Cobra Clearance by Richard Craig Anderson

Diego—and then Michael got that phone call in the middle of the night.
    â€œThey’re dead, Michael. Both of them. Dead.” Levi’s voice had been so flat and detached that Michael thought he was referring to his agents, until he said the names.
    An addict desperate for money had burst into Levi’s home, then shot Anita and Michael to death. Detectives arrested him the next day. He confessed to killing Anita and even described how little Michael—all eighty pounds of him—charged down the stairs and flew into him with both fists. The gunman said he admiredthe boy’s bravery, and felt bad about putting a bullet through his brain. It happened on the Hart’s tenth anniversary.
    Three days later, Michael and Nadia stood alongside Levi in the stern of a boat as he scattered the ashes of his wife and son atop the crest of a Pacific swell. Two months after that, he walked into the SAC’s office and handed in his resignation. Then with barely a farewell to anyone he contracted out as a Law Enforcement Professional, or LEP, and shipped off to Baghdad for a year, to identify and capture the gangs that were planting IEDs. Two years after his tour, he came to Vanguard International.
    Michael raised his bottle. “To the boys, to Anita, and to Michael.” But after the toast, Hacksaw’s prophesy of dread at the bar echoed. He looked into Levi’s eyes. “Brother? If anything happens, promise you’ll bring me home to my family?”
    â€œCome on, stop your worrying. You’re beginning to sound like my grandma.”
    â€œYeah, you’re right.” He paused. “It’s just that Hack said something. We all know how prescient he can be. Hell, I don’t know… maybe it rubbed off on me.”
    â€œWell we don’t want any bad karma. Okay. It’s official, and I’m being serious here. I’ll make sure you get home.” He gulped down some beer and cracked a smile. “Now that we’ve got that outta the way…you feel like gettin’ your butt kicked?”
    â€œHumph. Think you’re man enough?”
    Levi snorted. “I know I am. How do you want it? The usual?”
    â€œFive bucks a hand?”
    â€œMake it ten.”
    â€œTwenty.”
    â€œYou’re on.” Levi drained his beer. “Get the cards. I’ll break out more brews.”
    The game was an excuse to unwind but still discuss the case. They played on, hoping for the epiphany that can surface duringa state of mental relaxation. Levi was down two hundred eighty bucks when four knocks at the door were followed by two more. He got up, peered through the peep-hole, and opened the door for Joe Tucker.
    Tucker marched in and got down to business. “Baker just sent a text. We’ve been given a green light to review the parking garage tapes.”
    Levi said, “Tomorrow morning, then. I’ll take Michael with me. With luck, we’ll find someone in those tapes worth speaking to.”
    â€œConcur. And if you do find someone, I’m confident that success will follow. Why? Because you guys are good with people, especially you, Michael. So, good hunting.” The business done, he turned and walked out of the room.

4
    T he next day Levi and Michael donned suits and drove to FBI Headquarters in Michael’s dark green 750Li BMW. Levi, knowing all about Michael’s poverty-ridden childhood, had talked him into buying it. “You don’t need to count every penny anymore, buddy. Hey, you deserve the best.”
    They waited in the lobby until 8:00 a.m. sharp, when a gray-haired, tall and trim man stepped through a security door into the lobby.
    Levi stuck out his hand. “Good to see you again, George.” He introduced the ASAC in charge of the photo analysis division to Michael.
    George issued visitor badges and led them inside. “Our analysts have pored over the tapes of course, but you’re welcome to review