She hovered over it and inhaled deeply. “They say you smell your favorite food before you die. This is mine.”
Sebastian grinned, adding dishes of wild rice with slivered almonds, baby green beans, and a rich curry cream sauce. She didn’t waste time and started eating. Max and Cruz crossed to them, and Sebastian plated more, then stepped back, sipping a cup of fresh coffee. Olivia chewed, and he waited till she swallowed before he said, “What’s going on in Greenland?”
Cruz froze midbite, but Olivia lowered her fork, tipped her head. “Now I see why the director wants to speak to you guys.” She inched up to check the clock on the stove. “Ten minutes.” She pushed the laptop to Cruz. “Set it up, please.” Cruz looked forlornly at his plate, then took the laptop and went to rig it through the big screen.
“Director of what, Olivia?” She met his gaze, and he realized she seemed more relaxed than before. But Cruz went still, staring holes in her back. Safia stopped doing whatever and crossed to them.
“The Second Sight Unit.” She blew out a breath, some tension leaving her face. “Sorry. That’s the first time I’ve said that aloud outside my team.” She met his gaze. “And yes, you were right, we’re a unit of NSA. At the far end of the spectrum. Like the crazy uncle no one acknowledges.” Her lips quirked. “Acronym, SSU. We’re not discussed in senate committees, no oversight. We’re scientific research into the unusual, the bizarre. If it’s weird, unsolved, a phenomenon, a legend, we’re all over it.”
Sebastian leaned back against the counter. He’d never heard of it and it explained why Noble was so secretive. He’d sworn his duty to the SSU.
Olivia glanced around at the team. “It’s a bit to digest, I know. Take your time.”
Even stranger was that she was a part of it. Not a career choice he imagined archaeology taking her to, yet he was not all that surprised she’d gone this route. She liked the challenge. Probably pissed off her anti-establishment brothers, too. “How the hell does something like that get started? How long has it been in operation?” Sebastian thought he knew it all. Hell. This put a whole new spin on things.
“Only about ten years at the capacity we are now, but it started, actually, in 1908 when a mysterious explosion occurred in Siberia.”
“I thought the Tunguska explosion was a meteor impact.”
She practically beamed. “Yes!” she said, doing an arm pump. “Thank you, Sebastian.” She twisted to look at Cruz. “See, it’s not as uncommon as you believed.”
“I said one in one million, Olivia. There he is.” Cruz waved at him. “Now give it up.”
Sebastian chuckled, took a sip of coffee before setting it aside. “Are you saying the Tunguska crater wasn’t a meteor?”
“No. It was. We learned about it and actually had the opportunity to investigate and take samples.”
“Without a passport, I ’spect.”
Her shoulders went back. “We research for the good of the whole, not just the United States.”
“And if you don’t like what you find?” He topped off her coffee.
“It’s not a matter of like or dislike. It’s the effect and any danger it poses. I know, somewhere someone is passing judgment, yet most searches have disproved a hoax, or are explained with science. But some are not.” She wiggled in her chair. “Those are the fun ones.”
“Was translating the monk’s diary Noble’s only part?”
“Ha, not by a long shot. He was documenting the Irish legend of the Maguire’s princess. The diary was written by a monk who lived at Kilbarron in the eleven hundreds when the legend was first formed.”
“How’d you get the diary,” Riley asked. “Even know about it?”
“Liz McNamara told me about it.” Her shoulders moved restlessly. “It’s a copy, of course. The original is in the National Archives. I didn’t have anything to do with getting it, a government-to-government thing with the express condition it was kept secret.” She sent him a sassy look that made him smile. “Noble was researching the legend for his own pleasure and we ran into each other while I was doing it for SSU. Even without the diary, he’d gathered more information than I had.” She speared a bite of chicken and onions. “He’s got a remarkable way of finding the weird stuff.”
That was Noble, Sebastian thought. “I don’t get why it isn’t public knowledge.”
“See, that’s the rub.” She gestured with her fork. “It’s what the monk wrote that kept it under wraps. It’s his own observations of everything from the church’s views to his daily life, a very candid conversation with his God. Some parts are a little whacked for the church to let it loose, I suppose, but that’s where it gets interesting. The friar writes of witnessing supernatural events and attributes most of it to the princess, a very pagan woman, by his own observation. This coming from a devout man of the cloth?” She shook her head, taking a last bite, then nudged the plate back. She picked up her coffee. “It was never meant to be read, and I think the guy was just having some fun talking to God. SSU set out to prove it was a true account.”
“Of an eight-hundred-year-old legend?” Max said. “That’s got to be all uphill.”
“Not as much as you’d think,” she said cryptically, then Cruz called out to her.
“We’re up and they’re buzzing us.”
Without thinking too hard, he reached behind himself for the diary, handing it to her. She blinked owlishly, then held it to her chest for a second, smoothing her fingers over the edge, and met his gaze.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t go far. It’s a book I want to read.” Her lips curved in a beautiful smile, making him feel almost rewarded, and Sebastian reminded himself that he was an old man. She shouldn’t affect him like this still. It wasn’t working. He inclined his head, and they walked into the living area as the screens blinked to life. The face on the other end of the satellite transmission appeared. Sebastian let out a short laugh and crossed to the chair, taking a seat. “Hello, General. I see you haven’t really retired after all.” Though he wore a polo shirt instead of his uniform, he’d bet he’d earned another star since Venezuela.
“Never said I was. Rumor. And neither have you, so shut your yap.”
Off to his left, Olivia said, “Is there anything you guys don’t know already?”
Sebastian chuckled, shot her a wink. “SSU? Noble Sheppard was working for you.”
“For Doctor Corrigan. I’m just the figurehead.”
“More like the cracking whip, I’m thinking. The second blood trail in England. One of yours?” McGill arched a gray brow, then nodded. Olivia folded a little. “A shame. Did anyone have a clue someone else was in your business?”
“No, and we still don’t know how. A possible leak, but it’s hard to determine. SSU is isolated and small, mostly scientists and historians.”
And harder to keep leaks plugged, he thought. A little persuasion went a long way with the untrained, and he frowned to himself, praying Noble wasn’t suffering. “They’ve covered their tracks well so far. We know their target, and that diary is the only thing keeping Noble alive right now. They can’t know we have it.” Noble had to stay valuable to them.
“Agreed,” McGill said and Sebastian glanced at Olivia. She clutched the diary with a white-knuckled grip. “We’re tracking Noble’s phone. It’s not on. But since they have it, any calls are rerouted through ghost towers.”
Then no trail on this end, he thought. One advantage, at least. “If these people are as smart as they’re behaving, they won’t keep Noble anywhere close. I think they’re going to run. I want in, sir.”
McGill leaned forward, folding his hands on the desk. Sebastian recognized the offices in his house. He’d cracked open a few beers a couple times in there. “I figured that much.”
“Though you might have a problem with DOD.” It frosted him to even say that. They’d played by the rules and their own tried to screw them.
McGill scoffed. “Not a concern.” Sebastian scowled. “We’re…Venezuel
a.” The general fought a smile and Sebastian thought, holy shit, that’s deep. “Doctor Corrigan can answer any questions. But the attempt on her life is desperation.”
“They’re beyond that, sir. I bet there’s ten men here all searching for that diary and now, Doctor Corrigan. Max and Riley followed them to the water—”
McGill put up a hand. “They’re in international waters. Interpol already has aerial surveillance on the boat.”
Spying from the skies wasn’t working for him. “Noble could be on that boat, sir. We have no problem going illegal and cleaning a few clocks to find out.”
“Christ. Do not, Fontenòt.” Sebastian conceded with a nod. “We don’t have provocation that we can give the garda. Revealing the monk’s diary is for Ireland to decide. Without evidence to pursue, it’s up to us.”
“I hear you, Mac, but understand from the get-go, Noble Sheppard’s safe return is my only objective. And sir, we’re not working for you.” McGill’s lips pulled into a thin line. “We’re retained by his daughter, Moira.” A technicality. Even without Moira, he’d be right here. McGill stared for a long moment and Sebastian could almost see the gears working as he weighed his options. Bring them on or lock them up, because he wasn’t sitting idle if there was even a slim chance Noble was on that boat.
“Roger that,” McGill said. “Now you’re mine, Fontenòt. Be discreet and try not to use deadly force.” He tapped a key and the screen went black.
Sebastian swung the chair around to look at his buddies. “Let’s get wet.”
Max let out a sinister laugh. “We’re just breaking all the rules this week. I’ll get the gear. And just so you know, that includes lots of weapons.” He grabbed the truck keys, Riley following.
Olivia was unusually quiet, just staring at him. He knew she didn’t know what to make of this, but that McGill wasn’t concerned about the DOD said the SSU was way out of the normal intelligence channels. Fine with him. He was tired of getting crapped on by people like Beckham. He turned to Safia. “Want to show me those satellite photos now?”
Safia spun in the chair and tapped keys. “I was searching Greenland and went back a couple months, and didn’t see more than increased activity. It wasn’t until I went farther north that I found this.” He was expecting Chechnya photos when the screen blinked with an aerial photo that was mostly white. “This”—she swept her finger over the middle right—“wasn’t here a year ago.”
He scowled, leaning in. “You were expecting something besides snow on the seventy-fifth parallel?”
She intensified the focus. “I know, it’s like a piece of rice on snow except for this.” She traced shadows and darker shapes. Sebastian could make out the silhouette of buildings. “There’s definitely something happening at the top of the world.”
“It’s my project.” They turned to stare at Olivia, but she spoke directly to him. “That’s what this is all about, Sebastian. Ice Harvest.” She walked near.
Sebastian frowned harder, glancing at the screen and thinking, she’s an archaeologist. She excavated. “You’re digging in Greenland, on the Arctic Circle?”
“A kick, ain’t it?” Her smile hit him like a punch. “And yes, for several months now. The diary is vital because the monk tells us where the legend begins. And that”—she pointed to the screen—“is where it ends.”
Deep Six
Satellite Intelligence
Mitch was comforted by Deep Six. Two days had turned his face from black and blue to a hideous shade of greenish yellow. He looked like a troll, wanted the reminders gone, and working several floors belowground had two advantages. No mirrors and silence. Well. Beyond the analysts tapping on keyboards.
In his favorite chair, he tipped back, lifted his feet to the corner, and closed his eyes. His fingers rolled the black ball, the sound through his headphones like sliding the dial of an FM radio. He reviewed calls made at the time of his capture. A couple yards downwind, David Lorimer still studied the photos from Chechnya. Mitch had looked at them so long he was going blind.
David swung in his chair, inclined his head. Mitch stood, grabbed his coffee, and limped down the amphitheater landing. “Tell me it’s not just wasted megabytes.”
“Then I’d be lying, sorry. Most of them will take time to redigitize, sir. Except this one.” He brought up a photo. “That line you photographed is visible by satellite.” David tapped keys, then pointed to the screen. “Fortunately for you, we’ve been watching since Russia invaded Georgia in 08. No, we weren’t looking for this. Just troop movement.”
David narrowed the field of vision, showing rooftops and roads. Then it went deeper, images focusing on the prison where he spent his last days till Dragon One liberated him.
“There’s nothing there,” Mitch said. “No movement, nada.”
“Sir. Look closer. Here.”
David focused the overhead view of Chechnya. On either side of the river near the incline of the mountains were two straight gray lines broken up by shrubs. Man made. A launch canal.
“Send that to Gerardo. Mark and highlight the area. Print a copy, too.”
David nodded, turning back to the screen. “If you tell me what you’re looking for sir, it would help.”
“No, it wouldn’t. That area’s destroyed so we’re just confirming.”
David scoffed, sliding him a dry look. “Gerardo made that a priority, sir.”
Mitch arched a brow. Gerardo was pissed enough to give David the authority to dig deep and anywhere he wanted. If there was a chance of salvaging anything from this embarrassment, he was all for it.
“This is Price’s mess, David.” His eyes flared and he looked suddenly very angry. It was because of David that the former director was found out and the young man managed to get to McGill in time to stop a hit on an agent. “We need to know what those lines mean, because it could be the launch of a Russian weapon she failed to tell us they had.”
David’s features tightened and he turned back to his bank of computers. The photos popped up, filling the screen. “This is four years ago, sir.”
Mitch scowled.
“I figured the lines were cement or stone.” He shrugged. “They had to construct it and couldn’t do that easily. About four or five years earlier, there’s a hell of a lot of movement, mostly farmers. The daylight shots show nothing. It’s practically deserted. We can see a hell of a lot during the night, but nothing is clear enough to show us exactly what. They were clever with hiding it. But one twilight image three years ago shows this.” He increased the focus on the base of the mountain on the Chechnya side, about a hundred yards from where he was captured.
“Enlarge there.” He pointed. David obeyed. It was winter, the snow deep, and while the white stuff didn’t contrast with the straight lines he thought was a retaining wall, the river did. Mitch saw a distinct rounded shape through the shroud of trees and bushes. Too broad to be a missile, he thought, and got closer. Jesus. The nose of a sub. He was wrong. They did build it.
“I’ve got more.” David scooted his chair to the left and at another console, he typed. A moment later, he leaned back in his chair. “This is before Russia invaded Georgia. Notice there’s no armament, no troops or trucks. They’re all a couple hundred miles west, South Osseita. Everyone’s attention was on the force coming in the east, not farther south, along the mountains. Your accommodations were—”
Mitch’s eyes narrowed.
“Reviewing satellite before and after showed me what happened,” David said. “Eight against one, you put up a good fight.”
“I should have plied them with liquor and rubles, and let them do the talking.” But he’d pushed and blew it. He started to return to his desk, then looked at the screen, moving in. “Can you get imagery just after Dragon One assaulted?”
David nodded, fingers flying over the keys. He searched though feeds by coordinates and date. The screens rolled with data, one, then two highlighted and blinked. David pulled up the first. “There’s Dragon One cros
sing to the prison.” The men were no more than dots on the screen. David fast-forwarded the feed. “Now coming back out with you, but look north.” With a tap of his finger and dragging, he moved the focus south. “Two large trucks.” David used a stylus to circle it. “There are the men unloading, then advancing to the prison, then just before the explosions.” He froze the picture. “These two stand back from it all and watch.” He brought up the images, then narrowed it.
Aerial shots. Mitch could see the top of his head. “He’s making a call.” His arm was bent, hand near his ear. “Oohrah. Back it up a little.” David did. “He’s the only one within fifty yards on a phone.”
“If it’s satellite, I bet I can get the call.”
David turned to another console, rising slowly to his feet, and nimbly typed like a rock star playing a keyboard. “Transferring to your console, sir.”
Mitch retuned to his desk, sliding on the headphones.
“It’s Russian,” David said.
Mitch waved, translating in his head.
They have taken him, commander, and the krasnaya prisoner.
That would be me, he thought.
A curse and then, We have made our point. Moscow will respond with force. Now there must be no trail to follow. Leave the area. Now. Or you die with them.
The man responded with only “Da,” and the call cut off immediately. While the voices weren’t clear, the commander was definitely a woman and remarking on the MiG about to drop bombs.
“Work your magic. Get me that number,” Mitch said, tossing down the headphones. “Run it against the database and listening posts.” If he could lock on it, then they might be able to trace the call if the phone was used again. The search would take days. There were a thousand surveillance posts, and they were looking for key words that made it a little easier for the computers to search. It would help if he had a name.
David glanced back, looking doubtful. “The frequency matches a million disposable phones.”
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