Don't Order Dog (28 page)

And the real target was still active.

Forrestal quickly adjusted his balaclava as he spoke into his headset.
“Team Three, I want you down here now.”

“Roger that.”

The two men abruptly vacated the manager’s room and descended the stairs. With the two teams assembled on the second floor, Forrestal quickly signaled the plan. Each team would sweep the hotel rooms on their respective sides of the hallway. Seconds later, with a brief nod of understanding from his men, Forrestal gave the signal to begin.  

Tom, Alex and the entire mission support team watched anxiously from the control room as the first two rooms were breached. Both teams simultaneously entered with their weapons drawn, scanning the dark interiors with the piercing light of their barrel-mounted flashlights. Tom watched silently, awed by the efficient bravado of the highly trained men as they methodically searched for the terrorist that was still hiding in one of the rooms. In less than two minutes the teams
had completed their sweep of four of the six rooms on the second floor. All four of the rooms were eerily empty.

Outside the last two rooms, Forrestal signaled his men to pause.

“Okay, this is it,” he said quietly, clenching his jaw as he stared somberly at the three men. “Our target has now had several minutes to decide how he’s going to greet us when we come through his door, and I’m betting he has a flair for the dramatic. We’ll do these last rooms one at a time. Two men on each side… and I’ll be the bell ringer.”

Both teams quickly lined up on each side as Forrestal took his position in front
of the first door.
I don’t get paid enough
he thought wryly as he mentally prepared himself. Then, with a quick signal to his men, he leaned his muscled, six-foot-two frame forward and drove his right foot squarely into the flimsy door. 

The explosion from
inside the room seemed surprisingly quiet as Forrestal felt his body launched backwards with sickening velocity. The door followed with him as the expanding ball of fire sent man and wood hurtling like weightless projectiles. The SOG team leader felt the brief impact of something slapping against his back as the concentrated energy blew his body through the door on the opposite side of the hall. He was then mercifully dropped in a rain of smoking debris on the hard floor just inches from the room’s small window. Seconds later, he felt the hands of his team grabbing at his outstretched body.

“Sir! Sir! Can you hear me, sir? Are you okay
, sir?” The screaming voice of one of his men was barely audible over the loud ringing in his ears. Forrestal cautiously wiggled his fingers and toes before slowly shaking his head.
“Well, I guess this room is now clear,” he mumbled with a weak smile. 

“Sir?”

“Nothing. I’m fine…I’m fine,” Forrestal replied as he wiped off his face and slowly opened his eyes. He blinked rapidly before fixing his stare on the ceiling. A small access hatch in the ceiling slowly came into focus. The team leader looked at it absently for a moment before shaking his head. “Help me get the fuck up.”

In the control room, Tom and Alex watched breathlessly as Forrestal’s team carefully helped him to his feet. The force of the explosion had destroyed the team leader’s camera and microphone, and they now studied the remaining video feeds through a filter of smoke and dust.

“Forrestal, this is Control,” Alex said urgently into his headset. “Report on your condition.” A moment later the sound of static crackled overhead.

“Control, this is Forrestal
,” the team leader replied into a borrowed headset. “My team and I are all fine. Entering the room now.” 

The video images were a nearly indecipherable montage of shadows and flashlight beams as the SOG agents moved back towards the room where the detonation
had occurred. They entered slowly, cautiously examining the charred remains of a bed and small desk that appeared to be at the epicenter of the explosion. Strewn around them on the floor and embedded in the walls was a precisely crafted display of annihilation. Everywhere the agents looked, small pieces of molten plastic and fragments of silicon boards were interspersed with smoldering pieces of wood, metal shards and charred pieces of desiccated flesh.

“Jesus, what a mess,” one of the men mumbled in disgust as he pulled his balaclava over his face. “I forgot how bad the stench of exploded terrorist was.”

Forrestal nodded silently as he turned to face the small bed across from the desk and stopped. There, illuminated by his flashlights, a grotesquely distorted human figure rested partially against the head of the bed, the upper chest and remains of the head driven deep into the plaster wall above the headboard. As Tom watched from the control room, the team leader moved in closer, the video feed from his camera rising and falling rhythmically with his steps.

As the smoke dissipated from view, Tom studied the image on the large screen and
suddenly gasped. Illuminated by Forrestal’s flashlight was the twisted back of the body, still miraculously clothed in a torn and burned blue t-shirt that appeared fused with the skin. In the center of the back, a large silk screened logo was still visible, the words “Last Stand” reflecting in the bright light.

“That’s him!” Tom yelled out as he slapped Alex on the shoulder. “That’s our guy!”

The loudspeaker crackled overhead as Forrestal’s low voice filled the air. “Control… looks like we have a self-detonation by the target.”

“Roger that, Forrestal,” Alex said as he looked over and eyed Tom
quizzically. “Okay, finish your sweep and start tagging and bagging the left-overs.”

Alex turned his attention to the female technician seated nearby. “So Jane, what kind of feature scan can we get from that wall-mounted piece of toast?”

“Not much sir,” the woman replied as her fingers rapidly punched at her computer keyboard. “We need at least fifty percent of the face intact to draw a conclusive scan from the earlier video, and I’m assuming there’ll be nothing even close to that once we pry him from the wall.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Alex said irritably.

“That’s him Alex, I’m sure of it,” Tom replied. “He’s wearing the same shirt we saw in the earlier video. Trust me, I know that t-shirt.”

“Oh really?” Alex replied, glaring at Tom intensely. “And why is it that you know this guy’s t-shirt so well?”

Tom felt his face suddenly flush red as several heads in the control room turned to look at him. He smiled nonchalantly as he looked at his brother-in-law.
“I…I’ve seen a partial photo of our target wearing that shirt, Alex. I can assure you that it’s him.”

“
Oh, right,” Alex replied, taking an intimidating step closer to Tom. “The photos of the target that you talked about, but never produced. Got it.”

Tom swallowed quietly as Alex stood facing him, his tall frame towering over Tom. The two men exchanged stares.

“You know what Tom?” Alex said slowly, his face suddenly relaxing into a smile as he reached out his hand. “That’s good enough for me.”

Tom stood in shock as Alex grabbed his hand and shook it zealously before turning to the room. “Great job everyone! We got him!”

An eruption of applause filled the large control room as Alex clicked on his headset and congratulated the SOG Team as they quickly collected the morbid evidence in the small hotel room. He then pulled off his headset and turned to Tom. “Well Tom,” he said with a wide grin. “I suppose it’s time we go back to my office and talk about your future.”

Tom sat in the austere, colorless office of the CIA’s Deputy Director of Special Operations and stared sullenly at the awards and citations that covered the wall in front of him. On the desk, a picture of his brother-in-law standing in the middle of a team of young, serious-faced Commandos stared back at him. Next to it, an autographed photo of Alex standing in the oval office shaking the hand of the President sat in a large black frame. Tom shook his head and glanced at his watch. It was 12:37am.

He’d been waiting over two hours for Alex to finish the string of debriefing meetings that had followed the operation in Amsterdam. Through the narrow glass window by the office door, Tom could see Alex’s assistant, Alycia, sitting quietly at her desk, quickly preparing a small mountain of paperwork that Tom was certain had to do with tonight’s lethal little exercise. He stood and stretched the exhaustion from his legs, glancing repeatedly at the small black dome of glass concealing the camera that Alycia was using to monitor him as he waited. A moment after sitting back down, Tom’s eyes were just beginning to ease shut when the intercom on Alex’s desk crackled to life.

“Can I get you anything, Agent Coleman? Another coffee perhaps?”

Tom jumped in alarm before glancing at the camera. He smiled and nodded.
“Sure Alycia, thanks.”

“Sugar and cream, right?” the perky, high-pitched voice asked politely.

“Yes, thank you.”

Tom watched through the window as Alycia stood to get his coffee. She paused suddenly as an unseen figure approached her. They spoke for several minutes before
she nodded her head and walked out of view. A moment later the door to the office opened and Alex walked in carrying a thick manila envelope. He looked over at Tom and smiled.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said as he dropped into his chair behind the desk. “Those mission debriefings are always a fucking nightmare.”

“No problem,” Tom said wearily. He sat up in the chair and forced himself awake as his brother-in-law immediately opened the envelope and tossed its content onto his desk.

“Quite a night, huh?” Alex said as he quickly thumbed through the pages of documents.

“Unbelievable,” Tom replied.

“Well, I can tell you everyone around here is very pleased with the outcome of tonight’s mission,” Alex said as he glanc
ed up from the pages and smiled. “Including me.”

Tom nodded his head and smiled. “I told you I’d help you put another
plaque on your wall, Alex. You just needed to believe in me.” He leaned forward in his chair expectantly. “So, as you said earlier, let’s talk about my future.”

“So what do you want to do, Tom?”

“You know what I want,” Tom replied earnestly. “I want to join
the company
. And as of tonight, you and I both know I’ve earned that right. I’ve proven that I’ve got what it takes.”

“Okay,” Alex said, giving him a curious look. “And what exactly do you think this job takes?”

“Come on, Alex,” Tom said, rubbing his eyes wearily. “It’s almost one in the morning and I’ve had about three hours of sleep in the last two days. Are we really going to do a fucking job interview right now?”

A look of irritation passed over Alex’s face for a brief instant before he grinned and nodded. He looked down at the documents in front of him and once again started thumbing through the pages. A moment later he paused on a particular document and pulled it from the pile. He studied it carefully for several seconds before looking up at Tom with a distracted stare.

“Sorry Tom… you’re right. I just want to make sure you’ve really thought this through before this goes any further. Are you sure you can just walk away from the Department of Homeland Security? From ICE?”

Tom laughed at the question before realizing his brother-in-law was being serious. “Are you kidding me? Of course I’m sure. For fuck sake, I was just biding my time there until I got into the CIA. Besides, even if I wanted to go back, Director Preston wouldn’t exactly greet me with open arms right now, would he?”

“Yeah, well, you dug your own grave with Jack Preston, Tom.”

Tom studied Alex for a moment, trying to understand where his strange line of questioning was going. He pointed his finger at his brother-in-law and glared at him with a threatening intensity.

“Do you know what I did for you tonight,
brother
? Tonight I single-fucking-handedly delivered an international terrorist to your doorstep. How many non-agency personnel can claim that on their resume? Fuck… how many of your own men can claim that? You and I both know I put my ass on the line to live up to my part of our agreement – and I came through. So please understand my position when I say that all I fucking want to hear from you right now is how you’re planning to get me in.”

Alex looked up from the document in his hand and nodded his head slowly. “I have just one more question Tom. Are you really willing to give up everything you have in Flagstaff to make this happen?”

“Yes.”

“The mountain air?”

“Yes.”

“Your ex-wife?”

“Fuck yes.”

“Even Jeri Halston?”

It took a moment for Tom’s exhausted mind to fully register the name that echoed in the large office. By the time it did, his brother-in-law was already speaking again.

“Sorry Tom… I should backtrack a bit here. You see, something was nagging at me a little earlier when I was sitting in one of the debriefing meetings. And then it struck me. I remembered that when you were identifying our target in the control room, you weren’t interested in his face
– you were interested in his t-shirt. I was too caught up in the mission at the time to really give it much thought, but afterwards I started realizing that
that
t-shirt obviously meant something to you. So I had my team do some quick research on it. Of course it only them about fifteen seconds to figure it out.”

He paused and looked at Tom with a conspiratorial grin.
“Is Joe’s Last Stand Saloon a nice place, Tom?”

“Hold on a second, Alex… I–”

“Actually, I already know it’s a shitty little dive bar,” Alex interrupted as he slid the document he was holding across the desk towards Tom. “Which is surprising, considering how much of a germaphobe you are. But I suppose it does have its charms, especially when it comes to Miss Halston.”

Tom picked up the thick document and examined it. It appeared to be a hastily crafted field report. He flipped through several of the pages and swallowed nervously. There in black and white were full-page photos of the interior of the saloon. Most of the images were of the “shrine” of letters and Polaroid photos hanging in the corner, the letters captured closely enough to read. On the last page of the report, framed in several discreetly taken photos, Jeri Halston stood casually behind the bar. Tom shook his head slowly and tossed the document back onto the desk.

“Do you remember the agent that was with me the night I dropped by to see you?” Alex asked as a wry smile stretched across his face. “You know, the one you kept looking for over your shoulder. Well, I thought it might be useful to keep him in Flagstaff. So I did. Within five minutes of getting the intel on our dead man’s t-shirt, my agent was sitting inside Joe’s Last Stand Saloon ordering a drink from that lovely amber-eyed bartender.”

Tom sat silently as his brother-in-law opened another file on his desk and studied it intent
ly. “Let’s see… twenty-six year-old Jeri Halston. Grew up in Flagstaff. Has a Master’s degree in Economics from Northern Arizona University. No known affiliations to any groups or organizations. No known religious affiliations. Doesn’t own a firearm. Presumed heterosexual. Mother, Catherine, died of breast cancer when Jeri was three years old. Father, James, economist and consultant. Also an alumni of NAU. Died a little over a year ago from a brain tumor.”

Alex closed the file and looked at Tom. “That’s all we’ve got so far, but I think it’s safe to say she’s not in league with terrorists. She does have a knack for giving them a hard-on though, doesn’t she?” He opened the field report containing the photos from the saloon and shook his head. “I’ve gotta tell you Tom, these letters are really something. I mean, I honestly kind of regret neutralizing this motherfucker tonight. He wrote some really funny shit.”

“Yeah, it’s a real shame he was killing innocent people in his spare time,” Tom replied sarcastically. “Now, would you mind making your point? Because whatever it is, it doesn’t change the fact that I handed this guy to you.”

Alex’s smile suddenly evaporated. “You’re right
, Tom. The fact that I uncovered the source of your information and exposed the manner in which you concealed it from this agency does not change your role in this investigation. But it does confirm something.”

“What’s that?”

“That you have no business being in the CIA.”

Tom stared at his brother-in-law in silence.

“You know,” Alex continued, “back in SEAL training we had a name for guys like you.
Individual contributors
. You’re only motivated by one thing… outcomes that benefit yourself. Honesty and teamwork have no meaning to you, and yet that is exactly what you need if you’re going to be a part of this agency. No one is going to deny that you brought a terrorist to our door, Tom. But you did one lousy fucking job of doing it. That’s why you’ll never be a CIA agent – because you’re in it for yourself. Christ, I honestly wonder if you’d let one of your own people take a bullet if it worked to your advantage.”

Tom snapped straight up in his chair and glared at Alex, his eyes red and livid. “What did you say?”

“I’m sorry… did I hit a nerve?” Alex asked mockingly. He quickly gathered the documents on his desk and pressed a button on his desk phone. A few moments later the door to his office opened and a tall, heavyset man in an expensive-looking suit and dark, pomade-slick hair walked in and gave Tom a guarded smile. Behind him, Alycia glided in with Tom’s coffee and a stack of documents. 

Tom took his coffee from Alycia as he eyed the large man standing in front of him.

“Tom, this is Mike Moretti,” Alex said flatly. “Mike’s part of our legal team. He’s got a few documents for you to sign.”

The two men nodded silently at each other as Alycia dropped the hefty pile of documents on Alex’s desk and quickly left the room. Tom turned and looked at his brother-in-law.

“So what exactly are you expecting me to sign?”

“Oh, the typical stuff. Some non-disclosure agreements, a few affidavits confirming the nature of the mission should it ever come under scrutiny by a Con
gressional ethics investigation.” Alex waved his hand at the lawyer as he slowly settled his corpulent frame into the chair next to Tom. “And a few other things that Mike here can explain.”   

Tom took a sip of his coffee and turned to face the lawyer. “Well, this ought to be good.”

“Tom, first of all I would like to thank you on behalf of the Central Intelligence Agency for assisting Agent Murstead and his team in bringing swift and definitive justice to this terrorist tonight.” He smiled at Tom with a flash of smoke-stained teeth before continuing. “While of course your assistance can never be made public, our agency and the American people owe you a debt of gratitude for your service in this investigation.”

Tom nodded impatiently.

“Now Tom, Agent Murstead has informed me that you may have somehow misinterpreted his request for assistance as some form of implied offer to work for our agency. Unfortunately, I’m here to tell you that this is simply not possible. Regardless of the assistance you’ve provided in this case, we cannot sidestep the existing protocols for recruitment.”

“Bullshit. You mean you
will
not side step protocols for recruitment,” Tom said sharply.

“No Tom, I mean cannot,” the lawyer retorted with a firm, practiced tone. “Despite what you may believe, the rules of this agency don’t fall into any gray area of interpretation that we can choose to ignore when it suits us. You don’t guard a country by playing fast and loose with the rules that insure that protection.” He shook his head irritably and glanced at Alex. Alex nodded thoughtfully in agreement.    

“So that’s it, huh?” Tom said as he stared venomously at the oily, heavy-set man sitting next to him. “Captain America here gets a promotion and another plaque on the wall for killing the terrorist I handed to him tonight, and I get the ‘thanks for playing’ speech from the fat fucking lawyer?”

The lawyer stared back at Tom for a long moment, his eyes watering in anger as his thick jaw clenched and then slowly relaxed. He chuckled quietly, then leaned over and grabbed the stack of papers that Alycia had laid on the desk.

“No, Tom. That’s not it,” he said matter-of-factly. “You see, I’m actually in a very kind mood tonight.” He handed Tom the first of several thick documents before reaching into his tailored pin-striped jacket for a pen.

Tom
quickly scanned the document. The content was typical legalese – the same intricate, pedantic nonsense that all lawyers liked to sell by the pound. He flipped to the last page and read the final paragraph before glancing up at Alex.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”