Targets of Revenge (28 page)

LaBelle nodded at the camera. “I’ve seen too much to rule out anything, Director Byrnes. It’s a bit far-fetched on some levels, and yet it might also make some sense.”

“Explain please.”

“If you’re going to the trouble of importing a large cargo of cocaine—and believe me, they go to incredible lengths to get these shipments past us—it could be used to piggyback some other illegal substance.”

“Go on.”

“It would pose several potential issues for us,” LaBelle continued. “The obvious threat is having a large quantity of anthrax in the hands of terrorists within our borders, which means we should do everything possible to follow Sandor’s lead to intercept the goods. But what if the shipment itself is booby-trapped, rigged so that if it’s seized and opened the toxins will somehow be released or exploded? Or what if the poisons have already been mixed with the cocaine, creating a lethal compound for anyone who comes in contact with the narcotics?”

“That last possibility would mean that Adina is double-crossing the drug runners themselves. That makes absolutely no sense to me.”

“Yes, the least likely scenario, I admit. But as I say . . .”

“You’ve seen too much to rule out anything,” Byrnes completed the thought. “Do you have anything on your radar screen about a large quantity of cocaine?”

LaBelle could not stifle a sigh of frustration. “We get tips every day, most of them useless, some of them outright disinformation. America is a big country with huge borders, hundreds of ports, and small airports everywhere. Trying to anticipate what these smugglers will do next is our job 24/7.”

“So there’s no credible information about a current play?”

“Only what Sandor learned, and whatever else you might get from the Mexican he brought back with him from his vacation in the jungle.”

“That mission was classified,” Byrnes said defensively.

“After the shootings outside Barranquitas and the explosion of that boat in Maracaibo, I would say keeping anything about that mission classified would be impossible.”

Byrnes shot Sandor a quick glance but said nothing.

“From a diplomatic point of view, the whole thing might be a disaster if it weren’t for the fact that the Venezuelans don’t want to admit there are drugs being run out of Cabimas. But this is the era of cooperation among our own agencies of government,” LaBelle reminded them with a wry smile. “No secrets, right? Our sources tell us the guy Sandor brought back is a low-level drug runner with nothing more useful than the headlines from yesterday’s
Washington Post
.”

DD Byrnes frowned. “You’re not wrong. The man told us what he knew about the narcotics operation, but he’s worthless to us as far as Adina’s plans go.”

“Information about their plan for the cocaine could certainly be useful if it’s tied to the biological weapons.”

Byrnes was shaking his head before LaBelle finished. “When you described this man as ‘low-level’ you were exaggerating his importance. We’ve been at him for a few days now and it’s clear that his job was limited to getting the product from Barranquitas to Cabimas.”

“Maybe you’d let us have a shot at him.”

“With pleasure.”

The group fell silent until LaBelle asked, “Anything else I can help you with today, Director?”

“You could find this shipment,” Byrnes said, forcing one of his uncomfortable smiles.

“We’ll be working on it.”

“You understand, of course, that our agency has no jurisdiction over domestic issues.”

“I do.”

“And I understand,” Byrnes added with special emphasis on those
three words, “that you and Sandor have a relationship that he has already called upon to lead him on his excursion to Moscow.”

Since no question had been asked, LaBelle decided not to respond.

“My point is, Sandor has no authority to undertake any sort of domestic investigation of these leads. Your agency, the NCTC and Homeland Security have the jurisdiction here and we intend to honor that fact.”

“We’ll do the best we can.”

“I know you will,” Byrnes said, then terminated the teleconference and turned to his agents. “Are you three also clear about what we can and cannot do and where we can and cannot do it?”

Sandor responded with an unblinking gaze. “Are you telling me we’re supposed to sit back and take no action?”

Byrnes let their staring contest go on for a few moments, then gave it up and said, “No, I’m not, although Director Walsh would certainly be pleased to have you on the sideline. You can imagine what he has to say about your adventures over the past week.”

“Wait’ll he sees the bill for my dinner at the Café Pushkin.”

Byrnes shook his head in obvious frustration. “Unless you can develop intelligence within our jurisdiction, which means outside this country, our hands are tied and we have to leave this to the DEA, FBI, and Homeland Security. Am I clear on this?”

Sandor nodded. “I’ve been at this too long not to understand the politics. I’ll just have to—how did you say it, sir?—develop intelligence within our jurisdiction.”

“Sandor, I’m warning you.”

Raabe and Bergenn remained silent as Sandor looked to them and then back at the Deputy Director. “No need sir, I’m loud and clear.”

————

When Byrnes left, the three agents remained in the conference room to review the events of the past several days.

“If we go after Sudakov,” Bergenn said, “Adina will just pick another guy to deliver his goods.”

“That’s my thinking,” Sandor agreed. “He might have already made that switch, figuring we’re tracking Sudakov.”

Raabe disagreed. “This isn’t like changing from UPS to FedEx. When you hit Adina’s compound it may have forced him to move up his timetable. The cargo may already be in transit.”

“That’s my biggest concern,” Sandor said. “Timing.”

The other men nodded.

“The problem is that everything points to a shipment coming into the States, and Walsh is going to order us to stay away. You know how he feels about jurisdiction. He is not going to want to start a turf war.”

“You think there’s still a shot we can intercept it outside the country?”

“There’s always that possibility,” Sandor said, leaning back and staring up at the fluorescent light fixture. “Right now I wish I’d blown up the entire facility when I had the chance.”

“Easy cowboy, that would have been a little easier said than done,” Raabe reminded him. “You didn’t have the goods to take the place out, you were armed for a sniper mission. And in case you forgot, you thought it would be better to track the shipment and end a terrorist threat. Even if you managed to take out that lab, they would have set up another one within the week.”

“Thanks, mom, I feel a whole lot better.”

“We need to present something to the DD,” Bergenn suggested, “a game plan within our jurisdiction that won’t send the Director into orbit.”

Sandor sat up again. “One of the key things I learned from Vassily Greshnev was how and where the narcotics will likely end up. Our best opportunity is to come at this thing from both ends. You guys need to find the point of embarkation.”

“In Mexico.”

“Exactly. Go see LaBelle, he’s a solid citizen. He’ll give you some good contacts, and he’ll point you in the right direction from there.”

“I’ll actually feel better once we’re south of the border,” Raabe said. “Byrnes doesn’t want us doing anything inside the home fifty.”

“Whatever they’re bringing in and whenever they’re bringing it, most roads for this sort of contraband run across our favorite border. Byrnes should have no problem giving you the green light, especially if you’re sharing the intel with DEA.”

“Makes sense,” Bergenn conceded.

“Jaime Rivera is a major player in the Mexican drug trade, and his name keeps coming up in this deal. I need everything you can put together on him. Dan LaBelle should be able to help with that too.”

“What about you?” Raabe asked.

“I’ll start in the other direction and swim upstream.”

“If you’re going after the Russian mob in New York you’ll be butting up against the same jurisdictional problem,” Bergenn reminded him.

“Don’t worry, I’m going to call a guy with the NYPD, narcotics. He’ll take the lead. I’ll just ride shotgun.”

“When do you ever ride shotgun?”

“Leave this to me, it’s no problem.”

“No problem,” Raabe repeated. “Where have I heard that before?”

“Go see Byrnes right now and get his okay so the two of you can start moving.”

“Where should we say
you’re
going?”

Sandor thought it over for a moment. “You shouldn’t.”

T
HE TIME HAD
come for Sandor to meet with his friend Bill Sternlich. He caught the shuttle to New York. On the cab ride into Manhattan he made plans for dinner.

Sternlich was an articles editor for the
New York Times,
having managed to rise from his post as a city reporter and to maintain that position despite the problems occasionally posed by his relationship with Sandor. Over the years, their private philosophic debates sometimes spilled into open controversy. Most recently, Sandor stopped just short of choking a staff reporter for releasing information that might have imperiled Bergenn and Raabe. Sternlich was left to smooth out the ensuing mess without losing his job.

Their close friendship endured these various highs and lows, as well as Sandor’s frequent absences.

“So, I guess you government spooks have given up using cell phones and emails and all of that.”

Even this offhand reference to his profession caused Sandor to make a reflexive survey around them. They were comfortably secluded in the back corner of the Osteria Morini on Lafayette Street. The neighboring tables were empty and Sternlich was speaking in an appropriately muted tone. “We use smoke signals nowadays,” Sandor told him. “Budget cuts are a bitch.”

“Of course. Well next time you take off for points unknown, send up a puff or two when you have a minute.”

Sandor nodded.

“All right, I haven’t seen you in more than two months, you give me an hour to meet for dinner, and now you look as distracted as I’ve ever seen you. What do you want to talk about?”

Sandor looked down into his glass of ice and Jack Daniel’s. “You remember Bob Ferriello?”

“Sure. Good cop. Straight shooter. Assigned somewhere in Brooklyn.”

“Not just somewhere, Bill. He’s one of the top dogs in narcotics.”

“That’s right, I remember that now.”

“I’m going to need his help.”

“Narcotics? Isn’t that outside your area of influence?”

“That’s why I need to reach out for Ferriello.”

“Uh huh. And you want me to make the call.”

“That’d be helpful.”

“Didn’t you step all over his size twelves last time you two met?”

“Something like that.”

“So you want me to make nice for you.”

Sandor smiled. “You’re like a psychic, Bill.”

“You going to tell me what this is about?”

Sandor picked up his glass and had a drink. “You remember what happened down in Baton Rouge?”

“Of course.”

“A lot of good people died that day.”

“I know. But you prevented a major catastrophe.”

“A lot of people had a hand in stopping it.” He had a look at his glass, then placed it back on the table. “We never got the bastard who was behind it.”

“So you told me. The same guy responsible for the downed airliner.”

Sandor nodded.

“And the attack on that fort in the Caribbean.”

“Yes. Rafael Cabello,” he said, then lifted the glass and had another swallow of the caramel-colored liquor. “That’s what this is about.”

Now Sternlich picked up his cocktail. “I’ll make the call.”

“Thanks Bill.”

“You going to ask me how I am now, anything normal like that?”

“How are you Bill?”

“I’m hungry,” Sternlich said as he pointed to the menu, which lay on the table. “Just so you know, I’m starting with the
stracci
and wild mushrooms. And you’re buying.”

Sandor managed a smile. “I might as well. Whatever we order it can’t come close to the damage I did in Moscow.”

————

As Sandor was meeting with Bill Sternlich, DD Byrnes was seated in the office of CIA Director Walsh reporting on recent events and outlining the intended operation he was recommending. Walsh was more a politician than an administrator, the responsibilities of which he left to his deputies. He was committed to the underlying mission of the Central Intelligence Agency, primarily the safety of the United States. His focus as he listened to Byrnes, however, was the diplomatic fallout that had already occurred and was yet to come.

“They are well aware of the limitations of their authority,” Byrnes insisted. “Bergenn and Raabe will be meeting with DEA in Dallas, then heading to Mexico.”

“What about Sandor?” Walsh asked, managing to pronounce the name as if it were a contagious disease.

“He’ll be pursuing other leads.”

“Other leads?” From across his large desk, Walsh stared at the DD as if the man had just claimed that two plus two is actually five. “I realize you have a great deal of confidence in Sandor, but compared to him a loose cannon looks like the Rock of Gibraltar.”

“He gets results.”

“The ends do not always justify the means, Mark.”

“Not always, but in this business they do, or at least far more often than we care to admit.”

Walsh grunted in response. “To the extent this intelligence gathering is to be conducted within the United States, it’s a job for the FBI, DHS, and perhaps the DEA. It is not within the jurisdiction of this agency.”

“They are all well aware of those constraints.”

“I truly hope so, because I do not want to hear that Sandor is running
around the countryside wreaking havoc on citizens, guests, or even illegal aliens.”

“Understood.”

“I think it’s time for you to call DNI and bring in all the other agencies. Put together a joint task force. If Sandor is really onto something we should have everyone involved.”

Byrnes nodded. Spreading the blame was just one of the many Potomac dance steps. He opened the file he had been holding in his lap. “Would you like me to provide the details of the operation?”