to watch from.

The surfers themselves get into the water on Nazaré Beach and are taken out to the wave area on jet skis.  The rider and surfer switch positions so that each can ride the waves, but it requires enormous skill on the part of both, and the jet skis often zoom in at high speed to pick up a fallen surfer.  They then tow the surfer out to the next wave using a line that the surfer releases when he’s ready to ride the wave.  It’s a ballet of beauty and possible death, as a wipeout means thousands of tons of water landing on a human body that will often be underwater for a minute or more while being pounded by what feels like a thousand sledgehammers.

At 10 am that morning, the five men left the house to walk down to the cliff.  As Gerry had suspected, the two surfers he sponsored had arrived earlier that day and had left early to go down to the beach, taking their equipment with them.  They were wearing outfits of distinctive colors, so Gerry could easily recognize them out in the water.  All five were carrying top-of-the-line Nikon Z8 digital cameras with the Nikkor 24-70mm f.2.8 lenses, universally regarded as one of the best lenses.  Additionally, Gerry had a Nikkor Z 70-200mm for any close-up shots he wanted to take off the surfers out on the waves.  Each camera had cost $4,000, with the smaller zoom lenses costing $1,600 each.  The big zoom had cost $3, 330.  Gerry had bought a dozen of each camera and lens and had given them away as Xmas gifts the previous year.

Sponsoring his two world-class surfers cost Gerry more than a million dollars a year which was not a small amount of money but was dwarfed by the 8-year $30 million deal given to John John Florence by Hurley, and which netted John John $5,300,000 a year in sponsorship alone.  It was a big-money sport that had big risks, and Gerry loved every second of it.  As a young man, he had surfed a lot and tried his hand at some big waves, but Nazaré was so far outside what he would have been willing to surf that all he could do was watch in awe.

They were in luck that day.  The waves, while not the highest Nazaré had seen, were still huge at around 25 meters high, and the surfing was fantastic.  All five took thousands of photographs using continuous shooting.  Of those, only a few would be worth keeping but they would be fantastic and a reminder of an unforgettable day. 

That night, Gerry took everybody out to dinner at Pangeia, a small high-end restaurant with impeccable service and superb food.  Their waiter was incredibly attentive and insisted on describing each dish to the group and also recommending the best wine for each selection.  It was a very convivial evening, but for Gerry, it was tinged with sadness since he knew that it would be the last time he would be in Nazaré and that his death was just around the corner.  Despite that, he made himself the life and soul of the party and thoroughly enjoyed the evening.

Everybody turned in early that night, knowing that they had one more day, perhaps two of big waves, before heading back to the US.  Unfortunately, the weather turned overnight, and the new day brought sunshine and small waves. Since no other storm was forecast that week, Gerry told the pilots that they were heading back, and by 11 am, they were on the road back to the airport.

The flight back was as uneventful as the one over.  They again stopped in Washington to refuel and to let Alexander off so that he could catch up on what his team had been doing.  Joe had also considered stopping off but had decided to maintain his anonymity for the time being.  In any case, he wasn’t really needed.

Chapter 18 – Sussex

Alexander walked through the door of one of the two townhouses he had rented for the team in Washington DC.  It was a big three-storey building with four bedrooms and could easily have accommodated the whole team, but he had rented an identical townhouse next door so that everybody had their own room. Cory had texted him earlier to let him know which townhouse they were using as their operational base and that was the one he had gone straight to.

Inside he found Harry Jones and Rufus Black sitting in front of a bank of monitors.  Cables connecting monitors to two laptops lay haphazardly across the floor but somebody had neatly tied them up with zip-ties and taped them to the parquet floor.  Harry looked up when he walked in, but Rufus was focused on something happening on one of the monitors and just raised a hand in acknowledgment.

“What’s going on?” asked Alexander.

“Sussex is on the move and he’s definitely checking to see if he’s being followed.”

“Interesting.  Has he spotted us?”

“Nope,” answered Rufus.  “He doesn’t really have any idea what he’s doing.  He’s been watching too many spy movies. But there is something interesting going on.  Come take a look.”

Alexander moved in front of the monitor which showed two things.  Firstly a map with flashing dots that were moving along the streets.  “The blue dots are us, and the red is Sussex.” The second monitor showed video footage from a drone flying above. “Cory’s in the van controlling the drone and Jacob is driving around.”

“Okay,” replied Alexander “but what am I looking at?”

“It’s a little difficult to see, but he’s being tagged by a two-man team.  They picked him up when he left his townhouse this morning.  We spotted them earlier and have been following them as much as we’ve been following Sussex.”

“That is interesting,” said Alexander.  “I wonder who they are.”

“They’re pretty good, except for the fact that they’re not checking for counter-surveillance and haven’t spotted us.  As soon as they break off from Sussex, Bart, and Kevin are going to follow them back to their base and see if we can find out who they are.  Cody’s going to stay on Sussex”

“That’s great.  Good work.  Anything else interesting?”

“Sussex met somebody yesterday for coffee.  They only chatted for a few minutes and then left separately.  We don’t know who he is yet, but we have some good photographs of him.  Do you want to see?”

“Sure,” answered Alexander.

Rufus switched programs, and Alexander found himself looking at a series of pictures of the man whom Sussex had met with.  He whistled softly.  Both Rufus and Harry stared at him.

“What’s up?” asked Harry.

“We’ve just crossed into a different dimension,” replied Alexander.  “That’s Mohammed Akhtar.”

“Who’s he?” asked Rufus.

“Firstly, he’s a very dangerous man; secondly, he’s a bagman for Al Queda.  He’s on pretty much every watchlist that I know of and the fact that he’s here in DC and talking to somebody in Congress who we know is corrupt is a very big deal indeed.”

“What do you want us to do about it?”

“Text everybody right away.  I presume they’ve all seen his picture?”

“Yep.  We went through them last night.”

“Good.  Tell them if they see him to back off to a safe distance immediately and call it in.  If they lose him, they lose him.  I don’t want to spook him.  He’s a very big fish.”

“Should we call it in?” asked Rufus.

“No, not yet.  I’ve got somebody I can let know, but the problem is they’ll have a big team on the streets hunting, which’ll likely compromise our operation.”

“Kevin could take him out,” said Harry.

“I’m sure he could,” replied Alexander, knowing how lethal Kevin Waite was.  “But not yet.  I want us to find out what they’re up to and then I’ll decide.  In the meantime, I need to make some calls.  The other house is empty, right?”

“Yep, nobody’s home.”

“Right,” replied Alexander.  “I’ll see you later.”  He left immediately and went to the second townhouse.  Letting himself in, he went to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee.  While it was brewing, he got out his iPhone and called Gerry on Signal.  Even though it was an encrypted call, Alexander knew that the NSA could probably listen into it, so he was going to be very circumspect in what he said.

Gerry answered immediately.  “Yes, Alex.”

“Slight change of plan, Gerry.  I’ve found a really big business opportunity for you.”

Gerry understood instantly what Alexander was trying to communicate but didn’t know what had occurred other than it was a really big deal.  “In DC?”, he asked.

“Yes.”

“Is it worth my while flying in?”

“Oh, yes.  I think so.  You should bring Joe.”

“We’ve just got back. Can it wait until tomorrow?”

“Yes,” answered Alexander.  By the time Gerry and Joe arrived, he might have some more information for them.  “Would you ask Joe to step up the research on the Congressman you’re thinking of contributing to?”

“Of course.  Anything in particular?”

“I think it would be very helpful to know what committees he’s on, and any bills that he’s sponsoring.”

“We can do that,” answered Gerry, his mind racing.  What Alex was asking indicated an escalation and an important one at that.  “I’ll ask Joe right away.  I’m unsure if we’ll have anything by the time we arrive, but we might.  I’ll book us into the Conrad for tomorrow.  I’ll also book you a suite there as soon as I get off the phone.”

“Thanks, Gerry.  See you tomorrow.”

“Indeed.  Bye, Alex.”

The line went dead.  Alexander poured himself a fresh cup of coffee.  He took it black with a couple of sweeteners.  Taking it into the living area, he sat down in one of the recliners to think about the ramifications of what they had discovered.  Whatever it was, it wasn’t good; it wasn’t good at all!

Alexander sat in the comfortable recliner for an hour, sipping the coffee and thinking.  Finally, he sat upright, fished his phone out, and called Scott Long, one of his old analyst friends from the CIA who had recently been promoted to Deputy Director.  Even though it had ben some years since Alexander had retired, the two had stayed in touch and met whenever geographically convenient. “Scott, it’s Alexander,” he said when the phone was answered.  “I’m in town for a few days.  I’m staying at the Conrad, and wondered if you’d be free for dinner and a chat?”

“Nice to hear from you, Alexander.  As it happens, I am free this evening; I had a provisional date, but she canceled, so I’m all yours.  Is this totally social?” asked Scott.

“Not entirely.  I have something that I wanted to run by you.”

“Of course.  I am happy to consult.  Dinner is on you,” he added.

“Isn’t it always?” replied Alexander.

“True, but then again you can afford it!”

“Indeed I can.  7 o’clock?”

“Perfect.  I’ll see you there.”

The call went dead.

Looking quickly at his Rolex Oyster, Alexander checked the time and saw that it was already past three.  Leaving the townhouse, he got in his rental and drove across town to The Conrad where his suite was already waiting for him to check in.  In previous visits, he had stayed at the Four Seasons but had recently switched to The Conrad.  It was just as comfortable and convenient as The Four Seasons but at less than half the price.  Its location was also excellent.

Taking a quick shower, Alexander climbed into the comfortable bed and set his mental clock to wake him in an hour.  The moment he closed his eyes, he was in a deep sleep; a skill that he had always had and which had served him well over the years.

Exactly sixty minutes later, he opened his eyes, instantly fully awake and totally refreshed.  Getting out of bed, he unpacked his suitcase and changed into his clothes for the evening.  Picking the phone up from the bedside table, he called Rufus. 

“Yep,” answered Rufus.

“Anything going on?” asked Alexander.

“Nothing new to report.”

“Ok.  Call me if you need me.  I’ll be over in the morning.  Let’s have an all-hands meeting at 8.”

“You got it,” replied Rufus.  “See you then.” He said and hung up. 

Picking up the hotel phone, Alexander called downstairs. “Yes, Mr. Monroe,” answered the concierge.

“Could you book me a table somewhere for 8 this evening?  For two people,” he added.

“Certainly. Any preference as to cuisine?”

“Steak, I think.”

“Certainly,” replied the concierge.  Give me 5 minutes.”

“Absolutely.  No rush.”

Alexander hung up the phone and crossed to the window. The sun was starting to go down, and it would soon be dark.  It only took three minutes for the concierge to call back.  “You have a reservation at Marcel’s at 8.15.  Will that be ok?”

“Very much so.  Thank you, “ replied Alex.  He knew Marcel’s by Robert Wiedmaier very well.  He also knew that he probably wouldn’t have been able to get a reservation at such short notice, but that made staying at The Conrad a good choice; Henri, the concierge, was a miracle worker. 

At 6.45 pm, Alexander went downstairs and into the bar.  At precisely 7 pm, Scott walked in and joined him, ordering a draft beer.  They took their drinks to a table in the corner and spent the next 15 minutes catching up and reminiscing about old friends.

Soon it was time to head to Marcel’s.  Heading to the front door, Alexander stopped.  “Scott, can you grab a cab?  I’ll be right out.”

“Sure,” said Andy, walking outside where several cabs were.  He got into the first one and left the door open for Alexander.

Inside, Alexander walked over to the Concierge’s desk where the concierge greeted him.  They shook hands, and the $100 bill that was in Alexander’s right hand found its way into the concierge’s and then into his trouser pocket.  “Thanks, Henri.”

“My pleasure, Mr. Munroe.  Have a nice dinner.”

“I’m sure we will.  Thanks again.”

Thirty seconds later, Alex was in the cab, and they were heading to Marcel’s.

After an excellent dinner at Marcel’s, Alexander and Scott returned to the Conrad and went up to Alexander’s suite.  As soon as they got in the room, Scott reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small electronic device the size of a pack of cigarettes.  Although he hadn’t seen that particular model, Alexander recognized what it was, a scanner for detecting listening devices.

He sat quietly while Scott moved around the suite checking to see if anybody had planted any bugs.  “All clear,” said Scott, putting the device back in his pocket.  Sitting down in the chair opposite, he crossed his legs.  “So what’s up?”

“This needs to stay between you and me, Scott,” replied Alexander.  “At least for the time being.  It’s important!”

“Okay,” replied Scott, leaning forward.  “Shoot.”

“Mohammad Akhtar.  You know who he is, right?”

“Indeed I do.  Nasty piece of work.  The Agency has been trying to nail that son-of-a-bitch for a long time.”

“He’s here, in Washington.”

“What!,” exclaimed Scott.  “Are you sure?”

“One hundred percent.  I’ve got photographs of him meeting somebody in a coffee shop.”

“Who was he meeting?”

“This is where it gets really interesting,” answered Alexander.  “He met with Dick Sussex, Congressman Dick Sussex.”

“How do you know this, Alexander?”

“I’ve got a team in town running surveillance on Sussex.”

“Why?”

“You know the word is that he’s completely corrupt, right?”

“Yeah, I read something about that.  Some political watchdog group is putting the heat on him.”

“It’s called Feet to the Fire.  They’ve hired me to see if we can find actual evidence that he’s on the take, which is why we’re here in Washington.”

“And you found Mohammad Akhtar.  Wow.  Why don’t you want the Agency to action it?”

“Whatever he and Sussex are up to will get lost in the weeds.  You know the Agency; they’ll just want to take this guy out or hand it over to the Feds.  Either way, we lose any chance to find out what’s going on.”

“How long do you need to keep it under wraps?”

“Seventy-two hours.”

“It’s too long, Alexander, and you know it.  Akhtar’s too big a fish to let him keep swimming around.  I can give you half of that,  Thirty-six hours, and then we have to start beating the bushes.

“Deal,” replied Alexander, leaning over to shake hands with Scott.  He had hoped for twenty-four hours, but thirty-six was so much better.

“How good is your team?” asked Scott.

“Very capable indeed.  I wouldn’t want to mess with any of them.  Quite frankly, I don’t think Mohammad would want to either.  My guys have been briefed so they know who he is and what he’s capable of.  One of them already offered to take him out.  I said No, but if it comes down to it, don’t hesitate.”

“It’s difficult with these fanatics to know what’s the best course of action.  Do we kill them, or drop them in a black site and interrogate them.”

“I honestly don’t know,” answered Alexander.  “As soon as they’re picked up or killed, another steps in to take their place.  It’s like playing whackamo.”

“Absolutely right,” replied Scott as he got up to leave.  “Don’t mess around with this, Alexander.  It’s too big and it could blow up in your face.”

“I won’t.  You’ve given me thirty-six hours.  I’ll send over what we’ve got just before then unless something else happens, in which case I’ll call you.”

“Great,” answered Scott.  “Thanks for dinner.”

“Always welcome.”

“By the way,” said Scott.  “If your guys need to take him out, there won’t be any blowback from us.”

“That’s good to know,” replied Alexander.  “I had figured that you’d rather have him dead than running loose.”

Alexander opened the door of the suite to let Scott out.  He then called Gerry, again using Signal. “What’s your ETA?” he asked.

“We should be there by 5 local,” answered Gerry.

“I had dinner with Scott.  He was very interested in the deal.”

“Really,” answered Gerry.  He knew who Alexander was referring to and immediately grasped the significance of the comment. ‘What the hell have they gotten themself into?’ was his thought.

“I should have that file you asked about by the time we arrive.”

Joe had everybody working on Dick Sussex.  He had given them a deadline of that evening to come up with a definitive list of everything publicly available.  He told them he was particularly interested in any bills Sussex was sponsoring, committees he was on, and any legislative efforts he was involved in.  He had pulled Daphne and Karen out of the group and tasked them with finding and reporting all news stories referencing Sussex.

“I’m looking for dirt,” he told them.  “Any improprieties, rumored or confirmed.  Dig deep.”

It had taken several hours of feverish activity and hundreds of Internet searches, but by 6 pm, Joe had two files on his desk.  Both groups had highlighted that Sussex was a ranking member of a Financial Services Committee, but it was Daphne who had found the article mentioning that Sussex’s sister-in-law, Annabel Thompson, worked for a brokerage firm being investigated by the SEC for insider trading.

He called them all over.  “Great work, everybody.  It’s late now, so we’ll call it a day.  I’m leaving early tomorrow and’ll be gone for a day or two.  While I’m away, I want you to focus all your efforts on this brokerage firm.  Get me everything you can.  I’m particularly interested in the sectors they focus on and other skeletons in their closet.  Dig deep into everybody who works there, paying particular attention to Annabel.  Look for any connections to Deirdre Williams and her husband.”

Everybody nodded.  “If you find anything interesting, email me so I can read it while I’m away.”

“Can we call you if we need to?”

“If it’s urgent, otherwise just email it.  If you want me to call in, send me a text.  Okay?” he asked.

Five minutes later, he was in his Bentley, heading back to the house.  The files were locked in the trunk, inside a small fireproof safe he had fitted when he bought the car.  He didn’t think anybody would try to get at them, but old habits died hard.  The next morning, he and Gerry would have plenty to read on the flight to Washington, DC.  They were both curious about what Alex’s team had uncovered, particularly since Alex had met with Scott Long, whom they knew well.

The Gulfstream took off at 8 am and arrived at Washington Dulles at 5 pm local time.  Gerry and Joe had both read both files and then discussed them.  It was too early to come to any definite conclusions, but both men felt there was something in the connection between Sussex and his sister-in-law’s firm.  They already knew that Sussex was corrupt, and the tie-in was too coincidental to be ignored.

By 6 pm, they were sitting in Gerry’s suite waiting for Alex to arrive.  He had texted them that he was on the way.  At 6.15, there was a knock on the door, and Joe got up to let him in.

“Good to see you, Alex,” said Gerry, getting up to shake hands.

“You too.”

“Drink?”

“Not right now, thanks.  Did you sweep?” he asked, looking at Joe, who nodded.

“So,” asked Gerry, “What’s going on?”

“Two things,” replied Alex.  “Firstly, Sussex has another two-man team on him.  My guys spotted them right away, but they didn’t spot us.”

“Do we know who?”

“Yes, we do.  When they broke off, we followed them back to their base.  They weren’t very professional.  Never once checked for a tag.”

“So where did they go?”

“The Syrian Embassy.”

“Now, that’s a surprise,” said Joe.

“Yes, it is, but that’s not the big surprise, which is why I wanted you both here so we can decide how to proceed.”

“Okay, Alex, spill it,” replied Gerry.

“Sussex went to a coffee shop and met with Mohamad Akhtar.”

“Okay.  Who’s he?”

“Other than being at the top of the CIA kill list, you mean?”

“I presume you let Scott know?”

“I did, and he’s given me 36 hours to find out the connection and why one of the most dangerous terrorists in the world is in Washington and meeting with a corrupt congressman.”

“Is Akhtar connected to the Syrians?”

“Not directly, but yes, he is.”

Gerry leaned over to the coffee table and handed the two files to Alexander.  “These might shed some light on it,” he said.  “Sussex is on a Financial Services Committee.  His sister-in-law works for a brokerage house under the SEC’s investigation for insider trading.”

“Coincidence?” asked Alex.

“It could be,” replied Gerry, “but I don’t think so.”

“I don’t either,” interjected Joe.  “They have to be connected, but it has to be more than some insider trading.  Most of Congress does that.  In fact, I’m pretty sure that most of the people who run for office know they’ll be able to make a lot of money doing that once they get elected.”

“And they wonder why everybody hates them, and nobody trusts them,” replied Alex as he opened the first of the files.  “Give me ten minutes to read through these.”

“Take your time, Alex. But, before you do, what do you think about bringing Scott into this conversation?”

“It’s not a bad idea,” agreed Alex, fishing his iPhone out of his pocket.  Hitting the number 7 on the keypad, he waited for the call to be connected.  ’Scott,” he said when the call was answered.  “Gerry and Joe are in town and wondered if you had time to meet?”

“Sure.  Where?”

“How about your place?” suggested Alex, knowing that Scott would understand that to be Langley.

“That’ll work fine.  Are you at the hotel?”

“We are.”

“I’ll have a car outside in 20 minutes.  Does that give you enough time?”

“Absolutely,” replied Alex and ended the call.

“He’s sending a car to pick us up in 20 minutes.  That’ll give me just enough time to read through these.”

Gerry nodded.

Twenty minutes later, the three of them walked outside the hotel.  They had timed it perfectly as a black SUV with heavily tinted glass pulled up, and they got in.  Scott Long was sitting in the back waiting for them.  Scott’s close protection agent sat in the front with a Heckler & Koch MP7 machine pistol cradled in his lap.  He paid no attention to the three arrivals as the SUV pulled smoothly away.

“I thought we were coming to you, Scott,” said Gerry.

“I decided to get out of the office,” replied Scott.  “What have you got.”

Gerry handed over the two files and quickly brought Scott up to speed.  Scott opened the files and scanned the contents.  “Interesting, but I don’t see how Mohamad Akhtar fits into the equation?”

“Neither do we,” answered Alex, and quickly filled Scott in on the Syrian surveillance team.

“That’s too big a coincidence,” said Scott.  “The chatter is that Akhtar’s been working with the Syrians recently, and we all know how much Assad hates the US,” he said, referring to Bashar al-Assad, the President of Syria and one of the world’s most ruthless dictators.  “Alex,” he said, “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to rescind your thirty-six hours.  We need to pull out all stops and find Akhtar.  Sorry,” he repeated.

Alex nodded.  He had expected it.  “Let me make a quick call, Scott,” he said, pulling out his iPhone.  Dialling Rufus, he waited for it to be answered, having put the call on speaker.

“Yes, Alexander?”

“Any sign of our coffee shop friend?”

“As a matter of fact, I’m watching him right now.”

“Where?”

“The Washington Monument.  He met with Sussex a few minutes ago, and I’m following him.”

Scott tapped Alex’s arm and ran a hand across his throat.  Alex immediately understood.  “Are you close enough to take him out?”

“Yep.  No problem.”

Scott nodded.  “Go ahead, Rufus, but be careful.  He’s very dangerous.”

“So am I, Alexander,” answered Rufus, ending the call.

A short distance away, Rufus dropped the phone back in his left-hand pocket.  His right hand entered the other pocket and grasped the Glock 17 in its belt holster.  Picking up his pace, he removed the weapon from the holster and closed the gap to his target.  The two men were only ten feet apart when Akhtar sensed Rufus’s presence and the danger.

With lightning speed, he turned to face the threat, his hand reaching under his jacket for a weapon.  As fast as he was, Rufus was faster, firing twice through his coat.  The first bullet hit Akhtar in the shoulder, spinning him sideways.  Before he could recover his balance, Rufus’s second shot hit him in the throat.  Akhtar dropped to the ground, blood pouring out of a fatal wound.  Without pausing stride, Rufus fired a third shot into Akhtar’s head, placing it between his eyes.  As Akhtar lay there dead and a crowd started to form, Rufus continued walking without rushing or appearing guilty.  He knew the average person wouldn’t have the faintest idea of what had happened.  He also knew that eye-witness testimony was remarkably unreliable and nobody could pick him out of a line-up.  He also suspected that he would be on his way back to The Haven shortly.

Grabbing his phone, he dialed Alexander.  “Yes, Rufus?”

“Done deal,” he answered.

“Any problems?”

“Nope.  He was pretty quick, just not quick enough.”

“Great.  Head back to base.  I’ll be there soon.”

“Will do.”

“Well done,” said Alexander as he ended the call and nodded to Scott.  Scott picked up his secure phone and dialed a number.  “The Monument,” he said.  “Clean-up.  Mohammed Akhtar.”  He listened for a few seconds before replying.

“Sure.  I’m on my way back.  Call Jack Watson at the White House and tell him I need to come in to brief the President ASAP.”

Scott listened again as he was told something.  He nodded. “Thanks, Pete.”

Turning to Alexander, he reached out his hand and shook it. “That is a big relief.  Saved us a lot of manpower beating the bushes, and we can cross him off our list.  I do have one question for you, Gerry.  What are you up to?”

“It looks like I’m up to keeping the country safer,” replied Gerry, knowing what Scott wanted to know and deciding not to bring him into the fold.

Scott nodded.  He hadn’t really expected Gerry to answer.  He lived his life in a world of secrets and respected other’s wishes to do the same thing.

Chapter 19 – Stepping things up

Scott had the driver head back to the hotel.  He had promised to run interference with the DC police department if anybody was looking for or had recognized Rufus.

“Should I get him out of town?” asked Alexander.

“Not necessary,” replied Scott.  “Once the news breaks who was killed, nobody will be looking for the shooter.”

“Are we clear to continue working on Sussex to find out what he’s up to?”

“Absolutely.  It’s a domestic affair, and the FBI would normally handle it, but as far as I’m concerned, what they don’t know, they don’t know.”

“That’s very Zen of you, Scott,” said Gerry.

Scott smiled.  “If, and I say ‘If,’ it’s convenient to let me know what you find out, I’d appreciate it, but there is no obligation.  I trust you guys to act in the country’s best interests.”

“Always have, always will,” replied Gerry, and the other two nodded in agreement.

“When the car pulled up in front of the hotel, Gerry turned to Joe and Alex.  “Give me a couple of minutes.  I need to have a quick word with Scott.  I’ll meet you in the bar.”

They nodded and got out after shaking hands with Scott.  “Alexander,” he said. “If your guy is looking for a permanent job, give him my number.”

“Thanks, Scott, but I think he’s a bit old for your lot.”

“Just saying,” answered Scott.

When he and Gerry were alone in the back of the car, the privacy and security screen was engaged so that the two in the front couldn’t hear the conversation; Gerry spoke.  “I have terminal cancer, Scott.”

Scott looked shocked.  “I’m so sorry, Gerry.  How long?”

“Nine months to a year is the best guess.”

“What are you going to do?”

“What I always do.  Live every day as if it was my last until it is.”

“Anything I can do?” asked Scott.

“Nothing, thanks,” answered Gerry. “I just wanted to let you know.”

“Well, if there is, you call.  Any time.”

“Thanks, Scott.  I will.  If we don’t meet again, it has been my privilege to know you.”

“My sentiments exactly.” He reached out his right hand, and the two shook.  Then Gerry exited the SUV and stood there for a few seconds while it pulled away.  Turning, he walked back into The Conrad and headed to the bar where Joe and Alex sat at a table in the corner.  A beer was sitting on the table, waiting for him.

“A good day indeed, Alex,” he said as he sat down and sipped the ice-cold beer.

“Yes, it was.  When are you heading back?”

“We’ll leave first thing.  What are your plans?”

“Stepping things up.  I’ll fill you in later, but I want to start putting some pressure on.”

“I agree.  Joe, any thoughts?”

“No,” answered Joe, who was also drinking a beer.  “I think seeing the reaction when the news breaks will be very interesting.”

“Agreed,” replied Alex.  “I will head over to see the guys in a few minutes.  How about we meet for dinner tonight?”

“Good plan,” answered Gerry.

The three men sat in companionable silence while they finished their drinks.  They had no time for small talk and were quite comfortable not talking.  Additionally, what they might have wanted to discuss couldn’t be said in a room where others might be listening.

Thirty minutes later, Alex was in a cab heading over to their base of operations.  He had the cab drop him off at the 2^nd townhouse, then walked around the block a few times, checking for surveillance.  He didn’t think anybody knew they were there or what they were doing, but he wasn’t willing to take any chances. Deciding he was clear, he returned to the 1^st townhouse and let himself in.

Harry Jones and Jacob Handley were the only two there.  They were monitoring the team’s movements and watching the drone footage being controlled from the van.

“Anything going on?”

“Not much.  Sussex has been in congressional meetings all day.  We heard about Rufus.”

“Yes,” replied Alexander.  “He took a very bad guy out of the picture today.”

“Good riddance,” replied Harry. “Since Sussex was staying put, Bart and Cody have been following Jack Ansel, Sussex’s chief-of-staff.”

“Any particular reason?”

“Something is going on with him.  He’s acting weird. It might be nothing, but we think he’s up to something and is very nervous about it.”

“Interesting,” replied Alexander. “Anything else?”

“No, nothing,” answered Jacob.  “We’re mostly treading water.”

“I think that will change tomorrow morning when the news breaks about Akhtar.  I want everybody on Sussex from first thing. I think he might panic.  Are the Syrians still on him?”

“They were earlier but broke off when he entered the Capitol building.  I think they’re babysitting him rather than surveilling him.”

“We’ve got an idea,” said Harry.

“Go on,” replied Alexander.

“We were thinking that maybe tomorrow, we’d let the Syrians spot one of us following Sussex.  See if it causes any reaction.”

Alexander thought for a few seconds before replying.  “I like it,” he said, “but let’s hold off on it for now.  I want to see Sussex’s reaction to Akhtar’s death, and then we’ll determine what to do next.”

“You got it, Alexander,” answered Jacob.  “Are you hanging around for a while?”

“I can.  Do you guys want to take a break?”

“If you don’t mind.  We thought we might stretch our legs and grab a sandwich,” replied Harry.

“Go to it,” answered Alexander.  “Bring one back for me. No eggs or onions, but anything else is good.”

Harry nodded, and the two left the townhouse.  Alexander settled in front of the monitors and studied the screens.  Each of his team carried a tracker identifying who they were, and he could see their names next to their position on the map.  Two devices, Cory’s and Kevin’s, were moving much quicker than the others, and Alexander knew they were in the surveillance van.

He watched the screens for an hour until Harry and Jacob came back with the sandwiches.  Harry switched places with Alexander, and they ate their sandwiches without talking while all three watched the monitors.  Suddenly, the drone feed came to life with the drone swooping in and the video filming Jack Ansell, who was acting nervously and suspiciously by frantically looking around.  “He thinks he’s under surveillance and is trying to spot it,” said Harry.

“Fat chance he’s got of that!” replied Jacob.  “It looks like he’s getting ready for a meet.”

“Yes, it does.  Signal the others to stay back, and let’s see what the drone catches,” answered Alexander.

All three had all their attention on the drone feed, with the audio coming through very clearly.  The drone had been fitted with a Rode microphone.  While there was a lot of street noise, they could make out the dialogue quite easily and would be able to clean up the sound afterward in post-production. Seeing that Ansel was about to go into a Starbucks, Harry keyed his mic.  “Cody, follow him in and see if you can get some audio and pictures of who he’s meeting.”

The speaker beeped twice, indicating that Cody had received the message.  The drone video showed Ansel entering the Starbucks and Cody following a few seconds later.  The monitor changed to show the interior of the Starbucks and the back of Ansel’s head as he stood in line waiting to get a coffee.  Cody was wearing a small Insta360 Go3 camera, which was on the front of his shirt and attached to a magnetic pendant he was wearing.  The camera was small and unobtrusive and used its Live Preview feature to stream what it saw.  A transmitter in the van was forwarding that signal to the townhouse.

They watched as Ansel placed his order, followed by Cody placing his.  When the coffees were delivered, Ansel took him to a corner table, and Cody sat down in a chair where he could see and record everything that was going on at Ansel’s table.  It only took a few seconds for another man to walk over and ask if he could share the table.  Ansel nodded, and the second man, obviously of Middle Eastern heritage, sat down and started drinking his coffee.

It was very slick, and nobody but Cody noticed that an envelope was passed under the table to Ansel.  Immediately afterward, the man got up and left the building, leaving his cup on the table.  “Cody,” said Harry.  Stay in position.  If Ansel leaves, see if you can pick up the cup.  If you can’t, don’t worry about it.”

The speaker beeped twice.  “Bart,” said Alexander.  “Follow the man coming out of the Starbucks.  Stay well back, but let’s see where he goes and report back in.  Cody, follow Ansel when he leaves.  I suspect he’s heading back to the office, but let’s make sure.”

A series of beeps originated from the speaker. “Cory, follow the man that Bart is tailing.  Stay high enough that he won’t spot you.”

Cory’s voice came through the speaker, “Acknowledged.”  Moments later, the drone ascended, and they watched as it followed the man Ansel had met.  They could see Bart about 20 meters behind and on the opposite side of the street.  The other monitor showed Ansel getting up and casually putting the envelope in his jacket pocket.  It followed him as he left the Starbucks and caught Cody casually picking up the second man’s cup as he followed Ansel out.

“Cody, any chance you can do a bump and get that envelope?” Alexander asked, knowing that one of Cody’s skills was picking pockets.  It would be interesting to see what was in the envelope and the reaction when Ansel realized it was missing.  The speaker beeped twice. “If you put a bug on him, do that as well.”  Again, the speaker beeped twice.

They watched as Cody closed the distance between himself and Ansel.  There were quite a number of people on the street, and Cody bumped into Ansel in the middle of the crowd.  They heard him say “Sorry’, and a moment later, he was gone with the envelope now in his pocket and a small bug under Ansel’s lapel.

“Break off, Cody, and return to base,” said Alexander.  Again, the speaker beeped twice, and the feed from the Go 3 ended.  Another speaker was now playing back the sound from the bug that Cody had placed on Ansel.  It was all street noise until they heard Ansell curse. “Fuck, shit, fuck,” he said.

The three men smiled. “I guess he’s just found out that he’s had his pocket picked!” said Alexander.  “I’m looking forward to him telling Sussex.”

“Us too,” said Jacob.

Twenty minutes later, Cody walked in and handed the envelope to Alexander, who opened it.  Inside were $10,000 in new $100 dollar bills and a cellphone.  Alexander handed the phone to Harry. “Check that to see if there are any tracking devices installed.  If there are, disable them.”  Harry nodded and opened the phone with a small magnet to pull the back off.  Seconds later, he had removed a small black disc from its’ interior.  He handed it to Alexander, who crossed the room and placed it in a small Faraday cage that would shield it from transmission.  “We might need that later,” he said.

“You mean if we want them to know where we are,” stated Harry.

“Exactly,” replied Alexander.  All four men were now listening intently to the bug that Cody had placed on Ansell.  It took about twenty minutes later before they heard Ansel speak. “Somebody picked my fucking pocket,” he said angrily.

A woman’s voice replied, surprising them.  They had expected it to be Sussex. “I’m not worried about the money, but I am concerned about the phone.”

“What can we do about it?” replied Ansel.

“We have a contingency plan,” said the woman.  “I’ll take care of it.”

Ansel answered, “I’m sorry, Deirdre, I’m really sorry.”

Alexander clenched his fist and held it up in jubilation.  They now had definitive proof of collusion between Senator Williams, Dick Sussex, and who they suspected to be the Syrians.  But they still didn’t know what was being planned other than it had to be something big.  These people were corrupt on a big scale, not a small one.

The woman spoke again.  “Now get out of here.  Don’t tell Dick you lost the envelope.  He’ll only panic.”

“Okay,” replied Ansel.  “You don’t think he should know?”

“Know what,” answered Senator Deirdre Williams. “Know that you screwed up and lost twenty grand and a secure method of communication?  He’d probably throw you out of a window.  What he doesn’t know won’t worry him. Go.”

They heard Ansel grunt in acknowledgment and then a door closing.  A few minutes later, they heard the voice of Dick Sussex.  “How did it go?” he asked.

Ansel replied. “It went fine.”

“No problems?” asked Sussex, sensing something in Ansel’s tone.

“No, none,” said Ansel, recovering his composure.

“Good.  Take the rest of the day off.  I’ll be out of here shortly, and there’s nothing for you to do.”

“Okay.  See you in the morning.”

Alexander stayed for another hour.  Cory had tracked the man who had met Ansel to the Syrian Embassy, which is what they had been expecting.  Alexander put the used coffee cup in a plastic zip-lock bag.  He would get it over to Scott to run a DNA analysis and hopefully identify the man.  He was almost certain the man had diplomatic immunity, but knowing who he was and what the Agency might know about him would be invaluable.

Alex filled them in on what the team had discovered when he returned to the hotel and was in Gerry’s suite.  He had called Scott on the way over, and Scott was sending somebody to pick up the cup.  He had told Scott they suspected it was a Syrian under diplomatic cover but wanted to know everything they could about him.  Unsurprisingly, Scott had agreed.  While the CIA technically doesn’t operate on home soil, both knew there were times when they would have to do so to protect the nation.

Gerry and Joe were most interested in the day’s events.  “It’s been a pretty good day overall,” said Gerry.

Alexander agreed.  ‘What should we do with the twenty grand?  I considered giving it to the guys as a bonus.”

“Absolutely,” replied Gerry.  “They’ve definitely earned it.  Now we need to step up surveillance on Williams.”

“I want to bring Damian in now,” replied Alex, realizing that Damian’s hacking skills would come in handy. “He can get into all of their computers and record everything they’re doing and saying without us having to break in.”

“Agreed,” replied Joe.  “Do you want him out here?”

“Yes, I think so,” answered Alex.  “I’ll get him on a flight first thing in the morning.”

Chapter 20 – Breaking News

The team was out early the next morning with full surveillance on Dick Sussex’s Georgetown townhouse.  Cory and Jabob were in the van parked 500 meters away, monitoring any activity, while Rufus and Cody were in the townhouse opposite, which Gerry had purchased through one of his many subsidiary companies, all of which were registered in Lichtenstein, so ownership could not easily be traced. 

Rufus stood by the powerful directional microphone pointed at the downstairs window.  The microphone, an X64ACS, had been designed for long-range audio surveillance.  It, and another identical one in the van, had been bought from Ampflab and cost $5,700.  Cody sat in a comfortable chair wearing Bose headphones connected to the headphone amplifier that came with the X64ACS.  They were waiting for Sussex to wake up and for the news about Akhtar’s shooting to hit the news.

As with all surveillance work, there were long periods of inactivity and boredom.  This was also true of the military, and everybody in the team was used to it.  They didn’t like it, but they were used to it.

At 7.15 am, Sussex’s phone rang shrilly.  Both microphones picked the sound up clearly.  They heard a sleepy voice answer. “Yeah, what is it?”

“Turn on NBC,” said the voice on the other end and hung up.  The microphone picked up the sound of the TV being turned on and the channel being switched.

“In breaking news this morning, the man who was shot to death near the Washington Monument yesterday has been identified as Mohammad Akhtar, a known terrorist.  Akhtar had claimed responsibility for several terrorist attacks in Europe.  It is not known what he was doing in Washington or how he came to be here since he was on all terrorist watch lists. A Congressional Hearing has been scheduled later today with Curt Dunafin, the head of the FBI, being called to testify.  Dunafin, who has served as head of the FBI for the past three Administrations, issued a terse “No comment’ when asked about it by our reporter.

Cody smiled as a string of curses, mostly four-letter words, came through the headphones.  The next sound was a ringtone from Sussex’s phone. As soon as it was answered. Sussex unleashed a string of obscenities.

“Calm down,” came the reply.

“How the fuck am I supposed to calm down,” answered Sussex.  “This was all supposed to be taken care of.  Now, what do we do?”

“We carry on as planned.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

“No, it isn’t.  But there’s no point in panicking.  Everything is in place, and we proceed as planned.”

“But,” started Sussex but was immediately interrupted.

“Keep your shit together, Dick.  We’ve come too far to lose sight of the big picture.”

Sussex ended the call without saying another word.  They then heard a bang as he threw the phone against the wall.  All four listening in smiled in unison; they were definitely getting under someone’s skin.

Alexander was in the hotel limousine heading to the airport with Gerry and Joe.  He had decided to fly back for a few days to take care of a few things left hanging due to his prolonged absence.  Gerry had put the jet at his disposal so he could fly back with Damian later that week.  Even though Alexander could easily afford to charter a jet to fly back and forth, Gerry had made it clear to Alex and Joe that he was underwriting all costs for the operation.  Although those costs had already run into millions of dollars, it was still insignificant to Gerry.  As far as he was concerned, it was money well spent.

Alex’s phone beeped, indicating a message had just come in.  He quickly looked at the screen and saw that it was from Cody and included a sound file.  Putting the phone back in his pocket, he would wait until they were in the Gulfstream and in the air before playing the sound file.

Thirty minutes later, the Gulfstream took off from Washington Dulles for the 5-hour flight back to California.  When they reached their initial cruising altitude of 41,000 feet, a shade under 8 miles up, he put the phone on the table, pressed the Speaker button, and played the recording.  All three men listened intently.

“Do we know who he was talking to?” asked Gerry.

“No,” replied Alexander, “but it was a woman, so it’s a safe bet it was Deirdre Williams.”

“I agree.  We still don’t know what they’re up to, though.”

“Not yet, we don’t,” interjected Joe.  “I think that we’re going to find that out soon enough.  Alex, have Damian dig into her husband.  See if he can find out details of his trades.  I have a gut feeling that he’s selling short, expecting something bad to happen.”

“You mean like what happened with airline stocks immediately after 9/11?”

“Exactly.  It’s just a hunch, but …”

“I agree, Joe,” interrupted Gerry.  “It makes perfect sense.  If he has to take a short position, and we can find out what that position is, we’ll likely know what’s in play.”

“Well,” said Alex.  “This is turning into something much bigger than mere corruption, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” answered Gerry.  “I’ll reach out to Curt at the FBI once we know something definitive.  He’s got more resources than we do.”

“Do we still proceed as planned?” asked Alex.

“Yes, we do,” answered Gerry. “Do you think your guys will be up for it, Alex?”

“Absolutely.  I can tell they’re chomping at the bit to do something more than surveillance.”

“Good.  Joe, I need your people to step up their efforts and start reading between the lines.  Alex, have Damian pass anything he finds out to us, and Joe, you decide what your team needs to know.  With any luck, we can break this thing wide open.”

“We could preempt it, Gerry,” said Alex.

“We could, but we need to be able to stop the whole thing dead in its tracks, not just remove Sussex and Williams.  If, as we suspect, they’re up to something nasty, we can get it stopped and hurt them badly financially.”

“That would be fun,” said Joe.

“Indeed it would.”

At Langley, Scott was going to run a rush on the cup and its DNA sample; however, the drone photographs had made it unnecessary.  Facial recognition immediately identified the man as Waahid al-Salah, a high-ranking member of the Mukhabarat, Syria’s intelligence service.  Directly under the control of Syria’s ruthless dictator, Bashar al-Assad, the Mukhabarat was every bit as ruthless as Syria’s President and had the blood of thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of its citizens, on its hands. Al-Salah was in the US under diplomatic cover as a cultural attache.  Initial CIA analysis had been that he was there to look for and root out any dissidents among the Embassy staff.  It was now clear that he was there for something much bigger.

Making a secure call to Alex, he quickly filled him in on what they had been able to discover.  Alex thanked him and passed the information on to Joe and Gerry.

“It has to be an attack!” said Joe. “But what the target is, we don’t yet know.”

“Damian is our best chance of finding out,” replied Alex.

“Not necessarily.  We could pass the whole thing over to the NSA.”

“Yes, we could, but if we do that, we lose control and the opportunity we’ve spent all this time and money cultivating,” replied Joe.

“I don’t care about the money,” said Gerry.  “You both know that, but I’m reluctant to pull up stakes and just hand it over.  Let’s proceed as we had planned until it becomes essential that we step aside.”

“There is another option, Gerry,” said Alex. 

“What is that?” asked Gerry.

“We could pass what we know over to the NSA but not name Sussex and Williams as part of the conspiracy.  That way, we focus our efforts on them and let NSA and Homeland do their thing.”

Gerry thought for a minute or two.  Finally, he said, “I think that’s a very good idea, Alex, but let’s give it another twenty-four hours to see what Damian can come up with before we do that.  Do you both agree?”

Joe and Alex nodded.  All three were chess players and knew that the End Game was rapidly approaching, but there were still moves to be made before they got there.

Chapter 21 – Blown

After the news broke about Mohamad Akhtar’s death, Kevin and Rufus returned to the van to wait for Sussex to leave.  While they were drinking a welcome cup of coffee, Cory had been monitoring the area with one of his three drones. He had three so he could switch them out when the batteries started to run out of juice.  He also had a dozen fully charged spare batteries to constantly keep a drone in the air for a full day if needed.  When the drones returned, they would land inside through the sliding glass roof, which Cory opened when it was time to deploy a new drone.

“Syrians are here,” he announced.

Knowing that the Syrians were following Sussex meant that the team members who were also following Sussex had to hang back to avoid being spotted. The Syrians, always the same two, never checked for counter-surveillance, which was unprofessional and amateurish.

Kevin and Rufus nodded, put their cups on the table, and looked at Cory, waiting for the all-clear.  Cory quickly scanned the area around the van, looking for anybody who might spot two men exiting a parked van.  Seeing nothing, he gave them the thumbs-up, and seconds later, both men were on the street, then separating and moving into holding positions.

Sussex invariably walked to the Capitol and his office unless the weather was really bad when he would take an Uber.  The team had that covered also, and when they left the townhouses each day, they did so on motorcycles, which they would use when needed.  The sun was shining that day, and there was a completely clear blue sky.

Cory watched as Sussex opened his front door and stepped out.  The drone, high in the air above the house and small enough not to be noticed, was recording everything.  Most of the footage would be discarded later, but if anything significant happened, they would have it.  With the drones, Cory could monitor everything except when Sussex entered a building, which was why the others were on foot. 

“Heading your way,” he announced, speaking into a USB microphone.  The team wore very small, unobtrusive earpieces, so they were in constant communication.  Throat mikes transmitted back to the van.

“Got him,” said Kevin, standing outside a nearby coffee shop reading a newspaper. 

“Ditto,” said Rufus, following Sussex from the opposite side of the street and about fifteen meters behind the two Syrians. 

The walk to the Capitol, where Sussex had an office, normally took about fifteen minutes.  Most mornings, Sussex would stop at a Starbucks, grab an expensive cup of lousy, over-priced coffee, and take it to go.  That morning, he changed his routine and sat at a table to drink it.  Kevin had followed him in and ordered a cup of coffee that he had no intention of drinking. He could never understand why people drank Starbucks coffee.  The beans were always overcooked and burnt, giving the coffee an unpleasant taste.  Mind you, most of their customers added milk and other extras to hide the taste, which was quite probably why so much of the US was obese.

Kevin was still waiting for his order when Sussex suddenly got up and left.  Knowing that Rufus was outside, Kevin waited patiently for his order before leaving.  He would throw the undrunk coffee into a trashcan as soon as he was clear.

Rufus had picked Sussex up as he left the Starbucks.  He was hanging back and following from the other side of the street.

“Rufus,” said Cory.  “You’ve got a tag, two men we haven’t seen before, but they look Syrian.”

“Ok,” Rufus replied, speaking softly into his throat mic. They had all known that they would eventually be spotted.  Now, it was a question of waiting to see what the opposition would do.

“Closing quickly.  There’s an alley that dead-ends about 25 meters ahead of you.  Turn into it and head to the end.  It should be fairly dark,” instructed Cory.  “Kevin, follow them in if they turn; otherwise, follow them.”

Kevin replied tersely. “Okay, instructions?

Cory knew what we was asking.  “If they follow him in, take them out.  We’re blown, and there’s no point in pussyfooting around.”

Kevin was moving quickly, closing the distance.  He saw Rufus turn into the alley, and the two men went in after him. Kevin was only a couple of seconds behind him and saw both men’s shoulders move as they reached into their jackets.  He knew they were going for their weapons, and there was no point in waiting. With deceptive speed, he pulled his own weapon, a Glock 17 fitted with a suppressor, and fired two shots, hitting each man in the back of the head.  They dropped instantly.

Kevin holstered his weapon and quickly forward forward to where the bodies lay.  Rufus joined him, and they quickly searched for any identification.  As they had expected, neither man was carrying any.  Rufus took a photograph of their faces, some of which was missing as the round had exited. 

Without another word, they turned and left the alley.  “Break off and return to base,” came Cory’s voice in their ears.  They nodded in acknowledgment, knowing Cory would be watching them on the drone video feed.  Separating, they made their way back to where their motorcycles were parked and rode back to the townhouse.

In the van, Cory continued to follow Sussex with the drone and broke off as soon as he went into the building where his office was.  He then returned to base, knowing they had things to discuss.

Half an hour later, all seven men were sat in the living room drinking coffee.  Jacob had sent a cryptic text to Alexander, who they knew was out of town for a couple of days.  They expected him to call back shortly but knew he would be in the air and might not receive the message until he landed.  They didn’t know that he was flying in a $70 million private jet and that the message had already reached him.

Alex’s phone beeped inside the Gulfstream, and he looked at the message.  “We’re blown,” he said.

“Details?” asked Gerry.

“Two hostiles, probably Syrian.  They followed Rufus into an alley.”

“And?” asked Joe.

“Kevin took them both out.  There was no time to do anything else.”

Gerry nodded.  “How does that affect the operation?”

Alex thought for a second before answering.  “I’m not sure. I think we have to assume things are coming to a conclusion.  If it’s okay with you, Gerry,” he continued.  “I’m going to have Damian meet us at the airport, and we’ll head straight back.  I need to be there.”

“Of course,” replied Gerry.  He pressed the intercom button and told the pilots they would be heading straight back to DC as soon as they had refueled. “Are you alright with that, or would you like me to get Donny to fly back,” he asked, referring to Donny Watson, a retired American Airlines pilot who was on a retainer to fly the Gulfstream when needed.

“No, we’re good, Gerry,” answered Stuart. “Colin’s had his eyes closed for most of the flight, and he can fly it back.”

“Okay.  If you change your mind, let me know.”

“Will do.  We’ll be landing in two hours.”

“Thanks, Stuart,” replied Gerry,  “I’ll book you and Colin a suite at the Conrad.  Stay over for a couple of nights to see if Alex needs to go anywhere.”

“Will do,” said Stuart.  He and Colin truly had one of the best jobs in the world and a boss who spared no expense to look after them.

Alex had already replied to Jacob, letting him know he was heading back and would be there the next morning.  He had also told Jacob to have everybody there for a meeting.

The Gulfstream landed at Long Beach airport exactly two hours later.  Damian was already there waiting for it and boarded as soon as Gerry and Joe had left the airplane.  He carried two hard-bodied cases with his computers and monitors in them.  A backpack was slung over his shoulder containing a couple of changes of clothes.  If he needed any more than that, he would buy them locally.

Within an hour, the Gulfstream had been refueled, and they had taken off.  Colin was piloting it, and Stuart had gone back to the crew compartment to get some sleep.  They would land at Washington Dulles in the late afternoon and would all head straight to the Conrad.  Damian would be the only one of the four who wouldn’t be exhausted.  He didn’t sleep much anyway, and he had a lot of ‘work’ to do before the next morning.

Alexander had filled Damian in on everything that was going on.  “I need you to find out what positions George Williams has taken recently.  I’m most interested in where he’s selling short, but I want to know everything.  You also need to look at this company and see what they are selling short.”

Damian nodded.  This was easy stuff for him.  Alexander was his godfather and had taken Damian under his wing years earlier, realizing that Damian was a master hacker.  He could easily have gotten Damian a job at the NSA or the CIA but had chosen to employ him instead.  Damian had repaid Alexander’s investment many times over.  This time, though, the stakes were much higher, but Alexander had no doubts about Damian’s ability to succeed.

Chapter 22 – What are we doing here?

Alexander walked into the townhouse at 8 am the next morning.  He was carrying two boxes of bagels and half a dozen tubs of cream cheese from Einsteins on Wisconsin Ave.  Everybody was waiting for him.  They fell on the bagels and cream cheeses as if they hadn’t eaten for a week.  Alexander helped himself to an Everything bagel with Jalapeno cream cheese, then poured himself a coffee from one of the two coffee makers constantly brewing fresh coffee.  His entire team was caffeine addicts.

With everybody munching away, Alexander started the meeting.  “As you know, the opposition, our opposition, is the Syrians, and they know we’ve got surveillance on Sussex.  What we don’t know yet is why.  After yesterday, I can guarantee that they are going to try to exact revenge for the two that Kevin took out, so when you’re out there, I need you to be doubly careful.”

“Are we continuing with the surveillance on Sussex?” asked Rufus.

“No, we’re going to break off from him for a few days.  We have a new target, George Williams.  He runs a Hedge Fund and is the husband of Senator Deirdre Williams, who we are certain is passing insider information to him.”

“What’s a Hedge Fund?” asked Cory.

“Good question,” answered Alexander.  “It’s a pool of money invested in stocks and other assets.  They are generally more aggressive, riskier, and more exclusive than mutual funds.  Their managers have freer rein to invest in a wide variety of assets, use bolder strategies to pursue higher profits, and are rewarded with much higher fees than mutual funds charge.  It’s a growth industry.  According to Investopedia, by mid-2023, more than $4.3 trillion dollars was being managed by over 9,000 hedge fund managers.”

“That’s a lot of money,” whistled Rufus.

“Yes, it is, and make no mistake, these are greedy people.  The people who run the big ones are wealthy beyond comprehension.  Ken Griffin is the wealthiest, with a net worth of $35 billion.  His Wellington fund gained 38% in 2022, while the S&P 500 fell almost 20%.  They paid out $7 billion in profits to their investors. The top 20 are all multi-billionaires, but they want more.”

“Where does George Williams fit in?” asked Jacob.

“He’s outside the top 20 but not by much.  We think he, his wife, and Dick Sussex are making a play to change that and reap untold profits.”

“Do we know what they are up to?”

“Not yet, but I’ve brought a young friend of mine, Damian, back with me.  He’ll be here shortly and will be setting up his equipment.”

“What does he do,” asked Cory.

“He’s a hacker, one of the best,” answered Alexander.  “He’s going to hack into the Williams’ computers and their Hedge Fund.  With any luck, he’s going to be able to find out what they are planning so we can put a stop to it.”

“I have a question, Alexander,” said Rufus.  “Actually, all of us have the question.  We’ve been talking a lot and wondering what we’re doing here?”

“In what sense?” replied Alexander.

“Well, these people are obviously corrupt and are up to something.  Why don’t we just kill them?”

Alexander let his gaze wander over all seven men.  He saw agreement in all of them.

“I take it you all feel the same way,” he asked.

“We do,” answered Rufus, who had become their spokesperson.

“So none of you would have a problem with it?” asked Alexander.

“No,” replied Rufus.  “It’s what we were trained to do.”

“Good,” answered Alexander.  “In that case, it’s time for me to tell you what you’re here for, which is why you were all brought on board. We are going to clean up this cesspool that’s called the American political system.  It doesn’t serve the people it was elected to do; it just serves those who were elected.  It’s corrupt, and most of them are corrupt and venal. The only way they are going to stop is if we stop them.”

“You mean kill them?” asked Cory.

“Yes, Cory, that’s exactly what I mean.”

There was a murmur of agreement and smiles all around.

“When do we start?”

“We need to find out what the unholy trio are up to and if anybody else is involved first.  We’ve managed to uncover some kind of conspiracy, but we’ve got to know the extent of it.”

“What happens then?” asked Rufus.

“We’re going to tip off Homeland so they can put all their resources on it?”

“And the principals?” asked Rufus, referring to Dick Sussex and the Williams’.

“They are going to have unfortunate accidents.  If they get arrested, they’ll lawyer up and may go to trial, but the likelihood is they’ll keep appealing any convictions and won’t spend a day in prison.  I’m not willing to let that happen.  Your job is to make sure of it.  Does anybody have a problem with it,” asked Alexander, already knowing the answer.

The word No came from everybody’s mouth. Alexander smiled.  “Starting today, each of you will now be receiving $25K per month instead of the $9K you have been getting.  On top of that, there will be substantial bonuses.  How does that sound?”

Everybody but Harry grinned.  Alexander noticed.”Harry, you don’t look happy.  What’s up?”

Harry Jones stood.  “I don’t need any extra money to kill these motherfuckers.”

“I appreciate that,” replied Alexander, “but you’re getting it anyway.  This is a long haul, and everybody here benefits.”

“Can I ask you a question?” said Jacob.

“Sure,” replied Alexander.  “Shoot.”

“What happens if we get caught?”

“We’ll get you out on bail and relocate you to somewhere where there is no extradition. You’ll also get a lump sum payment of one million dollars and will continue to get $25K a month for as long as you live.  You’ll also be given a place to live.  You pick it, and I’ll pay for it.”

“I think I’m going to get caught this week,” joked Rufus.

Alexander smiled.  “If things go according to plan, none of you will ever have to use that option, but it’s there just to give you peace of mind.”

“Can you guarantee that we’d get bail?”

“Honestly, no,” answered Alexander, “but we will get you out and away, somehow.”

At that moment, there was a ring at the door.  “Rufus,” said Alexander.  “That’ll be Damian.  Please let him in.  He doesn’t know what we’ve been talking about and doesn’t need to know, so keep it under your hat and don’t talk about it while he’s here.  Okay?”

They all nodded, and Rufus went to let Damian in.  Alexander introduced everybody, and Damian shook their hands warmly. “Where do I set up?” asked Damian.

“Is there room here for you?” replied Alexander.

Damian looked around the room and at the long table that contained the computers.

“I need a bit more room than this,” he answered.

“I thought you might,” said Alexander.“We have another townhouse just around the corner.  We’ll set you up there, and there’s a spare bedroom.”

“I don’t sleep much.”

“That I know, but you’ll have your own place to rest when you need to,” said Alexander.  “Rufus, can you and Jacob take Damian over there and help him get set up.”

Rufus nodded.  He and Jocob followed Damian out; each picked up one of the big cases Damina had brought and was soon gone.

“So, what’s the plan for today?” asked Cory.

“Today, I want everybody to relax.  I’ve got a feeling that things are about to break, and I want everybody rested.  I have a few things to take care of, but I’ll be back this afternoon.”

It was still very early, three thousand miles away in California, but Gerry and Joe were already up and on their second cups of coffee.

“What’s your next step, Gerry?” asked Joe.

“I’m going to place a call to George Williams.  I’ve got an extra couple of billion I’m looking to invest, and I wonder if he might be interested in placing it?”

“Do you think he might recommend something unethical?”

“I’m banking on it,” replied Gerry.  “I’m going to fly him over here for a meeting.  I’m fairly sure he won’t be able to resist temptation.  Maybe he might put me onto something when he meets me and finds out how unscrupulous I am.”

“He might not,” said Joe.

“True, but then I’ll be playing hard to get, or at least my two billion will be, and we’ll see what happens.  I’m going to need you to stay out of the picture.  He might know who you are, and your connection to Feet to the Fire.”

“You don’t think he’ll know about yours?”

“I doubt it, but if he does, I’m going to make light of it.  We haven’t started any activity on his wife yet, so it will likely be under the radar.”

“Fair enough,” said Joe.  “When are you going to call him?

“This morning, in a couple of hours.”

At 8 am, Gerryj Hawkins picked up the phone and dialed George William’s Hedge Fund number.   It was answered immediately. “Williams.  How can I help you?” said the female voice.

“This is Gerry Hawkins in California.  I want to speak to George Williams, please.”

“I’m afraid he’s in a meeting, Mr. Hawkins.  May I ask what it’s about?”

“Just ask him to return my call, please.”

“Will he know who you are?”

“He should.  If he doesn’t, then I’m calling the wrong person.  Thank you.”

Gerry ended the call.  He looked at his watch and made a bet with himself, betting that he would get a call back within 10 minutes.  It took 15.

“This is Gerry,” he answered.

“Gerry, this is George Williams returning your call.”

“Thanks for calling back so quickly, George.  I’m unsure if you know, but I’ve just sold my company, Gestalt Holdings.”

“Yes, I had heard that,” interrupted Williams.

“Good,” continued Gerry.  “It’s left me with a rather large cash surplus that I’d like to invest, and I’ve heard good things about the returns you’ve been getting.”

“Well, yes, we’d be delighted to discuss it.  Are you in DC?”

“No, I’m in California, but my Gulfstream happens to be in DC dropping a friend off, and I was hoping you’d be willing to fly over and meet?”

There was only the briefest of pauses before George Williams replied. “Sure.  I can’t make it today, but I can tomorrow.”

“Good,” answered Gerry.  “Shall I have a car pick you up at 8 am?  My plane is at Dulles.”

“Not necessary,” answered Williams.  “I have my own driver.  Where is your jet?”

Gerry gave him directions.  “You’ll stay overnight, of course,” he said.  “I’ll have the plane take you back the next morning.”

“That would be great.  I look forward to meeting you.”

“Me too,” said Gerry and ended the call.  He turned to Joe, “Book him in at the Ritz Carlton, please.”

“Will do.  Do you think you hooked him?”

“He’s wriggling at the moment.  Let’s see how greedy he is.”

“We both know how greedy he is.  The question is whether your two billion pushes him over the edge.”

“Well, if two billion isn’t enough, I do have more,” answered Gerry.

“Yes, you do.”

Chapter 23 – Setting the Hook

Gerry’s Gulfstream had taken off from Washington-Dulles just after 8.15 am and was scheduled to arrive at John Wayne Airport at 11 am.  Bill Humphries was waiting in the Mercedes when George Williams got off the jet, climbed into the back of the car, and was soon leaving the airport.

“Mr. Hawkins asked me to tell you that he has booked you a suite at the Ritz-Carlton in Laguna Niguel, which is where we are headed now.  He’ll meet you in the hotel lobby at 1 pm for lunch.”

“Thank you.  What’s he like?”

Gerry had expected that question and had told Bill what to say.

“He’s a very good boss, very generous.”

“Anything else, pressed Williams, hoping for insights into Hawkins’ character.

“I really couldn’t say,” answered Bill.  Fifteen minutes later, he had dropped George Williams at the front door and driven off.  Williams went inside, checked in, and soon entered his luxurious suite.  Since he had more than an hour before his lunch meeting, he decided to make some calls and did so for the next hour.

Checking his watch, he went downstairs and walked outside to wait for Gerry Hawkins’s arrival.  At precisely 12.55 am, a sky-blue Bentley Continental pulled into the forecourt.  Gerry had borrowed Joe’s since he wanted to drive himself as well as create the right impression, which the Bentley certainly did.  Getting out of the car, he handed the keys to the valet and walked over to George Williams with his hand outstretched.

“Gerry Hawkins,” he said as they shook hands.  “Thank you for coming.”

“Of course,” answered George Williams.

“Let’s have lunch,” said Gerry.  “I’ve booked a table at Raya.  I think you’ll like it.”

“Yes, it’s excellent,” replied George.

“You’ve been here before, I take it?”

“Several times.  My wife, Deirdre, has relatives in the area, and we come several times yearly.  We always stay here.”

“Excellent.  Let’s go in.”

The conversation over lunch was casual.  At the onset, George had asked if Gerry wanted to discuss business over lunch, and Gerry had replied that they would do that later. When they had finished eating, Gerry signaled for the check and signed it. “Are you staying here, Gerry,” asked George.

“No, but I come here often enough to have an account with them.”

“Ah,” answered George as they headed to the elevator.

When they were sat comfortably in George’s suite, George started the conversation.  “So, how can I help you?” he asked.

“I’m looking to invest a fairly substantial amount of money, but I’m looking for a really good return on it, and you came highly recommended.”

“By whom, might I ask?”

“I’d rather not say,” answered Gerry.

“Sure,” replied George.  “How much are you looking to invest?” he asked.

“Two billion to start with.  If I get a good enough return on it, I have an additional two that I’d add to it.”

“What are you looking for?”

“I’m willing to take some risk,” Gerry replied.  “But it’s got to be a really good bet.”

Over the next thirty minutes, George Williams outlined some recommended strategies.  None of them was what Gerry was looking for.  “To be honest, George,” he said.  “I’m looking for something a bit more out of the mainstream. Steve Cohen’s been offering me pretty much the same thing.  Perhaps your firm is not what I’m looking for, but I thank you for your time.”

He got up to leave, but George stopped him. “I have something else, and it is risky, but the returns should be spectacular.”

Gerry sat back down again. “Alright.  Tell me more.”

“I’ve received some highly confidential information that I’m acting on.”

“Really,” replied Gerry.  “You mean insider information?”

“Yes, I do, but I can’t tell you any more than that?”

“So you are proposing to act on it, and are looking for me to come in without knowing anything about what it is?”

“Yes, we are,” answered George Williams.  “We have eight billion to do that with, currently.  With your two, that would make ten billion.”

“But if you’re wrong about it, then that money will be lost,” said Gerry.

“True,” replied George, “but the information is solid.  I am extremely confident that it’s right.”

“This does sound interesting,” said Gerry.  It hadn’t taken long for George Williams’ greed to rear its ugly head. “Let me think on this for the afternoon,” he said. “Come over for dinner this evening, and we’ll discuss it some more.”

“That would be very nice.”

“I’ll have my driver pick you up at 7,” said George.

Back at his house, he called Joe in, and together, they placed a call on Signal to Alex, who answered immediately. “Yes, Gerry.”

“All I could get from him is that he’s acting on some insider information.  I don’t have any details yet,  but I’m going to try to get some this evening.”

“Presumably, it is coming from his wife.,” replied Alex. 

“That would be a safe bet.”

“We’ll need more, much more.”

“I know.  You’ve got Damian looking into the Williams?”

“I do.”

“Are she and Sussex on any committees together?”

“Not that we can find.”

“Keep looking.”

“We will. By the way, I’ve given all the boys a raise.”

“What are they on now?” asked Joe, expecting to hear the number they had agreed on.

“Thirty thousand a month,” replied Alex.

Gerry and Joe looked at each other and smiled.  Alex had just confirmed that his entire team was on board with their plan.  “That’s great, Alex,” replied Gerry.  “George Williams is coming over for dinner this evening.  I’ll see if I can press him for some more details.”

“Okay.  Keep me posted,” said Alex, and ended the call.

Bill picked up George Williams exactly at 7 pm and pulled into Gerry’s driveway fifteen minutes later.  As George got out of the Mercedes where Gerry had come out to greet him, he noticed the exotic-looking car in the open garage.   After shaking hands, George pointed at the car. 

“What is that beautiful thing,” he asked.

“It’s a Pagani Hueyra roadster,” replied Gerry as he led George into the garage for a closer look.

“It is absolutely breathtakingly beautiful,” said George, admiring its lines as he walked around the car.

“I think so too,” said Gerry as he opened the driver’s gullwing door.

“May I,” asked George.

“Of course.”

George climbed into the car and took the wheel.  “Is it fast?” he asked.

“The zero-to-sixty time is about 2.3 seconds, and the top speed is around 230 mph.”

“That’s pretty impressive.”

“It is, but I didn’t buy it for that reason.  I bought it because it is the most beautiful car I’d ever seen.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, how much was it?”

“Three million, but it’s worth considerably more now.  There are only one hundred in the world, and this one has exceptionally low mileage.”

“Why only one hundred?”

It’s got a Mercedes-AMG engine, and the agreement was for Pagani only to make a hundred.  I believe Mark Zuckerberg has one also.”

“With his money, he could probably buy all of them,” replied George as he got out of the car, and Gerry closed its door. 

“Yes, he probably could,” agreed Gerry. “Let’s go in and have a drink before dinner, George.”

George nodded and followed Gerry through the garage into the house. Gerry, who was not normally a show-off, had left the Pagani in view so that it would stimulate George Williams’ greed.  Judging by the reaction, he had certainly succeeded.

Over drinks and dinner, Gerry tried to get George Williams to open up about the ‘investment opportunity,’ but George was being very cagey.  “All I can say is that I’m investing a billion of my own money into a single company, and I hope you will do.  I’m anticipating extraordinary growth.”

“Since your wife is in the Senate,” said Gerry.  “I can only assume that she’s let slip news about a lucrative government contract.  Am I correct?”

“Let’s just say I have my ears very close to the ground,” replied George.

At that point, Gerry gave up, knowing that he wasn’t going to get any more information out of George. At 10 pm, he buzzed Bill on the intercom. “Bill, can you take George back to the Ritz-Carlton?”

“Cars out front and waiting,” answered Bill.

“Bill will pick you up at eight and get you to the airport.  The Gulfstream will take you back.”

“Do I take it you’re not interested in the opportunity?” asked George.

“Without knowing more about it, I’m afraid not,” replied Gerry.  “If you feel like sharing some more details, I might reconsider.  Give that some thought on the way home.  You have my number.”

George Williams nodded, thanked Gerry for his time, and entered the Mercedes.  As soon as it had pulled out, he called Joe. “He’s on his way back.  Are you clear?”

“Yes.  I’m on my way back.”

While George had been having dinner with Gerry, Joe had used his keycard to enter George’s suite and had placed a couple of miniaturized listening devices.  Their hope was that George would call his wife to let her know how the evening had gone and maybe would let slip something that would indicate their plans.  Since George had given nothing up during the evening, their hope was now that the bugs would reveal a crucial piece of the puzzle.  If not, they would be relying on Damian’s hacking skills.

George Williams didn’t make any calls that night, which wasn’t entirely unexpected.  It was, after all, past midnight on the East Coast.  He did, however, call his wife first thing the next morning.

“How did it go?” asked Senator Deirdre Williams.

“It didn’t.  He wants more information, and I wasn’t willing to give it to him.”

“His two billion would be useful,” she replied.  “It might be worth telling him.”

“Maybe.  I’ll think about it on the trip home.  I’ll be in DC around 6.”

“Okay.  I’ll see you then,” replied Deirdre and ended the call.

Gerry and Joe were listening in on the call.  “That didn’t give us much,” said Gerry.

“No, it didn’t,” agreed Joe, “but it might be enough.”

“How so?”

“It’s got to be a government contract, and the Syrians are involved.”

“I don’t see how the two are connected.  If it was a 9-11 type attack, how would that tie into a government contract?”

“If we can figure that out, we’ll know everything.”

“I’ve got an idea,” said Joe.  “Why don’t you call him and see if you can get some idea of the timeline.”

“That’s a great idea.  I’ll do it right now.”

Gerry picked up his phone and punched in George Williams’ number.  George answered immediately.

“George, it’s Gerry.  I’ve been considering your proposal but still have some reservations.  Perhaps you could give me an idea of how much time I might have before deciding?”

“Within the month,” replied George.

“Do you mean within this month or a month?”

“A month.”

“Okay, I’ll give it some more thought and be in touch.”

“Thank you, Gerry.”

“Safe travels,” said Gerry as he ended the call.

“That narrows it down a bit,” replied Joe. “Do you want me to let Alex know?”

“Yes, please.”

The call between Joe and Alex was short since there wasn’t much to tell. After ending the call, Alex poured himself a fresh cup of coffee and sat down to drink and think.  He had discovered a long time ago that the combination of coffee, a comfortable chair, and time to think had often proved very successful, but it was not to be so that day.  Two cups and an hour later, he still hadn’t come up with anything.  He called Joe back.

“I can’t come up with anything,” he said when Joe answered.

“Me neither.”

“I’m going to sleep on it and let my subconscious work.  I’ll call you in the morning.”

“Okay.”

A mile or so away, another call was taking place.  This one originated in Damascus and ended at the Syrian Embassy.  It was an angry call.

“We are under attack,” said Mufid Khadoor, Director of the Mukhabarat.  “This must be avenged.”

Waahid al-Salah replied,  “We are in the process.  We know that the American has been under surveillance by another group, but they have proved themselves to be ruthless and deadly.  Both of my men were shot from behind.”

“Find out who they are, and kill them.  Do not fail.”

The line went dead. 

Waahid al-Salah stared at the phone in his hand for a few seconds before putting it down on his desk.  He knew that failure meant a death sentence, his death sentence.  In Syria, loyalty meant nothing unless it came with success.  Failure turned loyalty into disloyalty, and disloyalty was rewarded with a very unpleasant death.  He was not going to let that happen to him. 

An hour later, after he had given some considerable thought to the problem he was faced with, he had come up with a plan, a bold and risky one.  He would need more men, but that would not be a problem.  It would only take money, and he had plenty of that available.  Calling his deputy in, he gave instructions.

“I need 20 men.  Get them here as quickly as possible.  We are going to avenge our brothers.”

His deputy nodded.  He could have the men on their way within hours.  All were Syrians living in the United States, and all were combat-hardened warriors whose only loyalty was to Bashar al-Assad.