Charles Henderson - Terminal Impact

“I guess you got the word,” Liberty Cruz said on her mobile phone to Chris Gray, who sat in his temporary office in the one-five command center at Al Asad Air Base.

“What’s that?” Gray, the seasoned intelligence officer answered, having several options for an answer to which word he got.

“Malone-Leyva. They screwed the pooch,” Liberty said, and bubbled some laughter as she said it.

“I heard chatter about a shoot-out in front of the embassy today. Somebody lit up a bunch of shoppers. That it?” Gray said.

“Our boy, Ray-Dean Blevins and his Frank-n-Stein A-team mowed down thirty-five unarmed Iraqi civilians, shopping on a leisurely Saturday afternoon,” Liberty gloated. “It’s that runaway train we saw coming. It’s finally crashed.”

Chris Gray began laughing.

“So, what’s the joke?” Liberty asked, and she felt a little dirty laughing, too, in the midst of such a tragedy. She ought to feel terrible but didn’t. Yet Chris Gray’s laughing had brought it all home.

“I’m laughing about Blevins, not the killings. That’s terrible,” Gray explained. “It’s just that of all people. Cooder Blevins and his crew of nitwits. The poetic justice is a little too perfect. Can you tie Alosi into it?”

“Of course not,” Liberty said. “However, this incident may well dump the whole applecart for all these mercenary contractors. Put them under somebody’s jurisdiction. I just got off the phone with Jason Kendrick. They got the flash-message traffic from State Department, and Senator Jim Wells is on the warpath. They’re subpoenaing Victor Malone.”

Gray laughed hard. “Oh, that’s too good. Malone will love that limelight.”

Then the CIA operator cleared his throat, and asked Liberty, “How about some more interesting news?”

“Like what?” Cruz said.

“Some of our intelligence leads tell us that our boy Ray-Dean Blevins may have illegally gotten his hands on a copy of the First Battalion, Fifth Marines’ highly classified operations plan, and it possibly ties to Cesare Alosi using some inside information to land a couple of fat contracts,” Gray went on. “Just guessing, but Malone-Leyva did show up at the head of the line and nailed down some very nice contracts before anyone else had a shot.”

“Where did he get the document?” Liberty asked, taken totally off guard with the news.

“We’re just now looking into it,” Gray said. “MARSOC reported to higher headquarters this afternoon that their copy of the operation plan is missing from their classified-documents safe. Ray-Dean Blevins was a visitor to their office at that same time.”

“Oh, that does point an ugly finger at him, doesn’t it,” Liberty said. “What about the people at MARSOC? Are they in trouble?”

“Captain Mike Burkehart, the detachment officer in charge, has his tit in the wringer over it,” Gray said. “He received the document from First Sergeant Alvin Barkley, who hand carried it to him, and the skipper signed for it. He said he put it on the desk for the admin corporal to log in, and from there it disappeared. I’ve known Mike for a long time. A good man, but he won’t see promotion to major. He does have his twenty in, so he’ll gracefully disappear.”

“What a shame,” Liberty said. “Fucking Blevins. That figures. Alosi had to have sent him after it.”

“You’d think,” Gray said. “But as far as any real evidence goes, we got jack shit. Just coincidental happenstance at this point. I don’t even know that Ray-Dean really has the plan or how much of this is true or just bullshit. You need to get your FBI team busy. Definitely get yourself officially in his apartment with some kind of warrant and start tossing over the furniture.”

“Oh, that’s a given,” Liberty said. “I’ll have to get State Department to arrange with Iraqi officials to give us jurisdiction cooperation. That shouldn’t take long, given their attitudes about security breaches.”

“Another interesting twist,” Chris Gray said. “Cooder’s girlfriend, Francoise Theuriau. You remember her? The mouthy little dog-faced French reporter in the tight pants he was thumping on at the Baghdad Country Club? She’s flown into the wind.”

“Really,” Liberty said.

“We put a tail on her this morning, and she went to an office in the International Zone belonging to a couple of other frogs from Avignon,” Gray said. “They’re suspicious because they seem to go anyplace with no trouble at all. Like the bad guys gave them a hall pass.”

“Hum,” Liberty mumbled, and said, “spies maybe?”

“France and al-Qaeda don’t make a lot of sense, but you can never tell about rabid socialists like Francoise,” Gray said. “This Davet Taché and Jean René Decoux materialized in Avignon some years ago, coincidentally with the collapse of the Soviet Union. We find them as students, at the same university with Francoise Theuriau. Early life? Nonexistent. But they claim French citizenship by birth in Paris. Parents all dead. No living relatives. Very stinky.”

“Passports?” Liberty asked.

“Sure. All quite legal, and the French say the two men are solid citizens. Philanthropists and patrons of the arts,” Gray said. “Wealthy men of position and influence in Avignon, and a bit of pull even at our own embassy. The State Department folks I queried on these two jokers got downright defensive when I started prying into the closet.”

“Pull them in. Have a talk,” Liberty said.

“I would, but no one has seen these clowns for a couple of weeks,” Gray said. “They went up north to Baiji, buying antiquities. Nobody at the hotel they checked in has seen either man or their drivers and bodyguards since that first day. They checked in at the hotel and vanished. Their cars are still parked in the hotel garage. Not a scratch on them.”

“What about Francoise?” Liberty asked.

“Oh, Miss Theuriau.” Chris laughed. “Our eyes watch her go in the frogs’ trading company office, and she doesn’t come out. One of our Iraqi agents goes inside and talks to the receptionist. She says Francoise went to the restroom, then left. She didn’t come out front or back, so I’m betting they have underground that leads to al-Qaeda.”

“Wow,” Liberty said. “You think that Blevins could be committing espionage in cooperation with her?”

“For a pile of money? Yes,” Gray said. “I think that Ray-Dean Blevins and Cesare Alosi both would cut their own mothers’ throats for a price. I don’t put treason past either one of them.”

“I’ll keep this in mind while we investigate the shooting today,” Liberty said.

“That shooting is the perfect door opener,” Gray said. “Just don’t let them see you coming. Especially Alosi.”

“Oh, I’m keenly aware,” Liberty said.

“By the way,” Gray said, his voice casual. “A little bird offered a tip on Blevins. Check close in the kitchen. You know, dump out the drawers. Apparently, Cooder likes to hide his drugs and stuff there. So, look under stuff, not just inside the obvious. No telling what you might find.”

“Very interesting. We’ll do that. I’ll let you know what we find,” Liberty said. Then added, “So, you’ve had yourself a busy few days.”

“Yes, I have,” Chris said. “Now I also have some particularly disturbing news. Especially for you. I saved it for last because it is that bad.”

“What’s that?” Liberty said, a jolt of adrenaline hitting her like a brick.

“Gunnery Sergeant Valentine’s team got way in over their heads earlier today,” Gray said.

“Is Jack alright?” She gasped, fighting back the urge to scream at him.

“Two of his men wounded, not bad. Broken ribs and a few bullet holes,” Gray said.