Generation Lost (Gray Wolf Security #17)

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

“Are you sure we should go ahead with this week’s deposits?” asked St. Pierre. “I don’t think our issues with those men are going to just go away. And I think they might be right. The president will throw us under the bus.”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll do a few more deposits for them and find another way to get what we need. Let’s go.”

St. Pierre and DiBenedetto went down to the cash room, trading out the counterfeit cash for the actual money. There were stacks of cashier’s checks, bank drafts, and credit card receipts that would be included as well.

“Are you almost done?” he asked the young man stacking the bills into the counting machine.

“Yes, sir. A few more stacks, and we’ll be good.”

St. Pierre turned and closed the door, watching as the money was shuffled through the machine. The young man bound the stacks, neatly placing them inside the heavy canvas bag. It was then sealed, locked, and handed to someone to place on a cart with eight other bags.

“That’s all of them,” said the man.

“Great. Take these to the airstrip and get them to D.C. The others will meet you there, and then you’ll do the same routine.”

“Yes, sir.”

As they rolled the cart down the hallway, it hit something in the floor and the cart tipped slightly. He stopped, looking around to see what it was that caused the issue but saw nothing. A few of the bags were on the floor, and St. Pierre turned, seeing it.

“Pick that shit up!” yelled St. Pierre.

The men rushed forward, picking up the tumbled bags and placing them back on the cart. In the basement, the van waited for everything to be loaded. As they took the bags off the cart, DiBenedetto frowned, staring at one of them.

“What’s this pink mark?” he asked.

“It must have happened when it fell, sir. I can switch bags.”

“No. We’re already a few minutes behind. Go. Let us know when the transfer has been made.”

All over the country similar exchanges were happening. When the private jets landed in D.C., the bags were transferred one by one into a waiting armored car. Standing with their clipboards in hand, a man walked by, counting the bags and signing off on the transfers.

From the airstrip, the security guards drove with him to the bank to make the deposits. The bank knew them all so well they just nodded, opening the doors and allowing them inside to do what they’d done every week for more than two years.

“Is that it, Andy?” asked the bank manager.

“That’s it, Del. I’ll be back in a bit. I’m gonna grab a coffee. You want one?” The manager nodded, knowing this was their routine. He would get them two coffees, and by the time he was back, the money was counted, the tally complete, and he could be on his way.

Gaspar, Nine, and Ian sat in the office of the joint chiefs, waiting to meet the head of the office. They wanted to hear for themselves whether or not the highest-ranking military officer in the nation knew about the deception. They’d had their opportunity to tell him what was happening and only asked that he be honest with them.

“What do you think?” asked Nine.

“I think he was taken aback,” said Gaspar. “That makes me feel a bit better. I don’t believe he’s that good of an actor. I guess we’re about to find out.”

Gaspar nodded toward the huge conference room where an older man with more metal on his chest than any of them had seen in a very long time. He looked pissed, and they felt that was a good sign.

“Gentleman, come on back in,” he said, waving them toward him. The three men stood, following him back inside the massive conference room. “Take a seat.”

“Is that an order?” asked Nine.

“Would you follow it if it fucking was?” he growled. Nine raised his brows, not saying a word. “That’s what I thought. Please. Have a seat.”

They all took a seat at the opposite end of the table, and the staff that was in the room suddenly stood and left the room. They watched, waiting for the man to say something.

“How did you know about this?” he asked.

“We told you. It was a fluke that we found out, but St. Pierre, DiBenedetto, and Varovski admitted it. Xi unexpectedly left and returned to China.

“Look, General, we’ve fought our share of bad guys, and most of the time, they’re the people who should be the good guys. But this is deception and cunning on a different level. If we continue to fund these terrorists, give them weapons, sooner or later, they’re going to figure out a way to get away from us before we catch them. Then, they’ll actually use them on American citizens.”

The general looked at the three men, rolling his pen back and forth across the table.

“They already have.”

“Say again?” asked Ian.

“The two attacks last month, one in Sacramento and one in Chicago. The weapons were traced to the factories that you gave me. There weren’t serial numbers on the weapons, but it was the way they were constructed that told us where they came from. The men responsible for those attacks haven’t been found. They got away with it. We’ve got fucking terrorists walking around with weapons we gave them, and we don’t know where they are because they fucked up and didn’t get to them in time.

“One thing you didn’t have right is who is in on this. Yes, the POTUS, vice president, and some cabinet members. The Directors of Homeland, the FBI, and a few other agencies. But the deputy directors have no knowledge of this.”

“No offense, sir, but are you sure?” asked Gaspar.

“Positive. We can find a money trail for the others, and we can’t with these men and women. Plus, I have a few good tools of my own. They’re not lying. If you’re here, you must have some idea of how to bring this to a head.”

“Actually, sir, we do,” started Ian. There was a knock on the door, and the aide walked in, nodding at the men.

“My apologies, general, but the POTUS is on the secure line demanding to speak with you. Something about finding these men and arresting them.”