by S. L. Jones
Jack looked over at the tablet Simpson was entering commands into and said, “If we would have had that kind of gear back in the day, there wouldn’t be any bad guys left.”
Simpson laughed. “It’s amazing. They’re going to blow the device I hooked up to the computer as soon as they’re finished uploading the data.”
“That’ll keep things nice and tidy. How long until it’s back?”
“It shouldn’t take long.”
As if on cue, the whirring sound of rotors from the PMD II came to within earshot. They both turned to look through the back window so they could watch it land in the bed of the pickup.
“Crazy,” Jack said.
“And expensive,” Simpson added. “Let’s head to the office. It’ll take a while for them to go through the video, but hopefully they’ll have enough downloaded by the time we get back. Once we’re there, we can plug it in so they can pick up the rest over fiber.”
“What do you think about all of this, Addy?”
“I’m still trying to get my head around what’s happening.”
“Me too, but I’m not talking about that.”
“Matilde?”
“Yeah, Matilde. You’re too close to this. What we did back there…we were lucky it went smoothly. It may have stroked our geriatric egos for five minutes, but it was dangerous. Really dangerous. If that place wasn’t empty, it could have been another story.”
Simpson shrugged. “I can’t argue with that. We need to get Trent on this.”
“We need to talk,” Jack said.
Chapter 60
Exxon Station, Rockville, MD
JAKE SANDERS WAS on edge as he paid the cashier for the gas. He had been waiting anxiously with Agent Cathy Moynihan for further instructions. His cell phone rang at the same time he pushed open the glass door to exit. He answered and made his way around to the side of the building, out of view.
“What do you have for me?” he asked.
“I got a team in there, but someone had already broken in,” FBI Director Frank Culder said. “They used some sort of device that trashed the security system.”
“A team? You mean Pagano?”
“No,” Culder said in an annoyed tone. “You’re not my only card I have to play.”
Sanders was pissed. He and Pagano were the only two left on the HVT Squad, and he wondered who else Culder could trust to pull into an operation like this. He began to pace back and forth.
“So, what? We don’t have any images of the fuckers who took our men out?”
“That’s right,” Culder said. “I think it was Simpson. They had to be connected, based on the explosive used alone. It’s not something you can pick up without some serious connections. They must have come back to finish the job by taking out the video.”
Sanders and his team had been asked to investigate Island Industries in the past but had never been able to uncover anything untoward about the company. They were either on the level and providing security for high-profile clients, or simply too good to get caught.
“I don’t know. Sure, they’re advanced, but—”
“Listen, I had my doubts about it at first, but the pieces are falling in place.”
Sanders checked around the corner of the building to make sure Moynihan was still in the car. “How so?”
“I spoke to Reed.”
“The one with the crack-whore daughter?”
“Yes, the heroin addict I told you about,” he corrected. “He said one of their operatives went dark. The timing of it makes him our prime suspect.”
“Did Reed say it was him?”
“No, but he didn’t have to. There’s no doubt their operative was at the airport with Francis Millar. He all but confirmed it. You don’t just buy DARPA-made devices at a shopping mall kiosk. He sounded nervous to me. Like he had something to hide.”
“You’re threatening his daughter. Of course he’ll be nervous.”
“Reed said this operative is too good to make a mistake. It matched up with the MO in Poolesville. It was professional.”
“Yeah. No doubt, but he can’t be in two places at once. He probably wouldn’t have had the time to make it to Dulles.”
Culder hadn’t thought of the timing. “True, but Simpson has more than one operative. We’ll have pictures of this one soon. Be ready to head to Chicago tomorrow. In the meantime, I need you to check out a place in Ashburn.”
“Virginia?”
“Yes. The analysts picked up a cell signal from one of the phones that was near the black site. It looks like it was turned on to make a call. The signal was traced to Cochran Mill Road. A place called the Lucky Stone Quarry.”
“How fitting.”
“Is she still with you?” Culder asked.
“Yeah, she’s in the car.” He looked nervously around the corner again to confirm. “We’re in Rockville, parked at a twenty-four-hour gas station.”
“Good. This quarry, it might be a good place to take care of business once you have everything under control.”
The hair on the back of Sanders’s neck stood up. He had carried out his share of hits, but this was the first time that the director had ordered him to kill a woman. Not only that, but a fellow law enforcement officer. Someone who he knew didn’t deserve to die. He’d had other jobs that didn’t sit well with him for one reason or another, but this one opened up a whole new category of wrong. He believed in everything he did on the HVT Squad, but this time it would be difficult to separate the job from the person. This wouldn’t be a memory that was easily wiped away. This hit would haunt him.
He headed back into the station and picked up some coffee before returning to the car. Moynihan reached across the front seat and opened his door with a push. He gave her an approving nod and followed it up with a smile.
“Thanks,” he said as he passed her a cup.
“No problem. Thank you. Lord knows I need it after tonight. Was that Director Culder?”
He nodded. “About tonight,” he said with a severity she hadn’t seen before. “Culder doesn’t want anything to get out about this operation. At least not yet. It’s way too sensitive.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Jake, three men are dead, and Melody Millar has disappeared. It’s not something you can just sit on. A young girl’s life is at stake.”
Culder was right. She wasn’t about to keep her mouth shut.
“Not permanently, Cathy,” Sanders said in a “No shit, Sherlock” tone. “Culder is concerned. He thinks Poolesville might have been an inside job,” he lied.
She looked at him in disbelief. “What?”
“Exactly. So, at least for now, we need to make sure we keep this under wraps. Our phones, the ones that were on at the house, need to stay off.”
“Gotcha. Wow.” She turned to look out the passenger window and quietly added, “I should really call someone about this. Damn cell phones.”
“What was that?” Sanders asked.
Moynihan took a sip of her coffee. “Never mind,” she said.
The FBI agent fixed her eyes to his, and he had no doubt that she could see right through him. Sanders shifted in his seat, increasingly uncomfortable with the situation.
“I’m not so sure I need this anymore,” she said, placing her coffee into a cup holder in the center console. “That news pretty much woke me right up.”
“Keep drinking,” he said. He gave her an appraising look. “They were able to trace the location of one of the cell phones from the house. We need to go check it out.”
Chapter 61
Dulles Airport, Northern Virginia
HIS SHOULDERS TIGHTENED, and he slouched down in his seat. Etzy Millar cringed as he watched the stunning beauty unzip the blue carry-on bag. His eyes widened as she pulled out a couple of small carbon parts for the device Trent Turner had referred to as the PMD. His heart pounded as she reached her hand into the bag once again. Her face wore a look of concern. She stopped short, leaving the item she had just grabbed inside his bag.
Her face turned red, and she quickly put everything back and closed the overhead bin.
It was an awkward start to the flight, but everything had settled down for the rest of their trip. The woman had checked her instrument with the flight attendant and never spoke to Turner again. Before they landed, the operative handed Millar a cell phone and an earpiece. He planned to use them to guide him to their hotel from a distance.
The first several moves were preplanned to make sure no connection was made between the two of them. A couple of loops around the airport, a cab ride to a nightclub downtown, out the back door and into a waiting cab. And then things got interesting. Turner had given him a crash course on countersurveillance tactics at his townhouse, but Millar learned to appreciate the craft even more after putting it to use through the city of Chicago.
The two men entered the hotel room. It looked as if its last coat of white paint had been put on decades ago. There were two twin beds made up with well-worn blue bedding, a desk, and a small bathroom.
“That was nuts!” Millar said.
Turner immediately went to close the window shades and said, “It turns out you’re a popular guy.”
“Yeah, I saw him. This spy stuff is pretty cool.”
Turner smiled. “You spotted one, did you?”
Millar gave him a quizzical look.
“Good thing I didn’t give you a heads up about the others,” Turner said. “We wouldn’t want things to get too cool.”
Millar raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “What?”
“Let’s just say it was more than one guy.”
“No way!”
“Way.” Turner shook an angry finger at Millar and squinted one of his eyes. “You, my friend, are being watched by the FBI.”
Millar’s thoughts turned to the news program that showed the FBI processing the crime scene.
“It wasn’t too hard to put it together,” he said. “He’s…” He looked down before continuing somberly. “Well, he was my best friend, so…”
“Sorry about your friend. That’s tough.” The operative met his eyes and said, “They didn’t take you in because they were hoping you’d lead them to something or someone.”
Millar smiled. “Well, I didn’t.”
Turner nodded and said, “No, you didn’t.”
“So what’s the deal with that beauty on the plane? She had eyes on you, man. That was intense.”
“That?” He shrugged his shoulders with a half smile. “Well, it’s complicated.”
“I take it that wasn’t part of your being-anonymous script,” Millar joked.
Turner shook his head and laughed. “You’ve got that right.”
“I figured you two had hooked up before or something, you know?” Millar scratched his arm nervously as he remembered the scene. “When she started pulling stuff out of your bag… Man, that freaked me out. I thought we were busted.”
Turner laughed and tossed the bag on the bed. “She wasn’t going to get past this.” He unzipped the bag and pulled out a book entitled Coping with Loss—Honoring the Memory of a Loved One in Life, written by Dr. Charles Reed.
“Holy crap.”
“I’ll pass it along to you when I’m finished,” Turner said. “The author is a genius.”
Millar nodded appreciatively in response. He was surprised that a man like him was affected by death.
“Besides,” Turner continued, “she would have had a hell of a time getting past this.”
He reached inside the back and began to pull. The sound of Velcro being torn apart filled the room. He tilted the bag toward Millar to show him a locked Kevlar compartment, where the weapons were stored.
“I should have guessed,” Millar said.
“You’ll figure out how things work soon enough. So where are we with the botnet?”
The hacker had connected his computer while they’d been talking and relayed the progress they had made with deploying a module, and what he had heard about the Federal Reserve.
Trent told Millar how the FBI had kept him out of the press, and then lightened the mood with his story about his first encounter with Victoria Eden.
“It looks like it’s going to be a long night,” Millar said.
“Indeed.”
Millar looked at the operative, and fear crept into his eyes. “So, I haven’t really thought about it until now,” the hacker said, “but what do you think is going to happen to me?”
“I don’t know, Etzy. What I can tell you is this: if you help figure this out”—he gestured to the laptop—“you’ll make a lot of friends. Influential people who might be able to help you get your life back on track.”
Millar appreciated the straight answer. “Then there’s a chance…you know, that things will be okay?”
“Definitely. Don’t give up hope, but we’ll need a few miracles.”
The hacker nodded and took a deep breath.
Turner changed the subject. “We could use some coffee.” He smiled, thought of Victoria Eden, and knew what Millar was thinking. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll stay away from Starbucks. I don’t think they’re open this late anyway.”
Chapter 62
Lucky Stone Quarry, Ashburn, VA
EVENGI BARANOV WAS annoyed with having been left behind in such a dump. His comrades had taken off to their primary location in Virginia with the two girls they had snatched up. The Russian had no food, no women, and no Internet connection. His only entertainment was the stack of faded trade magazines in English fanned out on the table in front of him. He was chosen to wait for a delivery that was scheduled for later in the evening.
It took him a couple of tries to find a place that would deliver food at this hour. He made sure to turn off his cell phone once he’d finished making the calls. He had already caught considerable flak for leaving it on when they had picked up the girls. In fact, that was why he was the one stuck in the dingy trailer. He had managed to finish off an entire pizza and chased it down with most of the two-liter bottle of Coke he’d ordered.
It only took a few minutes for his stomach to grumble its dissatisfaction with his menu choice. The toilet situation at the quarry was questionable. The Johnny-on-the-spot just outside the trailer was filled with enough excrement to produce an eye-watering stench, and its throne had been splattered by the stories of past intestinal transgressions. He was a former Spetsnaz soldier, so he had no problems taking a dump in the woods, but the thing that pissed him off was the bare cardboard tube stripped of its toilet paper. His intestinal urgency increased as he went inside to grab his used dinner napkins. He made a beeline for a copse of trees and shrubs across the gravel driveway.
The sweat-inducing stomach cramps had almost gotten the best of him by the time he found a tree to lean against. He amused himself with thoughts of just how good it could feel to take a shit. He drew comparisons to his job, and the euphoric feeling he had after they had dispatched of the three FBI agents.
His tree-leaning contemplations were interrupted by the sound of tires crunching gravel from the main road. It was too early for the expected delivery, so he cleaned himself up and crept to the edge of his cover, where the bushes bordered the road.
He saw a car parked on the side of the road with a light tint to its windows. He was unable to make out any human silhouettes inside, but he could see the outline of the seats and the rearview mirror. He realized the driver must have gotten out while he was busy finishing up his business. He sensed the car wasn’t parked there by chance. Adrenaline began to course through his veins and his mind sharpened.
His predatory drive took over as he silently weaved his way through the bushes to catch a view of the trailer. It was slight, but he saw it: a subtle shift in light in the shadows. He stared intently until his eyes fully adjusted to the darkness, and then he saw him. His weapon was drawn, and he was carefully working his way toward one of the windows in the trailer. His movements told the Russian his visitor was highly trained. He’d left his Makarov pistol inside the trailer, so he woul
d have to take care of this the hard way.
A car passing on the main road momentarily broke his concentration. The thought of the takedown excited him. Only twenty feet separated the two men, and he would have the element of surprise. He got that feeling again, the heightened sense of power just before playing God. He needed to time his attack perfectly.
Chapter 63
TENSION BEGAN TO build as they took the exit for Shreve Mill Road and headed toward the quarry. This would mark the first time Agent Cathy Moynihan would knowingly go into a volatile situation with a relative stranger. Images of the dead men at the FBI black site unsettled her. Once Jake Sanders told her they were heading to Virginia to intercept the suspects, she went quiet for the first time since they’d met.
She had run through training exercises in her head on the way there in an effort to build her confidence. Her mind-set was shaken when Sanders broke the news that they would have to take care of this without any backup. He had explained that they didn’t know who they could trust within the bureau. She didn’t say it, but she didn’t have to. His responses made it clear that he knew she wasn’t buying the bullshit he was selling. She was far too smart to march forward with blinders on.
Moynihan gripped the steering wheel tight in order to stop her hands from shaking. They were only minutes away when she said, “I’m sorry.”
“About what?” Sanders asked.
She glanced at him quickly and said, “Your friends. I know it must be tough to function right now, after what’s happened…”
“That’s why they pay us the big bucks,” Sanders joked. He was trying to brush it off, but she knew better.
“Well, if you want to talk about it at some point…I’m here to listen. Okay?”
He looked over at her for a long moment and finally said, “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.” She looked over and flashed him a nervous smile. “Almost there.”
“Yep. Are you doing okay?”
“I’ll be fine,” she said. “You?”