Danger Close

by S L Shelton

  “Shit!” I had to shake my head to dislodge the disorienting assault on my vision and senses. There was no time for me to consider my new symptom of mental illness.

  I ducked down, dodging back into the building. Dropping down low to the ground, I peeked around the corner, just in time to see a white van door slamming shut. As soon as the vehicle peeled away, I ran back out into the parking lot, running along the sidewalk in the blind spot of the vehicle.

  It cut hard at the end of the large circular drive in front of the building and accelerated away from me, leaving me panting and unsatisfied—I hadn’t even been able to get the license plate number; no rear plates.

  “Fuck!” I yelled at its disappearing back doors.

  As soon as the van was out of sight, I turned and walked back to the building. The Baynebridge Security guard burst through the door a second later, his gun drawn. Great timing, I thought as I walked past him without a word.

  “Did you see who it was?” he asked excitedly, gasping for air.

  “Yeah,” I snapped. “It was Mary Browning. The woman you checked in before I got in this morning.”

  His face contorted in a startled look of confusion. “She cleared the ID check and the palm print reader,” he gasped defensively through his heavy breaths.

  “Yeah, well…I don’t think it was her,” I sniped with sarcasm. “Come on. Let’s go see if anyone’s hurt.”

  On the way back upstairs, I mentally chastised my internal schizophrenic hitchhiker.

  What the hell?! I thought to my hitchhiker. Any more invasions like that, I’m going back to Dr. Hebron to spill the beans—, and a little more detail on the warnings would be helpful.

  Pay attention, it replied.

  That startled me a bit. My mental defect rarely responded back to my comments. Usually, its voice was hit and run, and responses were more incidental. This time, it sounded a bit more like a reprimand—and a direct response.

  The Baynebridge guard and I walked back through the secure lobby before he turned off the alarm and reset the magnetic lock on the door. I put my hand on the print reader plate before pushing through the door. On the other side of my “high security” section I saw the heads of technicians poking through the blown out glass from the open tech floor on the other side.

  “Nothing to see. Back to work,” I said as I walked past them, tucking the gun into my waistband in a vain effort to conceal it. I suddenly realized what a ridiculous statement that was—of course there was something to see. They dispersed quickly and disappeared back into the main office—back to the cube farm I used to work in.

  I walked into the conference room, still trying to shake off the edgy feeling brought on by the violent prodding from my inner voice. Everyone in the section was huddled around Jo and Mahesh; Anna was pressing a paper towel to Mahesh’s bloody nose and Storc and Bonbon were kneeling next to Jo. They looked up at me expectantly as I came in—presumably hoping for an update.

  “Are you alright?” I asked, putting my hand on Mahesh’s shoulder.

  He nodded. “She caught me off guard,” he replied, seeming slightly embarrassed. “Did you get her?”

  What? I’m a computer programmer. What makes him think I could get her? I smiled inwardly at the question.

  “No,” I replied mildly. “She had a van waiting for her.”

  I was about to apologize to him for the clobbering when the security guard came through the conference room door. It was the first time I had ever seen him on that side of the door—not that it was too shocking; anyone from the tech cubicle farm could wander in through the broken window I had shot out at this point. “Internal Security from Langley is on the way,” he said. “I also called facilities and told them the glass screen was shattered and needs to be replaced.”

  I nodded as I knelt next to Jo. “Are you okay?” I asked, putting my hand on her back.

  She nodded.

  “As soon as Agency security is done here, I want you to go home,” I said.

  She shook her head aggressively. “No… I’m fine.”

  “Okay,” I lied, smiling at her gesture of bravery. I wasn’t going to argue with someone who had just been assaulted—even if I had no intention of letting her finish out the day.

  I walked into my office and saw the phone call to John was still active.

  “You still there, John?” I asked.

  “Is everyone alright?” he asked nervously.

  “Yeah. Mahesh got punched in the nose, and I think Jo is a little shaken, but other than that, everyone is fine.”

  “What happened?…Never mind. I’m coming out.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” I replied. “Internal Security is on the way, and facilities is coming to replace the glass on the wall.”

  “Is that how she got out?” John asked.

  “No,” I replied, trying to stifle a chuckle. “It’s how I got out. No one told me the section locks down when the alarm is sounded. I had to shoot the glass out to follow her.”

  “You shot—? I’m coming over.”

  “No. Seriously, John—” but the connection was already severed.

  I plopped down in my chair, forgetting momentarily about the gun in my pants until I sat on it. I pulled it out and looked at it, turning it over a couple of times before stashing it in the bottom desk drawer.

  What are you doing to my head? I asked the other me. I’m starting to think I can’t trust you after all.

  No response—typical.

  “Happy Monday, everyone!” I yelled out in frustration.

  A moment later, Jo walked in and sat across from me.

  “Are you okay?” I asked again.

  She ignored my question. “She wanted to know if you came back from L.A. with any documentation,” she said. “I didn’t even know you had been in L.A., so I couldn’t answer her. That’s when she got physical with me.”

  “I’m so sorry, Jo,” I replied sincerely. I felt horrible that something I was involved in had led to people in my life getting hurt—even if it was just a bloody nose on Mahesh and a sore neck for Jo. It could have been much worse, but it did feel good to hit a bad guy again—although I kept that thought to myself.

  “I work for the CIA,” she said with an ironic grin. “I’ll simply assume everyone is a bad guy from now on. I feel like that most of the time, anyway.”

  “I know the feeling well,” I replied with a soft grin. “But we’ll take steps to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

  She got up with a nod before rising and leaving me alone with the nagging feeling that I was on the edge of something either really great or really terrifying—or both.

  **

  11:45 a.m. - Still at TravTech

  “Are you carrying?” John asked me as we walked down the hall to my office.

  “No,” I replied.

  “Where’s the Glock I gave you?” he asked as we entered my outer office and saw Jo working furiously on an analyst project.

  “It’s in my night stand,” I said mildly, wishing I could have told him I had it on me—but I didn’t have a concealed carry permit, and until today, I didn’t feel comfortable with the idea of an open carry at work.

  He stopped at Jo’s desk and squatted down next to her. She kept working without looking up. After a few seconds, John reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a car key fob.

  “This will have the closest law enforcement to your location in minutes,” he said, placing it on her desk. “The others will get them too, but I wanted to make sure you had one today.”

  She stopped working and turned to look at the small device. After staring at it for a few beats, she looked into John’s face.

  “That wouldn’t have helped me today,” she said plainly, unemotionally.

  John smiled. “That’s what this is for,” he said, extracting another device from his jacket pocket. It looked to be the size of an old pager. Jo picked it up and turned it over in her hand a few times before pressing the buttons
on both sides. Sparks flashed across its metallic posts. “Seven million volts,” John continued with a grin.

  Jo’s lips curled in an attempt to suppress a smile, but the effort failed and after a second she grinned broadly, staring at the new toy.

  John got up and we moved toward my office. “Thank you,” Jo said meekly.

  “My pleasure,” John replied, winking at her before closing the door to my office.

  “What else can we do to protect them?” I asked, plopping down into my chair after the door closed.

  “Anyone who’s interested can take Agency self-defense classes, and I’ve already put in work orders for home security systems and panic buttons in all their vehicles,” he said reassuringly. “And then there’s always the old-fashioned way.” He patted the gun under his jacket. “We can get weapons training for all of them if that’s something you or they are interested in.”

  The thought of Bonbon with a gun terrified me. Come to think of it, the idea of Storc and Mahesh packing wasn’t very comforting either.

  I shook my head.

  “I thought you’d feel that way,” he said before walking over next to my desk, his hand extended.

  I knew exactly what he wanted. I reached into the desk drawer and pulled out the fake Mary Browning’s gun. When I handed it to him, he didn’t even bother looking at it. He just tucked it into the side pocket of his briefcase.

  “I’m also making sure that they replace the hall wall with bulletproof glass,” he said.

  “Then how will I get out next time we get locked in?” I asked with an ironic grin.

  “You’ll figure something out,” he said, matching my expression.

  “What about the guard?” I asked.

  “He did his job,” John said apologetically. “I can request a replacement if you want, but the same would’ve happened with anyone sitting at the desk.”

  I thought about it for a second before shaking my head. “How’d she get past the biometric entry?” I asked.

  “We’re still trying to figure that out,” he said, sitting down in front of my desk. “But I’m not holding out much hope for it leading to anything. This wasn’t an amateur job.”

  I took a deep breath and leaned back into my chair, focusing on calming my pulse for a few beats before looking up at him.

  “Tell me about this new project,” I said, shifting the subject.

  He smiled as he reached into his pocket before tossing a thumb drive on my desk. “He’s a Turkish arms dealer we tagged in Azerbaijan,” John said, the smile lingering on his face. “The same Serb group that has the devices has been providing him with other high-end weapons systems, and we’ve put him in the market for some hard-to-come-by rocket arrays.”

  “How’d you do that?” I asked.

  “I can’t share all the operational information with you,” he replied. “But let’s just say he won’t feel safe doing business in Azerbaijan for a while.”

  I nodded. “What’s on the drive?” I asked, turning it over in my hand.

  “Transponder ID, phone number, profile, known movements and associations, history,” he replied. “It’s a pretty standard analyst package. I want you to study him so you can be my go-to-guy on the trace.”

  I nodded again and excitement started to build in my chest as my internal flowchart began revealing secrets to me.

  How long to grow a beard; high level of detail on the nukes; study package and tracking info on a solid lead; go-to-guy on the target = he wants to send me into the field!

  “I see you took my query about the beard to heart,” he said after a second.

  I shrugged. “You asked how long it would take to grow it,” I replied plainly, trying not to reveal my excitement at the prospect of going into the field. “I wanted to give you an answer.”

  He chuckled and shook his head in amusement.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Even on something as simple as facial hair, you’re always a step ahead of me,” he said, mock accusatory.

  “Sorry,” I said insincerely.

  “Don’t apologize,” he replied quickly. “That’s what I want. I like having people working for me who can figure out my questions before I ask them.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” I replied with an innocent grin.

  “Okay,” he chuckled. “Tomorrow. I want you at Langley in the morning. I’m going to bring you in on the stuff that went down at your house last month and give you whatever we find on the incident here.”

  “Why the change?” I asked. “I’ve been begging for information on that for weeks.”

  “We hoped the interest in you would resolve itself once Gaines was in lockdown,” he replied. “But obviously, it’s just not going away.”

  “I haven’t talked to Bernie about what happened today,” I said, shifting the subject slightly, referring to the owner of TravTech. “I don’t know if he’s still comfortable with the arrangement.”

  John shrugged. “Evonitz got a call from Contract Administration before internal security arrived,” John said. “They’re going to beef up security on the building and reimburse the company for any damage—plus an ‘inconvenience bonus’. I don’t think he’ll back out now. But if he does, we’re ready to set you up in another location under a new company name.”

  I raised an eyebrow at the disclosure.

  “Don’t act surprised,” John said. “Bernie knows it’s you we want. One building is just as good as another. As long as we have your brain—and your team—we don’t give a rat’s ass whose name is on your paycheck.”

  I chuckled. “Talk about job security,” I replied.

  “As long as you keep producing like you are? Hell, I’d be surprised if you get to retire by the age of ninety,” he retorted.

  “If I live that long,” I snarked.

  “Then there’s that.”

  **

  4:05 p.m. —Spryte Industries Headquarters, New York, New York

  HEINRICH BRAUN was sitting in a conference room, listening to a security briefing from various Spryte Industry Subsidiary security managers. Some sat around the table, some were on the conference call.

  “The CIA has requested all the access records to the BRE server facility for the past month,” said the head of security for BRE Cryptography and Security over the phone—the Spryte Industries subsidiary that managed the biometric reader records for numerous government contracts. “They’ve been told that the legal department has to review the request before acting.”

  “Give it to them,” Braun muttered.

  “But, sir—”

  “Give it to them,” Braun repeated more forcefully. “We want to do everything we can to help track down the source of the breach. Our reputation is at stake.”

  Braun, of course, already knew the source of the breach. He also knew that the access records would not provide any assistance to the CIA in tracking down the fake Mary Browning.

  “Yes, sir,” the man replied cautiously. “If you feel that’s the best course of action.”

  Braun was about to lash into the man when the phone next to him chirped.

  “Mr. Braun?” came the voice over the intercom. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but you asked to be notified as soon as Miss Smith called.”

  Braun hit the speaker button. “I’ll take it in my office,” he said and then looked back at the group. “I’ll be back momentarily.”

  He walked down the hall, flanked by his driver and personal bodyguard, Brian. When he reached his office, he went in and closed the door, slamming it in Brian’s face.

  Before answering the phone, he pulled a map up on his computer monitor and clicked on two tabs along the right side of his screen. Two pinpoint flags appeared on the map.

  He quickly typed a text message into his cell phone before hitting “send” as he picked up the phone on his desk.

  “Go secure,” he said before switching on the secure function himself.

  “I need my payment,” came the voice of Miss S
mith—the fake Mary Browning.

  Braun laughed. “I think the arrangement was that you would obtain information about Wolfe’s trip to Burbank and then you would get paid.”

  “I need my payment so I can exit the country,” she blurted, her voice terse and somewhat frantic.

  Braun thought about that for a second. “I’ll only consider the obligation satisfied once I have the INTEL I requested,” he reaffirmed, his German accent wrapping around each syllable.

  “I’m blown!” the fake Mary exclaimed as Braun’s cell phone buzzed in reply to his text message. “How do you expect me to get close to them again?”

  Braun read the message on his phone and then typed a response. It simply read: Go.

  “The damage is minimal,” Braun said dismissively. “The logs from the entry system have already been cleared. All they’ll have is a vague description of you. I’m sure you can manage to alter that sufficiently to avoid detection.”

  That was a lie. He knew there were cameras at the TravTech office that hadn’t shown up in the facilities schematics. He had been warned several hours earlier about the images of his fake Mary Browning being processed through the FBI’s facial recognition software.

  Pity, he thought. Ex-agents aren’t easy to contract.

  There was silence at the other end of the phone.

  “You’ll need assistance,” he said sympathetically before pausing a beat. “I’ll have Mr. Harbinger contact you with an updated target package. There’s a surveillance team on Wolfe, and you can aid them. In the meantime, I’ll arrange for an exit and funds to get you out of the country. I should’ve known it was too obvious sending you to TravTech.”

  “I would’ve been fine if Wolfe hadn’t busted in on us,” she replied. “I don’t think he’s just support. He moved much too fast and with too much confidence to be a simple tech.”

  That’s interesting, Braun thought. She’s the second person to suggest he was more than he appeared to be. Harbinger’s man in the alley had said the same thing when they attempted to abduct Gaines…Wolfe wasn’t armed but was quite capable at hand-to-hand combat.