Breach of Power (Jake Pendleton 3)

by Barrett, Chuck

  "Boden's tee time is in ten minutes, can you make it?"

  "Just let me do the flying, Navy boy, and we'll be fine. Now hold out your palm."

  Jake's initial urge was to punch the arrogant man in the face but he suppressed the feeling, knowing it would not sit well with Wiley. He held out his hand, palm up. Matt placed Skeeter on Jake's palm and turned to his command console.

  Matt flipped three buttons and wrapped his hands around two joysticks. "Now watch and learn."

  Skeeter's wings vibrated and the tiny drone lifted off Jake's palm. "Here we go," Matt said. The drone darted out the van's open side door.

  Jake stared at Matt's monitor and watched the ground pass underneath. The video was clear but somewhat grainy, certainly good enough to qualify for the task at hand. The drone flew over a small tributary then lifted over a row of trees and across the expanse of fairways at the golf course. Within seconds, the clubhouse came into view in the distance. It surprised Jake that his aging target could even swing a golf club without falling over. But it was a routine the man only missed when the weather was inclement or he was out of town.

  "Does this thing have a zoom?" Jake asked.

  "I wish. I'll have to fly it up close and personal for positive identification. That's why you're here. If I pop the wrong target, then you're to blame." Matt laughed.

  Francesca was right. Matt was a prick.

  Jake held his tongue and continued to watch. The view on the screen showed the clubhouse getting closer, a row of golf carts lined up at the tee box. "Guess you'll have to check each one. Start with one closest to the tee." Jake instructed.

  "Yeah, I think I got that much figured out."

  Matt piloted the mosquito drone past the first two golf carts. Nothing but a bunch of old men he didn't recognize. As the drone passed in front of the third cart, Jake saw something. "There." He pointed to the screen. "Fourth cart. The man with a cane, check him out."

  "Roger that," Matt replied.

  Jake watched Matt maneuver the drone around the third golf cart and sweep in front of the fourth. "Can you give me a close up of the man in the passenger seat?"

  "Of course." Matt's hands expertly tilted the joysticks from side to side as the view on the screen seemed to finesse the man's face into a full face image.

  "That's him," Jake said. "Now what?"

  "Now comes the tricky part." Matt explained. "I'll land Skeeter on his back collar for a moment." The view on the screen showed the camera sweeping around the target's head and when it was lined up with the back of the man's head, it landed on the back of a pale blue collar. "One limitation of Skeeter's camera is the inability to sweep. We can only see straight ahead. And unfortunately Skeeter weighs a little more than a real mosquito, so when I come off his collar and land on his neck, he'll feel something and try to swat it. I have to land, pull a sample, and get out of there before Skeeter gets squashed."

  "Has that ever happened?"

  "Once," Matt admitted. "Knocked Skeeter to the ground. I was able to locate him later though and retrieve the sample."

  "What's next? Land on his neck?"

  "No. That's how I got caught. I've found the best place to land is behind the earlobe."

  "Behind the ear?" Jake asked. "Won't he hear it?"

  "Possibly, but he won't hit himself in the ear. The tendency is to just wave a hand by the ear and then pull it away. When he pulls his hand away, I'll fly Skeeter out of there."

  "Do it," Jake said.

  "Extending the needle…and here we go." The monitor showed movement toward the man's right ear. The bottom of the ear lobe came into view then filled the screen. "Extracting a sample…retracting the needle, now wait. One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three. Now, let's get him out of there."

  As the image pulled away, the target's hand was seen waving in front of the drone's camera. Then the image cleared the golf cart.

  "Piece of cake," Matt said.

  "Let me see his face again."

  The image on the monitor rotated around and the target's face came into view as Matt maneuvered Skeeter in front of the golf cart.

  Senator Richard Boden.

  "Nicely done, Matt. Now get Skeeter out of there."

  * * *

  Abigail Love lay on a beach towel by the pool, her mind running through her mental checklist of things she had to do to prepare for the hit on Martin and Teresa Kingsley. She was staying in a room on the fourth floor of the East Tower and Kingsley and his wife were on the seventh floor of the West Tower. Guests were only allowed access to the building they were staying in unless accompanied by an owner or guest of the adjacent tower. The only common areas were by the pool and at the grill. Logistically an issue, but one for which she had accounted.

  She wore big tortoise shell sunglasses with UV lenses to protect her eyes from the harsh Caribbean sun. She studied the rooftops and balconies; they might be her only choice.

  A shadow blocked the sun from her face and she turned her head to see who it was.

  "Well, hello again," Teresa Kingsley said.

  "I see they let you inside." Love pulled her glasses on top of her head and squinted at the bright sun. Kingsley was tall and thin. She wore a sheer white tunic revealing a black bikini underneath. Her long dark hair and brown eyes accentuated her good looks. For a woman of fifty-four, Love thought Teresa Kingsley looked spectacular.

  "Yes. I had the guard call the manager, he vouched for me." She pointed at the chair next to Love. "Mind if I join you?"

  "Not at all." Love smiled. "My pleasure."

  "Thank you." Kingsley extended her hand. "Teresa Kingsley."

  "Abigail Love." She grabbed Kingsley's hand. "My friends call me Abby."

  "Abby, nice to meet you." Kingsley pulled her tunic over her head and spread the towel across the chair. Without the tunic, Teresa Kingsley looked even more spectacular than Love originally thought. Her French-cut bikini bottom accentuated her already long, tan legs.

  Kingsley pulled a bottle of tanning oil out of her bag and squirted some on her legs and started rubbing it in. "How long have you owned here?"

  "I don't own a unit here. A friend of mine is letting me stay here for a few days." Love pointed to the East Tower. "I'm over there."

  "My husband, Martin, and I are up there." She pointed to the West Tower. "Is this your first time in Pointe-à-Pitre?"

  Love couldn't help but smile. Not at what Teresa Kingsley said, but at how often this routine worked. A chance first meeting followed by a second. The woman had already let her guard down so now Love would just pour on the charm and in no time Teresa Kingsley would think she had met her new best friend. And her new best friend would prove to be the death of her.

  They talked for an hour, ordered lunch from the grill, and then started drinking.

  By 3:00 p.m. Love was getting a slight buzz and Teresa Kingsley was well beyond that point. Her speech was slurred and she had almost fallen out of her chair three times from laughing so hard.

  "Abby, you are one of the funniest women I've ever met. Martin will love you." Kingsley sat up in her chair and turned to face Love. "I have to go with my husband to a business dinner tonight, will you go with me?"

  Love hadn't expected this. She had too much to do tonight while Martin and Teresa Kingsley were at their dinner meeting. That might be her only opportunity to case the Kingsleys' condominium since the hit was planned for tomorrow night. "No, that wouldn't be right. But thank you for the generous offer."

  "Please, Abby. All they're going to talk about is business. Blah. Blah. Blah. Real estate, rum factory, yada, yada, yada. I won't know anybody there. I'll be bored to death. It'll be so much more fun if you're there with me. I'll have someone to talk to for a change."

  "No. Really." Love insisted. "It wouldn't be right."

  "Come on, Abby. After dinner, we'll leave them to their business and go do something fun."

  "I don't know." Love found this woman's pleas hard to resist.

&nb
sp; "It won't cost you anything, Abby. My treat. Please? You'll have fun, I promise."

  Love couldn't believe she was giving in, that was unlike her. Especially when it came to a hit. "Alright, Teresa. I'll go." She saw Teresa Kingsley's smile turn into a grin. Enjoy it while you can my new friend…because my idea of fun is beyond your imagination.

  4

  August 17—1:00 P.M.

  METech Laboratories

  Leuven, Belgium

  He extended his hand to greet Kyli as he walked into her lab.

  She moved past his hands and wrapped herself around his chest in a full embrace, squeezing him tight. He liked the warmth and feel of her body molded to his.

  Nearly a year had passed since Jake met Kyli Wullenweber, a scientist for METech in Belgium. The lavender smell of her hair filled his nostrils. She lifted her head and her soft amber eyes met his.

  "Do I make you nervous?" Kyli asked.

  Jake unwrapped her arms and held her hands at arm's length. "Sometimes." He wanted to say more but he knew he'd fumble it and besides, Francesca might walk in any second.

  "Like now?"

  "No." Jake wanted to look and act calm.

  She didn't flinch when Jake spoke, just laughed. Her sexy, playful laugh. Kyli was tall, nearly as tall as him with an ivory complexion and thick chestnut hair. She had a splash of freckles across the bridge of her nose and her eyes sparkled every time she smiled. Even though he would never admit it, she excited him every time he was around her. She acted so cool. He knew she was taunting him.

  “How long will you be here this time?” Kyli asked.

  “Only as long as it takes you to make a DNA toxin.”

  “Is that all?"

  “I'm afraid so, we’re in the middle of an assignment.”

  "Careful Jake, Kyli will put her spell on you.”

  "Huh?" Jake turned and saw Francesca standing behind him. "How long have you been standing there?"

  "Long enough," Francesca said.

  "Busted." Kyli smiled.

  Jake felt his face flush. He pointed his fingers to Francesca then back to Kyli. “You two have met, right?”

  Both women laughed. “Of course we've met, Jake,” Kyli said. “Franny’s been here lots of times with Mr. Wiley.”

  “Franny?” Jake smiled at Francesca. She shrugged her shoulders and shook her head.

  Kyli interrupted. “That’s my nickname for her. Francesca sounds so…formal and exotic. Franny is cozy and friendly.”

  “Right. Tell that to her next victim.” Jake laughed and shook his head. “We should be done in a few days then I have a couple of weeks off.”

  Kyli leaned close to Jake’s ear and whispered.

  He smiled. "Sounds like fun."

  Kyli motioned with her head, like she was trying to be subtle. Jake followed her eyes and noticed the new plaque on the wall. “Is that it? Your doctorate diploma finally arrived?”

  “Yep. Two days ago.” Kyli pulled it off the wall. “Can you believe it took them nearly four months to get this little piece of paper to me?”

  “The bastards.”

  “Shut-up.” Kyli swatted Jake's chest. “Now you’re just picking.”

  “A little.” Jake reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a clear sealed bag. “Brought you something.” Inside the bag was a tiny vial.

  “What do we have here?” Kyli grabbed the bag and held it up to the light. “Ah, from Skeeter?”

  “How'd you know?"

  “I designed the DNA extractor for Wiley's mosquito drone.” Kyli put one hand on her hip. “Whose is it?”

  Jake glanced at Francesca then back to Kyli. “Can’t tell you,” he said.

  “Is this a hit?” Kyli placed the bag on her workstation. “Don’t answer that. How long do I have to work on this?”

  Jake pulled up a metal stool and sat down next to Francesca. “Wiley said to make it your top priority."

  He remembered the first day he met Kyli; Wiley dropped him off at the lab, leaving Kyli in charge of his orientation. They were in this laboratory when she explained her research with DNA. With the growing threat of DNA toxins by hostile governments and militias against the West, she explained, her research was based on the premise of learning how DNA assassination worked so it could be defended against.

  In the months to follow, her research had reached new proportions and she'd perfected the toxins and antitoxins of DNA assassination. So much so that Elmore Wiley, at the mandate of the Greenbrier Fellowship, had authorized the first assassination utilizing a DNA toxin on a human subject. The toxin was delivered by one of Wiley's emissaries, a South Korean woman named Su Lee, who delivered the toxin to Kim Jon-il on a train in North Korea causing the ailing dictator to have a fatal heart attack.

  "How long will you need?” Jake asked.

  “At best? Three or four hours.” Kyli reached into a box and pulled out two gloves. “Is Skeeter delivering the toxin? Because that hasn't been tested yet?”

  “Nope.” Francesca slid an open pack of Wrigley's peppermint gum across the desktop. "Chewing gum."

  “Seriously? How can you be sure he’ll chew it?”

  “What makes you think it’s a man? Could be a woman, you know. Women like chewing gum too.” Jake smiled. "Right, Franny?"

  Francesca sneered then nodded.

  “You two aren't going to answer any of my questions, are you?” Kyli asked.

  Jake shook his head.

  “Very well. Any chance you have medical records?”

  Jake opened his backpack, dug around and pulled out a large manila envelope with a metal fly clasp. “Latest blood work-up. Copy of physician's records."

  "Seriously?" Jake heard the excitement in Kyli's voice. "How'd you pull that off?"

  "Compliments of one of Wiley's hackers at the new office in Virginia. Sanitized, of course.”

  "But of course." Kyli slipped on a purple glove. "I would expect nothing less."

  "Purple now, huh?" Jake pointed at the box of gloves. "What happened to the pink gloves?"

  "Found out I'm allergic to latex." Kyli held up a glove. "These are nitrile rubber. Where can I find you?”

  Jake pointed at Francesca. “We'll be in the conference room by the RF lab.”

  He stood, pushed his stool under the counter, and followed Francesca out of Kyli’s lab. Jake and Francesca stopped at the elevator door as Francesca pushed the call button.

  “What the hell was that?” Francesca asked.

  “What?”

  “That.” She motioned back toward Kyli’s lab. “Between you and Kyli. Are you banging the boss’s granddaughter?”

  “Banging?" Jake furrowed his brow. "Seriously?”

  The elevator door opened, Jake followed Francesca inside, the door closed.

  “So you’re the one,” Francesca said. She pushed the button for the RF lab.

  “I’m the one…what?” Jake felt the elevator move.

  “She would never give me a name, but her eyes would light up every time she talked about that special guy she’d been seeing. And I just saw that same sparkle when she talked to you…so now I know.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Kyli and I are just friends.”

  “Just friends, my ass. I should have known. It all makes sense now.” Francesca grabbed Jake’s arm. “Does the old man know?”

  The elevator chimed and the door opened.

  “Does the old man know what?” Elmore Wiley, Kyli's grandfather stepped into the elevator.

  * * *

  August 17 7:30 A.M. CDT

  Katzer Funeral Home

  Nashville, Tennessee

  Scott Katzer knew his suspicions were correct as soon as he unzipped the body bag. The transferring funeral home claimed to have effectually embalmed the kid's body even though the odds were stacked against it. The seventeen year old died from a drug overdose, his body undiscovered for nearly thirty-six hours. Decomposition and bloating had set in by the time the funeral director embalmed
the young man. When Katzer unzipped the bag, the bloated face of the young man stared up at him, tongue protruding through swollen lips. The deceased had been discovered in his bed with his head hanging over the side, a pool of dried vomit on the floor.

  The odor told Katzer that putrefaction had set in. Purge from the deceased had discharged from the mouth, nose, and ears. With modern advancements in embalming, it had been a number of years since he'd encountered remains in this bad of shape and decided as soon as he saw it that he was too old to deal with remains in this condition. It was time to let the younger embalmers handle the distasteful parts of the job. His gag reflex kicked in, the three-day cross-country drive from the Portland, Oregon funeral home to Nashville in the back of a van under the scorching August sun was too long for any dead body, much less this one.

  “Oh, Hell no. Not today.” Katzer turned his head and zipped up the body bag. Why couldn’t the relatives just spend the extra money and fly their loved one home? Six hundred more dollars was all it would have taken yet they opted for a three-day van rental plus driver expenses versus a nine-hour plane ride. As soon as the driver had dropped off the body bag, Katzer thought he could detect the faint smell. Now the stench would remain in his nostrils for hours.

  He burst into the break room and pointed at a junior embalmer and a summer intern from the Gupton-Jones College of Funeral Services in Decatur, Georgia. “You two handle Mr. Wilson’s remains—he needs to be ready by noon.” He looked at the young intern sitting at the table. “It’ll be good experience for him. I need to call the family and try to cancel, or at least postpone, the family viewing.”

  “Yes, sir,” The junior embalmer said.

  Katzer started to leave, then turned to the young apprentice. “And you…try not to vomit on the deceased this time, please.”

  Katzer himself was a 1964 graduate of the John A. Gupton School of Mortuary Science when the school was located in Nashville. His courses seemed easy. An advantage he had since he'd worked in the funeral home for his mother and stepfather since he was ten. The Katzer Funeral Home was located on the opposite side of Lebanon Pike from the Mt. Olivet and Calgary Cemeteries. Although not his biological father, Matthew Katzer was the only father he'd ever known and had adopted him and his twin sister when they were two years old. Matthew Katzer died tragically and mysteriously in 1966 in an accident while working on a tractor in the Mt Olivet Cemetery. Scott and his mother had been running the funeral home ever since.