"Anything else, Charlie?"
"Arrangements have been made to have the official autopsy report show that Randall Stewart's death was accidental. Kerney knows better. When the report comes out, he could decide to challenge the findings. The report won't be released until Monday. Stewart's body will be held until then."
"That gives us enough time to set the problem aside for now," Thayer said.
"By Monday we'll have closure."
"Also," Perry said, "Kerney is moving for a court order to get Mitchell's e-mail correspondence."
"The files have been sanitized, so let him have what's left. Is he acting alone or mobilizing his departments resources?"
"As far as we can tell, except for some minor paperwork assistance, he's doing this solo," Charlie replied.
"The primary investigators, a detective and a lieutenant, are attending a law enforcement training seminar."
"Very good," Thayer said, smiling in Ingram's direction.
"I'm tasking Agents Applewhite and Perry on a special assignment and I need you to temporarily fill in. Monitor the situation and handle any cleanup items. You'll have full operational control."
"Yes, sir."
Thayer nodded and opened a slim folder.
"We shut everything down in forty-eight hours. Here's the preferred scenario if our difficulty with Chief Kerney cannot be resolved in a less extreme manner. A few years ago Chief Kerney earned the displeasure of a Mexican drug lord named Enrique De Leon In fact, he did it more than once, but I won't go into details. To retaliate De Leon approached a high-ranking Mexican army intelligence officer who happens to have his hand in the drug cartels' pockets while drawing a nice retainer from the CIA. De Leon asked the officer to make available two highly trained Cuban assets for the express purpose of removing the source of his annoyance."
Thayer turned a page.
"Unfortunately, both men were killed in a plane crash while machine-gunning a squad of Mexican federal police who were protecting a drug shipment, so the officer has been unable to fulfill De Leon request."
Thayer patted the folder and looked at Applewhite.
"Senor De Leon continues to express an interest in Kerney's demise, which has been well documented by several DEA agents in Juarez as well as a highly reliable Interpol informant.
De Leon is in Juarez expecting to meet with you and Agent Perry this afternoon in the hope that you might be willing to take the contract.
"He knows you're Americans, believes that you're former CIA field operatives, and that you're now freelancing in the States. He has no reason not to trust the officer who supplied him with the information, although you both will be carefully scrutinized. You're expected to leave enough of a trail so the Mexican authorities can document the visit. DEA, of course, will confirm the Mexican report.
Your true identities will not be revealed. Make your arrangements with De Leon and then come back to Santa Fe."
"Is all this necessary?" Charlie asked.
"In terms of establishing plausibility, yes," Thayer replied.
"In terms of taking definitive action, I hope not. But that will depend on what Chief Kerney does or doesn't do over the short term."
Ingram knew that Thayer was placating Perry. Thayer wouldn't be talking about a removal sanction if the hit hadn't already been approved.
Applewhite must be creaming in her pants. Ingram kept his expression neutral, but inside his stomach turned over.
"Maybe I should talk to Kerney again," Perry said.
"I think we're at a point where it's best to let Chief Kerneys actions speak to us," Thayer replied.
"I don't like this," Perry said.
Thayer nodded in agreement.
"None of us do, Agent Perry. But we keep our disagreements within the family, so to speak, which you apparently forgot last night when you made unauthorized contact with your superior and asked to be removed from your assignment. That request has been denied."
Charlie's jaw dropped.
Ingram remembered a commercial that used to run on television when he was a kid.
Charlie, the talking tuna fish, would swim around in the ocean trying to get caught by the world's best tuna company. But Charlie wasn't good enough to get hooked, processed, vacuum-packed, and served up in a white bread sandwich.
Sorry, Charlie, you poor son of a bitch, Tim thought grimly.
Chapter 11
Molina pointed at the car containing Perry and Applewhite, tapped his finger on his chest to signal he'd take the tail, and followed the two agents down Rodeo Road. Bobby Sloan stayed put. Clarence Thayer and Timothy Ingram walked out the front door of APT Performa, Thayer talking earnestly, his hand on Ingram's elbow.
Sloan cracked his window, pointed a high-powered directional mike at the two men, and cranked up the volume. A gust of cold air wiped out everything but wind noise in his headphones. Whatever Thayer had said to Ingram made him stop in his tracks. The wind died down.
Thayer said, "The order comes direct from CG INS COM Major. You're to backstop Applewhite and handle any contingencies."
"Yes, sir." Thayer said more, his words lost in another blast of air through Sloan's headphones.
Sloan knew CG meant commanding general. He knew INS COM stood for the U.S. Army Intelligence and Security Command. That meant Ingram was no Salvation Army major.
He followed Ingram to Charlie Perry's hotel. Ingram went in and came out quickly, carrying luggage. He slammed it into the trunk of his car and wheeled out of the parking lot, driving fast. The man acted like a very unhappy camper.
Sloan put the Blazer in gear and scooted into traffic four cars back.
Ingram led him to the airport. Lieutenant Molina came out of the terminal as Ingram toted luggage inside a nearby flight school building.
Bobby flashed his lights at Molina. Sal walked over and got in the Blazer.
"Well, here we are, LT," Sloan said.
"What's up on your end?"
"Applewhite and Perry are airborne in a private plane," Molina said.
"No flight plan was filed.
I got an ID on the plane. It's leased to APT Performa."
Sloan watched as Ingram come out of the flight-school building and hurried across the tarmac to a waiting helicopter. The chopper revved up and took off.
Bobby read off the numbers, "N-0-four three-zero Oscar Whiskey."
Molina used the laptop to connect with the FAA aircraft identification Web site.
"Have you got a make on your guy?"
"His name is Timothy Ingram. Albuquerque address out of Kirtland Air Force Base. But I think he's probably military. Thayer addressed him as 'major."
"
"I'll ID the chopper, you check for a flight plan," Molina said.
"Be right back," Sloan said, exiting the vehicle. He went into the terminal, flashed his shield at the video camera above the entrance to the tower, got buzzed through, and asked for a flight plan for the chopper. Nada. Coming out the door Sloan saw Lieutenant Molina talking on a pay phone.
Molina hung up as Sloan approached.
"The chopper didn't file a flight plan," Sloan said.
"It's registered to a Department of Energy subcontractor," Molina said.
"Touch Link Satellite Systems. Ingram is the director of security.
Guess where they're located."
"On an air force base in a galaxy not too far away?" Sloan replied, straight faced.
Tired as he was, Molina laughed.
"Kirtland."
Sloan glanced around the parking lot.
"We're here with two unattended vehicles, Lieutenant. Let's slap some tracking devices on them."
"Get the slim Jim," Molina said.
They jimmied open the cars, planted homing devices that tied into the Global Positioning System, and put bumper beeper vehicle-tracking devices on the undercarriages.
Sloan filched Ingram's car registration and proof of insurance from the glove box and smashed the rear license-plate lights. He kicked the glass fragments under the vehicle.