The Fog Lifts, A Little

(Source)

Ephraim Johansen went into the J. Edgar Hoover Building from the E Street NW entrance. After going through the metal detectors he saw his escort waiting for him. The man didn't say a word, he just gestured that Johansen should follow.

While Johansen thought that odd, he also knew that his contact in the Bureau didn't really want to be seen talking with him. So he followed the man down into the basement and into a secure conference room. His contact was seated at the end of the conference table.

Johansen started to speak, but his contact held up a hand and waved him to a chair. So he sat down and waited.

"So, why did you want to see me today?"

"I have indications that there's a leak, either here or in my shop. I figured you'd want to know."

"It's on your end."

"How can you be sure, I mean ..."

"I'm the only one here who knows what you're up to, Johansen. No one else at the Bureau has any knowledge of this."

"Damn. So it's one of my people, has to be." Johansen flashed a sick grin. "Unless you leaked the intel?"

"Yeah, dumbass. I want to go to prison for the rest of my life by conspiring in an assault on law enforcement officers. An assault which killed four and put a fifth in a coma. Yeah, great plan."

"Sorry, Sir, I didn't mean anything ..."

"Yeah, you're a funny f**king guy, Johansen. I'm half tempted to swear out a warrant on your ass right now. We can hold you damned near forever, maybe even ship you down to Gitmo, with the other terrorists. And no one would believe your bullshit. Trust me."

"I guess I better find out who ..."

"Yeah, sooner, rather than later." With that remark hanging in the air, FBI Deputy Director Francis Monroe got up and left. He spoke a few words to Johansen's escort before leaving.

The escort came into the room, "Come with me. Speak to anyone else and I've been ordered to kill you. Right on the spot."

Johansen started to protest as the man spun Johansen around and shoved what felt like a holstered pistol into the back of his trousers.

"What do I need a gun for?"

"So if I have to kill you, I can testify that I saw a gun."

Johansen broke out in a cold sweat, his escort was wearing surgical gloves.

Captain Harry DuPont of the United States Park Police was at the hospital to see his sergeant, Thomas Murdock. He'd been in a coma for nearly a month. He'd come out of it the night before, doctors were allowing some limited visits, he was on the list.

As he walked in, he saw Jarrett Jefferson coming out. "How is he?"

"He's pissed Cap'n. At you, the Park Service, everybody, guess he ain't pissed at me, probably cause the Docs say I saved his life. But that is one angry man in there."

DuPont looked at the floor, he was angry at himself, but he had to talk to Murdock, let him know he'd be taken care of. "Look Jefferson, I know this sucks but ..."

DuPont was surprised when Jefferson picked him up by his coat lapels and slammed him against the wall. "What the f**k were we doing there? The damned DC cops should have been on that, not us. What the f**k, Captain?"

Jefferson let out a sigh, then let go of DuPont. He reached into his jacket and removed his badge and his sidearm, handing them to DuPont.

DuPont was shaken, Jefferson was a big man and could have snapped him in half. "What's this?"

"I just assaulted you, Sir. I know you'll want these while IA investigates."

"Put that shit away, Jefferson. What assault? We were just talking, you grabbed my coat to make a point. Which you did."

DuPont straightened his coat and tie, "Look, this is supposed to be need to know, but I think you do. DC SWAT was on another raid, which turned up nothing. It was a distraction so somebody would be called in. The FBI was training down at Quantico, so we were up. The DC SWAT raid is tied to your guys getting ambushed. We're trying to develop a couple of leads, but it's early days yet."

"How about those guys who got blown up in that warehouse? I heard about that shit, they were the shooters, weren't they?"

"Who'd you hear that from?" then DuPont waved the question away. "Doesn't matter I guess, yeah, they were probably the guys on the M-60. BCDs from the Army, all three of them. Drugs, insubordination, trouble from day one. Someone hired them to do this, then left them hanging in the breeze."

"Forensics tie them to the gun?"

"Yup, they were careful handling the weapon, but not the ammunition. Multiple prints on the brass, all belonging to them, save one."

"Who was the other print?"

"We don't know yet, it was a partial, we're still trying to trace it."

DuPont didn't mention that he suspected that the partial print they'd found on the cartridge at the farmhouse was probably from the same guy. He suspected someone was trying to throw them off the trail. So far, that was working.

"I want in, Sir."

"You're a tactical guy, Jefferson, not an investigator."

"I want in when you take the bastards down, I lost four friends that night. Four good friends. Four damned good men."

"All right, fair enough. Now I gotta see Sergeant Murdock."

Jefferson looked sheepish and put his hand out, "Sorry, Cap'n, I was outta line."

DuPont shook the hand, "Don't worry about it, nothing happened."

DuPont stepped into the room, Murdock was awake, looking out the window at the night. He looked up, "Cap'n." He didn't sound friendly.

"Sergeant, I know you're angry, I don't blame you. But we are going to catch these guys, and when we do ..."

"What, Sir, send 'em to prison? Wilson, McCutcheon, Jones, and Lincoln, they're all in the f**king ground, Captain. Somebody set us up, had to be. Why us, why the f**king Park Police, where were the Feebs, the DC cops, hell, even the f**king IRS has a SWAT team now, why us?"

DuPont looked at the floor, something he was getting tired of doing, but he couldn't help it, his men blamed him. Right or wrong, they blamed him. "Look Murdock, it was a screwed up night, nobody was where they were supposed to be, DC SWAT was off on a wild goose chase, which we believe was part of the same thing you guys got caught up in, the FBI was down at Quantico. Really, Sarge? The IRS? The call was about illegal firearms, not misfiled tax returns."

Murdock shook his head, he even grinned a little, "Yeah Boss, send in the f**kin' accountants."

Gathering himself, Murdock continued, "But I lost a bunch of my guys, if Jarrett hadn't patched me up, I'd probably be in the ground right now. But why, Sir? Why?"

"There's stuff going on I can't tell you about right now, not even sure if half of what I think I know is true. But I'll tell you this, it's domestic, not foreign."

Murdock looked up, "When I get out of this hospital, I want to work this case."

DuPont shook his head, "You're in for weeks of rehab, that bullet that hit you in your lower belly bounced all around inside you, You might even be medically retired."

Murdock shifted his position, and winced.

"You in a lot of pain, Sarge?"

"It comes and goes. Hey Sir, at least keep me in the loop. First time I ever lost anybody under my command. It hurts, Cap'n."

DuPont thought back to Afghanistan, then he said, "Yup, it's gonna haunt you for a long time, Sarge, but ya gotta fight through it. Don't surrender to it."

Murdock was pressing his call button, he nodded, but it was obvious he was in a lot of pain. At that moment a nurse came in.

"Sir, you need to leave." She walked over to Murdock, checked his machines, then took his pulse.

"Tommy, you need to relax. You want pain killers? Morphine?"

"Nah, Jenny, something lighter, see if I can handle this without the big drugs."

She shook her head and saw that DuPont was still there.

"Out. Now."

DuPont left, now he was angry.