“Too bad I didn’t figure it out twelve years ago.”
“There was no way you could have,” Dutcher said.
“I suppose. Okay, now that we know who we’re looking for, the question is, can you find him?”
“I’ll give it my best shot,” Oaken said.
11
Randall was waiting when Latham returned to the office. “How was it?”
“I can’t say much about Blanton Crossing proper,” Latham replied, “but the local trailer park is a site to behold.” He recounted his visit to WalPol’s headquarters.
“We got a hit on that plate you called in. It’s registered to a David Wallace Poison.”
Latham thought for a moment. “WalPol … His middle and last names. Have you got—”
Randall handed him a fax of Poison’s DMV registration. “Photo’s on page two.”
Latham read the info, then flipped to the photo “You gotta be kidding me …”
“What?”
“The bastard was standing right in front of me. Poison is Joe-Bob!”
“The handyman?”
“Yeah. He’s a cool customer.”
“Here’s surprise number two: Just for kicks I fed the names Soderberg and Poison into the alias database. We got a hit — somebody named Michael Warren Skeldon.”
“Skeldon…. Whatever he’s got going on, he’s layered himself pretty well,” Latham said.
“It gets better. He’s ex-military — army Rangers.”
“Straight leg?”
“No, airborne. He’s also got a rap sheet. One arrest for interstate arms, another for criminal facilitation of forgery. Both charges were dropped.”
“What was the forgery about?”
“Passports down in Asheville. The indictment stated he was in possession of bogus entry stamps. It was thrown out on a bad warrant. I’ve got a call in to the Asheville PD and the North Carolina BCA.”
What was going on? Latham wondered. What would a Commerce analyst be doing in cahoots with an army Ranger turned gunrunner and forger? Moreover, what did the Guoanbu want with either of them? The fact that Baker was dead and Skeldon was still alive suggested two possibilities: Either the Guoanbu didn’t know about Skeldon, or they knew about him and were still using him.
“What do you want to do?” Randall asked.
“I hate to say it, but my visit probably sent Skeldon running. Let’s see if we can get ahold of his service record. I want to see what he did for the Rangers.”
Unsurprised, Mason found that the DIA’s brief on Sunil Dhar and the sarin purchase seemed to hold water, but the story came from assets he couldn’t probe without jeopardizing both the transaction and the players involved — or so said Tom Redmond. Mason didn’t buy it; the whole affair was fishy.
The big question was, if the DIA didn’t develop this, who did?
His intercom buzzed: “Sir, General Cathermeier is here.”
“Send him in.” Mason met him at the door. “Chuck, thanks for coming. Coffee?”
“No, thanks. I think I know why I’m here, Dick.”
“I’d be surprised if you didn’t. What’re we going to do about this, Chuck?”
“I’ve already got the assets moving.”
“That’s not what I’m asking.”
“I know what you’re asking. I’m going to do what I’ve been ordered to do.”
“Chuck, when was the last time a president got this hands-on with an operation?”
“This isn’t the president’s plan. The DIA is—”
“Tom Redmond doesn’t know an M-16 from his asshole. This is Martin and Bousikaris.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I’d put good money on it,” said Mason. “Answer my first question.”
Cathermeier shrugged. “Vietnam. LBJ.”
“Right. And even then did Johnson decide unit composition and penetration plans?”
“No.”
“And now, out of the blue, Martin wants to sink a goddamned ship in the middle of Nakhodka-Vostochny Harbor, and that doesn’t worry you? And that nonsense about ‘sending a message’… The only people who’re going to get the message are the poor bastards who die on that ship — unless of course the Russian government is involved in the sale.”
“According to the DIA, Dhar’s Russian contact is freelance.”
“Exactly. So the only way Moscow’s going to get any message is if we tell them we sank the ship and why. What’s the likelihood of that?”
“Low.”
“Chuck, listen: I’m not asking you to do anything right now. Just think about what I’m saying. If this were your operation, how would you do it?”
“An at-sea boarding. SEAL team. Secure the cargo and the crew, turn the whole thing over to the Russians and stay on them through diplomatic channels.”
“Right. And if you had to sink her. How would you do it?”
“Open sea. Surface-to-surface missile — Harpoon, probably.”
“That’s what I’m getting at. This business of putting men on the ground is bad business.”
“Dammit, Dick, you’re still treating this like it’s some pet project of Martin’s. The intell came from the DIA, the plan came from the DIA, and unless you’ve got proof to the contrary, I’m not gonna assume otherwise.”
“Why put men on the ground? Who in their right mind would advise Martin to do it?”
“I have no idea.”
“But you agree it’s a bad idea.”
Cathermeier shrugged. “The plan is workable.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Dick, I’m a soldier. My job description is simple: I follow the orders of the commander-in-chief and defend my country. That’s what I’m doing. Love him or hate him, Martin is the president of the United States and—”
“I know that, Chuck.”
“—and if you’ve got an agenda with him or Bousikaris or Redmond, that’s fine: Just don’t try to enlist me. I haven’t got the stomach or the patience for it.”
Mason was silent for a few seconds. “Chuck, do you really think that’s what this is about?”
Cathermeier met his gaze, then shook his head. “No. Sorry. Either way, though, we’re back where we started: I’ve got my orders and I’m going to carry them out.” Cathermeier stood, walked to the door, then turned. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“No. This thing stinks, and I’m telling you right now, we’re not getting the whole story.”
“You know where to find me.”
Langley’s interest in Bian’s latest news came as no surprise to Roger Brown.
If they could avoid sending someone into China — especially a “face” like Tanner — they had to take the chance. Brown was under no illusion, however: Even Jakarta wouldn’t be a Cakewalk. Soong would be surrounded by Guoanbu security guards day and night. Whatever Tanner planned, he’d have to be in and out before Soong’s watchers realized he was gone. If not, Tanner would find himself on a very small island with nowhere to hide.
Not my problem, Brown reminded himself. He had his hands full with Bian. Whenever they met, the man’s body language shouted, “Arrest me and this Anglo-Saxon fella sitting next to me.” The sooner they could sever contact, the sooner Brown could get a good night’s sleep.
For today’s meeting he’d chosen what was known as a “pointer pass,” a cross between a “brush pass”—where a controller’ and agent bump into one another for a hand-to-hand exchange — and a “drop flag,” a physical signal indicating a package was waiting at a drop.
Brown paused by the railing to photograph the lake. A few feet away, ducks quacked and pecked the water for insects. Across the lake he could see a line of people waiting to enter the Zhongguo Military Museum. He checked his watch: Time.