Black Flagged Redux

Chapter 14





10:55 AM

FBI Headquarters Building

Washington, D.C.

"Please close the door," Special Agent Sharpe said.

Agent O'Reilly closed the door and joined Agent Hesterman next to Sharpe's desk.

Sharpe turned his flat-screen computer monitor to face them and started to type on his keyboard. "This will be a quick meeting. We have work to do," Sharpe said, edging his office chair toward the end of the desk so he could see if his keyboard commands worked.

A color photograph of two figures filled the screen. The image was crisp, taken from a high angle, and completely captured the faces of both men.

"This satellite image was passed to me by the director himself. Anyone care to guess who's in the picture?"

The man on the left wore dark brown cargo pants and an olive green sweater with a zippered collar. His tightly cut silver hair contrasted the earth tones of his outfit and tanned face. The man had broad shoulders and a clearly athletic, muscular frame. The figure standing to his right was dressed in light blue jeans and a gray collared shirt underneath a worn, dark brown leather bomber jacket. His brown hair was cut short, but didn't resemble a military style haircut. It looked poorly trimmed, with too much of a fade on the side exposed to the camera. To Sharpe, the man looked like he had stepped off the streets of Moscow.

"Are you serious, sir? We hit the mother lode," Hesterman said.

"Classified sources have provided this photo, based on your excellent work. I know this hasn't been the most popular sideshow here in Domestic Terror, but it paid off big time. You're looking at…"

Sharpe switched images to show the gray-haired man.

"Terrence Sanderson and Richard Farrington. Two very big fish in this investigation. We've been tasked to jump start a focused financial investigation of the activities related to the building and funding of the sites you identified," he said, and the screen changed to a wider angle showing the entire river valley.

"I assume you don't want anyone else working on this?" O'Reilly said.

"The director doesn't want anyone else working on this. He wants minimum exposure to this information within our branch. He's specifically worried that our friends in Langley might catch wind of this, and so am I. If a connection exists between the CIA and Sanderson, one wrong word could turn this site into a fly fishing lodge overnight. And you can be guaranteed that Sanderson won't be the activities director."

"What will Director Shelby do with the information?" O'Reilly said.

"That's the big question. Shelby isn't the forgiving type, and Sanderson's stunt was a major setback for the FBI. Not to mention a massive embarrassment. The director wouldn't tell me directly, but I'd be willing to bet that he takes this all the way to the top, where he'll have plenty of support for action against Sanderson."

"A Direct Action mission?" Hesterman said.

Sharpe shrugged his shoulders. In all reality, he had no idea, but it wouldn't surprise him if Shelby and a few of his cronies could convince the right people that Sanderson posed enough of a future threat to America's security to warrant foreign interdiction.

"Even if they did, we might never find out. I asked the director if he could keep us in the loop, and he told me to focus on the financials. He'd like to build a solid case against Ernesto Galenden, which I suspect will serve two purposes. The first being a legitimate way to spur the Argentine government into action against the compound. And the second? Well, if we could prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that Galenden funded and operated a terrorist compound right under the Argentine government's nose, then a direct action mission might be easier for everyone to stomach. Let's start piecing this together like an evidentiary investigation. Understood?"

"Where do we work on this?" Hesterman said.

"That's the good news. We've been upgraded to a recently vacated executive suite upstairs. It'll be tight for the three of us, but I hear it comes with a comfortable leather chair."

"Your old office?" O'Reilly said.

Sharpe nodded.

"I'll head up there and make sure they configure the workstations correctly. Do you need to move anything in here?" she said.

"No. The office upstairs is temporary. The director wanted to get us out of here while we worked on Sanderson. Keith Ward wasn't exactly pleased about this arrangement. He hates being cut out of the loop, and technically we still work for him, so watch what you say. Shelby can exert a lot of influence, but he won't stand a twenty-four hour vigil. Let's get this moving."