Brewer took it all in. The gravity of what was being asked of her was growing by the second. “I spoke of the rumors I had heard. As a private hit man he supposedly has executed over thirty lethal operations.”
Mayes answered back. “Our confirmed number is much lower. Twelve.”
“A large discrepancy,” Brewer added. “But the fact remains he has managed to survive for a long time in that industry. My suggestion is we don’t play into this threat. If he draws us out into a campaign on the streets of the USA, we will be vulnerable to counterattack, as well as exposure.”
Carmichael shook his head adamantly. “Suzanne, we are going after him. We know he’s in the area. We have no intentions of battening down the hatches and sheltering in place while he is here. I’ve been after this man for five years. This is an opportunity too good to pass up. I’m not going to just lock my doors and wait for him to move on.”
Brewer had expected this reaction. “Very well. In that case, we need to bring in a brain trust to help us determine Gentry’s potential actions. Who in the Agency knows him best? Who knows all of his TTPs?” She knew the tactics, techniques, and procedures of her target were an essential element in establishing his operational pattern, which itself was critical in figuring out what he would do next.
The NSA liaison spoke up. “Matthew Hanley at SAD knows him well. He ran Gentry and the Golf Sierra Task Force.”
More to himself than to the others, Denny Carmichael said, “I don’t trust Hanley. He’s after my job.”
Brewer smiled. Taking a chance with a joke she said, “I’m after your job, Denny.”
There were a few chuckles at the table, but not from Carmichael. He sniffed. “You can fucking have it, today.”
Mayes joined Brewer in making a case for bringing Hanley into the Working Group. “Court Gentry shot Matt Hanley in Mexico City a couple of years ago. He barely survived. Matt might not be your closest confidant in the halls here at Langley, but I feel sure he wants Gentry’s head on a pike as bad as you do. Isn’t that all that matters at the moment?”
Brewer knew Matt Hanley vaguely; she’d met him in Port-au-Prince when he was chief of the CIA station there, but had heard nothing about him being shot. Protecting CIA facilities and personnel was Brewer’s job, so she couldn’t believe she’d been kept out of the loop on something so big.
“Wait. The head of SAD was shot by the Gray Man?” She caught herself. “Violator, I mean.”
Carmichael said, “Hanley wasn’t running SAD at the time, he was COS in Haiti. It was kept quiet.”
“From me?”
“From everyone.” Carmichael drummed his fingers on the table a moment. “I don’t want Hanley brought in. He stays on the outside of this, for now anyway.”
Brewer said, “If you don’t want him involved in this hunt, that’s one thing. But if Violator has a beef with the Agency, that beef is likely to include his former case officer, especially if he’s targeted him in the past. We surely need to give Hanley a heads-up that his rogue operative is on the loose in the area.”
Carmichael seemed to acquiesce a little. “We’ll put security on Hanley, watching his house, just to keep him safe. But let’s keep it low-key. Don’t tell Hanley.”
Brewer dropped the subject and went back to her request for information from others who knew Gentry. “Who else worked with him? What about other members of his task force?”
The CIA liaison to JSOC said, “All dead. Gentry killed them.”
Mayes and Carmichael exchanged another look. The liaison caught it, and he cocked his head. “What?”
Carmichael said, “Not exactly true. One man survived.”
Mayes picked it up from there. “The team leader of Task Force Golf Sierra, Zachary Hightower, is not dead.” With a shrug he said, “He might as well be. Denny shit-canned him after he botched an attempt to snatch Gentry in Africa.”
Brewer said, “It stands to reason his team leader would know a great deal about his operational abilities. Do we know where he is?”
Mayes said, “No idea, but I’m sure he can be located.”
Carmichael held up a finger. “I want to see him first, face-to-face, to evaluate what I’m working with. He was injured severely in Africa, then he was drummed out of the Agency. If he’s like a lot of operators he’ll be bitter, and a shell of the man he was when he worked for us.”
Brewer nodded and made notes on her pad.
She started to switch the conversation to Carmichael’s immediate physical security, but one of the communications technicians outside the room knocked on the glass wall and stepped to the door. Mayes pressed a button, and the door unlocked with a click.
Mayes asked, “What is it?”
“We picked something up on the scanner. PD reports a homicide in Washington Highlands. Home invasion, multiple fatalities.”
Carmichael picked up his coffee mug and took a sip. “Sounds like any other Saturday night over there.”
“A surviving victim reports a lone Caucasian assailant. Apparently he took down a house full of heavily armed Aryan Brotherhood drug dealers. Two dead, four wounded.”
“When?”
“Less than thirty minutes ago.”
“One guy did it?” Carmichael asked.
“Yes, sir.”
Carmichael and Mayes nodded at each other, and Brewer picked up what her superiors were thinking.
She asked, “Why would Violator attack a house full of meth dealers?”
Carmichael said immediately, “Maybe he needs something.”
“He needs meth?”
Mayes answered with confidence. “Resources. Arms and financing. No better place to get both if you don’t mind a fight.”
Carmichael said, “And Violator loves a fight.” Slowly his lean face widened into a smile. “It’s classic Gentry, isn’t it?”
Brewer was confused. “Classic in what way?”
“He needs weapons and money, right?” Carmichael said. “What’s the easiest way to acquire them? Knock over a pawnshop? Hit a liquor store with a security guard? Why doesn’t he steal a shotgun out of a patrol car and rob a check cashing business? Why does he do it the hard way? Hit right up the fucking middle of a house full of armed meth head Aryan assholes?”
“Tell me why,” Brewer said.
Mayes understood what Carmichael was getting at, and he answered Brewer’s question. “Because Violator sees himself as the good guy. He only targets bad guys.”
“But you just said you think he is a threat to us.”
“Make no mistake. He truly thinks he’s some sort of hero and we’re the villains.” Jordan Mayes stood now. “I’ll check out the crime scene personally.”
Suzanne Brewer stood as well. “Denny, I’d like to go along, too. I’m behind the curve on understanding this target of ours. If this was him, I want to get the feel of the scene, to see what he’s capable of.”
“Okay.” Carmichael turned his attention to AD Mayes. “Mayes, it’s possible you are in Gentry’s crosshairs, same as me. I want you rolling in armor, with a full detail.”
Mayes whistled softly. “Damn, Denny. I didn’t even have a full security detail in Baghdad.”
“Gentry was on our side back then, wasn’t he?”
8
After dark, Andy Shoal lived on cans of Red Bull and cups of convenience store coffee. He wasn’t a night owl by design but, over time, he had created a chemically structured superhuman version of himself that got him through the nighttime hours, allowing him to excel at his job as a crime reporter for the Washington Post.
As “on” as he was when most people were tucked away in their beds, there was a price to be paid — the physical crash came each day with dawn. He was usually back in his apartment in Arlington by eight and asleep by nine, but by four thirty p.m. he was on his way back to his tiny cubicle in the Post’s office on 15th Street NW, just a few blocks from the White House.