When the Killing Starts (The Blackwell Files Book 8)

by Steven F Freeman

  When the Killing Starts

  Steven F. Freeman

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by www.LLPix.com

  Copyright © 2016 Steven F. Freeman

  All rights reserved.

  DEDICATION

  Long ago, I wished for a dog to accompany me as I worked from my home office, and everyone in my family wanted a pet.

  In September, 2002, we welcomed an adorable Maltese puppy into our home. From that time until June 8, 2016, Ripley was my constant companion, snoozing in his dog bed in my study by day and in my bed by night. He accompanied us on family visits and trips to the beach. And on my writing journey, he was literally by my side every step of the way. So it seems only fitting that I dedicate this book (the first third of which I finished in his company) to him. I wish he could somehow be aware of this dedication, but I take assurance knowing that in the ways meaningful to a dog, I showed him my love every day he was alive.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Many thanks to Ruth Gresh, Priscilla Gould, Elaine Rivers, Sharron Grodzinsky, Chris Daniel, and Willow Humphrey for their invaluable feedback and assistance.

  PURCHASE OTHER BOOKS IN ALTON AND MALLORY’S “BLACKWELL FILES” SERIES NOW!

  (Books 1 – 3 combined: Nefarious, Ruthless, and T Wave Boxed Set)

  Book 1: Nefarious

  Book 2: Ruthless

  Book 3: T Wave

  Book 4: Havoc

  Book 5: The Devil’s Due

  Book 6: The Evolution of Evil

  Book 7: Tears of God

  Book 8: When the Killing Starts

  Book 9: Coming in 2017. See below for notification when available.

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  Author website: www.SteveFreemanWriter.com

  Like your thrillers more intense? Author Steven F. Freeman also writes under the name Malcolm Pierce.

  Blood Passage

  Maintenance supervisor Brian Francisco goes to sleep for the night in his Midwest apartment and awakes to find himself a prisoner aboard an oil tanker at sea.

  “An Unforgettable ride” Readers’ Favorite five-star review

  CHAPTER 1

  “This plan is never going to work,” said the aide.

  Commander Yun Ki-Woo chuckled. “You say that because you lack experience.”

  A look of annoyance passed over the younger man’s face. “No, I say that because I have common sense. How will our forces—?”

  The older colleague held up a placating hand. “Kam, trust me. In this agency, you have to think big. I’ve seen operations more complicated than this succeed.”

  “And how many operations—of any complexity—have failed?”

  Yun sighed. He lowered himself onto the edge of a desk covered with electronic gear. “I won’t lie to you. Many have failed, largely because the Americans and their South Korean puppets anticipated our actions.”

  “And this time?”

  “Even for our friends to the south, the Olympic Games is too large an event for anyone to guard completely. For those two weeks, we’ll have a window of opportunity unlike any other.” He grinned at his colleague. “And that’s an opening I plan to exploit.”

  CHAPTER 2

  In the northern suburbs of Washington, D.C., Alton Blackwell plugged in a sleek, steel coffeepot and positioned it in front of him. “Set heating-plate timer to three hours.”

  From the kitchen table, Mallory Blackwell swept a stray lock of midnight-black hair over her ear and studied her husband. “Sweetie, do you remember how I told you last week I was worried about the long hours you’ve been spending at work?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “You’re talking to an appliance.”

  Alton laughed. “Don’t worry. I’m not losing it.”

  Mallory cocked an eyebrow. “Uh-huh.”

  “No, really. The guys from Research and Development enhanced their AI program. The new program is more adaptable and requires less hardware, so it’s cheaper to produce. And it runs faster. Jake Hines told the AI developers to think outside the box and explore other ways to commercialize it, so they created an appliance controller. I told them I’d test it out here at home.”

  “That’s cool, but why is Kruptos developing artificial intelligence? I thought you only worked on cryptography software.”

  “We do, but AI will be an important part of cryptography in the future.” He sat back in his chair. “With the processors used to crack encryption codes getting faster and faster, it’s not enough to have a complex encryption key. We have to use AI to develop better encryption for the clients whose data we’re trying to protect. And we need smarter decryption methods for the intercepted messages we’re trying to decode.”

  “I can see why Kruptos—and the NSA—love you.”

  Alton chuckled and resumed his conversation with the Brewmaster.

  A bark from outside interrupted his progress. Alton rose and opened the back door, only to be nearly bowled over as Buster, the couple’s Labrador, bounded inside.

  Alton paused before closing the door to the brisk February chill. The first rays of sunlight had just flooded the backyard’s dormant azaleas and creeping Carolina jasmine. He and Mallory had moved into the colonial only three months earlier, but already its charming mixture of wood floors and oak paneling and stacked-stone fireplace felt like home, an oasis of serenity nestled amidst D.C.’s bustling metropolis.

  Alton shut the door and returned to his testing, typing notes into his cellphone every half-minute or so.

  Ten minutes later, the home phone rang. Mallory answered it and spent most of her time listening.

  Alton felt his gaze wandering from his task to his wife, whose petite, athletic form was framed by shafts of sunlight angling through the front door’s palladium window.

  She hung up. “Speak of the devil.”

  Alton shifted his weight in the hardback chair. “What do you mean?”

  “That was Vega. He wants us to report to the NSA’s HQ building for a mission briefing.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Alton and Mallory entered the sprawling lobby of the NSA’s Washington HQ complex, a quad of massive buildings surrounding a patch of manicured bluegrass. After stopping at the main desk to ask directions to the conference room Vega had specified, the couple used magnetic ID badges to open a floor-to-ceiling glass door and pass through.

  They set off down a wide hallway bustling with quiet activity, turned right several times in succession, then headed down a new passage.

  Alton limped as he traveled, his gait permanently altered as a result of an explosion in Afghanistan during his years as an Army officer. After turning again, he grinned at his wife. “Will there be a piece of cheese waiting for us at the end of this?”

  She laughed. “Only one way to find out.”

  They entered the meeting room to find it occupied by only Ernesto Vega.

  “The Blackwells. Good to see you!” He extended a beefy mitt, o
ffering them each a hearty handshake.

  Alton returned the man’s firm grip and smiled. The towering agent might have retired from NSA field work after the Italian case, but he certainly hadn’t lost any of his physical prowess. He looked ready to hit the professional gridiron at a moment’s notice.

  “Why don’t you two grab a cup of coffee while we’re waiting for the others to arrive?” said Vega, motioning to a refreshments table on the back wall.

  Before long, four more operatives entered the room. Smiling, Alton exchanged a few words with the two he knew and friendly nods with the two he didn’t.

  “Let’s get started,” said Vega.

  They took seats in plush office chairs of black leather positioned around a long table with a brilliant walnut finish.

  “I know you’re all wondering why I’ve called you here,” said Vega, “so I’ll get started.” Perhaps noticing Alton’s curious glance at the stranger across the table, he added, “I realize a few of you don’t know each other, but let me take a minute to describe our mission first. That’ll clarify why each of you are on the team when I do make the introductions.”

  He pointed a tiny remote control towards the back of the room. The lights dimmed, and the photograph of a disheveled man on a hospital bed appeared on the conference room’s far wall. “This is Ka Chul, or so he claims.”

  “So he claims?” said Mallory.

  “The man said he was an officer in the North Korean army.”

  “And that’s important why?”

  “The photo was taken in South Korea.”

  Across the table, an agent nodded in comprehension. Alton had never met the thirty-something African American, but the man’s penetrating eyes suggested a lively mind.

  “North Korean defections to the south are notoriously difficult,” said Vega, “and defections of military officers are even rarer. But it’s why the man claims he was in South Korea that has led to this gathering.

  “Ka waved down a South Korean army unit conducting a routine border patrol. He could barely talk, he was so frozen. He claimed to be part of a North Korean special operations unit, something comparable to our SEALS. He said his unit was conducting a recon in advance of a planned attack. Then the guy clammed up…said he’d only share details with government officials authorized to grant him political asylum.”

  “So did he?” asked David Dunlow, the Blackwells’ longtime friend.

  “That’s the rub. He fell into a hypothermia-induced coma during transport to Seoul. They checked him into a hospital. The docs said he should recover. But the next morning, the nurse found him dead.”

  “Natural death?” asked Alton, raising an eyebrow.

  “That’s the second rub. Ka was in such bad shape when they brought him in—frostbite, bruising, and the like—the docs can’t be sure. Maybe the guy was a straight-up liar, trying to talk his way into a better life. But if there’s any truth to his story…”

  No one needed to finish the sentence. They all knew the potential stakes involved.

  “The South is pulling together a team to look into Ka’s claims,” said Vega. “However, the Olympics start in a few days, so most of South Korea’s police and armed forces are deployed around PyeongChang providing security. Since they’re stretched so thin, they asked for our help looking into this incident.” He straightened his back. “Your mission is to travel to South Korea, meet up with a local team being formed there, and investigate Ka’s claims. If you find any truth to his story, you’re to stop any hostile actions North Korea has planned.

  “And now, introductions. Your team lead will be Alton Blackwell,” said Vega with a gesture. “And this is his wife and co-investigator, Mallory.”

  “Mr. Blackwell must be quite formidable,” said the man across the table. “Otherwise, we wouldn’t be led by a civilian—or at least someone who’s not a full-time NSA agent.”

  “I didn’t realize you already knew Mr. Blackwell,” said Vega.

  “I don’t, but the color stripe on his name badge isn’t the usual navy blue. It’s orange.” He turned to Alton. “Special consultant?”

  “That’s right,” said Alton.

  Vega nodded, but before he could continue, the agent across the table spoke again. “And he’s not an expert on the Korean peninsula.”

  “How—?”

  “If he were a world-class expert on the Koreas,” interrupted the agent, “I’d know him. In fact, I doubt there’s anything he can tell me about the Korean peninsula I don’t already know.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his hands behind his head. “Kind of makes you wonder why he’s assigned to lead the team.”

  A dark look crossed Vega’s face. “You of all people ought to know there’s more to leading an NSA team than being a subject-matter expert. The Blackwells and I have worked together on multiple missions. I have great faith in Mr. Blackwell’s capacity to lead this investigation.” He paused to take in the rest of the group with a glance. “This is Agent Brooks Camron, by the way. He’s been the NSA’s top advisor on the Korean peninsula for the past six years.”

  Alton studied the agent. His countenance revealed little. Upon entering the conference room, Camron had appeared more fit than the typical deskbound bureaucrat, his long, lean frame suggestive of a long-distance runner.

  Alton nodded a greeting in Camron’s direction. “Good to have you on the team.”

  “I’m at your disposal,” he replied with a downturned lip. The man’s features were unremarkable with the exception of a slightly-bent nose and a set of shrewd, penetrating eyes peering from behind steel-rimmed glasses.

  Vega turned his gaze to each person in the room in turn. “Mr. Blackwell is more than qualified to lead this team. He’s is a world-class cryptography expert. And he served as an Army communications captain but had to retire following a combat injury in Afghanistan. His wife, Agent Mallory Blackwell, also served as an officer in Afghanistan but moved on to the FBI, where she’s a top forensic accountant. But the Army’s loss is our gain. The Blackwells have a remarkable investigatory track record, both inside and outside the NSA. As you said, Camron, they’re NSA special operatives. I call them from their civilian jobs when we have a case requiring their unique skill sets.”

  After waiting for the room’s occupants to greet Alton and Mallory, Vega nodded towards to a six-foot, sturdy fellow sitting further down the table. “That’s Secret Service Agent David Dunlow. He served with the Blackwells in Afghanistan and on several of their civilian investigations. Between his Secret Service experience and his previous role as a Military Intelligence officer, he has the right background to analyze intel on North Korea’s activity and South Korea’s security protocol—in particular looking for security weaknesses the North might try to exploit.”

  Alton smiled at his longtime friend, whose somewhat goofy appearance belied a keen mind.

  “There at the end of the table is Agent Jessica Silva,” continued Vega. “She’s also former Army and has served on twenty-eight field missions during her four-and-a-half years with the NSA. She’s demonstrated a talent for quick, tactical thinking. Several former teammates have her to thank for their lives.”

  “Nice to have you on the team again,” said Alton to the almond-toned, athletic agent. Silva had served as a key team member on Alton’s most recent mission, a round-the-world search for a ruthless poisoner.

  Silva cracked the faintest trace of a smile. “Likewise. This case must be a puzzler if you’re leading it.”

  Alton shrugged. “I just come when they call me. Hey, you said you’d like to work together again. Now’s your chance.”

  Silva produced a lopsided grin. “That’s right. It’s like a family reunion.”

  Vega cleared his throat and gestured in the direction of a lean, muscular man to his right. “This is Agent Daniel O’Neil. He’s former Army Special Forces and is now an NSA security analyst. He’ll be in charge of detail security.” The man’s compact frame and imposing height looked the part of a forme
r soldier. Only the honey shade of his hair contradicted the tough-guy mold.

  O’Neil broke his gaze from the end of the table and nodded to all, then turned his attention to Camron. “Once we’re in-country, I’ll be looking for your guidance on local security practices.”

  “I’m happy to help, but our counterparts there will probably have more specifics.”

  Vega exhaled. “All right. Now that we’ve finished the intros, let’s move on. We know North Korea might have something planned, but we have no idea what. The next question is, how do we find out?”

  “The timing can’t be a coincidence,” said Alton. “One of the Olympic sites has to be considered the most likely potential target. Once we hook up with the South Korean team, we can look for North Korean electronic chatter about the Olympics.” He rubbed his chin. “But what does North Korea stand to gain by disrupting the games?”

  “Any number of things,” said Camron. He removed expensive glasses and began cleaning them with a handkerchief. “They might want to destabilize the South’s political environment or lower the South’s standing in the international community. Or they might plan to assassinate someone attending the games—perhaps a politician critical of Kim Jong-un’s regime.”

  David snorted. “That’d be about everyone in Seoul, wouldn’t it? Everybody knows Kim’s a nut.”

  Vega chuckled. “You’re off to a good start, but to test these theories, you’ll need to be on the ground. I’ve chartered a National Airlines transport. You’ll be traveling out of Andrews tonight. Once you arrive in Seoul, you’ll meet up with a hand-picked team of agents from South Korea’s National Intelligence Service, their version of the NSA. Then you’ll all form a joint task force to find out what North Korea is planning…and implement the necessary countermeasures.”