*
Lee Collister opened his door when the coded knock from his driver and bodyguard sounded. He had been working steadily behind the scenes trying to get on scene information about Uthman Sadun’s disappearance. What he knew for sure was his men were all dead, and the US Marshals were alive, although found drugged in the back of their transfer vehicle. Word from Pacific Grove was Nick McCarty went into hiding with his family after the botched bomb attempt, and morning after gun battle. Phil Salvatore proved to be a solid asset in the area, a simple dupe who thought he was an undercover agent. He had called with what he could find out from the police, claiming to be a friend of Nick’s. Collister began to have hope McCarty had not found out his name.
That hope increased exponentially when Paul Gilbrech called him with a request to read in on the Formsby investigation for a meeting with the President. He had been unable to find out everything CIA and the DOJ knew about Formsby’s operation. His being read in on the case for a formal Presidential meeting meant Gilbrech knew nothing about his involvement behind the scenes. Also, no one had bothered his man on the inside of the DOJ, Douglass Cameron. Collister now felt the removal of Gilbrech could not be done unless he found a way to get a prime scapegoat like McCarty to do it. With yet another botched attempt on his family, McCarty would be nearly impossible to approach. Sadun had been right about the Rashidi brothers. They were insane. Collister shook his head to clear thoughts of how close he had come to possibly being linked to the devastation of a bomb blast in a California coastal town.
He opened the door to a Delta Force Major, looking to be a lean six footer with grim visage, and stiff demeanor. His beret perfectly positioned with locked briefcase cuffed to his arm, the man exuded an uncompromising military bearing Collister hated. Behind the Major, stood another uniformed sergeant, equally precise in bearing and demeanor. The two of them saluted in sync. Collister waved them off. “Major Gibbons?”
“Yes Sir! Special envoy from CIA Director Paul Gilbrech, Sir!”
“Come in. Leave your man outside though.”
“Yes Sir!” Nick spun to face Bacall. “Sergeant Bacall. You will wait here at the door with National Security Adviser Collister’s man. I will be out shortly.”
Bacall saluted with perfect snap and flair, which ‘Major Gibbons’ returned. Inside the apartment, Collister waved the envoy over to a table cleared for the occasion. The briefcase was positioned facing Collister with the envoy turning studiously away. Collister entered the code, and opened the briefcase, noticing a slight oily residue on his right fingers. He took out the envelope marked as being highly classified documents.
“Please sign the top form inside the envelope, and place it inside the briefcase, Sir. That will acknowledge the file is now in your custody.
Collister did as requested, and shut the briefcase. The envoy grabbed the handle, shifting the briefcase to his side. “If there is nothing else, Sir, I will leave you to your duties.”
Collister nodded, happy to be soon rid of what he considered yet another arrogant uniformed puppet. He opened the apartment door, stepping aside for the envoy. “Thank you, Major.”
“Thank you, Sir. Please enjoy your evening, Sir.”
Collister shut the door, poured himself a Scotch, and sat down in his favorite recliner with stand next to it. He sipped the Scotch, noticing a slightly metallic flavor. A half hour later, with his drink gone, Collister began feeling hot. Sweat formed on his brow, and upper lip. He set aside the file he had been scanning. Pushing himself to a standing position from his chair, he felt a slight tightening in his chest, and a small bit of vertigo. Inside the kitchen area, Collister poured another Scotch, but added ice this time. After turning the thermostat down to sixty-eight degrees, he returned to his chair. This time when he sat down, a grainy vision of his room made him wipe at his eyes. They cleared for a moment. He gulped a large swallow of iced Scotch, set the glass down, and closed his eyes for the last time. The file fell from his hands to the floor, his last action a panicked grab at the falling file with a suddenly very numb feeling hand.
*
At the plane, Nick shook hands with Bacall. “Thanks for the lift. I’ll see you on the other side.”
“Not if I see you first.”
Nick chuckled. “You’ll do great, Agent J. Not everyone is cut out for this killer crap. Take my word for it. We’re damn lucky we have a CIA Director who knows we’re going to all be dead if we keep allowing these assholes to use our laws against us. The law was never meant to protect terrorists and traitors.”
“You still didn’t need to kill Carl.”
“Yeah… I did. I like you, Bacall. Please don’t speak of anything you have done here today, or acknowledge any part of it to anyone.”
“Or you’ll kill me?”