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They sat in silence for a moment while the president seemed lost in thought.
“Tell them the rest,” he finally said to Davis.
“After the Revolution ended, Archibald Hale and his three compatriots formed a Commonwealth. Using their letters of marque, together they fattened their pockets. They also added to the Treasury, paying out the specified twenty percent they owed to the new national government. That’s something else I’m sure most Americans have no idea about. We made money off those thieves. With the current bunch, their income tax returns bear little relation to their lifestyles. And yes, for the past couple of decades their talents have been used by our intelligence community. They managed to do some damage in the Middle East, pillaging financial accounts, stealing assets, devaluing companies whose profits were being funneled to extremists. They’re good. Too good, actually. They don’t know when to stop.”
“Let me guess,” Malone said. “They started stealing from folks that we’d prefer they leave alone.”
“Something like that,” Daniels said. “They’re not real good on taking direction, if you know what I mean.”
“A dispute broke out between the Commonwealth and the CIA,” Davis said. “The last straw came with all the trouble in Dubai and its financial meltdown. The CIA determined that the Commonwealth had been engineering most of that chaos. As the Dubai national debt skyrocketed, the Commonwealth cherry-picked the best assets, buying them for pennies on the dollar. They also thwarted certain debt restructures that nations in the region were offering to solve the crisis. In general, they were a giant pain in the ass. But we couldn’t let Dubai go under. They’re one of the few moderates in that region. Somewhat of an ally. The Commonwealth was told to stop, they said they would, but then they kept right on. So the CIA pointed the IRS at them. They then squeezed the Swiss, who caved and provided financial records on all four members of the current Commonwealth. It’s been determined that those four owe hundreds of millions in back taxes. If done right, we can seize all their assets, which total in the billions.”
“That’s enough to make a bunch of pirates real nervous,” Cotton said.
Davis nodded. “Hale came to me and wanted protection under his letter of marque. And he has a point. The language specifically immunizes them from all laws, save for murder. White House counsel tells us the letter is legally binding. The Constitution of the United States directly authorizes it, and the letter itself mentions an act of Congress that approved it.”
“So why isn’t it being honored?” Cassiopeia asked.
“Because,” the president said, “Andrew Jackson made that impossible.”
NINETEEN
NEW YORK CITY
WYATT HAD NOT APPRECIATED THE REMINDER ABOUT HIS FIRING. True, charges had been brought against him by Malone, a hearing was held, and three mid- to high-level paper pushers, none of them a field operative, had determined that his actions were unwarranted.
Was I simply to shoot it out with Malone? he had asked the tribunal. He and I, guns blazing, hoping we make it, while three agents wait outside?
He’d thought the question fair-it was the most he’d said at the entire hearing-but the tribunal decided to accept Malone’s assessment that the men had been used as targets, not as protection. Incredible. He knew of half a dozen agents who’d sacrificed themselves for less reason. No wonder intelligence gathering was rife with problems. Everyone seemed more concerned about being right than being successful.
With little choice, he’d accepted his termination and moved on.
But that did not mean he’d forgotten about his accuser. Yes, these men were right. He owed Malone.
And he’d tried to repay that debt today.
“Do you realize that Carbonell is all but gone?” NSA said. “NIA is useless. Nobody needs it or her anymore.”
“The Commonwealth is going away, too,” CIA made clear. “Our modern-day pirates will live out their lives in a federal prison, where they belong. And you never answered our question. Were the pirates responsible for what happened today?”
The dossier Carbonell had provided about the Commonwealth had contained a brief overview of its four captains, noting that they were the last remnants of 18th-century adventurers, direct descendants of pirates and privateers. An excerpt from a psychological evaluation had explained how a navy man went to sea knowing that if he fought the good fight and won, rewards would come his way in the form of praise and advancement. Even if he failed, history would record his exploits. But it required a person of unusual bravery to face danger when he knew that no one would learn of his deeds. Especially when, if he failed, most would cackle at his misfortune.
Privateers had labored under both conditions.
If successful, their reward was a division of the spoils. Vary from their letter of marque in any way and they became pirates and were hung. A privateer could capture one of the king of England’s most formidable cruisers and the act would scarcely have been known. If along the way life or limb were sacrificed, too bad.
They were on their own.
Easy to see, the report had concluded, why they might play loose with the rules.
NSA stepped close. “You set Malone up, then led him straight into a trap. You knew what was going to happen there today. You wanted someone to shoot him, didn’t you? What’s the matter, Wyatt, lost your taste for killing?”
He stayed calm and asked, “Are we through?”
“Yep. You’re through,” CIA said. “Here. But since you’re not going to tell us anything, we have people who can be more successful in acquiring answers.”
He watched as they shifted on their feet, waiting for him to acknowledge their superiority. Perhaps that threat of a more intense questioning was designed to scare him. He wondered what possessed them to think that such a tactic would work. Luckily,
he’d socked away enough tax-free money in foreign banks to live comfortably forever. He really needed nothing from any of these people. That was one advantage of being paid from a black-ops budget-no W-2s or 1099s.
So he debated his options.
He assumed the two men who’d brought him were just outside the door. Beyond the window, on the opposite side of the room, past the blinds, was surely a fire escape. All these older buildings possessed one.
Should he be quiet and take two down or make some noise and drop all four?
“You’re coming with us,” NSA said. “Carbonell has a lot of explaining to do and you’re going to be witness number one for the prosecution. The man who can contradict her lies.”
“And you think I would actually do that?”
“You’ll do whatever you have to do to save your hide.”
Interesting how little they knew about him.
A mechanism from deep within seized control, and he allowed it.
One swing of his body and his right fist found CIA’s throat. Then he doubled NSA over with a kick to the chest, careful for the legs not to lose their balance. While the one man fought to breathe, he pounded NSA’s neck with a short chop, breaking the man’s collapse with his arms, then gently laying the stunned man on the floor.
He then stepped behind CIA and wrapped an arm around his neck.
“I could choke you to death,” he whispered in the man’s ear.
He gritted his teeth and increased the pressure on the windpipe.
“I’d actually enjoy watching you suck your last breath.”
Tighter.
“Listen to me,” he said. “Stay. The hell. Out of my way.”
CIA reached for his arm.
He increased the hold. “Do you hear me?”
Finally, the man nodded, then a lack of oxygen sucked all resistance from the muscles.
He released his grip.
