“Connections are part of what I do, part of why you pay me. There are starting to be too many suspicious connections.
“I need to be able to look at this Angela Constantine in person to tell for sure if she is able to see killers for who they are. I will recognize it in her eyes if she has the ability. But I also need to go there for bigger reasons.”
“Like what?” Dvora asked.
“We captured that supposedly Mexican suicide bomber because he failed to complete his mission. He only spoke Spanish, and at some point he came in contact with plutonium. Had he completed his mission we wouldn’t know either of those two things that don’t make any sense. Had he detonated that suicide vest, we would have assumed he was just another terrorist.
“He was being used as a diversion so that an assassin—Cassiel—could kill Uziel. The thing that disturbs me the most about this man pretending to be Mexican is that he had plutonium-239 stuck in his boot. That links Cassiel to nuclear material. Now, Cassiel just happens to be right there at the scene of a massive terrorist attack at Oeste Mesa. He is on his way into the US. That can’t be a coincidence.”
“What does the Mexican connection have to do with anything?” Ehud asked.
“Muslims in America might be noticed. They stand out. Mexicans, though, are largely invisible in America.”
“That’s true …”
“I think there might be something bigger behind the terrorist attack in the US, and it involves plutonium-239—nuclear material that can be used for a bomb.” Jack stood. “I presume you’re going to brief American intelligence agencies on what we’ve learned? An attempted suicide bomber posing as a Mexican who had plutonium-239 on his shoes and the rest of it?”
Ehud pinched his bottom lip as he thought about it. “I will talk to people higher up, but no, I don’t think we would wish to do that.”
Jack was surprised. “Why not?”
“Because the American intelligence agencies would leak all of this to the press like juicy gossip. That would send people to ground and make it all the more difficult to find out what’s really going on.”
“Leaks are an unfortunate fact of life these days,” Jack admitted with a sigh.
“It’s been getting worse. American intelligence agencies have gradually become more dedicated to a political agenda than a security agenda. They increasingly view spying on Americans citizens and politicians—including members of Congress and the Senate—as their mandate and a legitimate objective.”
“Legitimate objective? Where did they get that idea?”
“Political operatives have increasingly swelled the ranks of the agencies. Their attitudes and agendas have gradually infected the intel community. Leaking top secret information is a tool and a weapon they use with increasing frequency.
“It helps the Deep State grow in power all the time. Just look at this latest leak about the Russians being responsible for the cyber attack. Congress is calling for heavy sanctions and some even want a declaration of war because of that leak—and the information is almost certainly wrong. That leak was crafted to further a political agenda, increase the budgets of the agencies, and thus increase their power. It has nothing to do with protecting America against terrorism.
“It is becoming more and more dangerous for us to share certain information with agencies that increasingly view Israel as an enemy. These days many in the US intel community would not be upset if Israel were to be wiped off the map. They actually think that would solve the problem of terrorism.”
“Do you really believe the situation with American intelligence is getting that bad?”
Ehud arched an eyebrow. “Why are you no longer working with them to find people who can recognize killers—the way you now do for us? Because it is politically incorrect, that’s why,” Ehud said, answering his own question. “They care more about being politically correct than protecting lives.”
“In that case,” Jack finally said, “I think I better get to the US in a hurry and see if I can fit some of these pieces together.” Jack pointed up at the big monitor showing Angela Constantine’s face. “And she is one of those pieces of the puzzle. I don’t know where she fits in, but I think she does.”
Ehud frowned suspiciously. “I thought you wanted to take a break from this never-ending war.”
Jack gave him a look. “The war seems to want me back.”
Ehud nodded. “We will send you on a diplomatic jet.”
Jack clapped the man on the shoulder. “Thanks, Ehud. I better go pack a bag. I’ll stay in touch.”
He gestured down at Dvora. “Stay by your phone.”
“Always. And Jack, please come back in one piece this time?”
THIRTY-NINE
As she turned down the long hill out of Milford Falls, Angela spotted the police cars in the distance at Barry’s Place. Seeing police cars at the bar was not entirely out of the ordinary. Guys would frequently get belligerent, typically over a woman, and cause trouble.
It could be anything—a word, a look, or the wrong gesture. Sometimes women helped instigate it. Some women got off on men being jealous over them. With some booze, men’s inhibitions tended to evaporate and they would decide to settle scores.
If it looked like it was going to come to blows, and especially if it did, Barry would push such fights outside into the parking lot. If he thought it was serious enough, he would call the police. Angela wondered what sort of jealous nonsense it was this time.
As she got closer, Angela spotted an ambulance backed up to the door at the rear of the building. Because the ambulance was at the back door, she became more alarmed, worrying that maybe Barry had been hurt in a robbery. As hard as he worked all the time, it could even be that he had a heart attack or something.
There was a small crowd standing around in addition to at least a half dozen police. Some of the police, their pads and pens out, were questioning people in the crowd. A second ring of people stood farther back, out of the way of the police. They appeared to be curious onlookers. It was now obvious to her that whatever it was, it was serious.
Angela rolled quietly into the parking lot and parked away from the crowd and the police. She recognized some of the gathered people as locals who frequented the bar.
As she sat in her truck watching the police talking to several women who worked in the bar, the ambulance pulled away, its emergency lights strobing the scene. It turned on its siren as it pulled out of the parking lot and headed up the hill toward the hospital.
As the ambulance went up the hill, a white crime-scene van pulled into the parking lot and parked by the rear of the building. Several people with equipment emerged and went inside.
Angela needed to find out what was going on, so she carefully pulled out her gun, then the suppressor, and hid them under the floor mat where it went under the seat. She hated having to do it, but she also pulled her knife out of the sheath in her boot and slid that under the passenger floor mat.
All she needed was to have an overzealous cop—like that bitch from the hospital, Officer Denton—spot the weapons and arrest her. Getting caught carrying a concealed weapon was trouble enough, but having a suppressor in her possession would be much bigger trouble. That prick John Babington would love to prosecute her for that.
Angela spotted Tiffany, one of the girls who served drinks, all by herself some distance back from the crowd watching the police. She was in high heels with ankle straps and a skirt so short it barely covered the bottoms of her ass cheeks. Her heels and knees were pressed together as she hugged her bare midriff. Most of her hair was piled up on top, with some strands hanging down strategically, along with lots of stray wisps going everywhere. Tiffany always said that it gave her that just-fucked look that guys liked, which made her better tips.
When Angela quietly approached her, Tiffany turned to see who it was. It wasn’t cold out, but she was shivering as she cried. Tears dragged long streaks of black mascara down her face.