Gary Ponzo - A Touch of Revenge

Barzani grumbled something Jirdeer didn’t quite understand.

Jirdeer decided to go forward with all the bad news. “Also, the assassin is working with the FBI. He was a plant.”

The silence was too long for Jirdeer’s nerves to handle. He watched the two men exit the assassin’s car and head into the sheriff’s office.

“Sarock?” Jirdeer said. “It is better we know now rather than later.” Giving his leader a positive method of considering the information.

Temir Barzani didn’t seem willing to accept the setback. Jirdeer could hear heavy breathing and that was all. He gripped his steering wheel tight, his arm muscles aching with anticipation.

Finally, Barzani barked, “Get that squad over there right now. I want that woman dead.”

Jirdeer wasn’t sure where he wanted the hired team of soldiers to go. The sheriff’s office? Was he to order a shootout? He thought about the consequences of having the conversation linger and decided the shorter they spoke, the better for Jirdeer’s standing.

“Yes, Sarock,” was all he said.

Temir Barzani slammed his cell phone down on the kitchen table and shouted, “Shik poot.” Two soldiers stood by windows with their automatic weapons tight to their chests. They stood more rigid now, darting their eyes around the perimeter of the cabin. Even though there were plenty of surveillance cameras, they were the last line of defense for their leader.

“Mano,” Barzani called out.

A soldier peeked in from the next room. “Yes, Sarock.”

Barzani pointed to the floor next to him. “Come here.”

Mano Surtek scurried around the oak table and stood next to Barzani. He looked up at him with fear in his eyes.

“Mano,” Barzani said, seething. “How long have we been on this mission?”

“One hundred and forty-three days?” Mano answered, seeming to grope for the correct response.

Barzani could see his security team watching from the corners of their eyes. He grabbed Mano around the throat and squeezed hard until he felt the soldier’s larynx cracking between his fingers. “At what point in the plan was Semir to be captured by the FBI?”

Mano tried to answer, shaking his head and pleading with watery eyes. His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Barzani shoved him down, driving him to his hands and knees. Mano gasped for air while rubbing his neck.

Barzani had understood the value of a small inner circle. He wasn’t about to make the same mistakes his predecessor had made by spreading hundreds of soldiers throughout the United States, leaving loose ends for the FBI to capture and garner information.

Barzani leaned over and spoke softly into his soldier’s ear. “Do you know how much our people are relying on us to accomplish our goals?”

Mano nodded as drool dripped from his lips onto the wood floor.

Barzani whispered, “Our people in Kurdistan are being slaughtered while we make feeble attempts to rid our homeland of these American meddlers. We need them to understand the trauma our families are enduring. All we ask for is fairness. Our passion will carry us to victory. Do you understand this?”

Mano’s head sunk to his knees. “Yes,” he squeaked.

“Now, I have one more question,” Barzani said. “Are the explosives in place?”

Mano looked up with a sense of hope in his eyes. “Yes,” he said.

Barzani reached down and grabbed a handful of Mano’s hair and pulled him to his feet. “Congratulations,” Barzani said. “That is the first correct answer you’ve had today.”

They huddled around Nick’s dual computer screens, Nick, Matt and Walt. Walt had logged into the FBI’s secure antiterrorist site. He was positioning the curser over an image of LAX airport, zooming in and out of parking lots and employee entrances with the skill of a computer programmer. Los Angeles was an hour earlier than Arizona so the setting sun was higher in the sky there.

“What kind of intel drew you to this threat?” Nick asked.

“Morris found a Kurdish snitch willing to receive leniency for information about the KSF.”

“Who?”

Walt hesitated, while he moved the images on the screen larger, then smaller. He moved the images so quickly he was giving Nick a headache.

“Walt?” Nick repeated.

Walt sighed. “Baldar Nemit.”

“Baldar turned?” Matt said, stunned. “Are you kidding me?”

The leader of the FBI’s antiterrorist department removed his hand from the mouse and sat back in his chair. He folded his arms across his chest as he addressed his old teammates.

“You think this is a dictatorship?” Walt said bluntly. “You think I didn’t tell Ken the source was suspect?”

Matt said nothing. He and Nick both knew the politics that went into Walt’s job. Protect the big targets first, then worry about the small ones. They were minnows compared to LAX.

“There’s only one reason I’m sitting here right now,” Walt said, picking up steam as he went. “I went over Ken’s head and told Sam to get the President’s approval. How many lives you think I have left once I get back to the beltway? Huh?”

Matt looked down at his shoes.

Nick patted Walt on the arm. “We appreciate what you’ve done for us, Walt. Really we do.”

“I hope so boys, because I need you two around.” Walt’s face softened. He wagged his finger back and forth between Nick and Matt. “If I could just download all the information in your brains …” He leaned back and rested his head on the chair. “See, the new Bureau is all about data and profiling and things which can be manipulated. An informant could be nodding his head, ‘Yes,’ but if he says ‘No’ that’s what’ll show up in the damn file. You guys were there in the trenches. That’s why I say, use your instincts. It’s not the FBI’s way anymore, but that doesn’t mean you have to give it up.”

Walt swung his legs back under the desk and replaced his hand on the mouse. He zoomed in on an image of workers filling in the Mexican tunnel. “Our two best friends in the fight against terrorism have been the Atlantic and the Pacific. But if these tunnels are becoming this sophisticated, we may as well hand out speeding tickets down there.”

“What kind of tracings did you find?” Nick asked.

“Semtex,” Walt said, referring to the plastic explosive which was a favorite of the KSF.

“So let me get this straight,” Nick said. “Baldar, the strongest component of the KSF’s American occupation, squeals on his Kurdish brethren and gives up a tunnel laced with Semtex?”

Walt said nothing.

“Then,” Nick continued, “he tells us this tunnel was built to bring in explosives to detonate a bomb at LAX? Right?”

Walt kept his attention on the computer screen.

“You don’t buy it either, do you?” Nick said.

Walt moved his head side to side, ever so slightly.

Nick rubbed his only free hand through his hair. “An enormous diversion,” he said. He looked over at Walt and saw understanding in his eyes. Walt knew.

“So what do we do?” Matt asked.

“You mean what do you do?” Walt said, looking at his watch. “In another hour, I’m taking the entire Western region with me to L.A. You guys need to figure this out. The minute you have credible evidence there’s something else going on, call me. I can be here in ninety minutes.”

The door opened and Tommy rushed in trailed by a man with a deep tan and a black leather jacket. Tommy had a harsh expression as he came to the front of the desk.

“This here is Joe Tess. He’s a friend of ours.” Tommy said, while handing Nick an envelope. “He received this from a KSF member earlier tonight.”

Nick looked over at Joe and nodded. He understood the reference. If Tommy introduced someone as ‘a friend of his ’ then it was someone outside of the Family. But a ‘friend of ours ’ meant Joe was a Family member. Someone Tommy trusted.