The Puppeteer (7 page)

Ty shoved himself off the wall and paced to the other end of the sunroom. “And then, when we were blamed over and over for all the devastation,” he paused, searching for the right words, his eyes fixed on the sea. “Well, there is only so much hate I could take. I wasn't effective anymore, I started to identify with people I shouldn't have. The lines became too blurry for me. I needed to leave before I put myself, or my men, at risk.”

Drew found himself more than interested in the answer. It wasn't an unusual situation, but still, he knew there had to be more.

Ty shook his head and picked up the binoculars again. He didn't look through them, but rather adjusted the settings, again and again,
giving his hands something to do. “I knew who the enemy was, don't get me wrong. But it was the innocents that I started to identify with, the parents who'd lost their children, the wives who'd lost their husbands. I couldn't stop thinking about how what we were doing played a role in so much pain.” He paused again and then gave another shake of his head, unable to explain everything.

“I know the difference between right and wrong. I guess I wasn't sure if what we were doing was always falling into the right category.”

Drew considered this, considered the man in front of him. No, he was not a bit like the other men in Dani's life. And Drew wasn't sure if this was a good thing or not.

*   *   *

Ty wasn't surprised when he spent the next four hours without so much as a glance from Dani. Rather than moon over it, he'd spent over an hour with Cotter learning the details of the visual surveillance and about the same amount of time with Spanky. The fourth time he walked into the room where she sat, oblivious to everyone around her, he considered taking it personally, but the intense energy surrounding her, the way she talked to her teammates, the way she focused on the information before her, all told him that her concentration on her job was absolute.

And he had no doubt the information she was reviewing, the pieces of the puzzle she was playing with, were significant. Both the team and the equipment appeared to be top notch. Almost too good for the DEA. Granted, he didn't know all that much about the inner workings of the DEA, but there was something about the quality of the equipment that raised red flags—front, back, left, and right—about its origin. But, putting aside those thoughts, he felt confident that any information floating around the house was relevant to the task at hand, or would become relevant, which is why he opted to give Dani the benefit of the doubt.

Deciding to let the DEA team do their thing without him looking over their shoulders, Ty made his excuses and left to do a little digging on his own. He made a quick call and, thirty minutes later, steered his car into a parking spot outside Pete's Place, the local watering hole.

“Hey, Jay,” Ty said as he slid onto an empty stool.

Jay turned his head, studied Ty, then turned back and took a sip of his beer. Jay had no use for niceties, or anything else that suggested form over substance. His slipshod appearance, grungy clothes, and too-long hair, were a cover for one of the greatest strategic minds Ty had ever encountered. Jay's private security company was one of the best in the country and the only reason he was not a rich man was because he chose not to be, picking and choosing clients by whatever whim interested him on any particular day. He wasn't an easy man to get along with, but they'd been friends long enough to consider each other almost brothers.

“Late lunch,” Ty nodded to the empty plate in front of Jay.

“God, I hate primadonnas,” Jay started without pretense. “I got called to do a job down on the point. Some local girl who made it big in the movies and wants to come back and flaunt it. Big house, lots of cars, the whole nine yards.” Jay's opinion of the woman, and her choices, was clear in the tone of his voice. “Anyway, she hears about my company, demands I come out to set up her security. No ‘Hi, Mr. Alexander, could you find a time to come and look at my place? I heard you were good,’” he mimicked. “No, it was more like ‘You will show up at eleven a.m. or suffer my wrath, which is worse than god's.’ I should have known then to stay away.”

Ty chuckled. Jay was a sucker for women, always had been, always would be. He'd never
been
suckered by one, his natural sense of preservation tended to kick in within about the first ten minutes. But the next time a woman called with some sob story about her security, he'd rush right over. He had what some people referred to as overly-developed protection instincts. Whether they were well placed or not was a constant source of debate between the two men.

“So I get up there,” he continued. “And she starts screaming when she sees me. I mean, shrieking her fucking head off. Who would have guessed such a little thing had such a mouth on her?
God, I don't know how she made her money but two-to-one says it was in some horror flick. She had a screech that could peel paint.”

Jay shook his head and took another sip. “She thought I was some stalker or freaky fan or something like that. So her personal security comes out and tries to take me down. What a sorry bunch of mother fuckers. It took me all of about two minutes to put them on the ground.” He sighed in resignation. “So there we are, four downed security, one shrieking movie star and me.”

Ty was laughing now. “So what did you do?”

“I crossed my arms and leaned against my truck until the little banshee quit. I figured she'd either figure out I wasn't a stalker or run out of breath and pass out. To be honest, I was kind of hoping for the latter,” a ghost of a smile appeared. “After about thirty seconds she must have figured out I wasn't there to rape or kill her. She stops screaming, but then starts yelling at me. ‘Who the hell are you?’ and ‘Get the hell off my property!’ and all that kind of shit.

“So I wait again until she's quiet and then I tell her who I am. For one second, the expression on her face almost made the whole ordeal worth it,” he did smile now. “But then she got pissed again and started yelling at me about her security, who were starting to move around. They weren't hurt, but she didn't know that. She started yelling about lawsuits and assault and all those things. None of which would have held up, since they attacked me first, but the little spit didn't think of that.”

“And…?” Ty prompted when Jay stopped and took another sip.

Jay shrugged. “After about thirty seconds my ears couldn't take it anymore. I got in my truck and drove away. I figured, no way was I interested in working for a crazy woman like that.”

Ty smiled and shook his head. “Let me guess, she called you back, apologized, maybe even cried a little, and swore it would never happen again. Then claimed that she
needed
you to do her security because you're the best in the state, possibly the country. And you rushed right back up there and finished the system,” Ty goaded.

“Fuck you, Fuller.”

Ty let out a bark of laughter—he couldn't help it.

“What the hell brings you down here at this time of day?” Jay demanded. The same thing that took Jay back out to the movie star's
house, Ty thought. His friend had more integrity than any man he knew. Jay never, not once, backed down from doing the right thing—even when he hated doing it. Which is why Ty had thought long and hard about coming to Jay. He didn't want to back his friend into a corner, but he knew Jay would have the information he needed.

“You ever design or install a little system for a certain kind of house that sits out on its own little peninsula?” Ty asked. A direct question might have been best, but he wanted to keep it vague and give Jay some breathing room to answer how he thought best.

“Maybe,” Jay drained his glass and signaled the bartender.

“It's an interesting piece of land. Surrounded by water on three sides. I was wondering how a person might secure that kind of frontage.”

Jay thought about it for a minute before answering. “There's a special, very expensive, acoustic monitoring system called the Hunley. It would do the job. But if I used the Hunley, I would use a secondary system for visual surveillance as well.”

“What would you suggest?” Ty asked.

“Hard to say, I'd have to look into it,” Jay answered.

“Let me know.” Ty said as the bartender set another beer in front of Jay. “And where can I find some information on the Hunley?”

“I'll let you know,” Jay nodded. “I'll send it to you, along with some ideas as to where, if it were me, I'd install the monitors.”

“Thanks, I'd appreciate that,” Ty nodded back, and then slid from his seat.

“Hey Ty,” Jay called as Ty made his way toward the door.

“Yeah,” he responded, turning back.

“I knew a nasty son of a bitch who had a set up like that. Dealing with him made me watch my back for a long while.”

Ty studied his friend. Jay was about the last person on this planet Ty could envision worried about his own safety. Well warned, he nodded in acknowledgment.

*   *   *

Back at the house, Dani stared at yet another photo. Only this one wasn't one of her special pictures. It was a legitimate part of the investigation.

“No one is this dumb,” she said.

“You ever meet Jonathan Smythe?” Drew countered.

“At a reception at the Tate Gallery in London a few years ago. Before his political appointment as the British Ambassador to the US.” She paused and scanned the other faces in the picture. “He isn't the brightest bulb, but still, you would think his handlers would try to keep him from meeting with Michael Keogh, arms dealer extraordinaire. At least in public.” But they hadn't, and the CIA had a picture to prove it.

“Here's Michael Keogh's movements for the past few weeks,” Marmie said, handing her a set of papers.

Dani gave them a cursory perusal. “Well, he hasn't been anywhere unexpected, at least that we know of. Iraq, Saudi Arabia, various former Soviet republics.” She placed the papers on her desk and sat back. She'd analyze them more later.

“Okay, so what do we know, Adam?” Dani asked.

Adam looked up from his computer at the sound of his name, then rose from his seat. Adam always paced when he talked. “Michael Keogh, international arms dealer, met last night with the British Ambassador to the US.” He nodded to the picture.

“How did they first meet?” she asked, leaning forward and placing her elbows on the desk.

“We still don't know. It's possible they met while both were in Jordan a few months ago. We don't have any intel placing them in close proximity, but it's still possible since we do have some unaccounted for time for both men. It's also possible their meeting last night was their first meeting.”

“Closing a deal?” Marmie offered.

“What do you think, Adam? You worked in Europe before joining this team. What's your take on Keogh and Smythe?” Dani asked.

Adam frowned then walked toward a board they'd hung in the room. It was covered with pictures of Getz and various Eagle's Wing members. But when Adam flipped it around, the faces of Smythe and others in their circle came into view. Adam tacked the picture of
Keogh up. This side of the board was the real reason her team was here, why the CIA was running a drug bust in Portland, Maine. Having a diplomat from an ally country suspected of being involved in arms dealing was something they'd prefer to keep close to the vest. And this was a board Ty would never see.

At the thought of Ty, Dani glanced around. She knew he wasn't at the house, knew he'd left earlier, but she still couldn't help but look. For a fleeting moment, she wished he were there—his watchful eyes taking everything in, his physical presence solid and sure. She had thought she'd be glad when he was gone. But now she wasn't so sure. Now that she was with her team, working the investigation, she felt his absence. Had felt it the moment he'd left. She wondered what he was doing and when he would be back.

Giving herself a mental head shake she turned her attention back to Adam, who was still studying the board.

“Smythe has a daughter that has, well, let's just say she has a reputation,” Adam said.

“What kind of reputation?” Marmie asked, handing off a set of papers to Drew.

“She likes fast cars and older men. Lots of them. Lots of both,” Adam answered.

Dani looked at the picture of Jonathan Smythe. He didn't look much older than fifty. “How old is his daughter?”

“Twenty-two, I believe. She lives with her mother, Smythe's first wife. Doesn't have much to do with her father other than his money and connections.”

“But there is a reason you're mentioning her,” Dani prompted.

Adam ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe. I don't know.”

“Lay it on us Adam. It's got to be more than what we have right now.” Dani identified with the frustration she heard in Drew's voice. The more they seemed to uncover, the less they seemed to know.

“Well, we know Ambassador Smythe shipped a cargo-load full of personal belongings to the embassy in the US six weeks ago. And we know that shipment contained a single crate of unregistered weapons,” Adam started.

“Which is why we were called in in the first place.” Dani sat forward in her chair, interested in hearing where Adam was going
with this. That they found the shipment at all was a complete fluke, pure luck. Customs for diplomats was more lax than for regular people and if it hadn't been for the sniffing dog that happened to be walking by Ambassador Smythe's crates when they were being unloaded from the plane, they never would have known. But as it was, Homeland Security was called in and then, when they discovered who owned the crates, Drew and the team were contacted. They had tagged the weapons with locators and put them back on the crate. The tags had led them to Getz, which had then led them to their current situation. But they had yet to figure out how Ambassador Smythe was involved, if at all.