“You will get it back when you are done,” said the humorless Mexican man who placed Hugo’s pistol in a plastic bin.
Hugo shook his head but gave up his weapon. “I need to keep this,” he said, holding his camera. The guard looked at what Hugo presumed was his supervisor, who nodded.
They were escorted through the main floor of the mansion and onto the back deck. Ian Williams stood in the backyard, tall and lanky, chatting with an eclectic group of men. The group sat on expensive outdoor furniture, cocktails in their hands, laughing and apparently enjoying themselves. Just a backyard cookout in Wisconsin. Surrounded by cartel gunmen. Hugo wondered what the hell was going on. Syed wouldn’t tell him who these men were, but to him it looked like happy hour for the United Nations. Every ethnicity was represented, and all were dressed in expensive business casual attire.
Seeing Syed, Williams rose and walked to him. “Abdul. It is good to see you. Your men can wait inside.” He yelled something in Spanish to one of the guards. “They’ll take care of them.” Seeing Hugo, Williams pointed. “This is your specialist?”
Syed nodded. “You may call him Hugo.”
Williams said, “Ah. Please remain with us, if you would. I wish to speak with you.” Williams turned to the half dozen men enjoying themselves in the sun. “Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me.” Nodding heads and several held-up drinks in response.
Williams and Syed whispered to each other as Williams led them east on the property, towards the water’s edge. The tip of the peninsula ended with a long wooden dock and over-water gazebo.
Williams brought them to the gazebo and had them each sit. Then he said, “What happened with Miss Upton?”
Syed recounted what he knew, and Hugo filled in the gaps. Then Hugo showed Williams the images he had taken with his camera. Ian Williams’s eyes went wide.
“These were the people who apprehended Miss Upton?” His eyes locked on to Hugo.
“Yes. I assume you know them?”
“I do.”
Syed said, “Who are they?”
“You and I can discuss that momentarily.”
“Do you want me to retrieve the woman? Upton?” asked Hugo.
Williams shook his head, clicking his tongue. “Forget her for now. Your other work here is much more important.”
“Very well.”
“Have you made your preparations?”
“I have been training for weeks.”
“You understand the critical nature of the timing?”
“I do.”
“There will be an increased security presence. Will that be a problem?”
“It will be factored in to my approach.”
Ian Williams glanced at Syed and smiled. “Good. Tomorrow, then.”
Jennifer Upton barely spoke during the car ride to the safe house. This was understandable, considering the abrupt way they’d taken her in the hotel parking lot. Max had explained that she was in danger, that they were moving her for her own safety, but she looked skeptical and was hesitant to cooperate. She hadn’t brought up why Senator Becker was involved, but neither had Max. He didn’t want to press his luck before earning a little trust.
Wilkes had given them the address of a farm forty minutes to the west of Oshkosh. Now their sedan bumped along a rocky dirt road, beyond fields of sweet corn.
“Knee high by the Fourth of July,” said Trent, looking out the window.
“What?” asked Upton, seeming more angry than scared at this point.
“Something my brother always used to say. If the cornstalks back home were knee high by the Fourth of July, it was going to be a bumper crop.”
Upton looked at Trent like he was crazy.
Max parked the vehicle in the driveway of a small ranch home surrounded by weeping willow trees. An old white barn stood next to a grain elevator one hundred yards to the south. A rusty charcoal grill collected dust in the backyard. The shrubs needed to be trimmed. The front door opened, and a serious-looking kid in his early twenties stuck his head out, evaluating them while keeping his right arm behind the door. When the kid recognized Max, he placed the pistol he’d been holding down on the coffee table by the door and walked outside.
“Mr. Fend, Caleb Wilkes asked me to convey his apologies for not being able to make it here himself.”
“What’s he doing?”
“He’s otherwise engaged.”
After an awkward introduction to Jennifer Upton, Max and crew headed inside the home. The CIA kid introduced himself as Mike Barnaby. By the look of him, Max figured he was maybe a year out of the Farm, if that. Wilkes was scraping the bottom of the barrel for this op.
Mike showed them into the living room and offered them something to eat and drink. Still looking angry, Upton requested only a glass of tap water. Mike did a quick search of her person and took her phone and an e-reader device that was in her purse. “Sorry, Miss Upton, but this is for your own safety. We’ll give it back as soon as we know that you’re no longer in danger.”
Trent and the CIA kid waited in the kitchen, watching the surveillance feed that had been set up around the house and eavesdropping on the interrogation that would soon commence.
Max asked Renee to stay with them, hoping that a kind-looking female face might help to instill trust. Renee and Max sat on the couch, opposite Jennifer Upton, who plopped down on a love seat. The room was quiet, dark, and cool. They were miles away from the drone of aircraft engines and crowds of the air show here. But the clock was ticking. Tomorrow was the twenty-eighth. According to Rojas, it was the day of Williams’s meeting. Max needed to find out why Upton had gone off the grid. What had made her come up here? Was she connected to Ian Williams and the ISI? More importantly, he needed to know what was critical enough about this mysterious meeting for the ISI and the cartel to kill multiple Americans in a series of brazen attacks within the US.
Upton squinted at him, as if trying to work something out. “You’re Charles Fend’s boy, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
Her expression softened. “I’ve met your father.”
“Did you? When was that?”
“Maybe a decade ago, at a fundraiser. He contributed to a campaign I was working on.”
“May I ask who you were working for at the time?”
She hesitated, then said, “Herbert Becker.”
“You were on Senator Becker’s staff?” Max asked, already knowing the answer.
“He was a congressman back then. But yes,” replied Upton. She looked out the window. It was getting dark now. “How long are you planning to keep me here?”
“Since we have reason to believe your life is in danger, it’ll be at least a day or more, until we can find a more suitable arrangement.”
“What if I want to leave?”
“We’ll get you out of here if that’s what you want. But you need to be under our protection. It’s for your own good.”
“Why am I in danger?”
“Tell me, Jennifer, does the name Ian Williams mean anything to you?”
Jennifer’s smile faded. So, she knew him.
“It rings a bell, but… ” She looked like she was searching her mind for a memory… or a lie. “No. No, I don’t think I know him.”
“Really?” Max’s voice was even-keeled. His piercing blue eyes studied her face for the slightest microexpression that might give away the truth. “We received information that Ian Williams may want to cause you harm. Are you sure you don’t know him?”
She shook her head.
“What about a lobbyist named Dahlman?”
“Who?” Her eyes narrowed.
“Your name was on a list. The only other name on that list was a lobbyist named Joseph Dahlman. A few days ago, he was killed in Virginia.”