Under the color of law

Chapter 11

Molina pointed at the car containing Perry and Applewhite, tapped his finger on his chest to signal he'd take the tail, and followed the two agents down Rodeo Road. Bobby Sloan stayed put. Clarence Thayer and Timothy Ingram walked out the front door of APT Performa, Thayer talking earnestly, his hand on Ingram's elbow.

Sloan cracked his window, pointed a high-powered directional mike at the two men, and cranked up the volume. A gust of cold air wiped out everything but wind noise in his headphones. Whatever Thayer had said to Ingram made him stop in his tracks. The wind died down.

Thayer said, "The order comes direct from CG INS COM Major. You're to backstop Applewhite and handle any contingencies."

"Yes, sir." Thayer said more, his words lost in another blast of air through Sloan's headphones.

Sloan knew CG meant commanding general. He knew INS COM stood for the U.S. Army Intelligence and Security Command. That meant Ingram was no Salvation Army major.

He followed Ingram to Charlie Perry's hotel. Ingram went in and came out quickly, carrying luggage. He slammed it into the trunk of his car and wheeled out of the parking lot, driving fast. The man acted like a very unhappy camper.

Sloan put the Blazer in gear and scooted into traffic four cars back.

Ingram led him to the airport. Lieutenant Molina came out of the terminal as Ingram toted luggage inside a nearby flight school building.

Bobby flashed his lights at Molina. Sal walked over and got in the Blazer.

"Well, here we are, LT," Sloan said.

"What's up on your end?"

"Applewhite and Perry are airborne in a private plane," Molina said.

"No flight plan was filed.

I got an ID on the plane. It's leased to APT Performa."

Sloan watched as Ingram come out of the flight-school building and hurried across the tarmac to a waiting helicopter. The chopper revved up and took off.

Bobby read off the numbers, "N-0-four three-zero Oscar Whiskey."

Molina used the laptop to connect with the FAA aircraft identification Web site.

"Have you got a make on your guy?"

"His name is Timothy Ingram. Albuquerque address out of Kirtland Air Force Base. But I think he's probably military. Thayer addressed him as 'major."

"

"I'll ID the chopper, you check for a flight plan," Molina said.

"Be right back," Sloan said, exiting the vehicle. He went into the terminal, flashed his shield at the video camera above the entrance to the tower, got buzzed through, and asked for a flight plan for the chopper. Nada. Coming out the door Sloan saw Lieutenant Molina talking on a pay phone.

Molina hung up as Sloan approached.

"The chopper didn't file a flight plan," Sloan said.

"It's registered to a Department of Energy subcontractor," Molina said.

"Touch Link Satellite Systems. Ingram is the director of security.

Guess where they're located."

"On an air force base in a galaxy not too far away?" Sloan replied, straight faced.

Tired as he was, Molina laughed.

"Kirtland."

Sloan glanced around the parking lot.

"We're here with two unattended vehicles, Lieutenant. Let's slap some tracking devices on them."

"Get the slim Jim," Molina said.

They jimmied open the cars, planted homing devices that tied into the Global Positioning System, and put bumper beeper vehicle-tracking devices on the undercarriages.

Sloan filched Ingram's car registration and proof of insurance from the glove box and smashed the rear license-plate lights. He kicked the glass fragments under the vehicle.

"What's that for?" Molina asked.

"Just in case we want to stop him for a traffic violation."

They talked about tagging Perry's unit at the APT Performa offices and decided not to do it. The vehicle was parked too close to the entrance under direct video surveillance.

In his unit Sloan keyed up the radio and asked one of Andy Baca's agents for a beacon check. Molina handed the slim jim to Sloan through the open Blazer window while they waited for a response.

"You're up and running," the agent said.

"Ten-four," Sloan said. He keyed off and looked at Molina.

"What's next?"

"We've got some downtime," Molina said.

"Let's try to get a meeting with the chief."

Helen Muiz insulated Kerney while he cleared off his desk. He waded through the important stuff, first concentrating on the affidavit for the court order to access Mitchells Internet account. He passed the information on to criminal investigations and spent twenty minutes in a phone conversation with Cloudy Herrera's lawyer. He listened to threats of legal action, demands to restore Herrera to patrol duty, a thinly veiled accusation of racism, and a final pitch to resolve the problem before it became "politicized."

Kerney resisted a desire to laugh, told the lawyer he would think about it, and hung up.

Helen brought papers so Kerney could prep for a meeting with Larry Otero. Larry had hired a new secretary and put the five-year strategic planning process back on track. He needed sign-off approval to implement new department standards on child sexual abuse investigations and wanted Kerney to review the final field training reports on six new academy graduates due to start independent patrol.

Kerney signed off on routine matters, reviewed management information reports from the various units, and put non urgent items in a pending file. He called Helen into his office and gave her documents to be routed.

She put a note on his desk. Molina and Sloan had made back channel contact through the sheriff's department. They wanted an ASAP meeting with Kerney and were standing by at the law enforcement academy.

"I'll meet with them as soon as possible," Kerney said, wondering why they'd broken off surveillance.

"Did Chief Otero consult with you on his choice of a new secretary?" he asked.

"Yes, indeed. She'll fit in very nicely, I think," Helen replied.

"You have a meeting with Mr. Demora at city hall in an hour."

"Push it back for me, will you?"

Helen flashed a disapproving look.

"I'll see what I can do. Are you ready for Chief Otero?"

"Send him in."

Larry Otero came in stiff and formal. Kerney forced himself not to clock-watch as they worked their way through the agenda, wondering what was eating his number two.

They finished up and Kerney commended Otero's good work. He got a curt nod and a frosty look.

"Let's take a walk," he said.

He led Otero out of the administrative suite to a basement room, closed the door, and asked Larry what was bothering him.

"I've got people questioning me about this special training you sent Molina and Sloan to," Otero said.

"Questioning you about what?"

"The training supervisor knows nothing about this academy class. He says it's not on the schedule. The union rep wants to know why other officers weren't offered a chance to sign up for it, and the two detectives forced to pull doubles and work the weekend on short notice aren't happy campers. What's going on, Chief?"

"I've put you in an awkward situation," Kerney said.

"Big time, Chief."

"I won't do that again." Kerney explained what Molina and Sloan were really doing. Otero's look of skepticism faded when Kerney laid out the facts of the faked evidence in the Terrell murder case, the hard evidence of a tie-in between Father Mitchell and Phyllis Terrell, and the listening devices he'd found at his quarters.

"If I get the boot because of this, you're going to have to run the department," he added.

"Not likely. Demora will have me back in technical services within a week. What can I do to help?"

"For now, just keep covering for me," Kerney said, "and make whatever decisions you need to. Act like it's business as usual. I'll call if I need you to do more."

They separated on the first floor. Otero went to his office thinking it might be wise not to get too attached to the three stars on his collar.

In the years since Kerney's graduation from the law-enforcement academy, the facility had been transformed from a spartan, barracks-style operation into a modern campus with comfortable classrooms, up-to-date equipment, and a strong training curriculum.

After learning why Sloan and Molina had dropped their surveillance, Kerney asked for a briefing.

Andy Baca walked in just as things got started.

"Don't let me stop you," he said, sliding into a seat.

Kerney nodded and made notes while Sal Molina talked. Molina sketched the recent events at APT Performa, the airport, the appearance of Timothy Ingram on the scene, and the little they knew about him.

"Ingram may be military," Molina said, passing over the verbatim transcript of the snatches of conversation between Thayer and Ingram that Sloan had picked up outside of APT Performa.

"But he's carried on the books as the security chief for Touch Link Satellite Systems, headquartered at Kirtland. The company has a big government contract to do remote nuclear weapons disarmament monitoring."

"More hush-hush stuff," Kerney said. He wrote down IN GRAM Molina nodded.

"But what it has to do with us is anybody's guess. We put vehicle-tracking devices on the cars at the airport parking lot."

Kerney wrote down "ART PER FORMA"

"TOUCH LINK," and "KIRTLAND AFB," in capital letters, and looked up from his notepad.

"What else?"

Bobby Sloan pushed photographs toward Kerney.

"Ingram?" Kerney asked.

Sloan nodded.

"Back up and give me a surveillance chronology," Kerney said.

Molina started with Perry's body-snatcher trip to the Albuquerque HMO, followed by his return to Santa Fe and visit to the federal courthouse.

Kerney scribbled

"HMO" and drew a line to "KIRTLAND."

"What's at the courthouse?" Kerney asked.

"That's unknown for certain, Chief. I checked with an informant who says there's a secure basement room that's off limits to all courthouse personnel. It was used by the Secret Service when the vice president came to town, and a bunch of computer gee ks have been going in and out for the last couple of months."

Kerney wrote down "SECRET ROOM, COMMAND CENTER, LISTENING POST," and put a question mark at the end. He thought about how convenient it would be to have a listening post within a few steps of the resident FBI agent's office.

"Stop there for a minute," he said.

"Is there any way to confirm this information?"

"Not likely, Chief," Molina said.

"The guy's a federal employee, bound by a signed oath to keep the government's secrets."

"Let's move on."

Sloan picked up the ball. He detailed Applewhite's trip to Kirtland and Ingram's first appearance on the scene.

Kerney wrote down IN GRAM RENDEZVOUS, WHY?" and circled it.

"Andy, you're up next."

"After you," Andy replied.

Kerney went over some of the basics: the phone logs that showed Mitchell and Terrell had personal contact with each other, the possibility that Phyllis Terrell may have passed information to Mitchell, and the strong likelihood that Mitchell had been delving into the possible existence of a U. S. intelligence plot to destroy the drug cartels and bring down the Colombian government.

"If Phyllis Terrell was passing on information," Kerney said, "it mostly likely came from her husband."

"That would explain a lot," Molina said.

"But we still don't know what the information was."

"I'm betting it had something to do with the trade mission along with all the interviews Mitchell conducted. He was trying to determine the extent of the operation, learn what was on-line and what was in the pipeline."

"That would be enough to have Mitchell and Terrell whacked," Sloan said.

"But we still don't have anything that ties the ambassador to the murders."

"In a roundabout way we might," Kerney said.

"My meeting with Professor Valencia led me to one of Mitchell's Internet providers. It's part of a conglomerate owned by Trade Source, APT Performa's parent company. Up until the time Terrell was given a new appointment as an ambassador without portfolio, he sat on the Trade Source board of directors, but his ties to the company are still strong, and he has a relationship with Clarence Thayer, the APT Performa CEO."

"You think these corporations are involved in government espionage?"

"Perhaps not directly," Kerney answered.

"But these are hightech companies developing cutting-edge computer tools. They could be supplying part of what's needed to implement the next phase of the intelligence operation."

"I can take Terrell's involvement a step closer than that," Andy said.

"Applewhite called Ambassador Terrell to report on your trip to Red River, and gave him reassurance that everything was under control. She later met with Charlie Perry, learned that you'd cracked the murder cover-up, and made a second call to Terrell, revising her report.

Unfortunately, his phone is encrypted, so we've only got Applewhite's side of the conversations from the remote room bugs."

Andy passed transcript copies around.

"If you read between the lines, I'd say that Kerney and possibly Charlie Perry are next in line for the disappearing magic trick."

"So far, that trick has only been used with Santiago Terjo," Kerney said.

"Wrong," Andy replied, glancing at Molina and Sloan.

"To bring you up to speed, I made contact with Fred Browning, a retired state police captain who now works as security chief for a computer chip manufacturer in Albuquerque. I asked Fred if he could quietly use his contacts to verify Agent Applewhite's identity and credentials. He reported that she was who she appeared to be. Browning may have been fed bad information."

"What makes you say that?" Kerney asked.

"Fred has gone missing, according to his daughter. She called the Albuquerque PD this morning and reported that her father had flown out to California on a quick one-day trip for a job interview. He promised to call her when he got home last night to tell her how it went. He got off the plane in Albuquerque, didn't go home, never called, and hasn't been seen since. His car is still in the airport parking lot.

APD is checking the passenger list and flight crew to see if anyone knows anything. So far, zilch."

Andy poked the paper.

"Fred is the state chapter president of a national professional security society. I borrowed a copy of the chapter membership roster from one of my agents who recently joined. Timothy Ingram is also a member."

"What time did Browning's plane land?" Sloan asked, flipping through his field notes.

Andy read off the time.

"Give Browning five minutes to clear the terminal, a couple more for Ingram to drive to the air base, and that's when I saw him pass by."

"Did you see a passenger?" Kerney asked.

Sloan shook his head.

"Too dark."

"Look at the transcript of the Applewhite-Perry conversation," Andy said.

"Aside from the fact that Applewhite is clearly in command, note Perry's demand to know who sanctioned the hit on Randall Stewart and what was going to happen to Chief Kerney. Applewhite feeds him pure bullshit about both questions."

Andy flipped more pages.

"Jump over to the second Applewhite terrell phone transcript. Terrell asks or says something. Applewhite replies that 'the itinerary is finalized." Another statement from Terrell. Applewhite replies that someone is more resourceful than originally thought, and that a regrettable but not damaging connection has been made. Applewhite listens and then asks, "Take no action' followed by the phrase "And Agent Perry7' " Andy looked hard at his old friend and placed his palm on the papers.

"This is all about you becoming a target, Kevin. Are you sure you want to keep pushing this?"

"For now, it's just talk, Andy," Kerney said, thinking that the last thing he wanted, with a baby on the way, was to put himself at risk.

"Let's keep watching and listening before we overreact."

Kerney smiled reassuringly at Andy, who shook his head in response.

"Moving on," Kerney said.

"Clarence Terrell may be supplying the intelligence community with a new toy. Let me tell you about SWAMI."

Charlie Perry's in-flight reading consisted of a briefing document on Enrique De Leon Drugs were his bread and butter, but De Leon dabbled in the theft of historical artifacts and fine art. Kerney had spoiled two of De Leon heists: a cache of mint-condition nineteenth century military equipment discovered in a secret Apache cave at White Sands Missile Range in southern New Mexico, and millions of dollars in twentieth-century art taken from the New Mexico governor's suite. De Leon attempt to have Kerney whacked had failed, but he'd succeeded in eliminating a number of competitors, and was now jefe numero uno in northern Mexico.

Applewhite and Perry disembarked at the El Paso Airport. A special operative from the El Paso Drug Interdiction Intelligence Center logged their arrival and handed the information off to an army criminal investigator. Perry drove Applewhite across the bridge into Juarez. A U.

S. Customs agent pulled the videotape of the crossing, made a copy, and sent it by courier to an intelligence officer at nearby Fort Bliss.

On a dirty, gaudy, crowded Juarez street a DEA undercover agent wheeled his taxi three cars back behind Perry's car and reported the start of his surveillance to a special army intelligence drug-interdiction unit at Fort Huachuca, Arizona.

With Applewhite at his side Perry rang the doorbell at an opulent house on a tree-lined street close to the Juarez mayor's mansion. The DEA taxi driver broke off contact and ended his surveillance as a CIA deep-cover agent snapped front-step photos of Perry and Applewhite from a slow-moving car passing by. The undeveloped film would be flown to Headquarters, Air Intelligence Agency, at Kelly Air Force Base in Texas.

A stocky, balding Mexican Army general wearing civilian clothes and a wire opened the front door. The feed went to an upstairs room, where a U. S. State Department counterintelligence operative manned a remote receiver. Wordlessly, the general ushered the two agents into a mahogany-paneled library and closed the door.

"Senor De Leon has asked me to cover the preliminaries for him," the general said.

"What preliminaries?" Charlie Perry asked, casting a glance at Applewhite, who merely shrugged.

"No De Leon no meeting." He turned on his heel to leave.

"Let's hear the general out," Applewhite said.

Perry swung around, gave Applewhite a harsh look, and nodded abruptly.

The general continued.

"Senor De Leon wishes me to inform you that you will be paid five hundred thousand dollars for the elimination of Kevin Kerney, half today and half upon completion of your assignment."

"Where's De Leon Perry snapped.

"The task must be done in such a way as not to draw attention to Senor De Leon While he has full confidence in your discretion and abilities, if at the end of your assignment he believes otherwise, he will not release the balance due you."

"Forget it," Perry said.

"This isn't going to work, General," Applewhite said, "unless we include De Leon in on the proceedings."

"If you agree to these terms, the ground rules for meeting with De Leon are as follows: You will be searched by my aide for weapons and listening devices. He will then drive you to a place outside the city.

There you will finalize your agreement with Senor De Leon in person and receive your first payment."

"Why all the hoops?" Perry asked.

"Senor De Leon is a cautious man who wishes to make sure that I am thoroughly embedded in the transaction. Since you are unknown to him personally, and he is accepting you on the basis of my recommendation, my complicity in the operation is required."

"Let's get on with it," Perry said.

Applewhite sat up front with the general's aide. They rolled south past the Juarez Airport, through a couple of ugly shanty towns, and into the desert-a vast, dusty, windblown expanse that made Charlie yearn for the Beltway, traffic congestion, and mobs of people.

On a dirt road they pulled up next to a black Lincoln limo. A driver got out and opened the rear door. The general's aide got out and stood at attention. De Leon emerged from the backseat. Perry half expected the young officer to salute.

Thej'e/e's brown curly hair stayed put in the wind. The lips below his narrow nose carried a smirk that widened as Applewhite stepped out of the car.

"I want particulars of how you plan to proceed," De Leon said to Perry, dismissing Applewhite with a look.

Applewhite shot him in the face, wheeled, pumped two quick rounds into the driver, and delivered a coup de grace to the back of De Leon head.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Perry said.

The aide stepped to the Lincoln, fetched a suitcase, and took the semiautomatic from Applewhite's outstretched hand.

"We must leave now," the young officer said.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Perry moaned.

"Get in the car, Charlie," Applewhite said, leading Perry to the aide's vehicle, "and I'll bring you up to speed."

She got in the backseat with him. Perry leaned his head back and closed his eyes, his heart thumping in his chest. The car made a U-turn and accelerated.

"Here's the way it plays," Applewhite said.

"By midnight some very factual reports from a variety of reliable intelligence sources will be sanitized, assembled, and analyzed at the Department of Defense. Those reports will prove beyond a doubt that you and you alone entered into a contract with De Leon to assassinate Kevin Kerney, and that you murdered De Leon to ensure his silence after accepting a quarter-million-dollar advance to do the job, which by the way will be deposited shortly in an offshore account you recently opened. Should you ever decide to purge your guts to the Bureau about what really happened, both the general and his aide will be called upon to give statements corroborating what I've just told you. I guarantee that should you decide to try to disprove these accusations, you'll spend the rest of your life in a federal prison."

"Why kill De Leon Perry asked, his eyes still shut.

"Because the opportunity might not have presented itself again, and it makes some important people on both sides of the border very happy."

"Kerney's next, isn't he? No matter what he does or doesn't know."

Applewhite patted Charlie's knee. It made him recoil and open his eyes.

"Don't concern yourself about that."

"When do you ice me?"

"Not to worry, Charlie. You get to go back to the Beltway after all.

There's a nice desk job waiting for you at the J. Edgar Hoover Building.

Your new bosses are looking forward to working with you."

Charlie didn't believe her.

"You're a lying bitch."

Applewhite jammed a thumb into a pressure point on Perry's neck and his chin hit his chest. She punched a syringe through Perry's trousers into his thigh and emptied the contents. The fast acting drug would keep him knocked out for hours.

The aide handed her the semiautomatic. She put on plastic gloves, ejected the magazine, emptied the clip, cleaned everything with a rag, and pressed Charlie's fingers against the cold metal surfaces, including the unspent rounds. She bagged the evidence and tossed it on the front seat next to the briefcase that held De Leon quarter-million-dollar up-front payment.

The car swung through a military gate at the Juarez Airport and drove into a Mexican Air Force hangar, where the general waited. Two uniformed soldiers pulled Perry from the car, carried him to a small fixed-wing airplane, and pushed his rag-doll body inside.

The aide got out and handed the briefcase to his general. The general hefted it to gauge the weight of its contents and smiled at Applewhite.

Applewhite stared him down until the smile vanished. She handed the aide a slip of paper.

"These are the clearance codes the pilot will need to enter restricted airspace and land at White Sands Missile Range."

In an hour Perry would be back in the States under guard in a safe location at a high-security testing facility.

The aide nodded and stepped off to the ready room to find the pilot.

"You are not happy with the success of your mission, senora?" the general asked, oozing false charm.

"I've got a message for you from Langley," Applewhite said.

"The quarter million dollars in that briefcase better be the last drug money you ever take. If you sell your services to the jefe who steps in to take De Leon place the CIA will kill you, your family, and your aged mother. Where's my car and driver?"

The general's eyes turned pinpoint murderous.

"Behind the hangar."

From a pay phone at the El Paso Airport, Ingram booked a room at a bed-and-breakfast in Charlie Perry's name. He used the credit card number from Perry's Santa Fe hotel bill to guarantee the reservation and said he was sending his luggage over by taxi because he had meetings that would keep him from checking in until very late.

The woman said they locked the front door at seven. She gave him a room number and told him she'd leave a guest key under a chair cushion on the front porch.

Outside the terminal Ingram hailed a cab, paid the driver in advance to deliver the bags to the B amp; B, added a nice tip, and went looking for the bar. He had hours to kill before he needed to get to the B amp; B, make the room look slept in, pick up Charlie's luggage, and leave a cash payment for the room on the dresser.

He ordered a single malt. The bar TV showed a taped Hawaiian triathlon.

The drink came and Ingram raised the glass in a mock toast to Charlie Perry. Deluded by feelings of self-importance, blinded by a faith that the Bureau could do no wrong, eager to think he'd been tapped for a fast-track promotion assignment, Charlie was without a doubt the perfect patsy.

What a fall Perry was about to take. Tim slugged down the whiskey and thought he'd been spending too much time drinking over the past six months.

City Manager Demora, the rah-rah proponent of open-door management, made Kerney sit outside his closed office door and wait well past normal office hours.

Kerney used the time to review the discussion notes he'd taken after briefing Andy, Detective Sloan, and Lieutenant Molina about SWAMI.

Question: What covert information-gathering need would SWAMI serve?

From what Kerney had read about Carnivore, the FBI Internet wiretap system, its capacity was limited to gathering on-line messages. Did Swami duplicate or go beyond Carnivore's capacity to acquire information?

Question: Was the government using Trade Venture, APT Per forma, and Touch Link as corporate shields? If so, why was it important for SWAMI not to be a bona-fide intelligence tool?

Question: What did money have to do with it? The Mitchellterrell murders occurred after the priest had started looking into the trade mission's economic agenda, drug-money laundering, and financial crimes.

Question: What, if any, was Ambassador Terrell's role in SWAMI? *** Kerney put his notes away. Bobby Sloan believed SWAMI might well be the mother of all computer-based covert technological snooping devices.

It was what computer gee ks called a packet sniffer, which sounded innocuous, but the implications gave Kerney the shivers. If Sloan was right, they were truly on the verge of a big-brother world. Had Carnivore opened the door on a digital world where private information about citizens would be routinely collected, whether they were suspects in a crime or not?

Kerney looked up. An unsmiling Demora stood in his open doorway.

Kerney stepped inside and sat down. A new plaque pronouncing Demora a valued member of another civic organization had been added to the wall.

Face time came cheap in Santa Fe.

Demora eased into his desk chair and quickly read Kerney out, using all the politically correct buzzwords and catch phrases of the enabling, empowering administrator. But it boiled down to this: He wanted his chief to be available when he called; he wanted his chief full-time at police headquarters running the department; he wanted closure on the Herrera reassignment, which meant Kerney was to meet with Officer Herrera's lawyer ASAP; he wanted weekly updates on Larry Otero's performance as deputy chief; he wanted to be kept fully informed, not blindsided by phone calls from unnamed sources complaining about things.

Kerney kept his cool by busily scribbling notes. He stopped and said,

"How have you been blindsided, Bill?"

Demora pursed his lips, sat up straight in his chair, and adjusted the drape of his sport coat.

"I'll give you an example: I've been told you're playing favorites, that you personally selected two senior officers for a special training seminar at the law-enforcement academy without going through the proper departmental channels. That kind of behavior doesn't engender confidence in your management style."

"I see. Anything else?"

Demora rocked back in his chair and forced a smile.

"Actually, there is. Over the past several days persistent comments have been made to me about your continuing probe into the successfully concluded FBI investigation of Mrs. Terrell's murder. It seems to me your time could be much better spent ensuring that your detectives bring Father Mitchell's murderer to justice. If I were you, that would be my first priority."

Kerney felt screwed. If the rumor mill had fed Demora information about his end run around the Bureau, that meant his finesse moves had surely failed. He was more vulnerable than he'd realized.

"Who's telling you this?" he asked.

Demora put his hands up to block the question.

"That's not the issue. I told you when you came on board as chief that I make myself available to any and every city employee as well as all the members of this community. My policy works because employees understand that they can speak freely without fear of reprisal, and citizens know their grievances and concerns will receive a fair and quick hearing."

"Tell me, are those voices of concern from inside or outside the department?" Kerney asked, trying to keep sarcasm out of his voice.

"Don't turn this into a witch hunt, Chief Kerney."

"That's not my style."

"Very well. To this point the concerns are internal." Demora's expression softened.

"We're both in the early stages of sorting out our working relationship, Chief. All I'm suggesting here is that we don't let small matters turn into big problems. Both of us need to stay alert and keep each other fully in the loop. Open, free-flowing communication is the key to good management."

Tired of Demora's control-freak bullshit, Kerney stood up.

"I agree with you wholeheartedly, Bill. I'll get everything back on track."

Demora flashed an approving smile.

"That's what I wanted to hear."

Lights were on in Kerney's bedroom and the only vehicle outside the cottage was his truck. He slid out of his unit at the front of the driveway, pulled his handgun, and used the shadows to approach the cottage. He went low under the living room window, flattened himself against the wall, and turned the knob to the front door. It was unlocked.

He quietly pushed the door open, listened, and caught the sound of movement in the bedroom. He eased his way inside, weapon in the ready position, let his eyes adjust to the darkness, and did a visual sweep of the living room. Clear. He took a quick glance into the galley kitchen.

Clear.

He backed into the kitchen, where he had a direct line of sight down the hallway leading to the closed bedroom door. He heard a hinge squeak on the bedroom closet door, followed by a thud as something hit the carpeted floor.

The door opened and light washed down the hallway. Kerney said, "Freeze.

Don't move, or I'll blow you away."

Sara stood backlit in the doorway.

"For God's sake, it's me, Kerney." She hit the hall light switch in time to see Kerney holstering his handgun.

"What are you doing here?"

"It's nice to see you too," Sara snapped.

"Didn't you get my message? I asked you not to come this weekend."

"That's exactly why I'm here. What is going on with you?"

"I'm sorry." Kerney walked to Sara and took her hands.

"I am glad you're here."

She pulled away and gave Kerney a blistering look.

"I don't believe you. Answer my question. Except for a short conversation and some confusing phone messages, I haven't heard from you all week."

"I've been busy, that's all."

"You've never been too busy not to call before. Are we going down the tubes, Kerney? Does the prospect of fatherhood have you scared?"

Kerney shook his head.

"That's not it at all."

"Then talk to me."

"Let's go out, get something to eat, and talk over dinner."

"I'm not hungry. Talk to me now, Kerney. What's going on with you?"

"Sara, its work. Just the job. It's not you, there isn't anything strange going on in my head, and it's not us. Believe me."

"I don't need reassurances, I need conversation. Something's wrong and I want to know what it is."

Kerney put a finger to his lips and pulled Sara into the bedroom. He showed her the telephone tap and the bug in the floor vent.

"Can we talk about it over dinner?" he asked again.

"I haven't eaten all day."

Sara's distressed expression lightened. Her green eyes scanned Kerney's face.

"If we must," she said.

"But you'd better really talk to me, Kerney, otherwise I'm getting a hotel room for the night."

They ordered a light meal at a restaurant favored by locals. Gray headed couples danced to bland renditions of soft-rock tunes played by a trio of old men wedged together on a small platform near the entrance. Muted televisions above the long bar entertained a row of blue-collar workers drinking their way deep into a Friday night. Area politicos sat at the back of the tiny dance floor, talking loudly, and waving to any constituents they knew by sight. Civil servants and their families out for a Friday-night dinner filled circular dining tables adjacent to the bar and ordered up the specials of the day.

Sara listened as Kerney described the chain of events starting with the Terrell murder. He gave her the facts and his carefully thought-out suppositions about the case, and listed the reasons why he believed that military intelligence was heavily involved.

Sara's head swam. She knew Kerney to be an exceptional investigator and not one to exaggerate. But she didn't like what she was hearing.

Everything she knew about the regulations that governed army intelligence activities argued against his hypothesis.

On the one hand, she knew nothing about SWAMI or a secret training base in Colombia. On the other hand, she'd heard about Carnivore through her own contacts and a few brief news stories, and she knew about the controversy surrounding the School of the Americas. She also knew about how army intelligence kept an eye on its own, especially soldiers and civilians in sensitive, highly classified positions.

She bit back a desire to challenge Kerney's suppositions and let him finish up.

He looked at her expectantly, waiting for a response.

"Interesting," Sara said.

"That's it?"

"For now."

"You're usually not so noncommittal."

Sara toyed with her academy class ring.

"I have to think, Kerney. You've thrown a lot at me in a very short time."

"Do you think I'm overreacting?"

"I don't know."

"I've caught you off-guard."

Sara replied with a weak smile. After a hellish week at the Command and General Staff College, made worse by draining bouts of morning sickness, she'd come to Santa Fe concerned and worried about Kerney.

Now that she knew more, it meant the timing was wrong to talk to him about the strong maternal feelings that were shifting her focus away from the army and making her yearn for a real home life.

They had yet to resolve the issue of whether or not Kerney would join her at her next permanent duty station or remain in New Mexico. She doubted he'd willingly transform himself into a full-time military dependent. So in theory, she'd be married and a mother. But in practice she'd be raising a child as a single parent, with occasional visits from a distant, part-time husband. The prospect held little appeal.

Her next assignment after school would most likely be a fast track staff position at the command level that would require twelve hour days and seven-day weeks.

She'd known women officers who'd left husbands and children behind for three-year assignments. And women who, for the sake of their children, had branch-transferred to jobs that cut short their advancement and froze them at their current rank until retirement.

Women like Sara, who'd been promoted ahead of schedule only to resign from active duty because their family life was suffering.

She reached out and took Kerney's hand.

"Let me think about it some more."

They drove home in silence. Kerney was tense, on guard, his eyes searching the rearview mirror. She believed he was being watched, followed, and spied on, that he'd been threatened with consequences if he didn't back off on the investigation. Over dinner he'd sidestepped her question about the risks he was taking with assurances that everything was under control. That, she didn't believe.

She decided she needed do more than just think about what Kerney had told her.

"I want to review your case material," she said.

"You're not part of this. It's not your problem."

"I'm not asking for permission, Kerney."

Kerney shot her a sidelong glance. A stern expression greeted him.

"Fine. You can look at it when we get home."

"I'm not staying with you tonight."

Kerney slowed the truck and gave Sara a long look.

"Why not?"

"Because I want to draw my own conclusions."

"You don't believe me?"

"Did I say that?" Sara asked in an icy tone.

"Take whatever you want, Colonel."

"Don't be sarcastic, Kerney."

Kerney pulled up at the cottage.

"Are we fighting?"

Sara jumped out of the truck.

"Yes, but for now it's just a skirmish."