A Brewing Storm

Chapter Four

It was 8:30 P.M., by the time Storm and Jones left Capitol Hill and arrived at the Willard InterContinental Hotel on Pennsylvania Avenue, less than a block from the White House. Before they parted, Jones handed Storm an envelope stuffed with hundred-dollar bills, a fake Nevada driver’s license, private investigator credentials under the name Steve Mason, a cell phone that was a direct line to Jones at the CIA, and the keys to a rental car parked in the hotel’s lot. Storm reached his fifth-floor suite at the same moment the phone inside it began to ring. It was FBI Agent Showers calling from the lobby. She’d come to brief him.

“Come on up,” Storm said.

“I’ll wait for you in the hotel’s restaurant.”

Storm joined her five minutes later at a secluded table.

“I’ve never stayed in this hotel,” she said as he was sitting down. “But it is famous. Mark Twain wrote two books here.”

“We can go up to my suite and I’ll give you a tour,” he said.

“I was being polite, making chitchat,” she said. “I’ve no interest in going to your bedroom.”

“Too bad,” he intimated. “I was hoping for a full debriefing.”

Storm glanced around the mostly empty restaurant. “This hotel is much nicer than the places Jedidiah typically sends me,” he said.

The waiter arrived. Showers ordered coffee. Storm ordered a sixteen-dollar hamburger and an eight-dollar beer. When their server left, she said, “And where would some of those places be-where Jedidiah has sent you?”

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

“That’s an old line.”

“In my case, it happens to be true.”

“Look,” she said sternly. “I’ve been ordered to brief you and work with you. I think I deserve to know who you are.”

The waiter interrupted with their drinks. After he’d left, Storm said, “I’m a private investigator-just like Jedidiah said. I used to work for him on occasion when I was in the military.”

“Oh really,” she replied skeptically. “I did some checking earlier today after Jedidiah told us that he was flying you into town. He said you were from Nevada. If that’s true, why is there no record of you being a licensed private investigator in that state?”

Storm shrugged. “I’ve been meaning to get a license. I just haven’t gotten around to it.”

“Youdo have a Nevada driver’s license though, right?”

Storm didn’t answer. She was supposed to be briefing him, not interrogating him. But Showers wasn’t about to stop now.

She said, “I checked the photos of all the Steve Masons who have Nevada driver’s licenses. You don’t look like any of them.”

Storm was disappointed. Jedidiah usually did a better job backstopping legends.

“I got a haircut,” he replied.

“I ran an FBI background check and there is nothing in any public record about a Steve Mason that fits your description. Who are you-really?”

Storm leaned in close and whispered, “I’m the man who’s been brought in to clean up your mess. That’s all you need to know.”

The waiter brought him his burger. Storm hadn’t realized how hungry he was. He took a big bite and another long gulp of cold beer.

In a resigned voice, Showers said, “What exactly do you need to know about the kidnapping?”

“Everything.”

Between bites, Storm questioned her. Showers elaborated on the basics that he’d already heard in Windslow’s office. Matthew Dull and Samantha Toppers had finished their last class for the day at Georgetown University and were walking across campus to get something to eat when a white van pulled to the curb and three attackers leaped from it. One fired an automatic weapon in the air to intimidate would-be heroes. He then pointed it directly into Topper’s terrified face. The other two assailants overpowered Dull and forced him into the van. The entire abduction had taken less than a minute.

“Why hasn’t this been all over the national news?” Storm asked.

“Strings were pulled. The media was told that it was a college prank. Georgetown officials went along. Said it was a fraternity gag that got out of hand.”

“What kind of automatic weapon was used?”

Showers opened a black leather briefcase that she had brought with her and removed a clear plastic bag that contained about a dozen brass shell casings.

“There were no fingerprints on them,” she said, putting the bag on the table.

Storm didn’t bother opening it as he finished the last bite of his burger. He’d seen enough 7.62 x 39mm ammunition casings to recognize them by sight.

“The assailant used an AK-47,” he said.

“Yes,” Showers replied, impressed. “Unfortunately, there are about seventy-five million AK-47s being used right now in the world. The Soviet Union did a hell of a job exporting them to every terrorist and revolutionary group in the world, as well as every nut in the U.S. who found a way, legally or illegally, to get his hands on a firearm capable of firing six hundred rounds a minute.”

“It sucks being Bambi nowadays.”

He smiled. She didn’t.

Storm said, “These guys went in fast, hard, deliberate, and left nothing behind that could be used to identify them. They were pros. Possibly ex-military.” He said, “Let’s see the ransom notes.”

She removed two letters from her briefcase. Both were protected in plastic. The first was written in block letters, similar to what a draftsman would use on blueprints.

“WE WILL KILL YOUR STEPSON UNLESS YOU PAY US $1,000,000.”

The note went on to order Windslow to pay the ransom in hundred-dollar bills. The cash was supposed to be placed in a briefcase left in the fast-food dining area of Union Station, the city’s major subway and Amtrak station, near Capitol Hill. The kidnappers had drawn a diagram on the note that pinpointed where the briefcase was to be left, underneath a table near a back wall. The ransom was supposed to be delivered by Dull’s fiancee.

“Samantha Toppers was terrified,” Showers said. “I kept telling her that she was fine. We had the entire train station flooded with agents-nearly a hundred-coming and going. We used interns and retired agents so the kidnappers wouldn’t have a clue who was a civilian and who wasn’t.”

“And no one showed up to grab the case?”

“No one showed any interest in it even after she walked away from that table.”

“I’m surprised. Not because of the kidnappers. But that you could leave a briefcase in Union Station without someone stealing it.”

Continuing her briefing, Showers said, “We found a partial print on the corner of that first note. There weren’t any prints on the second one. It arrived the next day.”

Like the first, the second ransom note was handwritten, but not in block letters. There was no mention of a ransom-only a cryptic threat.

“Your son dies if you continue toying with us.”

Storm said, “Obviously, these were written by different people. Not only is the handwriting different, so is the paper they used. The first note had a partial print on it. The second didn’t. There’s also an error in the second message. In the first, Dull is correctly described as Windslow’s stepson. In the second, he’s called his son.”

“Yes, I noticed those contradictions, too,” Showers replied. “But we know that at least four kidnappers were involved. One of them could have written the first note, and another the second, simply to throw us off. The same could be true about the discrepancies. They might have been intentional.”

Storm wasn’t so sure, but he decided to move on. “Tell me about Senator Windslow. Does he have many enemies?”

“Does he ever. He’s probably one of the most hated senators in Washington. He’s blunt and he’s been around so long that he’s untouchable. He knows it. He’s a bully, and when he doesn’t get what he wants, he gets angry-and he always gets even. Other politicians fear him. Even the White House. He has a reputation for being ruthless and vindictive.”

“Sounds like every politician I’ve known,” Storm said.

“No, Windslow is in a league of his own. You would expect Republicans to hate him because he’s a Democrat. But half the members of his own party can’t stand him. And that’s just on Capitol Hill. Outside of Congress, the groups that probably hate him the most are the environmentalists. Windslow is a shill for Big Oil. Always has been. He doesn’t believe in global warming, thinks oil companies should be able to drill holes anywhere they damn well please, and once voted against a bill that would have levied fines on visitors who littered in state parks.”

“It’s hard for me,” Storm replied, “to imagine that an armed gang of environmentalists kidnapped the senator’s stepson.”

“You asked me to identify his enemies. That’s what I’m doing. Being thorough.”

Storm called over the waiter and ordered another beer. “OK, besides the tree huggers, who’s next on the enemies list?”

“As chair of the Senate Intelligence Committee, Windslow wields tremendous power. He’s always been a strong advocate of Israel. That makes him hated by Middle Eastern extremists.”

“Any particular terrorist cell?”

“All of them despise him. He’s also managed to alienate the Russians, the Germans, and the Greeks. He’s a rabid anti-Communist and doesn’t trust the new Russian leaders; he believes all Germans are closet Nazis, and he dislikes socialist countries.”

“How can anyone hate the Greeks?” Storm asked. “All they ever do is break plates and spend Euros that they don’t have.”

Showers didn’t smile. “There’s also your people-the intelligence community. Senator Windslow and Jedidiah were all buddy-buddy tonight in the senator’s office, but there are rumors they’re fighting about a covert operation. And their dispute has gotten nasty.”

“What covert operation?”

“Don’t know. It’s above my pay grade. Maybe you can find out.”

“Do you honestly believe Jedidiah is behind the kidnapping?” Storm said skeptically.

“At this point, I’m not counting out anyone. I think you CIA types are capable of anything. Even your arrival here today could be part of a ruse.”

She finished her coffee and carefully placed the cup back on its saucer.

Although Showers had already given him a long list of suspects, Storm suspected she was holding back. He’d learned a long time ago that during interviews, it was the last thing that people told him that often held the most important clue.

“If our roles were reversed,” he said sympathetically, “I’d be pissed. I’d think, 'Who the hell does this guy think he is barging into my investigation?’I wouldn’t be as helpful as you have been just now. But a crime’s been committed, and there’s a chance that Matthew Dull may still be alive. We owe it to him to put all of our cards on the table, so if there is anything else that you can tell me, anything at all, please share it.”

He sounded sincere. He was very good at sounding sincere. It had always served him well-at work and in bed.

Showers sat quietly for a moment. “About a year ago, the bureau began hearing reports that Windslow was on the take. Bribes. Big ones. The first complaint came from a Texan who had bid on a lucrative military contract. One of Windslow’s staff members demanded a kickback. When the Texan refused, the contract went to another company. The Texan called us, but all we had was his word and that wasn’t enough-not to build a criminal indictment against a U.S. senator.”

“You began digging.”

She nodded. “I wasn’t going to let it go. I discovered Windslow was adding riders to legislation that permitted oil companies to move millions of dollars from their overseas operations into the U.S. without paying federal income taxes.”

“But that’s not illegal,” Storm said. “Senators screw with the IRS all the time to help out their friends.”

“Right. But I discovered that Windslow was collecting a fee based on how much money he helped the oil companies get back into the country tax-free. Or, I should say, I got several people to talk about kickbacks. But nothing on paper. Windslow is smart. And then I found a smoking gun. I discovered a wire transfer that I felt certain was a bribe paid to Windslow by someone overseas.”

“Who? A government, a corporation, an individual?”

“I’m not sure. Bribery is difficult to prove. The person who paid it isn’t going to talk. The person who got it isn’t going to talk. Most times, you can only make a criminal case if you have a money trail.”

Storm didn’t interrupt. He wanted her to keep talking. But he was very familiar with how bribes worked and how to hide them. He’d helped Jedidiah distribute millions of dollars in Iraq and Pakistan. The agency had handed out hundred-dollar bills as if they were Halloween candy-all unbeknownst to Congress and the American taxpayer.

Showers said, “I was able to trace a six-million-dollar payment from a London bank account to the Cayman Islands, where it was converted into cash and brought to Washington, D.C. I’m fairly certain it ended up in Windslow’s hands.”

“Fairly certain or positive?”

A pained look appeared on her face. His question had hit a nerve. She said, “I feel confident that I had developed a sufficient circumstantial case-enough to indict. But when my file reached the director’s office, it was put on ice. No one would tell me why. That was three weeks ago.”

Showers glanced at her watch. It was eleven and the restaurant was closing. She collected the two letters from him. “I’ve done what I was told,” she said. “I’ve briefed you. I’ll pick you up tomorrow at eight A.M. sharp. We have set up a command post at FBI headquarters. If you have additional questions, then you can ask them to my bosses tomorrow at the briefing.”

“I do have more questions,” he replied. “Since the restaurant is closing, let’s go upstairs to my suite so we can talk more.”

“I don’t think talk is what you have in mind.”

He grinned. “Depends on the kind of talk. At least let me walk you to your car.”

“I’m armed, and I think I can make it through the hotel lobby to the valet without your help.” Then, for the first time since they’d met, she actually smiled and said, “Besides, I think I have more to fear from you than I do from any strangers.”

“Ouch,” he replied, touching his heart as if he’d been shot. “Just trying to be gentlemanly,” he said, intentionally repeating her words.

“Then you can pay the check-Mr. Steve Mason.”

He watched her walk away from the table, admiring the dazzling results of her yoga routine hidden under her tailored slacks. As soon as he’d signed the bill with his room number and fake name, Storm followed her. But by the time he reached the lobby, she was already behind the wheel of her BMW. He stepped outside the hotel’s double doors just as she was driving away. As he watched, he saw a black Mercedes-Benz sedan pull from a side street near the hotel and begin to follow her.

Storm recognized the red, white, and blue license tag. It was a diplomatic plate.

Hurrying back to his suite, he used his portable computer to log on to the Internet. Diplomatic plates contained a two-letter code that identified which country had been issued the plate by the U.S. State Department. Periodically, the code letters were changed and reassigned. GB was never used on tags from Great Britain and IS was never used for Israel, because that would make it too easy for potential enemies to identify the car’s occupants.

Storm had seen the letters YR on the plate of the Mercedes following Showers. Within seconds, he’d broken the code.

What had Jedidiah Jones gotten him into? Why would a diplomatic car from the Russian embassy be tailing Special Agent Showers?