A Touch of Greed (8 page)

“Him,” she said, pointing her scissors.

Secretary of State Samuel Fisk finessed a greasy green olive into his mouth and chewed.

Merrick laughed. “Have we become that predictable, Georgia?”

The beautician grinned. “Yup.”

Fisk sat in the vacant chair next to Merrick and offered him an olive.

“No, thanks,” Merrick said. “You know, Sam, just because the food here is free, doesn’t mean you have to eat all of it.”

Fisk ignored the comment and popped another olive in his mouth.

“How’d the meeting go?” Merrick asked, as he was swiveled away from Fisk so Georgia could trim his right side.

“I’ve had better times,” Fisk said.

“How are Louis and Ken getting along?”

“They’ve hit an all-time low.”

Georgia backed away from the President and said, “Do I need to leave for a minute while you two talk?”

Merrick looked at Fisk with a raised eyebrow.

“Sure,” Fisk said. “Just for a couple of minutes, if you don’t mind.”

Georgia placed her scissors on the counter. “I’ll be outside with the boys,” she said pointing to the hallway where two Secret Service agents stood guard. She shut the door behind her and Merrick swiveled around to face the Secretary of State.

“How come you never call me Mr. President?”

Fisk looked appalled. “I call you that all the time.”

“Yeah, at fundraisers or special ceremonies, but never when we’re alone.”

Fisk seemed to examine the integrity of Merrick’s questioning. He finally came to a conclusion, then shook his head. “Fuck you.”

“That’s better,” Merrick grinned. “I thought for a moment you’d forgotten why I cajoled you into this position in the first place. I don’t need yes men, Sam.”

Fisk shrugged.

“Well?” Merrick asked. “What about your War Room meeting?”

Fisk chomped on the last olive, then crumpled up the napkin and tossed it in the trash can under Georgia’s counter. “An offspring of Hamas is trying to get a dirty bomb across the Arizona border.”

“Who?”

“The United Palestinian Force. UPF.”

Merrick pulled his hands out from under his protective cape. “How close are they?”

“Close,” Fisk said. “The committee is still dubious about the potency of the bomb, however.”

“Which means?”

“They feel it’s lacking a main component to achieve full detonation.”

“So, what do we do?”

“Nothing.”

Merrick squinted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means just what it sounds like.”

Merrick jumped up from the chair and tossed the cape onto his vacant seat. “I’ll announce a press conference,” Merrick said, rubbing his hands together and taking random steps around the small room. “I’ll denounce this new terrorist organization and put them on everyone’s radar.”

“No,” Fisk said. “It’s what they want. They understand how Al Qaeda became a household name after 9-11 and they want that kind of global attention. Attention brings in new recruits and draws more funds.”

“So we ignore them?” Merrick said in a huff. “Then what happens when the bomb explodes and we haven’t been ahead of the incident, warning our people?”

Fisk stood and wiped his hands on a small white towel hanging from a hook on the wall. He went over to the President and gripped his shoulders. “Listen to me,” he said. “I know these guys. They’re publicity whores. They’re like a five-year-old screaming in a grocery store. Let them scream. We’ve got the right people in place. Let them do their job.” He let go of Merrick and remained in front of him while the President folded his arms and looked up at the bigger man.

“Who’s down there?” Merrick asked.

“Nick Bracco.”

Merrick winced. “Hasn’t that guy done enough? Does the entire country’s safety fall on the shoulders of one man?”

“It does seem that way, doesn’t it?” Fisk looked down for a moment. “Also . . . Matt McColm’s girlfriend, Jennifer Steele . . . she was killed by one of Antonio Garza’s crew.”

Merrick stood still and shook his head. “Shit,” he murmured.

“Walt’s in Arizona this morning for the funeral,” Fisk said.

Merrick put it together in his mind. “So Garza’s the one transporting the bomb?”

“Yes.”

Merrick nodded. “And Nick is going after him for killing three FBI agents.”

“That’s another motivating factor, yes.” Fisk walked around Merrick with his hands behind his back. “There’s one other thing. We have an operative down in Mexico. Someone who has dealt with Garza. He seems to know where the bomb is and will notify his contacts when the time is right.”

“And?”

“And Ken needs two million in black ops money to fund their contractor’s operative.”

Merrick sighed. “What’s going on, Sam? How come I’m being told this at such a late date?”

Fisk pursed his lips. “Because we have issues down in the terrorist War Room. If we continue on this same path of information segregation, we’ll be relying on luck more than data.”

Merrick turned his back to Fisk and contemplated his options. “Here’s what I’ll do. I’ll approve the black ops fund, but only . . . and I mean only if we schedule a meeting for the end of the week where I’ll put an end to this info divide.”

“Okay.”

“And I want a plan “B” set up immediately. I’m not going to sit at my desk and wait for a bomb to explode before we react. I have a responsibility to the civilian population to protect them from these types of attacks. I want a continuous update e-mailed every couple of hours. If I have to evacuate a city or county, I’ll do it. I don’t care about the political ramifications.” He turned back to face Fisk. “Is that clear enough, Sam?”

Fisk nodded. “I’ll pass it on.” As he headed for the door, he added with a grin, “Mr. President.”

* * *

A large crowd of family and friends milled around Jennifer Steele’s gravesite clutching balled-up tissues and wiping their puffy eyes. They held each other close as one sob bled into another. The priest dipped his fingers into a chalice and sprinkled holy water over the casket while reciting a prayer in Latin. Nick felt Julie tremble in his grip, her head dug deep into his shoulder.

The cemetery was on a twelve acre lot of green rolling hills and overgrown pine trees in Payson, Arizona. A dirt lane curled around the grounds for cars to drive into the appropriate grassy parking area. Matt stood next to Jennifer’s mother who flew in from New Mexico; occasionally the widow would collapse into Matt’s arms while grieving over her only child’s premature death.

Finally, the priest turned toward the assemblage of mourners and opened the Bible. “Beloved members of the Steele family, friends, acquaintances, and all who gather to pay their respects to this wonderful woman,” the priest began.

Just the tone of his voice sent the throng of onlookers into a frenzy of anguish. He continued on about Steele’s courageous life and how she was in a better place, but this wasn’t going to stop the agony. Nick couldn’t bear to hear much more. He kept a close eye on his partner who was holding up quite well under the circumstances.

Nick looked over his shoulder to see Walt Jackson standing in the periphery, respectful, but not wanting to mingle too much. He’d already been to two other funerals that week. He looked as if he’d aged five years over the past seven days.

“So it is worthy of note that her soul will be with our Father . . .” the priest continued. This certainly didn’t help. Even the believers were blowing their nose.

To Nick’s right, a small cloud of dust meandered across the hilltops finding its way toward them in a serpentine fashion. The trail was preceded by a blue sedan.

“She’s in Heaven, right?” Julie whispered in Nick’s ear.

It caught him off guard. There was a man who’d devoted his entire life to the Lord standing fifteen feet away from them, and yet Julie still needed to hear it from Nick. The voice of authority.

“Yes,” Nick whispered. “She’s in Heaven.”

Julie nodded to herself, satisfied with the answer, still trusting her husband with the important stuff.

Movement came into Nick’s periphery. The blue sedan slowly pulled into an open patch of grass and stopped. The door opened and Nick breathed a sigh of relief. His cousin, Tommy, came around the rental car wearing a black sports coat and chewing on a purple toothpick tucked into the corner of his mouth. In his left hand was a single red rose. He greeted Walt with a firm handshake, then fist-bumped Stevie who seemed thrilled to see him.

Nick nodded and Tommy winked back. Julie followed Nick’s gaze and gasped with delight when she saw who’d arrived. She immediately twisted out of Nick’s grip and ran into Tommy’s arms, squealing with a combination of joy and heartache. Tommy gathered her into a bear hug. The spectacle even caused the priest to lose his focus for a moment before gaining his stride once again.

For Nick it was pure pleasure. Tommy and Julie had shared some real history together. He was much more than just family. Nick heard Tommy say, “Where’s my godson?”

Julie explained in a soft voice how Thomas was being watched by some neighbors. Actually, Thomas was being watched by some neighbors and a squad of FBI agents who’d flown into Payson just to protect Nick’s family.

The priest continued with a passage from the Bible Nick recognized as John 11:25. “I am the resurrection and the life. He that believeth in Me, though he may die, yet shall he live.”

Once again this didn’t achieve the desired effect as the sniffles increased and the sobs gained volume.

Tommy took a wide route around the gathering until he slowly approached the casket. He stood over the remains of Jennifer Steele with his hands together and lowered his head. He stayed in that position for a couple of minutes while the priest seemed to be winding down his sermon. Finally, Tommy leaned over and placed the red rose, then bent all the way down to kiss the top of the casket. There was something intimate about the way he gently caressed the mahogany, then turned and walked around to the back of the crowd.

As with most funerals, there was an awkward period at the end where the family feels the need to thank the guests for coming and Matt did most of the leg work for Mrs. Steele while she tried to maintain her composure.

Nick, Walt, Stevie and Tommy found their way up a hill to the shade of a tall pine and greeted one another properly.

“Good to see you, Tommy,” Walt said, letting him know the FBI is still grateful for his past assistance with rounding up terrorists on US soil.

“Yeah,” Tommy said. “Good to be back in the States.”

“Where’d you go?” Stevie asked.

“Nairobi. I have a friend whose daughter runs an orphanage for AIDS babies.” Tommy shook his head. “Boy, you think things are bad here, until you go over there and see what’s going on. It’s disgusting.”

Tommy looked over his shoulder at Matt, who was finishing off the final few good-byes. “How’s he holding up?”

“Better than I thought,” Nick said. “But he may be keeping it all in.”

Matt spotted the group and labored his way up the hill as if carrying a loaded backpack. As he approached, his swollen eyes became visible. He grabbed Tommy’s handshake and pulled him into a hug.

“Thanks for coming,” Matt said.

Tommy said nothing. He simply patted Matt on the back and gave a terse nod.

Matt looked at Walt, shifting his weight from foot to foot, clenching and unclenching his hands. “I need to get to him.”

Walt was the consummate pro. He let Matt’s anger stew. It was all Matt had right then and Walt wasn’t about to take it away from him.

“As long as we get this dirty bomb along the way,” Walt said.

“This Garza, is he hard to find?” Tommy asked.

“No,” Nick said. “We know where he is.”

Tommy jabbed the purple toothpick into a back molar. “Then what’s the problem?”

“The problem is, he’s in Mexico,” Walt said, making eye contact with everyone to get his message across. “So we can’t exactly barge into the country and make a scene.”

“There’s an election to consider,” Nick finished for his boss. “So we can’t be seen taking control of the situation. It would make President Salcido look weak.”

Tommy cringed. “What the—”

Nick held out his hand to cut him off. “Don’t,” Nick said. “This isn’t Walt’s decision, so let’s not make this out to be something it isn’t.” He looked at Matt. “We’re still on the same team and have the same goals. It’s just a little trickier.”

“So,” Matt said. “Where do we start?”

“We start at the bottom,” Walt said. “Find the weak link.”

“Won’t that take time?” Matt asked, glancing back at the casket, his mind clearly torn.

“Maybe not.” Walt pulled a small stack of fresh hundred dollar bills from his coat pocket and handed them to Nick.

“Is there something special about these?” Nick said, looking them over, then handing the stack to Tommy.

Walt seemed to wait until Tommy had a chance to examine the bills.

“Notice anything?” Walt asked.

“They’re good,” Tommy said, taking a single bill from the pack, then holding it up to the sunlight. “I mean, they could pass as real.”

Walt grinned. “Yes they could. In fact they did, until DEA made a cocaine bust in downtown Tucson last week. The drug dealers themselves had no idea. Even after they were booked. Do you know which smuggler made the transfer?”

“Garza,” Nick said, finally putting it all together.

Walt pointed a finger at him. “Bingo.” He looked at Tommy. “Any idea who made it?”

Tommy shrugged. “Not really. If we were back home I might know a name or two. You want me to make a couple of calls?”

Walt scratched the side of his face. “We don’t have time for that. There is another way. One of the field’s best counterfeiters is imprisoned right here in Arizona. I’m hoping he’ll help.”

“Who?” Tommy asked.

“Frank DeRosa.”

Tommy waved his hand. “Naw. You’d be wasting your time.”

“You know him?” Nick asked.

“Not really. I know who he is though, and there’s no way Frank DeRosa is going to squeal on anyone. For any reason.”

“Even if we offer to lessen his sentence?” Nick asked.

Tommy looked off into the horizon, deep in thought. After a few moments he said, “Look. The only way this guy will tell you anything is if I make an appointment with him personally and discuss his release.”