Gary Ponzo - A Touch of Deceit

“Look at me, Bill,” Merrick demanded. “I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me the truth. You’re only getting one chance at this so don’t blow it.” Merrick placed the mug on his desk and pushed up his already rolled up sleeves even further. “Did you leak the Payson location to Miles Reese?”

Hatfield was already beginning to shake his head when Merrick pointed an accusing finger at him. “Don’t even think about lying to me, Bill.”

Hatfield retreated into a blank stare.

Merrick sat down and leaned over his desk. His elbows created a tripod for his clasped hands. “What you did jeopardized the lives of seven FBI agents who were on a dicey assignment to begin with. When you shot off your mouth to Miles you put all of them at risk. One of them is in the hospital in serious condition.”

Merrick picked up the mug, then quickly put it back down. “I’m giving you two weeks to get your affairs in order. Give whatever projects you have working to Sarah. At that time I’ll announce that you’re resigning due to personal reasons, you want to spend more time with your family-" he waved his hand in the air, “whatever bullshit I can have written for me. Either way you’re gone. The only reason I’m allowing you to leave with even a shred of dignity is because you’re married to my sister. Otherwise, I’d throw you out in the street tonight and declare you an incompetent. You wouldn’t be able to get a job as a dogcatcher.”

Hatfield attempted a nod.

Merrick dismissed him with the back of his hand. “Get out of here before you make me sick to my stomach.”

Hatfield left so quickly that Merrick never saw him go. The next thing he knew, Sam Fisk was standing over him, dropping a thick manila file on his desk with a thud. Merrick ran his hands through his hair and heard Fisk replace Hatfield in the chair.

After a long minute of silence, Fisk said, “Aren’t you going to read the file?”

Merrick had his head in his hands trying to recover whichever neurons were still firing after the longest week of his life. “Why?” he said softly.

Fisk laughed. “You need to get some sleep.”

Merrick scanned his desk. His computer was receiving so many E-mails that he was having ninety percent of them screened and deleted before anything popped up on his monitor. It was information overload. He looked up at the clock. “I’ve only got three hours to go. After that, I’ll either get plenty of sleep, or I’ll pass out and have no choice.”

“Do you want me to tell you what’s in the file?” Fisk asked.

“Please.”

“Kharrazi’s uncle owned an offshore oil company up until a couple of years ago. The silos were built during the construction of one of the rigs. This is going back maybe three or four years.”

“So Kharrazi had been planning an attack long before we ever sent troops into Turkey?”

Fisk nodded. “We gave him the perfect justification. However, he lured us in by moving so aggressively against the Turkish government. He knew we wouldn’t stand by and watch thousands of civilians get slaughtered without trying to help.”

“Should we have seen this coming?”

Fisk shook his head. “No, absolutely not. Kharrazi’s uncle, Tariq, was an honest businessman without a shred of unlawful activity in his career. Unless we used an overt form of racial profiling, we would have never discovered the silos.”

Merrick pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “It’s getting to the point where anyone with an accent will endure a form of scrutiny they’d never seen before. This is not the country I grew up in.”

“Yes, but it’s the country you’ve been voted to lead. Your decisions will have a profound effect on the future. You can make changes necessary to promote a safer, less suspicious environment.”

Merrick looked at his friend with a guarded glare. “I’ve instructed Fredrick to schedule an 11:30 press conference.”

Fisk gave him a stony look, but didn’t speak.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” Merrick said, looking at his desktop. “If we don’t find Kharrazi by then. .”

“You’re going to pull the troops from Turkey?”

Merrick nodded. “A U.N. peacekeeping force will remain, but we will no longer participate in the effort. I won’t risk any more American lives. I refuse to wake up tomorrow morning with a smoldering White House on the cover of every newspaper in the world.”

Fisk stared at Merrick and kneaded his hands. “I don’t believe you.”

Merrick kept his head down. After a couple of awkward minutes passed, he sensed Fisk get up and leave his office.

They sat in the reception area of the Sheriff’s office in the stunned silence that often followed a shooting. Especially an ambush. Especially an ambush set up by another law enforcement official.

It was after 5 PM and, except for a dispatcher buried behind the reception area, they were alone. They sat in old cloth-covered chairs with lumpy padding and worn arm rests. Jennifer Steele was in the bathroom with a pair of scissors, trying to repair the damage she’d inflicted on her hair with her Swiss army knife. Ed Tolliver, Carl Rutherford and Matt were devouring fast-food burritos, looking drained, as if they had just run a marathon.

Nick paced, stopping only occasionally to feed the ancient vending machine for Diet Pepsi's. His head felt like the hull of a submarine diving too quickly toward the ocean floor. Another fringe benefit of stress-induced trauma. He could practically see Dr. Morgan rolling his eyes from two thousand miles away.

They weren’t any closer to the KSF hideout and now the news was interrupting programs on every station, including the cartoon channel, identifying Payson as the headquarters for Kemel Kharrazi and his crew of terrorists.

“What did Walt have to say?” Matt asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“He said that everyone was proud of us. Riggs wanted to congratulate me for finding the KSF hideout.”

“But we haven’t found the hideout.”

“That’s what I told Walt, but I guess they’re finally convinced that Kharrazi has his crew up here somewhere. DPS has quarantined Payson. No one comes in or goes out without inspection. They’re sending us a SWAT team and Special OPS from Phoenix.”

“How long before they get here?”

Nick looked at his watch. It was seven-fifteen, nine-fifteen in D.C. “The first chopper should get here in about twenty minutes.” Nick took a gulf of Diet Pepsi, then looked at Matt. He said something else.”

Matt cocked his head.

“He said the President has scheduled a press conference for 11:30 PM, Eastern Standard Time.

A frown curled Matt’s lips. “Don’t tell me.”

Nick nodded. “If we don’t find Kharrazi by then, he’s announcing a withdrawal.”

“You tell Walt that it wouldn’t be the last time terrorists threaten the White House?”

“I told him.”

“He have anything to say about it?”

“He said we should get Kharrazi and make this all moot.”

Matt walked away shaking his head. He shoved open the door to the men’s room and disappeared inside.

Nick knew that every minute counted, but he had to let the crew catch its breath while reinforcements made their way to Payson. He dialed his cell phone and when he heard his wife’s feeble voice, he nearly wept. “Hi, Baby,” he whispered. “How are you feeling?”

“I miss you,” Julie said. “Are you almost done?”

“Almost.”

“You know, Nick, what I said about. . you know, killing him. . I was kind of juiced up on pain killers at the time. I really want you to come home and be here with me.”

Nick cupped a hand over his eyes. “Jule, I’m not coming home to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder.”