Chapter Eight, by Jennifer Stevenson
In a subterranean office deep inside CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia, a top-secret meeting was in session. Given the location, the covert briefing was not unusual, nor was the subject matter. Murder was most usual in America’s top spy shop, and every day thousands of operatives moved silently through corridors conveying messages of death.
What marked this group was an uncommon cooperation. For 53 straight hours agents from the CIA, FBI, Secret Service, and Homeland Security gathered in a makeshift command center to puzzle over a murder. Not of a deposed world leader but of a businessman blown to bits in his own rural backyard.
The death had been damn inconvenient and now they had to fix it.
The group stared at images projected on wall-size monitors. A green blip of light blinked steadily at a landing field in Philadelphia.
“The target is set to take-off at any minute.”
“How long before our man gets there?”
“A chopper left New York twelve minutes ago.”
“Hope he gets there in time.”
“He always does. “
——-
Jonathan Gilbert’s silver plane idled on the runway, rain lashing the porthole windows. The senator peered out, failing to see a solitary man crossing the tarmac. Kept waiting an hour, Gilbert was impatient, angry.
“Let’s get going,” he demanded, slapping the console. “Tell the frigging pilot to take off now!”
Then he heard a voice, calm but steely; he turned to confront a stranger stepping into the cabin.
“Sorry, Senator. Your flight is delayed,” Alex Toledo said in greeting. “Permanently.”
Gilbert saw the pilot duck out of the cockpit, then down the stairs.
“What’s going on? Who the hell are you?! “ demanded Gilbert, getting up.
“Sit down,” Toledo replied, forcefully pushing Gilbert back into his seat. “Let’s just say I’m an interested party from an interested agency. And we have great interest in your bad behavior, which now comes to a close.”
Immediately, Gilbert felt dizzy with fear. He’d waged many a vicious political campaign, but this terrified him. He’d always known an anonymous man would come for him some day.
Now, he was here.
“I don’t know what you are talking about!” Gilbert countered. “You have no authority here!”
“Murder, Senator,” Toledo said evenly. “I’m talking about the murder of Richard Pemble – which you ordered. Plus kidnapping, conspiracy, aggravated battery, fraud, illegal dumping of hazardous waste, and ten counts of weapons charges.
“But that seems minor when compared to 23 counts of conspiracy to commit terrorist attacks.”
“A terrorist! You’re insane!” Gilbert yelled. “You don’t have any proof! “
The other man shook his head.
“We’ve had your office over on 11th Street under surveillance for more than a year.”
Gilbert sneered. Finally, he might have a chance.
“Then you have nothing,’ he said. “With my clearance, my lawyer will get any tapes suppressed because of national security issues.”
“Not if we charge you with violating national security,“ Toledo said. “We also have witnesses.”
“Like who?” Gilbert interrupted. The recordings worried him, but not witnesses. He’d handpicked his small, loyal crew.
“Like the two men sitting in front of you,” Toledo said, pointing to his bodyguards.
“These guys?” Gilbert yelled. “They’re morons!”
“They are well-trained agents,” Toledo snapped. “But we like to call them Izzy and Bo.”
“Nice to finally meet you,” Izzy said to Gilbert.
“And they’ll testify — if it comes to that,” Toledo said.
“Sure would,” said Bo. “It’s been a long year for a couple of morons.”
“I’ll kill you!” Gilbert said, charging the men.
Now, Ellena and Agent Dollar joined the group. Earlier, the undercover bodyguards had untied them while Gilbert was distracted.
“Don’t forget me, “ Ellena said. “I’m a witness, too.”
Gilbert roared.
“You’re my friggin’ sister!”
“And you tried to kill me twice!” Ellena said. “And besides, I’m adopted.”
Toledo interrupted the deadly sibling rivalry. “This why we say Russian orphans are so useful. She’s been undercover for a long time”
Jack Dollar whirled from the Ellena to Toledo.
“That’s it? This is a secret CIA sting? Why didn’t you tell me?” Dollar demanded.
“Because, Jack, if I told you the secret it wouldn’t be one,” Toledo said.
But I don’t get it ,” Dollar said, still confused. “The Senator killed Richard Pemble? Why?”
“A bigger secret,” Toledo replied. “Gilbert’s cover scheme was a new housing development. Then, conveniently, that very piece of land is contaminated with “waste products” from some New York firm.
“But let’s say what really happened,” Toledo continued. “The housing project was Gilbert’s idea, not Ellena’s. And he needed that land for a very good reason. Where else could he dump contaminated nuclear waste from secret weapons tests Al Qaeda operatives are conducting right here in America.
“The Senator has made big money working with the enemy,” Toledo said. “Ellena found out, and Gilbert ordered her dead. Richard Pemble also stumbled onto the truth – or part of it. He was snooping in his wife’s studio when he walked into Gilbert’s death trap for his sister.”
Jack Dollar looked like he wanted to ask more questions, but Ellena pulled him up the aisle.
“Leave ‘em alone,” she said. “Our work is done. C’mon, I’ll buy you a drink.” “
They left, and the plane was silent.
Gilbert was still shaking, his face ashen. He fell back heavily into a seat.
“I didn’t kill him!” he said, pointing to his former bodyguards. “They did.”
“There’s dead and there’s dead-dead’,’’ said Toledo. “Did you see him Richard dead?
“There was a body,” Gilbert stammered. “The state police found it.”
“But Ellena made the ID. Richard is just said-dead.” Toledo said. ‘The most interesting things happen to those who are said-dead. The last time we saw Pemble was in a Quonset hut in Guantanamo bay. He’s been in a chatty mood.”
Toledo paused.
“Time to go.”
Gilbert looked from Toledo to the hulking men flanking him. His shoulders slumped. “I need to call my lawyer –I have rights”
“But we’re not arresting you,” Toledo said. “We just want to talk.”
“I’m a U.S. Senator.” Gilbert said shrilly, “You can’t just make me disappear!”
Toledo smiled briefly.
The bodyguards each grabbed one of Gilbert’s arms and hoisted him roughly to his feet.
“No! Arrest me, arrest me,” Gilbert yelled. “I’ll confess, I’ll confess.”
Toledo followed, then stepped into the falling rain.
