He'd woken up hours before on the floor, with a headache that made his stomach roll. As soon as he opened his eyes, he remembered what had happened and knew where he was, so he'd lain still, not wanting to give anyone watching the satisfaction of knowing how much he hurt. He kept his eyes closed for a while until the pain became manageable, then stood up and moved to a chair, where he sat. He didn't look at his watch. He knew it had been set to the wrong time anyway. He didn't feel the bump on the back of his head, nor did he fidget. He just sat.
He knew they were just playing mind games at this point, wanting to make him desperate, wanting to soften him up, but he also knew how to play those very games. It would drive them a little crazy to see that he wasn't in distress, and he could last longer than they could. He'd been in much worse situations without breaking.
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ARIA spent Monday morning with her computer and the paperwork that Nick had left for her. He took the original micro-SD cards, leaving the hard copies behind. The house was quiet as she worked, with Carol at work and Lisa at school, and four hours passed before she even realized it. Her cross-referencing had helped her eliminate another twenty names, and when her eyes began to blur, she decided to give it a rest for a while.
She lay on the couch with her eyes closed, battling a headache that tried to take over when she suddenly realized what she hadn't been seeing. She ran up the stairs to her room and started going through the papers, trying to find the anomaly.
She finally found it at the bottom of the pile. It was a page of the specifications that had her notations on it after the most recent test. She dug a little further and found a copy of the same page that had been recovered from Peter's home office. She compared the two, going down them line for line. They were identical. However, on top of the page taken from Peter's home was the date showing when it had been printed, the day before her own personal specification book had been printed. He didn't copy the specifications, he actually printed them before she had them printed, and changes she made the day before printing were incorporated.
She had to search for a while, but she found a printout of the pictures she'd made of her security program from her workstation at NWT. She had logs covering a two-month period of time to search through in order to identify the terminal ID of the person who had accessed her workstation. It was tedious work, because there were hundreds of entries in the two month time frame prior to the printing of the specifications, and she had to pull out her appointment book to cross-check the times she might have been in someone else's office on their computer accessing her own files. The teams worked together so closely that it was almost impossible to determine all the hits in that time frame that might or might not have been her. Finally she found a terminal ID that didn't make sense. She wouldn't have had a reason to use that computer. She felt tears come to her eyes as she recognized the ID number, feeling betrayal that was almost as bad as when she overheard Peter discussing killing her as if she were a pesky fly.
To make sure she wasn't jumping to conclusions that could be wrong, she thought back through conversations, then hacked into the appropriate bank. It took several hours, because she had to write a program that would bypass security codes. After some time, she accessed the right account.
Digging through the system, Aria stared in disbelief at what she saw. Over the course of an eight-month period, over two hundred thousand dollars had been transferred into her secretary Julie Wilson's bank account.
That gave her a little more information to uncover. Not only was she looking for the times that Peter accessed her files, she also checked to see the times Julie did, and if the times Julie did were for work or espionage.
She typed away at her report, detailing everything she knew and everything she figured that Peter knew. It was late in the afternoon when she finally finished. She secured it, packaged it, and e-mailed it to the address Nick had given her. Now he could give it to his superiors and they couldn't possibly deny the evidence.
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NICK heard the electronic locks unseal and focused his eyes in that direction. Though he was surprised to see Charlie, he didn't show it.
"Wow, Nick, you look like dog food," Charlie said, coming in to the room with a takeout bag from a fast food restaurant. "I told them to bring you here when you came in and have you wait for me, but I had no idea what they did." He set the sack of food and a bottle of water on the table in front of Nick and pulled out the other chair. "I brought that in for my breakfast this morning but, if you've been here as long as they say, you need it more than me."
Nick glared at him. He had not yet convinced himself of Charlie's sincerity. "What day is it?"
"Monday." Charlie always took Sundays off. Nick knew that. That tradition began the very first Sunday after Zimmerman assumed the post of Director and only on a few rare occasions did he ever violate it. Nick had never had anything but respect for, and a shared camaraderie with Charlie. He had no reason to doubt him now. Did he?
Deciding to withhold judgment and see what happened next, Nick ignored the little nagging doubt inside his gut and pulled the bag toward him and reached in, bringing out one of the three chicken biscuits he saw in there. "I got here yesterday morning."
Charlie's eyes widened, then he said, "I'm sorry, son. I've already contained Simmons and Warren for knocking you out the way they did. I'll go ahead and start disciplinary procedures for this."
Nick finished the first biscuit and reached in the bag for another one. "Take me to your office, and I'll give you information that will help in those proceedings."
Charlie nodded and stood, going to the door. Nick picked up the bag of food and bottle of water and followed him, continuing to eat. When they reached Charlie's office, he held the door open for Nick to enter first, and as he sat down, Charlie slammed the door. "Do you care to start explaining and tell me what the blue blazes is happening around here?" he bellowed as he walked around his desk and sat in his chair, now in the sanctity of his office, away from the cameras and the microphones.
Nick shrugged and continued to devour the last of the biscuits. "Charlie, you'd be the first I'd explain things to if I had it all figured out. I know most of the what and when, but the why still has me puzzled."
"You have some of your own whys to go into, Nick. I've never seen anything like what you did in my entire career, and I have to tell you, son, I don't like it one bit," he said, slamming his fist on the desk for emphasis.
Nick let Charlie blow off steam while he finished eating, then wadded up the paper and threw it in the trash can behind Charlie's desk. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, and said, "Save your energy until I finish telling you what's been going on."
He leaned back in his chair, drained the bottle of water, and began his report. Although, for now, he left a few pertinent details out of it, like where Aria hid, and where he'd stored the evidence.
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Chapter 29
NICK sat in Charlie's office, his feet propped up on the desk. He felt confident that Charlie believed him when he informed him about Balder holding him at gun point. Even though Charlie was clearly not happy about Nick killing the man instead of disabling or otherwise getting around him while leaving him alive, he appeared to accept the facts. Nick could tell that there was still some anger lurking toward him for not reporting in more regularly, but he felt it would eventually blow over.
Because it was his summit, this case was personal for Charlie and his inability to personally run the operation from the field obviously frustrated the man. Nick had just spent the last two hours relaying an abbreviated and filtered version of what he'd learned over the last week to Charlie, and silently waited to gauge his reaction.
"Why did you hide out the way you did, son?" Charlie demanded.
"I didn't know how far this thing went. Now I'm glad I hid because Simmons is as deep into this thing as he can get."
"I know. He's the one who brought me everything I had on Suarez.
He had me convinced she was some black widow type and you were probably already dead. As much evidence as he had, I felt comfortable sending in Balder." Charlie looked tired, and Nick realized how draining this week must have been on him. "You know, you expect betrayal from the enemy, but you don't expect it from someone you've worked with so closely, and even been partners with, for over eighteen years."
"I have enough hard evidence to counteract anything he may have given you," Nick said.
"I know you do, son, and even if you didn't, the way they treated you the past couple of days would definitely make me doubt their motives." Charlie pulled a stick of cinnamon gum out of his pocket and smelled it like it was an expensive cigar before he opened the foil and popped it into his mouth. "Where is the evidence? If you had it on you, it's probably gone."
Nick raised an eyebrow at him. "It's safe. When it's needed, I'll bring it forward."
"What about the girl?"
"As soon as I know the danger is completely gone, I'll bring her forward as well. She's safe for now."
Charlie nodded. "Good, good. I'm sure you have her in a good place. Now, you and I need to discuss China."
Nick started laughing. "No. You and I need to discuss which desk I get for the next three or four months."
"Come on, Nick. You're probably the only agent I have that can handle this assignment. But you know I can't order you to go. You have to volunteer."
"No way, Charlie. I am not volunteering. I'm not leaving the city for a while. I'm going to go upstairs and have an apartment assigned to me, and I'm going to come here every day and report to my desk." He put his legs down and sat forward. "I'm burned out, man. I need a break."
Charlie nodded. "Okay, son. Go see Clemmy at the desk upstairs, and he'll assign you a car and an apartment." He stood and reached across the desk to shake Nick's hand, dismissing him.
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"WHAT are you going to do?" Carol asked her as she drained pasta at the sink.
Aria propped her chin in her hands and stared into space. "I'm not sure. I guess all I can do is wait until Nick calls. I'm sure she wasn't an integral player in this. Probably all she did was enter my computer and print out the specifications whenever I changed them."
"How long has she been working for you?"
Aria thought back. "I think about two years. She started before this project began, and we started that about eighteen months ago."
Lisa came tearing into the room. "Mama, can I go over to Amy's house?"
"May I," Carol corrected.
Lisa almost rolled her eyes, but didn't. "May I go to Amy's house?"
"No, Lisa. Go wash your hands, dinner is almost ready," Carol said.
Lisa turned around and slowly walked out of the room, her head bowed as if following a funeral wake. Carol smiled after her, and when she was sure that Lisa couldn't hear her, she said, "That girl is going to be on the stage one day."
"That was a pretty impressive show of the blues," Aria acknowledged. She turned back to the salad she'd been making, and finished slicing tomatoes. "I guess her motive was money. It's insane to think about the destruction that is possible over money."
"I prosecute people all the time who just throw their lives away because of the love of money." Carol dished up plates and walked to the kitchen door. "Lisa, dinner's ready! Are your hands clean?" she called.
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NISA kept the apartments for the agents pretty well stocked with generic stuff, but Nick stopped at a twenty-four hour grocery store on his way to his new place anyway, to pick up a few items they always forgot. Steaks were one of those things, and toothpaste. Whoever did the shopping for the NISA agents always forgot to get toothpaste.
As he drove to his new place, he decided that what he needed more than anything was a hot shower, a hot meal, and to sleep for six straight hours. It was closer to midnight than he wanted. He'd spent all day and night with Charlie composing his reports from the mission. He wasn't sure if he could actually make it through a meal and a hot shower before the bed claimed him.
He found the address easily, and thought that Charlie couldn't be too angry with him if he got a townhouse instead of an apartment. He walked around to the back of the car to open the trunk to get out his groceries. He yawned as he tried to insert the key into the lock, and the force of the yawn was so strong that he dropped the key. If the house key hadn't been on the same ring, he would have left the groceries in the car and just gone to bed, but it was so he bent down to get it.
As soon as his fingers touched the key ring, he heard the ding of metal hitting metal, and immediately dropped into a prone position. He looked up and spotted a jagged hole that could only be made by a bullet in the trunk of the car.
Adrenaline had effectively knocked back the fatigue, and his mind was instantly alert.
They must have been using a suppresser, because he still hadn't heard the shot. That meant they had to be close because they could only silence subsonic ammunition. Using his forearms as leverage, he low-crawled to the car door.
There were so many buildings around him that the shooter could be almost anywhere. His head was near the rear tire when he heard the sound again. He looked up and saw that the bullet had hit just a few inches above his head, missing the tire by just a few millimeters. It took a split second for him to decide to keep going in the direction he was headed rather than turn around and go to the other side of the car. Half a second later the window next to him exploded as a bullet forced its way through the glass.
He opened the door and lunged inside, staying low, and put the key in the ignition. He really hoped they didn't shoot out his tires. It wouldn't stop him but it would slow him down and make him even angrier than he already felt.
He started the car and put it in drive, keeping his head below the dash. After several yards, he sat up. As soon as his head came over the seat level, his rear window exploded behind him. The bullet exited through the front window just to the right of his head. He ducked back down.
He turned onto the first street he came to, and waited until he was several yards down the street before he sat back up again. As he did, a sharp pain ripped through the left side of his body, causing his vision to gray. He gritted his teeth to keep from crying out from the intensity, and looked down. His shirt was covered with blood. He started praying in every language he knew as he kept his left hand on the wheel and drove, using his right hand to ascertain the entry and exit wounds of the bullet.
The seat was already soaked with his blood, and he knew if he didn't get help soon, he was going to pass out. He drove around the city for about ten minutes, turning as often as he could, and made sure he wasn't being followed. Finally, he couldn't risk taking any more time, and since he didn't know where Jen lived, he found a pay phone. There was no way he was even going to turn on the cell phone Clemmy had issued him.
He got out of the car slowly, and wobbled a bit as he stood, but he was able to stand without falling, so he walked to the phone. His hands shook as he inserted the change, and it was work not to drop the coins. A wave of weakness washed over him. He felt his knees start to give so he gripped the side of the phone booth with one hand to support himself while he both held onto the receiver and stabbed in the number with the other hand. He finally punched in the last number and held the phone to his ear. It rang three times before it was picked up, and he worried that she wasn't home. She hadn't been on duty when he was there.
"It's Nick," he said when she answered.
"What's wrong?" Jen asked.
"I need help. I'm shot. It really hurts, Jen."
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HE stumbled on his way back to the car, and got in on the passenger's side, pulling the gun out of the holster on his back and putting it in his lap. If they had followed him, he wouldn't be able to see straight enough to shoot anyone, but he felt comforted by the weight in his lap. Then he started praying. For strength, courage, strength, wisdom. Eventually, he couldn't even keep the words of his prayer
straight. Five minutes later, the driver's door opened, and he tried to raise the gun but didn't have the strength.
"Oh, Nick," Jen said as she slid into the car. She leaned forward and lifted his shirt, and he could hear her gasp at the sight. "You need a doctor," she told him, and he could feel her cool fingers as they probed his skin.
"You … know… Bett—tter … than … that," he said. His words came out in pants and his teeth chattered as if he were freezing cold.
"There isn't anything I can do, Nick. You need a doctor, or you're going to die."
"Then I'll die. But I won't do it in a hospital room where I'm defenseless." He was about to pass out and had to win this argument before he did. He heard the engine start, and felt the pull of his body as the car started to move. "Where are we going?" he asked her. He prayed he passed out before he started throwing up.
"To a doctor."
He was going to kill her when he came out of this, and if he didn't come out of it, he would make absolutely certain to come back and haunt her.
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HENRY Suarez walked through the corridors of the hospital. It was two o'clock in the morning, and he'd been at the hospital for twenty hours now. The bus accident that happened in the afternoon rush hour on the interstate had caused an eight-car pileup. Every doctor on the hospital staff that had been there or on call had spent the last several hours up to their eyeballs in crash victims, and he was well past the point of tired. There wasn't even any sense in going home, because his next shift started in four hours, so he decided he would sleep on the couch in his office.
An Aria for Nick (Christian Romantic Suspense) (Song of Suspense) Page 26