King and Maxwell

CHAPTER 41

“DO YOU EVEN REALIZE how much trouble you’re in?”

The person asking this was not Agent McKinney. It was FBI[29] Special Agent Dwayne Littlefield – or so said his ID badge. He had not bothered to formally introduce himself.

He was in his early forties, black, about six feet tall, with wide shoulders, big arms that strained against the dress shirt holding them in, and a thick, heavily veined neck. He looked strong enough to punch a hole in the metal door of the room they were in, and pissed off enough to do it.

Sean and Michelle sat stonily in their chairs at the FBI’s Washington Field Office in downtown D.C. Tyler was not with them. He had been led to another room, they assumed for a debrief or possibly interrogation.

Littlefield leaned into Sean’s face. “I asked a question.”

“I assumed it was a rhetorical one,” replied Sean. “But in case you were really wondering, I would say that we are duly aware of our surroundings and circumstances, yes.”

“Why in the hell did you think it was necessary to send an army of agents to come get us,” bristled Michelle. “Don’t you have a cell phone?”

Littlefield wheeled around on her. “Are you telling me how to do my damn job?”

“Actually, yeah, I am.”

“You have got some balls, lady.”

“Not the first time I’ve heard that.”

Sean said, “Let’s try and keep this on a professional level. First things first – why are we here?”

Littlefield stared back at Sean. “You are really asking me that, to my face, really?”

“Yeah, I really am. We were sitting in my house with a client not doing anything illegal as far as I’m aware when we looked out the window and saw Patton’s Third Army surrounding the place.”

“Well, let me refresh your memory then,” said Littlefield. He picked up a remote and pointed it at a screen hanging from one wall of the room.

On the screen an image popped up.

It was Sean and then Michelle climbing down out of the wreckage of the destroyed motel room and then running off. Littlefield hit a button on the image, freezing it, and then tossed the remote down on the table and said, “Nothing happens anymore where there’s not someone or something around to record it.”

He plopped down into a chair, put his hands behind his head, and said, “So unless you’re claiming that’s not you on the video, you have damn sure got some explaining to do.”

Sean and Michelle stared at the screen and saw themselves staring back.

Sean said, “Someone tried to blow us up. I don’t suppose your ‘camera’ got a shot of him?”

“Why would someone want to kill you?”

“Have you spoken to McKinney?”

“I know about the mall incident. I know a two-star kicked your ass in the waiting room of a hospital because you got his wife nearly killed. And I know you’ve got a kid for a client whose dad is MIA and maybe for all the wrong reasons.” He leaned forward and placed his palms on the table. “What I don’t know is why to any of it. And McKinney doesn’t seem to know why either.”

Michelle said, “There’s a lot of that going around. We seem to have the WTF[30] virus too.”

Littlefield glanced at her. “Former Secret Service, both of you. Only drummed out for messing up big-time.”

“Ancient history,” said Sean. “If you check our more recent past, you’ll see we’re legit and good at what we do. Lots of people will tell you that.”

“They actually have. Because I’m good at my job too, and I asked around before your butts ever got to my playground.”

Michelle said, “So why are you hassling us?”

“Because you left the scene of a bombing without talking to the police. You both know better than that. What the hell were you thinking?” Before Sean could answer he went on, “And now the kid’s stepmom is missing. So that means he’s an adolescent on his own. You knew that too and didn’t tell anyone.”

“Sorry, I didn’t realize it was our job to do your job,” retorted Michelle.

Littlefield stood and leaned against a wall, his arms folded over his chest. “So the bottom line is, I don’t know what to do with you two.”

“You could release us and let us get on with our work,” suggested Sean.

Littlefield smiled and shook his head. “Don’t think so. Two loose cannons out there is not something I need.”

“So you’ve been assigned to find Sam Wingo?” asked Michelle. “And by the way, we’re not loose cannons.”

“I’m not going to tell you what I have or haven’t been assigned to do.”

Sean shook his head wearily. “Let’s cut to the chase. You’ve been tasked to find Sam Wingo. This is becoming an international incident. It’s too hot for DHS to handle so the Bureau’s been called in. An explosion occurred. Until it’s determined to be solely from domestic sources, it’s the Bureau’s jurisdiction. Whatever Wingo did or didn’t do over in Afghanistan has everybody over here white-knuckling their chairs and considering the impact on their careers.”

“We know what he lost,” added Michelle. “Over two tons of euros. A billion three in U.S. dollars.”

“Who the hell told you that?” barked Littlefield.

“Sorry, lips are sealed,” said Michelle. “Secret Service drills that into you.”

“And how about if I see whether a grand jury subpoena drills it out of you?”

Sean said, “We can do the macho dance or we can work together on this.”

Littlefield said incredulously, “Work together? You out of your fricking mind? Does it sound like I want to partner with you?”

Michelle stood and fixed her gaze on him. “We’ve been lied to, almost shot, nearly blown to hell, and pushed around by dickheads from the Army, DHS, and now the FBI. So I can tell you flat-out that whether you want to ‘partner’ with us or not, we’re working this case. So stick that up your ass and see how it fits” – she glanced at his ID on a lanyard around his neck – “Dwayne.”

Sean muttered, “Holy Mother of God,” and put his hand over his eyes.

Littlefield looked ready to pull his gun and open fire. Then he did something that made Sean glance up in amazement. The FBI agent started laughing.

“You are something. I heard you were hell on wheels, but seeing it for myself, you are really something.”

He sat down and grew serious as he studied them both. “This shit goes so far up the food chain that it’s like surfing the Net and reaching the end of it. There is no higher-up to go to.”

“We heard on the TV that the White House has refused to comment,” said Sean. “Is that how high?”

Littlefield gave a barely perceptible nod.

Michelle was still standing. Littlefield looked up at her and said, “You gonna join the party or what?”

Michelle sat down. “Why send one soldier out with all that money? Who couldn’t see only bad things happening with that?”

“Apparently everybody except the stars and bars over at the Pentagon,” replied Littlefield. He opened a file in front of him. “You two figured out what Wingo is or was?”

“He’s not an Army reservist,” said Sean. “Nobody exits the uniform one year before a full pension to take a sales job at a translator firm with DoD secretly footing the bill.”

“You have done your homework,” said Littlefield, looking impressed. He glanced down at the file in front of him. “You two familiar with DIA[31]?”

“Defense Intelligence,” replied Michelle. “Like CIA but in uniform.”

“DIA has a bigger budget than CIA and they actually do more in certain parts of the world. But post-nine-eleven the two agencies have learned to play nice.” He paused. “You two don’t have security clearances anymore.”

“So just leave out the juicy parts,” said Sean. “And be clever enough to work them in some other way.”

Littlefield chuckled. “It’s not a secret. It was in the papers not that long ago. DIA has bulked up its clandestine field units big-time. They’re working closely with Langley overseas in certain hot spots. We can all guess where those might be.”

Sean said, “But I didn’t think DIA was authorized to conduct covert operations that went much beyond your basic intelligence gathering, drone strikes, or getting guns into the hands of our enemy’s enemy.”

“That’s true. But that’s also where CIA comes in, because they are authorized to do that and a lot more. However, they’ve also had their budget slashed and committed some very public missteps lately. And even with defense cuts and sequestration the DoD has the funds to do more stuff.”

Michelle said, “Are you saying that CIA provides the cover of their station platforms overseas–”

Littlefield broke in, “And training at the Farm in Virginia.”

Michelle continued, “And DIA provides the field operatives?”

“DIA has even copied Langley on their Persia House initiative, creating a body to merge resources on problem countries around the planet. The difficulty has been how to leave soldiers behind after their units have been called back home. One way was to take the uniform off but not for real – train the solider up and deploy him directly into the field of concern with an appropriate backstory that CIA would support.”

“So Wingo is recruited for a mission for DIA and CIA. He sets off with a billion in euros and disappears,” said Sean.

Michelle added, “Any idea where he is now?”

Littlefield shook his head. “Still in the Middle East? India? Back in the States? Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Who was he supposed to meet?” asked Sean. “And deliver the money to?”

“Been trying to get that info. So far, no answers. But we did get something in, not in the CIA/DIA loop.”

“How?” asked Michelle.

Littlefield looked disappointed by the question. “Hey, CIA and military aren’t the only ones playing overseas; the Bureau has resources there too.” He lifted out a piece of paper from the files. “Wherever Wingo was heading to, there were bodies found. All of them had been shot.”

“Who were they?” asked Sean.

“Muslims.”

“From where?” asked Sean.

Littlefield put the paper back in the file. “Don’t know. But let me clarify. They weren’t from any official government over there. They were insurgents.”

Sean and Michelle took this in and Sean said, “Insurgents? So are you saying…?”

Littlefield nodded, a grim look in his eyes. “The euros from us might, and I emphasize might, be going to a group that wants to topple an Islamic government.”

“Which one?” asked Sean.

“Don’t know. We’re funding Syrian rebels publicly now, with both weapons and other supplies, so I don’t think it’s them.”

“That narrows the choices,” said Sean. “To some really bad ones.”

“And if that became public? And the identity of the country?” said Michelle.

“Not good,” answered Sean.

Littlefield said, “We’ve been known to send aid to the enemies of our enemies before. But we do try to keep it on the QT[32]. In this situation that’s not a can of worms anyone wants to open. Unfortunately, this can has been partially opened. Somehow the story about the money and Sam Wingo made it to the press. That’s another reason we need to keep a tight lid on the kid. The press will be all over him otherwise. We have an agent with eyes on the Wingo house. There are media trucks all over the place. It’s all starting, and once the press is on the hunt they don’t quit until a bigger story comes along. And I don’t see that happening.”

“Good thing we got Tyler out of there when we did,” noted Sean.

“But the money never made it to where it was supposed to go?” said Michelle.

“Apparently not. Either Sam Wingo stole it or somebody took it from him.”

“And why are you really looping us in on all this?” said Sean. “I doubt it was my partner’s eloquence about sticking something up your, well, you get the point.”

“It wasn’t her eloquence, although it was good, I have to admit. It was the kid.”

“What about him?” said Sean.

“The only people he’ll talk to are you two. And we need him. Or at least the Bureau believes we do, to get to the bottom of all this, because he’s the only connection we have to his old man. And the Bureau doesn’t want to be seen as manhandling a kid who might have lost his soldier dad in combat.”

“All of which means you need us,” said Michelle.

“For now,” replied Littlefield, who then smiled stiffly at her. “Until we stop needing you.”

He rose. “Now let’s go.”

“Where?” asked Sean.

“To see the man.”

“FBI director?” said Michelle.

“Aim higher,” said Littlefield cryptically. “A lot higher.”