Fear No Evil

Chapter 9

The following day, I called Bree at six a.m. DC time, knowing it was noon in Paris and her plane should have landed a few hours earlier. She answered on the second ring.

“I just got out of the shower and was going to call you,” she said.

“How’s Paris?”

“I took a walk after checking into my hotel and it’s as beautiful as my mother said.”

“No problems with the language?”

“None. I fit right in. The cabdriver, the clerk at the front desk, and the waiter where I ate breakfast were all surprised I was from the U.S. with my accent.”

“Bluestone picked the right detective. A full day in front of you?”

“Yes. I’m going to meet with the head of the Paris office. You?”

“Sampson and I are going to check out the forensics lab,” I said and yawned.

“I love you.”

“And I love you. Even from thousands of miles across the ocean.”

“You’re a sweet man, Alex Cross.”

“I have my moments. Most of them with you.”

“Aww,” she said. “Have a good day, baby.”

“And you have a perfect day in Paris, chérie amour.”

Bree laughed. “You never fail to surprise me.”

“And I hope I never will,” I said. I hung up with a big smile that stayed plastered on my face long after we’d ended the call and I’d forced myself to get ready for the day.

Later that morning, John Sampson and I took the stairs down to Metro’s forensics lab in department headquarters in downtown Washington, DC.

“We were supposed to be on a plane to Kalispell, Montana, right now,” Sampson moaned. “We’re supposed to be just hours away from the Bob Marshall Wilderness.”

“No use fighting with reality, my friend,” I said. “We’ll get to Montana when we’re supposed to get to Montana.”

“Uh-huh,” Sampson said. “You know it snows out there. A lot. We have only a few weeks before access shuts down for trips like ours. Last trip in is late August.”

“I know and I appreciate your frustration,” I said. “You need this trip.”

“I do. Nothing wrong with that.”

“It’s just not going to be today,” I said. I opened the door to the lab.

We went to the front counter and told the tech there that we were looking for Margaret Forester, the forensic documents specialist. The tech directed us to the right and down two doors.

We found Forester in a small room, sitting on a high stool at a tilted drafting table. A stout woman in her fifties with a shock of short ginger hair, the specialist wore a lab coat, safety goggles, a hairnet, and latex gloves, all designed to prevent contamination of the documents. She was peering through a large mounted magnifier at a single sheet of paper.

“That our confession, Margaret?” Sampson asked when she looked over at us after we shut the door.

“It’s a doozy. FBI should be made aware of the contents ASAP.”

“Can we read it?” I asked.

“Put on the gear on the hooks behind you first.”

A few moments later we were clad similarly to Forester and standing on either side of her.

John asked, “Written under duress?”

She smiled at him. “You see the shaky handwriting.”

I said, “We’re sure she wrote it?”

The documents specialist said, “We got a sample of her handwriting from the CIA. Matches.”

I began to study the confession in earnest.

My name is Catherine Hingham. I am an undercover field officer for the Central Intelligence Agency. For the past six years I have been part of an interdepartmental group working to disrupt the Alejandro drug cartel in Mexico and Latin America. I was part of a team that put Marco Alejandro behind bars two years ago. I was also corrupted by Alejandro and other members of the cartel.

To be specific, through intermediaries, cryptocurrencies, and offshore bank accounts to be identified later in my testimony, I received more than $1.75 million in bribes from the Alejandro cartel. In return, I provided the cartel with information about the multiagency investigation into their activities.

Even though Marco Alejandro is in prison for life, I broke the law and betrayed my country and my sworn oath. I take responsibility for my actions even though they were done for the sake of my daughter, Emily, who has severe cerebral palsy. The rising cost of Emily’s ongoing care drove our family to the brink of bankruptcy and put my daughter’s life in jeopardy. Everything I did, I did for her. I say this not as an excuse but as a fact.

I also state as fact that the Alejandro cartel was making similar payments to two members of the U.S. House Judiciary subcommittee on drug trafficking: Arturo San Miguel of New Mexico and Barbara Hayes of California. I helped facilitate the payments to them and will list their accounts.

I know that my role in this corruption and betrayal of my country has cost lives and for that I will be forever ashamed and dishonored. Accounts with all pertinent passwords are listed on the back of this page along with the names of others in intelligence and law enforcement who I believe have betrayed the public trust at the behest of the Alejandro cartel.

The document was signed simply Catherine Hingham.

On the back of the confession, the CIA field operative named agents of the U.S. Customs Service, the U.S. Border Patrol, the FBI, the DEA, the Treasury Department, and the Mexican national police who had succumbed to money or pressure or both. Catherine Hingham’s confession was beyond explosive and seemed to suggest an elaborate effort by the Alejandro cartel to neutralize anyone who stood in its way, despite its kingpin’s incarceration.

The information was so sensitive and the allegations so damning that after a second reading, we knew we would not be able to run the larger investigation called for by her shocking allegations.

After we took pictures of both sides of the statement and thanked Margaret Forester for her time, we went upstairs to explain the situation to Metro Chief Michaels and Police Commissioner Dennison.

Commissioner Dennison was something of a media hog, known to leak juicy items that bolstered his reputation. The trait was one of the reasons Bree had left her job as chief of detectives to join Bluestone Group. Indeed, as soon as we began to describe the contents of the confession, Dennison asked to see it, and I could tell that the commissioner was playing the publicity angles, imagining himself in the spotlight. Thankfully, Chief Michaels argued that any effort Metro Police might make as far as investigating members of federal law enforcement would be stonewalled and the FBI would end up seizing the case and eliminating our role.

“We need to turn it over to them, Commissioner, or we’ll be kept in the dark in the long run,” Michaels said. “This is bigger than Metro PD.”

The commissioner bristled at the idea and remained noncommittal throughout the day, effectively wasting an opportunity for the FBI to get a nationwide investigation up and running with appropriate speed. It wasn’t until around nine that evening that Chief Michaels texted us to let us know Dennison would contact his liaison with the Bureau first thing in the morning.

Neither of us were happy about the delay, but as Sampson had said, better late than never.