by E L Russell
"Thousands Of People? Oh, my God. Where? Yemen?”
Agent Richbane spoke softly into his cell while Agent Parker folded his hands into a tight ball.
Agent Richbane stood. “Does the hotel have security cameras?”
She almost pointed to Zhen's beetle sitting on the portrait at the end of the room but caught herself. "They only cover the parking lot and entrances like the lobby. I believe we also have them where ever money’s transacted. " She took out her cell. "Let me call someone, and he will help you." Although they had the video of the phony guy, she guessed it only made sense to check out everything. Besides, she knew one or the other of them would want to interview the personnel.
“Clark.” She skipped formality of a greeting. "I need your help. As you know, we had an intruder in the hotel yesterday. I’m with two government agents who need to review our hotel tapes. An Agent Harry Richbane will see you shortly. And Clark, keep it on the down low. It is a matter of national security. Give him fast access and tell no one. I'll touch base with you before I leave."
Parker gestured with his head for his partner to go and Meret asked if they were in any danger.
"If you mean the hotel? No, on the other hand, from all you said, we may be dealing with a pro. In which case, he may be operating under another set of rules. That fact puts you as an individual at risk."
That alarmed her big time. “What do I do?” How do I stay safe?”
"Don't worry. We've taken care of that. We have agents staked around the hotel, and one will specifically watch over you anytime you leave the place, so don't get paranoid when you feel someone following you. I'll introduce you to the agents before we leave."
Her heart, which had gone into overdrive, settled down and she refocused. “What about your agent Hawking? What kind of danger is he in?”
He looked about the room as though seeing it for the first time. “Unknown, but we assume the worst.”
“I’m sorry I can’t help you find him. I wouldn’t know how.”
We'll take care of the search. We need you for the other part. Biological terror possibilities are your field, right? ?"
That's exactly what she had been preaching to the students at Rice and the nurses at the hospital. “Yes. I’ve been studying the possibility of just such an event. I’m . . . I’m in. Tell me what you need.” If she got paid, it would be her first consult. If she didn’t, well, she’d do it anyway. Thousands of dead people? She couldn’t get her head around it. Yes, she would help in any way she could.
“This guy Clark, he works for you?”
“In a fashion. I own the hotel. Do you mind if I doodle, it helps my nerves?”
They were still talking an hour later, and Meret ordered coffee and sandwiches when Agent Parker mentioned they'd flown up from Washington without stopping for lunch. She tried to learn more about the problem in the Middle East they, but the agent played everything close to his vest. She continued sketching and thinking through scenarios when her phone rang.
Oh, now I really want to show these guys the beetle.
“Clark, I’m putting you on speaker so Agent Parker can participate. How’s the video search going?” She slid her phone to the middle of the table and put it in speaker mode.
"Disappointing. The stalker seemed to know where the cameras were placed and used his hand to cover his face whenever he couldn't avoid a clear camera shot. Can we give Agent Richbane a copy of what we have? I can wire an HD quality copy directly to his smartphone."
“Yeah. That’d be great. Thanks.”
She ended his call and pulled a face at the agent Parker. "Sorry. I don't think that is going to pay out, but you have the video I took and meanwhile, will this do?"
William took the drawing of the stalker and examined it. Nodding slowly, he raised his chin and said, "Nice. This sketch should be an added help. I want to be in the room when you negotiate your fee. Agent Richbane and I work out of the Houston office, and we haven't been read into all the details of this mission. However, Special Agent Steve Fairchild is flying up from Washington early in the morning and he's authorized to tell you everything you need to know about Granger Hawking and this mission."
Meret debated how much more she wanted to share with these guys. She waffled with waiting for the Fairchild agent but decided maybe time was of an essence. “I have a bit more information, even though it might not be admissible in court.”
“If you mean the guy who accosted you,” Agent Parker said, "he's in for some hard time just impersonating a CIA agent. If you have any information that could lead us to him, I think we’ve worked enough cases to dig up additional evidence on our own. Right, Harry?" His partner, who had returned, nodded with confidence.
“Sure thing.”
Agent Parker took out his pen and clicked it several times. “Let’s hear what else you have.”
Meret's fingers danced across her tab. "I thought our surveillance tapes would be all you needed and hesitated to share this. Here is everything I have on him. The photo's from my cell, which you've seen, and in addition, fingerprints from a water bottle, from which we were also able to get a DNA sample, ready for analysis." She rustled through her purse and produced a small vial. "See?"
Agent Parker looked at her evidence. “You ready to retire, Harry?”
She looked at both men, confused. "What? Did I do something wrong? We had a bit of trouble with facial recognition, and some of the more sensitive servers were a bit touchy. We're still working on them."
Agent Harry Richbane pulled his chin back. “Are you saying you hacked into our servers?”
“No, I—” Before she could finish her response, her cell phone rang. “Do you mind if I—”
"Please do." Agent Parker raised his hands in surrender.
"I'll be just a minute. Poppy, hi. The agents were just about to leave— You do? Great, send them and oh, did any produce an address? Ah. I see. Okay. Don't forget, early breakfast tomorrow." She ended the call. "That woman's full of surprises."
Agent Parker leveled his eyes at her and raised a brow.
Meret slid her tab across the screen. "Sorry, see for yourself."
"INTERPOL, NSA, something from the Pentagon, Israeli Secret Service, MI-5, and here's one I haven't seen. Croatian? How the hell—”
“These come only with a high-security clearance." Richbane eyed her with palpable suspicion. “Two claim a current address in Washington. If we go with the majority, we're looking for a Kirk Donahue. Ah,” he studied the screen, “there are AKAs." He scratched his head. "Very impressive. Special Agent Steve Fairchild will enjoy meeting you here tomorrow at 9:00 AM."
The two agents stood, packed their notes and followed Meret to the lobby where Clark waited with a box in a plain brown wrapping. After she had signed off on the security tapes, everyone shook hands.
“One more thing Agent Parker, how will I know Agent Fairchild is the real deal?” Since her run-in with the man who was not Hawking, Meret had grown suspicious of everyone.
“He’ll have a copy of your sketch.” The agents departed.
Meret entered the bar and almost skipped to the back table in her excitement. "Zhen. Did you catch it all? Was there anything you thought wasn’t Clear? Do you need to make any changes to the gizmo? You’re smiling. You were pleased with this field test?"
"I could not have been more pleased." His smile filled his face and flooded his voice. Everything. The bots have uploaded Video, audio, and more to our servers. And, I tested something else. Look at this."
Meret, too, was flying high with success. “Umm. What?”
Zhen slid his smart phone toward her. "Look what our beetle can do."
She leaned toward the bright screen like a child examining her first puddle of tadpoles. “Oh, my God. Is that the beetle crawling over Parker’s cup? Is it collecting DNA?”
“Yes.” He beamed with satisfaction. Oh, oh, here comes the wait staff to clear the table.”
“He didn’t notice the bot. “Sho
w me how to pilot this guy. I need to deploy my Ringo friend for the meeting I’m having with Agent Fairchild in the morning.”
Zhen furrowed his brow. “Ringo?”
“You know, the Beetles?”
16
Steve Fairchild
Late April, Zaela, Houston - An Interesting Visitor
Her cell angrily chirped beyond her reach, and Meret woke with a start. Grabbing it from the chair and not waiting for the room to catch up to her, she swiped the screen. "Poppy. Good morning."
“I had a call from a gentleman saying Main Street traffic through the Medical District will make him a bit late for our meeting.”
She rubbed her forehead. “Right. Thanks, I’ll meet you in the lobby. I told him to pull in by the Main Street side door under the portico.”
Slipping on her black slacks and a white blouse, she applied minimal makeup and brushed her long black hair into a ponytail. Dragging her shoulder bag by the strap, she raced for the elevator.
Looking refreshed and wide-awake, Poppy greeted her at the portico door in a bright turquoise shirt. "Sleep well?"
"You look chipper," Meret said. "That was great INTEL you gathered yesterday. I can see you'll earn your salt." She straightened her shoulder bag and stared out at the huge basket of fountains before turning back to her new assistant. "Don't be offended if this guy wants to talk to with me alone. I'm beginning to think the INTELligence community works in mysterious ways. They certainly have their way of doing things. Say, I forgot to tell you. Driving in Houston can be a bit of a bitch. Clark can get you a driver any day who will take you anywhere you want to go. Name's Amir, and he's a good man. We work with him all the time."
No worries. Whatever he wants is fine. You'll fill me in on what I need to know, right?" Poppy nodded. "Ta, Sounds good. Oh, sorry, thanks."
Meret grinned, “I’m okay with the Aussie strine. Wait until you ask me to translate some of our Texas aphorisms.”
At that moment a black town car peeled off from the circle of traffic around the fountain and pulled into the Zalea.
A young man dressed in a black suit and well-groomed military short golden hair stepped out of the car approached with his hand extended. “Dr. Mather? Good morning. He glanced over her shoulder toward Poppy. “I need a word, where can we talk?” he said, appraising her through clear rimless glasses. So much for Ray Bans on all agents.
Meret backed away. “And you are?”
"Sorry." He stepped back against the car. "I understand you've had a bad experience with an impostor." He pulled an envelope from his inside coat pocket and offered it to her. Lowering his voice as if it were a secret, he said, "I'm Special Agent Steve Fairchild. The envelope contains the sketch you made for Agent Parker. I have some new information to share."
Keeping one eye on the agent, she examined her sketch for authenticity, then carefully returned it into the envelope and slipped it into her shoulder purse. “What information would that be?”
He glanced around. “Where can we talk?”
She pointed in the direction his town car faced. “Your driver can park and wait over there in spot number one. It’s my place, but I don’t have a car.” She turned to the entrance. “Follow me.”
She headed for the Hemingway Dining room that did not open for a few hours. Poppy assured her she would be waiting in the wings.
Special Agent Fairchild he placed his smartphone on the table and hit an icon, waiting for it to blink green. Training protocol? There are no coincidences.
"Tell me, SA Fairchild, what's the significance of the blinking green light? Is it telling you the room is secure?"
He nodded.
Hah, just testing. His device didn't detect Ringo. Score another point for Zhen.
As f he didn't trust the technology, Special Agent Fairchild looked all around before speaking. "We know two things. One, we learned that the pending attack has a very high probability of being biological. Yes, we thought that before but were not as certain as we are now. Second, we think Special Agent Hawking is still alive, but we don't know where and we don't know by whom."
“It doesn’t seem much to go on.” Meret wondered why they called it more info.
"It's not. Hawking has not reported in for ten days." He placed a sealed envelope on the table. "Normally, anything beyond our primary vetting process, like obtaining status as a special consultant to the CIA, involves face to face with our group's director in Washington. Current circumstances require his presence in country, and we would like you to consider meeting him there."
“By in country you mean the Director’s overseas somewhere, correct?”
He smiled without showing his teeth. “Of course. I’ll try to control the company obfuscation.” He tilted his head toward Poppy. “The young woman who was with you, does she work with you?"
"She's my assistant, why?"
"Should you and your consulting company choose to work with us, we will need to vet all your employees, but that's not a problem we need to deal with now." He leaned back in his chair, took in a deep breath and then sat forward so abruptly she leaned back. "Bottom line, Dr. Mather, we need you and your knowledge to save thousands of lives and to help us rescue SA Granger Hawking. Can you spare us the next thirty days to help us? You would be under contract to the CIA."
She didn’t want to seem like a grasping money grabber, but as the heat rose up her neck to the roots of her hair, she remembered giving her word to Zhen and Poppy their lives would be better. They believed in her enough to leave the security of their current positions, and that left her with one possible response. She stammered, “When do we start? I, uh, have a staff. They uh, need pay. I don't, uh, suppose, you know, uh, there is any payment in all this? Mortified, as much as she wanted to help the CIA she still required funding if she had any expectation of sticking around for the next time.
He stood and extended his hand.
She returned the gesture.
Special Agent Fairchild placed a folder on the table and pushed the sealed envelope toward her. "Thank you, Dr. Mather." Flipping the pushing hand's palm up, he added, "The Company maintains something like a cross between PayPal and DropBox for our assets and consultants. The sealed envelope contains a set of directions for access to a secure server that has an electronic contract that when signed gives you safe, secure, and legal access to a tax-free fund. We also use good old untraceable cash. The money in the envelope is also tax-free and will cover your expenses for thirty days and help you fund your startup."
She opened the envelope and found a stack of one hundred-dollar-bills. She reached her hand inside and hesitated. Not now, you can count them later. Using two fingers, she slowly removed a small white card placed within the stack of Benjamins. Closing the envelope, she returned it to her attaché and read the unsigned business card. "A donation for your new lab.”
She started to reach for the envelope and drew her hand back.
“Can we count on you?”
Meret nodded, too dumbfounded to speak.
“Good. We'll pick you up late this afternoon about four. Can you pack by then? You'll need to include outdoor clothes, like hiking boots and camping gear suitable for desert, rough terrain, that sort of thing. Be sure to bring sunscreen."
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere in the Middle East.”
17
First Flight
Late April, Zaela, Houston - Off to interview
Meret’s bedside clock showed 3:00 pm. Just enough time. Packed and dressed in her black pants suit, she combs her hair once more before pulling it back into her pony tail for full day’s flight to somewhere.
The knock on her bedroom door told her Poppy was ready.
“Be right there.” Grabbing her attache and cell phone, she threw on her shoulder bag and glanced at the mirror on her way out. Speed walking toward the elevator, Poppy caught up and matched trajectories. “Your bags are downstairs next to the concierge desk.” Poppy held out a tab. “Your
notes have been synched and I checked the latest Times and Guardian issues have been downloaded. Got your passport and ID badges?”
“Yes, thanks.”
After hitting the elevator button, Meret turned to Poppy. “How’s the look?”
“He’ll recognize you, all right.” She grinned. “Keep the Ray Bans.”
Their walk through the lobby slowed as they approached the main entrance to the hotel, but she maintained at least a foot ahead of her assistant. “This will have to do for our morning run. Make sure you keep our phone charged and in your possession at all times. I’m number 1, You’re number 2, Zhen is number 3. Your emergency contact at the agency is number 9.”
“Emergency? What sort of emergency are you expecting?”
* * *
The drive to Hobby’s general aviation airport was smooth and quiet with SA Fairchild sitting on the far side of their seat with his phone on his ear.
He noticed her glancing at him several times. Covering the phone with one hand he stage whispered, “I am listening on a briefing with the Director and the station chief in Aden, Yemen. I’ll fill you in on the plane.” For the short ride to Hobby, Meret knew the long flight required quantities of self medication and wanted to scream. She wished they were already at the CIA station in Aden and glanced at her watch, again. Only 21 more freaking hours.
* * *
The 8 passenger jet, whose registration and tail sign indicated it belonged to Shell Oil, only had two other passengers. Steve arranged for their seats to be in the rear of the plane, keeping them separate from the others. Their section consisted of two pairs of facing soft tan leather First Class seats separated by a narrow work desk. She sat by the window and SA Fairchild sat diagonally opposite next to the wide aisle. She appreciated his concern by placing as much space between them and the others as the plane would allow. When the plane reached altitude they were served drinks.