“What I know is in the report.”
“How did you hear about Carlos Guereca’s murder in Mexico, and about the caliber of weapon used?”
Hunter said, “Would you mind if I got some coffee while we talk? I haven’t had any this morning.”
Bob said, “Sure.”
She left the office, using the stall time to think about how to answer. Talking to a foreign agent without prior approval was not looked on with favor.
It wasn’t forbidden, but it produced a lot of frowns up the chain, all the way to DHS Headquarters in Washington. And what came back down were many questions on how it could happen, memos for clarification, new rules and regulations to go into effect immediately, and whatever else they could think of to make sure it never happened again, even when the results were positive. Hunter felt that, as far as Headquarters was concerned, it was rules that were most important, not results.
She carried the coffee to her chair and said, “I was told the information by an informal source.”
“Reliable?”
“I believe so.”
Bob said, “Was your source an agent of CISEN?”
Oh, Hunter thought, so you want to play it that way. She said, “If you’re asking that, you already know the answer. Stop pussyfooting around here, Bob.”
Bob’s cheeks reddened. He said, “We’re not your enemy here, Agent Kincaid.”
“Then stop acting like this is an interrogation. Ask me like you would ask one of your friends. I’ll tell you everything I know that way. Fair enough?”
Bob said, “We don’t enjoy being talked to this way, Agent Kincaid, you need to work on your manners.”
“I’ll read Emily Post tonight, how’s that?”
B
ob looked at the Chief Patrol Agent, “Chief, I find it surprising that you let your Agent address us in this manner.”
The Chief said, “Agent Kincaid doesn’t dance around issues. Play straight with her and you’ll be a lot better off.”
Barry said, “Fair enough. Hunter, Where were you when CISEN Agent Patino informed you of Guereca’s death?”
“In Presidio. We talked on the phone.”
“What do you know of Agent Patino?”
“That he’s CISEN. A little about his family and how he grew up, that’s about it.”
“Where did you first meet?”
“At the funeral of a mutual friend, Deputy Sheriff Lee Rodriguez, who was murdered. And I think this Holland guy, or Asadullah, whatever he calls himself, is the one who killed Lee.”
Barry started to say something else, then stopped and typed out a flurry of words on his iPad before saying, “I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot this morning. I hope that in the future we can continue to talk openly.”
Hunter asked, “No reason not to. Now, what can you tell us about the three terrorists?”
Bob said, “Samir Abu Salem was born in Syria to an English father and Syrian mother. He attended Damascus University, and later, the University of Toronto as a foreign student. After Toronto, he journeyed through the Middle East, where he became a follower of Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi. Two years ago, he returned to Canada as a visitor, declaring he was on vacation. He lived there illegally until a year ago, when our informants said he crossed into the United States.”
“Where?” Hunter asked.
“Walpole Island, north of Detroit.”
Barry took up the story, “He developed an online romance with an American female from Denver, and we feel certain she is the one who drove to Michigan to meet him after he crossed.”