“Mr. DeRosa-”
“Frank,” DeRosa corrected. “Please call me Frank.”
“Sure, Frank. I wouldn’t dream of disrespecting you by playing games.”
“I know,” DeRosa said. He appraised Tommy with a paternal smile. “You like kids, huh?”
“I do.”
DeRosa nodded. “Me too.” Then his expression changed. His face became sullen. “So, tell me about this guy your cousin is after.”
“His name is Antonio Garza,” Tommy said. “He’s a Mexican assassin who transports drugs over the border for the cartels.”
“And now he’s expanding his business to include nuclear devices?”
“Something like that. He also killed a friend of mine. She was also an FBI agent who helped catch terrorists as well.”
DeRosa nodded.
“Plus, he’s kidnapped a Border Patrol agent’s teenage daughter. Heaven knows what he’s done with her.”
DeRosa cringed at the notion. “I’ve heard enough,” he said. “Tell me how I can help.”
Tommy pulled the one hundred dollar bill from his pocket and handed it to DeRosa. At first, the man seemed to examine the paper with his fingertips more than his eyes; then he held it up to the overhead light and squinted. After a few seconds a grin spread across his face. He handed the bill back to Tommy and placed his hands on the table in front of him.
“Okay, so let me understand,” DeRosa said. “If I tell you who made this, I get out of here in forty-eight hours?”
“Exactly.”
“We’re not talking about needing a conviction or anything, right?”
“No. You give us the name and that’s it, you’ve held up your end of the bargain.”
“And what happens if the guy denies it, or you can’t find him?”
“Let’s put it this way,” Tommy said, spreading his hands over the table like he was smoothing sand at the beach. “Forty-eight hours from the minute we locate the guy, you’re out of here.”
That put a gleam into DeRosa’s eyes. He held out a perfectly manicured hand and Tommy shook it. “I trust you.”
“I’m glad.”
DeRosa leaned back in his chair and said, “I can tell you his name and where you can find him almost every day of the week.”
“Fantastic. You have no idea how much I appreciate this.”
Then DeRosa folded his arms across his chest. “I can even do you one better.”
“How’s that?”
“I can round up a crew to help you tackle this creep. One phone call and I could have an entire army of friends ready to follow your instructions.”
Tommy sat up straight and placed a hand over his heart. “Oh, Frank. I think you’re gonna make me blush.”
Chapter 12
President Merrick sat behind his desk in the Oval Office with a video image of the CIA Director on his computer monitor. Ken Morris appeared uneasy as he tried to answer some of Merrick’s questions. Simple questions which needed answers before Merrick made certain decisions to protect US citizens.
Merrick felt his blood pressure mounting an attack. He leaned closer to the screen to drive home his point. “Ken, I allocated a large sum of funds this afternoon in return for information and so far I’m not getting any return on my investment.”
“Well, the problem is, we can’t control when the intel will be retrieved. When someone is embedded like this, they might be on top of the situation and yet not be able to make contact in fear of compromising their identity.”
“Is this what your team believes?”
“Yes.”
Merrick put a stranglehold on the neck of his monitor. “Ken, I want you to e-mail me hourly updates. Do you understand me? I want to hear from you every sixty minutes, even if it’s just to tell me you don’t know anything.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And with every hour you don’t have something of value to tell me, you’re that much closer to finding a new career in the private sector. Am I clear on this point?”
“Absolutely, sir.”
Merrick slammed his keyboard which disconnected the transmission. At the same moment, and without coincidence, a brief knock came on the door followed by the arrival of Secretary of State, Sam Fisk, and a man Merrick had never met before. The man was thin with a trim beard, a blue shirt and red tie. Merrick could tell by the knot, the man hadn’t worn a tie in years.
Fisk guided the gentleman over to the desk while Merrick stood and held out his hand.
“Doctor Jake Peterson,” Fisk said to Merrick.
Peterson shook Merrick’s hand with wide eyes. “A pleasure to meet you, sir.”
“Have a seat, Doctor,” Merrick said, pointing to the chair across the desk from him.
Fisk remained standing beside the visitor, his hand resting on the back of the man’s chair. “Dr. Peterson holds a PhD in Nuclear Physics from Georgetown University,” Fisk said.
“He also has Top Secret Clearance.”
Merrick sat back down. “Very nice of you to come down here on such short notice.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Sam told you why you were needed, correct?”
It seemed to take Peterson a moment to realize that Sam was the Secretary of State standing next to him. “Oh, yes, sir,” he said, smoothing out his pant legs with nervous energy. “He explained the situation.”
“Good,” Merrick said. “Well, as far as we know, this dirty bomb is on the verge of crossing the border into the United States. We don’t know the size of the bomb, nor the potency of the material inside. What I’m looking for is some rudimentary understanding of the danger our nation might face should this crossing occur. Can you help me?”
Peterson seemed to anticipate the question. “Of course. Do you know if the word ‘salted’ has ever come up?”
Merrick tilted his head. “Salted?” He looked up at Fisk.
“A salted bomb has more radioactivity,” Fisk explained. “It’s much more dangerous.” He paused a moment. “No, I don’t think that word has ever come up.”
Peterson edged forward in his seat. “Mr. President,” he said anxiously, “is there any way I could get a glass of water?”
Merrick smiled and gestured toward a small refrigerator on the west wall where Fisk was already reaching down and acquiring a cold bottle of water. He handed it to Peterson and watched the doctor take an ample drink.
Peterson let out a big breath and twisted the cap back onto the bottle. “Thank you.” He looked around the room. “It really is oval, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Merrick said. “First time I entered this room, my mouth dried up as well. Are you okay?”
“Sure,” Peterson said. “Sir, without any data regarding dimensions of the bomb, it will be difficult to give you solid information.”
“Understood. Maybe you could give me some insight as to the dangers of a typical dirty bomb?”
“Of course,” Peterson said. “I must tell you, however, the overwhelming majority of these devices don’t carry nearly enough radioactive material to cause major fallout. Because of the nature of this weapon, it’s meant to disperse the radioactive material over a large area rendering its potency rather unproductive.”
“How so?”
“Well, a nuclear weapon uses fission to provoke an enormous explosion of radiation, whereas a dirty bomb is normally created with conventional weaponry which then scatters the radioactive material.” Peterson hesitated, glanced at Fisk, then back to Merrick. “Mr. President, do you want my opinion, or do you want just the factual data?”
“Yes,” Merrick said. “That’s a great point. I want your opinion. That’s why you’re here.”