Chapter 60: The FBI Arrives

“I’m Darrel Masters ... Alex’s father,” my dad said as he stood to introduce himself, offering the agent his hand.

“Good to meet you, Sir,” said Agent Murphey.

“And I’m Alex Masters,” I said as I offered my hand as well. His grip was firm without being too strong. He looked me over as if memorizing my features and then shared a brief smile.

“I’m sorry to disturb your lunch, but we’ve had a hard time tracking you down the last six weeks,” he said.

“Won’t you join us, Agent Murphy?” my dad asked as we seated ourselves again. Agent Murphey looked around the restaurant tactically. I had seen Reggie’s agents all do this countless times. I’d have to ask him, or better yet, Andreza, sometime, what they were assessing. Apparently satisfied, Agent Murphy went around the four-person table and seated himself with a clear view of the rest of the dining room and the door.

Dad signaled for the waitress.

“I noticed your badge, but do you mind if we see some identification?” dad asked as he pulled out his own driver’s license and laid it on the table. I pulled mine out, along with both my Swiss and French Diplomatic Passports.

When he handed dad his laminated FBI ID, dad simply nodded at me. I took the ID and laid it beside my smartphone and pressed number four on my speed dial. I left the phone on speaker so both Dad and Agent Murphy could hear my call.

“This is the White House. How may we help you?” the voice intoned pleasantly.

“My name is Alex Masters. I was instructed to call this number when the FBI arrived,” I replied.

“Were you given a code?” she asked.

“Zero-two-two-three-two-zero-two-one,” I replied.

“One moment, Sir,” she said as she placed me on hold.

“Mr. Masters, this is Priscilla. The Chief of Staff is currently with the President. He asked that you speak with the Attorney General. Would you please hang on while I connect you?”

“Of course,” I replied. I noticed Agent Murphey’s eyebrows began to arch. I was sure that he realized that the Attorney General was who the Director of the FBI reported to.

“Amanda Susieta,” the voice on the phone said.

“Alexander Masters, Mrs. Susieta,” I replied. “I have an agent before me and I am trying to verify his identity.”

“Do you have his ID number?”

“Yes, Ma’am. Number R-7-7-4-8-9-3-X-B,” I read from his ID card.

“Sean William Murphy. Let’s see ... Thirty-two years old. Six foot five, 235 pounds, brown hair, brown eyes, visible scar on his left ear and inside left arm. Also has tattoo on right bicep, the letters U.S.M.C. He spent sixteen years in the Marines, in various theaters, most of which are redacted from this file. Honorably discharged three years ago. Joined the FBI, three years ago. Recently promoted to S.A.C. Oklahoma City desk, as of February first, this year.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Susieta,” I replied.

“Oh, it also says he’s a real cutie. He has a mole on his left hip and it says you should ask him about getting shot in the ass sometime,” she said with a laugh.

“That’s enough, Aunt Mandy!” Agent Murphey growled.

“You just take real good care of our Alex, Murph. I think that Anita’s secretly in love with him!” Mrs. Susieta giggled.

“Goodbye, Aunt Mandy. My love to everybody,” Murph said.

“Thank you again, Mrs. Susieta,” I said, amazed.

“After this, you had better call me Mandy,” she told me. “After all, you call my cousin Anita and take her on wonderfully romantic cruises to exotic ports of call!”

I could hear her giggling as she hung up.

“At least I now know why I drew this assignment,” Murph said with an exasperated half-smile.

“Why is that?” my dad asked.

“Normally, Wichita is covered out of the Kansas City office. However, my dad is an Admiral at the Pentagon, my mom is an assistant to the Secretary of State, you just spoke to my mom’s sister and Anita Dexter is my cousin. My boss warned me that I might have to handle some of the more ‘political’ assignments,” he called them, using air quotes around the word political.

“Well, what did your family tell you about me?” I asked.

Murph looked around the dining room. There were very few patrons left and no one within hearing distance. Even the staff seemed to have deserted us. We were practically alone.

“My ‘family’ said for me to be gentle with you and make sure you were well protected. My boss wants your version of what happened on April 30^th. We have interviewed everyone else that was there, and so far all their stories support each other’s. We need your official testimony and to clear up a few details and we should be able to put this investigation to rest.”

“What about all those guys with guns?” I asked.

“They’ve been back in Russia since the first week of June,” he said. “Those guys will never stand trial in America!”

“Some kind of prisoner exchange?” my dad asked.

“Oh, no! They were wanted over there too!” he said. “Probably more than they were wanted here. This was mostly a political move on the part of the White House and the State Department.”

“Political move?” I asked, not understanding.

“Now you see why they picked me to finish this case. There is a lot that cannot be adequately explained in the FBI’s final report,” he grinned. “The only thing left now is how Obnizov and Alsahra’ died. We know that they weren’t killed by Taser fire. We hope you can help us understand what really happened.”

I looked at dad’s watch and then at Agent Murphy.

“Hopefully, I’ll be able to answer that question in about ten minutes. Why don’t we see if we can find that waitress and order some lunch. I’m starved,” I told him. My dad then excused himself and went in search of the waitress. They returned just moments later and we ordered. I also ordered two cups of hot tea, which the waitress found unusual since we were all drinking iced tea.

While we waited, I told Murph to go ahead and pull out his recorder and I began to tell him my story, starting back on that fateful March day when the Desert Flower blew up the Serendipity.

Then skipping over my travels in Texas, I picked up again in Zurich when Reggie’s group tracked down the Desert Flower and hatched the scheme for me to play in an open qualifier that was to be held on the course where Obnizov had his mini-fortress. I explained that our hope had been to draw the elusive assassin out into the open.

I told Murph how Reggie had discovered the block of tickets Obnizov had ordered for the open qualifier and surmised that he was having his group all together for that weekend. Then I told him how we planned to let leak out after my practice round, that I would be playing in the qualifier on Monday.

Of course, best laid plans of mice and men and all that, but somehow, mostly by accident, the Desert Fox was there earlier than we anticipated and spotted me Friday afternoon when I was playing my practice round.

At that point, we were interrupted when Cynthiana and Helena arrived. I helped them to their seats and took the time to introduce them to Murph, just as the waitress brought their hot tea.

“How thoughtful!” Helena said, then she took a sip and made a face. I don’t think she was impressed with American hot tea. “When in Rome...” she added weakly.

“How much have you discussed?” Cynthiana asked.

“We cleared his credentials,” I told her. “Did you know that he is Anita’s cousin?”

“Really?” Cynthiana said smoothly.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Murph told her.

“Good. Continue, please.”

“I have told him most of the story up until that Friday. They feel like they have everything that they need except the cause of death for Obnizov and Alsahra’.”

“I thought that in America, the coroner provided that, Mr. Murphy?” Helena asked.

“The coroner’s report is very confusing. You see, it takes approximately two hours at 1800 degrees Fahrenheit to cremate a body. But according to the witnesses, those bodies were cremated in a split second, similar to a lightning strike. But none of the witnesses reported seeing a lightning strike, nor were any reported in the area by the National Weather Services’ GLMs. (Geostationary Lightning Mapper).”

“Mechanical error, perhaps,” Helena proffered.

“Perhaps,” Murph replied. “However, we discovered that on November 29^th, and again on December 28^th of last year, eight American Naval vessels were damaged by a similar electrical shock. On all three occasions, you were reportedly in the area.”

I looked at Cynthiana and Helena. They both nodded.

“You left out the submarine and the two FA/18 Super Hornets. I fried them all. Just like I fried Dmitri Obnizov and Zahrat Alsahra’! They killed Cécile, hurt Captain Alfred and destroyed the Serendipity. They had to die!” I said not so calmly.

“Then you admit it? You killed them?” he asked.

“That vermin was dead the moment they killed Cécile. I just took out the trash,” I explained.

He was silent for a moment as he evaluated the situation. “You do realize I now have your confession on tape.”

“You will never be able to use it in a court of law,” Helena said calmly. “Besides, my client purposely showed you his diplomatic passports before you began questioning him.”

“But I still have him on tape!” Murph said angrily.

“Do you?” Cynthiana asked, then she looked at me. When she did, his tape recorder began to smoke. Within seconds, it was on fire. I watched as his eyes grew big while I let the mostly plastic device burn until the smell of burning plastic began to permeate the room.

I could tell the moment that realization set in that he was suddenly dealing with a higher power. I could see the fear in his eyes as he pushed back his chair, ready to run.

“Do you think you can outrun a lightning bolt?” I asked him chillingly.

Murph paused as he thought through the situation. “Is this how you handle anyone who disagrees with you?” he asked.

“Only those who hurt my family and friends,” I replied. “Do you intend to hurt them?” I asked.

Murph remained silent as he studied me.

The Manager was quickly at our table with his fire extinguisher as Murph and my dad both stood. Fortunately, he didn’t have to use the extinguisher. He just grabbed a nearby plastic tote that the busboy’s used to gather dirty dishes and Dad scrapped the still smoking tape recorder off the table and into the tote. The manager had the busboy carry it outside. I’d be sure to tip them well for their troubles.

Finally, with the table cleared of dishes, we all returned to our seats.

“Agent Murphy? Did your report say how many men died in those naval vessels I disabled?” I asked.

“Surprisingly, there were no deaths and only a small number of injuries. In fact, the report pointed out the Navy’s weakness in not having trained their men what to do in the event of EMP disruption from an attack,” Murph told us.

“Agent Murphy, we too know why you were chosen for this assignment. You have a decision to make. You can chose to file your report with the verbal information that we have given you. Know that if you do, the White House will use every measure at its disposal to bury, or destroy that report before you even get to Kansas City,” I told him. “And yes, we are aware that is where you have been ordered to file your report.”

“And my second option?” he asked.

“You can retire, effective immediately,” I told him, “and go to work for the Rappeneau Foundation.”

While Murph and Cynthiana worked out the employment details, Helene excused herself.

“I have to take Rachel to the passport office to work out the details of her new passport and visas,” she explained. “I’ll catch up to Cynthiana later.”

I also excused myself. I was helping some handicapped children on the putting green this afternoon. The event was called the Children’s Adaptive Golf Clinic and many of the players had elected to spend some time helping handicapped children from the Wichita area to experience golf. It was fun and the kids were a hoot. They were so eager and excited to be on the green and have a chance to play, even if it was just with putters. An older group was out on a practice Par 3, using wedges and irons.

When I looked up later in the afternoon, Murph and my dad were standing there, just behind the large group of parents and in some cases, nurses and other caregivers, watching as the children, with undisguised joy, were trying their hardest to master the game in a single afternoon.

“Makes you want to get out there and play with them,” I said when I wandered over to them a little later.

“Now you’re beginning to understand a little of the joy I got taking you out when you were younger,” Dad said.

“Well, Murph, have you made up your mind?” I asked.

“You set this up?” he asked me.

“Not really. It was mostly Anita’s idea. She thought you could be so much more than an FBI agent. She felt they stifled your creativity,” I told him.

“She’s not really my cousin, you know,” he started. “We’re actually something like second cousins twice removed. However, she used to babysit me and my sisters when we were little.”

“Well, it’s obvious she still cares about you. She went to a lot of trouble to set this up.”

“Sometime you are going to have to tell me about this ‘three hour cruise’ you took her on,” he suggested.

“Then you’re coming to work for me?” I asked.

“Already started. I’m officially your bodyguard this week,” he replied. “Although with the powers you have, I don’t know why you need a bodyguard!”

“We’ll talk later,” I told him. “I need to go change for the party.”

The Wichita Open does this unique thing in that they hold a party on Tuesday night supposedly to draw for the pairings for Wednesday’s Pro Am. However, the real reason is to allow the Korn Ferry Tour players who are, for the most part, unknowns, the opportunity to meet and mingle with the Wichita Community at large.

I also discovered that the Pro Am pairing party was one of the social highlights for the who’s who of the area and was held at a large hotel ballroom downtown. I estimated the crowd to number over a thousand considering that there were 144 golfers and their plus-ones, if they all came. Then there were over three hundred Am’s or amateurs that would be announced tonight. They were selected by a secret lottery and the winners wouldn’t know if they would be playing tomorrow until it was announced later tonight.