Authors: David Vinjamuri
I checked Flattop to confirm he was dead. There was no question about Old Spice. I wiped the Glock I’d fired down with a rag, then removed the clip, cleared the chamber and left the gun sitting on the workbench. I proceeded to wipe down the arms of the chair that Ventura sat in and anything else I thought I might have touched, while he looked at me, unbelieving.
“I think Eric will guess who killed them.” The acid in his tone was undercut by his trembling hands.
“I don’t imagine he’d bring the police into this particular room,” I agreed, “but it never hurts to be careful.” Using the rag, I pulled the other wooden chair in the room away from the car battery and sat down facing Ventura.
“I’m glad we have this chance to talk. I need to ask you a few questions.”
Ventura crossed his legs nervously before responding. “You think I’m going to talk to you? You must have post-traumatic stress. In two minutes, a security detail is going to bust through that door,” he flicked his head backwards, “and you’ll be dead two seconds later.”
“Mr. Ventura—can I call you Jay?” I didn’t wait for an answer. “Jay, you and I both know that this is the one room in this entire building without security cameras or a monitoring system. There’s not even a panic button in here, which I have to say was an oversight. If you’re still here in another hour or two, someone will come looking for you, but it’s certainly not going to happen very soon. I can tell you from experience that nobody likes to deal with dead bodies, whether it’s theirs,” I jerked my head to the two corpses in the room without looking at them, “or mine. So let’s cut the posturing.”
“I’m not saying anything.”
“You’ll talk to me,” I said evenly. Ventura’s eyes flicked involuntarily to the blood-splattered washbasin behind me. I shook my head. “I won’t do that. You’re going to talk to me because it’s in your best interest. Because it’s the last chance you have to save your own neck.”
“From you?” Ventura sounded a little less shaky. He was almost ready to think rationally. “You can kill me but I won’t talk to you. You’re in the middle of an armed camp, Mr. Herne. You won’t leave here alive.”
“I see. I’m sorry—you probably still think you captured me, right, Jay?” Ventura looked confused. “You think I believed that the guy who was questioning me near the main stage was just some random dude from Ohio? That the folks on the little tour I joined were really there to take a tour and that the Valkyrie you had lead it was just a tour guide?”
Ventura’s eyes widened. “You—you knew and you walked into it anyway?”
I nodded. “You were waiting for me today and the only question was whether you were going to try and kill me immediately or question me first. I won that bet,” I said. “Now I’m inside your headquarters in the one room with no cameras and a whole bunch of useful things.”
“Why would you take that kind of risk?”
“I’m paying back a debt,” I said, and my mind went back to the scene in the Activity’s tractor-trailer after Nichols left.
I’d asked her to tell the Activity people outside to give me a couple more minutes. I called Alpha.
“Sir, if you want me to walk into the National Front’s compound two hours after the third time they’ve tried to kill me, you need to level with me. This is the second time I’m asking you, and this isn’t a request any more. Please don’t expect me to believe this is just about some friend’s daughter.”
“No, it’s not. Not entirely.” Alpha paused, weighing his words as I held the secure phone to my ear. “This is compartmentalized information, so please treat it as such. Is your space secure?”
“Everyone’s out of the rig at the moment, sir.”
“I have no faith in coincidences. When Heather’s parents contacted me, I’ had just finished reviewing a report on the National Front. The group crossed our radar screen because of some recent incidents in Africa.”
“Africa, sir?”
“Yes, beginning in the South Sudan. Bombings targeted at oil fields. We first thought the local Al Qaeda affiliate was responsible.”
“Yes?”
“The attack was ineffective. Not the devices themselves, mind you. They destroyed valuable exploration equipment. But the goal of the bombing was apparently to scupper an agreement between the government of South Sudan and a Dutch energy company called Vitol for an oil refinery. The deal went forward.”
“So how did you tie this to the National Front?” I asked.
“The Dutch company had video surveillance on their assets. They had some high-end monitoring equipment installed in unusual places. We were already cooperating with them on another operation, and the company asked us to help them identify the terrorists. Four men were involved. We captured two faces and connected them back to their passport photos and eventually back to the National Front.”
“They didn’t cover themselves well?”
“Not effectively. A month later, South Africa experienced a series of terrorist strikes on their infrastructure. All of the incidents targeted power-generating facilities. The last attempt was directed at a nuclear reactor. It was coordinated with a hacking attack that disabled some of the data systems at the plant. Johannesburg experienced a multi-day blackout as a result. No permanent damage was done to the facility, but the security breach at a nuclear plant alarmed the South Africans, who asked for technical assistance. Using facial recognition, we connected one of the men from the Sudan operation to the incident. He had contractor credentials to the site for the day of the attack. This time the cover documents were more professional. We only identified him because he was already in our database from the South Sudan operation.”
“How long ago was this?”
“Just over a month ago, at the beginning of September.”
“Any clue what they were up to?” I asked. “Could these guys have been freelancing with some other group unconnected to the National Front?”
“That was our initial assessment. Both men were Special Forces veterans and both had served in Iraq. One of them had worked for Blackwater. Our working assumption was that they were contractors working for another party.”
“But something changed that assessment?”
“Not conclusively until last night. When I heard from Miss Hernandez’s parents and learned that the FBI had an interest in the protestors, I was already inclined to send someone with a skill set to investigate. Her disappearance, along with an active and highly classified FBI investigation and the headquarters of the National Front in one small corner of West Virginia, seemed like too many coincidences. When we reviewed the design of the device found in your room last night, our explosives people confirmed that the signature is similar to an unexploded device we recovered in South Africa.”
“Was either of the guys the FBI arrested this morning involved in the African incidents?”
“We haven’t positively identified either man yet, though the tattoos you photographed are consistent with National Front membership.”
“So there are still ex-SF guys out there trying to kill me?” I’d been hoping that the sniper and spotter the FBI was holding had rigged the bomb as well.
“Most likely.”
“And I’m walking into their compound because?”
“You know the reason, Orion.”
“Because neither of us believes that the National Front would try to kill me just to hide a missing girlfriend. Because when men come after you with plastic explosives, they’re trying to protect something. Because there’s obviously something else going on with the National Front.”
“Agreed.”
“Agent Nichols just told me that one of the Reclaim people killed Wednesday night—the one who was beaten to death—was an undercover FBI agent. I don’t think she was supposed to share that,” I hastened to add, realizing that I’d just done the one thing she’d asked me not to. But I knew Alpha well enough to know he wouldn’t burn her. “And we know Harmon was at Reclaim too. So somehow the protestors and the mine are connected to the National Front. The FBI could tell us more.”
“Senior officials at the FBI are very unhappy with our involvement. They’ve brought pressure to bear to force me to withdraw you. This has gone all the way up.” Which for Alpha meant either the National Security Council or the White House.
“I thought they were impressed that the National Front tried to bomb me and wanted to play ball with us.”
“At the field level. But the FBI Director is guarding his territory very zealously.”
“Seriously?”
“If you fail to find anything today, we’ll certainly be pushed out.”
“If the National Front had a hand in the murders on Wednesday, it means that they unmasked an FBI undercover agent with a face nobody knew and a solid back story. We can’t assume I’ll waltz into the National Front’s headquarters and nobody will recognize me, even with a $10,000 makeup job.”
“No we can’t.”
At that moment, I realized that escaping detection wasn’t the plan—that it had never been the plan.
“Okay, let’s talk about what you really want if I can get in.”
21
“I’m still not talking to you,” Ventura said, snapping me back to the interrogation room.
“You’re hurting my feelings,” I said, frowning. “So I’m going to walk out of here. I’ll leave you completely untouched, next to your dead colleagues. When they find you, your superiors will take one look and assume you’ve talked to me. If you’re lucky, Price will kill you quickly. Tell me if I’m wrong.” I got up and chambered a round in the Sig, tucking it into my waistband. I started toward the door.
Ventura grappled with that, then panicked. “Wait. Wait!”
I stopped walking without turning back.
“I’ll need immunity and protection if I talk.”
“I’m not the FBI, but they’ll give it to you if you cooperate. You’re a little fish.”
“We’ll never get out of here.”
“First things first. I didn’t work this hard to get inside just to leave so soon. We have some errands to run. Let’s start with some basics. How many guards on the grounds?”
“I don’t know. Fifty maybe? But they’re all armed.”
“Who told you to kill me?”
“Price.”
“He said ‘Kill him when you’re done with him’?”
“No, he doesn’t work that way. He said ‘Escort Herne out personally after you bring him to me.’ We all know what that means.”
“It sounds like it means you were supposed to walk me to the front gate.”
“Don’t be naïve. That’s what he says when he wants someone brought here.”
“Maybe. But it also means that he’s keeping his hands clean. So people like you take the fall if anything goes wrong. Where is Price now?”
“I don’t know.”
“You didn’t go up to see him just then?”
“I was standing outside the door.”
“You’re really a piece of work. Why were you questioning me? What were you supposed to find out?”
“Price wants to know what you know about us.”
“Why? What specifically does he think I know?”
“I don’t know.”
I leaned back in my chair and stared at Ventura.
“No seriously. I don’t know. But I think there’s something big going on—other than the festival, I mean. A lot of Price’s guys have been leaving today.”
“Price’s guys? Aren’t you one of them?”
“No, I’m not. I mean, that’s not what I mean. I’m talking about his buddies from the PA—the army guys. They’re...like you. But most of them are older.”
I stood up and took my jacket from the workbench where they’d left it. I laid it flat on the table. I picked up my Spyderco folding knife and cut a foot-long hole in the rayon lining. I slid a hand inside, fished around for a second and withdrew an envelope. I pulled four pictures from the envelope and handed them to Ventura.
“These men—are they part of it?”
Ventura looked at the pictures and then at me. “Two of them look familiar but I don’t know them. The other two I recognize. They’re Holser and Klaussen. They were both Eric’s Army buddies. They’re in the inner circle.”
“Then why weren’t they the ones questioning me? You’re a little green for this kind of work.” I said it as a fact.
“I told you they all left today. I run the PR office. I don’t usually deal with...this kind of stuff.”
“But I bet you jumped on the chance to impress Price with your initiative, right?” I didn’t wait for him to answer. I looked away, disgusted. “Did these guys rig the explosives in my hotel room?”
“I don’t know anything about that.” I watched Ventura’s face as he said this. It was the truth.
I slid another photo from the envelope and handed it to Ventura. “Do you recognize this girl?”
“That’s Anton’s girlfriend. Heather.”
“Where did Anton meet her?”
“On his mission. He wouldn’t talk about it, but she said they met at a mine—Hobbit?”
“Hobart,” I corrected.
“When did she come here?”
“Just a couple of weeks ago.”
“Have you seen her here?”
“Yeah, she’s around.”
“When’s the last time you saw her?”
“I dunno. Yesterday, maybe the day before?”
“Does she have a room here?”
“She and Anton share his room in the dorm.”
“Where’s Anton?”
“He’s not here today.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know. Someone goes out on a job, you don’t ask questions.”
“When did he leave?”
“A couple of days ago. In a rush.”
“With the other guys?”
“No, I told you they all left today.”
“Did Anton know Price from the Army?”
“No, but he’s in the inner circle, too.”
“Do you have a car?”
“A truck—an F150.”
“Where’s it parked?”
“Around back in the lot behind the museum. That’s where everyone parks.”
“Okay, Jay, you’ve done well. We’re almost done. Now tell me where the security monitoring room is.”
“Top floor.” I caught the pattern in his face when he said it.
“You’re lying. Do that again and you’re on your own.” He considered that.
“It’s on this level, around the other side.”
“How many men will be there right now?”
“I have no idea. It’s not that big. Maybe two?”
“Where is the server room?”
“Server room?”
“A complex this size has an internal network and its own server. It’s always in the basement because it’s cheaper to cool and the racks are heavy. This building has a data satellite uplink on the roof and it runs its own servers. So stop screwing with me and tell me where the server room is.”