Monster (23 page)

“If you have the E-mail address of this friend I can write up the copy for you,” Rutledge offered. “That way, we can E-mail it after I get done bouncing the source all over the Western Hemisphere.”

“I just have to give him a heads-up from somewhere else. As soon as he knows the info is gold, he’ll take the E-mail seriously. If we get started now we might make the afternoon news.”

“So can Cold have conjugal visits in jail, Diane?” Rutledge asked, causing Reskova who was swallowing a gulp of coffee to expel it suddenly from her nose.

Rutledge and Barrington quickly left the room, their laughter receding with them. A smiling Rasheed handed Reskova a handful of napkins as he tried not to laugh himself.

“I…I’ll get… that… bitch… if it’s the… last thing I ever… do,” Reskova stuttered out between swabbing off her face and clearing her nose.

“Yes, Boss, that was an evil thing to say,” Rasheed agreed, immediately taking on an outraged look.

Reskova stood up, grabbing more napkins for her still tearing eyes. She pointed menacingly at Rasheed. “Never mind you, Cold told me you instigated this whole thing with the office pool.”

“I innocently asked what you and Colonel McDaniels would be doing during your time watching the terrorist house. I cannot be held accountable for the vicious way your cohorts think.”

Reskova blew her nose a final time, still trying to clear up her sinus passages. “Bullshit, Kay.”

“I am very hurt over these insinuations, Boss,” Rasheed said, taking on an appropriate tone of sadness.

“Get out of my sight, Kay. Go and help your partners in crime do whatever they need to do.”

“In the meantime will you be going for the ah… conjugal visit?”

Only the quickness Rasheed moved through the door of the lab saved him from being nailed by the metal coffee server which hit the doorjamb a split second after his exit.

* * *

Assistant Director Dreyer came through the door of the lab where Reskova, Barrington, Rutledge, and Rasheed were pouring through every detail of the papers found inside the Mercado house. Although after quitting time, the four had been laboriously scanning in translations Rasheed made and notes as to what the four of them deciphered from the translations.

“What the hell did you do, Reskova!?” Dreyer waved a newspaper. “What possible good could come of this other than getting the four of you a ten year term in prison!?”

The four looked up at Dreyer with a look sufficient to garner an Oscar nomination if filmed as part of any documentary submitted for judging.

“Don’t even look at me like you don’t know what I’m talking about!” Dreyer raged, throwing the paper at Reskova’s head. “I’ll have you all up on charges by morning!”

Reskova caught the newspaper with an equally award winning look of shock and surprise. She spread it out for the others to see. The headline read:
Cold
Mountain
Strikes Again
. The story under the headline detailed the plans of the Mercado terrorists to hold a school hostage - naming the target and school janitor already taken into custody. The graphic details of how McDaniels had secured the site for Homeland Security read like a James Bond novel. Reskova looked up at Dreyer after a few moments with an appropriately confused look.

“You want to blame us for this?” Reskova asked incredulously.

“I want you all down taking polygraph tests within the hour,” Dreyer ordered ominously. “We’ll see how long this crap you’re dishing out holds up.”

“Sir,” Reskova said calmly. “Unless you plan on a full scale investigation, including the notification of appropriate House panel members, you can’t order anyone in this office to submit to a polygraph test. You can on the other hand have us arrested. In which case it would be detrimental to our defense for us to submit to a polygraph test, which is notoriously unreliable. I am offended you think so poorly…”

“You don’t want to know what I’m thinking right now, Reskova.” Dreyer pounded a fist on the table he stood next to. “If you did, you’d have a weapon in your hand.”

“You know, Sir,” Reskova said, some anger working its way into her voice, “as an ex-Marine, you’re kind of a pussy.”

Dead silence reigned after Reskova’s remark. Dreyer gripped the table edge in front of him as if he meant to pulverize it between his clamped fingers. His face flushed right up through the roots of his hair. His mouth worked for a moment without expelling any words. When he did speak, his voice came out in a raspy whisper.

“If you were a man Reskova, I’d rip your face off!”

“If you were a man, Sir, I’d tell you to try it. Cold saved your backstabbing life in Iraq and the motto of real Marines still remains Semper Fidelis, always faithful. Is that what you think you are?”

The four team members could see Reskova’s statement hit Dreyer hard. The rage drained from his features to be replaced by stony acceptance.

“I want your full report on my desk tomorrow morning, including work I assume you’re doing on the Mercado documents.” Dreyer turned and walked from the lab without looking back.

“Holy shit,” Rutledge whispered, looking at her team leader in surprise. “Do you have another career I don’t know about, Diane?”

“That was tight,” Barrington said with a smile. “Dreyer had it coming.”

Rasheed stayed silent, but looked at Reskova with respect. Although he knew an underling was not tortured and killed for disrespect as under Saddam, Rasheed understood such an action here still required courage. Rasheed could see the anger surging in Reskova’s features. He began reading back the last translation he had made to Rutledge. Minutes later, the four were again concentrating on the work at hand.

* * *

A message was left on Reskova’s office answering machine when she came in the next morning. Dreyer’s assistant’s voice directed Reskova to bring her team up to Dreyer’s office along with the Mercado report. Reskova immediately gathered materials from the work her team had done. They had not completed the initial document perusal until nearly ten o’clock the preceding evening after Dreyer left. Rasheed was first through the door.

“Good morning, Boss.”

“Hello, Kay. As soon as Tom and Jen get in, we have to report to Dreyer’s office.”

“Will we be fired?”

“Just me, more than likely - I might get off with a suspension and reassignment.”

“You were very formidable yesterday. Your remarks stopped Assistant Director Dreyer from spending any more time on his polygraph idea. Can we visit the Cold Mountain? I wish to see if he needs anything.”

“I’ll check when we get to Dreyer’s office. Don’t say anything unless he addresses you directly, Kay,” Reskova said as Barrington and Rutledge walked in together.

“We have orders to report to Dreyer,” Reskova repeated, after exchanging greetings. “I told Kay already not to speak unless spoken to. I’ll cue you in if I want either of you to provide clarification after I give Dreyer the report. Let’s get this over with.”

Rutledge walked past the two agents with her briefcase in hand. The three agents followed after only a moment’s hesitation. In Dreyer’s office which was located almost fifteen minutes away from their office, Reskova and her team were ushered into where Dreyer sat behind his desk. Reskova took out the Mercado materials from her briefcase and placed them in front of Dreyer. Dreyer did not take his eyes off Reskova.

“May I ask where they are holding Colonel McDaniels, Sir?”

“He’s not being held anywhere. McDaniels was called up for the assault on Fallujah. With his language skills and knowledge of the city McDaniels can save a lot of lives there. Our forces are massing outside the city now. He flew out of Dulles this morning. I’ll get back to you on the report. Any questions?”

“Did he have a choice?” Reskova asked, her voice betraying the emotion she felt hearing McDaniels was headed for Iraq once again into what was to be the worst battle in the Iraq War so far.

“No more than any of those other kids over there. He’s a soldier as you reminded me, Diane. I owed him a chance to put his skills to use outside of a prison cell while Aginson and I smooth this Mercado thing over.”

“Did… did he say anything?”

“He said to tell you to take care of his dog.” Dreyer smiled. He handed a folder to Reskova. “I’ve transferred the special unit mutt you two had with you into your team’s care. Where’s the dog now?”

“At my apartment.”

“Can you keep the dog there until he gets back?”

“Yes, I’ve already talked to the building manager. I showed him how special Dino is. Will the Colonel be returning to the team, Sir?”

“Director Aginson seems to think so, especially with the press he’s getting again. The people seem to regard McDaniels as above the law. The talk shows have picked up the outcry, urging letter and phone call campaigns into the Homeland Security office. You know as much as I do now. Get to work on tracing those people from the Mercado house. If you find something we can move on let me know right away.”

“Yes, Sir,” Reskova replied, turning to leave with her team.

“Wow, we’re still employed,” Rutledge whispered outside the office. She could see Reskova was still upset. “Cold will be fine, Diane, right Kay?”

“He knows Fullujah very well, Boss.”

“He has a whole lot of backup this time too,” Barrington remarked. “I hear they’re amassing fifty battalions in addition to tanks and air support.”

“You… you really think he’ll come through, Kay?”

“Do not worry about the Cold Mountain. His trouble will be the same as here. I am hoping heads will not begin appearing on the streets of Fullujah after his arrival. His superiors will surely not think it a coincidence.”

Rutledge and Barrington laughed at Rasheed’s attempt to reassure Reskova. Reskova merely nodded, not trusting herself to speak about McDaniels anymore.

Chapter 17

Marking Time

“Diane’s got it bad,” Rutledge whispered over to Barrington who was seated next to her.

The agents had been working for two weeks on nothing else other than finding every thread of information attainable on the Mercado terrorist cell. The leads they had uncovered led to nearly a hundred arrests across the country and in the Chechen area where some of the terrorists had come from. The Russian government had received updates in cooperation with Homeland Security to shut down the Chechen connection.

Barrington looked at Reskova. She stood quietly over Rasheed at his work station. “She’s been a little quiet but I don’t see anything sinister about that. She survived taking a hell of a shot at Dreyer. I think she’s just keeping her head down.”

“Men,” Rutledge said with disdain. “You guys are about as cognizant of a woman’s feelings as you all are about picking up your underwear.”

“Hey, was that a shot?” He and Rutledge had been ride sharing since they were stationed back in Washington. Rutledge had clucked at Barrington derisively when she walked in his door that morning to wait for him.

“Oh no, Tom, I thought your washing decorating your living room floor was a new art form you’re interested in.”

“Be careful,” Barrington warned, pointing a finger at a suddenly apprehensive Rutledge.

“What?” Rutledge asked. “Did you see something at my place I should know about? I can take constructive criticism.”

Arms crossed over his chest, Barrington watched his ongoing scan for a name Rasheed had found. “Sure you can, Jen, sure you can.”

“You’re just jealous because I know how to keep a house clean,” Rutledge said, going back to scrolling through names on her screen.

“I had to take a leak while you were getting dressed.”

Rutledge spun around toward him, her face flushing. “I told you not to go in my bathroom. I…”

“You told me you were painting or some lamo excuse like that.” Barrington laughed, seeing the trapped look on Rutledge’s face. “You wish you were just painting in there. Good Lord, woman, when was the last time you…”

“Shut up,” Rutledge ordered him. “I… I’m getting ready for a… a complete makeover.”

“By starting your own multi-colored mold collection? From what I saw, Jen, you don’t need a bathroom makeover, you need an intervention by physical force if necessary.”

“You could still take a piss in there, couldn’t you?”

“Nope.” Barrington shook his head in the negative. “I decided not to chance walking through whatever you had in puddles on the floor.”

“Oh, God,” Rutledge said, leaning on the desk with her hands covering her face.

Barrington put his arm around her shoulders consolingly. “I’ll come over tonight and help you clean it. We’ll borrow a couple of Haz-Mat suits before we leave.”

Rutledge peeked out at him. “What do I have to do in return?”

“Buy me dinner. We’ll have to eat after we get done though. I have a weak stomach.”

“How about pizza?” Rutledge suggested, warming to the idea of finally getting her bathroom cleaned. “There’s a pizzeria right down the street from my place.”

“Sounds good. What the hell happened to you with that bathroom anyway?”