Hunting Season (44 page)

“Is there a federal warrant out?” Harter asked.

“No,” Farnsworth said, looking down at the papers in front of him.

“And we’ve asked the state and local authorities to hold up on obtaining a warrant for right now.”

“Because of what happened out at the Ramsey Arsenal,” Janet said, concentrating again on the discussion.

“Exactly,” Farnsworth said.

“The purpose of this meeting is to confirm that we will continue to press our search for Edwin Kreiss and Browne McGarand, but we will do so in conjunction with a larger federal investigation being conducted in cooperation with the ATE” Farnsworth shot Janet a quick glance to make sure she wasn’t going to blow his cover, but she had caught on—Farnsworth wanted local law to think the Bureau was working hand in glove with the aTF

“This is all about that big explosion, out at the arsenal?” Lieutenant Harter asked. His expression indicated that he wasn’t exactly following what was being said.

“Yes, and we have reason to believe that subject Browne McGarand may be engaged in a bombing conspiracy, which might involve the capital city,” Farnsworth continued.

“Do y’all think the explosion at the arsenal was their lab going up?”

Whitney asked.

“We think it was, but the aTF national response team is leaning toward natural causes. A methane buildup. Given the size of that explosion, we’re treating the whole matter very seriously. If there was a bomb-making cell operating out of the arsenal, and they blew themselves up, then end of story. aTF tells us that happens sometimes. But if that explosion was a package left behind to entertain federal authorities who might come snooping, then they’re capable of making one hell of a bomb, and we have to assume a clear and present danger.”

“We’ll play it any way you want to, Mr. Farnsworth,” Harter said.

“But when it’s all over, we’re still going to want to have a talk with this Kreiss fella.”

“And you’ll get it. I guess what I’m saying is that we just want to make sure that there isn’t a bigger deal going down here. You know, like an Oklahoma City-scale conspiracy.”

“What’s this Kreiss guy’s role in that theory?” Harter asked.

“Kreiss’s daughter was one of those college kids that went missing, remember? As we told you, he’s been looking for his missing daughter, who turned up at that arsenal.”

“And right now, y’all think he’s chasing down this Browne McGarand?”

“Yes.”

Harter and Whitney looked at each other and then back at Farnsworth, who knew what their question was.

“Kreiss used to be pretty good at hunting people. We wouldn’t necessarily be upset if he finds McGarand, especially if it prevents another bombing.”

Janet watched as Whitney nodded his head slowly. Farnsworth was obviously confusing the shit out of the locals “Oka-a-y,” Whitney said.

“But how do we get him for this homicide deal?”

“His daughter is now hospitalized in Blacksburg. I’m requesting that she be placed under police guard. Eventually, we’re pretty sure Kreiss will come back here to see her. Can you help?”

“Yes, sir, he comes back, we can take it from there, I think,” Harter said.

“And we’ll get some assets into that hospital.”

Farnsworth stood up, and so did the two uniformed cops. They shook

hands and Farnsworth asked Agent Bobby Land to escort them out.

When they were gone, he sat back down and ran his hands through his hair.

“Okay, so much for local legends. Janet, we’d been meeting for a while before you got back to the office. That little charade was for purposes of keeping local law occupied while we sort out what we’re really going to do. The U.S. attorney for the Southwestern District of Virginia is running top cover for us, but I thought I’d better add my personal reassurances to those guys.”

“Sir?” Janet said.

“I thought we were going to keep the Kreiss angle away from local law?”

Farnsworth cleared his throat, glancing nervously at the woman at the ‘ other end of the table.

‘ “Yes. Well. We’ve had some new guidance from Washington on that score.”

Janet couldn’t stand it anymore.

“May I know who she is?” she asked, pointing with her chin to the woman at the end of the table. The woman did not even look at her.

“When I’m finished, yes. Now, as usual, there’s a turf fight shaping up.

aTF headquarters is circling the wagons around their ‘natural causes’ theory of the arsenal explosion, apparently because their director found out that they had cleared the arsenal during a previous inspection of the place.”

“And the Bureau?”

“Bureau headquarters is officially deferring to aTF, but somehow, aTF has found out that we’re hunting two subjects, McGarand and Kreiss.”

“aTF is saying there’s no threat to Washington?”

“aTF is saying there’s no threat unless, of course, we have evidence to the contrary. I think they’re looking for a fig leaf, in case it turns out somebody has actual evidence that some bad guys were in fact making bombs down there.”

“But we do, sort of—Kreiss. And what his daughter said.”

“No, we do not, Janet,” he said.

“As of this morning, based on guidance I’ve received through our regular chain of command, we no longer know anything about any Edwin Kreiss, except as the parent of a girl who is no longer missing.”

Janet sat back in her chair.

“But don’t you think he’s chasing McGarand? Shouldn’t we tell Kreiss

that we think McGarand is going to bomb something in Washington? That’s there’s a tie between McGarand and Waco?”

“Officially, I no longer have any opinions on the matter of Edwin Kreiss,” Farnsworth said, setting his face into a blank bureaucratic mask.

Janet, baffled, just looked at him, and then at Keenan, who was now intently studying his hands.

“But I do,” the woman at the end of the table said. Her voice was low, but filled with quiet authority.

“And you are .. Janet said, turning in her chair.

“I am the person assigned by an appropriate authority to attend to the problem of Edwin Kreiss,” the woman said.

“I understand he is or was carrying a pager you gave him?”

Attend to—Janet remembered those words. She didn’t know what to say, but she found herself nodding.

“Very well,” the woman said.

“I want you to page him at eighteen hundred tonight, exactly. Then key in a number I’m going to give you. It’s a northern Virginia number, but it will bounce back here to this office.

Assuming he calls in, I have a message I want you to give him.”

“Not until I know who you are, or what you are,” Janet said. She was beginning to suspect that the “what” would be more important than the “who.”

“The last guy who wanted me to page Kreiss wanted me to tell him his daughter was dead. And guess what: That didn’t happen.”

Farnsworth looked up at the ceiling. The woman stood up, and Janet was surprised by how tall she was. She was wearing an expensive loose-fitting pantsuit, and she was clearly over six feet tall even in her flat shoes.

She picked up a handbag that could have doubled as a briefcase. She asked the two men in the room if they would mind excusing themselves. To Janet’s further surprise, both of them stood and left the room without a word, closing the door behind them. Looking at the expression on the woman’s face, Janet suddenly found herself wishing she was carrying her sidearm. The woman walked around the conference table and came up next to Janet. She perched one hip on the table and looked down at her, forcing Janet to crane her neck to make eye contact. The woman’s expression was disturbing; she was looking at Janet with a flat, slightly unfocused, zero-parallax stare.

“When we’re all done making the page call and delivering the message, I will return to Washington to attend to the matter of Edwin Kreiss,” the woman said. Her diction was precise and clear.

“Your director has assured my director that you will make the call, and that you will deliver the message.

Which goes like this: three words—tenebrae factae sunt. I’ll write it down for you, if you’d like. It’s church Latin for ‘night has fallen.” It will tell Kreiss that I’m coming for him.”

Janet didn’t like the sound of that, so she tried for a little defiance.

“And he’ll give a shit? That you’re coming?”

The woman’s unfocused look went away, and she looked right into Janet’s eyes with a wolfish smile that made her own black eyes glow.

“Oh yes, Special Agent Carter. He’ll absolutely give a shit. Anyone who knows me would.” She stood back up, smoothed her clothes, and retrieved her handbag.

“I’ll see you in Mr. Farnsworth’s office at eighteen hundred.

That’s six P.M. by the way.”

The woman walked calmly out of the conference room, leaving Janet alone at the table, her face burning just a little, and wondering what in the hell this was all about. She was tempted to page Kreiss right now and warn him that some female cyborg in an Armani pantsuit was after him, but the woman had mentioned her director and Janet’s director. This implied that the woman was an Agency operative of some kind. Another “sweeper” perhaps? What kind of outfit needed to have people like that in their stable? The woman’s mention of directors had been deliberate, though. And if the heads of the Bureau and the Agency were involved, it was definitely not time for junior special agents to be taking any sudden initiatives. Then she remembered what Farnsworth had speculated earlier:

They were going to let Kreiss hunt McGarand, but the Agency was going to join the hunt for Kreiss.

Tenebrae factae sunt. Darkness has fallen. She felt a tingle run up her backbone. Yeah, that would do it for me, she thought. My director and your director. She closed her eyes to think. Something didn’t quite add up here: The people originally interested in Kreiss had been Foster, of the Bureau, and Bellhouser, of the Justice Department. FBI counterintelligence and the deputy AG, to be specific. And now the Agency. Why would the FBI director be supporting that ugly little axis?

She wanted to go talk to Farnsworth again, but he was acting as if he had been stepped on from above and was now in the “yes, sir, no, sir, whatever you say, sir” mode most beloved of the Bureau when it was circling its own bureaucratic wagons. What had Farnsworth told her earlier?

They’d let Kreiss run free. They didn’t know there was a bomb threat, but if Kreiss solved that problem, fine. And if he created bigger

problems while he was doing it, there’d be no stink on them. He wasn’t their asset.

He was the Justice Department’s asset. So what did that make Janet?

Farnsworth’s secretary stepped into the conference room.

“Agent Carter?” she said.

“The Blacksburg hospital is calling? About a Lynn Kreiss? Can you take it? I can’t find the boss, and I know you were involved with that case.”

Janet said sure and went into Farnsworth’s outer office to take the call.

The nurse calling reported that they thought Lynn Kreiss might be coming around. Their log said that the FBI people wanted to be notified when she surfaced. At this very moment, Janet wasn’t sure what her current assignment was, but she said she’d be right over. She went back upstairs to collect her sidearm and purse, grab her sandwich, and then go down to the garage.

There was a street-level sandwich shop diagonally across the street from the office building at 650 Massachusetts Avenue. Browne bought a cup of coffee and a newspaper and sat down at one of the cafe tables out on the street itself. It was a warmish day, although nothing like what was to come in the horrific Washington summertime. There was a steady flow of government workers walking by, some stopping in for coffee or to get a ready-made sandwich to take to the office for lunch.

He studied the aTF headquarters building surreptitiously while pretending to read his newspaper. There did not appear to be any new security cameras on the building or its neighbors, although he could not see what might have been added to the building right above him. He reminded himself to check that when he got up. The attack depended on two factors. The first was that there was a parking garage right next door to his target, separated from the aTF building by a narrow alley. The garage had an outside ramp that led directly up to its roof-level deck.

More importantly, that ramp, which was on the side of the garage away from the aTF building, did not appear to be in the field of view of any of the cameras guarding the aTF’s headquarters. It was also just wide enough to accommodate the propane truck.

The second factor had to do with the aTF building’s heating, ventilation, and air-conditioning system. Like those of most office buildings, it was a recirculating system. A small amount of outside air was taken in and passed over the cooling coils of the chiller plant housed in a small HVAC building at the back of the alley between the garage and the aTF building.

It was then circulated throughout the building via the duct system, but instead of being exhausted from the building, it was recooled and

redistributed again and again, so as to maximize the efficiency of the air-conditioning plant. His plan was simple: Very early tomorrow morning, he would drive the propane truck up the ramp to the top deck of that garage and park it next to the outer wall on the alley side of the building. The aTF headquarters was ten stories high, with a wall of windows overlooking the top deck of the garage. But no cameras looked at the garage; he and Jared had both checked. Instead, a single security camera, mounted on the front corner of that air-conditioning building, looked into the alley, toward the street.

The propane truck came equipped with a four-inch diameter wire reinforced 150-foot-long hose, whose fittings he had modified to handle H the hydrogen gas. He would park the truck, wait until nearly dawn, and then unreel the heavy hose down into the alley behind the air-conditioning building, a distance of perhaps forty, forty-five feet. A big truck like that in the alley would draw instant attention from the security monitoring office, assuming they were awake at the switch at that hour of the morning. But the hose would come down in the predawn darkness behind the security camera, and so would he.