“Ah, the second part of the test came through, excellent,” he said as he reached for the envelope. “Uh, do I have to sign for it anywhere?” he said as she released the intelligence report from Cassini.
“Since you said it was a test that came to you only, we didn’t bother, since here you are, and it is only a test, right?”
Hiram kept his smile on his lips far longer than was necessary. “Right, as I said, yours is the red-tape-cutting department. Thanks again for this,” he said holding the envelope up and then turning away.
The technician looked down into her hand at the chain of possession list and the first name at the top. She didn’t quite know how to handle Vickers and his test that didn’t seem to show up on their daily “to do” list. She thought about it and decided on what course of action to take. She turned and walked to the elevator and took it to the sixth floor. She saw the empty area where the North American Intelligence Department usually was, but saw that they must have gone home for the night. She looked at her wristwatch and saw that it was almost seven o’clock. She looked around and spied the old pigeonhole mail slots for the North American Desk. She went over and looked at box number one: Lynn Simpson, Assistant Director, North American Intelligence. She looked at the signoff sheet, folded it, and then placed it in Lynn’s mailbox. That ought to get her to wonder why her desk was bypassed on an intelligence target deep inside the United States … test or no test.
As the girl turned and left the large area, she only hoped she was doing the right thing. Unknowingly, she had placed the intelligence trace report coming in on compromised test subject Collins, Jack, U.S. Army, into the mailbox of Jack’s very own sister, the head of the North American Intelligence Desk, Lynn Simpson.
* * *
The young technician was wrong about the North American Desk having gone home for the evening. Since Lynn Simpson’s return from Texas, she had been steadily working on the Juan Guzman case and had every single one of her people in a large meeting room one floor up.
She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that her brother Jack had been involved in the illegal rescue of Sarah McIntire and fifteen kidnapped girls. Lynn had managed to learn through her law enforcement contacts down in Texas that Jack and the mysterious entity he worked for had not been identified as being related to the U.S. government at all. There was only the fact that the rescue element had crossed the Rio Grande into United States territory.
As she read the statements of the fifteen surviving girls as told to the FBI and the Texas Rangers, she thought someone had been drugged or at the very least beaten until all reliability had vanished. Words such as monstruo, satanás, and criatura had come from the lips of the women being questioned about their rescue regarding the man who had abducted them. Lynn knew the three words most of the girls used to describe the Anaconda on their harrowing flight out of Mexico—monster, Satan, and creature.
The bulk of her staff recommended they should start looking into either the American military, or a corporate security group. “No,” she explained, “we’ll not follow that angle.”
Although Lynn knew her desk had to pursue answers to the raid into Mexico, she didn’t want to because she knew Jack, Carl, and Mendenhall were up to their eyeteeth in the cover-up. As she passed the mailboxes she noticed something in her box. She closed the folder on the Anaconda and pulled free the folded paper.
As Lynn walked to her desk she still hadn’t given instructions to her people as to where to start their search. She was hoping to buy time until she could get a hold of Jack, Carl, or Sarah. As she placed the thick file on her desk, she unfolded the piece of paper. It was a signoff chain-of-custody sheet that had been originated in the imaging and trace section. She scanned the sheet and then slowly sat down. She saw the person who had signed for the information received from that section. She also noticed that the subject header was “Surveillance and Tracking Test” from Cassini Space-Based Systems. Her brows rose as she reached for her phone. As she punched in the appropriate number for imaging her eyes roamed to the name that did eventually sign for the test results—Hiram Vickers.
“Imaging and Tracking,” answered the voice on the other end of the line.
“This is Simpson at the Intelligence Desk for North America; your section forwarded an intelligence package from Cassini Space-Based Systems in Boulder to Hiram Vickers.”
Suddenly and before she could continue with the person on the line in imaging and tracking, her awareness rose as she suddenly remembered who this man was. He had started at the company a year or so after Lynn herself. He had begun his intelligence career down in Games and Theory. Now there was a rumor of a new section, a small one to be sure, but new nonetheless—Field Incursions, a special operations teams used by the CIA to infiltrate any country, any place. She suddenly remembered she was talking on the phone.
“Listen, do you people understand your protocols down there? I know your department doesn’t get out much, but any intelligence that comes through North America, is about North America, or is even rumored to be information derived on this continent, gets forwarded to me.” Lynn stopped talking and listened. “Okay, I need the contents of both of these so-called test evaluations brought to me in five minutes. And Mr. Vickers is to know nothing of this.” Lynn hung up the phone and then wondered why Hiram Vickers would be interested in a test subject in Nevada.
As Lynn Simpson waited on the information from Imaging, those same tracking details were being passed to that organization that didn’t exist—the Men in Black.
DENVER, COLORADO
“This is Smith,” said the deep voice of the large man who was now dressed in Levis and a pullover golf shirt. He glanced over at the door that opened to the hallway outside and the few guests he had over for dinner. He stepped to the den’s wide door and closed it as he pressed the cell phone to his ear.
“I have a little surprise for you,” Hiram Vickers said on the other end of the cell phone call.
“Surprises in my line of work are never a good thing, Mr. Vickers. You should know that.”
“Yes, yes. Now, before I give you the information you’ve been waiting on, I just wanted to say that was a real nice piece of work south of the border this afternoon. Real nice.”
The man known as Smith didn’t respond. He didn’t need the adulation of some desk jockey in Washington to critique his work. He waited in silence.
“Well, anyway, the man with the hard bug on him has left whatever hole in the ground he was in. The signal is weakening, but we are able to maintain the trace for the time being. Not for long though. The man is definitely the officer you know as Jack Collins. I cannot get into his file other than his regular 201 file, which basically only tells us he’s not dead. As for his current assignment, no luck there either. I do know that he is now a full-bird colonel not, as you said, a major. At one time everyone inside the military world thought this man would one day wind up running the whole army corporate arm, until his command had been shot to hell thanks to some generals and rats in Washington a few years back. That was when he was on Capitol Hill testifying before the Ways and Means Committee.”
The large man known to Vickers as Smith made no comment but did reach over for a pen atop his desk and started writing.
“Where can our good colonel be located?”
“I’m waiting on the next package from Imaging, but you can start at 1267 Flamingo Road, Las Vegas. After he appeared downtown, he was traced to this address, and that data is only fifteen minutes old.”
“Now, I’m going to ask this but one time. When I trace this colonel to wherever he is based, what kind of executive power do I have to recover this substance?”
“The highest. These orders come down from on high. But we’ll never have to prove that since you can get what we want and not get caught doing it, and with as few unpleasant things happening as possible, am I right?”
“You know, without knowing who this Collins works for, this thing could get messy. This could invol
ve the elimination of American citizens.”
“The substance that was removed from the Mexican hole in the wall must be recovered or destroyed at all costs.”
“Now you see Mr. Vickers, that is why I hate dealing with you intel types. First you wanted the substance found and destroyed; now you want it recovered. Which is it?”
“Our financiers would like it destroyed. However, we here at the home office believe you can recover at least a sample; that wouldn’t be a bad thing either. But if you doubt recovery is possible, destroy it for our friends.”
Smith just pushed the end-call button on his cell phone and then looked at the address he had written on the pad. He heard the den door open and a small scream of delight. He turned to see his six-year-old daughter run into his study followed by his wife of ten years. They were both smiling.
“Honey, did you forget about our guests?” his dark-haired wife asked as Smith sweeped his daughter into his arms.
“I’m afraid you’re on your own tonight sweetheart; Daddy has some work to do.”
The daughter frowned and the wife only shook her head.
“It can’t wait?” she asked as she removed their daughter from his large arms.
The man known to certain aspects of the intelligence community as Mr. Smith looked from his wife and daughter to the address on the notepad. He tore it off and then reached for a black suitcase and placed the address inside.
“No, the country is in danger and Daddy has to save the world from the bad guys!” he said dramatically, making both his daughter and wife laugh as they kissed him and then left his study to deliver their guests the bad news.
Smith watched them leave and then the smile vanished from his face. He made the necessary phone calls and then looked out of his window at the fine Denver night.
He joked about saving the world from the bad guys, but little did his wife and child know that he was the biggest and baddest of them all.
LAS VEGAS, NEVADA
Jack rang the doorbell several times, but no one answered. He knew someone was home because he could hear the deep bass thump coming through the door. Someone was blasting the old Credence Clearwater Revival song, “Green River.” As Jack was just about ready to knock loudly on the door, the music was lowered inside of the modest house. He turned slightly and looked at two of those plastic flamingos that always drove him crazy. Their black eyes looked accusatory to him, so he sneered and turned away. As he did there was the sound of a chain being removed and then he saw the door open. Standing there smiling was Alice Hamilton.
Since Senator Garrison Lee had died three months before, Alice had kept pretty much to herself. Jack and the others figured she needed the time to grieve and allow the senator’s memory to settle into its proper place. But as Collins looked down upon the eighty-five-year-old woman, he could see that if she were grieving, it was one dirty process. She had paint covering most of her face and even more of her arms and hands.
“Jack,” she said loudly and then reached up and put her arms around him and squeezed him so tight he lost his breath.
“And how are you doing?” he asked when he was able to pry her arms off of his neck.
“Just rockin’ out here and painting the old place. You know, adding a little color now that … that the ogre has gone to the great beyond.”
Jack could see that as much as Alice tried to hide it, the loss of Lee was still etched into her mind.
“Ogre, yeah, whatever you say,” Jack said as he stepped into the foyer of the small house.
“Now, I understand you’ve had some excitement?” Alice said as she walked a few steps to the bar, a new addition to the house Jack noted. She started pouring whiskey for both of them. “Ice?” she asked, holding up the amber fluid, which reminded Jack of the substance they removed from Perdition’s Gate.
“No ice, and yes, much excitement.”
Alice stepped from behind the bar and handed Jack his drink, which he looked at curiously because of its color.
“So, tell me Jack, what’s it like to be a civilian?” she asked as she took half of her drink down in a swallow.
“How in the hell did you know about that already?”
Alice smiled and batted her eyelids, just the way she used to do with Garrison Lee, which drove him insane. “Now, just because I haven’t returned to work yet, doesn’t mean I don’t have my sources.”
“Sarah,” Jack said as he downed his entire drink in a swallow.
“Well, actually I received calls from Sarah, Carl, Niles, Virginia, and Charlie Ellenshaw.”
“Did they think you could do something about my resignation?”
Alice took Jack’s empty glass and returned to the bar and refilled them both. Before she could return, the phone rang and she answered it.
“Hello?” she said.
“Yes, I’ve heard. I know it hurts, but you have to let him sort through this. I know you do, but like the rest of us have to do, you just need to give him his space. Yes dear, thank you, and yes, you can come over anytime. Yes, goodbye, Will.” Alice hung up the phone and then brought Jack his drink.
“You can add Will Mendenhall to the list.”
Jack shook his head and then had to smile.
“Hey, since you’re no longer an officer and a gentleman, Mr. Collins, would you care to get drunk with an old woman and tell me a story?”
Jack downed his second drink and then pursed his lips as the whiskey burned its way to his stomach.
“It would be a pleasure, Mrs. Hamilton. But get this straight young lady—I am not helping you paint. I draw the line right there.”
EVENT GROUP COMPLEX
NELLIS AFB, NEVADA
Will Mendenhall had actually worn his Class “A” uniform just two times since his promotion two years before to that of a second lieutenant. As he walked through the reception area for incoming aircraft he noticed for the first time how empty the uniform looked without his old E-7 rank on his shoulders. He missed being a staff sergeant on most days, but now that he had officially been promoted to second in command of the security detachment at the Group, he realized he really wanted to be just a soldier again. As he rounded the corner he saw the four men and two women he was there to meet and escort to the Event Group Complex. The first person he saw caught his attention and he came to a stop thirty feet from the mingling group.
The young black woman saw Will and she smiled. She held the handle of a small rolling suitcase in her right hand and with her left she waved at Will. For his part, Mendenhall turned around to see who she was waving at. When he saw no one behind him but the two crewmen of the Blackhawk that took him to the reception center, he turned back to the young woman who held her smile as she looked the young officer over. Will realized then that the girl had actually been greeting him. He tried to smile and felt it faltering even as he attempted it. He decided he better just do what he came to do and leave the smiles for another time.
“Hi, are you the escort we’re supposed to meet?” the young lady said as she held out her small hand to Mendenhall. He cleared his throat as he tried to speak but quickly decided that he would also abandon that thought. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her gorgeous brown ones. “Hello, anyone home?” she said jokingly as she was joined by a rather stern-looking man dressed in the uniform of a lieutenant colonel, U.S. Army. Finally Will saw the rank staring at him and instead of shaking the girl’s hand, he saluted the colonel.
“Never saw a second lieutenant that would refuse the handshake of a beautiful woman in order to salute an old man,” the colonel said shaking his head.
“I don’t think he’s capable of speech, Dad,” the beautiful woman said as she lowered her hand just as Will raised his to shake. She laughed and tilted her head and looked at Mendenhall. “Maybe we’ll start over later; right now we’re supposed to be met and escorted through to the Group. It seems our security badges have lapsed, at least that was what Director Compton told us.”
Will started shaking his hea
d up and down and then after a few insane-looking minutes he finally found his voice. “Sir, I am here to bring you into the secured area of Nellis. Can you give your identification cards over to this man,” he said gesturing to the crew chief standing behind them. “He’ll run your security clearance and then we can be on our way.” Mendenhall’s eyes locked on the woman again and this time managed a small smile that was returned instantly. He then managed to pull out the folder he had been carrying. He looked at the list of names and then checked them off as the crew chief gathered their identification cards. He noticed immediately that the woman’s name was Gloria Bannister. Then he saw the letters following her name. He stopped counting after sixteen, which all boiled down to the woman having just about fifteen years more education than Will had. And that made her—
“Dr. Bannister,” she said once more holding her hand out when she saw Mendenhall looking at her name on the Event Group recall list. This time Will didn’t hesitate; he shook her hand. Her eyes traveled to the bandage covering his hand and then rose to meet his. That was when she saw a small bandage covering his jawline from just below the ear. “It’s too bad I’m not that kind of doctor; it looks like you could use one,” she said as she released his hand. “You’re new since my last trip back to the Group.”
“Oh, uh, this,” he said looking at his hand. “Just part of the job around here. And I don’t think I’m that new; I’ve been here for six years.”
“Well, I guess we missed each other.”
“They all check out Lieutenant,” the crew chief said as he started handing the IDs back to their owners. The crew chief had to tug and pull Dr. Bannister’s ID from Will’s grasp.
“I’m Lieutenant Colonel William Bannister, young man, and I am supposed to be in charge of this band of fools from the CDC, including my daughter here, Dr. Bannister.”
Mendenhall’s eyes slowly moved away from the now grinning girl to the large man in the same Class “A” uniform he wore.
Ripper (Event Group Thrillers) Page 22