A Touch of Revenge (A Nick Bracco Thriller) Page 5

  “That’s good,” Matt said, moving left toward a particularly thick pine. “Did you know they don’t send out scouts with guns?”

  “What?” Buck said, looking confused.

  “I mean they send their lookouts with knives so they aren’t tempted to fire a weapon in the open theatre and give away their position,” Matt said, looking straight up the wide pine tree. “Isn’t that right, Semir?”

  With choreographed speed, Buck’s team swarmed the tree where Matt stood and took military positions, their machine guns clattered as they flanked their target, pointing straight up the tree trunk.

  There was a small man at the top of the tree with green fatigues and green-face, effortlessly blending into the scenery. His legs were wrapped around the pine like it might blast off without him. He looked resigned to his fate as he faced the squad of trained soldiers.

  Matt smiled at Buck and said, “Tell me more about these tunnel-diggers.”

  Chapter 6

  President John Merrick sat on the couch reading the daily CIA report on his tablet computer when the door to the Oval Office opened. There was only one person who would enter the office without knocking.

  “Hey, Sam,” Merrick said while scrolling the page with his finger.

  Secretary of State Samuel Fisk sat on the black leather couch across from him. The two couches faced each other with a rosewood coffee table between them. On the table was a pot of coffee, crackers and a plate of fresh fruit.

  Merrick held out his hand and rubbed his fingers together. A moment later he felt a crumpled up five dollar bill in his palm.

  “Asshole,” Fisk murmured.

  “I told you that point guard was underrated,” the President said with a smirk.

  Fisk filled a small plate with melon chunks and used a toothpick to pick them off the plate like he was spear fishing.

  Merrick kept rummaging through the report. “You’re going to eat five dollars worth of my food, aren’t you?”

  “What else would I do?”

  Merrick saw Arizona mentioned in the report and it reminded him why Fisk was there.

  “So, how’s Nick?” Merrick said, listening to Fisk stuff his mouth with cantaloupe.

  “He’s okay,” Fisk said, chewing. “There was minimal structural damage to the shoulder. Should be out of the hospital by tomorrow.”

  Merrick sighed with relief. He scanned the screen while maintaining his thoughts. “How much support can the Bureau offer him?”

  “Not much,” Fisk said. “With this airport stuff going on, they need to be proactive.”

  “Does Nick know about LAX?”

  “No, but Walt’s on his way there right now to fill him in.”

  Merrick examined the report, searching for anything which could confirm or deny accusations the Kurdish Security Force was on the verge of detonating a bomb at the Los Angeles Airport.

  Without looking up, Merrick added, “We need to get Nick whatever he needs. I can’t have these guys getting personal with our FBI agents. Especially not those two.”

  Fisk poured himself a cup of coffee.

  “What about Dave Tanner?” Merrick asked.

  “Professional. Two shots to the back of the head.”

  Merrick winced at the notion. “So Barzani sends his nephew to go after Nick, but Tanner is a killed by a pro here in D.C.? Any leads yet?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Any doubt Barzani had Tanner killed?”

  “No.”

  Merrick looked up at Fisk. “I spoke with Tanner’s wife.” He shook his head. “I’ve been making too many phone calls like that, Sam.”

  “We need help from our allies,” Fisk said. “They need to step up.”

  Merrick thought about the man waiting in the lobby. As President, Merrick had learned to be the ultimate multi-tasker. Instead of dental visits and basketball practice, however, he had to console FBI agent’s widows while keeping an eye on the senate majority leader’s budget proposal.

  Merrick looked over Fisk’s shoulder and gestured with his head. “How far can I push this guy?”

  Fisk took a sip of coffee, then placed the cup on the table and stared intently at Merrick. “We’re not reducing our troops in Turkey, right?”

  “No.”

  “Because it would send a terrible message—”

  “No,” Merrick held up his hand. “I’m not bending here, Sam, so just relax.”

  Fisk took a breath. The silence hung between them while Merrick returned his attention to the CIA report which was completely barren of any valuable information. Sometimes he would read dozens of pages of material which he knew in his heart was prepared by someone simply trying to impress him with their ability to write a report.

  Finally Fisk said, “Truth be told, the Kurds have a strong case. It’s just their delivery method is a bit violent.”

  At that Merrick glanced up. “You think?”

  Fisk shrugged. “This goes back decades, John. You’re not going to settle it with a half hour conversation.”

  Merrick scrolled again. “Wow, talk about bringing a guy down. I won’t tell you about my plan to cure cancer over lunch.”

  Fisk reached over and snatched a toothpick with a piece of cantaloupe attached. He dropped the melon in his mouth and chewed. When he was done chewing he said, “They don’t have much to offer.”

  Merrick looked up. “Excuse me?”

  Fisk pointed his thumb over his shoulder to the closed door.

  Merrick understood. The Turkish ambassador was waiting for a meeting with him. Turkey had little to offer the United States. They didn’t even produce enough oil to satisfy their own needs. Their biggest exports were boron salt and copper. Not exactly a powerful trading partner. What they did have, however, was the most world’s most dangerous terrorist organization operating in their backyard, which made them a necessary component to the fight on terrorism.

  Merrick waved the back of his hand at Fisk. “Get out of here and send that twerp in.”

  Fisk grabbed another melon piece and slowly got to his feet. They’d known each other for three decades, so Merrick could talk to him like that without worrying about hurting his ego.

  Merrick took his tablet and sat tall behind his desk. He wanted the ambassador to sense the full brunt of his authority.

  A few seconds after Fisk left, there was a three-bang-knock on the door signaling the arrival of a scheduled guest. Necmetin Ciller stepped into the Oval Office. He was tall, thin and fidgety as he approached to shake Merrick’s hand. Merrick gestured to a seat in front of the massive presidential desk.

  Ciller took his seat and gripped the arm rests as if they might take flight.

  “How are you, Mr. President?”

  “Not so well,” Merrick answered. “I’m finding some of your residents taking shots at our government agents.”

  “They may be residents of Turkey, Mr. President, but I assure you they are not representing our nation in any way.”

  “But you have the ability to do something about them.”

  “Sir, I promise you we have done—”

  “Do more.”

  “Mr. President, you must understand, these are not reasonable people. They will not adhere to any agreement.”

  Merrick came to his feet and began a slow pace behind his desk. “I’m going to tell you something Mr. Ciller. I can relate to the Kurds here. These people deserve a place to call home. A territory of their own.” He turned in time to see the ambassador’s face cringe.

  “And I have come to an important decision,” Merrick continued his methodical pace back and forth, hands in his pockets. “I’m considering the withdrawal of our peacekeeping troops in Turkey at the first of the year.”

  This had the ambassador on his toes, leaning forward in his chair, almost ashen.

  Merrick paused, arching an eyebrow. “Does that concern you?”

  “Mr. President, please. This is such a radical move. Don’t you think you should consult with the Prime Mini
ster before making such a bold decision?”

  Merrick stopped to look outside the bulletproof window. From his vantage point he could see over the south lawn to the Rose Garden. The view helped to calm him. Nick Bracco was the FBI agent who stopped the last session of terrorist attacks on American soil and Merrick was in no mood to allow the KSF another chance to murder him. Before he even knew what he was doing Merrick was rolling up his sleeves, involuntarily, his temper rising with the thought of his best terrorist agents becoming targets.

  Merrick turned and saw the concern on the ambassador’s face.

  “The United States could be a very good friend to have, Mr. Ciller.”

  “Yes, Mr. President.”

  “And good friends tend to be there when you need them.”

  “Yes,” came the anxious voice.

  “Well, Mr. Ciller, should Turkey decide they need America to be it’s close ally, they need to act like it.”

  The ambassador nodded.

  “Because you don’t want America to become that friend who merely sends you a Christmas card each year detailing what their family has done over the past twelve months.”

  The ambassador shook his head.

  Merrick leaned over his desk, fists on the wooden structure, jaw tight, the American flag over his right shoulder. “Temir Barzani is in our country killing our government agents. I need you to tell the Prime Minister that I’ve run out of patience. You either sign a peace agreement with the Kurds, or find a way to diffuse Barzani’s power here in the states.”

  “Mr. President …” the ambassador stopped when he saw Merrick tilt his head in a disapproving manner. He seemed to know he’d spoken too soon.

  “Or I will remove our troops and put you on our Christmas card list,” Merrick said in a low controlled voice.

  The ambassador said nothing “Go Mr. Ciller. Go tell the Prime Minister about our meeting here.”

  Ciller got to his feet. He seemed to question whether to shake Merrick’s hand, then decided not to. As he backed away from the President, he seemed appropriately shaken up.

  Merrick raised his eyebrows. “It’s time to get creative, Mr. Ambassador.”

  The ambassador nodded and appeared to understand what the President was suggesting.

  “Yes, Mr. President.”

  When the ambassador turned to leave, he kept nodding, with an expression of comprehension on his face. Merrick was glad to see that because he had no idea what he himself meant by the comment. He’d only hoped Mr. Ciller was frightened enough to translate effectively.

  • • •

  Matt allowed the Iron Mountain team to interrogate Semir Jetake, which he knew would do nothing but buy him time to strategize. Buck Martin and two of his commandos had Semir handcuffed and on his knees in a subservient position, while they grilled him for information. Matt and Tommy stood twenty yards away and watched the proceedings with disgusted expressions while Jennifer Steele and Luke Fletcher checked their cell phones for messages.

  “He really thinks that guy is gonna squeal on his terrorist buddies?” Tommy asked.

  Matt grimaced as Buck backhanded Semir’s face. “He’s stuck in his ways. Nothing I say is going to change his mind.”

  “Well, someone better,” Tommy said. “Or that kid’s gonna get killed for nothing.”

  The two of them watched Buck spit into Semir’s face.

  Matt shook his head. “He’s making it worse. We need to shake these guys before they start using loudspeakers to announce their intentions.”

  Tommy waved his hand at the soldiers surrounding Buck. “You gonna pick a fight with those guys?”

  Matt was outnumbered, but he couldn’t just stand there and watch them murder the young Kurd just because Buck’s team had immunity. He looked around at the faces of Buck’s men and realized who they were. They’d all joined the service for the right reasons and Matt hoped those reasons still lurked beneath the surface.

  He approached the interrogation and briskly yanked Semir to his feet. “Let me take a crack at this,” he said.

  “Do your best, Agent McColm,” Buck sneered.

  Matt pulled Semir away from the circle, dragging him into the nearby woods and shoving him up against a tree. With a menacing expression he whispered, “You have a question you haven’t asked yet.”

  Blood trickled down the side of Semir’s face while his eyes roamed wildly.

  Matt showed him clenched teeth and gripped the kid’s shirt with both hands. He pulled Semir close, inches from his face. In a threatening hush, he murmured, “Don’t you want to speak with an attorney?”

  Semir seemed disoriented. He simply shook his head, appearing leery of Matt’s intention.

  Matt would’ve rolled his eyes if he didn’t have to look so intimidating.

  “Semir,” Matt whispered, “I’m trying to help you here. If you ask for an attorney I can take you away from this maniac.”

  The young soldier took rapid breaths and looked into Matt’s eyes as if the answer might be right there for him.

  “This is not a trick question, Semir. If you want I’ll give you back to the old man and let him finish you off. Otherwise, you ask me for an attorney and I’ll take you into custody. You get to live. Maybe even see your two little boys again.” Matt lowered his head and winked.

  Semir swallowed hard. He looked over at Buck and watched the guy standing there with his thick arms crossed, examining every move. With the slightest of voices, he said, “Yes.”

  “Yes, what?”

  He looked back and forth between Buck and Matt as if gauging his options. He was clearly under duress and not thinking properly.

  He managed to whisper, “I would like an attorney.”

  Matt jumped back and slapped his hands together in disgust. “Shit.”

  “What?” Buck asked.

  Matt looked over at the group with rage on his face, then pointed to Semir. “Tell them what you just said.”

  Sweat saturated the boy’s temple as he danced in place, his hands still tight behind his back. “I would like an attorney?” he asked with complete uncertainty.

  Buck placed his hands on his hips and glared at Matt. “Oh really? That just came to him?”

  “Hey,” Matt said, grabbing Semir by the back of his shirt and heading down a path toward their car. “He’s got rights. I’ll take him in and get a statement.”

  “Hold it,” Buck barked.

  Matt didn’t hesitate. He threw Semir to the ground, then marched over to Buck, sensing the machine guns coming into a ready position around him.

  “I trained at Fort Bragg,” Matt said looking around at the commandos, letting them know he’s one of them. Special Forces. A brotherhood that didn’t wash off even after you were discharged. Then he took in Buck’s glare. He gestured toward Semir on his knees. “He’s coming with us. We’re going to question him using the techniques allowed under the Constitution.” He looked around again at the soldiers. “You remember the Constitution, right? Remember that oath you all took to defend it? Because I remember it. It was our creed. So if you’re going to shoot me go ahead. I’m not afraid of dying. Just try living the rest of your lives with cold-blooded murder on your conscience.”

  Buck looked around and saw his team loosen their grips on their weapons. It was subtle, but it was there. They weren’t about to kill one of their own. Not over this.

  Matt nodded to the rest of his team and watched them fall in behind him.

  “I’m taking my suspect into custody,” Matt said. He eyed the soldiers surrounding their leader. “You guys follow him,” Matt said as he pulled Semir down the path. “He’ll get you killed before sundown.”

  Chapter 7

  It was late afternoon by the time the team arrived at the county sheriff’s office. The complex was a one story block building with a gravel parking lot and a flagpole jutting out from a circle of red bricks. You had to pass Old Glory on the way into the building which made Matt smile, reminding him of the entrance to
the Baltimore field office. Except this was no FBI building. This was merely a small satellite office to the main sheriff’s office in Globe. Twelve hundred square feet of block walls and linoleum flooring. They didn’t even have a receptionist to answer phones.

  Steele, Tommy and Luke entered first while Matt kept a grip on Semir’s arm. Luke opened the single jail cell and Matt shoved Semir into the empty space before turning to see Julie Bracco by herself, cleaning sandwich crumbs from the vacant receptionist’s desk.

  “What are you doing here?” Matt asked.

  Julie rolled her eyes and gestured toward the closed door to the inner office. “Guess who’s back playing sheriff?”

  “Are you kidding me?” Matt said. He noticed the frustration in Julie’s eyes and wanted to retract his comment the second it left his mouth.

  “Listen,” Julie crumbled up the sandwich wrapper with more muscle than necessary, “do you really think he’s going to sit at home nursing a wounded shoulder while a terrorist is out there trying to kill him?”

  She turned to throw the wrapper in the garbage and Matt followed. He wedged himself in front of her and held her arms to face him. She was a rock. Her body trembled in his grasp, but she kept her composure. Matt crouched down to be at eye level. “Jule,” he said with his most professional face, “we’ll get this done just like we always do. Understand?”

  Julie’s face tightened. It seemed to be the same fight she’d always contended with as an FBI agent’s wife—be brave, but not naive.

  “I understand,” she said, stepping out of his grasp. Then she tried to act busy cleaning the remaining lunch items on the desk.

  Matt let her go. He made eye contact with Steele and saw compassion on her face. As if thanking him for trying to settle Julie’s nerves. He smiled back at her.

  • • •

  Nick had two large computer monitors side by side squeezing out the small globe and adjacent Arizona and American flags to the brink of his desk. Two tall filing cabinets sat against one wall while a scattering of folding chairs took up the rest of the space in the office.