Michael McGarrity - Under the color of law

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.

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.

"What's that for?" Molina asked.

"Just in case we want to stop him for a traffic violation."

They talked about tagging Perry's unit at the APT Performa offices and decided not to do it. The vehicle was parked too close to the entrance under direct video surveillance.

In his unit Sloan keyed up the radio and asked one of Andy Baca's agents for a beacon check. Molina handed the slim jim to Sloan through the open Blazer window while they waited for a response.

"You're up and running," the agent said.

"Ten-four," Sloan said. He keyed off and looked at Molina.

"What's next?"

"We've got some downtime," Molina said.

"Let's try to get a meeting with the chief."

Helen Muiz insulated Kerney while he cleared off his desk. He waded through the important stuff, first concentrating on the affidavit for the court order to access Mitchells Internet account. He passed the information on to criminal investigations and spent twenty minutes in a phone conversation with Cloudy Herrera's lawyer. He listened to threats of legal action, demands to restore Herrera to patrol duty, a thinly veiled accusation of racism, and a final pitch to resolve the problem before it became "politicized."

Kerney resisted a desire to laugh, told the lawyer he would think about it, and hung up.

Helen brought papers so Kerney could prep for a meeting with Larry Otero. Larry had hired a new secretary and put the five-year strategic planning process back on track. He needed sign-off approval to implement new department standards on child sexual abuse investigations and wanted Kerney to review the final field training reports on six new academy graduates due to start independent patrol.

Kerney signed off on routine matters, reviewed management information reports from the various units, and put non urgent items in a pending file. He called Helen into his office and gave her documents to be routed.

She put a note on his desk. Molina and Sloan had made back channel contact through the sheriff's department. They wanted an ASAP meeting with Kerney and were standing by at the law enforcement academy.

"I'll meet with them as soon as possible," Kerney said, wondering why they'd broken off surveillance.

"Did Chief Otero consult with you on his choice of a new secretary?" he asked.

"Yes, indeed. She'll fit in very nicely, I think," Helen replied.

"You have a meeting with Mr. Demora at city hall in an hour."

"Push it back for me, will you?"

Helen flashed a disapproving look.

"I'll see what I can do. Are you ready for Chief Otero?"

"Send him in."

Larry Otero came in stiff and formal. Kerney forced himself not to clock-watch as they worked their way through the agenda, wondering what was eating his number two.