a/n Many, many thanks to everyone who continues to read, who bookmarks my stories...and especially thanks to those of you who read and review! I truly treasure every comment. Thank you!
sunny d.
The Concert
.
previously on The Concert: Joe said, "I'm working a joint undercover job with ATF; I need a cover, I need a way in. A ruse."
"Buy a ticket? I'm sure Joe Juniak would appreciate your support."
"No way, two hundred bucks just to sit in the Siberia seats, five hundred for floor-level. I figure Ranger can get me in, get me backstage or a VIP pass."
Chapter 5
.
Agent Smith
My boss at the Federal Joint Anti-Terrorism Task Force, also known as ATTF, insisted we meet yet again with the man he called Ranger.
"If he's so good why don't they just leave this in his capable hands?" I asked Jones.
"Because the politicos want a photo op. And the more terror publicity they get, the more money the US taxpayers are willing to pay for their safety. And that trickles down to you and me, partner."
"Yeah but I don't want to have that conversation with Manoso."
"He won't care, he's getting paid big bucks."
"Maybe we should freelance too, Jones."
"Yeah, right. Go ahead, ask him for a job."
I had a vision of myself trying to convince the man who ran all those badass operators both here and abroad that he needed to hire me. Ass pucker time, just the idea. But I was cool, I said to Jones, "Ya think they get dental?"
"Oh yeah...here's the turn, Smith," said Jones in unison with the GPS woman, who said, Make a right turn in 100 feet.
I glared and drove in. Parked my government POS in a sea of shiny black vehicles, each one nicer than the next.
"Whoa! Look at the Porsches!" sighed Jones. "Man, he has one of each—a Turbo, a Cayenne, and—that's the new sedan, right?"
"Yeah. Starts at a hundred-fifty grand, Jones..."
On our previous visit we had been brought here under guard, escorted through the main lobby. The building was nondescript outside, tastefully if minimalistically expensive inside with an array of high tech electronics that made us both yearn for the private sector.
Today an expressionless man in black fatigues waited for us by the elevator. He nodded a greeting, keyed us up to the private conference room.
We sat and I hauled out my little spiral notebook, reviewed my notes.
"Smith, that thing makes you look like an asshole, you gotta get with the program." Jones had his iPad out, was tapping away busily. I like my notebook...no one can read my writing and no one can link in secretly and spy on what I am thinking.
I just shrugged at Jones and Manoso silently walked in followed by the large black guy. Jones and I both jumped a little and Jones breathed, "Make a noise, why don't you?"
Manoso must have good ears because he looked at Jones and said, "Making a noise can get you dead, Agent Jones."
Jones gulped and said, "Yessir," then looked pissed at himself for being obsequious.
Manoso turned his cool black eyes towards me and nodded briefly. He said, "You remember my XO, my second in command, Tank, right?"
We both nodded to the larger man, who stared back at us like we were cockroaches in his salad.
No surfer dude here today, I noticed.
Manoso sat down, waved us all to chairs. He said, "Mr. Stewart will not be part of this operation, he is otherwise engaged."
We nodded okay. Far as I know the feds are paying for Manoso's expertise and only that. And surfer dude, who I was guessing was the aforementioned Mr. Stewart, made me nervous. The killer eyes, and all.
Manoso said, "Why are we here?"
I referred to my notes and began. "We have been trying to trace to the materiel that Abdullah bin Hasheed will use for the bomb. It's the kind of amateur setup where his jihadist cell may take care of provisioning him with C4 or dynamite. We are thinking a drop off place, maybe prearranged."
?
"Like a bus station locker or a mail drop..."
"Smith, Jones...where are you from?"
Small talk? I hesitated, tried to change gears. "We both work out of the DC office, Mr. Manoso."
"Gentlemen. While we appreciate the necessity of allowing your input, I think we should note that all bus depots, train stations and airports in the greater NY-NJ metropolitan area had their storage lockers removed after 9/11. I'm fairly sure that is true of the DC area too, though of course as residents you may know better than I do."
With those cars and all his money, this guy probably hadn't been in Penn Station, let alone a Greyhound depot, in years. If ever. But... "Well, you may have a point, sir."
Tank touched the screen of his station at the smartTable, spoke neutrally. "Hasheed's brother-in-law worked construction-building demolitions-in Texas. He left his job suddenly in March of this year. The demo company also informed local police in Austin that approximately 150 kilos of dynamite and 50 kilos of C4 have gone missing over the past year. The locals informed ATF who made note but did not connect the theft to the former employee, because they said—and I quote— 'Assholes come and go all the time, they're scared of La Migra, they get antsy feet, they hold up a Seven-11, who the hell knows?' However we were able to tie this all together and it seems fairly certain that is where Hasheed is getting his explosives."
"How did...? Um. I see." I was stammering.
Jones said, "You didn't think you needed to share this with us?"
Manoso just looked at us. Tank said, "We are sharing it now, Agent Jones. Is there a problem?"
"Ah, um. No. Nevermind."
Manoso said, "Good. The new Meadowlands Arena opens with the benefit concert on Thursday. We have coordinated jurisdiction for the op with state police and the locals in East Rutherford. Be here at 1600 for an op briefing. Concert starts 8-ish."
Did he really say eight-ish?
He said, "Bring your guns, agents. And your flak vests."
"Yessir."
"Dress to blend."
"Sir?"
Manoso implied a sigh and said, "Pretend you're undercover. Dress accordingly."
Tank added, "Wear jeans, sneakers, t-shirts." He cut his eyes to his boss."Not black."
"Understood," we responded.
Jones and I sat a moment, then Manoso made a tiny gesture with one hand, like, shoo. "Dismissed."
...
The following Thursday at The New Meadowlands Arena, East Rutherford NJ
Joe Morelli
I met up with Ranger and Steph in the parking lot. Ranger was as always shadowed by the Merry Men, in this case Tank and Lester Santos and the big, beefy black guy who often guarded Steph. I didn't know the guy's name. They stood back against a black SUV and watched us while Ranger and I talked.
Ranger said, "During the concert, we can work the crowd in plainclothes, talk to people."
i said, "Do you have a pass for me?"
The stare. Of course Ranger had a pass. Passes, actually, for everyone.
Stephanie said to Ranger, "You can't mingle with the crowd. Are you crazy! We had this conversation the other day!"
Ranger looked at her. I think I'd piss myself if he looked at me like that. But he just said quietly, "Excuse me?"
Stephanie got animated, waved her hands at him. "Look at you! You'll get mobbed—you'll need bodyguards."
? [Eyebrow twitch.]
"I told you! Look at you! People will think you're a friggin' star."
"Babe. I didn't shave, I'm in disguise."
"That's ridiculous, Ranger. You look way too hot."
"Babe."
I sighed to myself. That was the fucking problem. How Ranger ever had made a career of doing undercover work was a mystery to me. Tonight Manoso was dressed to ''blend" in baggy/raggy/ frayed/ cost five hundred bucks jeans, a tight faded black vintage Guns 'n Roses concert t-shirt with a leather jacket on top to cover his guns. Black shades. Diamond ear studs. Long hair loose and straight halfway down his back. Unfortunately sexy three day stubble making his dark Latino looks even darker and more dramatic, his brief smile even whiter. With the sunglasses, he looked like a Hollywood star. Or a freakin' rock star. He looked like he was someone.
Which I reluctantly supposed in his own way, he is. But that's not the point here...
The Rangeman guys were hardly more discreet either. Tank and the unknown-name guy could easily be hip-hop artists. They were handsome is a frighteningly scary way, expensively dressed in ghetto high style. And Lester Santos looked so much like Ranger it was absurd. So low-profile wasn't his forte either, because even though he had shorter hair, he had the looks and the diamond earrings and the megabucks smile.
For once in her life, my Cupcake was right: these guys didn't blend.
Manoso turned his cold eyes to me. Geez, I hope the ESP thing was just a rumor, because he might not be happy that I still think of Stephanie as my Cupcake. To distract him from killing me I said, "Maybe you should work backstage."
"We had this conversation. Subject closed."
No way! I said, "And without using your event rent-a-cop credentials, how will you get inside with all those guns? There's a metal detector and they'll search you. All."
Ranger smiled and said, "No problemo."
He jerked his chin at the guys and put his arm around Steph ushering her towards the entrance point. When we got up to the front by the guards, I showed my badge and was waved through on the side. I glanced back at Ranger and the Merry Men and smirked. Ranger and all the other guys casually flipped open some sort of ID wallets and the guards goggled at whatever it said. Then waved the guys through just like they had me. Only with more respect on their faces.
Ranger said, "She's with me."
And the guard said, "Siryessir!"
Inside Steph asked, "What was that?"
"EBay, babe. You can buy a badge online, you know that." He gave her a little friendly (but still!) hug and smiled down at her. His endless cool, their easy relationship, his gentle way with Stephanie almost killed me. Stark envy wasn't an emotion I was familiar with, I am Joe Morelli, after all...
"That's where the boss got that gay t-shirt, beautiful. He looooves eBay!" laughed Santos.
"Maxes out his AmEx Black card all the time."
"I don't think so," said Steph.
Manoso looked at Stephanie and said, "Remember our deal, babe."
"You and your deals!" She laughed but with a hint of annoyance.
"Babe."
"Yes. I will not attempt to detain Sally Sweet until after he performs and I will wait til you give me the all-clear."
They locked eyes for a too long moment, then Manoso gave a minuscule nod. Steph reached out and squeezed his arm and his face amazingly relaxed again into what was almost a smile.
He then got serious and handed out passes on neck strings. Photo IDs. He paired Steph and the big guy whose name seemed to be Junior, sending them backstage, organized my DEA colleagues as backup and conferred briefly with a couple of guys who -much to my dismay-appeared to be federal antiterrorism operatives. I had to wonder if there was more going on here than event security and Steph's fugitive apprehension.
Manoso partnered me and Santos and headed off with Tank.
I watched them go, stifling a laugh and shaking my head when a woman fell into a trash barrel because she was staring at Ranger. They disappeared but we heard fangirl-style screams.
Lester was laughing too.
I said, "Yeah, you're laughing now, Santos. Wait til the teenyboppers see you!"
"Hey, I can pass, I can do smoke, I'm in the wind, man. Watch and learn."
I sighed. Long long night ahead. I forced myself to focus on the job.
tbc
a/n the acronym XO stands for executive officer, means the second in command.