CHAPTER 27

Stuart Kearns, it turned out, had been in quite a different position a decade before. He’d worked in the top levels of counterterrorism with a man named John O’Neill, the agent who’d been one of the most persistent voices of concern over the grave danger posed by Osama bin Laden and al‑ Qaeda throughout the 1990s. Rather than being rewarded for his foresight, however, it was thought by many that his warnings, and his way of delivering them, had eventually cost O’Neill his career.

John O’Neill had seen a woeful lack of preparation for the twenty‑ first‑ century threat of stateside terrorism, and he hadn’t been shy about expressing his opinions. The people upstairs, meanwhile, didn’t appreciate all the vocal criticisms of the Bureau specifically and the government in general, especially coming from one of their own.

O’Neill had finally seen the writing on the wall after several missed promotions and a few not‑ so‑ subtle smear campaigns directed at him, and he’d left the Bureau in the late summer of his twenty‑ fifth year on the job. That’s when he’d taken his new position as head of security at the World Trade Center in New York City. His first day on the job was about three weeks before the day he died a hero: September 11, 2001.

Stuart Kearns’s FBI career had likewise been derailed by his outspokenness and his association with O’Neill, but he’d stubbornly chosen to try to ride out the storm rather than quitting. A bureaucracy never forgets, though, and they’d kept pushing him further and further out toward the pasture until finally, for the last several years, he’d been banished so far undercover that he sometimes wondered if anyone even remembered he was still an agent at all.

“Slow down, slow down, ” Danny said.

Kearns let his foot off the gas and looked over. “What is it? ”

“Do me a favor and take this exit here, right up ahead. ”

At the top of the off‑ ramp there was little indication of anything of interest beyond advertisements for nearby food, gas, and lodging. Oh, and an eye‑ catching billboard for the Pussycat Ranch.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, ” Kearns said.

“We’ve had a rough night, Stuart, and I’d like to have a beer. ”

“I’ve got beer at home. ”

“A beer in a can in a house trailer with another dude and a beer in a Nevada brothel are two totally different things, and right now I need the second one. ”

Surprisingly enough, Kearns didn’t put up a fight. He followed the signs along the circuitous route to the place without complaining, and pulled up into a parking spot near the end of the lot in front.

Danny got out of the van, straightened his clothes, and looked back. “Aren’t you coming in? ”

“No, I don’t think so. Fake or not, I’m not going to leave an atomic bomb unattended in the parking lot of a roadhouse. ”

“Okay, your loss. Can you spot me a hundred until payday? ”

“I don’t have a hundred. ” Kearns took out his wallet, removed a bill, and handed it to Danny through the open door. “I’ve got twenty. I’m going to try to make a phone call while I’m waiting out here, but don’t take all night. We’re getting up early in the morning. ”

“With twenty dollars I doubt if I’ll be ten minutes. ”

“And I know I don’t have to tell you to watch what you say and who you say it to, ” Kearns said. “Just have your drink and come back out. Don’t make me come in there after you. ”

“I’ll be right back. ”

Inside, he’d barely taken a seat at the bar and placed his order when one of the more fetching young ladies of the evening caught his eye and invited herself over.

“What can I do for you? ” she asked.

“That’s a loaded question in a place like this, isn’t it? ”

She frowned a bit and looked at him a little closer. “Do I know you, mister? ”

The bartender had returned with his beer, taken his twenty, and left a ten‑ dollar bill in its place. Danny picked up his glass and his change and took the woman’s hand.

“What’s your name? ” he asked.

“My name’s Tiffany. ” Her eyes lit up suddenly. “You’re that guy, ” she whispered, “on the Internet, in that video. ”

“I am indeed, ” Danny said. He leaned in a little closer. “And Tiffany, I need for you to do me a little favor. ”

In her room in back he gave his new friend an autograph and his last ten dollars, and that bought him five minutes alone with her cell phone.

As he composed the text message to Molly Ross he began to realize how little intelligence he actually had to pass along. He knew the code name of this operation he’d become involved in; he’d seen it on the paperwork they’d made him sign upon his release from jail. He knew when it was going down, and where. And he knew something was going wrong, and that the downward slide might be just beginning.

Outside at the bar the television had been showing the news, and in the crawl along the bottom he’d seen that over the weekend the national terrorism threat level had been raised to orange, the last step before the highest. Maybe that was related to this thing with Kearns, maybe not. All he could do was tell her to try to keep everyone in their movement well clear of the area, and hope for the best.

He checked the message one last time, and hit send.

molly ‑

spread the word ‑ ‑ stay away from las vegas monday

FBI sting op ‑ › * exigent *

be safe

xoxo

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