Pushed to the Edge (SEAL Team 14) (15 page)

“You seem like a thorough researcher Ms. Sanchez,
so you must be aware that I just own stakes in the company,” Henning replied. 
He leaned back in his seat, his meal long forgotten as his chin rested on the
tips of his steepled fingers.  “There is separate management for the everyday
dealings of the company.  I retired as CEO of the Henning Cooper Company when I
took office seven years ago.  And I’m still unclear as to how any of the
clients of a company that I founded is relevant to this interview.”

“Your abduction was quite a significant event in
U.S. foreign affairs.  I think that you would agree with that statement.  The
audacity of such a move, even on the part of a terrorist organization, is
unprecedented.  Which makes some people wonder whether or not there were
additional motivations behind the attack other than just a vague anti-U.S.
sentiment,” Victoria paused before continuing.  Henning was staring at her with
an incomprehensible look on his face. 

 “In addition, Mr. Henning, even though you may be
listed as the Chairman Emeritus on your company’s website and legal documents,
you still own more than thirty percent of the company’s outstanding common
stock.  That amount is more than enough to qualify as having control over the
company.  I can hardly imagine that the Henning Cooper Company would have
approved the last deal that your company engaged in without your knowledge and
input.”

“And to which ‘deal’ are you referring?” 
Henning’s jaw clenched tightly, as if he had to force the question out.  His
eyes narrowed as he stared at her.

“The deal and client that I am referring to is
Nava Drug Corp,” Victoria answered calmly, making sure that she kept an even,
nonchalant tone of voice.  She didn’t want to antagonize him more than was
necessary, not when she was still mining for information.

“Nava Drug Corp is a new contract for the Henning
Cooper Company.  And in any case, I can’t fathom how this line of questioning
about the shipping company—that I founded decades ago—bears any relation to the
events that transpired in Pakistan.  And those are the events that you told me
that this meeting was about.”

Victoria smiled, trying to diffuse the situation a
little bit.  He was liable to tell her that the meeting was over, or at the
very least demand that she stop the recording.  She knew that she was skating
on thin ice so she tried carefully to precisely word her next question. 

“I try to get a full picture of the facts for my
stories.  While many reporters are running on the assumption that your attack
was a case of bad luck, others are questioning whether the militants were
actually orchestrating a well thought out plan.”

“Obviously, my kidnapping was well planned.  They
planned to kidnap me and they executed that plan.”

“Yes, but the why part is still unknown.  Some
pundits say that the “why” is as simple as your being a prominent American who
was in the wrong place at the right time.  However, some posit that maybe you
were under attack for reasons other than your being a former U.S.
Congressman.” 
Okay
, Victoria knew that she was stretching it here—she
was really the only reporter that she knew about who questioned whether there
was a different motivation behind Henning’s abduction.

She waited for a response, but Henning just
glanced away with a look of irritation on his face.  He nodded to his security
team who were lurking nearby.  She could tell that at any second he was going
to bolt from the table.  He was already signaling to the waiter for the check. 

“Listen, Mr. Henning.  If the motivations behind
your abduction were anything but random, I would think that you would want to
know,” she rushed ahead.

“I would prefer it if you stop the recording if
you are going to continue with this unrelated line of questioning.”  Henning
watched Victoria carefully reach across the table to turn off the recorder.

“And what exactly makes you believe that it was
anything other than random?” Henning asked.

“For starters . . . your connection to Nava Drug
Corp.  I have reliable sources that indicate that some of the key management
and chemists who work for the company are currently under investigation by
several international law enforcement agencies.”

“I’m sure neither I nor the management of the
Henning Cooper Company is aware of any such investigations.”

“What about Walt Mickelson?”

“What about Walt Mickelson?” Richard Henning
replied in a disturbingly soft voice.    

“I interviewed Mr. Mickelson earlier this month. 
He left the Henning Cooper Company very abruptly.”

“I’m sure he had his reasons.”

“Oh, so you’re not sure?  What his reasons were I
mean?  I would think that after a year of tense litigation and then what I can
only imagine must have been a healthy settlement amount, surely you must now
know what his reasons were for leaving your company.”  Instead of responding to
her sarcasm, Henning leaned back into his chair, looked at her, and smiled.

“He mentioned to me that he had a problem with
some of your new clients,” Victoria continued defiantly, unmoved by the dark
glares that Henning was shooting her way.

“Well that’s unfortunate.  He didn’t mention any
of that to me.  He left after the restructure of the company.  Unfortunately,
the restructuring process reduced his share ownership.  So I assumed that his
departure was related to the change in his ownership percentage.”

“Are you also unaware of the investigations that
both you and your company are under by the U.S. Drug Enforcement Agency?” 
Victoria was watching Henning closely as his eyes iced over to an interesting
shade of arctic blue.  Instead of the color draining from his face, however, a
burst of red coloring infused his cheeks. 

She had done it, she had played her last card in
the deck, pushing him to the edge of his limits, and now he looked as if he was
about to explode.  Either that or reach across the table and attempt to
strangle her. 

“Those are some very big assertions from a
reporter working for the very small
Dallas Star Gazette
,” Henning said,
abruptly standing up from the table.  Henning turned his back on her as if to
walk away, but then he must have thought the better of it, because he turned
back around and placed one meaty hand on the table right in front of her. 

He leaned forward, right into her face.  He was
obviously trying to intimidate her.  His eyes were like two tiny pinpoints of
blue fire, and his hands were shaking—as if he was trying his best not to reach
across the table and smack her or strangle her.  Actually, he probably would
have if there hadn’t been any witnesses.  “Rest assured, your editor will hear
about this and soon.  If I were you, I’d have a back of plan for your day
job.” 

“Well, now I see some of that charming character
coming out of you that I’ve read so much about.  Please be advised Mr. Henning,
I don’t scare easily.  My job is to report the full story to the public.  And I
intend to do just that,” Victoria replied in as icy of a tone as she could
muster.  All the while, her insides were shaking—but she’d be damned if this
prick would ever know that he had struck a nerve. 

Without saying another word, Henning got up from
the table and walked out of the café, his security group following him out. 

Crap
.  That certainly hadn’t gone as
smoothly as she had hoped.  She had known that it would be a risk to push him
on his connection with the Russian drug company, but she had to take that
chance.  Henning didn’t say much, but sometimes what people didn’t say spoke
louder than words. 

Since getting the information that the good former
Congressman was actually under an “informal” DEA investigation, she had a
modicum of leverage to lean on him a bit.  Word of the investigation was going
to come out at some point regardless. 

Monika had told her that Richard Henning had been
flagged in the FBI system as well, which was interconnected with the DEA via
the shared Firebird computer system.  Nevertheless, her friend had refused to
probe further to determine the extent of the investigation. 

To be fair to her friend, if Monika had snooped
any further she would definitely be at risk not only losing her job at the FBI,
but also criminal sanctions because the data about the investigation was
undoubtedly highly classified.  

 Victoria calculated that the best move to make at
this point would be to investigate Nava Drug Corp primarily and see what she
could shake loose.  Obviously, she hadn’t yet figured out the drug connection
here.  But DEA involvement wasn’t a unusual if there were somehow illegal
prescription drugs flowing between the Russian and U.S. borders.

Picking up her attaché case, Victoria walked
toward the exit.  It was nearly one-thirty p.m. and she needed to get to the
office to start tracking down some new leads and to explain the whole rogue
investigation she was conducting to her boss.

Pop!  Pop!  Pop!  Pop!

Victoria had just reached the entrance to the
front of the hotel when she heard a rapid-fire cacophony of sounds followed by
loud screams.  Victoria felt a sense of dread creep up and land squarely at the
base of her stomach.

Holy hell.

Pop!  Pop!  Pop!

Those were gunshots.  Victoria was a left-leaning,
tree-hugging, peace-loving, gun-avoiding hippie.  Nevertheless, she knew with a
chilling certainty what those sounds were, even though she was hoping that she
was wrong.  Those were gunshots. 

She knew this to be true because she had dated a
Navy SEAL for two years of her life, after all.  She had told Joshua that she
was afraid of guns, and had taken it upon himself to teach her how to shoot for
her protection.  She had gone a few times with him to the gun range—but an overall
love of guns hadn’t taken hold of her.  But she still recognized the distinct
staccato sound of gunfire.

Sprinting out of the front door of the hotel,
Victoria rushed toward what was certain danger, like a firefighter racing
toward the fire.  Upon crossing the threshold of the hotel that led out into
the street, Victoria could feel that whatever had just happened was very bad. 
Gone was the normalcy that had characterized this very same street just a few
hours before. 

People were in a panic.  Victoria saw three young
women sprinting away from the right side of the street, screaming the whole
time.  Several grown men were quickly running in the same direction too.  Some
of those individuals who were running had their phones out, presumably to call
the cops. 

She saw what appeared to be two men speeding off
on a motorcycle, rounding a corner coming off a side street.  At least Victoria
thought that they were men.  It was difficult to tell because the angle in
which she was standing only afforded her a side view.  Both were wearing dark
clothing and had short dark hair, and black leather jackets.

Victoria headed to the left, which by the fact
that it was the direction that everyone was running from, was precisely where
the action was.  She was a reporter after all and she wanted to see if she
could do anything to help.  Rounding the corner, Victoria’s faced drained in
disbelief. 

Dios Mio
.  Lying in the middle of the side
street that intersected with Main Street and Catalina Boulevard, was Richard
Henning.  He was profusely bleeding from multiple gunshot wounds.  He had taken
at least one round to the chest and another to the stomach.  His previously
pristine white linen dress shirt was drenched in blood.

Lying around him in bright red pools of blood were
the three members of his protective detail.  Like Henning, someone had shot all
three bodyguards multiple times.  The bodyguards were definitely dead.  She
didn’t have to be a doctor to make these diagnoses.  Shots to the head
typically didn’t end well for the victim.  Richard Henning looked dead too as
Victoria approached him. 

“Help,” Victoria screamed into the nearly desolate
street, “Please help!  Someone please call 911!”  Victoria’s hands were shaking
and her heart was pounding so rapidly she could swear that it was going to jump
out of her chest.  She dropped to her knees in front of Henning. 

When she knelt down next to him Victoria realized
that he was still breathing.  His breaths were faint, but they were definitely
there. 

Victoria hurriedly took off her jacket and tried
to press down as hard as she could with one hand on the wounds that were in his
chest and stomach.  She attempted to staunch the flow of the blood but the
bright red, viscous fluid was pumping out of his body at a shocking rate. 

The disturbing combination of the metallic smell
of the blood and the thick, stickiness of the liquid between her fingers was
almost enough to make her vomit.  She barely held herself together, but seeing
her lunch for a second time today, wouldn’t do anyone any good—especially not
Henning. 

She had only had the most basic of first aid
training.  She remembered that triaging the wounds themselves were important,
so that’s what she tried to do.  She figured that the chest and stomach wounds
were likely Henning’s biggest obstacles to living to see another day.  She
continued to press down on those wounds with her jacket.

“Help!  Someone help!” Victoria yelled again.  She
couldn’t believe that no other Good Samaritans had arrived to assist the fallen
men.

 She hoped that her efforts were actually help
him, but she knew that he could easily bleed out from the combination of all
the other wounds that he had sustained.  Looking down at Henning, she saw that
he was completely nonresponsive at this point.  He was growing paler by the
minute and his breaths were getting even shallower, his labored breaths were
those of a man didn’t have long left on planet Earth. 

Victoria looked up and saw a man standing across
the street.  He wasn’t trying to run from the chaos, he didn’t appear to be
scared at all.  He was just standing there, watching her.  With her trembling
left hand, Victoria pulled her cell phone out of her purse, and became what she
was sure was the hundredth person to call 911 about the shooting.