The Grace Bay Agreement Read online

  “Get your team here. We’ll take Don Humo the morning after your boys get in place. What do you think? Saturday morning?”

  “Yes, Father. Saturday morning will be the best. I’ll get in touch with my men tonight. They’ll travel Friday, and we’ll be ready Saturday morning.”

  Thursday

  1730

  16 December, 1999

  NSA Listening Post #16

  Green Cove Springs, Florida

  Brian Dowd rocked back in the soft captain’s chair, taking a break from the emails chiming above him on the big screens. Ever since HQ banished Chris Monk to the El Paso Intelligence Center, Brian filled in, taking one of the watches. The Agency just couldn’t produce another cleared linguist until after the first of the year.

  He glanced over at the printout that puzzled him for the last week. He picked it up, looked again at the latest entries, and shook his head. Since the shootings on the Turks and Caicos, he kept a close eye on Ramon Menchaca’s email account. While it posed no national security threat, the drama playing out with the Santa Marta Cartel drew him like a woman who couldn’t stand to miss her afternoon soap opera.

  The printout chronicled the accounts accessing Don Humo’s email. Someone kept breaking into the account from servers in Latvia, then Brazil, Canada, and Egypt. All trackbacks dead-ended. Only those with the NSA’s software would be able to see this hacker.

  There’s a pro tracking this account, and they’re using some of the best firewall software I’ve ever seen. Could this be another NSA listening post? No, we’re supposed to be divided along geographic and linguistic lines. What other organization could have this kind of sophistication? Another drug cartel? No. Not unless they can read the Santa Marta Cartel’s encryption.

  A gnawing suspicion grew a bit every day. Had Chris Monk stolen the software to keep track of his boys in Colombia? If Brian called the Gray Ghosts, the nickname for NSA Security, due to the light gray suits they all wore, he could suffer some blowback. They would ask him how Chris got out of a secure facility carrying that kind of software.

  Chris would go to jail. But then so would I, he thought. How can I contact Chris without the Agency knowing? I suspect all my emails and phone calls are monitored. I can’t call him, even from a payphone, because I’m sure they monitor all his phone calls, too.

  Uneasiness sprouted into a dull ache in his gut. He felt his heart pounding, and that only increased his fear. A plan flashed into his head full grown, and he picked up the phone.

  “Taylor, you’ll have to run the shop for a couple of days. My mom is really sick in San Diego, and I’ve got to go see her.” Zeke Taylor, his second in command stammered a little.

  “Don’t worry. Just call me on my cell if anything comes up. I should be back in a couple of days.” He hung up and dialed Southwest Airlines.

  The last time he went to see his mom, Southwest had the lowest price. Only after take-off did he realize that the late flight from Jacksonville, Florida to San Diego stopped in Houston and El Paso before landing in San Diego. He remembered the stops because he was hopping mad to spend the extra hours on the ground. Now he could use those fuel stops. He’d buy the same ticket San Diego, but this time he’d just get off in El Paso. As he dialed his travel agent, he glanced at his watch. He could make the eight-thirty flight. No sweat.

  Accessing the online NSA employee roster, he got a home phone number and address for Chris Monk and scribbled it onto a scrap of paper.

  The crazy rush to Jacksonville, standing in lines, and sitting in a middle seat to El Paso all misted over in Brian’s memory. The overarching worry—what would he say to Chris? What if Chris denied accessing those accounts? What if it were someone else?

  I can’t exactly say how I’ll ask him, he thought. But as soon as he answers, I’ll know.

  In his mental fog, Brian picked up his overnight bag and got off the plane at El Paso. As he rented a car, he wondered how he would explain to his wife why the Agency would not reimburse this airline ticket, hotel, and rental car. She crosschecked every credit card statement with his expense accounts to be sure they got paid all that was owed. What would he tell her? She’ll think I’m cheating again.

  They had just finished a year of marital counseling after she found out about my affair with Rachel. She’s going to be suspicious, and I can’t tell her the truth. He winced, knowing the pain to come. He had used the excuse of Agency business to hide his last affair.

  Brian hammered on the door with his fist. His anger rose up in his throat, and he knew he must suppress it. This fat slob is about to get me thrown in prison for some little adventure. I should beat the fire out of him right here on his front porch.

  He rapped on the door again. Chris might be asleep. It’s after eleven thirty. Then he saw the peephole darken. Someone’s in there.

  The door swung open and Chris stood in the puddle of light wearing sweats and a stupid smile. He looks like my son at seven years old when I caught him looking at my Playboy. Anger rolled off of Brian, and he realized that he was happy to see Chris again. Relief swelled up and then his emotions switched back to anger again. But Brian’s southern upbringing won out. The conventions had to be followed.

  “Hi, Chris. You look good. Lost some weight.”

  “Brian. I didn’t…uh…You caught me by surprise. Come in. Sit down.” Brian followed and sat in the broken down recliner.

  “Chris, I’ve got a problem. We’ve had someone accessing the Santa Marta cartel’s email accounts.” He saw Chris tighten his jaw. The younger man didn’t turn away, only stared back with a sort of pride.

  “Do you know anything about this?” Chris would not respond. Brian waited, knowing he was on the right track.

  “Have you called anyone else about this?” Chris looked at the door as if he expected a team to break in.

  “No. I’ve come on my own. This is an unofficial visit,” Brian said, like some judge giving his pronouncement. Chris got up, holding his chin.

  “Come in here,” Chris said. Brian walked behind Chris into the back bedroom. The twin computers hummed and Brian could feel the heat from the boxes and the flat screen monitors. A dozen pieces of paper were taped on the wall, and several emails glowed on the screens.

  “This is impressive. But illegal. Son, you’re going to get us both thrown in prison.” Chris sat down in his chair, like a king coming to his thrown. Then he spun around to face Brian.

  “You don’t understand.” Chris tapped his own breastbone. “I’ve been the key player in getting three DEA hostages released. Don Humo caught Steve Joiner, the top DEA intel guy, and a female CIA agent.” Brian backed up a little and leaned against the door frame.

  “I haven’t heard anything about this.”

  With a mixture of a military briefer and a sports announcer, Chris told the story of Pete Douglas and Don Humo.

  “That’s all good work, Chris. But it’s not what we do. Don’t you see? You’ve bastardized our collection process and short-circuited it to the field guys. That’s not our job.” Chris smiled, and Brian couldn’t understand his confidence. This guy should be begging me to give him a break, but he acts like he’s the hero.

  “I’ve saved lives. I’m proud of that. This is the best work I’ve ever done. And if you try to prosecute me, I’ll go public with how the NSA has all this info and won’t lift a finger to save American agents.”

  Brian couldn’t get any words to come out. This was not the scenario he’d prepared for.

  “And Brian,” Chris said with an uplift in his voice, “you bring this out in the open, and you’ll go to jail for letting classified software out of your facility. As a matter of fact, you’ll go down harder for coming here instead of reporting your suspicions to Ft. Meade.” Chris smiled as if he’d just won a chess game.

  The two men stared at each other for a long time.

  “You’ve grown up, Chris. I’ve got to give you that.” Brian picked up a book on Chris’s table, The Count of Monte Cristo.

/>   “But you’re playing in the big time now. You know there are guys who might show up any day at your door. They won’t haul you off to jail. They’ll make you disappear.” For a second, a cloud of fear floated in front of Chris’s eyes. Brian saw him swallow. Then the stone face returned.

  “Don’t try to scare me with that stuff. The Agency hasn’t snuffed anyone in years. Just look at all the guys who’ve gone to jail. Their trials have even been publicized. No. No one has the balls to snuff me. They don’t know who’s in this thing with me. And they couldn’t stand the bad publicity of my friends coming forward and telling the story of how I got whacked for saving their lives.”

  Brian ran his fingers through his hair. The trip and the worry fuddled his brain. What am I going to do? I’m cornered.

  “Look, I’m going to get a hotel for the night. My flight leaves here tomorrow evening. Let’s sleep on this.” They walked toward the front door.

  “You’re welcome to crash on the couch, man.”

  Brian laughed a little.

  “I’m too old for that kind of thing. That’s why I’ve got a gold Visa card. Besides, I need some time to think.” Brian turned to leave, and Chris showed him out. On the porch, Brian turned around.

  “How about breakfast? What time do you go in?”

  “Oh, I keep my own hours. Those guys pay me little mind. I usually go in around nine or ten. I like the breakfast at the Golden Bear diner. You can see it on the left as you drive out the complex. Meet you there at 0830.”

  The door thudded shut. Chris slumped and leaned against the wall. I should have guessed that all my activity would trigger a report. Now I’ve got Brian here in my house! His heart pounded in his chest and he felt a little light headed.

  But I stood up to him. I never could have done that a month ago. And now I know, at least. That’s an advantage. If Brian was going to do anything, they would have already come and arrested me.

  I need to plan for tomorrow. He went back to his chair and started writing out his options.

  Chris looked around the crowded restaurant and saw Brian waving his arm from a back booth. The normal gang of mostly retired men sat in their assigned seats. Most greeted Chris with a word or a gesture. When he got close, he could see the fatigue in his old boss’s face. Chris smiled and slid into the booth without a greeting.

  “Coffee, Chris?” the waitress asked, breaking the awful silence. She poured out a cup for Chris and flipped Brian’s over and filled it.

  “I couldn’t sleep at all last night.”

  “You look like it,” Chris said with a laugh in his voice. His plan to dominate the meeting with confidence seemed to be working.

  “Look, son, you don’t seem to understand what…”

  “Don’t call me ‘son’ again,” Chris said in a fierce whisper. He leaned forward and drilled Brian with his eyes. “I’ve outsmarted you. I’ve done more good in the last few weeks than you have in your entire career.” Chris eased back against the seat. “Now, if you want to be cordial, we’ll go on with this meeting. If not, you can go back to your hole in Florida.”

  Brian’s open mouth and stunned eyes caused Chris to laugh. He held up his hand and the waitress appeared.

  “Give me my usual, and my friend here will have the same thing. Thanks, Lizzy.” Chris turned back to Brian. “I hope you like scrambled eggs and crisp bacon. Oh, and a couple of slices of whole wheat toast. Not great, but filling and cheap.”

  “What are we going to do?” Brian said.

  “We are going to finish this op. It only has a few more days to go. Then we’re going to ground for a long time.” Chris smiled. “No one needs to know. And we can sleep at night knowing the bad guys are dead. In fact, the killer who went after Pete Dolan is dead already. We just have one more to go.”

  Brian looked down at his coffee cup, and nodded his head, biting his lower lip.

  “Okay, but you know if we get caught…”

  “We won’t get caught. You cover me from your end, and we’ll be just fine.” Chris was proud of the soothing tones in his voice.

  “I’ve got to go,” Brian said, standing up and grabbing his jacket. He reached for some money, but Chris held out his hand.

  “I’ve got this.”

  “You won’t hear from me unless there’s a problem.”

  “Good seeing you, too, Brian.” He turned and watched his old boss amble out of the diner. The meeting couldn’t have gone better for me, he thought. Now I’ve got him on the hook as a co-conspirator. Whenever I need something like a software update or some hot intel, he’ll give it to me. Blackmail seems like such a harsh word, he thought as he bit into his bacon.

  Friday

  0945

  17 December, 1999

  Escuela Abraham Lincoln

  Santa Marta, Colombia

  “We’ve got people at every apartment and business where Ramon Menchaca is known to hang out. Even the church where he goes to confession. Nothing.” Renee put down the sheaf of papers on the big table in the TOC (Tactical Operations Center) set up in what used to be the kitchen of the school.

  “He’s gone. When he found the hostages gone, he must have slid out of town.” Phil went to the white board and studied the columns of links to find their pigeon. The columns listed people, businesses, cars, boats and aircraft, real estate, and restaurants. “With his resources, he could be in Europe or Asia by now.”

  “No. He’s here.” Pete slapped the table. Then he went to the coffee pot. “He’s not going to leave his money machine. The cartel’s drawing down millions a month. He’s not going to put that in danger. If he skips, one of his lieutenants would take over like lightning.”

  Renee shook her head. “I think he’s decided to take his marbles and retire. All of his business interests have been recently sold to legit holding companies in Hong Kong, Europe, and Brazil. He’s taken the money and gone to ground.”

  Pete took in Renee’s beauty as she talked. But he felt no desire. She reminded him of a hybrid flower, all looks and no smell. Besides, a fire burned in him to get Ramon Menchaca. That fire consumed all other thoughts, whether about the future, women, food and drink, or money. The only way Pete felt he could retain sanity lie in channeling his grief and loss into anger and revenge.

  “Check the ownership of those legit holding companies. I’ll bet they’re owned by bearer shares or through agents that will go right back to Ramon. That’s what I’d do. He’s still got ownership and control. He’s not gone,” Pete said through gritted teeth.

  “What about your buddy. The Skinny Girl. Still no word?” Renee asked. Pete showed his irritation by the way he strolled to the terminal to check one more time. Skinny Girl had been silent since the hostage rescue. Pete felt embarrassed that she wouldn’t answer his emails, especially with the team waiting for her.

  He hit the refresh button on his email inbox. There was a new message! Pete turned and smiled as if to say, I knew she’d be there.

  Pete,

  Sorry, I’ve been out of touch due to some management problems. We have some in our group who would prefer I stay out of all tactical operations. Some want to throw me in jail for communicating with you. I know you’re working with the Unit now. So I ask you never to reveal my involvement. Just had a breakfast meeting with my boss. After this op, all commo between us will be cut.

  Lots of emails from Don Humo. He has gone into hiding. But he’s not far away. He is asking some of his men to meet with him in a place called King’s Rook Two. Another chess allusion.

  He ordered some high end Cuban cigars that won’t be available until this afternoon. They’re coming in on a flight from Cuba. Yesterday, his mistress emailed a store called “Caverna de Puros” and ordered a box of Perdomo 1994 Churchills. The store emailed back that the cigars will be ready for pickup Friday at 1600. If you can tail whoever picks up those cigars, they should take you right to Don Humo’s door.

  Good luck, and keep me posted as to how it goes.

  Skinn
y Girl

  “This is great intel,” Phil said, leaning on Pete to look at the monitor. Pete shook him off with a shrug and hit the print button.

  Each one got a copy of the email. As if on cue, they all checked their watches, and then all started to talk.

  “Pipe down. We can divide up the work.” Phil took the reins of the meeting and called for his military team leaders. With a short brief, he sent out watchers.

  “If we don’t catch this shipment, we’ll be out until he reorders next month.” Renee groused. Her sourness grated on Pete. I’m the one who should be sore, he thought. Not you. You got rescued. My partner got killed because I prodded him to go get your pretty little head.

  “No, if we miss the courier, I’m sure he’ll order something else soon.” Phil turned from the monitor to his wall map, checking the address of Caverna de Puros. “He’s used to the good life, and my guess is there’s not much of that where he is. He’ll order some fine rum or a quarter of Kobe beef soon. Don’t worry.”

  Pete wanted to be out with the watchers, but he knew he might be spotted by one of the lieutenants who undoubtedly had his picture. He would be a marked man. Worse, if Pete died Ramon could truly go to ground, never to be found again. Then all the deaths would be in vain.

  Friday

  1625

  17 December, 1999

  Across the street from Caverna de Puros

  Santa Marta, Colombia

  Jesse Alvarez sat on his motorcycle watching the reflection of the Caverna de Puros in the storefront window. Three other motos surrounded the store. Another ring of six Honda 250XL Enduros sat at corners several blocks away monitoring their radios. Everyone was briefed and ready to follow the courier to Don Humo’s hiding place.