Tom Clancy Support and Defend

41

Harlan Banfield stepped off the elevator into his parking garage, tired from a full, stressful day. He walked to his Volkswagen in the corner, and while doing so, he told himself he was getting too old to work so late in the evening. The garage was four-fifths empty; he figured he was the only person in the building putting in twelve-hour days.

He’d taken a few steps toward the elevator when he noticed the shape of a man standing in the darkness between two cars off his right. He thought of Ethan; this was just a few feet away from where the NSC whistleblower had appeared from the dark the week before, starting this entire traumatic episode for the sixty-six-year-old journalist.

But where Ethan had merely stepped into the light, this figure stormed forward out of the dark, charging at Banfield.

The man grabbed Banfield by the coat and slammed him up against a cement support column, then yanked him around behind the column, hiding him from anyone else who might come out of the elevators.

Banfield was too breathless to scream, but when he saw the gun, just a squat black pistol his attacker produced from inside his coat, he managed a small cry of alarm that emanated from the back of his throat.

The man slammed Banfield again into the column, his head against the cold concrete by the attackers forearm, and the gun disappeared from view.

But Banfield knew where it went. He felt a hard metal object pressed against his crotch.

The attacker was face-to-face with him now. He wore a mask, and Banfield could see nothing of the man’s eyes even though they were just inches away from his, because the light was so bad here in the corner of the underground lot.

“Who are you?” Banfield tried to put power into his words, but they came out in a hollow vibrato.

The masked man said, “I’m the guy who’s going to blow your fuckin’ nuts off if you don’t tell me what I want to know.”

“Wh-what do you want?”

“Ethan Ross. Start talking.”

“Ethan Ross? Who’s that?”

Banfield could see the man’s mouth, and realized he was grinning. “That’s how you’re going to play it?” He jabbed the barrel of the gun harder against Banfield’s manhood. “This is how I’m going to play it.”

“Wait! Please.”

“I’m not going to wait. I’m going to shoot you. I’ve got to prove to you I’m not fucking around, don’t I?”

“No! I know you are serious. I know who you work for. You are CIA.”

“Not even close, asshole. Those pussies over at Langley have rules. I’m calling my own shots.”

“Christ almighty. You. You were the one who killed Eve Pang. And the FBI men.”

The masked man cocked his head. “What are you talking about? Ross killed them.”

“Ross? No. That’s ridiculous. Ross couldn’t hurt a fly. It was you.”

The man in the mask seemed confused for a moment, but he recovered. He jammed the gun in tighter between Banfield’s legs.

Banfield said, “I’ll… I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

“Where is he?”

“I swear I have no idea.”

“That sucks for you.” The man pulled the hammer back on the pistol. The click echoed around the parking garage.

“Wait! I can find out.”

“How?”

“I have a secure messaging service on my computer. I can check with someone.”

“Jitsi? ChatSecure? Cryptocat?”

Banfield nodded. “Cryptocat.”

“Who is your contact?”

Banfield shut his eyes. He hesitated, but only for an instant. “The head of the ITP.”

“Give me a name.”

“Bertoli. Gianna Bertoli.”

“You are going to contact her, right now, and you are going to find out what they did with Ross.”

Banfield nodded his head.

Dominic Caruso took Banfield upstairs to his office at gunpoint. He had to remove his mask for this, he couldn’t be sure they wouldn’t pass others on the way, and walking through a downtown D.C. office building with a black neoprene balaclava would pretty much ensure the police would arrive en masse.

But he stayed behind Banfield, nudging him with the gun in his pocket.

Dom hadn’t fired this gun in years, and he sure hoped he didn’t have to test it. It was a Walther PPK his brother, Brian, had given him as a gift when he graduated from the FBI Academy. It was more a show gun than anything, but right now Dom’s Smith was somewhere under the control of Darren Albright, so he’d pulled his Walther out of his gun safe, cleaned, lubed, and loaded it with .380 hollow-point ammunition, and then rushed over to Banfield’s place of work.

In the elevator ride up Dom saw the older man positioning himself to catch the reflection of his attacker in the polished metal doors. Dom just said, “Head down, or I’ll shoot you through the kneecaps when we get to your office.”

Banfield looked down the rest of the way.

Inside the tiny one-room office, Banfield made his way to his computer at his desk and logged on. His hands shook while he typed; Dom stood behind him and held the pistol to the back of his head. “Any chance I could get you to move that gun just a little?”

“No chance at all.”

“It makes me nervous.”

“You should be nervous. Fear is a reasonable reaction for you right about now. I’ll be honest. If I were you, I’d be scared shitless.”

Banfield did his best to concentrate on what he was doing. Finally, he initiated the chat.

The relief he felt when Bertoli answered on the other end of the Cryptocat connection was blunted by the angry and armed man behind him.

He said, “If I even suspect you of trying to tip her off, you won’t live to see the sunrise. I’ll kill you right here, right now.”

Harlan held his quivering fingers over the keyboard. “I wouldn’t think about it.”

“Of course you would think about it. You are thinking about it right now. But if you do it, if you try one little thing, you die slow and nasty. I won’t ask you if you understand, because I see it in your eyes. You do understand. You were a foreign correspondent. I know you’ve been to some of those Third World shitholes where they’ve made torturing people into an art.

“Well, guess what, asshole? I have, too.”

“Who… who are you?”

“I’m that thing you’ve always known was out there. In the shadows. Except I’m not out there. I’m here, with a gun pressed to your kneecap.”

Banfield only uttered a hoarse “Dear God.”

“Relax. I’ll slip away quietly and let you live if you just make a series of correct decisions over the next few minutes. But I will kill if you give me any cause to do so.”

Harlan was certain this man was one of the operatives he’d spent the last several years trying to uncover. A group deeper and darker than the CIA, working here with in America’s borders, against journalists and others that would reveal the existence of the shadow government.

The man behind said, “Find out where he is.”

Harlan typed.

I wanted to make sure you are okay.

I am fine.

And our friend?

He is fine.

Anything I can do?

Not at this time. Thank you.

Banfield hesitated a long time, then typed: I need to know if I am safe here. If there is any exposure to me.

Why would there be?

Banfield looked up at Caruso. “I don’t know what to say.”

Caruso told Banfield what to write, and he typed.

The FBI has been in his house. Can you ask Ethan if there was anything that could lead the FBI back to me? He called me on my primary cell phone once, many months ago. Any chance he wrote the number down? If so, I might still have time to leave town.

Banfield finished typing and then his finger moved to the Enter key. But before he could depress it, Dom reached down and snatched the older man’s hand back.

Banfield was startled. “What’s wrong?”

Dom stared into Banfield’s eyes, a hard cruel glare. “Ethan? Above you called him ‘our friend.’ That was early on. You were scared. You’ve done what I’ve asked, so you relaxed a little, and now you are trying to tip her off. You don’t call him Ethan in your comms to Gianna, do you?” Banfield did not answer, but his face twitched. Dom said “No. You wouldn’t. Not Ross, either. You just call him ‘our friend,’ don’t you?”

Banfield nodded.

“If you are lying, I will fail in my mission. If I fail in my mission, I will have a lot of free time. Plenty of time to find you.”

“I swear it.”

“Fix the message and send it.”

Banfield did so, and there was a long pause.

And then a reply.

He says he might have written your number down. He doesn’t remember. I think you should get out of town.

“Does that tell you where he is?” Dom asked.

“It does. Ethan Ross is in Geneva.”

“You are sure?”

“Absolutely. The world HQ of ITP is Gianna’s home right there in the city.”

“And she’d take him there?”

“She has support from local government, other European nations with consulate or UN offices there. It is safe ground.”

“You have an address?”

“No.”

Dom lifted the gun again.

“Not an address. But they work out of the University of Geneva!”

“Good enough.”

Dom watched while Banfield ended the chat and logged off.

“It’s your lucky day, Banfield. You don’t die.”

Dom ripped the computer out of the wall and picked it up. “I’m taking this with me as collateral to ensure your silence. And if, at any time, I find out you communicated with Ross or anyone in the ITP, one of my colleagues will come for you, and my colleagues aren’t nearly as much fun to be around as I am.”

“I won’t talk. I swear it.”

Dom left Banfield alone and shaking in his small office.