Don Pendleton - Domination Bid

“And the two injured were from the grenade?”

Winger nodded.

Higgs shook his head. “What a mess. And we don’t have a clue yet why this even happened.”

“You’ll get to the bottom of it, Bob.”

“You got more faith in my abilities than I do, Nick.”

“Yes, sir, maybe I do.”

“It’s interesting the team from the NSA didn’t have much to say.”

“What can they say? They’re a bunch of computer geeks. Special detachment specialized in recovering data from systems damaged by disasters.”

“Yeah, we both know that’s bullshit,” Higgs replied. “I’ve worked with those guys before. They’re actually specialized in recovering data for natural disasters—things such as floods and tornados and fires—not bombs and grenades and bullets.”

“Well, I suppose the applications are similar in nature.”

“We’ll see.” Higgs sucked air through his teeth. “Ask me, I think they’re a scrub team. I think this place did a little more than just agricultural research.”

“If it did, they’re not going to tell us,” Winger pointed out.

“Excuse me, sir,” another agent said. He approached with three men who were dressed in suits, ties and sunglasses.

More government types, Higgs thought, but he said, “What is it, Mackenzie?”

“These guys just arrived from BATFE. They asked to speak to you.” Mackenzie paused and then more quietly added, “They asked for you by name.”

Higgs scanned the grim faces of the three men and then nodded at Mackenzie. “I’ll take it from here.”

The fit blond one of the group said, “You’re Higgs? Name’s Carl Irons.”

Higgs shook the hand offered him. Irons had a strong, firm grip and there was something special about the way he carried himself. In fact, all three of them moved and acted with confident authority, and Higgs surmised almost immediately they weren’t who they claimed they were, despite what they claimed.

“What’s your interest here?”

“Some place we can talk private?”

Higgs looked at Winger and nodded. The man glanced at the three newcomers and then turned and departed without saying a word.

“Okay, what’s up?”

* * *

WHEN LYONS FINISHED giving Higgs the cover story about their interest in the guns that were used, the FBI agent spent a long time staring at him.

Finally he said, “You don’t actually expect me to believe that story.”

“Frankly, I don’t care if you believe it or not,” Lyons said with a scowl.

“Uh…look, Higgs,” Blancanales said easily, stepping forward to avert a pissing contest. “We’re not interested in jumping on your case or even taking credit. You have to admit—” Blancanales waved in the direction of the carnage “—that this is an awful lot to handle. If you’d just let us inspect the weapons that were used, we’d be able to trace them a lot faster than your labs probably could.”

“The FBI might even have turned to our people anyway for that support,” Schwarz added with a shrug. “So there’s really no reason for you not to cooperate with us.”

Higgs shook his head, keeping one eye on Lyons. “I’m more than happy to show a little interagency cooperation. But the fact is I expect honesty out of anyone I deal with. In other words, no bullshit and no cockamamie stories like the NSA data-recovery geeks who showed up on a whim—very similar to the way you boys did—with some fish tale about specializing in disaster scenarios.”

“Just what is it you’re trying to get at?” Blancanales asked.

Higgs couldn’t seem to help but tender a snort of derision. “Okay, let me be more direct since I’m asking the same courtesy from you guys. First, BATFE agents don’t typically operate in threes. They’d send a single field agent and maybe a backup man. That’s SOP for them, just as it is for us. Second, I’ve worked with plenty of BATFE agents before. You guys don’t move like them, talk like them or act like them. You’re professionals, although professional whats I’m not yet sure. My guess is troubleshooters, maybe CIA or NSA, but that’s less likely than maybe DHS. Maybe you’re on a page that’s not even in the official playbook.”

Blancanales couldn’t refrain from flashing the guy a broad grin. “Okay, so you’re obviously much smarter than our people gave you credit for. Fair enough.” Blancanales looked at Lyons. “I can’t be more specific without your approval.”

Lyons exchanged looks with Higgs and then nodded.

Blancanales said, “You’re right, we’re not on any page in the official playbook. I can’t get into it right now but what I can tell you is we got backing. Big backing.”

“How big?”

It was Schwarz who answered, “Okay, well, you know that big white building in Washington? You know—the one with the big pillars in front?”

Higgs stared at Schwarz a moment and then mumbled, “I see.”

“Actually, you don’t see,” Lyons said. “If you get my meaning?”

“I get you,” Higgs replied.

Lyons said, “As to the reason for our visit, let’s just say we’re after the same thing the NSA boys are after. Only fact is we already know what information was contained in that data vault. We’re way more interested in finding out who wanted that information and why.”

“And if I cooperate and help you find them, I’ll close my case, as well.”

“That’s the general idea, yeah.”

“Okay, then I guess there’s no harm in telling you what we know so far. Especially since it isn’t a hell of a lot.”

Blancanales folded his arms. “We’re all ears.”

* * *

Washington, D.C.

DAVID ERNEST STEINHAM stared out the vast array of windows from the fifteenth story of his office building. He smiled at the breathtaking view of the Potomac, and with good reason—he’d paid a small fortune for it.

But Steinham also knew he’d earned every penny of the millions of dollars his company had made. Steinham had started Dynamic Core Defense Industries in the late eighties, not too long after the Reagan presidency started granting massive contracts for companies willing to perform the latest in military R and D. Steinham, an eager young college graduate, had jumped at the opportunity and built his empire from the ground up.

Year after year, DCDI would innovate new defense solutions and, year after year, the government would renew with the company under an even more lucrative contract. Over the nearly past thirty years, Steinham’s company had made billions and managed to remain privately owned. They also had the dubious reputation of being one of the largest government-contracted employers in North America.

Steinham turned at the sound of his office door opening. The two men who entered looked stressed and weary, despite the fact they both wore pressed suits and were clean-shaved.

“Gentlemen,” Steinham said, waving them to leather chairs and love seats arranged in a hexagonal shape around a low, lead-crystal coffee table. “Please sit down. I’m sure you’re tired.”

“That would be an understatement, sir,” Jack Cyrus replied.

Steinham waited to take his seat until after Cyrus and Riley Braden were comfortable. “Can I get you anything?”

The men shook their heads.

Steinham crossed his legs, tugged at the crease line of one pant leg and said, “I’ve reviewed your report very carefully, Colonel Cyrus. I’m terribly sorry for the loss of some of your men.”

Cyrus cleared his throat before replying, “Thank you, sir.”

“Have you managed to contact the others who survived?”

“We have, sir. They’re all fine, no injuries.”

“And you’re certain every one of those you were forced to leave behind was dead?”