Don't Order Dog_ 1(134)
Tom nodded his head as he walked over to the Director and dropped the letter he’d ripped from the wall of the saloon onto the desk in front of him.
“I think this guy has been playing us all along, sir,” he said as he reached down and pointed to the reference in the letter that had caused him to drive so recklessly back to the ICE offices. As the Director studied the page in front of him, Tom shoved his hands into his pockets and paced silently next to the large desk. His right hand found the small bottle of anti-bacterial lotion in his pocket, and he could barely resist the urge to stop and thoroughly disinfect his hands.
Preston looked up and fixed his green eyes on Tom, his freckled face flush with anger. “So this guy makes a reference to a fucking movie with the words Ice Man Cometh in the title, and you take that to mean he knows we’re after him?”
“Yes sir. It’s the title of a play, sir.”
“Jesus Christ,” Preston replied angrily as he shoved the letter back at Tom. “I don’t care if it’s a verse from the Koran. Your directive was to investigate the bartender, not the letters. Your first day back in the Department and you’re already ignoring my orders?”
“The bartender is nothing but a dead-end!” Tom shouted, snatching the letter from the Preston’s desk. “Look Director, if there’s anything I can say with confidence after studying these letters, it’s that this guy isn’t just writing love letters to a bartender in Flagstaff – he’s sending messages to someone inside his team!” He held the letter in the air and slapped it irritably. “And as of right now, I’m absolutely convinced they know we’re after them!”
Preston spun his chair around and gazed through the window at the landscape of snow-covered cars in the parking lot. “That’s ridiculous,” he replied flatly.
“What makes you so sure?”
Preston ignored Tom’s question as he stared out the window, the corners of his mouth twitching as he thought. Watching him, Tom had the growing sense the Director had information he was keeping from him. He decided to test his hunch.
“With all due respect, I’ve been doing this long enough to know when someone is withholding information from me, Director. Is there something you need to tell me, sir?”
Preston spun around and faced Tom with a cold stare.
“Alright, Tom. You want full disclosure? How about this – we’ve been following a member of this terrorist organization since your brother-in-law’s little operation in Amsterdam.”
“Wait… what?”
“Did you really think I was just going to sit back and watch while one of my own agents helped the Langley boys win another victory? Not a chance, Tom. I placed an agent at the bar where your friend Jeri sent her package in the hopes that someone just might show up to claim it.” He paused and folded his arms. “And guess what? Someone did.”
Tom blinked at the Director in confusion. “But how did you know about that package in the first place?”
Preston’s mouth curled into a tight frown. “I had you under surveillance,” he replied matter-of-factly. “Of course, that was several days ago when I was convinced you’d forsaken this department for the CIA. I’m sure you can understand.”
Tom held the Director’s stare. Of course! he thought angrily. You clever son of a bitch. You had that little teenage fucker following me from the moment I stonewalled you in my office. He had the sudden urge to reach across the desk and punch the Director in the jaw. Then the full weight of the information struck him.
“Wait… someone picked up the package? Who was it?”
The Director glanced up at Tom with a fleeting look of relief before grabbing a folder on his desk and flipping it open. “A tall, blonde-haired man – presumably American – between twenty-five and thirty years old. We have almost no information on him… not even a photo. Apparently he walked right up to the bar in Amsterdam after the package arrived and told the bartender every item that was inside the box. The bartender handed it over and moments later he was out the door.”
“Then what happened?” Tom asked.
“My agent tailed him to the airport and managed to follow him onto a plane to China. Unfortunately, we lost him in Beijing. I was just about to give up on this whole fucking mess until you walked into my office this morning with that address. And now you want me to believe they know we’re after them?”
Tom walked over and sat down wearily in one of the chairs in front of Preston’s desk. “Four nights ago, I watched a man run into a hotel in Amsterdam that was surrounded by the best trained men in the CIA and blow himself into a million little pieces – only to find out a few days later he’s alive and well in China. Alex Murstead refused to believe me when I called him last night and told him. But of course you already knew this since you were listening to my phone conversations, correct?”