Search and Destroy

by JT Sawyer

  Good, a small park near the woods. Plenty of escape routes and vantage points. Though he knew that could work to his disadvantage as well if an FBI tac-team was fanned out in the area.

  Trust Vogel. She’ll come through.

  When he was done, he went into the menu and deleted the search history. Shepard knew he had less than three hours to get to the location. It was only eighteen or so miles away, but dodging street surveillance cameras and beat-cops on the lookout for the guy whose face was flashing on every news station and media outlet in the country was going to double his travel time.

  Shepard finished the last few bites of his burrito then stood up, glancing over the tattered loaner books on the shelf above the computer. His eyes settled on a well-worn edition of Greek Mythology: Timeless Tales of Gods and Heroes.

  He pulled it down, flipping through the pages as a flood of memories from a high-school honors class in the subject drifted over him. He paused on the chapter on Perseus, his eyes briefly flitting over the passages about Andromeda. His head shot up as he suddenly recalled the symbol that was texted to him prior to fleeing his home.

  )ooo(

  Andromeda.

  With the haze from the ensuing week of turmoil, his desire to figure out who sent the text had taken a backseat to more pressing matters of survival. Now, the symbol emerged in the forefront of his mind as he remembered the wooden plaque where he had seen it.

  He tucked the book into his pack, knowing that there were other things that had to be taken care of first before he could embark upon uncovering the rest of the riddle connected with the mysterious text. But he was now certain that it was Burke who had sent the automated message connected with a particular location that few people would ever discover.

  He must have had an automated message up on the cloud, timed for release in case something happened to him. Did he know that his life was in danger before the party, or was he just being cautious? And what will I find at the spot where he wants me to go?

  Cal kept his head low as he walked, heading outside to the alley on the left and wondering where the journey ahead would take him.

  29

  From the vantage point of 30,000 feet in the jet, Ernesto Rimaldi thought the contours of the jungle below resembled an undulating emerald serpent. He stared at the vast expanse of virgin forest north of Colombia after taking off from Roth’s private airstrip adjacent to his oil refinery near the border.

  He probably owns all of that rainforest down there too…just like he will in my country soon enough.

  Rimaldi clenched his jaw, knowing that the second meeting with Hunley and Roth at the latter’s ranch in Texas was to discuss re-establishing Venezuela’s languishing oil refineries. Rimaldi had already signed away his life to the two men who had guaranteed his ascendance to the presidency, and now they were going to discuss the logistics of oil extraction—the driving force behind the two businessmen’s interest in him.

  He wondered how much would actually be left of his soul once he was in office. Even Hunley’s economic hit-team of advisors, who had coached him behind the scenes for the past week in Venezuela, had practically instructed him on how to talk, walk, and part his hair.

  Rimaldi never viewed himself as a martyr, but he was being funneled down that path.

  His wife Isabella leaned over, resting her slender fingers on his shoulder. “Mi amor, you should get some rest. You were up all night as it is.”

  He caressed her tan arm. “I have to run over my speech a few more times. My fellow countrymen in Dallas will be a little more critical of me than the crowds at the rallies back home, and I need their support.”

  “I know. I know,” she said with a sigh of resignation. “I miss my husband, and you’re not even president yet. And here I thought being married to a lawyer was challenging.”

  “Some days, law school at Stanford seems like it was child’s play compared to the world of politics.”

  Isabella was only partly aware of the role that Roth played in his campaign; she thought he was instrumental in connecting Rimaldi with the elite Venezuelans formerly involved with the oil industry of their native country. She had no idea that Roth and Hunley were the money and brawn behind the operation.

  Frankly, he would be just fine avoiding further contact with Adam Hunley. Despite the man’s prior role in foreign affairs as an ambassador to Colombia, Hunley seemed like a slick car salesman whose only loyalty was to himself. Rimaldi knew that the man would try to insinuate his DC cronies into Venezuelan economics once Rimaldi was president. The man reminded Rimaldi of a trapdoor spider, hiding in its dank hole to pounce upon whatever creature ventured too close. And while Roth was a greedy corporate mogul, at least he was a self-made man and wasn’t a bullshit artist like his counterpart.

  Neither of them has any sincere interest in my people or country beyond filling their coffers, but Roth doesn’t hide behind rhetoric, and at least he tells you what the hell he thinks of you.

  He thought back to his initial meeting with Vincent Roth a week ago during his brief visit to the Texan’s ranch. Roth had a commanding presence and seemed as shrewd as he was intelligent. Rimaldi felt like the man was a far more forthright individual than the chameleon-like Hunley. The two Americans seemed diametrically opposed in the way they had built their wealth and reputations.

  Unlike Hunley, who came from a rich Silicon Valley family and had become an ambassador through political appointments with the help of friends in Washington, Roth was from a working-class family of ranchers, beginning his youth as a roughneck on the oil rigs of Texas, eventually becoming foreman then district supervisor. In his mid-thirties, Roth took a risk on investing in an offshore energy firm whose shares skyrocketed during a brief oil boom in the nineties. Climbing the corporate ladder using his considerable negotiation skills coupled with his experience in the trenches, Roth gained the recognition needed to strike out on his own by the time he was in his late forties, forming his company and using his international connections to further his reach.

  Rimaldi saw some pale elements of himself in Roth and thought that he could be a formidable business partner if he could convince the Texan to work directly with him instead of having Hunley as a middle man.

  Maybe there will be a way to cut Adam out of the picture in the near future. Otherwise, he will have his paws all over my administration.

  He eased back into his seat, glancing down at the jungle again. It looked just as inhospitable, but now he could make out a faint trail in the belly of the beast.

  30

  Carter exited the FBI field office and walked down the steps to the back parking lot. Her neck muscles felt like taut bands from too much time on the computer, and she just wanted to go home, eat and take a hot shower.

  Tremblay was continuing to improve, but her meeting with the CIA director never transpired—his secretary indicated that the agency wasn’t fielding any questions about the Shepard case.

  After making a brief detour to the grocery store, she was loading the items into the trunk of her SUV when she heard footfalls coming towards her. She peered up to see a sixty-something man in a suit and sunglasses who paused at the end of the parking spot. Standing near a black BMW one aisle away were two younger men in suits with their hands by their sides, scanning the parking lot.

  “Agent Carter, forgive the intrusion upon your personal space like this, but I wonder if we can talk for a few minutes. I believe we share a mutual interest in Cal Shepard.”

  She straightened up, raising her right hand to the Sig-Sauer pistol concealed under her jacket. “By the looks of that pricey suit, I’d say you’re not undercover, so who the hell are you?”

  Patterson raised his right hand up. The two men to his rear split apart, walking a short distance away. “Someone who cares about the outcome of the case you’re spearheading and the fate of Cal Shepard.”

  “You his handler or something? The agency send you to cover their asses?” She shook her head, slamming the hatch of her
vehicle. “Come here to convince me that Shepard’s an innocent man?”

  “I wonder how much convincing I’d have to do. You were top of your class at Quantico and a fine detective before that. Surely being the astute field agent you are, you must have already determined that there are things that don’t add up. Take for instance the fact you and your entire tac-team made it out alive from his house when he had the drop on you.”

  She took a step closer. How the hell does he even know what happened there? Carter wondered if there was a drone above them right now, recording her.

  He walked around the other side of the car, motioning to a bench near the edge of the lot, which bordered a small park.

  “Please, will you join me? Again, I apologize for the awkward circumstances of our meeting, but I fear that Cal’s life is in great danger now that he’s on the run with the bureau after him and another faction that we have yet to determine.”

  Carter kept her hand loose by her side, glancing over at the BMW again then over to the man before heading to the bench. He was clearly used to being in command of both other people and his surroundings.

  If this is the guy who trained Shepard, then maybe I can get some idea what the hell he was doing working for Burke.

  Carter locked her car then reluctantly followed the man to the park, keeping her head on a swivel.

  The man sat down, staring ahead like he was waiting for a friend to play chess with.

  “You never answered me…about being his handler.” She sat at the opposite end of the green plank bench.

  “That’s a term from the old days, but if you must know, I was Shepard’s unit commander for quite a spell. I will deny this, of course, but I am telling you so we can begin on solid footing rather than a place of mistrust. After all, I’m asking you to take a leap of faith even meeting with me like this.”

  “You mean the part where you tracked me from my office and confronted me in this parking lot? That’s not an exercise in trust building. Now, what do you want? Is this really about Shepard, or is it about what Burke was working on with that Perseus project we learned about?”

  “Both, actually, but what can you tell me about the explosion at the estate? And don’t tell me it was related to a gas leak.”

  She looked out at the treeline, wondering if there were other agents in the forest.

  God, relax; you’re getting paranoid.

  She could just as easily remain tight-lipped, but she wondered why he was here and whether anything she gleaned from their conversation could lead to further insight into tracking down Shepard and the thugs on the bridge who shot her partner.

  “Symtex residue was found by our forensics guys…the same type that was also discovered in Shepard’s basement. And he’s the kind of guy who would know how to work with that stuff, isn’t he?”

  Patterson glanced up at a passing raven. “There are far more efficient and less costly ways of erasing a group of targets from the board. An explosion of that magnitude was about getting a job done hastily to take out as many threats as possible in the least amount of time. Make no mistake, it was done by a professional hit team, but someone working with diminishing sand in the hourglass of their operation.”

  “So you suspected all along that this was done by a pro?” she said. “Did you also know that one of the guys on the catering crew was a war criminal connected with a Colombian cartel—Carlos Montoya.”

  Patterson flared an eyebrow. “You have my attention.”

  She pulled out her iPhone, retrieving a fragmented photo showing a dark-skinned man dressed as a caterer entering a white van. “This is all we were able to extract from the security footage outside of the catering company, which has suddenly closed its doors for business.”

  Patterson scrutinized the photo, his eyes subtly narrowing enough to inform Carter that it was a look of recognition.

  “You know him?” She slid an inch closer. “Is any of this related to Project 284?”

  His lips betrayed a faint smile. “Did Cal tell you about that?”

  “After he nearly let my partner bleed out after the shootout with those Colombian goons on the bridge.”

  She scrutinized the man’s weathered face, which revealed little.

  He doesn’t seem surprised at the mention of the men’s country of origin. How much does he really know about all of this? Is he just baiting me to determine the depth of my investigation?

  “Project 284 was nothing more than a simulation done within the confines of an underground think tank, but Cal wondered if someone had taken it to another level, and if Stephen Burke had stumbled onto something he wasn’t supposed to.”

  “So, the Colombian government or cartels are involved?”

  He pursed his lips, leaning back. “And you want what in return for an answer, exactly?”

  “Is this how it always works with you guys? You think everything’s about an IOU?”

  “Every relationship, even between married couples, is built upon the IOU system, whether conscious or not. A wiser man than I once said that the best way to lose a friend is to keep giving them things and not allowing any reciprocity.”

  “Is that what we are—friends? You’re too kind.”

  “I think you’re only here because you know that Cal isn’t the one behind what happened at Burke’s, and the former street cop in you is telling you to search for the bigger picture so an innocent man doesn’t face the hangman’s noose.”

  “And the big picture is what?”

  There was a pregnant silence in the air as Patterson carefully aligned his thoughts. “The big picture is…what organization would benefit from destroying any trace of a program created by a private contracting firm that could prevent political coups and assassinations from occurring. Surely this isn’t about someone but rather about some group or even regime that was threatened by Perseus.”

  “That’s what Burke was doing?” She waved her hand at Patterson. “He was working for you guys?”

  “My extrapolation was merely hypothetical, but one thing to keep in mind, Agent Carter—if this has international ties to the Colombians or some other powerful organization, then even a federal agent won’t be off limits.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at the two guys in suits, who had strolled out to either edge of the park. If an agency guy is telling me he’s worried, then who the hell are these people who took out Burke and set up Shepard?

  Despite the heat and humidity, Carter’s face felt temporarily frozen.

  “So Shepard worked for Burke as a what…a consultant or something, and now he’s become the fall guy for a government-sponsored program that has its origins back at your desk? That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Covering your ass.”

  “I’ve shoveled shit on numerous continents during the past three decades. My ass is secure, trust me. It’s Cal I’m worried about. He’s the best of a rare breed of agent. A natural predator who was born for the hunt like no other. Once he’s located who’s behind this—and he will—there will be no place for them to hide in this world.”

  “And you’re just going to sit back and watch it unfold? Let slip the dogs of war…let him do what you trained him to do even if it means murdering people on U.S. soil?”

  “His world and mine are not so black and white, Agent Carter. I’m surprised, growing up in the Bronx like you did, that you still adhere to such a pious code.”

  So, he’s already done a deep background search on me…interesting. She leaned forward. “That’s not the way I work and not the way any civilized nation works. If I’m there when Shepard’s about to spring into action, then he’s going down. Vigilantes aren’t tolerated in this country and certainly not on my watch.”

  “I don’t think you entirely believe that’s how civilized countries work. I suspect you overlaid a system of justice provided by your job with the bureau to compensate for the raw brutality of your life in the slums growing up. I’ve seen it before.” He pulled out his phone, typing in a number then hitti
ng send.

  “You a psychologist, too. Not a very good one…more like a burned-out spook who wants to make sure his pension’s secure.”

  “This has been illuminating.” He glanced down at her phone, which had just pinged with his number. “If you care to text me that photo, I will see what my people can turn up on Montoya’s whereabouts.”

  She smirked, glancing down at her device and forwarding it to his number.

  “And for the record, I don’t expect an IOU,” she said. “There are still some of us who try and uphold the law because it’s the right thing to do, not because of an agenda.”

  He smiled. “It appears that Cal isn’t the only rare breed of individual these days.” Patterson nodded at her as she stood. “Farewell and good luck, Agent Carter. And remember that the waters ahead may have a precipitous drop-off.”

  She planted both of her feet, staring down at the man. “Next time just call me. That’ll go a long way towards fostering trust instead of this power-play bullshit.”

  She walked back to her vehicle, wondering why he even wanted to meet, since he didn’t ask her anything other than about the forensics results from the explosion and had given such circuitous answers to her questions.

  Carter looked back at the man, who was still sitting peacefully on the bench. He seemed more concerned about Shepard than about the rest of the case. Does he need to bring his protégé in from the cold before he talks or exposes something, or is he just genuinely worried about the man?

  She got into her car, shaking her head and driving off. God, like I don’t have enough on my plate with the director breathing down my neck about the explosion and a bunch of Colombian assassins on Shepard’s trail. And fuck, then there’s Shepard himself, who I still need to apprehend!

  She tried to convince herself that he was just a lone fugitive on the run with limited resources. Now she wasn’t so sure that he was the hunted, and she wondered if the body count on the bridge was only the beginning.