Her intelligence was a given in her surroundings, but while most of her contemporaries were looking to Silicon Valley for their post-degree futures, she wanted something else. Her mother pushed her again, this time into a “dream job” at one of the tech giants. Alicia enjoyed the challenge at first, but after a few years realized that the quest for a share in the next big IPO didn’t make her tick.
She found her calling at the CIA. It was well known that the Agency had a presence in Silicon Valley. Youthfulness and tech savvy were what the Agency needed. A second and third language, in Alicia’s case her native Mandarin as well as Spanish, brought her into their sights.
Taking the job and moving three thousand miles away to Langley, Virginia, was the first defining moment in her life. She had finally defied her mother. Alicia wasn’t sure what to do with those feelings, so she did what she did best and buried them.
The second defining moment came when she met Alan Trufante. After several years of desk work, she had asked to be put into the field. The opportunity came in a backward way, when she suspected her boss was playing both sides of a case. As far out of her comfort zone as she had ever been, she followed her gut to the Florida Keys and, with the aid of fishing guide and salvor Mac Travis’ wayward deckhand, had brought her boss to justice. Along the way, the Cajun had taught her some important life skills: how to drink, shoot, and bend the truth. Through that adventure-diving guide and gamer TJ had come into her life, and she had never looked back.
Breathing deeply, Alicia stared at the multiple screens tiling the wall of the War Room. Taking up half the square footage of the two-bedroom apartment above the dive shop the couple ran in Key Largo, the room was every bit as sophisticated as her old space in Langley. A world-class gamer, originally TJ had created the space. Along with the screens, he had installed a large, upholstered captain’s chair as the centerpiece. Alicia had added her own workstation, a standard-issue desk off to the side.
A cool breeze from the isolated air-conditioning system that protected the equipment from the harsh subtropical environment did little to change the stagnant atmosphere of the room. Frustrated, she stared at the dot flashing on the center monitor that TJ had configured to show Mako’s last known location. To the side, other screens showed bits and pieces of the day’s events, as well as a communication log with the CIA contact of the files Mako had snatched.
To make matters worse, TJ had been forced to leave to guide for a charter. Their dive business, though seasonal, provided a steady stream of income. Their Agency contracts were a boon, but unpredictable. At this point they probably could have gotten by without the side business, but it added another dimension to their lives.
The once water-phobic Alicia had fallen in love, not only with TJ, but also scuba diving. Their analytical minds had developed a system to take nitrox, an oxygen-rich mixture that extended a diver’s bottom time, to the next level. Incorporating it into their charters had allowed far more flexibility, both in depth and bottom time, than standard mixes for more experienced divers. The word had gotten out to the dive community. Two charters a day and sometimes three were fairly common. With the full moon tonight, they had a night dive scheduled in conjunction with the Coral Restoration Foundation.
Alicia glanced over at the empty captain’s chair. There weren’t many times when the businesses conflicted. This afternoon was one. She could have used him now.
She had tried to track Mako’s phone, but he must have shut it off when he removed the earpiece. TJ might have thought of something else. He was the more creative of the pair. There seemed to be just one alternative left open to her. She had heard Mako answer his phone before going black.
Mako’s privacy was his concern, though she would never unnecessarily violate it. But being alone with a strange woman operative and having the file in his possession negated that standard. Giving an employee a company phone was a business expense, and the company owned the phone and had access to the records of its users. Alicia logged into their carrier and in minutes found his most recent incoming call. A Bethesda number could mean it was John Storm calling, but her photographic memory had logged his number long ago—and this was not it.
Copying the digits into a reverse directory website, she came up with Walter Reed Hospital. Using her old CIA credentials, which TJ had backdoored to remain active, within five minutes the hospital’s records appeared on several of the screens. John Storm’s name popped up under recent admission.
“Hey!” TJ called out from the kitchen. “Got Jen to take the charter.”
Alicia was relieved, but remained focused on the screens. She continued to drill down until she found John’s admission record. Head trauma was listed as his condition. Alarm bells started ringing for her that had nothing to do with the red light illuminated over the door as TJ entered.
“John’s in Walter Reed, and Mako’s probably heading there.”
“What’s the problem?” He popped the top of his Coke.
“Not sure, but it was a good idea getting Jen to cover.”
“Figured with the deal going south, I might be needed here. I had Jen bring in another divemaster. She’s got her six-pack license and can run the boat.”
Alicia frowned at the expense, but knew the Agency deal was worth more than the cost of subbing out one charter. She explained about Mako going dark.
“We’ve got to assume the worst,” he said, as he dropped into the captain’s chair.
6
Bethesda, Maryland
“We need to talk before you go in,” Gretchen said, as she pulled into a parking space at the Walter Reed Medical Center.
Mako’s radar kicked in. “Sounds like you know why we’re here.”
“No, I just think we should get a few things out in the open before you get distracted. A rush trip to a hospital is never a good sign.” She wrinkled her brow as if in concern.
Mako wasn’t buying the sincerity, but the look was a good one on her.
“This contract isn’t what you think it is.”
He’d heard that line before and now wished Alicia was listening in. He tried to subtly slide his hand in his pocket and turn on the earbud, but Gretchen stopped him with another distracting look. She might have lacked firearms training, but she knew how to use her eyes.
“Better this is between us. I won’t stop you from sharing it, if you think you need to when we’re done.”
Mako guessed there was no harm in that. He averted his eyes so he could focus on what she was saying instead of her attractiveness. It barely worked.
“Your people in Key Largo are at odds with your father.”
It was a statement, not a question, which meant that she knew either Alicia or his father. He assumed the latter. This was typical John Storm. Instead of just asking Mako if he could see the files, he’d resorted to his best friend—subterfuge.
Mako played stupid and shrugged his shoulders, waiting for her to continue.
“Some bad people are after those files.”
“Is that why we’re here?”
She looked down. “Yes. I hope he’s okay.”
Mako needed to decide who was the bad guy in this operation.
Even in the bipolar political spectrum, good and bad were hard to define. There were always two sides to every story plus the gray area between them, and each viewpoint was correct depending on your lens. It was usually a moral or ethical definition that decided whether something was right or wrong, but again, which side of the fence you sat on influenced that as well.
“So, dear old Dad’s trying to bury these files, and the CIA, by way of Alicia, is trying to acquire them for someone you and Pops don’t like?” He glanced at the hospital, feeling bad about referring to his father so casually when he could be in trouble. John Storm often had his own agenda—many old field agents did. They had witnessed and done things that would never see the light of day. It was near impossible to pry any history of his past operations from his father’s lips. Accolades were of li
ttle interest to the old-timers, who thought they were saving the world. They hadn’t gotten the message that it was too late for their generation.
“I take it you haven’t looked through them yet?”
Mako bit his cheek to avoid telling her that he planned to photograph them once he could make an excuse to use a bathroom.
“I was in a bit of a rush.” Things weren’t adding up. “And those other guys from Georgetown who were after me are not with you?”
“No.”
“And you are no longer willing to pay for them?”
Her expression turned to frustration. “Mako, I’m working with your father. The other men are working for the Minister of Tourism and so is Alicia through the CIA.”
The knowledge, provided it was true, turned the situation upside down.
Mako was still stunned. He looked through the windshield at the hospital again, wondering if his father was there because of Hoover’s files. “You’ll have to excuse me, I need to check on my dad.” Mako reached for the handle and opened the door. He stepped onto the pavement and started toward the entrance. He hadn’t taken a dozen paces when he realized Gretchen was right behind him. A second later he felt a tug on his arm.
“Mako, really, hear me out.”
“I need to see how my father is doing. If you don’t mind.” He brushed her hand away, but felt her walking behind him.
“Fine. If you won’t listen to me, maybe you’ll listen to him.”
Mako relaxed slightly. He certainly felt better about her if she was willing to stand in front of his father and let him explain. Easing his pace slightly, he let her catch up and they walked together toward the entrance.
7
Bethesda, Maryland
Gretchen stood behind Mako at the foot of the bed. John Storm, looking even older than his seventy-two years, lay inert. Tubes from several IVs ran into his arms, and his breathing was assisted by a small, clear oxygen tube in his nose. His head was wrapped in a bandage that left just his nose, mouth, eyes, and ears free. Fortunately, the gauze was fresh and clean. Mako moved closer to his father, stopping short of touching him—theirs wasn’t that kind of relationship.
“Mako?” John asked, his voice gravelly from the dry oxygen.
“Yeah, Dad. I’m here.”
“The files?” John craned his head.
“They’re here. Gretchen too.” Even in critical condition, his father wasn’t going to make it easy for Mako. John wanted confirmation that his son and Gretchen were working together before he continued.
John seemed to relax. He looked past Mako, saw Gretchen, and creased his lips in a pained smile.
That at least solved one problem—she wasn’t lying about knowing him. Mako grasped the leather messenger bag against his side and nodded. Seeing John’s recognition, Gretchen went around to the other side of the bed, where she took John’s other hand.
“What happened?” Mako asked.
John just nodded. His eyelids dipped slightly, then closed.
Mako stood and started for the door. “I’m going to find the doctor.”
Gretchen nodded. “I’ll stay with him.”
Mako glanced back. John and Gretchen looked more like father and daughter than John and he had ever seemed like father and son. But Mako had put the past behind him. Nothing in his life had been “normal.” Even his career had been dictated by his father. Mako knew John had pulled some strings to get him accepted into the CIA, but living up to his father’s reputation had been the end of him. One too many reports of Mako finding a “different” way of doing things had ended his employment. His unconventional methods had gotten results, though, and Alicia had taken note. They had both left the Agency around the same time and things fell into place after that.
Somehow, even though he appeared to be asleep, John seemed to know who was there and his slight smile lingered. Mako had questioned why John wasn’t surprised that Gretchen was with him. Looking back, he could clearly see his father’s heavy hand in the day’s events.
Gretchen had given him some insight into why the “retired” John Storm was involved with a beautiful operator and had apparently thought it important enough to interrupt a classified CIA handoff. Taking unilateral action was something dear old Dad was good at. John had traveled the world and had postings in both backwater and high-profile locations. Gretchen was too young to have been around in the “good old days,” as his father called them. If Mako had to guess, he would put her at around age thirty. Leaving the question for later, he was thankful that at least John and Gretchen’s relationship didn’t appear to be romantic.
On his way out the door, but with his focus behind him on Gretchen, Mako walked full speed into a nurse’s cart. His knees stung from the strike, but he smiled as he apologized and eased past her.
“If you’re looking for the doctor, he’s next door. Hang tight, he’ll be right in,” she said.
Mako stepped aside to let her through and stood in the doorway. His position allowed him to watch Gretchen and his father, as well as to be able to grab the doctor before he entered the room.
Mako watched as the nurse first checked the monitor showing John’s vitals, then went to enter the data into the computer on her cart. From Mako’s position, he could see the screen and, though he wasn’t looking for red flags, he observed she failed to login. Instead of trying again, she grabbed an IV bag from the cart and moved toward the rack. Mako’s radar kicked in as he watched her crimp off one of the pair of bags hanging from the rack. She removed the needle from one of the ports coming from John’s arm and replaced it with the needle from the fresh bag. Mako tried to read the name of the medication on the bag, but he was too far away.
He stepped back into the room. “What was that?”
“Oh, a sedative and something to reduce the swelling. The doctor will explain everything.”
Before he could react, she pulled a vial from her pocket. Pulling out enough of its contents to fill a syringe, she shot the contents into the open port beside one of the IVs.
“And that?” Mako was on full alert now. It didn’t make any sense for the nurse to be administering drugs just before the doctor came in. Mako glanced at John, who appeared to be resting comfortably, and then at Gretchen. Their eyes met, but there was no suspicion in hers. She hadn’t seen the nurse fail to log into the patient portal.
Mako sensed something was amiss. He reached out to grab the nurse as she brushed past him, but flinched as she extended the spent syringe like a weapon toward him. She deftly evaded Mako, but her scrubs snagged on the door lever and the ampule dropped to the floor. The sound of the glass vial hitting the hard surface distracted Mako just long enough for her to brush past him. Without her failed login and administering the drugs prior to the doctor’s arrival, the move probably looked innocent, but Mako suspected foul play.
Mako was faced with a decision. Go after the nurse, which he realized would be of little practical use since she had already administered the drug, or find a doctor. He pressed the red call button on the armrest. The call would go to the nurses’ station. A second later, the phone embedded in the hand rest buzzed. Mako picked up the receiver and was about to answer when an alarm blared. Mako shot a glance at the monitor. John’s vitals were all in the normal range. It took him a second to realize the noise was a fire alarm, probably set off by the rogue nurse on her way out of the building.
Mako had no idea what the protocol was for evacuating a hospital during a fire. Knowing it was a false alarm to buy the nurse time to escape and allow the drug time to work made up his mind. John was his priority.
“Shut the door,” he shouted at Gretchen over the blaring alarm. To add to the confusion, strobe lights and a recorded announcement made it hard to communicate.
“Don’t we need to get out?” Gretchen asked, but she did as he’d asked.
“I’ll explain later. We need to figure out what the nurse gave him. I saw the vial drop. Can you have a look?”
While Gretch
en searched for the vial, Mako moved closer to John, removed his head bandage, and examined his wound. The older man’s close-cropped hair made it easy to see the deep bruising. Already suspecting that his “accident” wasn’t one, he reached for the vial Gretchen had just retrieved from underneath the bed.
In high school and those college courses he had made it through, Mako had been more focused on his social life than his classes, but through his extracurricular activities he’d developed a fairly extensive overview of pharmacology.
“Ketamine,” Gretchen said.
Mako had heard of the drug, but couldn’t place it. He suspected it had nothing to do with John’s injury. Fearing the worst, he looked at Gretchen. He had to decide right now if he trusted her or not. But John was the priority. The easy call was to place the earbud back in his ear and let Alicia figure it out. A second’s deliberation told him that for all Alicia’s brilliance, she would have to look it up on the internet. He could do the same, or rather, Gretchen could.
“Google it and see what we’re dealing with. Looked like a pretty big dose.”
While Gretchen’s fingers flew over her phone, Mako started to remove the wires and tubes attached to his father. The nurse might be long gone, but the hospital had proven not to be a refuge. He needed to get his dad out of here.
John didn’t flinch when Mako jerked the EKG pads off his hairy chest. Next, he removed the nasal cannula from John’s nose and, copying what the nurse had done, crimped off the IV fluids before removing the tubes from the ports leading into his arm. He left the IV needle inserted, figuring there was no harm and it might be useful later.
Mako ignored the beeping alarm from the monitor which, though overshadowed by the fire alarm, was still audible. He was about to move John to a sitting position when his dad’s body suddenly jerked.
Storm Clouds Page 4