The DDO’s secretary announced them and Bambridge told her to send them in. He was an officious little man, with narrow shoulders and a nearly permanent look of surprise on his dark face. Backroom gossip was that despite his name, he behaved more like a Sicilian and therefore was probably connected with the Mob. His temper was legendary, but he was a good organizer, though almost always by the book.
He rose from his desk as they came in. “I’m sorry that your colonel’s courtesy call came too late; otherwise we might have been able to help out.”
“The captain was on a surveillance mission,” Pete said. “The assassination of a former SEAL came as a surprise.”
“I should have known better,” Wolf said.
“Yes,” Bambridge said, and they all sat down. “What brings you up here at this hour? I was getting set to finally go home.”
For as long as she could remember Pete had wanted to slap the officious bastard in the mouth. And a couple of years ago she’d said as much to McGarvey, who’d laughed.
“No one would blame you, but the man does a nice job pushing papers. Stay on his good side and you’ll get promoted. One of these days he’ll be gone.”
“Walt loves him, and he’s got a couple of intelligence oversight committee members on his side. Maybe he’ll end up as DDCI, or even DCI, God forbid.” Walter Page was the director of central intelligence.
“Won’t happen,” Mac had assured her.
That was last year, but now she wasn’t so sure. Rumor was that Page was considering him for the deputy directorship, which was only a heartbeat from the DCI’s chair, at least on a temporary basis.
“Otto has come up with a couple of interesting connections,” she said.
“No doubt interesting,” Bambridge said. He’d had a troubled relationship with McGarvey over the last few years. Otto and Mac were longtime friends, and therefore in Bambridge’s mind, Otto was also a wild card.
“The guy Captain Weisse was following shot and killed a former SEAL Team Six operator who was on the operation to take out bin Laden,” Otto said. “He’d written a memoir of his time in the navy and was bringing it to the UDT/SEAL museum.”
“How do we know that?”
“The police found it inside the museum,” Wolf said.
“Any of it in the media? Was he hyping for a book contract or something?”
“Not that we know of,” Otto said. “But the fact that the shooter knew that Barnes would be there at that exact time means the group that hired him has some damned good intel contacts here in the States.”
“Who, for instance?”
“I don’t know that part yet, but my guess would be somewhere within the Pentagon, or perhaps inside JSOC at Fort Bragg or down in Virginia. I’m digging into Barnes’s phone and travel records to see if he still has some buddies up there. Maybe someone with a grudge or someone in financial trouble.”
Bambridge turned back to Wolf. “Who did he work for?”
“A group calling itself the Black October Revolution, specializing, we think, in the assassinations of high-profile targets for some fairly serious money. It’s run by a woman who was actually married to an American naval officer.”
“Ended in divorce,” Otto said.
“The SEAL in Fort Pierce was hardly a high-profile target,” Bambridge said. “So why is it I have a funny feeling that you’re going to tell me this woman’s ex is or was a SEAL himself and this assassination was just for revenge.”
“He’s a captain now in JSOC—DEVGRU, Virginia Beach.”
“And the connection is what?”
“Not really a connection, not yet,” Otto said. “Let’s call it a coincidence, like having a photograph coming out of ISI headquarters in Islamabad a few years go—just after the bin Laden raid.”
Bambridge’s eyes narrowed, and he held up a hand. “This stops right now. Unless Captain Weisse has been buried underground in one of the old bunkers in Berlin, he, like you, should be perfectly aware that Pakistan is our chief ally fighting the Taliban and al-Qaeda. Without them we’d be dead in the water, wide open for another nine-eleven.”
“Come on, Marty, Pakistan is no ally,” Pete said, her anger coming to the surface as she’d known it would even before she’d stepped into his office. But he was the DDO and he needed to know what was going on, even though he was an asshole. “Anyway most of those people were Saudis. Pakistan is helping us because they need our military aid, without which India would steamroller them.”
“That’s a good bit of analysis for an interrogator from housekeeping.”
“I have photographs of three ISI officers who were seen entering the ISI building at the same time she was inside,” Otto said.
“A lot of people work there. What’s your point? Another coincidence?”
“All three of those officers were very vocal at that time in their anger over the bin Laden raid right under their noses.”
“So were a lot of them,” Bambridge said. “So what?”
“The day after the woman was seen leaving, their complaints stopped,” Otto said. “Another coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”
“Coincidences do happen,” Bambridge said, and Pete started to object, but he held her off. “Any supposed link to the ISI or to any person in specific—any Pakistani—is a nonissue as of this moment. And that is a standing order from the top. In the meantime, several murders were committed on U.S. soil, two of which Captain Weisse has himself admitted to. The local police have already requested help from the FBI, and a team has been in place since late this afternoon.”
“I imagine they will want to interview me,” Weisse said.
“You have been ordered home. Your embassy has made the arrangements.”
“There’ll at least be a coroner’s inquest,” Pete said. “And Captain Weisse has told me that he is willing to share his file on the Schlueter woman.”
“The Black October Revolution and its aims are of no concern to this agency at this time.”
“For Christ’s sake, Marty, one of their people killed several U.S. citizens, including a decorated war hero—and we’re not interested?”
“Naval intelligence has been notified, and they are on the case as well, though it’s my understanding that Barnes was no longer on active duty. Captain Weisse will be deposed at home, and that comes directly from his Colonel Mueller.”
Pete suddenly realized that Bambridge was frightened. She almost called him out but thought better of it. Someone above him, either the DCI himself or Robert Bensen, the deputy director, had given the order to back off, and Marty was a team player to the end. He followed orders even if they stank.
“Okay, Marty, you want us to drop it, we will.”
Otto was clearly surprised.
“The situation is being handled,” Bambridge. “Is there anything else that I need to know at this time?”
“No,” Pete said, and they all got up.
Bambridge shook hands with Weisse. “Give my regards to your colonel. I’m sorry for your agency’s sake that things didn’t work out as you might have hoped they would.”
“Thank you, sir,” Wolf said.
* * *
“What the hell was that all about?” Otto asked in the elevator on the way down to his office. “The silly bastard was lying out his ass.”
“You’re damned right he was,” Pete said. “Someone got to him, someone high enough up the food chain to scare him witless.”
“Someone from across the river? The White House?”
“Or the Pentagon. Someone on the SecDef’s staff.”
“Should I be hearing any of this?” Wolf said. “I’ll have to report it to my boss.”
“You might as well, because we’re not done with you and your investigation of the Schlueter woman and her group.”
“Isn’t the man we just talked with your boss?”
“Yup, but Otto’s going to let his computer programs loose while I go talk to an old friend, who’ll probably contact you at some point.”
“Off the grid?”
Pete and Otto laughed. “Definitely off the grid.”
“Who’s the old friend?”
“Kirk McGarvey. Can you delay going back? I think he’s going to want to talk to you?”
“Twenty-four hours?”
“Plenty of time.”
“I’ll give you my encrypted cell phone number.”
“I already have it,” Otto said.