Gary Ponzo - A Touch of Revenge

“Who gives a crap why?” Buck snorted. “Let the man upstairs figure that one out for them.”

“But you don’t track a terrorist the same way you track a drug dealer, or a serial killer.”

“Sure you do,” Buck said, looking over his men for a moment. “Bad guys are bad guys. You think you’re something special just because you and your partner took care of Kemel Kharrazi?”

“No,” Matt said. “We just have more experience with this organization.”

Buck stretched out his thick neck and sneered. “You think I’m some dumb hick who doesn’t understand his adversary?”

Tommy pulled the toothpick from his mouth and pointed it at Buck. “Yeah, I think you’re on to something there, killer.”

Matt shot Tommy a look and watched him shrug.

“For your information, I happen to know quite a bit about these KSF turds,” Buck said. “I know they’re tunnel-diggers. I know they don’t follow any particular religious sect. And I know they’re a little lost ever since your partner won a game of chicken with their leader a few months back.”

“That’s good,” Matt said, moving left toward a particularly thick pine. “Did you know they don’t send out scouts with guns?”

“What?” Buck said, looking confused.

“I mean they send their lookouts with knives so they aren’t tempted to fire a weapon in the open theatre and give away their position,” Matt said, looking straight up the wide pine tree. “Isn’t that right, Semir?”

With choreographed speed, Buck’s team swarmed the tree where Matt stood and took military positions, their machine guns clattered as they flanked their target, pointing straight up the tree trunk.

There was a small man at the top of the tree with green fatigues and green-face, effortlessly blending into the scenery. His legs were wrapped around the pine like it might blast off without him. He looked resigned to his fate as he faced the squad of trained soldiers.

Matt smiled at Buck and said, “Tell me more about these tunnel-diggers.”

President John Merrick sat on the couch reading the daily CIA report on his tablet computer when the door to the Oval Office opened. There was only one person who would enter the office without knocking.

“Hey, Sam,” Merrick said while scrolling the page with his finger.

Secretary of State Samuel Fisk sat on the black leather couch across from him. The two couches faced each other with a rosewood coffee table between them. On the table was a pot of coffee, crackers and a plate of fresh fruit.

Merrick held out his hand and rubbed his fingers together. A moment later he felt a crumpled up five dollar bill in his palm.

“Asshole,” Fisk murmured.

“I told you that point guard was underrated,” the President said with a smirk.

Fisk filled a small plate with melon chunks and used a toothpick to pick them off the plate like he was spear fishing.

Merrick kept rummaging through the report. “You’re going to eat five dollars worth of my food, aren’t you?”

“What else would I do?”

Merrick saw Arizona mentioned in the report and it reminded him why Fisk was there.

“So, how’s Nick?” Merrick said, listening to Fisk stuff his mouth with cantaloupe.

“He’s okay,” Fisk said, chewing. “There was minimal structural damage to the shoulder. Should be out of the hospital by tomorrow.”

Merrick sighed with relief. He scanned the screen while maintaining his thoughts. “How much support can the Bureau offer him?”

“Not much,” Fisk said. “With this airport stuff going on, they need to be proactive.”

“Does Nick know about LAX?”

“No, but Walt’s on his way there right now to fill him in.”

Merrick examined the report, searching for anything which could confirm or deny accusations the Kurdish Security Force was on the verge of detonating a bomb at the Los Angeles Airport.

Without looking up, Merrick added, “We need to get Nick whatever he needs. I can’t have these guys getting personal with our FBI agents. Especially not those two.”

Fisk poured himself a cup of coffee.

“What about Dave Tanner?” Merrick asked.

“Professional. Two shots to the back of the head.”

Merrick winced at the notion. “So Barzani sends his nephew to go after Nick, but Tanner is a killed by a pro here in D.C.? Any leads yet?”

“Nothing.”

“Any doubt Barzani had Tanner killed?”

“No.”

Merrick looked up at Fisk. “I spoke with Tanner’s wife.” He shook his head. “I’ve been making too many phone calls like that, Sam.”

“We need help from our allies,” Fisk said. “They need to step up.”

Merrick thought about the man waiting in the lobby. As President, Merrick had learned to be the ultimate multi-tasker. Instead of dental visits and basketball practice, however, he had to console FBI agent’s widows while keeping an eye on the senate majority leader’s budget proposal.

Merrick looked over Fisk’s shoulder and gestured with his head. “How far can I push this guy?”

Fisk took a sip of coffee, then placed the cup on the table and stared intently at Merrick. “We’re not reducing our troops in Turkey, right?”

“No.”

“Because it would send a terrible message-”

“No,” Merrick held up his hand. “I’m not bending here, Sam, so just relax.”

Fisk took a breath. The silence hung between them while Merrick returned his attention to the CIA report which was completely barren of any valuable information. Sometimes he would read dozens of pages of material which he knew in his heart was prepared by someone simply trying to impress him with their ability to write a report.

Finally Fisk said, “Truth be told, the Kurds have a strong case. It’s just their delivery method is a bit violent.”

At that Merrick glanced up. “You think?”

Fisk shrugged. “This goes back decades, John. You’re not going to settle it with a half hour conversation.”

Merrick scrolled again. “Wow, talk about bringing a guy down. I won’t tell you about my plan to cure cancer over lunch.”

Fisk reached over and snatched a toothpick with a piece of cantaloupe attached. He dropped the melon in his mouth and chewed. When he was done chewing he said, “They don’t have much to offer.”

Merrick looked up. “Excuse me?”

Fisk pointed his thumb over his shoulder to the closed door.

Merrick understood. The Turkish ambassador was waiting for a meeting with him. Turkey had little to offer the United States. They didn’t even produce enough oil to satisfy their own needs. Their biggest exports were boron salt and copper. Not exactly a powerful trading partner. What they did have, however, was the most world’s most dangerous terrorist organization operating in their backyard, which made them a necessary component to the fight on terrorism.

Merrick waved the back of his hand at Fisk. “Get out of here and send that twerp in.”

Fisk grabbed another melon piece and slowly got to his feet. They’d known each other for three decades, so Merrick could talk to him like that without worrying about hurting his ego.

Merrick took his tablet and sat tall behind his desk. He wanted the ambassador to sense the full brunt of his authority.

A few seconds after Fisk left, there was a three-bang-knock on the door signaling the arrival of a scheduled guest. Necmetin Ciller stepped into the Oval Office. He was tall, thin and fidgety as he approached to shake Merrick’s hand. Merrick gestured to a seat in front of the massive presidential desk.

Ciller took his seat and gripped the arm rests as if they might take flight.

“How are you, Mr. President?”

“Not so well,” Merrick answered. “I’m finding some of your residents taking shots at our government agents.”