The American (23 page)

“That would appear to be the case, sir. We found evidence in South Africa—letters—that suggest William Vanderveen knew plenty about the general's antipathy toward us in the last days of the Angolan campaign. Then you have his sister's death and his mother's subsequent suicide…It doesn't take a great stretch of imagination to see how this might have played out.”

“And we trained him.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Jesus Christ.” The president leaned back in his chair and closed the folder. “So what are we dealing with here, John? How can we use this information?”

“Sir, to be perfectly honest, this kind of information is useful for shoring up a case against him when he's caught, and that's about it. There's a reason the Department of Transportation keeps coming up empty on the airport surveillance tapes. Vanderveen probably has at least two airtight identities, everything from driver's licenses down to birth certificates. That's the only way to explain his ease of movement in and out of the country.”

The president nodded slowly as he lifted his cup. “I'm sure you've heard that some of my advisors are pushing me to reconsider the military option. They think Tehran's involvement is clear enough to justify air strikes.”

Harper lifted his open hands. “Sir, we know who is directly responsible for these attacks, and we know that he's not hiding out in a training camp. It would be a—”

“So where is he?” Brenneman interrupted. “What are your people saying? This, uh…”—he looked around for his briefing folder—“Kealey. Is that right?”

“Yes, sir. He was one of the officers involved.”

“What does he think?”

“In his opinion…”

Brenneman lifted an eyebrow. “Out with it, John.”

“He thinks that Vanderveen is coming after you, sir.”

The rain beat against the windows, but there was no other sound in the room. The president shifted in his seat, but the expression on his face did not change. “May I ask how he came to that conclusion?”

Harper hesitated once again. “Vanderveen hasn't failed here yet. Kealey thinks he's going to set his sights higher.”

“That's it?” Brenneman looked skeptical.

“No, sir.” Harper went on to tell him about Gray's final words, and the same confluence of facts that Ryan had pointed out during their recent meeting with Director Andrews.

“So where is Kealey now?”

“Something came up that he could only take care of today. Naomi Kharmai, the only other officer directly involved in this case, is with him, if I'm not mistaken.”

Brenneman ignored the circumspect answer. “What exactly do you need from me, John?”

“Sir, I've got my best people working on this, as does the Bureau. It's just a matter of time, really, but any adjustments that could be made to reduce the threat to your own security would be—”

“You want me to hide in a corner, is that it?”

Harper hesitated, unsure of the other man's reaction. “As a precautionary measure, I believe—as does the director—that it would be a wise decision to cancel any high-profile events for the next couple of weeks. Especially those for which details have been released by the White House press secretary.”

“If I'm hearing you correctly, most of your argument stems from this man Kealey's instincts. You must have a lot of faith in him.”

Harper leaned forward in his chair. He sensed defeat, but he wasn't going down without a fight. “Sir, Ryan Kealey has risked his life several times in the past few weeks tracking down William Vanderveen. I've known him for eight years, and I trust his judgment. It's only because of Kealey and this other officer, Kharmai, that we can even put a name to the face. Believe me, I know we don't have much right now, but we're getting closer, and the threat is very real. Vanderveen has serious backing and financial support from Al-Qaeda, and there is solid evidence that the Iranians are involved as well. They have a clear motive here, sir. Kealey knows this man, and he's our best chance at finding him. When you look at it that way, we're not asking you for much. The reason for the change in schedule doesn't even have to be released to the press.”

Brenneman nursed his coffee and stared out at the rain clouds moving over the gardens. It was several minutes before he spoke. “John, I respect your judgment…I always have. Nothing you've said just now has disabused me of that notion. At the same time, I can't afford to change my schedule without something more concrete. I'm not trying to prove anything; this isn't about reckless bravery. I'm meeting with President Chirac and Prime Minister Berlusconi early next week. If we can come to some agreement for compensation of lost oil contracts, that meeting might very well result in the dismantling of Iran's weapons program without one American soldier setting foot in the country.” There was a brief pause. “It'll be historic, John, the best thing I've done in four years in office. I just won't cancel that meeting without good cause.”

The president stood, signifying that the conversation was over. Harper rose to his feet as well, and the two men looked at each other in silence as the rain streamed down the large windows beside them.

“I'm sorry you feel that way, sir, but I respect your decision.”

Brenneman reached out to firmly shake hands with his deputy director. He thought about the steel wires protruding from the torn remains of the Kennedy-Warren, and he remembered the mangled vehicles that had lined Independence Avenue less than a month earlier.

“I want you to find the bastard, John.” Brenneman's voice was low, but the anger it held cut through his calm demeanor. “Find him and put him down.”

“You have my word on it, Mr. President.”

I
t was early evening when Ryan finally pulled into the Alexandria Detention Center's parking lot after having battled the reams of rush-hour traffic on I-95. He locked his car and walked toward the building's entrance. Adam North was already there, waiting on the steps and smoking a cigarette. He smiled as Ryan approached, and the two men shook hands.

“It's about damn time,” North said. “What happened?”

“The traffic around here is a killer. I don't know how people put up with that every day.”

“Hey, the money's in the city. People will suffer anything for a paycheck every couple of weeks. Listen, I have bad news.”

“Tell me.”

“Elgin's found himself a lawyer, and he's recanted on waiving his Miranda rights.”

Ryan closed his eyes and shook his head. “I should have seen this coming. Court-appointed, right?”

North took a final drag on his cigarette and flicked the butt into the gutter. “No, he's actually managed to get somebody decent, probably on the smallest retainer possible. Elgin's assets have been frozen, and I guarantee that his attorney isn't aware of that little fact.”

The DEA agent paused and turned his face up to the dim light, breathing in the damp, heavy air. “The government's moving fast on this one. He's already been indicted, and the A.G. is seeking three Federal counts. Conspiracy to murder U.S. nationals tops the list. Maybe if they weren't in such a hurry…I don't know. Doesn't matter, anyway. He'll never talk to you one-on-one now. You want to leave it, see if we can cut a deal?”

“We don't have time for that. Besides, he had a knife to Naomi's throat, Adam. He'll give us the information, one way or another, and then he can rot in jail. What does the conspiracy charge carry, anyway? Twenty years? If he doesn't feel like talking, he'll be lucky to see day one of that sentence.”

With most people, Adam would have dismissed these words as an empty threat. Instead, he was immediately reminded of Elgin's screams in the dark back room of the Waterfront Bar. “Where is she anyway?”

“Naomi? I told her it got pushed back a few days. I'm hoping that she doesn't call me on it until then.”

A small smile replaced the bigger man's uneasy expression. “I wouldn't want to see her face when she finds out…”

Ryan caught the intentional change in subject and sensed North's lingering apprehension. “Listen, you've seen this guy's sheet, right?” He received a hesitant nod in return. “Elgin raped a thirteen-year-old girl, okay? Not to mention that ninety-two people died at the Kennedy-Warren, and he could have stopped it. Think about that, Adam. Ninety-two dead, hundreds of lives ruined, all so Elgin could clear…what? A couple thousand dollars, maybe? He doesn't deserve any sympathy, especially from us.”

 

They were asked to turn in their weapons. North obliged, handing over his Glock, but Kealey shook his head and held up empty hands. After they moved through a metal detector, North signed the register while Kealey looked on impassively. Ryan was required to show the deputy identification to get a temporary pass, but that was all. It was the one thing on which he had insisted, and Harper had come through for him; there would be no record of Ryan Kealey's visit to the prison.

He wondered if Harper had already realized his mistake. For Kealey to be held responsible for any unfortunate incident that might befall Thomas Elgin, there would have to be an official record of his arrival at the detention center.

The interior of the structure was not at all what he had expected. Most of the walls were painted powder blue, and the floors were covered by cheap government carpet, but carpet nonetheless. He thought that was an unusual thing to see in a prison. The most surprising thing, however, was the lack of noise. It took him a while to notice the absence of sound, if only because it was such an obvious disparity.

North noticed his confusion. “This is what they call a ‘New Generation' prison. Everything is controlled from a single operations center, and the deputies move freely among the prisoners. Inmates who get loud or try to fight are removed immediately, and noise suppression was taken into account when they chose the building materials.”

“It seems like all that would be pretty expensive,” Ryan said.

“I guess the benefits outweigh the cost. Anyway, I don't know what you know about the Bureau of Prisons, but Elgin has already been placed into the CIM system. I thought it would happen eventually, but—”

“Hold on, you're going to have to explain that to me.”

They were passing through an open lounge, filled with wooden tables and comfortable-looking armchairs. Several inmates were crowded around a television, set at a low volume, absorbed by a basketball game while a deputy sheriff looked on with a bored expression. Ryan was struck by the guard's casual stance, and he couldn't get over the relaxed atmosphere that seemed to blanket the detention center.

His attention snapped back to North as the acronym was explained: “CIM is the Central Inmate Monitoring System run by the Feds. It applies to pretrial prisoners as well, and Elgin earned a place due to the publicity his case is already getting in the media.”

A small frown spread over Kealey's face. “I hope he's not getting any special treatment.”

North shook his head. “No, nothing like that. He is getting some special
attention
, though. That's what I'm saying…I can't guarantee that I can get you in the room alone with him.”

Ryan gave him a sharp look. “I can't do this without your help, Adam.” A moment later he spoke again, but in a much lower voice. “More to the point, I need you to keep your mouth shut when it's done. We've already talked about this. If you want out, just say the word.”

The tone of his voice left North with little doubt that leaving was no longer an option. “I'll get you in there,” he said.

Ryan smiled with relief. “Good.”

They were cleared through an electronic door that led into the operations center. Seconds later, the watch commander walked up and extended a large hand.

“Louis Jackson. Pleased to meet you, gentlemen.” Jackson was a heavily built black man who looked to be just shy of fifty. His bald head gleamed in the low light of the watch center. Despite his age, Jackson's strength was clearly visible beneath the immaculately pressed uniform that he wore. Ryan didn't need to see it to know it, though; his hand was still stinging from the man's powerful grip.

“You boys carry a lot of sway,” Jackson said in a low rumble. “I got a call this morning from Harper over at Langley, as well as Nance at DEA. Both of 'em told me they'd have my balls in a vice if I didn't get you access to Elgin.”

North gave a friendly chuckle. “We're not trying to cause you any inconvenience, sir. Believe me, if we had it our way, we wouldn't have to talk to this piece of shit again.”

Jackson laughed as well. “Yeah, he
is
a piece of shit, all right.” The watch commander quickly turned serious again. “All the same, he's a high-profile prisoner under my roof, and the man's counsel could make trouble for me. The lawyer is even more annoying than Elgin, but she knows her business.”

“She?” Kealey asked with obvious surprise.
Why the hell would a woman want to represent Elgin?
“Who's the lawyer?”

“Her name is Alex Harris,” Jackson said. “This isn't the first time I've dealt with her. She runs her own little firm in Richmond, and her track record is pretty damn good. Tell you the truth, I'm amazed that Elgin was smart enough to hire her.”

He held out his right hand and punched a warning finger in their direction. “Anyway, the point is this: I'm happy to accommodate you, but if Harris decides to bring down heat on my command because you two fucked up somehow, then my attitude's gonna change real quick. Just so we're clear.”

North and Kealey nodded contritely, and Jackson waved over a deputy standing by the door. “This is Matthews. He's gonna show you boys the room we've set aside for this little venture. He'll wait outside while you talk with the prisoner.”

Ryan didn't want the guard, but he sensed that Jackson's cooperation was sketchy at best. More to the point, the watch commander looked like he wouldn't mind dismissing orders from a higher authority. Kealey didn't want to push his luck.

He saw that North shared his apprehension, and shot him a restraining look. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Let's get this over with.”

As they walked several steps behind the guard, Ryan saw lingering concern in the DEA agent's face. “I know,” he said, leaning in to speak in a low whisper, “it's not ideal. Get the lawyer out of there, Adam.”

“What do you mean, ‘Get the lawyer out of there'? Where the hell am I gonna—”

“Just get her out of there. As soon as you can.”

They stopped at an unmarked door with a Plexiglas window tucked neatly into the gray steel. Matthews turned to face them. “Okay, gentlemen, I was told—”

“Hold that thought, Matthews. I'm going to go grab a cup of coffee. You guys want one?” Ryan asked.

North shook his head, discreetly shooting him another questioning look. Matthews nodded his head in the affirmative.

“Right back.” Ryan moved off down the hall as North pushed his way into the interrogation room and Matthews took up station outside the door.

 

“I still don't understand why this meeting is necessary,” Alex Harris said. She was glaring angrily at North while Thomas Elgin slouched in his chair, fingers interlaced with his hands resting on his paunch. He made no attempt to hide the smirk plastered on his face.

Adam ignored the prisoner, choosing instead to focus his attention on Harris. She was a stunningly attractive woman who tried very hard to play down her looks. Her efforts were largely unsuccessful; her figure was draped in a formless gray business suit that ended in a long skirt, but shapely calves hinted at what lay beneath the uninspiring attire. Her glossy auburn hair was tied back haphazardly, and she wore heavy glasses that kept slipping down her long nose. The thick lenses could not hide her bright blue eyes, though, or the anger that they currently contained.

“What are you staring at?”

A small grin played over his face. “Nothing.”

“I'm sure you've already been made aware of this, Agent North, but my client has offered his statement to the Attorney General, and that offer was declined. So unless—”

“Did you really expect the A.G. to grant immunity for a statement that may or may not lead to additional arrests?” North asked her. The amiable smile was gone, replaced by a level stare that reduced most people to silence. He was surprised when it failed to faze the experienced trial lawyer. “I mean, let's not forget that part. It wasn't a free offer. In our opinion, your client is seriously jeopardizing any chance of cutting a deal by withholding information.”

“Hey, buddy—”

“Shut up, Thomas.” Harris held out a warning finger and managed to cut her client off before he got started. She met North's penetrating stare, but it was several moments before either of them spoke.

It was Adam North who finally broke the silence. “Could we speak in private, Ms. Harris?”

She shook her head violently, several strands of hair coming loose and drifting around her face in the process. “My client has the right to hear anything you have to say.”

He stood abruptly and started toward the door. “Then it looks like I'll just have to report to the A.G. that your ‘client' has once again failed to cooperate with this investigation. If you're pushing for a deal, lady, you're gonna be pushing for a long time.”

He had the door halfway open before she called out. “Hold on, Agent North.”

A moment later she was following him out of the room, closing the door emphatically behind her. She turned to the guard standing by the entrance.

“I don't want anybody coming in or out of this room until I return. Is that understood?”

“I got it, ma'am…No one in or out.”

Satisfied with that response, Alex Harris stalked toward the visitors' lounge with Adam North following reluctantly behind.

 

It took nearly five minutes of wandering around, but Ryan finally found what he was looking for.

The registration desk was built in a large semicircle with an elevated counter facing out toward the lobby, much like the reception area in a hotel lobby. Four computers sat behind it, as did a number of telephones. An open doorway could be seen beyond all of this equipment, but the person manning the desk was nowhere in sight.

He leaned over the counter and studied one of the phones, taking the time to scan the handwritten markings beside each button. When he found the right one, he looked up at the fire plan posted on the wall. The faded paper provided a vague description of the facility's layout. Ryan pressed the button and lifted the receiver as the intercom crackled to life.