“Dave?”
“Go ahead.”
“Where are you?”
“In my car.”
“Okay. Do me favor?”
“What?”
“Don’t drive anywhere.”
Fucking Dave was really going off the rails. How long had it been going on for? Had Sam walked into the final scenes of his friend’s tragedy? Or had he been instrumental in some way? He found it hard not to feel a little guilty. Even if the timing was just completely coincidental. Sam had bothered him about the Kurt research, which put him back in contact with Vivian. Though it seemed that type of contact, physical or not, was inevitable. Still, Sam played some small role in that. Then there was the drinking. It seemed like everything for Dave after those catch-up beers—his retainer fee—had been going downhill.
Sam ran his fingertips through his hair, scratching against his skull. There was so much to do. So much to worry about. From mass terror attacks to the private tragedies of his closest friends. He would have to set something up for Dave. He would have to talk to him about a program. Something to get him out of his Goddamned car and maybe back with his family.
Sam started watching through the recordings again, his gaze following them only halfheartedly now as his mind went to Dave. But then he saw it.
What was that?
What was that man holding?
There was a short, thin man, wearing a hooded jacket with the hood pulled down low over his head. All Sam could see was a beard, no mustache. Brown skin. At first he looked like any other man caught up in the attack. But he’d had a small painter’s mask over his mouth, a flat cloth kind like the ones so popular in Asian countries.
And even that would have been fine. He’d seen his fair share of people with masks in major cities. In D.C., New York. It was the way he was moving that got Sam’s attention. His head movements too, where he would look and pay attention to. How he was not panicking or scrambling away, but walking in organized lines. A pre-planned route, that mostly had nothing to do with the flow of traffic away from the attack. Nothing to do with any perceivable sense of self-preservation.
And what the fuck was he holding?
At first it looked like a typical briefcase. But upon closer inspection, it seemed to have a small hose running out of it, with a type of nozzle.
And then he saw another man, similar build, similar skin color and dress. Similar fucking air-quality-monitor briefcase.
Sam paused the video, his fingers shaking so badly at the track pad he had trouble aiming the cursor. He reached for his phone and pulled up two photos he had saved, close-ups of the two suspects.
He compared them to the two he’d been watching on the screen.
They didn’t fucking match.
These were two completely different men, with what looked like air-quality readers, walking in systematic lines, almost as if they were scientists conducting an experiment. These were his masterminds. The researchers—training and watching over the rats.
21
Clara
“Sam, I thought you were all done with that stuff.”
“I am,” he said, still watching his videos. She couldn’t believe the way he was just sitting there staring at his computers.
“Hello?”
“What?”
“If you were done, you wouldn’t be watching that stuff over and over again.” She moved across his hotel room, trying to decide where she would sit. There was no way she was sitting on the bed. Not when it invoked the kind of images currently running through her head. Sam, naked, lying between her spread legs, his head buried in her folds, making her come all over his face before he slid up and thrust his cock deep into her body. Clara shivered. Sam was still at his computers, his face practically glued to them. For a man who was supposed to notice stuff, he was been supremely fucking dense.
Yep, the bed was the last place she felt like sitting.
“I’m just . . .” His voice came out quietly, distant, his syntax half a step behind usual. Without removing his eyes from the screen, he said, “I’m just trying to . . .” And then he trailed off again, retreating back to his careful study of old news footage.
“Just trying to what?” She walked over to him. He needed a little punch or something. Yes, he definitely needed something. A kick to the head perhaps, to let him know how badly he was behaving. A little slap on the back. She felt compelled to lay her hands on him and break him out of his trance. “Huh? What are you trying?” She reached down at his side, right above his hip, and grabbed a handful of where he’d previously admitted to being the most ticklish.
His only reaction was to slap her hand away with a quick and terse, “Wait.”
“Wait?” Clara backed off before she really did punch him in the head. Hard. She circled back to his bed, looking at it, and then moving over to sit in one of the chairs by a small table.
“Wait,” he said again, this time a little more urgently. “Wait, what was that? What the hell was that?”
He was talking to his fucking screens.
“I don’t know, Sam. Why don’t you tell me?”
No answer.
“Why don’t you communicate?”
He suddenly stood up like someone had cattle-pronged him. “I’m sorry,” he said, this time with direct eye contact. Clara could hardly believe it. The cyborg had detached from its mother ship.
“What the hell’s going on?” She was tempted to get her phone out so that she could stare at her own screen, so that he could feel what it was like to be ignored.
But he looked too white in the face. Too . . . scared?
“Sam?”
He paced around, taking deep breaths. “Okay,” he said. “Sorry.” His breathing slowed a little. And then he walked over to her and sat in the chair opposite. “Okay. Everything’s okay.” he said, smiling. And then laughing a little.
“I still don’t buy it,” she said. “You’re a terrible liar, Sam. That’s why I like you so much.”
“No, I just had to finish up something. I saw something, um . . . I was looking through the old footage.”
“I could see that. Isn’t that a little morbid?”
“And I think I’ve identified two additional suspects.” He started rooting around in his pants pockets, finally pulling away two hands full of smart phones, pens, beer-bottle caps, and an odd-looking laminated card on a string. He overturned his palms and dumped everything on the table. He sighed and said, “Okay.”
“Sam, are you working this case for your company?”
“What case?”
“The terrorist attack. I know you feel connected to it because of me. I know it’s personal. But is this your job now?”
Sam was about to say something, but then he stopped himself. And then he frowned. “It’s not really my job, no.”
“Then why are you . . .?” She trailed off as she looked over some of the stuff he’d just dumped on top of the table. She reached over and picked up the card thing. “What’s this?”
“A press pass.”
“For what?”
“It’s a fake. Got it express-mailed here from D.C. Actually, express-hand-delivered.”
“Why?” It was starting to bother her now. “Actually, no. Forget it.”
“What?”
“I don’t want to know.”
Sam reached forward and pushed the rest of his junk aside, maybe so she couldn’t see everything, and then he put both arms on the table stretching out, hands clasped. “Clara, I totally get that I look a little crazy.”
“Yeah, not just a little, Sam.”
“You have to trust me that I’m really onto something here. I think I found something huge, and I need to head down to talk to someone real quick.”
“Yeah, you need to talk to someone, alright.”
“Clara, hey.” Sam stared back at her. His whole demeanor had changed. There was this strange, plastic niceness across his face. “Hey, why don’t we go on a vacation? Just us. Just us and Molly.
”
“I can’t go on a vacation.”
“Why? You’re off for three weeks. Molly has Christmas break.”
“She also has a parade.”
“That’s tomorrow,” he said.
“We have plans here.”
“I know, but . . . Wouldn’t it be great to just get away? I feel like we really need to just get out of the city for awhile.”
“I don’t get it, Sam. First you do everything you can to stay here, and now you want to run away? I can’t just pick up and leave.”
“For a vacation.”
Was this it? Was this their first argument?
A sad realization came over her. Was last night the apex of their relationship, the peak of their lust? Would everything now that followed be the same decline that matched the trajectory of all of her past relationships, that same familiar Goddamn downward spiral?
“Clara, listen . . .”
She stood up. “I gotta go.”
“Wait.”
“I know, but I have to go.”
“Clara . . .” He finally looked concerned, not about something he’d seen on his monitor, but concerned for her.
“It’s okay,” she said, collecting her things. “I’ve got to pick up Molly.”
22
Sam
It was a sacrifice: Clara’s immediate reactionary impulse compared to the long-term safety of her and Molly, and perhaps the nation. He just had to juggle it all perfectly right. And he had to stay sharp the next morning, when Jasper surprised him with an invitation to the city council building. A meeting in the basement boardroom where he’d have another chance to persuade Captain Morin. No fake press pass required.
Apparently, something had “come up.” It was all Jasper would offer during their quick car ride. While they were walking down the building’s corridor, he offered Sam the most annoying smile he’d ever seen.
“What’s so funny?” Sam asked.
“Aren’t you glad I didn’t leave town this morning?”
“Well, let’s see what this meeting is about. I’ll be glad when the captain finally gives me access to these guys.”
That was the best-case scenario, that the captain had a change of heart. Maybe he’d hit a wall in the investigation. Maybe all that stuff about Tulane was a misdirection. Maybe Sam was on the verge of breaking the case wide open, saving New Orleans and the whole country. But when Jasper, still smiling, opened the conference room door, the only thing on the verge of being broken wide open was someone’s head.
“What the fuck?” Sam said, shocked and shaking in the doorway.
“‘What the fuck?’ What kind of greeting is that for your boss?”
Sam stared at Jackson, who was sitting there in crossed-arm smugness, in his finely tailored suit, his chair at the head of a long conference table lined with the rest of his fellow DARC Ops men. Down the row from him were Matthias and Tucker. Across from them sat Tansy, the harbinger, who’d finally arrived. They were all smiling, but it still felt like an ambush. And now, with a little push from Jasper, Sam had stumbled directly into the kill zone.
“Relax,” Jackson said. “It’s fine.”
“What’s fine? What is this?”
“An intervention,” Tansy said with a shit-eating grin.
“I don’t need it,” Sam said. “I’ve made up my mind. But I’m touched that y’all came down here.”
Jackson was on his feet now, coming over for a handshake. And then, “Let’s just talk. Why don’t you take a seat?”
They sat there for several minutes, Sam’s tension easing a little as they made small talk of the biological attack. The boys seemed keenly interested in Sam’s tale, his experiences dealing with the first responders, the press, and the local investigators. They seemed genuine in their care for him. They were almost . . . sensitive.
“I was honestly getting a little worried,” Jackson said. “You’re a huge part of this team. A great asset.”
“You pretty much saved my ass here last month.” Matthias said. He turned to Jackson. “He sat in that bar for just a few minutes and he could already tell who was trying to kill me.”
“You’ve got good instincts,” Tansy said.
“And that’s why we’re here,” Jackson finished.
Despite his best efforts, Sam felt his jaw drop. Just a little. “You’re not here to try to force me back to Washington?”
“It’s no secret that we need you back there,” Jackson said. “But we also want to get to the bottom of what’s going on here. I’m tired of hearing about the conspiracy theories.” Jackson winked at him.
“They’re not conspiracy theories,” Sam said. “Well, yes, technically they are conspiracy theories, because it involves a group of people conspiring, but, they’re not . . . they’re . . . Okay, look.” Sam lifted his bag onto the table, unzipped it, and pulled out his laptop. “Why don’t I just show you the evidence I have?”
“We’re ready to listen, Sam. You need us, DARC is here. Besides, I’ve learned it’s not a good idea to ignore your gut.”
“Guys?” Jasper said, still standing at the doorway. “I’ve already seen his evidence. I think you’ll find it interesting. But if you’ll excuse me, I have to meet with someone real quick.” He left the room while Sam pulled up the news video compilation on his laptop.
“This here,” Sam said, pointing at the screen. “This is something one of the D.C. office staff put together for me. It’s a compilation of all news footage, legacy and independent, as well as any amateur footage uploaded from the event. I’ve gone over this about thirty times in the last twenty-four hours, which is why I currently look the way I do.”
Jackson laughed. “You look fine.”
Sam stared at him, knowing full well that the rings around his eyes had gotten twenty shades darker in the last eight hours alone. He was almost proud of it. He considered it a badge of honor in the fight to save his family, and the city.
“Well,” Jackson said, some hesitation creeping into his vice. “You do look a little tired.”
“I’m not just out here on vacation,” he said.
The room erupted into laughter. Sam smiled back and returned to his screen. Yeah, the guys would have his back. They always had. That was just what DARC Ops did.
“So I’ve gone through the raw footage, and then edited together another highlight reel.” Before he clicked play, Sam went back into his bag, grabbing a cord and then attaching it to the projector mounted on the table. It was pointing across the room to a bare wall. “Can someone hit the lights?”
Tansy pulled out his phone, and after a few swipes of his finger, the room lights dimmed.
“You hacked into the lighting system?” Sam grinned at him.
Tansy shrugged. “Bad habit.”
Projected on the wall was a still shot of Sam’s video. He pressed play, letting the clips run, all of them showing various angles and activities of the mysterious air-quality samplers.
“See those men?” Sam said.
A silence fell over the room as everyone leaned forward, their faces blank. Sam finally felt like he was getting somewhere. This was the missing piece, the part that would blow the whole scheme wide open. The piece that would prove the attack had been done by a bigger system and not just two lone nuts. There was more coming. He knew it as strongly as he’d known anything in his life. Even as strongly as he knew he loved Clara, and Molly, and would do anything to stop this threat against them.
“It looks damning,” Jackson said, sitting back in his chair. “But maybe they’re with the government, part of the crisis-response team, monitoring the air.”
“Only they’re not,” Sam said. “I checked.”
“And guys,” Matthias said. “Not to sound, uh, racist, or anything, uh, but, what are the odds of the government employing five Africans to do this very specific job?”
“You can’t tell their nationality from that video,” Jackson mentioned.
“Even still, that would have to b
e affirmative action on steroids. Not to sound racist.”
“Can you stop saying that?” Tansy said.
“Okay,” Jackson cut in. “Let’s just make a blanket statement that no one here is a racist. Okay?”
“It’s been crazy in this town,” Sam said. “With the protesters and everything. You can’t even talk about race anymore.”
“Unless you’re calling someone a racist. That’s still safe.” Tansy grinned, throwing a pencil at Matthias.
“Sam,” Jackson, said, “You think New Orleans is the only place that has protests? You should take a look at your school back in Washington.”
Sam sighed. “You’re just making the case for me not to return.”
“Well, we’re fucked either way,” Jackson said.
Tansy launched another pencil, this time at Jackson. “I think we’re getting off topic.”
“The topic,” Sam said, “is that the official story is bogus. These men are clearly testing air samples around the contamination site. They used a relatively harmless substance just to track its dispersal. What I’m afraid of is how they’ll use the results. I promise you, gentlemen, next time won’t be a test.”
“Okay,” Jackson leaned forward, his hands on the table. “What do you need?”
“On a personal level, I want access to those two suspects. That’s what I thought today was going to be about.”
“Sorry.” Jackson said. He grinned and blocked Tansy before a USB stick could launch into the air. Tansy was like an overgrown toddler at times, though his body moved as fast as his mind when he wanted it to. Neither was ever still for long.
“Well, no,” Sam said. “It’s fine. I think your being here can help me get that access. Just ten minutes alone with either of these guys and I’ll be able to crack them.”
“Damn straight,” Tansy said.
“If anyone can do it,” Matthias said, “it’s you.”
“What else do you want?” Jackson asked. “Besides never returning to Washington ever again.”
DARC Ops: The Complete Series Page 102