The Alex Troutt Thrillers: Books 1-3 (Alex Troutt Thrillers Box Set)

by John W. Mefford

  “Let me start by saying that I’m taking a huge risk by meeting with you.”

  “I thought the FBI didn’t take risks.”

  “Normally, yes, but sometimes when we’re left with few viable options, we have to take calculated risks. This is one of those times.”

  I ran through every data point my mind could reach in about three seconds, trying to identify a case or a perpetrator that would create such a stir in DC. I found myself staring at the bottle of orange juice.

  “You’re baffled, I can see.”

  “Intrigued is more like it. Okay, hit me.”

  He moved his hand inside his suit coat and pulled something out of his pocket. He popped the top off a tube of lip balm and ran it across his lips. Now his red lips were shiny.

  “You’re delaying,” I said.

  “It’s just that once we go past this point, there’s no turning back.”

  “I think we’re already at the juncture where there’s no turning back.”

  “Fair enough. Alex, I’ve read your complete file. Every case you’ve worked, feedback from your peers and management. Even went back and reviewed your file from your training at Quantico. To me, what really stands out is that you always want to do the right thing, even if it wasn’t popular with your squad leaders. Is that a fair assessment?”

  “That’s a positive way of looking at it. I think if you asked at least a couple of the men I’ve worked with, they might say my desire to do the right thing wasn’t the best move at the time.”

  “We all have detractors.” His lips extended ear to ear, and we shared an awkward smile.

  I opened the water bottle, tipped it upward, and only a couple of drops fell into my mouth.

  He handed me another bottle of water and said, “Alex, the FBI, your country, has the need for you to do the right thing.”

  “And that is?”

  Dipping his head slightly, he kept his gaze right on me. “I need for you to gather intel and track the whereabouts of a colleague of yours.”

  I could feel my shoulders stiffen, and I let my mind skim through a slideshow of people I worked with. I couldn’t think of a reason why anyone would be on the radar of the DC brass. I scratched my forehead. “Who are you thinking needs to be watched?”

  “Your boss, Jerry Molloy.”

  Uncapping the bottle, I took another pull to give my mind a few seconds to process what I’d just heard.

  “Jerry Molloy,” I repeated. “This is a joke, right?”

  Holt rubbed a thumb into the palm of his opposite hand. “Alex, I wish it were, believe me. This is not a part of the job that I enjoy. But above all else, we can’t risk the security of this country, even if it means we have to investigate one of our own.”

  The area from my neck down to my shoulders felt like petrified wood, and after a few seconds, I could sense my chest lifting rapidly.

  “I’m assuming this is a shock to you.”

  “I’d like to know what you think you have on him.”

  “I’m happy to share it with you.” Out of the door pocket, Holt pulled a manila folder with the word Confidential stamped across the front. He handed it to me.

  “Feel free to read through everything in that folder. You won’t be able to take it with you, so it’s good if you can memorize it.”

  For a brief second I wondered if he was aware of my recent memory issues, but I let it ride.

  I thumbed through about twenty pages, including pictures of Jerry both on the job as well as in his private life. I saw one with him and his wife, Tracy, both of them laughing while sitting at some type of outdoor café.

  “They look like a happy couple,” I said, lifting my eyes.

  A slow nod of his upper body. “Nothing has told us otherwise. In case you’re wondering, as of now we have no data to suggest that Mrs. Molloy has any knowledge of what her husband might be involved in.”

  I’d only met Tracy a few times at office Christmas parties, but the notion that she could conceal information—or deceive the grocery clerk—was preposterous. Perspiration bubbled at my hairline. I sat the file down and drank from the water bottle.

  “Unless you want Woodhouse to drive around Salem for the next two hours, can you summarize this incriminating evidence that you think you have on Jerry?”

  “I understand your skepticism. But we all swore an oath to protect this country. And just because we know this person, doesn’t mean we can overlook our duty.”

  “That’s a good sound bite. Maybe we can use that some day when you’re vying for the director’s job.”

  My sarcasm had just spilled out, laced with venom. I released a jittery breath. “Sorry about that.”

  “No problem. I understand the initial shock. And by the way, I’ve been accused of much worse. It comes with the job.”

  “Still, I don’t see anything here,” I said, opening the file again and sifting through more pages. If there was damaging information there, I didn’t see it. Or maybe I didn’t want to see it.

  “At a high level, we think Jerry is associated with at least one person who could be plotting a terrorist attack on the United States.”

  I narrowed my eyes, thinking what I’d just heard was nothing more than fantasy.

  Holt continued. “I suppose the worst-case scenario is that Jerry is actually helping this person identify the target, maybe even implement the plan. We don’t know the extent of his involvement yet.”

  “Do you have a mole somewhere, or some type of incriminating email, text, or phone message you’ve picked up?”

  I could feel my pulse racing with the pace of my breathing.

  “If we had a mole, I couldn’t share it with you. It’s confidential. I think you know that. But to give you more detail on what’s in that file, Jerry was spotted meeting several times with a known terrorist. A man named Ahmed Shaheen.”

  “When? Where?”

  “We picked up on it when he was in Europe about six months ago. You’ll see four pictures in the file, courtesy of our colleagues with England’s MI6.”

  An extra thump in my chest as I visualized Jerry playing with his Eiffel Tower toy in his office. He’d reminded me he’d traveled to Europe, France in particular, about six months back. He and Tracy were celebrating their twentieth anniversary.

  “What the hell is MI6 tracking Jerry for?”

  “They weren’t. They were working with the French DGSE, their foreign intelligence service, to track Shaheen. That’s when Jerry came up on our radar.”

  I found the photos of Jerry speaking to a man with skin the color of wet sand. In the first two, Jerry was propping an arm across his protruding gut, and from there he anchored his other arm to scratch his face. I’d seen that pose a thousand times. Shaheen had an academic look. Black-rimmed glasses, khakis, and a sport coat. He appeared to be about four or five inches shorter than the six-two Jerry and about seventy pounds lighter, if not more.

  I turned the page to glance at two more photos. Both men were smiling, and Jerry had even palmed Shaheen’s shoulder.

  “They look like longtime friends.”

  Holt didn’t say anything. Then it hit me. This wasn’t a trial, and I wasn’t going to convince Holt of Jerry’s innocence. At least not without accepting the assignment and finding evidence that proved he wasn’t a terrorist.

  “I’ll take on the assignment.”

  “Good, because you really had no choice.” He released a single chuckle, and I paused for a split second.

  “For starters, I need to bring my partner, Nick Radowski, in on this. There’s no way I can keep tabs on Jerry while working my other cases without Nick knowing.”

  “Not possible.”

  The bottle of water crackled in the grip of my hand. “What do you mean?”

  “Can’t authorize anyone else being involved. It’s just too risky. Sorry.”

  “How the hell am I supposed to pull this off? I’m assuming I need to continue with my current caseload?”

  “As m
uch as you can, yes. If you can push more to Radowski, then do it. Anything you can do to give you more time to gather information on Molloy.”

  “You know I do have a family, and I’m a single mother.”

  “Your nanny is quite good, from what I hear. Her name is Esmerelda?”

  I wanted to ask how he knew, but I didn’t bother. I wasn’t in a sharing mood about my family, but I said, “Yes.”

  Another thought zapped across my mind. “Have you forgotten about the man who runs the Boston office?”

  Holt plucked lint off his trousers. “Special Agent in Charge Leland Weaver, on the job for less than a year, correct?”

  “What’s your point?”

  He picked up his bottle of orange juice, but paused before taking a drink. “Drake is good at his job. He’s studious and strives to run an efficient operation. But...” Holt turned to look out the window, and I followed his eyes. Tall sycamores flashed by the window. We were passing the local cemetery. Finally, he turned back around and pulled skin from his neck. While he was playing the delay game, I noticed an area of mangled flesh on the side of his neck.

  Was there any way that Holt—the personification of a DC suit—had actually served in the field? I tried not to stare at the scar.

  “You really shouldn’t be stressing over telling me anything. Not at this point.” I popped an eyebrow.

  “You’re right, Alex. I’ve got skin in this game too, and I think it’s important that you know that.”

  I nodded. “Not sure how.”

  “So, Drake is the kind of person who would probably freak out if we came to him with this issue, and the need to conduct a thorough, but covert investigation. He’d take it personally and start making changes throughout the office...and would just stir things up too much.”

  I jumped in. “And that would probably get the attention of the person who was cavorting with a terrorist.”

  “Right. Discretion is not Drake’s forte and, therefore, we can’t afford to take the risk of pulling him into the loop.”

  “I hope you noticed that I didn’t use Jerry’s name.”

  “Actually, I did. I understand your not-so-subtle approach in trying to convince me that Jerry could not be associated with an enemy combatant to this country. But I also know how you think, Alex. As I said before, you’re driven to do the right thing, even if it’s painful or not popular.”

  I’d never made that distinct observation about myself, but I couldn’t argue it.

  Faint shadows flashed across the seat, and I noticed the sun had found a hole in the blanket of clouds.

  “So where is Ahmed Shaheen? In the Boston area somewhere?”

  “Actually, no. He’s a Kuwaiti national, and he’s in Kuwait City. That’s the latest update I received yesterday. But he’s been known to travel a great deal, so we’re watching him closely.”

  I nodded. “Wouldn’t he be the key to this thing? It might be easier to pick up chatter on his end versus trying to track a trained FBI agent, would it not?”

  “Valid point, but we can’t ignore that one of our own might be involved. So for now, we hit both fronts, knowing that other suspects might come up along the way.”

  “I need to be kept in the loop on Shaheen. That’s the only way I’ll take this.”

  He curled his oversized lips inward. “Not sure we can accommodate.”

  I tossed the file on the seat next to him. “Then I’m not sure I have the time to help you.”

  He chuckled. “Remember, I didn’t give you a choice.”

  “Are you going to kidnap my kids or threaten me in some way?”

  His eyes bulged. “Don’t be ridiculous, Alex.”

  “Good. Making sure I hadn’t been transported to Russia. So you’ll keep me in the loop on Shaheen?”

  He pushed out a guttural sigh while wiping a hand across his face. “Dammit, Alex, I’m trying to make this easier on you. The less you know—”

  I held up a hand. “I’ve used that line before. And it’s bullshit, at least in this case. If you feel like you can’t share it, then I can find a better use of my time.”

  He shook his head, his jaw muscles flinching. “Of course if I hold my ground, then you’ll probably conduct your own little covert intel op on Molloy, but you won’t tell us a single thing.”

  “Hadn’t thought of it quite that way.” My lips parted until I showed my teeth.

  “Okay, we’ll share what we know on Shaheen.”

  “You know I’m only asking for this because if Shaheen is who you think, I can’t just chase one end of the rope. By understanding who he’s talking to, his movements, I can get a better idea if Jerry is involved. And it will move quicker this way.”

  I noticed Woodhouse had steered us north again, and we were moving parallel to the park I’d run through.

  “Besides me figuring out a way to get closer to Jerry, do you have any recommended next steps?”

  He snapped his fingers, and I noticed a sizable gold ring on his right hand. Most likely a class ring, and I wondered from where.

  “You need to speak with the MI6 agent who captured the intel on Jerry and Shaheen in Europe. Lee Dawson is his name.”

  “You have his home number?”

  He tried to smile, then he reached into his coat pocket again. “Take this.”

  It was a simple-looking cell phone. “We can’t afford you using your standard cell phone for this intel op. Just make sure you only use it for this investigation.”

  “Does it come with a contact list?” I joked.

  He didn’t crack a smile. “I’ll have Woodhouse send you Dawson’s contact information. We’re lucky MI6 is so forthcoming with information.”

  I’d heard that England usually played nice with American intelligence agencies, but I also couldn’t ignore the possibility that this Dawson character had a hard-on for taking down Jerry, whether it was personal or because of some type of professional pissing match.

  “Yeah. Lucky.” I reopened the file and began to devour the information. “When can I talk to Dawson?”

  “I don’t want to text and drive,” Woodhouse said from the front seat.

  “I’ll be looking for it in the next hour or so,” I said over my shoulder.

  “I want regular updates, but if you need any surveillance equipment or feedback on intel you’ve gathered, or any type of evidence reviewed by the team in Quantico, reach out to Woodhouse.”

  I nodded, but kept my eyes on the pages of information, trying to put as much to memory as I could before they dropped me off.

  The Cadillac turned north onto our street and pulled to a stop.

  I reached for the door handle.

  “You’ll provide regular updates?”

  “Of course,” I said, shifting in my seat, ready to get the hell out of the confined space, if for no other reason than I had to take a shower.

  “Alex, I know life hasn’t been kind to you lately.” Holt’s eyes had softened, but I wondered where he was going with this.

  “I’m good, sir. Nothing to worry about.” I reached for the door handle again, and he raised his hand.

  “Just know that if you do this right, and I’m sure you will, only good things can happen with your career path at the FBI.” He peered out the window. “That’s a really nice house. I’m sure a little more money, a higher level position would be welcomed.”

  A jolt of energy spiked the base of my skull. He should have just let me get out of the car. I turned and looked him straight in the eye. “That sounds like you’re bribing me...sir.”

  “Alex, get real.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “If this were any other job, and you were given an opportunity to make a significant contribution, you’d be given an incentive upon completion of that task. This is no different.”

  “If this were any other job, would I be asked to spy on my boss? Most likely not.”

  “So you’re saying you wouldn’t want a promotion or a raise, especially if you deser
ved it? I thought women like you were just dying to get a chance to break through that so-called glass ceiling.”

  He smirked, and with that, my respect factor dropped about ninety-nine percent. I pinched the corners of my eyes and forced out two breaths.

  “I don’t want handouts just to give you the satisfaction of helping poor, little, helpless Alex Troutt...sir. I’ve never asked for anything special just because I’m a woman. I want to be judged no better, no worse than the next person, whether it’s a man, woman...or an ogre. Sir.” I felt my jaw muscles flex.

  “I apologize, Alex. Didn’t mean to get you riled up. You’re a damn good agent.”

  “Thank you.”

  I got out of the car.

  “This is for your country, Alex. As difficult as this assignment is, you’re going to be the ultimate patriot.”

  I slammed the door shut, thinking how easy Tom Brady had it.

  7

  I watched men in gray jumpsuits and caps carry in a flat screen as a big as a pool table, then begin to attach it to the wall in the war room. I’d become all too familiar with this room in the last several months.

  I picked up a waft of BO, and I did a quick sniff test to see if it was me. I’d taken a shower back at home, but had I forgotten deodorant?

  “You smell like a vase of roses.” Nick had snuck up behind me and flicked my shoulder.

  “I was scratching my face.”

  He just shook his head. Over his shoulder, I saw Jerry plodding by with a cell phone to his ear. He turned my way and then curled his sausage finger for us to follow him.

  “Off to the principal’s office,” Nick said, opening the door for me.

  As we sauntered down the hallway toward Jerry’s office, the rhythmic pressure of my pulse tapped against the side of my neck.

  “You haven’t said much since you got into the office this morning,” Nick said as we turned right, now about forty feet behind Jerry.

  “Just tired. Had a long workout this morning.”

  Jerry swung open his glass door and moved behind his desk. A few seconds behind him, I opened the same door.

  “Give me a second, Alex.” He held his hand over the phone.