Andrew Peterson - Forced to Kill

Senator Stone McBride entered his room and shut the door. Nathan’s father radiated confidence and leadership, even with a concerned expression, although today his usual suit and tie had been replaced with tan slacks and a cobalt sweater.

Nathan smiled to ease the tension.

“How are you feeling?”

“All things being equal, not too bad. Thanks for coming. How’s Mom?”

“She wanted to be here, but her hip is still bothering her. She’s a nervous wreck, though. Truth be told, so am I.”

“I’ll call her later.”

“She’d like that. You okay?”

“My La Jolla home, my dogs-”

Stone held up a hand. “They’re okay, but they proved to be a bit of a problem. They wouldn’t let anyone get out of their vehicles. Harvey took care of it. He imprinted the two federal agents to them.”

“FBI?”

“They’re watching your house as we speak.”

“Who else is out there?”

“I’ll let you see for yourself.” Stone opened the door a crack and nodded.

Two people in dark business suits stepped in. One man. One woman. They were roughly the same height, but the woman looked ten years younger. Nathan knew she was in her early fifties. Attractive and alluring. Perhaps it was her eyes. He liked her, but wouldn’t give that up. Both had graying hair and both looked all business. The woman’s hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Stone closed the door.

Nathan pushed himself up to a more upright sitting position. He felt somewhat insecure dressed only in a hospital gown. “To what do I owe this honor?”

The man said, “I take it you recognize one or both of us?”

He did. Standing in front of him were two presidential appointees. Director Ethan Lansing of the FBI and CIA Director Rebecca Cantrell. Cantrell stepped forward and offered her hand. Warm, but firm. Lansing also shook hands.

“You didn’t bring balloons.”

Cantrell smiled.

“I’d like to have Harvey and SAC Simpson present, please.”

Cantrell looked at Lansing, who shook his head no.

Nathan leaned back and looked out the window. “Well, thank you both for coming.”

“Nathan, please,” Stone said. “Directors Cantrell and Lansing have included me because I gave them my word this discussion would be kept confidential. Please hear them out.”

Cantrell said, “You were shot in the head last night. How about a compromise? Since Mr. Fontana has the same DOD security clearance as you, I’ll allow him to participate. But for national security reasons, SAC Simpson can’t be part of this discussion.”

National security reasons? What was Montez up to?

Stone stepped out and returned a few seconds later with Harvey in tow.

“How’re you feeling, partner?”

“I’m okay. What’s one more scar?”

Cantrell continued. “Our people didn’t attack you last night.”

“I didn’t think they had. Are any of our vehicles or homes bugged?”

“Not by us. I’m well aware of your past,” Cantrell said. “You’re an unsung hero, Mr. McBride. Very few people outside of this room know what you went through.”

“If you’re here to ask me- us -to back off, I’m afraid the answer’s no. And please call me Nathan.”

Lansing made brief eye contact with his father. “That’s not why we’re here. And I owe you an apology over the Bridgestone business.”

“Accepted. You did what you thought best at the time. I don’t second-guess people, especially people under pressure, and I don’t hold grudges.”

“That’s quite gracious of you. I’m not sure I’d be so forgiving.”

“I’m a chip off the old block.”

Stone said, “Thank you, Nathan. I consider that very high praise.”

Lansing continued. “We’re in a delicate situation here. I’ve talked it over with Director Cantrell and we’ve decided it’s better if we don’t work against each other. There’s too much at stake.”

“Would you care to elaborate?”

Cantrell exchanged a glance with Lansing. “First off,” she said, “I need to tell you there’s more going on than we can share. We can tell you that our two agencies are conducting a joint operation, both at home and abroad. The ATF and DEA are also involved. We want Montez as badly as you do, but we want him alive.”

Nathan started to object.

Stone held up a hand. “Hear them out.”

Cantrell pulled a chair over and sat down. “Have you ever wondered why Montez ended your interrogation so suddenly?”

He had, many times. When he’d last seen Montez, he’d been at death’s door. He remembered seeing Montez leave the jungle camp and assumed it would only be for a few hours or the rest of the day. But Montez never came back. During the long months of debriefing, mental therapy, and physical rehabilitation that followed-and the decade and a half since passed-Nathan had never been able to answer that simple question. Why did Montez stop torturing him and abruptly disappear?

“This won’t be easy for you, but what I’m about to say never leaves this room. Ever.”

Nathan said nothing, waiting.

“Although Montez was never able to get your identity or what agency you worked for, he had his suspicions. It didn’t require a leap of logic to conclude you were working for the U.S. government. He made contact with the CIA after your second week of captivity.”

He spoke slowly, deliberately. “Are you telling me the CIA knew I was alive?”

“Yes.”

“And they didn’t mount a rescue?”

“We couldn’t risk sending in more teams in to look for you. Your location wasn’t known. You became Montez’s insurance policy.”

“Insurance policy? For what?”

“We paid him off to stop interrogating you, keep quiet, and let you go. We also agreed not to pursue him. Eight million dollars to a numbered account of his choice. Half paid immediately, the other half when we had you back.”

“He never released me. He left me there to die.”

“We can only speculate on why he didn’t keep the second part of his bargain. He probably left the camp to secure his first four million and figured that was enough and shouldn’t push his luck by returning. We may never know. We do know that he kept our presence in Nicaragua secret.” She looked at Stone, then back to him. “Officially, no direct U.S. military involvement in Nicaragua’s civil war was ever authorized by the president or Congress. More than that, no intervention of any kind was authorized. If it had leaked, it would’ve been an international scandal of epic proportions. The Iran-Contra scandal wasn’t that distant and the media never got their pound of flesh. The media wanted Reagan’s head on a silver platter. Knowledge of direct U.S. military involvement in Nicaragua might have brought down the Clinton administration. Although Operation Echo was fully justified and stopped countless innocents from being kidnapped, tortured, and executed, it wouldn’t have mattered. Montez could’ve caused major PR damage to us. But he didn’t. He never revealed our boots-on-the-ground training squads or the sniper teams that were mopping up the Sandinista holdouts. When Harvey rescued you, the dynamics changed, but we paid Montez the second half of his money anyway. Hush money, so to speak.”

“You keep saying ‘we’ and ‘our.’ All of this happened on Director Kallstrom’s watch.”

“That’s true, but I was the associate deputy director at the time. Number three in the chain of command. I was neck-deep.”

He looked at his dad.

“I didn’t know any of this until a few hours ago.”

“It’s the truth. There’s no paper on any of it. And there are probably aspects of the Montez negotiation I’m not aware of. I think it’s fair to say that you’re the only reason former Director Kallstrom agreed to tell me what he did. He still has tremendous admiration for both of you.”