glanced at each other and smirked, enjoying that he had got it wrong.
“Well I know the NSA has assets here who are better suited to make any approach to me, and the director of the FBI has my personal cell phone number,” he said without a trace of arrogance, which was an arrogance in itself, but one borne of power.
Still neither said anything.
“Which only leaves,” Amir said with a little more steel in his voice, “the Treasury department or DoD …” He sipped his drink and crossed his legs with his right ankle on his left knee to regard both men. They knew he had the facts straight, and to reveal which one of the agencies they were from would be to tell him what they wanted. Still, neither said anything.
“Very well,” Amir went on as he drained his drink and stood, “I am returning to the United States now, so unless you are detaining an American citizen in a non-extradition country without a warrant, I bid you good day.” With that he nodded to them and walked toward the exit doors.
“We’re DoD,” said one of them in an unmistakable New York accent, “and our boss would like a word with you.”
“The secretary of defense, or the president?” Amir asked as he turned, meaning to enquire as to which boss they meant.
“SecDef, sir,” the other one answered with more deference. “What we know hasn’t reached the White House,” he said before adding an ominous, “yet.”
“Very well,” Amir said, “is your jet on standby or shall we take mine?”
The move to intimidate the two bothered agents by transporting them in luxury worked, in that both had to repeatedly turn down drinks of expensive and rare alcohol during the long flight west. Of all the acronyms in the US, the DoD were the shadiest of all when it came to what they were and weren’t allowed to do by law. When they had the scent of something, they didn’t allow such annoyances as a person’s constitutional rights to impede them in achieving their goals.
The two agents said nothing the entire flight, after one of them had smiled at Amir as soon as the pilot had announced their expected arrival time in Virginia.
“I bet you’re wondering how we found you?” the younger agent asked mockingly.
“Yes, I did wonder that,” Amir said casually, “after all, I only used my own personal jet from a commercial US airport after passing through customs with my passport and lodging the flight plan with the Federal Aviation Administration,” he answered with a smile meaning to explain that he left a trail of breadcrumbs that a child on their first day in local law enforcement could have followed. He sipped his cognac and allowed himself an internal smile of victory.
Virginia, USA
February 11, 2025
Touching down early the following morning, Amir Weatherby left the plane wearing a crisp three-piece and a form-fitting coat, exquisitely tailored as ever, and walked fast down the airplane steps with a casual spring. In contrast, the two agents emerged blinking into the early morning light wearing the same clothes they had worn for a little over two days and barely registering any sleep to speak of. Amir left instructions for the rest of his entourage to clear the runway and fly back to Texas as soon as he had left.
Walking directly to the second of four large, armored Escalades, Amir opened the rear door and climbed in as the man in the back seat slid over to the passenger side.
“Mr. Secretary,” Amir said offering a hand, “I assume we aren’t going to your office?”
“Mr. Weatherby,” responded the ageing, retired general sharing the back seat with him, “no, I think we can find somewhere more private than that.” With that, the convoy peeled out, as the two exhausted delivery boys climbed tiredly into the rear vehicle.
“I’ll get right to the point, Weatherby,” Secretary of Defense Matthews said as he sat heavily in the chair opposite the much younger man, “we know you’ve imported radioactive material stateside,” he said, leaving the statement open for response.
Amir sipped his coffee before responding with a question.
“And what would you believe this radioactive material to be, Mr. Secretary?”
Matthews stared hard at him, thinking that he was a little upstart of a shit-nugget who inherited the keys to the kingdom from his daddy, and his daddy made all his money selling guns to both sides of every war on the planet. He couldn’t tell him that, for one because he wanted something from