Titus Ray Thriller Box Set, page 63
part #1 of Titus Ray Series
He stared at me for a second. “Look, Titus. I don’t need another lecture from you about getting involved with the players.” He gestured toward the study. “As you can plainly see, I’m not in there beating Felipe to a bloody pulp, am I?”
There were times when Mitchell let his emotions get the best of him. It was something I’d occasionally seen on our run into Caracas for Operation Clear Signal.
“I guess that proves you’ve learned your lesson after Clear Signal,” I said.
“So now you’re bringing up Clear Signal? What happened to your promise never to mention it again?”
“I don’t believe I ever made that promise.”
* * * *
Operation Clear Signal had come to an unsatisfactory conclusion in a safe house in Caracas the moment Ahmed Al-Amin, the Hezbollah assassin, had been killed.
I hadn’t been the man behind the trigger, nor had Mitchell, but with the possible exception of Carlton, no one at the Agency knew that.
Officially, I was listed as Ahmed’s executioner in the files stored in the Agency’s archives.
However, the person who had sent Ahmed Al-Amin off to his hellish fate had been Roberto Montilla, a high-ranking official in the Venezuelan government.
Roberto Montilla hadn’t shot the assassin in self-defense, nor had he killed Ahmed because the man had murdered hundreds of people on behalf of the Iranian government.
Instead, Roberto had secretly entered the safe house—where I’d been preparing to interrogate Ahmed—and shot the Jihadi terrorist multiple times in the chest because Ahmed had killed his only son, Ernesto.
Roberto had learned the details of Ernesto’s death after the Agency had made arrangements for Mitchell and me to interrogate him away from his family. Once we’d told Roberto what we knew of Ernesto’s murder, he’d been more than willing to tell us why he thought Hezbollah had hired Ahmed Al-Amin to come after him.
He’d confirmed what Carlton and I had suspected all along—Hezbollah had wanted Roberto Montilla dead because of what he knew.
Roberto had told us he’d been working with Hezbollah to facilitate the construction of a couple of warehouses for a Syrian export business in Venezuela. He said he’d changed his mind after realizing the two warehouses weren’t being built to store baubles and beads.
Instead, he’d discovered the storage facilities would be used to house canisters of sarin gas. Such canisters had once been part of Syria’s stockpile of chemical weapons, but instead of being destroyed, they’d been turned over to Hezbollah in direct violation of the agreement Syria had made with the U.S. to get rid of its chemical weapons.
As disturbing as that was, Roberto also said Hezbollah was making plans to use the sarin gas on American cities.
Although the details had been sketchy, Roberto’s disclosure had caused quite a stir back in the Ops Center. In fact, Roberto’s admission had almost caused my field officer, Olivia McConnell, to take her eyes off the goal of Operation Clear Signal; namely, the capture of Ahmed Al-Amin.
Because Roberto had told us the weapons were being stored aboard ships and weren’t due to arrive in Venezuela until much later, I hadn’t been as concerned about Hezbollah’s plans to use the chemical weapons as I had been about my own plans to lure Ahmed to a place where I could grab him without alerting the Venezuelan authorities.
Those plans had finally come to fruition when Roberto had called Ahmed and invited him to a meeting. Once that phone call had ended, Olivia had given Mitchell the responsibility of getting Roberto out of the house, while I stayed behind to make the acquaintance of Ahmed.
Operation Clear Signal had gone south the moment Mitchell and Roberto had walked out of the safe house.
According to Mitchell, as soon as he and Roberto had driven away from the safe house, Roberto had asked him to make a stop along the way. When that occurred, Roberto had knocked him out, stolen the car, along with his gun, and returned to the safe house, where he’d placed several bullet holes in the torso of Ahmed Al-Amin.
The only part of Mitchell’s story I could verify was the part about Ahmed being killed by Roberto.
I’d been there; I’d seen it happen.
As to the rest, it could have happened that way.
But, I had my doubts.
Despite my misgivings, I’d taken the blame—or the glory—for killing Ahmed.
I did this because I’d already made an agreement with Roberto to help him relocate his family to Argentina in exchange for his help in capturing Ahmed.
If I hadn’t admitted to killing Ahmed, the DDO wouldn’t have allowed Roberto to leave Venezuela, and I knew I couldn’t let that happen, because I knew Hezbollah would come after him again.
Admittedly, Roberto’s safety hadn’t been the only reason I’d put my name down as Ahmed’s killer.
I’d also falsified the record because I knew Olivia McConnell.
I knew she wasn’t a very nice person, and I knew she would use her position at the Agency to have Mitchell demoted to an analyst for the rest of his career because of his failure to stop Roberto from killing Ahmed.
Moments after Roberto had killed Ahmed, the CIA’s chief of station in Venezuela, Sam Wylie, had shown up, and the two of us, along with Mitchell, had conspired together to adopt the story we’d eventually told Olivia and our handlers back at the Ops Center.
The short version—the one everybody totally bought—was that I had shot Ahmed when he’d gone for his gun and neither Mitchell nor Roberto had been present at the time.
Later, I became convinced Mitchell had lied to me about what had actually happened after he and Roberto had left the safe house that morning.
Whether he’d deliberately helped Roberto get back to the safe house in order to shoot Ahmed, I wasn’t sure.
What I did know was that Mitchell’s emotions had gotten the best of him, and I was pretty sure Roberto had exploited Mitchell’s emotions to carry out his revenge on Ahmed.
Now, as I sat on the patio and considered Mitchell’s attitude toward Felipe Arcos, I wondered if his present feelings weren’t further proof he’d been complicit in helping Roberto Montilla carry out his own form of justice on Ahmed Al-Amin.
However, knowing what might be at stake in the days ahead, I decided I couldn’t let that happen to Felipe.
* * * *
When Mitchell didn’t respond to my statement, I had to assume he was trying to remember whether or not I’d actually promised him I wouldn’t bring up Clear Signal again.
For my part, I was betting it was only a case of wishful thinking on his part.
“Yeah, okay,” he finally said. “Maybe you never made me that promise.”
“Look, Ben, we have to talk about Clear Signal because I believe what went down at the Navy Yard today is connected to what Roberto told us back at the safe house in Caracas.”
“How could they be connected?”
“Think about what Roberto told us. He said Hezbollah was recruiting students like Ernesto Montilla, and then paying their educational expenses so they could attend college here in the States. In effect, he said Hezbollah was building a network of terrorists on college campuses. Do you remember that?”
“Of course I remember. He said they plan to use those recruits to bring the chemical weapons into the U.S.”
“Exactly.”
I waited a second to see if he might put it all together himself.
Instead he asked, “How does their agenda relate to the shooters at the Navy Yard?”
I gave him another hint. “Douglas said Reyes Valario, the dead guy, was here on a student visa, and Felipe told me both of them were enrolled at the University of Arkansas.”
Mitchell sat back in his chair. “Are you kidding me? That’s all you’ve got? You kidnapped Felipe out from under the feds’ noses and risked our careers because both the shooters happened to be college students from Latin America?”
“No, that’s not all. As usual, you’ve jumped to a conclusion without having all the facts.”
“Is that right? Well, my father told me the exact same thing just a few hours ago. And I might as well tell you, when the Senator presented me with the facts, I still came to the same conclusion.”
I remembered Carlton had told me Mitchell had been in D.C. when the shooting occurred at the Navy Yard. If he’d been spending time with the Senator, then I certainly understood why he might want to take out his frustrations on Felipe.
“Were you enjoying some quality time with your father?”
He gave a short laugh. “Enjoyment is not a word I’d use to describe the breakfast my father and I had together this morning.”
“Did the Senator give you a hard time?”
He nodded. “Somehow, he’d heard the DDO had offered me a position as an analyst, and I’d turned it down so I could remain in Operations. Naturally, he still tried to convince me to reconsider.”
“I’m guessing he didn’t convince you.”
He shook his head. “No, and before I left his office, I made sure he knew I was on my way over to Langley to be briefed on a new assignment. It was gratifying to see how much that information galled him.”
“What’s the new assignment?”
“I never made it back to Langley to find out. Salazar called me a few minutes after I left the Senator’s office and told me to get over to the Command Center and hook up with Homeland Security.”
“Did Cartel Carlos give you any hints about your new assignment?”
“No, but ...” A look of understanding suddenly appeared on his face. “Does my new assignment have anything to do with why you’re back at Langley?”
“It does.”
“Did the DDO reinstate you?”
“He did.”
“Did Carlton give you some new intel about Clear Signal?”
“He did.”
“Does this new intel have anything to do with students running around Washington shooting people?”
“It does.”
Chapter 5
Douglas Carlton had called to tell me about the new intel less than a week after my arrival back in Norman. His phone call had interrupted an intimate dinner with a very beautiful woman.
“I’m calling about The Caracas Document.”
That had been it.
No greeting.
No “how are you?”
Nothing.
I didn’t have a clue as to what The Caracas Document was, but I wasn’t about to let him know that. Had I been alone, I might have tried harder to make a connection, but, when he’d called, I had been preoccupied by the sight of Detective Nikki Saxon sitting across from me.
When I finally realized he was calling about Agency business, I quickly excused myself from the table and walked out on the patio.
“What about The Caracas Document?” I asked.
“I found it very troubling, that’s what. Didn’t it disturb you when you read it?”
“Yes. Yes, it did.”
Just then, Stormy, my yellow lab, came over and dropped an orange tennis ball at my feet, and I picked it up and threw it out towards the lake located on my property. Afterward, I sat down in one of the Adirondack chairs on the patio and tried to concentrate on what Carlton was talking about.
He said, “I’m not as concerned about Roberto Montilla’s statements not matching up with the document, as I am by what he’s saying in the document itself.”
Finally, I realized The Caracas Document he was referencing must have been the name the Agency analysts had given to the statement Roberto had typed out for me at the safe house in Caracas.
Even though my interrogation of Roberto had been recorded, I’d given him a laptop and asked him to type out everything his Hezbollah contact, Rehman Zaidi, had told him.
Zaidi, who was a member of Hezbollah’s inner circle, had told him a lot.
He’d bragged about his relationship with the Iranian regime, and he’d claimed to know all about their plans to attack the U.S. with the chemical weapons Hezbollah had acquired.
When I’d given Roberto the laptop, he hadn’t put up much of a protest, and the last night at the safe house, he’d even stayed up late editing his document.
The next morning, he’d mentioned he’d added a few more details to his account, but since I’d been preparing for Ahmed’s visit, I hadn’t bothered reading a word of what he’d written the night before.
In the rush of wrapping up the operation, I’d given the laptop to Wylie, who’d promised to send the encrypted file to the Ops Center for analysis.
Evidently, according to Carlton’s statement, once the analysts had transcribed the tapes of Roberto’s interrogation and compared them with what he’d said in the written document, they’d discovered some discrepancies.
I decided it was time to confess I hadn’t actually read The Caracas Document.
“Full disclosure, Douglas. I never did get around to reading Roberto’s written record.”
“You didn’t read it?”
He sighed. It was a deep breathy sigh, and I felt certain he’d wanted me to hear it.
“I admit that surprises me, Titus. You’ve always been so insistent on knowing the minutiae of an operation.”
“Events got a little crazy at the safe house towards the end.”
“Oh, you mean when Ahmed was killed?”
“Yeah, that.”
“Then maybe your failure to read the document is understandable. Sometimes things get overlooked when situations go sideways during an operation. Of course, there was also that equipment failure when the Ops Center didn’t get an audio recording of what went down when Ahmed got shot.”
“That was regrettable.”
“It was.”
“I appreciate your understanding, Douglas.”
“I do understand, Titus. Make no mistake about that.”
At that moment, I knew Carlton wasn’t just talking about my failure to read The Caracas Document. Somehow, he’d figured out I hadn’t been the one to pull the trigger in the Ahmed shooting.
He knew I’d lied to him about the operation.
Stormy arrived back on the patio clutching the orange tennis ball in his mouth. He was soaking wet, and he gave me an accusatory look, as if he knew I’d deliberately thrown the ball in the lake.
Now, I regretted my actions and wondered how I could make it up to him.
I felt inside my pocket and pulled out a treat.
Once Stormy saw it, he quickly forgave me.
I doubted Carlton would do the same, with or without a treat.
* * * *
Mitchell listened carefully as I told him about the new intel I’d received from Carlton, but every once in awhile, I saw him glance over at the French doors just to make sure Felipe hadn’t managed to free himself from his restraints.
Although I told Mitchell about The Caracas Document, I didn’t mention I was having dinner with Nikki Saxon the night Carlton had called me. No one at the Agency knew about Nikki, and I planned to keep it that way as long as possible.
After summarizing the discrepancies the analysts had uncovered in The Caracas Document, I said, “When Roberto told us Hezbollah was embedding Muslim extremists in cities across the United States, Roberto failed to say why they were doing this.”
Mitchell shook his head. “I disagree. I distinctly remember Roberto saying the recruits had been trained in chemical weapons at that phony youth camp on Margarita Island, and Hezbollah was planning to use them to smuggle the canisters across the border and into the United States.”
I nodded. “That’s what he told us verbally, but then he added more details to that statement in the document itself. He said some of those recruits would be used to perform other tasks before the chemical weapons were used on the population.”
“What did he mean by that?”
“He said a few of them would be asked to make dummy runs as passengers on airlines, while others would be told to probe security reactions when a city’s power grid went down or when a bunch of people were killed in a movie theater. And then, in order to test law enforcement’s potential reaction to the event itself, some would be asked to make the ultimate sacrifice before a major operation.”
Mitchell thought about what I’d said. “You mean they’d be asked to give their lives in order to carry out a dress rehearsal?”
“That’s what Roberto wrote in the document.”
Mitchell glanced over at Carlton’s study again.
“Is that what you think Felipe and his friend were doing at the Navy Yard this morning? They were there to martyr themselves at Hezbollah’s request?”
“That’s what I think.”
He shook his head. “I can’t believe—”
“Wait a minute, Ben. Before you disagree with me, hear me out. The other big discrepancy found in The Caracas Document was what Roberto told us about Hezbollah using chemical weapons on several key cities in the U.S. In the document, Roberto said they weren’t targeting several cities. He said they had their sights on just one city. That city was Washington, D.C.”
Mitchell thought about what I’d said for a moment, and then he slowly nodded his head. “Okay. I get it now. When you heard about the shooting at the Navy Yard this morning, you thought the two shooters were part of some advance team being used to gauge how law enforcement would react to a terrorist event around the Beltway.”
I nodded. “You saw the massive response to the shooting incident this morning. There were hundreds of officers from Naval Security, the Metro Police, Capitol Police, FBI; not to mention all their SWAT teams, plus the helicopters and tactical teams on the rooftops. Didn’t you notice how all of them were concentrated within a six-square-block perimeter?”
He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. Are you saying it was overkill?”
“I’m saying anyone watching the news feed this morning was given a lesson on what might happen if a couple of shooters showed up anywhere in the D.C. area.”
Mitchell rubbed his forehead as if he had a massive headache. “You’re right. The response teams this morning would have been sitting ducks if someone had decided to introduce sarin gas into that scene.”
