Next Exit, No Outlet

by CW Browning

  Damon picked up his empty plate and got up, grabbing Alina’s plate as he did so.

  “Why don’t you sit down?” he suggested, moving into the kitchen.

  Stephanie took his seat and stared at Alina’s screen.

  “I don’t understand. They were already there. Why go back?”

  “To make sure they didn’t miss anything,” Alina replied, stretching. “Damon said the safe in your closet was open when he was there, but all the cash, ammunition and your backup weapons were still in it. He was looking for John’s hard drive.”

  “And when he didn’t find it, he trashed the place?” Stephanie demanded incredulously. “Why go through the trouble?”

  “To make it look like a break-in that got interrupted,” Damon said from the kitchen.

  Stephanie scowled and watched the screen. The scowl grew when the tall man finally moved back into the camera frame.

  “Is that him?”

  Alina nodded silently, watching as he paused in the living room to look around slowly. After a moment, he went over to the dining room table and calmly and systematically began to pull everything off the table, throwing it on the floor. Stephanie sucked in her breath and they watched as he went through the dining room and living room, overturning furniture, pulling picture frames from the walls, and generally ransacking the rooms.

  “Oh my God, is that really necessary?” Stephanie exclaimed. “What the hell?!”

  Alina didn’t reply, watching as the assassin moved into the kitchen and out of sight of the camera, presumably to do the same in there. So far, he hadn’t looked once in the direction of the camera, denying her a full-face image. Based on the height and profile, she was certain it was the same man she had killed this morning at Angela’s, but she wanted to be sure.

  “Well?” Damon asked from the other side of the bar, his eyes on her face.

  She shook her head, not looking up from the screen.

  “It’s not him,” she said. “I think it’s the one who came at me this morning, but he hasn’t given the camera a full shot yet.”

  “Wait, what?” Stephanie looked at her. “This is the person who did that to your neck?”

  Alina glanced at her. “I think so.”

  “Where were you?”

  Alina didn’t answer immediately, watching instead as the man emerged from the kitchen. He paused outside the kitchen, looking around at his handiwork, then he finally looked up and toward the vent above the hallway. Alina clicked pause to freeze the frame, then lifted her eyes to Damon’s.

  “It’s the one from this morning,” she told him.

  Damon came around the bar and looked over her shoulder at the face on the screen.

  “So this was the clean-up crew,” he murmured. “That explains why he didn’t kill Stephanie when he had the chance.”

  “What do you mean?” Stephanie asked, looking from one to the other.

  “He wasn’t authorized to do anything except search and retrieve,” Alina explained. “When you came in, he didn’t have orders to kill you, so he knocked you out and left.”

  “Where was he this morning when you had a run-in with him?”

  Alina hesitated, then sighed. “Angela’s.”

  Stephanie’s mouth dropped open.

  “What was he doing there? For that matter, what were you doing there?”

  “As it turns out, the same thing he was.” Alina stretched and restarted the video. “I was looking for evidence of surveillance, and he was there to retrieve that evidence.”

  “Evidence? What evidence?”

  “A camera.”

  Stephanie shook her head and rubbed her forehead.

  “What is it with you people and cameras?” she demanded. “What happened to it?”

  “I have it.”

  Stephanie dropped her hand and looked at her expectantly. “And?”

  “And I have a good, clear photo of the man who took her.”

  Stephanie gasped. “Let me see!”

  “No.” Alina watched as the man left Stephanie’s apartment through the back door and then clicked the video off.

  “What do you mean, no?”

  “No. The opposite of yes. What you don’t want to hear, but what I’m saying anyway.”

  Stephanie glared at her. “Why not?”

  “Because the less you know, the better,” Damon said. “We’re handling it. Just relax and let us take care of it.”

  Stephanie looked from him to Alina.

  “You know who it is,” she said slowly.

  Alina’s eyes narrowed and she closed her laptop. “Not yet, but I will.”

  “And then what?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “What are we looking at?” Blake asked, striding into the living room.

  Both Michael and Stephanie were standing at the sliding doors to the deck, peering outside. When he entered, they turned to glance at him. He frowned when he saw the grim look on Michael’s face.

  “Alina’s leaving,” Michael said, turning his attention back out the door.

  “And this calls for staring out the door like lost souls?” Blake asked, walking up behind them and looking out. “Where’s she going?”

  “Who the hell knows,” Stephanie said disgustedly. “All she’d say was that she had somewhere she had to go.”

  Blake looked from her to Michael, then back again.

  “Ok. So what’s the big deal?”

  “Damon is out there saying goodbye, and he doesn’t look happy,” Michael said. “Something’s going on.”

  Blake raised an eyebrow and watched as Alina closed the trunk to the Porsche and walked over to the driver’s door where Damon was waiting.

  “Do you think she got a lead on Angela?” he finally asked as Damon opened the door for her. She didn’t get behind the wheel immediately. Instead, she stood with one foot in the car and her right arm braced on the roof, talking to him.

  “I don’t know.” Michael shook his head and turned away. “I don’t know why she’s suddenly taking off. She has a duffel bag with her, so she’s going some distance. She obviously doesn’t expect to be back tonight.”

  “She found something,” Stephanie said. “She went to Angie’s this morning and said she found a surveillance camera. The bastard was watching Angie.”

  Blake frowned and stepped back as Stephanie turned and followed Michael into the living room.

  “And?”

  “And she refused to show me,” she said over her shoulder. “She said the less I knew the better. All I know is that she has a picture of the man she thinks took her.”

  Blake whistled and went over to perch on the arm of the couch.

  “If she’s got a match on him, she can get Angie back,” he said. “This is good news! Why do you both look like you’re going to a funeral?”

  “Because we might be when this is all over!” she exclaimed, dropping into the recliner and elevating her feet. She laid her cane beside her and looked at Blake. “If she’s going after Angie, she’ll be walking right into Harry’s trap.”

  “I doubt that’s what’s happening,” Blake said. “Damon won’t let her face Harry alone. He already made that clear.”

  “Why else would she go off all of a sudden, without warning?”

  “She could be doing reconnaissance,” Michael suggested. “Blake’s right. Damon won’t let her go after the colonel alone.”

  Stephanie leaned her head back.

  “Even doing reconnaissance is dangerous anymore,” she muttered. “She went to Angie’s this morning and came back with her neck cut open.”

  “Do you know if Damon heard anything back from his contact in Mexico?” Blake asked after a long moment of silence.

  Michael shook his head. “Nothing yet.”

  They all fell into a brooding silence, then Blake sighed and got up, turning toward the dining room.

  “I’m going to check for any updates on the cartel, then I’m mak
ing some dinner,” he said. “What do you guys want?”

  “I can’t eat,” Stephanie said. “I’m too worked up.”

  “You have to eat something,” he retorted. “Mike? What do you want?”

  “What are our options?” Michael got up and followed him into the kitchen. “I can help.”

  Blake went over to the refrigerator and opened the freezer, peering inside.

  “There’s a frozen lasagna in here,” he said. “Or it looks like there’s frozen burgers.”

  “Lasagna works for me.”

  Blake pulled it out and flipped the box over to read the back.

  “Preheat oven to 375,” he read. “You got it?”

  Michael pressed the button on the oven, selecting the temperature. “Yep.”

  Blake glanced into the living room where Stephanie had picked up her Kindle and was reading, her head bent to the screen, not paying them any attention.

  “Did she say anything to you before she left?” he asked Michael, lowering his voice.

  Michael glanced at him, turning away from the oven. “What makes you ask?”

  Blake rolled his eyes.

  “I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re not saying something. I also know that you wouldn’t be worried just because she’s heading out without warning. So spill it. What did she tell you?”

  Michael looked at him reluctantly, his lips pressed together grimly.

  “To be ready to move.”

  Alina dropped her bag into the trunk and closed it, circling around to where Damon was waiting near the driver’s door. His face was impassive but the set of his jaw spoke volumes on how he felt about her going.

  “Stop looking at me like that. You know I have no choice.”

  “It doesn’t mean I have to like it,” he said, opening the door for her. “If anything feels out of place, if anyone even looks at you funny, get the hell out of there.”

  She paused, searching his face intently.

  “You don’t trust Charlie,” she said rather than asked.

  “I don’t trust anyone right now. Until we’re certain Harry is acting alone, we have to consider the possibility that he’s not. I don’t think Charlie would be that reckless, but it’s better to be on our guard.”

  “I think if Charlie wanted me dead, I’d be dead,” she said, “but don’t worry. I’ll be careful. I’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

  That brought something close to a smile to his lips. “How’s the neck?”

  “Feels like it’s been cut.”

  “Just don’t go yanking those stitches out.”

  Her lips twisted dryly.

  “I’ll do my best.” She started to get into the sports car, then straightened up again. “Just to be on the safe side, you’d better get started making the arrangements. If Charlie has something from the satellites, we need to be ready to move.”

  “I’m already working on it. The basics are no problem, but the pilot is going to be tricky.”

  “Hawk, I gave you the least tricky part of the whole operation,” Alina said, her lips curving into a laugh. “If I can handle the hard the part, I think you can handle a lousy plane.”

  He grinned. “Do you want lousy, or do you want reliable and efficient?”

  “If you get absolutely stuck, call Frankie. I’m sure he has one on speed dial who won’t ask questions,” she retorted wickedly, her eyes dancing.

  “Hell no,” he said cheerfully. “You’ll get lousy before you get one of Solitto’s goons.”

  She laughed outright at that.

  “You know, for an assassin, you sure have a strange sense of ethical obligation.”

  “No, I just don’t trust the mob.”

  Alina thought for a moment, then shrugged.

  “I guess that’s valid,” she admitted. “They’re definitely a different breed. Frankie’s firmly on our side, though. Trust me. He doesn’t want either of us coming for him in the night.”

  “Smart man.” Damon glanced at his watch. “If you’re going to get there by nine, you need to get going. As soon as I have something, I’ll let you know. Did you tell the gunny he’s going to get the chance to make amends for losing Angie?”

  “No. If I can’t get back here to brief him, you can have the honors. Keep going with the arrangements we discussed. I have a feeling this meeting is going to speed things up. Charlie wouldn’t have called me down there unless he has something actionable we can use.”

  Damon nodded, his eyes meeting hers. “I’ll take care of it. You just take care of yourself.”

  “I always do.”

  A comfortable silence had fallen over the living and dining rooms as Damon, Michael, and Blake sat engrossed in their laptops. Stephanie was settled in the recliner, with her feet up and her Kindle in her hands. The only sound was the hum from the refrigerator in the kitchen and the occasional huff as Buddy changed positions at Blake’s feet. The silence broke when Michael sat back in his chair, stretched his arms over his head and whistled softly. Damon looked over from his spot at the bar, raising an eyebrow.

  “You okay gunny?”

  Michael exhaled and shook his head.

  “Okay? No. I wouldn’t say I was okay,” he said, lowering his arms and rubbing his face.

  Blake glanced up from his laptop. “What’s wrong?”

  “I think I know how he did it,” Michael said slowly. “I think I’ve found the colonel’s money trail from the very beginning.”

  Damon looked at him for a moment then got up and walked over to stand beside him.

  “Show me.”

  Michael shook his head.

  “It would take too long,” he said. “I’m still compiling all the data, but from what I can tell from using the interest rates over the years, Harry’s been siphoning money between the two main accounts for over twelve years.”

  “Just the two accounts?”

  “No. That’s where it gets tricky. He has multiple offshore accounts where the money has been bouncing around, but it all ends up in those two main accounts.”

  Blake frowned. “How do you know?”

  “I picked one transaction that we can confirm was made by Harry,” Michael explained. “Then I backtracked that transaction and followed the interest rate pattern. I lucked out because the transaction I picked also happens to be one of only two transactions that Harry didn’t reroute or try to conceal.”

  “What transaction was that?” Damon asked softly.

  Michael met his look steadily. “The withdrawal in Erbil the day before Dave died.”

  He nodded slowly. “Good choice.”

  “I’m confused,” Stephanie said from the recliner. She had laid the Kindle down in her lap when Michael began talking and now she was looking at them with a frown on her face. “How are you able to build a trail from just one transaction?”

  “Very carefully,” Michael said dryly. “Unfortunately, none of it will hold up in court. In order to get what I needed, I had to hack three different bank databases.”

  Blake stared at him in disbelief. “You did what?”

  Michael shrugged.

  “I had no choice,” he said. “It was the only way to get transactions and backtrack the money trail.”

  “But if we can’t use it in court,” Stephanie said, “then what good is it?”

  “It would’ve taken too long to wait for subpoenas. However, now that I found the information, I can request the subpoenas.”

  “Then aren’t we just back where we started?” Stephanie asked. “It’ll take a long time for a judge to sign off on private bank records offshore, and that’s time we don’t have. It’s time Angela doesn’t have.”

  Damon crossed his arms over his chest and nodded thoughtfully.

  “Request the subpoenas,” he told Michael. “By the time they come through it will all be over, but it will give proof that can be presented in Washington. It will mean the difference between our pursuit of Harry being considered a terrorist attack, or it being c
onsidered lawfully attempted justice.”

  Blake's mouth dropped open.

  “Lawfully attempted justice?” he repeated. “You've got to be kidding me. There’s nothing lawful about this!”

  “There was also nothing lawful about what Harry’s done,” Michael said slowly. “In this instance, I think the end will justify the means.”

  “I think you’re insane,” Stephanie announced. “You’re assuming that the subpoenas will be granted. I don’t know that I’ve ever heard of a judge signing off on an investigation into the private offshore accounts of a war hero so firmly established on Capitol Hill.”

  The smile that passed over Damon’s face was downright terrifying.

  “A judge will sign off on it,” he said. “He’ll have no choice.”

  Stephanie threw her hands up in the air in disgust.

  “You can’t just go around threatening federal judges!”

  “She’s right,” Blake said. “It’s not that easy to get a judge to agree to infringe upon basic human rights, especially in offshore accounts.”

  “Don’t worry about the judge,” Damon said. “Leave that to me.” He turned his attention back to Michael. “How long will it take you to compile all of this into a file that I can securely transmit?”

  Michael glanced at his watch and shrugged.

  “It’s complicated, but I should be able to have it ready to go sometime tomorrow. I’ll have to plug it all into spreadsheets to make it easier to read, and add in tracking markers to the different accounts. Provided that the subpoenas do come through, financial experts will be going over the data. I can plug the information into the spreadsheets and rely on them to decipher it into something usable.”

  Damon nodded and laid a brief hand on Michael shoulder.

  “Get on it,” he said, “and request those subpoenas. You have until noon tomorrow.”

  Michael looked at him, startled. “What do you mean, noon tomorrow?”

  Damon turned to go back to his seat at the bar where his laptop was open.

  “Just what I said, gunny. You have until noon tomorrow.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Harry pulled the phone out of his pocket and glanced at the screen, swiping it to read the incoming text message. He smiled faintly in satisfaction.