The Jordan Quest FBI Thriller Series: Books 1-3: The Jordan Quest FBI Thriller Series Boxset Book 1

by Gary Winston Brown

  “Porsche 911. Black.”

  Jenkins nodded. “Thanks.” He spun the Jeep around and headed back down the road.

  “Sweet Jesus,” he said aloud. “What the hell is going on?”

  87

  MINUTES AFTER LEAVING the FBI field office, on his way to the Joint Forces Training Base Los Alamitos, Quentin Hallier’s cell phone rang.

  “Hallier.”

  “Colonel, this is Commander Rod Aikens, JFTB Los Alamitos. Just wanted to let you know your team is prepped and waiting for you per General Ford’s request.”

  “And the DLS staff?”

  “All tucked in, sir. We’re taking good care of them.”

  “Good. I’m forty-five minutes out. I’ll brief them on arrival.”

  “We’re ready for you sir.”

  “Let our guests know they’ll be going back to the lab as soon as DLS gives the all clear.”

  “Copy that, sir.”

  No sooner did Hallier end the call when his phone rang again. Ann Ridgeway was on the line.

  “Good news, Quentin,” the Assistant Director said. “We may have a lead on Dr. Merrick.”

  “Talk to me.”

  “We entered your information on Merrick into our system. It flagged a hit. An hour ago, Corona P.D. requested a VIN search on a black Porsche. The Vehicle Identification Number came back to Merrick.”

  “We need to talk to Corona Police. Find out what they have on Merrick.”

  “I thought you might want to do that, so I took the liberty of calling them. I caught their Chief, Riley Jenkins, just as he was leaving Dynamic Life Sciences. He was told they had shut the place down and asked me if I knew anything about it. I told him no.”

  “Why did Jenkins go to DLS?”

  “Corona’s dealing with a homicide, but he admitted they’re not really sure what they’ve got on their hands. Their coroner confirmed finding liquefied human remains in a Dumpster at the back of the Corona Mews Shopping Mall. Their K9 tracked trace evidence from the Dumpster to a Porsche in the parking lot. They found Merrick’s employee ID in the car. Jenkins went there looking for Merrick.”

  “Dammit!”

  “It gets worse,” Ridgeway replied. “When Corona ran the tag, it came back to a Chevy Suburban owned by a local contractor and not the Porsche. The guy’s cell phone and personal effects were found in the Dumpster along with the remains.”

  “Merrick switched plates and killed him.”

  “Looks that way.” The Assistant Director was quiet for a second. “Quentin,” she said, “Could Merrick actually do that? Cause a body to liquefy?

  “Channeler is a weapon, Ann,” the Colonel replied. “One with many uses. Unfortunately, the only person who knows the full extent of its capabilities is Dr. Merrick. But if I had to state with confidence whether or not I thought Merrick was behind this my answer would be yes.”

  “This is insane,” the Assistant Director said. “How do we stop someone with that kind of ability? I’ve never dealt with a situation like this before. I have to admit that I’m a little worried about my people.”

  “I’ll understand if you want to change your mind,” Hallier replied. “You don’t need to do anything you’re not comfortable with. But you should know that I’m on my way to JFTB Los Alamitos right now to brief my assault team. The moment we locate Merrick, or Commander Egan, I’ll deploy my people. Trust me, they’ll give them the fight of their lives.”

  Ridgeway said, “We’re not standing down, Colonel. I know if I came to you with a similar request you wouldn’t say no.”

  “You’re right.”

  “Then we’ll support you all the way. I’ll give you whatever resources you need.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  The Assistant Director paused. Hallier caught the hesitation. “If there’s something else you want to say Ann, now’s the time.”

  “It’s a question, actually.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Has the Department of Defense ever used a psychic in an investigation?”

  Hallier reflected on the dozens of reports he had received over the years referencing the advancements of Project Channeler and the multi-million-dollar budget DARPA had committed to researching the battlefield application of telepathic and brain-based speechless communication. “Yes,” Hallier replied. “Projects Channeler and LEEDA are, in part, based on that principle.”

  “But those are man-made technologies. What if I told you that I knew someone who might be able to help? A person with very unique skills.”

  “I’d say you have my attention.”

  “Good. I’m talking about one of my agents. Her name is Jordan Quest. And she has an exceptional gift.”

  “And you think Agent Quest can help us find Merrick and Egan?

  “I believe so.”

  “Then that’s good enough for me. How soon can you get her in play?”

  “Right away.”

  “Then set it up. But the clock is ticking on this, Ann. Agent Quest will need to be brought up to speed as quickly as possible. Can you both meet me at JFTB Los Alamitos in an hour?”

  “Consider us on the way.”

  88

  BEN EGAN PEERED through a slit in the frame of the back door. Outside the factory, two police cars had pulled into the receiving area at the back of the building and blocked in the van. Through breaks in the old concrete walls and rusty holes in the metal roll-up door, the flickering of the squad cars service lights cast a dizzying light show inside the factory. The older of the responding officers, a Sergeant as the triple bars on his shoulder lapel indicated, stood at the driver’s window of the van. Egan watched him remove his flashlight from his service belt, test the beam against the palm of his hand, shine the light inside the vehicle, then speak to his partner. The young officer walked to the front of the van and spoke into his radio. Egan heard the crackling response to the junior officer’s communication through the speaker of the police car:

  “Dispatch, Three Bravo Twenty. Be advised subject vehicle is a white panel van, registered to Pacific Floral Supply in Thousand Oaks, reported stolen. Exercise caution.”

  The officers drew their guns. The Sergeant trained his weapon on the side door of the van. His partner covered him from a safe angle as the Sergeant tested the door handle.

  Locked.

  They circled the van, tried to gain access to the vehicle through the rear cargo and side doors, couldn’t.

  The Sergeant gestured to his partner to check the factory door. Egan stepped back into the shadows. The band on his wrist began to glow, deep blue. He found another crack in the door from which to covertly observe the police officers.

  From behind him came a loud BANG!

  Egan looked over his shoulder.

  The hollow sound echoed off the walls of the factory. It was coming from inside the wooden kiln room.

  BANG!... BANG!... BANG!

  Outside, the young officer held up his hand, calling for quiet.

  The Sergeant walked to the squad car and turned down the volume on the police radio to a whisper. He returned to his partner’s side and listened.

  Bang!... Bang!... Bang!... Bang!

  Someone or something was inside the abandoned factory.

  Standing on the other side of the receiving door within feet of Egan, the senior officer spoke into his radio. Egan heard the reply.

  “Attention all units. Officers require assistance. American Heritage Furniture factory. Possible auto theft suspect on premises. Any available unit respond Code Two.”

  The police radio crackled. “Dispatch, Two Delta Ten. Show us responding, Code 2.”

  Another unit was on the way.

  Maybe more.

  Locating the stolen van at the back of the factory had given the Sergeant and his partner adequate reason to believe a suspect, possibly armed and dangerous, might be inside. They would wait until backup arrived before planning and executing their entry. Egan had no idea what level of response the police in this
town were capable of. Perhaps a highly trained tactical team was on its way, capable of executing a breach of the factory with military precision. No matter. The local authorities could send in a small army if they wanted to. They still would not be a match for him.

  His main concern was for Kevin and Lauren.

  Who knows how the police in this town would respond when they came face to face with him. The kids could be injured or even killed when at last they stormed the factory. There was no way he was going to allow that to happen. Kevin and Lauren were innocents, drawn into circumstances not of their own making by a group of young psychopaths. Egan made a decision. He would protect himself, but also keep Kevin and Lauren out of harm’s way at all cost.

  He ran back through the factory. The teens had taken refuge behind the stacks of wooden pallets which had been his hideaway.

  “You two need to get out of here, right now. In a few minutes, this place is going to be crawling with cops.”

  BANG!... BANG!... BANG!

  The pounding on the steel kiln door continued, each crash louder than the last. The yelling escalated.

  BANG!... HELP!... BANG…BANG!!... GET US OUT OF HERE!... BANG!... SOMEBODY!... BANG!... BANG!... BANG!

  “No way,” Kevin said. “We can talk to the cops. We’ll tell them what you did for us. How you saved Lauren’s life.”

  Egan put his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “No, Kevin. You need to go. It’s too dangerous. Take your sister and get out of here. Go straight to your dad’s friend, Chief Kenton. Tell him your story. Just make sure you keep me out of it. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir,” Kevin replied. Lauren nodded.

  “Good. Come with me.”

  Kevin and Lauren stepped out from behind the wooden barricade. Egan pointed to a row of fifty-gallon plastic drums which stood against the wall of the factory. The dagger he had caused to fly through the air was lodged in a wooden column beside the empty containers.

  “There’s a hole in the wall behind those containers. It’s big enough for you to fit through.” Egan looked around, found a piece of cloth on the floor, picked it up, handed it to Kevin.

  He pointed. “See the knife?”

  “Yeah,” Kevin replied.

  “Don’t touch it. Wrap this cloth around the handle and pull it out of the column. Take it with you and give it to Kenton. It’s got Colin’s prints on it. Probably other fingerprints too. It’s your proof of what went down here. Explain everything to Chief Kenton. He’ll know what to do. Clear?”

  “Clear.”

  “Good. Now go.”

  Kevin grabbed his sister’s arm. Lauren resisted. She turned to Egan.

  “Thank you,” she said. She wrapped her arms around the Commander, held him tight.

  Egan smiled. “You’re welcome. Now get your asses out of here.”

  Kevin and Lauren ran to the wall. Lauren pushed the containers aside as Kevin wrestled the knife out of the column and wrapped it in the cloth. Egan watched the siblings scamper through the hole, free of the building.

  Egan ran back to the receiving door at the far end of the factory and looked outside.

  A third police car squealed to a stop in front of the van. Two officers jumped out of the vehicle, guns drawn. The Sergeant gestured. The men took up positions outside at opposite ends of the building.

  Egan watched the Sergeant nod to his partner. He knew what was coming next.

  Breach.

  He walked to the middle of the factory floor, dropped to his knees, and waited.

  The receiving door to the factory burst open. As the Sergeant’s young partner rounded the corner, he saw Egan and heard the voices.

  BANG!... GET US OUT OF HERE!... BANG!... BANG!... HELP!... BANG!... BANG!... BANG!

  “In here!” the officer yelled. “He’s in here!”

  Egan slowly raised his arms, interlocked his fingers behind his head, and stared at the floor.

  The rookie cop tried to suppress the anxiety in his voice. “Don’t you move, mister!” he yelled. “Don’t you dare fucking move!”

  “Relax,” Egan said.

  The cop’s hands trembled. “What?”

  Egan repeated himself. He spoke calmly. “I said, relax. If you keep shaking like that someone’s gonna get shot. My guess is that someone’s going be me. And after the day I’ve had that would really piss me off. I strongly suggest you calm down and wait.”

  The young officer couldn’t believe what he was hearing from a suspect he was holding at gunpoint. “Wait for what?”

  “Backup.”

  The cop looked bewildered and even more scared than before.

  Egan stared at the frightened officer. “Trust me, kid,” he said. “I’m the last guy you want to try to take down by yourself.”

  89

  THROUGH HER HANDS, Jordan felt the intense heat building on the surface of the wooden wall under his touch, then watched it explode, hurtling splinters of wood and fiery embers into the darkness, leaving beneath his palms two near-perfect holes.

  Agent Hawkins ran back from the Rosenfeld’s bathroom carrying two sopping wet towels. “Wrap her hands in these,” he said to Chris. “The cold will reduce the swelling.”

  Hanover folded the wet towels around Jordan’s hands. “What happened, Jordan?” he asked.

  “It’s called transference,” Jordan replied. “When a connection is very strong, I can experience what the other person is experiencing. Sometimes it manifests itself physically, like this. It never lasts long. Ten minutes from now my hands will be fine.”

  “Ten minutes?” Hawkins said, referring to the angry red blisters. “Those are second-degree burns. They’ll need at least a couple of weeks to heal.”

  Jordan shook her head. “That’s what you’d think, Hawk. But it’s not the case. I’ll show you. Chris, take off the towel.”

  “But…”

  Jordan insisted. “Really. It’s okay.”

  Reluctantly, Chris unfolded the wet towels. The agents watched in disbelief as the blisters stopped weeping. Slowly, they began to reduce in size. The pinkness of her skin had started to return. Jordan wiggled her fingers.

  “See?” she said, “Just temporary.”

  “I’ve never seen anything like that before in my life,” Hawkins said.

  “That makes two of us,” Chris said. He reapplied the towel to her hand. “You must be a blast at parties. Kind of puts the whole watch-me-hang-a-spoon-off-my-nose trick to shame.”

  Jordan smiled. “It rarely occurs. But it happens.”

  “You called it transference,” Hawkins said, mesmerized by the fantastic display of rapid healing he had just witnessed. “How does it work?”

  “It’s different every time. It depends on the other person and the strength of their psychic output.”

  “So you feel what they’re feeling?”

  “Yes. But not normally to this degree.”

  “What made this experience different?” Chris asked. “Why so severe a response?”

  “Because I’d made a connection with him before. You might say we ‘crossed wires.’”

  “Are you talking about the energy signature you picked up from the railing downstairs? Our suspect did that to you?”

  Jordan nodded. “Yes. But I don’t think he knows that he did. It wasn’t an attack. If that had been his intention, he could have done a lot more damage. I don’t think he knows that I’m aware of him.”

  “Try to keep it that way,” Chris said.

  Jordan smiled. “No argument here.”

  “Can you hide from him?” Chris asked. “Tap into his energy signature but not allow him to tap into yours?”

  “Possibly,” Jordan answered. “Through remote viewing.”

  “How would that work?” Hawkins asked.

  “Every energy signature is unique,” Jordan explained, “the same way one cell phone differs from the next, yet millions of them are capable of sharing the airwaves simultaneously. If I can feel his frequency, there’s a good chance th
at I can connect to it.”

  “And you’ll be able to see what he’s seeing?” Hawkins asked.

  “That’s right.”

  Chris removed the wet towels and inspected Jordan’s hands. The blisters were gone. Her palms were smooth. No physical evidence of the burns remained.

  Hawkins shook his head. “Incredible,” he said. “If I hadn’t seen this with my own eyes, I’d never have believed it. How will you know when it’s safe to connect with him but not have this happen to you again?”

  “I won’t,” Jordan answered. “But over the years I’ve learned to make one critical distinction.”

  “What’s that?” Chris asked.

  “Whether the energy signature is emanating from this side or the other.”

  “Other side?” Hawkins asked.

  “Yes. The energy from those who have passed over affects me differently,” Jordan explained. “Its effect is almost magnetic and feels cold and constricting, like a band tightening around my chest. Sometimes the dead can make it hard for me to breathe. It isn’t that way with the living. Their energy strong, vital, animated.”

  “And this guy?” Chris asked. “Which side is he on?” He looked at Hawkins and shook his head. “I can’t believe I just asked that.”

  Jordan smiled. “Definitely on this side. He’s very much alive.”

  “Great,” Hawkins said. “Somehow I don’t feel better knowing that.”

  Chris examined Jordan’s hands once more. “How are you now?”

  Her skin appeared normal. “Good to go,” Jordan replied.

  “Feel up to taking that drive to see Verenich?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I’m going to do a little more poking around and see what else I can come up with on these codes,” Hawkins said. He stood, rounded the desk, and sat in front of the computer.

  “Sounds good,” Jordan said. “Call us when you have something.”

  “You got it,” Hawkins replied.

  Outside, a noise caught their attention. Jordan and Chris walked through the Rosenfeld’s bedroom and looked out the window. The throng of reporters and news crews gathered at the front gate of the mansion were firing questions at Special Agent Lynch, demanding an update on the progress the Bureau was making inside the home.