Aztec Treasure
Damage Control

President Laura Kettering’s POV

Oval Office, next afternoon

“It’s confirmed?”

“Yes, Madam President,” FBI Director Patterson replied. “Surveillance video from the marina has him arriving in the stolen boat yesterday afternoon. Julio Salazar’s fingerprints are all over the thing. The Coast Guard is still searching for the missing fishermen, but the owner’s truck is missing from the lot. We put an APB out for the vehicle this morning, and every law enforcement agency in the country has Julio’s mug shot now.”

“I can’t believe the CIA fucked me like this,” I said as I leaned back and looked at the men over the glossy top of the Resolute desk. “Has Peter Sinclair admitted to anything yet?” He stood in front of my desk multiple times and denied the CIA had anything to do with Julio’s disappearance or the attacks against Maria Meztli. I’d promised Colletta Grimes that we hadn’t done it, and now I was replaceing out I had a rogue agency. I’d fired Peter two hours ago when the news of the black site prison broke. What a mess.

“No, ma’am,” Attorney General Marisol Guttierez responded. “Since the FBI detained him for questioning, he’s lawyered up and refused to answer questions.”

My Chief of Staff, Lynette Johnson, spoke up as she paced the room. “It’s a clusterfuck, Madam President, and we need to get ahead of this before it destroys you. The CIA conducting operations within the United States to abduct a US Citizen and Federal prisoner? A black site prison operating off the Gulf Coast? The shark-eaten body of the Deputy Director for Covert Operations pulled from the wreckage of the platform, not to mention a helicopter explosion with multiple fatalities? You need to act boldly on this before it sinks you, too.”

“Like what?”

“Fire the entire CIA leadership today,” Lynette replied.

“Jesus, Lynette,” the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs said. “You can’t decapitate the entire CIA leadership!”

“I have to agree with the General,” Alexander Strickland, my head of Homeland Security, added. “It would cripple the agency for years!”

“I can replace them all in a more orderly fashion,” I told them. I looked at my Homeland Security Chief. “Do you trust the Deputy Director?” The CIA Deputy Director was a retired Army General who was appointed to the position last year. Alexander Strickland nodded. “Anyone above the Assistant Director level who did know or should have known about the prison, I want you to fire immediately. Bring in leaders from other agencies or make temporary assignments as the General sees fit. I’m also demanding the resignations of all CIA Deputy Directors pending the appointment of their replacement and orderly turnover. We can’t do it all at once, but we WILL change the senior leadership this year. And tell the DNI and the Deputy Director that if they can’t get it done, I’ll change them both out. Lynette?”

My Chief of Staff looked at me and nodded. “I’ll take care of it, Madam President.”

My Director of National Intelligence was supposed to be holding Peter Sinclair’s leash. General Curtis Ripley and a team of FBI agents were at CIA Headquarters right now. They were locking down everything they could replace in the Director and Deputy Director-Covert Ops offices. I didn’t have high hopes for this; these men were career spooks, and spooks know how to destroy evidence quickly.

Lynette was right; we had to do something, and the firings were enough to show I was serious about bringing the CIA under control. It had been one piece of bad news after another today. Fishermen had reported an explosion in the air, then more explosions in the water. It only took a few minutes for the abandoned oil platform to sink in the deep water. They were still pulling bodies out of the water, at least the ones the sharks hadn’t eaten. The CIA Deputy Director still had his identification on him, but he didn’t have legs or half his arm. He did have four deep, parallel slashes from the claws of an adult werejaguar. With Julio Salazar positively identified, the purpose of the CIA’s secret prison wasn’t a secret. “I can’t believe I gave Peter Sinclair his job,” I told them. “When will we be charging him with kidnapping and a few dozen related felonies?”

The Attorney General held up a hand. “Lying to the President isn’t a crime, and it will take some time to peel back this onion and see what he knows. Director Sinclair is claiming that Daniel French ran the whole operation without informing him. I need time to investigate and build a case.”

“Time we don’t have,” Director Strickland said. “With Julio running wild, we risk a public panic. With every person he kills, the anti-were groups get emboldened. We are bound to see more attacks on Packs, and they will fight back. We could lose everything we gained in the past three months.”

I looked at my FBI Director. “Hugh, this is your highest priority. I don’t want Julio to be able to poke his head out of a sewer grate without four cops drawing down on him. He has to be stopped and now.”

Hugh nodded. “We’re doing everything we can, Madam President. He got a head start, but we will replace him.”

I looked over at my Chief of Staff. “Lynette, when are we scheduling the update meeting with Colletta Grimes?” The Werewolf Council was nervous about the extra-judicial moves against Julio and the attacks on Maria. Colletta was flying in from Minnesota now.

“Tonight at nine,” she replied. “We need to wrap this up. The President of Mexico will be arriving in four minutes.”

“Agreed. I want the FBI, DNI, and Homeland crawling through CIA Headquarters on this secret prison and Julio Salazar. I’m not playing around; your agents have the highest security clearances. If someone tries to pull this ‘national security’ crap and doesn’t cooperate fully, arrest them. The Attorney General’s people will be working closely with you to identify and indict those involved. The FBI also needs to replace Julio quickly and get him back in jail before more people die. I want an update tonight at eight-thirty; any major updates, you talk to Lynette. Questions?”

“No, Madam President,” they all answered.

“Go.” Everyone except Lynette and Valerie Grunwald, the Secret Service chief, left the room. “Something to say, Valerie?”

“We have a highly dangerous adult male werejaguar out there somewhere. He is probably pissed off at the US Government and you in particular. With your permission, I’ll reach out to Colletta and the Arrowhead Pack. I need to replace out the best way to take him down if he comes after you.” I could tell she was nervous; this was not the kind of threat she’d trained to face.

“You have my permission. You might want to think about bringing those werewolf agents in your training program up here to advise you. They might smell the cat before you see it.”

“Yes, Madam President.” She left me with my cadre of agents as we walked to the Rose Garden to greet my distinguished guest.

The first big update Lynette whispered in my ear during the State Dinner. “We found Julio’s stolen truck in rural Virginia. No sign of him.” I smiled and nodded before going back to my guests, but I was confused. The Sons were in Mexico and the Southwest; why would he come this way? The only Pack on the Eastern Seaboard was way the hell up into Maine. I caught Lynette’s eyes and looked towards my Secret Service detail. “On it,” she mouthed to me.

The dinner finally ended just after eight, and I headed back to the Oval Office to get the latest. Valerie was waiting for me. “Julio’s in the area?”

“Police found the truck in a church parking lot about two hours south of here on I-95. It was cold, so we are assuming he could be in the vicinity already. I’ve placed your protective detail on alert and called in additional agents.”

That was reasonable. “Any evidence Julio is coming for the White House?”

“Nothing yet. We are flooding the area with law enforcement to try and replace him. Colletta and Frank Grimes were very helpful; they said a jaguar could move twenty to thirty miles in a night and stay undetected. They don’t think he’s anywhere near the truck by now, but we’ll keep looking. In jaguar form, Julio’s natural camouflage will make spotting him difficult at night. He can’t change his body heat, though, so he will show up on night vision. We’ve put extra snipers on the roof, added additional cameras, and cut down the lights away from the building. If he tries to get across the lawn, we’ll get him.”

“Good.” The rest of the group joined me and didn’t have much to add.

“The existence of CIA Black Sites has always been a closely guarded national security secret,” DNI General Ripley said. “The information is highly compartmentalized, and the budgets are the blackest of black. The agents and contractors operating them are operating under deep cover, often using only codenames. We are still trying to identify them based on the DNA from the helicopter wreck. It’s a mess, Madam President, and I can’t give you the answers you want.”

“What CAN you tell me?”

“The oil rig was leased by a shell company incorporated in the Cayman Islands. FAA records show a long-range helicopter flight to that area on the day Julio was taken from Federal lockup that was not related to ongoing oil operations. We’re still looking at records, but we’ve identified weekly flights meeting that criteria. I would suspect they brought most supplies in by boat, and we’re checking local marinas. We’ve also identified seven unique bodies in the helicopter wreckage, none positively identified as their fingerprints are not in our systems.”

“You have nothing,” I concluded.

“The investigation is ongoing,” the Attorney General said.

I shook my head. “That’s the line I’ll have to use with the Werewolf Council. ‘Actually, we DID have Julio at a black site prison, and those likely WERE domestic CIA teams who attacked Maria, but it’s all right. The investigation is ongoing.’ That will go over like a fart in church.” No one said anything; what could you say? “All right, clear out of here. I’ve got a meeting to get ready for.”