The Threat

The house was quiet when he let himself in. He paused, listening. No Larry King. No Crossfire. Blair snapped on the set as soon as she got in. She was a news junkie. But it wasn’t on now.

He found the letter on the dining-room table.

Dan,

I was very angry after our last talk. I tried to write off your unjust accusations to what you went through in Srebrenica. But I find I can’t let it go. You need to call your doctor. Get some meds or — something. Maybe you can’t see it, but you are getting really unbalanced. I won’t stay in the house with someone who might turn violent. And sleeps with a gun by the bed.

What is happening? I still care about you. We’re so much alike. But I get the feeling there’s a wall where a door used to be. And I have no idea how to break through it, or if you’re even still there, on the other side.

Anyway, rather than ask you to move out, I have. If you want to talk, you can reach me on the cell, or at the office, though we have a lot of travel scheduled this month. Or at Fort Myers — I’ll be in a suite there. When I’m in town.

I’m sorry. I really thought this could work out.

Blair

He fingered the note for a few seconds, looking at his reflection in the black windows.

* * *

He didn’t feel like staying at home, with beer waiting in the fridge. He hadn’t seen his daughter since school started. So he called and suggested he take her out to dinner. She sounded glad to hear from him. That raised his spirits a little.

He was on I-66, driving west in a chill drizzle, when his pager vibrated. When he checked the number it wasn’t familiar. Not even a D.C. area code. He debated not answering it. Then pulled off at the next exit and found a pay phone that worked outside a convenience store. It began to rain harder as he listened to the call go through. There wasn’t any overhead shelter. He flipped up the collar of his coat, hoping this didn’t take too long.

“JIATF West, how may I help you, sir or ma’am?”

“This is Dan Lenson, NSC counterdrug.”

“Whom did you wish to talk to, sir?”

“I’m not sure. I’m returning a call.”

The duty person asked him to stand by, and a few seconds later Miles Bloom came on. “Dan? That was me paging you. Returning your call.”

“Huh? I didn’t call you, Miles.”

“I mean, your message askin’ me to check out what happened at Laguna Verde. Slid in from Ecuador last night. Stopped here, got your e-mail, made a couple calls.”

A car lurched into the lot and squealed to a halt, catching him in the headlight glare. He turned his back. Then, feeling vulnerable, faced it again. Several men piled out of a battered Citation and filed into the store. They left the lights on, illuminating him as he stood in the now-freezing rain.

Bloom said, “Talked to a federale I know in Mexico City. He told me under the counter as it were some things about that raid that didn’t make it into the papers. Where are you, anyway?”

“At a 7-Eleven in, uh, Falls Church.”

“Should be secure. The dead guy the attackers left behind. Guess what. He was shot in two places: the gut and the back of the head. What’s that tell you?”

“Oh. That … they killed him themselves. Rather than taking him along.”

“Which is the way who operates?”

“The cartel. Nuñez.” Cold rain ran down his collar. He shivered.

“Bingo. This is all off the Mexican government record, by the way. No journalists within five miles of the plant. They’re hoping to make this all go away rather than admit how flip-fucked their security was.”

The men had come out with bottles and cans and were joking and hooting, opening them on the concrete pad in front of the store. Dan said, “Miles, let me ask you something. What they were making. The radiologicals. Why would the cartel want them?”

“I don’t know. You might want to ask Luis that. He keeps closer tabs on what they’re up to per se than I do.”

“Okay, but is there any market for that stuff?”

“You mean, like black market pharmaceuticals? Resell to hospitals? Be a hard way to make a buck. Way I understand it, there’s only a few places use this stuff, cancer treatment centers mainly. It’s way too hot for diagnostic tracing.”