Blown (23 page)

T
he Next Morning

Alexandria, Virginia

T
he armored Marshals Service Suburban
picked the three men up from a fortified hangar at the Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport. The passenger compartment had black out windows. Totally opaque. Not to keep someone on the outside from looking in but to keep whoever was on the inside from seeing out. Kaplan sat in the seat next to the driver. Tony, Moss, and another WitSec deputy sat in the blacked out compartment.

Witness Security Safe Site and Orientation Center had been veiled in secrecy since its inception; only the U. S. Marshals Service and a select few other authorized and well-vetted individuals knew its location.

Supposedly.

In reality, though, plenty of people without clearance knew the location. Local rumors of the facility spread soon after construction. Now in the digital age if someone knew its general location, the facility wasn't difficult to locate with a quick satellite view search on
Google Maps
. How hard could it be to pick out an oddly shaped compound stuck out in the marsh?

The SSOC itself was a secure area inside a secure area. There was no easy access due to the isolation. No one could
accidentally
wander up to the place. It was well guarded and no one entered without proper authorization and identification. The octagonal shaped complex was under constant surveillance. Kaplan had been there before. The other men had been there before as well, although Tony had never seen the outside.

The octagon was double-fenced with razor wire topping. Between the fences was a ground proximity system. At each point of the octagon was a light pole with mounted closed-circuit cameras. A network of electronic anti-intrusion equipment and sophisticated communications systems protected the entire facility and its occupants. It was the same MAID-MILES system used by the Air Force to protect nuclear weapons, another government acronym that stood for Magnetic Anti-Intrusion Detectors and Magnetic Intrusion Line Sensors. It seemed the government had an acronym for everything. In Delta Force they joked that somewhere in Washington D.C. there was a lonely man in charge of creating acronyms for the government. He would have an acronym for his job title as well—Joint Acronym Control Officer—or JACkOFF for short.

Inside the SSOC, Kaplan remembered, cameras were spaced every few feet along the quiet corridors. All exterior and interior cameras were under round-the-clock monitoring. Interior doors opened and closed automatically. Every room was the same temperature and same humidity. To him, living there would be like being incarcerated.

Kaplan had insisted on going with Moss and Tony to the SSOC. In his mind, it was the fulfillment of his promise to the departed Deputy Mike Cox, the man who begged him to personally deliver Tony to a WitSec safe site. It was the handshake oath—
I give you my word
—although there was no handshake.

Raised in the Deep South, keeping his word was part of his upbringing. His father taught him at an early age not to make veiled promises; he had no respect for people who broke their word. Kaplan respected his father and his ideal, that a man's word was his bond.

As a soldier in Delta, a man's oath was his sacred vow. Each man in the squadron depended on the other—
I got your back, you got mine.
A code of honor that extended well past military service, it was a lifetime oath among fellow Delta comrades.

The Suburban drove through Alexandria and intercepted Telegraph Road on the south side of town. A few minutes later, the Marshals Service vehicle entered a military installation identified by the sign as
U.S. Coast Guard, Alexandria, Virginia.
The soldier at the guardhouse checked the driver's identification and waved the Suburban through. The Marshals Service vehicle drove down a long straight road until it reached another gate at the end of the road. The gate opened and the Suburban drove into a secured holding area. The gate closed behind them and then the driver pulled forward to a physical barrier.

Two men scrambled to the vehicle and checked the underside with mirrors on extended poles and other electronic detection devices. After a few minutes, the interior gate opened and the driver weaved around the barriers and through a double gate. Guards, presumably deputies, patrolled the perimeter.

The Suburban pulled into the complex and up to a garage door. The driver waited for the door to open and then drove inside a windowless garage. It wasn't until the garage door had completely closed that Kaplan was given the okay to exit the vehicle.

The deputy in the blacked-out compartment with Moss opened the back door and Tony followed him out of the vehicle.

"Same as I remember it," Tony said.

Moss was last to exit the vehicle.

Moss and Kaplan escorted Tony inside for processing. Tony signed several documents and was issued a toiletries package. After he finished
in-processing
, the old man walked over to Moss and Kaplan.

"I guess this is goodbye fellows," he said. He shook hands with both men.

"I'll be seeing you in a few days," Moss said to Tony. "For the hearing." He looked at Kaplan. "I'll go get us a ride."

After Moss was out of earshot, Kaplan leaned forward and said to Tony in a low but harsh voice, "If you screw this up or double-cross Pete, I
will
track you down and kill you."

Tony jerked his head back in apparent disbelief.

Kaplan smiled. "And you of all people know I can do it."

"Have you ever heard of the Sicilian word
Quattrocchi
?"

Kaplan shook his head and said, "Does it mean lying piece of shit?"

"On the contrary. In Sicily, it implies a binding agreement between two men. A covenant made with four eyes. A promise that cannot be broken. A trust. A bond. An agreement. It is stronger than your piece of paper." Tony held up his documents. "It is as strong as a blood oath, only without the blood. To break it, is the ultimate dishonor."

Kaplan said nothing at first. Then he stepped closer to Tony. Kaplan's face flushed, the creases in his forehead deepened, his eyes narrowed. "You mean like risking my life to save an ungrateful blood-sucking leech just because a dying man asked me to? A man I didn't know. Is that the kind of bond you're talking about, Tony?"

The two men stared at each other for several seconds without speaking.

"Mr. Kaplan," Tony finally said. "You have my word, I will honor my obligation with Inspector Moss."

A deputy walked forward. "Sir," he said. "I'll take you to your room."

Tony gave Kaplan one last look.

"Remember what I said." Kaplan pointed at his eyes and then at Tony's eyes. Four eyes. Quattrocchi. "That's a promise. And I never break a promise."

And then Tony was gone.

Moss returned with the keys to a government sedan, a Crown Vic.
What else?
After they folded themselves into the vehicle, Moss started the Crown Vic and pulled up to the gate.

The process was reversed. Through the double gates, stop at the barriers, through the next gate, and down the long straight road to the guardhouse at the exit of the Coast Guard facility.

"Where to now, Inspector Moss?" Kaplan asked.

"Little Rock."

"Figure out your mole?"

"Yeah." Moss revealed the identity of the mole.

"Why don't you just have him picked up?"

"Oh hell no." Moss held up the mob boss's phone. "I plucked this off Scalini's body on the way out of the warehouse and scrolled through the call log. That last call, the warning call, came from him. This is personal now. He stabbed me in the back, I want to slap the cuffs on that scumbag myself."

Moss's face revealed his true emotions. He was angry and hurt, and he had a right to be both. A trusted ally had betrayed him, had lied to him, and had used him. Kaplan knew that feeling all too well. He'd been betrayed in the past too and vowed never to trust anyone again. He guessed some wounds never heal.

"What about Bruno?"

Moss didn't answer at first. He seemed to be searching for the right words. Then he said, "I figure you'll help me track him down later."

"It's a tempting offer, but Bruno will have to wait."

"Where will you go now?" Moss asked. "Finish your trip to Texas?"

"No, not yet. First there is a flock of sheep in Lebanon that will soon be in need of a new shepherd."

I
t wasn't
Lebanon where Kaplan had to travel to locate Çoban; it was Cyprus, an unlikely place for Hezbollah leader Sheik Hakim Omar Khalil to seek refuge. Unlikely in that the two main religious groups dominating the island were Greek Orthodox and Islam—Sunni Islam—and Hezbollah was a Shiite militant group.

Expedited vetting by the agency's secret internal affairs team found Kaplan's handler, Alan, had no involvement in the leak. Kaplan was relieved. Alan was a good handler and he now knew he had his back.

Alan was able to locate the Sheik on a small seaside compound outside the town of Paphos. Over the years, the island's Sunni population had migrated to the northern end of Cyprus, which explained Çoban's seclusion on the southwestern side. He couldn't run the risk of being recognized by his sworn enemies. In a way, it was a wonder he'd taken up refuge on Cyprus at all. On the other hand, it was brilliant. Who would think to look for the Shiite Sheik amongst an island full of Sunnis?

After Çoban was located, Alan deleted the search from CIA's databases. No evidence of Kaplan's new destination could be known until the agency's leak was located and plugged. For that matter, with the one exception of communications with his handler, as soon as Kaplan left the U. S. Marshals Service Safe Site and Orientation Center in Alexandria, Virginia, he went off the grid.

Again.

He and Moss parted ways at Washington National Airport. The deputy booked a flight from DC to Memphis where he planned to drive to Little Rock and put the pinch on the traitor. Kaplan felt he had been successful in helping Moss channel his anger. The big man seemed ready, if not eager, to confront his Judas.

He couldn't worry about Moss anymore though, he had his own mission to plan and execute. After he took care of his business with the Sheik, or Shepherd as Valkyrie referred to him, he had agreed to meet with Moss and together they would go after Bruno the Rat.

Kaplan called in a favor from a Mossad operative whose life he had saved eight months ago in Egypt. His gesture had gone a long way in strengthening the relationship between Mossad and the CIA. It didn't hurt that she also happened to be the niece of the Mossad director himself.

Al Qaeda terrorists shot Marla Farache last Christmas when she tried to exfiltrate an Israeli tourist who had been kidnapped by the radical group. Kaplan pulled Farache and the tourist to safety after mounting a one-man rescue mission that resulted in the deaths of their captors. He applied a makeshift triage on her wounds and carried Marla on his back five kilometers to safety.

From there, he was sent to Lebanon to assassinate the Sheik's cousin.

After he parted company with Moss, Kaplan took a taxi from the terminal to a General Aviation hangar on the other side of the airport. As a precaution, his weapons were surrendered prior to boarding and secured in a lockbox. It was standard Mossad protocol.

Kaplan climbed the air stair to the business class jet and found Marla Farache sitting on a leather couch talking on her cell phone. She was still as exotically beautiful as he remembered. Her long black hair draped across one shoulder and her rich brown eyes set off her dark skin.

She looked up when he entered the aircraft and smiled. She waved him in. "He just arrived," she said into her phone. "I'll call back once we're in the air."

She grabbed the cane propped against the seat next to her and pulled herself to her feet. "Gregg Kaplan, come in."

He walked over to her and held out his hand.

"We're on a handshake basis now?" she said. "After everything we've been through? I want a hug."

She opened her arms and they shared an embrace. "Marla, how are you?" he asked. Her eyes sparkled when she looked at him. "Wounds all healed?"

"My back healed fine but this leg isn't up to Mossad field standards yet." She held up her cane as she spoke. "Doctors say I might not ever have enough strength to work in the field again."

As she spoke, he noticed the sparkle in her eyes was replaced with sadness.

"You're in the States, you must have some duties."

"Uncle named me Mossad Deputy Director of American Affairs."

"Sounds important. What does that mean?"

"Not much," she sighed. "I spend a lot more time in the U.S. now as liaison to NSA, CIA, and DoD. I think Uncle just wanted to no longer worry about me."

"I hope this favor won't land you in hot water."

"Not at all. On the contrary." Her tone changed, more upbeat. "Gives me a chance to go back home for a few days. I owe you this one…and a lot more. Besides, Uncle said he wants to see you again too." She lowered herself to the couch and patted her hand on the seat next to her. She leaned over and pulled a packet out of her briefcase and handed it to Kaplan. "This contains everything Mossad knows about Çoban. We were surprised you found his location, Mossad has been searching for his hideout ever since his cousin was executed."

Kaplan broke eye contact and fidgeted in his seat.

"Did you have something to do with that?" She asked. "Hezbollah blamed Mossad."

"Yeah," Kaplan dragged out the word. "I was afraid there might be some blowback aimed at Israel."

"I have to wonder," she said. "Why Çoban? And why now?"

"Remember Valkyrie?" Kaplan asked.

Marla Farache nodded.

"Çoban hired her to kill me as retribution for his cousin."

"Then why aren't you dead? She's never missed a target."

"She did last night," he said. "I collared her in New Jersey. We got her tucked away in a holding station in Manhattan until the agency can figure out what to do with her."

"Gitmo?"

"That's my guess. For a while anyway."

Farache gently put her hand on Kaplan's arm. "Gregg, you look like hell. Your eyes are bloodshot and you have dark circles under them. When was the last time you slept?"

"Do naps count?"

"No. When was your last full night's sleep?"

"Four days ago."

"No wonder you look so tired. There is a queen sized bed in the back." She pointed to a door at the back of the cabin. "After we get in the air, you can eat and I'll put you to bed."

"If I recall correctly," Kaplan said as a smile crept across his lips. "Last time you did that neither one of us got much sleep."

She smiled and lowered her head pretending embarrassment. "Are you complaining?"

"More like bragging," he said. "Seems like such a long time ago."

"It does." There was a long awkward silence. She patted her leg where the bullet had entered and said, "Night before this happened."