Behind Enemy Lines

by R. J. Patterson

  The man reached inside his jacket pocket and produced an envelope along with a cell phone. “Your instructions are in there along with all the documents you’ll need.”

  She huffed as she accepted them. “What if I just—”

  “Don’t even think about leaving,” the man said. “He knows how to find everyone. And don’t think you’ll be the exception. People who stiff him learn the hard way. You’re beautiful and have your whole life ahead of you. I’d hate for you to make such a mistake this early in life.”

  Tatiana nodded and walked downstairs, opening the envelope as she did. She glanced at the orders, which she was instructed to memorize before destroying. Not wanting to take any chances, Tatiana utilized her training, committing everything on the directive to memory before lighting the paper on fire.

  She didn’t like the general’s bait and switch tactic, but she determined to endure it.

  For country.

  CHAPTER 14

  Washington, D.C.

  BLACK PUT ON A pot of coffee per Shields’s request as they continued to follow all the threads that were dangling from Watkins’s documented proof. However, it was more like circumstantial evidence. There was no doubt something illicit was going on, but determining the players involved wasn’t easy. Shields pointed out how many of the communications were in code, not to mention that the email addresses were free accounts that were easy to hack but difficult to trace back to the original sender, much less prove it in a court of law.

  “Can’t you use IP addresses to track these people?” Black asked.

  “Sure, but if you’re even remotely savvy on computers, you can spoof your IP address, making it next to impossible to know where an email originated or was sent to. But there are some ways to get around that; it just takes more time. Hence, the pot of liquid caffeine brewing in the kitchen.”

  The Firestorm offices were located in the basement of one of the tallest buildings in Washington. Black always thought it was a shame that when he did have to go to discuss matters in person or engage in a more in-depth investigation, he only had walls to look at instead of some scenic view. He told Blunt on more than one occasion that being a tenant in that building was the worst idea for team morale, even if there were only two people working out of that particular Firestorm office. And while Black hadn’t met anyone else affiliated with Firestorm other than Blunt and Shields, there were supposedly two other teams assisting Blunt with his secret missions, housed in other spots.

  “I bet the other Firestorm team has a better view than this,” Black said as he delivered a mug of piping hot Colombian dark roast coffee to Shields.

  “You know when I work, I don’t have time to stare out a window because I’m looking at my screen, trying to get stuff done,” Shields said. “You should try it sometime. It might make you forget that we’re stuck in this hole in the ground.”

  “See,” Black said, snapping and then pointing his finger at Shields, “you don’t like it either, do you?”

  “No, but I don’t moan about it either,” she said before taking a big swig of her drink. “Now get over here and help me. We’ve got work to do if we’re going to catch these bastards.”

  Black scooted a chair next to Shields.

  “You’re on my foot, you know,” she said.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  “My prosthetic,” she said. “Do I look like I’m in pain? But if you don’t take your chair off my leg, I’m going to take it off and hit you with it.”

  “Look, I didn’t mean anything. I just—”

  “Oh, cut it out, Black,” she said. “I’m just messing with you. Now will you read off these numbers to me so this process can go faster?”

  Black read off a series of numbers, which Shields keyed into her computer at a furious rate.

  “What are we doing again?” Black asked.

  “We’re trying to figure out where in the world these email addresses are that Col. Roman was sending messages to.”

  “I thought you said that couldn’t be done.”

  Shields clucked her tongue. “I said it could be done but it just takes more time.” She held up her mug. “Remember?”

  “I feel like my talents are being wasted here,” Black said dryly.

  “I’m sorry that there aren’t any heads to crack or villains to fill with lead. Sometimes the unsexy side of espionage is found in the mundane tasks. Don’t worry, I’ll let you out of this cage soon enough so you can go get us a paddy wagon full of these assholes.”

  For the next half hour, Black read off numbers to Shields. The rote work annoyed Black, but he was willing to do whatever it took to catch the people who rubbed out Watkins.

  After Shields entered one of the long strings of digits, she hit enter and then pumped her fist.

  “What is it?” Black asked.

  “I’ve got something. This particular receiver didn’t mask his IP address.”

  Black leaned forward, peering at the monitor. “Who does it belong to?”

  “Let me enter this into my database over here and see what I come up with,” she said.

  “What database is that?”

  “It’s my highly secret one, the one that is affiliated with a list of both friends and foes in our military as well as most foreign militaries,” she said, talking more quickly as she went. “It’s like a world directory of IP addresses from computers that our good friends over at the NSA have hacked over the years.”

  Black sipped his drink as he watched the progress bar crawl toward one hundred percent. He waited anxiously without saying a word.

  “You know what’s crazy?” Shields said. “Roman wrote to this particular address several times, and this one time the IP address wasn’t blocked. This is the kind of stroke of luck we need to get a breakthrough here and figure out who all is involved in this.”

  “I’m betting it’s someone in our own military,” Black said. “I would mind cracking a few heads belonging to some crooked armed forces generals.”

  “I don’t doubt that. But let’s temper that response until we actually know what’s—” She stopped, her mouth falling agape.

  “What is it?” Black asked. “Or maybe I should say: who is it?”

  “Go get Blunt,” she said. “He’s going to want to hear this.”

  Black hustled down the hall and motioned for Blunt to join.

  “What is it?” Blunt asked.

  “Shields has something.”

  “What does she have?”

  Black shrugged. “I don’t know. She won’t tell me. I’m just following orders here. She said to come down here and get you.”

  Blunt grunted as he stood and meandered after Black down the short corridor to Shields’s workspace. “Is this gonna make my day?”

  “It’ll make your year, maybe,” she said. “But we’ve figured out at least one person who Roman was communicating with.”

  “Who?” Blunt asked.

  “Ivan Kozlov, the Russian military commander running the installment on Kamchatka where Watkins was detained,” Shields said with a smile.

  “Kozlov?” Blunt asked, furrowing his brow.

  She nodded. “The one and only.”

  “What do you know about him?” Black asked.

  “Just that he’s about as bad as any terrorist you’ll ever come across,” Blunt said. “He has no conscience, but he’s also subject to the whims of General Volkov, who is much more measured in how he makes his decisions.”

  “I guess this email might make more sense in light of that background,” Shields said.

  “What did it say?” Blunt asked.

  “I found this email that Roman sent to Kozlov discussing the specifics of a drop. And I’m hoping that doesn’t mean that the two are exchanging military secrets.”

  Blunt shrugged. “It’s hard to say. I looked at Roman’s file. Everything in it screams patriot, but his personality evaluation describes him as, and I quote, opportunistic.”

  �
��So maybe he’s just taking advantage of an opportunity to build a fat little nest egg on the side without selling out his country?” Shields asked.

  “That’s possible, but I don’t know anyone in his right mind who would trust Kozlov, especially if you’re claiming to be a flag-waving, red-white-and-blue wearing American. Kozlov is a snake if there ever was one.”

  “Where does that leave us?” Black asked.

  “From everything I’m reading, it simply appears as though Kozlov and Roman have developed some type of partnership to transport girls around the world,” Blunt said.

  “Kozlov supplies the girls, and Roman simply provides the means to get them wherever they need to be,” Shields said.

  Blunt grunted. “A regular FedEx for human trafficking slaves—and collaborating with the Russians to do it.”

  “We need to go after him right away,” Black said. “Who knows how many secrets have been compromised already by this kind of reckless behavior.”

  “Not yet,” Blunt said. “If we go right for the jugular, we might end up missing the key players behind this, and then the people truly responsible will get away without a single consequence.”

  “What do you propose we do about it then?” Black asked.

  Blunt smiled and winked. “I say we set a trap.”

  CHAPTER 15

  EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, Black sat in the waiting room of George Washington Hospital. In less than five minutes after arrived, he grew tired of the inane morning gameshow airing on the television affixed to the far wall. The only other person in the area was a man resting his head against the wall, a fedora covering his face. Black searched for a staff member who could change the channel with a remote control before deciding to do it himself. The only thing he could stand was the news, though he’d grown tired of the political bias shrouding itself in claims of objectivity.

  Listening to one of the anchors blather on about the dire state of the current administration made him want to throw a chair through the TV. But instead, he got up and marched over to the television to change it again before the newscaster stopped and announced a breaking news report. Black froze and watched.

  “Tech billionaire Jeff Carson died last night at his twenty-seven million dollar mansion overlooking Half Moon Bay in what local authorities are calling one of the most shocking murders in recent memory. Carson made his fortune by helping create web-based security systems that enabled both homeowners and business owners the ability to monitor all their cameras with one of the most innovative apps available for smart phones. Carson leaves behind his estranged wife and movie star, Paris Nix, and a billion-dollar fortune.”

  The man in the corner removed the hat from his face. “Well, I’m not Colombo, but my money is on the wife.”

  “Did she have motive?” Black asked.

  “I think she was broke.”

  “Broke? Paris Nix?”

  “Yeah, she blew it all partying, and her last few movies bombed. I don’t think she’s been in a film in at least five years.”

  “Huh,” Black said. “I need to get to the movies more often.”

  “No, you don’t,” the old man said. “You’re not missing anything. Trust me.”

  Black chuckled. “Well, I guess we’ll find out soon enough if you’re right.”

  “We should know by tonight if the San Francisco PD have a collective IQ above 110.”

  Black smiled and shook his head as he looked at the man. “Do you do stand-up?”

  “Not without a walker,” the man said, gesturing to the device to his right. “I’ll be here all week, literally. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Black smiled, suppressing another laugh.

  A nurse appeared from the hallway and made eye contact with Black. “Sir, the senator said he’ll see you now.”

  “You take care,” Black said to the old man.

  Black followed the nurse down the hallway to Senator Gaither’s room. A pair of FBI agents stood watch outside and exchanged a knowing nod with Black before he flashed his credentials and was permitted inside.

  “Senator Gaither?” Black said as he closed the door.

  “Yes?” Gaither said as he sat up.

  “I’m Agent Ted Malone,” Black said, holding up his phony CIA credentials. “The agency wanted me to talk with you about what happened.”

  Gaither leaned forward and squinted, trying to read the badge. “Isn’t this FBI jurisdiction?”

  “When one of our own legislators is attacked in broad daylight like you were, we all work together to catch the bastards. There’s no territorial chest pumping on these kinds of cases. If we can pool our resources to reach a more expedient resolution, that’s what we do.”

  “Sounds like a great plan to me,” Gaither said. “Do you have leads yet?”

  Black walked over to the lamp on the side of Gaither’s bed and turned it on, fingers lingering beneath the shade for a beat. “Well, I wanted to ask you about the threats you received. Did those voices sound familiar?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve had angry constituents call, ticked that I voted one way or another, screaming that they’ll never vote for me again. But up until recently, I’ve never had anyone threaten to kill me.”

  “Did they specify why they were upset?”

  Gaither sighed and looked out the window. “I suppose it had to do with some of the legislation I recently spearheaded. When you go against big business, you make a lot of people mad.”

  “Is this the bill you brought to the senate that eliminates local tax breaks for some of the massive conglomerates?”

  “Yeah, that’s the one. All those fat cats don’t like realizing that their free ride is up. And when that happens, they send their people after you. Usually it’s just a simple threat to steer voters in another direction. But this time, they seemed intent on taking things a little further.”

  “But that bill died last week, didn’t it?”

  “Believe it or not, the halls of congress aren’t exactly teeming with principled people. When it comes to members of congress and the senate, if there’s a conflict between the representative’s needs or desires and his or her district, I’ll tell you which direction they end up voting ninety-five percent of the time—their own.”

  “I think that’s common knowledge, sir,” Black said.

  Gaither huffed a soft laugh through his nose. “I’m afraid you’re probably right. So, have you been able to pinpoint who the perpetrators might be?”

  “We’re working hard, but we are very thorough and won’t just take everything at face value.”

  “And where has that gotten you so far?”

  “Believe it or not, it’s opened up plenty of possibilities, including the fact that you may not have been the intended target.”

  Gaither’s jaw dropped as he narrowed his eyes. “Are you kidding me? Some nut threatens to kill me and then has the audacity to actually take a shot. But now you’re telling me the agency thinks that maybe I wasn’t the intended target?”

  “You’re still here, aren’t you?”

  “They missed,” Gaither said. “Though not entirely.”

  “But you’ll live,” Black said. “Capt. Watkins, on the other hand, will have dirt shoveled over his body later this week. And the fact that he’s dead doesn’t surprise me.”

  Gaither furrowed his brow. “Oh? Why’s that?”

  “We had an intriguing debriefing with him last week after he returned from Russia. The information that guy gave us—amazing. When he walked out the door, I had a hunch he might find himself on the business end of a bullet. And that was just the tip of the iceberg. He was scheduled to speak further with the agency about what led to his ill-fated mission.”

  “Who do you think shot him?” Gaither asked.

  “No clue at this point, but we’re digging. And I can promise you that we’re going to find whoever is responsible for his death.”

  “Of course you are,” Gaither said. “That’s the job, isn’t it?”


  “Yes, sir. All day, every day.”

  “Well, good luck. I hope you catch the bastard and put him away for life.”

  Black nodded. “I intend to, sir.”

  With that, Black spun and headed toward the door. He grabbed the knob and stopped, glancing over his shoulder at Gaither.

  “Get well, sir. We need you back soon. The halls of congress need legislators like you who put their constituencies’ needs over his own.”

  “I appreciate that, Agent Malone. And good luck. I hope you catch the evil men who tried to have me killed.”

  “I won’t let you down, Senator,” Black said before he slipped into the hallway and shut the door behind him.

  He hustled downstairs and waited until he reached the privacy of his car to call Blunt.

  “How’d it go?” Blunt asked.

  “The trap has been laid,” Black said. “Time for phase two.”

  CHAPTER 16

  BLACK RACED to the Firestorm offices, convinced that Senator Gaither would take the bait. But Black couldn’t be too sure. Usually, his assignments consisted of eliminating someone as quietly as possible. However, this time he was involved in the espionage side of the operation on a far deeper level than normal. And he found that it gave him a rush.

  He dialed Shields’s number and then downshifted before stomping on the gas and weaving between a pair of slower moving vehicles on the Beltway. The engine in his Mercedes S560 whined before he jammed it into a higher gear. As he weaved in and out of traffic, he waited for Shields to answer.

  “Is anything happening yet?” Black asked.

  “You must be about the most impatient person I’ve ever met,” she said before clucking her tongue. “I can’t imagine how you deal with going to the DMV every year.”

  “I don’t,” Black said. “I pay the extra amount so I only have to visit every four years. It’s easier that way—on all of us.”

  “Are you an organ donor?”

  “Currently? No. And if I die prematurely, I’m betting that my organs will be in no shape to be transplanted into anyone else’s body. I’ll either be slashed up or riddled with bullets, making my donor designation little more than an altruistic gesture.”