James Born - Shock Wave

“And you’re the only one in the world who can stop him?”

“Yes. Me and you.”

“Good answer. I just wanted to make sure this was as important to you as I thought it was. What’s our next move?”

Tasker leaned to one side so Sutter could see the computer screen. It showed a Miami Herald news-archive article on two Jordanian nationals the FBI had arrested for attempting to attack the Turkey Point nuclear power plant.

Tasker said, “First stop, MCC.”

Sutter just stared at him.

“To interview either Samir Al-Soud or Kaz Jourdi. The article doesn’t specify which agent arrested them, but Lail said it was Bolini. Maybe they can tell us something.”

“You think the Bureau would be pissed if they found out we were talkin’ to their prisoners?”

“Do you care?”

“Nope.”

Without another word, they were off.

Jimmy Lail would never admit that he’d hurt his back when Tasker threw him on the ground. He sat at the lat machine at the Bally’s in western Dade, just staring at the bar. He realized he was zoning out and looked around to make sure no one thought he was acting strange. He rubbed his head where the nylon sock cap irritated his skin, then reached for the bar and pulled it down with no real enthusiasm. This sucked. He couldn’t even concentrate, because that state cop had disrespected him so bad in front of his woman. And that Miami cop didn’t hide what he thought of Camy. It was a lot easier when everyone had thought she was a lesbian. It’d explained why she never wanted to go out of the house with him. It kept other men away. And the thought of it kept Jimmy in a general state of arousal.

After finishing up with some lackluster squats, Jimmy headed over to the ATF office. Camy might be able to keep him from coming by her house, but she couldn’t keep him from a federal law enforcement office.

Forty minutes later, he strutted through the main door and waved to the older receptionist, who was so used to his face she buzzed him in without calling Camy. He bounded up the stairs to her squad and was able to sneak within five feet of her desk before she even noticed him.

She looked up from her report, but didn’t smile. “How’d you get in here?”

“Walked, baby. How you think?”

“I think you’re supposed to call first.”

“I never used to have to call.”

Camy leveled her stare at him. “Jimmy, this is work. You’re supposed to be professional at work. Act like a professional.”

Jimmy didn’t reply. He decided he needed his space, anyway, and sulked back out of the building. This case had ruined his life. His woman wasn’t giving him his props, the other cops disrespected him and he was starting to think people didn’t like him.

The thing that bothered him most was that an FDLE agent, a damn state cop, thought he was better than him. That wasn’t right and it wasn’t true.

Jimmy always excelled at anything he did. He’d been teacher of the month at Prairie Middle School in Laredo two different times before he joined the FBI. The multicultural class he’d taught had been talked about all over the county. It was the first time the other culture considered hadn’t been Mexican. If they wanted that, they could cross the Rio Grande on the west side of town. He had brought Kwanzaa to South Texas. He didn’t need any of this shit.

They could complain about the Klan surveillance all they wanted. They still did it. And Jimmy felt satisfied on a number of different levels. The cops had done what he’d told them to do. He’d impressed some people who mattered at the Bureau. And most important, he had harassed the Klan a little, and that would burn up his racist father back on LBJ Lane in Laredo more than anything Jimmy could do. The Klan had never changed its out-of-date views, but Jimmy could still strike a blow for the peeps wherever he worked.

The Miami Metropolitan Correctional Center was quiet this time of the evening. The administration didn’t like visits after six, but for law enforcement they would make exceptions. Tasker found that Kaz Jourdi had already been moved to Atlanta, where he was being evaluated for a future destination. Samir Al-Soud was still at MCC waiting for transportation. Neither had caused any trouble while guests of the Federal Bureau of Prisons.

After a thirty-minute wait in an interview room the size of a small closet with a rickety table and three folding chairs, two burly Bureau of Prisons officers escorted a small dark man about thirty-three with a wicked comb-over hiding a large, shiny head. He had intense dark eyes which he immediately trained on Tasker, trying to assess who he had to talk with now. He was thin but had some muscle. Tasker wouldn’t want to tangle with him if he was pissed or had a cause.

The prison officers let him step inside the small room alone and said to Sutter, “We’ll be in the control room. If you need us, stick your head out the door. We have to see you.”

Sutter smiled, looking at the prisoner. “No problem. I think we could handle this one.”

The second officer laughed and said to the first, “How many times have we heard that ?”

Tasker asked, “Is there something we should know about Mr. Al-Soud?”

“No, nothing specific. We just seen more than one FBI agent get his ass kicked down here.”

Al-Soud seemed to follow the conversation with interest.

Sutter said, “Don’t worry, I’m a Miami cop.”

The first officer said, “Seen that, too.” He turned and shut the door.

Tasker pulled out the chair next to the table and offered it to the small man.

Al-Soud slowly sat, exchanging looks with both cops.

Tasker said, “Mr. Al-Soud, you speak English, don’t you?”

He nodded.

“My name is Bill Tasker and this is Derrick Sutter.”

The man made no reaction.

“We wanted to talk to you about your arrest. It has no bearing on your case, which, from what I understand, is already concluded.”

The man looked at Tasker and said, “Why would you want to talk to me? Why not talk to another FBI agent?”

“I’m not with the FBI.”

He looked at Sutter. “And you’re a Miami cop?” He had no trace of an accent. He could have been from Los Angeles.

Sutter said, “That’s right.”

Tasker said, “I’m an agent with the Florida Department of Law Enforcement.”

“So an FDLE agent and a Miami cop are interested in an FBI case. This must be some turf war.”

“Not really. The opposite, actually. We’re on another case that the FBI is not interested in.” Tasker looked at the calm little man. “Who arrested you?”

He looked surprised. “Why, the FBI, of course.”

“I mean, which agent? Do you remember?”

He nodded vigorously. “Oh yes. Of course. A most disagreeable man. Agent Bolini.”

Tasker cut his eyes to Sutter. Then said, “I read the news article, but what exactly did you do?”

“I am afraid, due to legal considerations, I shall not answer that.” He looked at Sutter. “And nothing could make me talk.”

Sutter shrugged, stood up and said, “Okay, that just means I’m outta here quicker.” Sutter took a step toward the door. The small Arab man looked to Tasker.

“Okay, okay, wait. I’ll talk to you.”

Sutter let a small smile cross his face.

Tasker winked at him, turned to Al-Soud and said, “We’re listening.”

The man gazed ahead as he recalled details. He began, “I’ve got to tell you-it was brilliant.”

Tasker smiled. “Hold on, ah, what should we call you? Samir? Mr. Al-Soud?”

“Call me Sami. Everyone does.”

“Okay, Sami, tell us your idea.”

“It was mostly mine, but Kaz added some logistics.”

Sutter cut in. “Summarize this shit, Sami. We’re not investigating you. We’re just interested in your case.”