"I don't understand," said Berg, hesitantly.
"Not for me, you jack ass. For Cummings. Let's just say that it's possible for some of our team leaders to have undisclosed accounts, into which money is sometimes deposited for extra work. Work that nobody wants to acknowledge here at Brown River, or perhaps at the Pentagon. I might have access to some of these accounts, and a large, untraceable payment to the right account, very fucking soon, might give me all of the plausible deniability I need to steer this thing well clear of Brown River…and you. Do you know anyone that might be able to do us…you, a favor like this, and deposit some cash into the right account?"
"I think I can figure something out. I'll call you back when I'm ready," said Berg.
"Perfect. The larger the sum, the better. Six figure range. I'm willing to personally stake this cash to keep my ass out of jail, so don't be shy…and don't hesitate to throw some money into the pot yourself. I know you're not used to throwing your own money around, but this would probably be the right time to make an investment," said Jackson.
"I agree," said Berg.
"And make sure you toss the cell phone you used to call Cummings."
"Now you're giving operational security advice to a CIA operative?" joked Berg.
"Well, I'd like to continue to have the opportunity to sit around and sip fine Scotch with that operative, and I don't think they allow alcohol in prison…so, don't take offense," said Jackson.
"Get me the account information, and I'll call you as soon as I have something. Sorry about the mess," said Berg.
"It's not your fault, really, and regardless of what happens today, I still owe you. I'll be waiting for your call, but please don't ponder this for too long. With a dead cop involved, things might move quicker than either of us expects," Jackson said, and the line went dead.
Berg thought about their situation for a few minutes. He was utterly disappointed that this opportunity had slipped through his fingers, but he might still get another shot at it. Petrovich would have a difficult time snaking his way out of this one. Everyone was looking for him at this point. He was now the key figure in both a federal and local manhunt. He had few doubts that Petrovich was capable of eluding everyone, but he liked the odds, and if Petrovich surfaced again, Berg would kill the murderer himself.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Colonel Farrington received the "green light" from General Sanderson earlier than he had anticipated. Frankly, he thought early tomorrow morning would be the best time to take possession of the file. He would attract little attention leaving in the morning, amidst the thousands of Pentagon personnel pouring into the building. At this point in the evening, the security staff would have very little to do at their station, and he might be searched. The search would likely be limited to his briefcase, which would be empty of anything suspicious. All of the file's contents would be strapped to an ingenious vest system under his uniform. If they decided to pat him down, Sanderson's extraction team had better be ready for a hot pickup.
He looked around his deserted section, and thought about the six individuals inside the Sanctum. Neutralizing six people in rapid succession would be a challenge, but he had some equipment to help him with the task. Slowly, over the course of several months, he had managed to smuggle the pieces of two non-lethal devices into the Pentagon. He would be glad to get it over with. He faced a wide spectrum of capabilities in that room, and he wasn't looking forward to the encounter, for various reasons.
Two senior enlisted staff personnel, neither with any specialized hand-to-hand combat training, but resourceful nonetheless, would be the most dangerous to underestimate. One CIA agent, with a photographic memory. Probably trained as a field agent, but not recently active in a dangerous assignment. His reaction would not be instinctual, but still dangerous. The two FBI agents would be armed, but they would be the least of his challenges.
The most dangerous man in the room was McKie. He was a former Black Flag operative, and the only traitor to the program known to General Sanderson. He’d actively brought Black Flag's questionable activities to the attention of General William Tierney, who sparked a Congressional investigation into Sanderson's program. The Congressional inquiry effectively killed the program, burying it along with both of the generals’ careers. Nobody wanted the details of this program to become public knowledge, which is why the file had been kept in its original form, and sent to the military's most secure tomb. Sanderson's orders regarding McKie were explicit, and had only been revealed to Colonel Farrington minutes ago. The orders actually made his job inside the room easier.
He wondered why they hadn't just burned the file, if it could be so damning to the country. In his opinion, this was the curse of intelligence gathering. Even the most toxic information had its value, and in an important room somewhere in this city, someone wasn't willing to forsake that value to make the right decision. Sanderson's plan would rectify this situation, and he needed to get moving. According to the General, his ride would be here shortly.
He opened the lower drawer of a three level file cabinet to the left of his workstation, and moved a stack of manila files onto his desk. Under the files sat a gray metal box, which he quickly unlocked. The box was filled with an exotic array of non-lethal weapons, and one long black commando knife. Alone in the Pentagon's Special Information Section, Colonel Farrington started to assemble the various devices.
Julio Mendez retreated to the back of the custodial closet, and lowered himself onto the folding chair he called home. He'd found that metal box one day, while snooping through the file cabinets after-hours, and thought it was suspicious. Buried under a bunch of files, hidden from view, he'd seen Colonel Shifty open it before, early in the morning, and place something inside. The box is what put the Colonel onto Julio's watch list from the start. He'd felt bad about poking into desk drawers and unlocked cabinets, right up until the day he found the Colonel's secret box. Then, a few days ago, the Colonel started taking secret calls on a cell phone he kept hidden in his briefcase, which was a complete violation of the Special Information Section's security policy.
He had to take immediate action. He could sense that something important was going on in the Sanctum, and that the Colonel was up to no good. It was a bad combination in his mind, and even if nothing big was going down, it was still his duty to report the cell phone. Colonel Farrington should know better, especially in this section. He decided to call security on the cell phone he had hidden inside his thermos. He finished unscrewing the lid, when the door suddenly swung open. Colonel Farrington stood in the doorway pointing something black at him. The metal leads from the Taser reached Julio before his brain really processed what was happening. He didn't remember much after that.
Colonel Farrington locked and shut the door to Julio's custodial closet, confident that the nosy janitor wouldn't be found until tomorrow morning. He liked Julio, and was glad that the confrontation hadn't turned deadly. He hadn't suffered a heart attack, and didn't show any abnormal vital signs. He would wake up in a few hours, hog tied to the floor, unable to make a sound, but beyond a little panic, he'd be fine.
Farrington had been onto Mendez from the beginning. The slightly cracked open closet door was so obvious to him, he had found it next to impossible to ignore over the past few months, and when the telltales left in the lower cabinet had been disturbed, he knew Mendez was up to something.