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SULPHUR, LOUISIANA (Monday, Dec. 10, 2012) — The Lake Charles feint went off without a hitch. Hec set the helicopter down near the hangar, waited long enough so that someone could have hopped out and then took off again.
Mac looked down to see three agents pop out of the terminal door and start walking purposefully toward the hangar. He grinned. Hec glanced back, gave a thumbs up sign.
Twenty minutes later, Hec was landing at headquarters in Sulphur. Troy hopped out and waved them off. Hec lifted, circled around to watch Troy get to the Saturn. Suddenly, Kristy handed her headphones back to Mac. Mac put one earpiece up to his ear.
“What?” he said into the mouthpiece.
“We’ve got a problem,” Hec said, pointing to the ground. Mac crouched between the pilot and Kristy, looking out. Two agents were standing between Troy and the Saturn as Troy exited from the small terminal building. Troy stopped. The two agents walked toward him. One had a gun in his hand, Mac thought.
“Can you put down on the parking lot pavement?” Mac asked, gesturing down with his hands. Hec grinned, circled the lot, and gave a thumbs up.
“There’s room. We going to pick him back up?”
Mac shook his head. “Let me out. Then put back out and wait.”
“Roger.”
Hec really was very good as a pilot, Mac thought with admiration. He put the helicopter down close enough that the men had to brace themselves against the whirling air. Mac got ready to hop out. Hec stopped him with one hand, then reached under his seat. He pulled out a .45 auto, a big imposing, clumsy weapon compared to the 9mm.
“Want it?” Hec asked, offering it up.
Mac grinned, took it, and prepared to drop down to the ground.
Mac dropped, landing in a crouch. Even though the drop was only a few feet, it still jarred. He ignored it, ran for the Saturn, and was hidden behind it when he motioned the helicopter off.
“Drop it,” Mac called out, as soon as the copter had gone far enough for the agents to hear him.
“FBI!” one agent called out confidently. He flashed a badge toward Mac. The other one, the one Mac suspected had a gun drawn, said nothing, and kept his eyes on Troy. Troy stood still, the package still in his hands.
“I don’t give a shit,” Mac said. “Drop the fucking gun. Now.”
The FBI agents hesitated, looking at Mac’s position. Protected by the car with a .45 clearly visible, he had the drop on them. The agent with his gun drawn set it down on pavement.
“Now, you, with the badge,” Mac said. “Take your gun out slowly, put it down on the ground too.”
The agent did as Mac commanded.
“Good. Troy, kick those guns away, and pat them down.”
Troy smiled. He seemed to take great pleasure in patting them down. One holdout weapon. He took it, stepped back, pointed it at them.
Mac stepped around the car. “I believe you two were warned this morning that this is private property and you would need a warrant,” he said calmly, walking up to them. “You got one?”
The men were silent. Mac walked up close to them, took their badges out of their pockets. He took the badges back to the Saturn, opened the car, found paper and pencil in the glovebox, and jotted down the agent’s names and badge numbers.
“What are you going to do with that?” Agent number two, Neil Wood, according to his badge, asked.
Mac ignored the question. “Who were the three agents waiting for us at Lake Charles?”
No one said anything. “Agent Mark Lowell, your turn to answer questions here,” Mac said, looking at the first agent’s badge.
Lowell sighed. “Called the P.D. there. Asked them to send over some detectives to detain anyone getting off the Arco helicopter. Implied we suspected you of drugs.”
“You do like that drug gambit, don’t you?” Mac said. “And then you waited here. Who assigned you?”
When neither answered, he repeated the question. “Agent Wood, who are you reporting to?”
Wood just glowered at him.
“Agent Lowell?” He didn’t respond either.
“Let me explain something to you two,” Mac said softly, his face inches away from Wood’s face. Wood wanted to take a step back, but wouldn’t give in. “Either you answer my questions, or I call FBI headquarters in D.C. and Troy and I start asking questions there. Questions like what do the higher ups think you’re working on? Like what are you doing on Arco property after being warned off? Like do you have a warrant for Troy here that allowed you to detain him and threaten him with a gun? Civil rights violations. Trespassing. Acting without orders. Not even North Dakota will be taking you two when I’m done.”
Lowell sighed. “Steve Addison gave us the directions. We aren’t acting without orders.”
“These orders come through normal channels?”
Neither answered. Mac nodded. “I didn’t think so. Anything on paper? I’ll bet not. You two just became expendable, you know that?”
No response. Mac looked at Troy. “You ever see either of these before this morning?”
Troy looked them over. “I don’t think so.”
“What bureau you two out of?”
“New Orleans,” Lowell said.
Mac nodded, handed their badges back. “Troy, take those three guns of theirs and give them a good toss out in the ditch over there. Wouldn’t hurt if they landed in some water. Then you get in the Saturn and head home to Shreveport, you hear?” Mac kept his gun trained on the two agents.
Troy trotted off to dump the guns in the ditch and then slid into the Saturn. Mac and the two agents watched silently.
“For your information,” he said as he backed toward the terminal, “Steve Addison has gone rogue. Orders from him are on an independent job. If I see you two again, I’ll assume you’ve followed his lead. And I’ll shoot you as quickly as I would any foreign enemy. Clear?”
Mac kept his gun trained on them, until he was at the terminal door. He shoved it in the back belt of his slacks when he entered in the terminal, shrugged his jacket down over it. Several Arco employees were standing there watching.
Mac just nodded at them, walked briskly through the building to the waiting helicopter.
“Let’s go,” he shouted as he swung himself up and into the body of the copter. “We’ve got a flight to catch.”
Hec put the copter down at Port Arthur’s airport and then walked with them into the terminal to make sure their reservations were in order.
“You are a heck of a good pilot,” Mac said, and grinned at him. He held out his hand and Hec shook it.
“It’s been fun,” Hec said with amusement.
Mac laughed, fished out a business card from his wallet. “I owe you, man. If you ever need anything, give me a call.”
Hec looked at the card. “A reporter?” he yelped. “And you tell me it’s not about the platform?”
Mac shook his head. “You all gotta work on the paranoia,” he said. “After a while, I start wondering if there is a story out there.”
Hec opened his mouth. Closed it without saying anything. Pocketed the card. “You all take care,” he said.
Kristy hugged him. He grinned, touched his cap in a sloppy salute and sauntered out to his helicopter.
A thousand miles separated Port Arthur and El Paso. Mac and Kristy had seats together, but neither spoke. Kristy looked like she was napping; Mac hoped she actually was. She worried him, looked too tired. He was content to sit, look out the window and not think.
Mac got them through the airport at El Paso, picked up a rental car and headed to a 3-star hotel by the base. Kristy didn’t say anything until after they checked in and he handed her a key to her room.
“Two rooms?” she asked, looking at the key card. Mac nodded. “I’d just as soon stay in yours,” she said. “I don’t mean... I’m nervous about being alone. I have nightmares... thinking they’re coming for me. I could handle it at the house, knowing you and Troy were just down the hall, but here....” She looked at him anxiously. “Would you mind?”
Mac took her hand, pushed the button for the elevator. “Whatever you want,” he said. “I know about nightmares.”
He opened the door to his... their room, checked it out. He looked at Kristy. “Would you like to nap or eat?”
“What about you?” she said, sitting on the bed. Then she looked stricken. “We have nothing, no clothes, not even toothbrushes.”
Mac sat on the other bed. “I need to go out for a bit,” he said. “If you want to nap while I’m gone, that’s fine, or we can eat first, and then you nap. I’ll pick up things while I’m out. I won’t be gone long. Just need to make a couple of calls, and I don’t want to make them from here.”
Kristy nodded. “Nap,” she decided. “You’ll come back as soon as you can?”
“Yes,” he promised. “Lock the door, don’t answer it, not even for hotel people, or room service. Don’t answer the phone. Put the safety chain on. When I come back, you check through the peephole to make sure it’s me before you take the chain off.”
Kristy nodded. He squeezed her shoulder on his way out. “You’ll be fine,” he said.
It was chilly out when Mac left the hotel. He walked around the building checking out the entrances and exits; did the same for the parking lot. The only suspicious person was himself. He started the rental car, backed it out of its spot, and eased into the flow of traffic. It really wasn’t that late, he thought, although he was damn tired. He needed a public library. And a phone.
A small branch library was three blocks from the Army base. Mac was grateful it was even open. He went in, asked to use a Macintosh for an hour. The librarian took his driver’s license and escorted him to the computer.
Mac pulled out the mysterious disk. The Macintosh accepted it, but when he tried to open the file, it said application not found. He tried using Microsoft Word and Excel. No go. He sighed. Nothing seemed to be easy these days. He logged into his Gmail account, emailed the file as an attachment to himself and to Shorty. He checked through his own mail, sent one to Janet telling her he would check in with the D.C. bureau in a few days. Could she prepare the way for him to have some workspace?
He logged off, pocketed the disk. Thanked the librarian and retrieved his license. “Is there a pay phone around here?” he asked. She pointed to one near the restrooms.
Mac called Shorty first.
“Speak.”
“What kind of a greeting is that?” Mac demanded, laughing.
“Works doesn’t it? How are you doing, man?”
“I’m fine. Look, I’ve mailed you a package, and emailed you a file I want you to take a look at. The file was on a Macintosh disk, but it won’t open. I want to know what’s on it. You’re the best hacker I know.”
“I’m the only hacker you know,” Shorty grumbled. “And if you knew any real hackers you wouldn’t call me one. The package?”
“Data. Look through it. See what you think. It’s from Danny.”
“My line is clean,” Shorty said. “No need to be cryptic.”
“See what you think,” Mac repeated, ignoring his reassurance. There was no such thing as a clean line. An agent with the right equipment could be a block away and listen in. You’d never know. “I’ll check with you later.”
“Fine. Troy called. Said to listen to the evening news tonight. He’s outside Atlanta, said Parker’s just been nominated for Homeland Security Secretary.”
“Shit.” Mac glanced at his watch. “Got to go. I’ll call.”
He hung up, pulled out Stan Warren's card. Getting a bit battered, he thought ruefully as he punched in the numbers for Warren’ cell phone.
“Hello.”
“Agent Warren,” Mac said. “You know who this is?”
“Where are you?” Warren said with urgency. “I thought you were going to stay in touch.”
“And here I am. You’ve still got rogues in your agency, however,” Mac said, he flipped open his notebook. “Agents Lowell and Wood out of New Orleans? They were waiting at the Arco field for me. You know them?”
“No.”
Mac gave him their names and badge numbers. “Said they got their orders from a Steve Addison, out of D.C. Orders didn’t come through channels. You know him?”
“Steve? Yeah. I know him.” Warren hesitated. “You get the packet?”
“Does it matter? I hear Parker’s nomination is public.” Mac looked at his watch, looked outside. “Got to go, Stan. I’ll be in touch.” He hung up the phone, walked quickly outside and got into the car. He needed a mall. A pretty woman was waiting for him.
“Mac! Wait! Shit,” Stan Warren said. It was too late, there was nothing but dial tone in his ear.
He looked over at the other agent in the room. “Did we get a location?”
“El Paso.” The technician shrugged. “That’s all we had time for.”
Warren looked around the small hotel room in Dallas, Texas. “Same state at least,” he said sourly. He dialed a number.
“Howard Parker, please,” he said. “This is Stan Warren.”
The person on the other end put him through without question.
“Stan, how are things going?”
“Damn it, Howard, I thought you were letting me run this!” Warren said angrily. “You got Addison running a sting as well?”
Silence. “What happened?”
“I’m not sure what happened,” Warren said with disgust. “I just know that Davis just checked in, and he knew Addison’s name. He’d run into something. And now he’s running. What is Addison up to?”
Silence. “I’ll check into it.”
“Good,” Warren said. “I hear the nomination has been made. Congratulations.”
“Too soon for congratulations,” Parker said. “It can still go tits up if we don’t control this situation. So much for the buyoff, that got us what four days? And he had a funeral to go to.”
“So do you want to kill him?”
Parker was silent. “Yes.”
“Who are you going to send after him?” Warren asked. “It cost you Kellerman to take out Brown. When you lost Kellerman you lost your former Marines. Pretty high price.”
“Higher than you can imagine,” Parker said. “You think you could take out Davis?”
Stan Warren looked at the technician, whose eyes were wide. The recorder was running. “Anybody can be killed,” he said flatly. “Even you or me. The problem with Davis is that he’s savvy, he’s wary and he’s a goddamn reporter. People will ask questions if he turns up dead. Lots of questions. You haven’t met his boss. She’s a smart woman you do not want on your tail.”
“She can be fired.”
“And Maxim? And Brown’s sister?” Warren shook his head. “Let it go for a while, man, let’s see if Davis can find anything. Then if you want to take him out, we’ll talk. At this stage you just stir up the snakes.”
There was dial tone. Warren closed his eyes. How the hell did I get into this anyway? he thought wearily.
He opened his eyes, looked at the technician. He held out his hand for the thumb drive with the recording on it; the technician quickly gave it to him as if he didn’t want to touch it any longer than he had to. “Go on home,” Warren said. The technician didn’t need to be told twice.
Warren ordered in room service, including a bottle of wine. He had the feeling that getting drunk was going to be highlight of his evening. Getting drunk alone, he amended sourly.
He sighed, stretched. He pulled out his address book, flipped through the pages. Called a couple of people. One in El Paso.
“Long time no see,” the person said at the other end.
“El Paso isn’t exactly on the way to anywhere,” Warren said with a laugh. “Hey, do you remember a Marine, come through Fort Bliss in about 2005? Named Mac Davis?”
“Hell, Stan, you expect me to remember a Marine from 10 years ago? They’re never here very long. What did you say the name was?”
“Mackensie Davis. Mac Davis.”
“Davis. Mac Davis. Oh hell, I do remember that one. He still alive? Always figured he’d piss someone off and they’d put a hole in him out of sheer exasperation.”
Warren snorted. “That’s the one. He’s in El Paso. Will be asking questions. I figure you’ll hear about them.”
“Yeah, so? You want me to shut him out? Or help him?”
“Treat it like routine,” Warren said. “I just want to know what he’s asking.”
“That I can do,” the man said. “No problem. You going to come out this way?”
Warren hesitated. “I’m not sure yet.”
“Be good to see you. Paint the town red.”
Warren looked at the wine bottle waiting for him. “Maybe,” he sighed. “I’ll let you know.”
The second call was to D.C.
“Warren, here,” he said. “Got some names for you. Steve Addison, Mark Lowell, Neil Wood. Check them out will you?”
“Got it. You hear the news? They announced Parker’s nomination for Homeland Security Secretary.”
“Yeah, I heard.”
Warren hung up the phone, popped the cork on the wine, poured a glass. Couldn’t be an alcoholic on wine could you? he thought. Right. That’s why they call them winos. He sipped the wine slowly and sighed. “Getting too old for this,” he said out loud. “Too damn old.”