I switched focus when an update on Omar Smith’s financial situation was posted in a JTTF report. Smith was in arrears on a high-interest loan made by private investors in Istanbul three years ago and was being sued in Turkish court. Smith had told me about a loan payment but said nothing about a lawsuit. The loan in arrears was 2.3 million American dollars and it was not news in Istanbul. The lawsuit was filed a year and a half ago. Maybe there had been some form of settlement, and this was the urgent payment he’d needed to make.
Lacey made a late afternoon run for sandwiches. I kept making calls and the feeling grew stronger we were onto something with Mondari. As she returned with the food, Beatty called.
“Hey, Grale, I’m up on Spring Mountain where the road ends at the ski resort.”
“The lookout.”
“Yeah, it’s too gusty today for the drones, and the new flight instructor clocks in tomorrow, so I got out of there for a few hours.”
I looked at my computer screen while I listened. We’d been on Mondari for hours. I could take a break.
“Hang out there for a little while and I’ll come on up and talk.”
I talked to Venuti first. I got the gear for the wire I’d wear today and had to laugh when he suggested testing the equipment during the meeting with Beatty. No way would I do that.
“When you come off Spring Mountain, we’ll get the van rolling toward Smith’s house,” Venuti said. “I agree it’s worth a try.”
I left the highway and started climbing with two agents in a black Suburban a third of a mile back and keeping pace with me. Venuti didn’t want me alone with Beatty. The road went right up and the air got cooler. I killed the air conditioning, lowered a window, and took in the clean cool air. Thousands of feet higher, just beyond the ski resort where the road ends and there’s parking near a trailhead, I spotted Beatty’s pickup with his motorcycle tied down in back. A few minutes later the agents crept into a slot down the slope.
“Tell them in your office, I lost my job,” Beatty said. “Tell them mission accomplished.”
“The Bureau was never targeting you.”
“No, they’re friendlies.” He laughed at that. “This radio dude I used to listen to has me running a sleeper cell for ISIS and Al Qaeda. This is going to chase me the rest of my life; you know it will. Is that black SUV down there with you?”
“It is. Talk to me about the airfield. You said they modify the drones at night. I’ve been thinking about that. Where do they do that work?”
“Sometimes at the airfield, but they’ve also trucked them out to a warehouse. I don’t know where the warehouse is. Ask Strata.”
“We did.”
“And?”
“Almost all modifications are done on-site, and the drones have only left the site once.”
“Not true, G-man. They’ve left twice. I’ve watched them hauled away and brought back in the morning. Strata is out of touch.”
“Where do they go?”
“I don’t know, but it wouldn’t be too far away. You know, Bahn signed off on the pilots without knowing shit about them. What’s that tell you about how Strata operates?”
We lingered a little longer looking down and out over the desert. Standing there he looked thinner and older. He turned to me.
“Julia used to love ice cream. Does she still?”
“She does.”
“I know where to buy the good stuff. I’ll bring her some. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
37
From the first night, it was clear Omar Smith ran two economies, one with cash, the other a more normal business standard. He owned liquor stores, gas stations, various properties in the valley, and had done well with short sales and flipping houses as the real estate market recovered from the recession. He used his buildings as collateral for short-term, high-interest bridge loans, as the money sharks call them. Paying them off depended on cash flow. With the terrorism investigation, a lot of Smith’s cash flow had ground to a halt. Hullabaloo cancellations were over 90 percent, according to Smith’s lawyer. This morning an aspiring local politician proposed a public boycott of everything Smith owned.
I called Venuti as I came down Spring Mountain. “I’m five minutes from 95, then headed to Smith’s house. Are we ready?”
“We’re ready on this end. Are you ready?”
“I’ve got the wire on, everything is working.”
“Why didn’t you test it when you were talking with Beatty?”
“I wanted to talk alone with him.”
“What did he say?”
“Congratulations to the Bureau for getting him fired, and Strata is out of touch with their operations. He’s seen the drones leave the site twice.”
“So he says.”
“Yeah, so he says. All right, Dan, let’s hope this works.”
I knocked on the tall oak door to Smith’s big house in Summerlin. The housekeeper frowned but took my card. Minutes passed and then Smith padded down the long tiled hallway dressed in loose pants, a sport coat, and slippers, looking defeated and withdrawn, yet offered his hand before leading me to the open room with the TV. He gestured at a couch. The housekeeper brought a tea tray and set it down between us.
When she left, Smith poured, looked at me, and said, “I have some serious problems, Agent Grale. Are you here about the money in my safe?”