The Hunted

by James Phelan

  “These assassinations are about another terrorist attack,” replied McCorkell. “Something that’s coming—soon.”

  Trotter leaned back, the information settling. “I’ve heard nothing about anything like that. Says who?”

  “Says us—we’re telling you now,” Hutchinson said.

  Trotter crossed his hands over his belly. “And it’s related to the SEALs how?”

  “We’re working to figure that out,” McCorkell said. “And talking with the SEALs you have in protection is our best lead right now.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  Trotter’s face had the look of a guy in senior command who, unless he had all the cards, didn’t want to play a hand. “Well, gentlemen, when you have something more to share, come back and let’s see what’s what,” he said, “shall we?”

  Hutchinson looked across to McCorkell. The national security specialist just stared at the Director.

  “I’m sorry, but my hands are tied on this,” Trotter said, leaning forward and putting his half-glasses on his nose, making a show of sorting through papers.

  “Director Trotter,” McCorkell said, his voice reasonable. “We’re asking for something that will help save lives. American lives. Civilians.”

  “No is no, I’m afraid. This is an operational matter, and I sure don’t answer to you, a civilian.” Trotter looked up at McCorkell over his glasses. “But, like I said, quid pro quo and all that. You get me more, maybe I can do something. Until then . . .”

  •

  Levine said, “We just want Murphy.”

  “I need Murphy,” Walker replied, matching her determined tone. “And you’re not going to get in my way.”

  Levine shook her head. “Oh? You’re saying that you want us to look the other way, to fail at our mission, for . . . what? Something you think will happen this afternoon?”

  “It’s not failing, it’s delaying,” Walker said. “Twelve hours, tops. We all get what we want.”

  “Why? As a helping hand to you?” Levine said. “So you can prevent some terrorist attack that no one else in the intel or law community are seeing?”

  Walker shrugged. “However you want to look at it.”

  “That’s what it is. How else is there to look at it?”

  “Okay, fine.”

  Levine said, “Fine? What’s fine?”

  “That’s what it is. Look the other way. Just for a day. Not even a day. Twelve hours, tops.”

  Levine said, “No.”

  “Really?”

  “No.”

  “Then I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “For you,” Walker said. “For failing in your mission. Because it will take more than the two of you to get me to leave the side of this man and his family.”

  “Look,” Woods said, trying to defuse the situation. “Let’s just all of us get to St. Louis, okay? We can figure it out on the way or once we’re there.”

  Walker stared at Levine. She got into her car without a word.

  77

  Walker and Murphy rode in the back of the NCIS sedan. Woods drove. Levine sat in the front passenger seat. St. Louis was 150 miles away, and they were a third of the way in. They’d recounted what happened in the forest. They’d speculated over the providence of the ex-Army crew. They’d received confirmation that the state patrol had blocked roads fifty miles out to the southeast of the forest, and an APB had been put out for Menzil. Forensics teams from the St. Louis federal building—a mix of FBI, DEA and Homeland Security—were en route to recover the four bodies of the dead assailants, along with that of Dylan.

  Murphy looked behind them out the back window every five minutes or so.

  Behind, Squeaker drove the Murphy family in Dylan’s SUV, a big old Jeep.

  Woods’s cell phone rang. The caller ID came up on the center console as AD Grant.

  Assistant Director Grant, Walker assumed, and he knew he was right when instead of opting to answer the call on the wheel-mounted Bluetooth button, Woods passed his phone to Levine.

  “Levine,” she said. “No, he’s driving. We’re headed to St. Louis—you didn’t get our messages. Oh, right. Yes, that’s right—we’ve got Murphy here, and his family.” She paused, Grant clearly speaking, then she said, “Walker helped out, saved him with a heads-up. We’ve got four dead bad guys in the woods, one on the run. A guy named Menzil. Staties will have the place locked down in a couple hours. So, you can sleep easy, boss—this might now be over, if that was the only kill crew. And our final SEAL is with us. Job nearly done, right?”

  Levine listened for a while.

  “Yes, we’ll get the Murphys to safety,” she said. “First flight from St. Louis, got it.”

  She ended the call and passed the phone to her partner.

  “Congrats and good job all round,” Levine said.

  “That’s what he said?” Woods asked.

  Levine looked at him. “Yeah. And next time, answer your own phone.”

  The two agents rode in silence for the next twenty minutes. Murphy continued to look over his shoulder. Walker wondered what was next. There was no way he could let Murphy go when they got to St. Louis—the guy might be the best chance of stopping whatever was coming later today.

  “So,” Walker said as they passed a marker for St. Louis: 80 miles. “We get to the part where I tell you guys why I’m here, and why saving Murphy is so vital.”

  •

  Grant allowed himself a quiet moment to make decisions. He closed his eyes. After Levine had told him of the deaths of the four men in the forest and advised him that she and Woods were now with Murphy—and Walker—he needed to think.

  One man got away. Menzil. How did he survive where the others did not? Maybe he ran and hid, while the others stood up to fight. Where would Menzil go?

  Options.

  Option one was to let them get the Murphys to San Diego. By the time they got there, and debriefed, and moved about, it’d be too late. And in that time, he could orchestrate another crew.

  But what was Levine’s state of mind? What was Woods’s? And what was this Jed Walker doing, tagging along?

  Option two was looking easier: use the asset he had on hand to clean things up before or at St. Louis.

  Flip of a coin . . .

  Grant opened his eyes.

  Option three: get to St. Louis himself. Make sure the job was done right. Finish things himself.

  78

  “That was you, at the Stock Exchange,” Levine said, looking on the diagonal to Walker, who sat behind Woods. “You saved the Vice President.”

  “Yes,” Walker said. “And that was when we got confirmation of Zodiac.”

  “Twelve linked terrorist attacks?” Woods said.

  “That’s right,” Walker said. “The attack on the VP was the trigger event. It was big and public, put on to make a show, to be sure that the next link in the chain saw it and started to act.”

  “But you stopped it,” Levine said. “So why would it still trigger something else?”

  Walker replied, “It was a close call. There was shooting and an explosion—the VP was lucky. We got lucky. But it was enough to set in motion the next cutout cell in the Zodiac program. But it’s vague—more just a reference that makes sense when we start seeing ripple events leading to an attack.”

  “Like my old team being hunted down,” Murphy said.

  Walker nodded.

  “Walker, who exactly are you working for?” Woods asked, eyeballing him in the rear-vision mirror. “UN doesn’t have sanctioned field operatives working here in the US.”

  “I work for no one,” Walker said. “But I’m helping out where I can.”

  “So, what, you’re some vigilante?” Woods said.

  “No, it’s nothing like that,” Walker said. “I’m part of this because my previous work in the CIA and then the State Department led directly to Zodiac. Then New York happened, and I learned that not only were some in the C
IA a part of this, but that my father was part of the original think-tank that put Zodiac together as a worst-case scenario.”

  “Your father,” Levine said slowly, watching Walker, “is a part of this?”

  “He’s connected to it,” Walker said, giving a short version of what he knew. Then, he added, “He was there when Zodiac was spit-balled.”

  “You really think all this started in some government think-tank?” Levine said.

  “Yep,” Walker said.

  “Separate lone-wolf-type terrorist groups,” Murphy said. “Not known or affiliated with each other—just acting as triggers to the next attack . . . Jesus, that’s scary.”

  “And you feel some responsibility about this because your father was there, somehow thinking it up?”

  “He didn’t let the genie out of the bottle,” Walker said, “but he put it in there.”

  “And so here you are,” Levine said, looking at him.

  “Here I am.”

  “And your father, brainstorming up bad shit that could be used against us?” Levine said. “That’s some help.”

  “It happens all the time,” Walker said. “We plan and prepare for the worst, right?”

  “And this worst-case scenario fell into the wrong hands,” Murphy said, looking back over his shoulder again. “That’s just great.”

  “And what’s this got to do with the SEAL team that hit bin Laden?” Levine asked, watching Walker.

  “Maybe nothing,” Walker said.

  “Nothing?” Levine looked at him, all kinds of questions in her eyes.

  “Maybe the hits on the SEALs aren’t about bin Laden,” Walker said. “I mean, who said they were?”

  There was silence in the car, then Levine said, “It’s definitely that op. Those killed were on that op. I can confirm that.”

  “I need a list of those names,” Murphy said. “I want to see it, the names of the guys who are down. When I see the list, I’ll know for certain that it was that op.”

  “He’s right,” Walker said. “We need that list.”

  “We can’t get you that,” Woods said.

  “Bullshit,” Murphy replied.

  “We can’t,” Levine said. “We’ve never even seen it. This is all compartmentalized way up high, because you’re special operators, and that op was, obviously, one of this country’s most notorious.”

  “Who’s got the list?” Walker asked.

  “Our Assistant Director would have that info. He’s the one who sent us here,” Woods said. “Him, and some people over at JSOC, right, Levine?”

  Levine shrugged.

  “You do what you have to do to get us that list,” Murphy said, “or you can pull over now and let us out.”

  Walker waited for the answer. The two NCIS agents shared a look. A truck stop with a fast-food chain attached loomed on the highway up ahead.

  And then an answer came. Not in the form of one of the agents making a decision, but from behind them. Squeaker, in the Jeep, flashing her headlights and putting on her indicator to turn off the highway.

  79

  The two older Murphy kids needed the bathroom, and both vehicles were gassed up while there was time to kill.

  Walker stood and watched over proceedings. The sun was up and the day promised clear skies. Squeaker’s face was turning black and blue, one of her eyes closing up and puffy, but she was doing a good job of playing surrogate nanny and goofball to keep the kids occupied.

  As Levine walked toward the store to pay, she took out her cell phone and either made or took a call; Walker couldn’t be sure which, but he could see that she was annoyed by what she heard.

  “You think these NCIS will help out today?” Murphy asked Walker after he’d put his kids back into the car, passed Squeaker a bag of hot greasy food and made his way back to the NCIS sedan. His face was mostly cleaned of the camouflage paint thanks to copious amounts of hand soap and warm water and paper towels. If his combat outfit startled anyone inside the place, it was hard to tell; the locals probably just thought he was another national guardsman, a survivalist nut-job, or maybe a soldier from Fort Leonard Wood. “Since we’re all headed to St. Louis, maybe they can help?”

  “Maybe. But probably not. It’s going to take some persuading,” Walker said. “These guys are concerned with your safety only—when I mentioned a potential attack, right at the start when we met, their eyes glazed over. They want to get you someplace a long way from here, and I might need you to hang around and help me out later today. At the very least, I definitely need to go through that list of names with you. And we need some time to talk about what you may or may not have seen.”

  “You want me to turn down what they’re offering?” Murphy said as Woods came out the petrol station. Levine was a few steps from the driver’s door of the Taurus. “The protection?”

  “Like they said,” Walker replied, “this may be over now that we got those guys back in the forest.”

  “You think it’s over?”

  “No.”

  Murphy looked to the Jeep, to his family. Squeaker was at the wheel, eating, alert, ready. Walker could see that Murphy’s mind went from his family to the car and then its owner, Dylan, and what those men had done to her to get to him. And what she had done to protect him and his family. “You can count on me, Walker. One way or another, this thing will be over today.”

  •

  Grant leaned back in his chair. No sooner had he hung up a call from his Director, saying that McCorkell was mentioning a terror attack at 17:30 in St. Louis, than Levine rang from a gas station some sixty miles south of St. Louis.

  Option three was a go.

  “Okay,” he’d said to Levine. “It’s the only option. I’m on my way.”

  80

  St. Louis loomed up ahead. The Lou. Gateway to the West. Some good family memories. Walker wasn’t going to let anything happen to it, not at 17:30 today, not any other day.

  “Where you headed?” Walker asked.

  “Airport for us,” Woods said. “We’ve got flights to San Diego booked for the five Murphys, departing 11:45.”

  “Slight change,” Levine said. Woods looked to her. “Our boss is headed here, to St. Louis.”

  “When?” Walker asked.

  “He’s probably in the air right now.”

  “Why?” Walker asked.

  “I didn’t ask him,” Levine said.

  “Yeah, about that,” Murphy said, glancing sideways at Walker. “Have you guys asked up the chain for that list yet?”

  “List?” Woods said. “Oh, yeah. They’re on it.”

  “On it? They’re my teammates,” Murphy said. “You know, the ones who’ve been assassinated? The ones you couldn’t protect?”

  “Right,” Woods said, looking uneasy. “I asked about—”

  “We’re getting out at St. Louis,” Murphy said firmly. “And sitting tight, until I get that list.”

  “Excuse me?” Woods replied.

  “You can’t hear right?” Murphy said.

  Woods looked at him, then turned away.

  “Fine. Okay,” Levine said. “I’ll get you the list. And we can wait in St. Louis, if that’s what you really want. Does that suit you, Walker?”

  Walker nodded.

  “Then you can see that this is a reprisal attack for bin Laden’s death, just like Grant said from the get-go,” Levine said. “And then you’ll realize that you need to get the hell out of Dodge and someplace safe, until we’re sure there’s no more threats out there against you and what’s left of your team.”

  “Okay,” Murphy said. “I see this list, with Walker, before we go anyplace other than St. Louis. Then we talk again.”

  Levine’s phone rang. The number came up on the center console’s screen. It wasn’t stored in the phone’s memory under a name, but Walker recognized it. It was Bill McCorkell.

  “That’ll be for me,” Walker said.

  “Here,” Levine said, taking her phone from where it was plugged in charging
near the armrest.

  “No,” Walker said. “Put it on the speaker.”

  Levine hit the call-answer button. “This is Special Agent Levine, you’re on speaker.”

  “Hey, Bill,” Walker said loudly. “We’re just entering St. Louis, and you’re on speaker phone in the car with the two NCIS agents, Levine and Woods, and with Murphy.”

  “Okay,” McCorkell said. “Murphy, how’s the family holding up?”

  “They’re all good, sir,” Murphy replied. “Little cousin’s a bit worse for wear, but she’ll come good.”

  “Good to hear. Now, you know who I am, son?” McCorkell said. “Who I was?”

  “Yes, sir,” Murphy said.

  “Right,” McCorkell said. “And I assume that Walker has briefed you all on Zodiac?”

  “They’re as caught up as we can get,” Walker said.

  “Right,” McCorkell said. “And you mentioned the intel on St. Louis, from those men in the forest?”

  “It’s a demonstration,” Walker said. “At 17:30.”

  “But why here, sir?” Woods said. “In St. Louis?”

  “Walker, what’s your read?” McCorkell asked.

  “Opportunistic,” Walker answered from the back seat. “They’re doing it here because they were already here in the area, taking care of business, so to speak, in eliminating Murphy. So while they’re in town, they’re demonstrating what they can do.”

  “This sounds far-fetched,” Levine said. “A massive conspiracy of linked terrorist attacks and there just happens to be one occurring today, in the very city that we’re passing through?”

  “The very city that a group of hit-men-cum-terrorists were due to pass through having just dispatched the remaining SEAL,” McCorkell said. “And for all we know, there’s more of this group, in the city, plotting and planning and getting ready for what’s coming.”

  “What is it you want from us, sir?” Woods said.

  Levine shot him a look. He ignored her.

  “I have Special Agent Fiona Somerville, FBI, in St. Louis, just checked into the Hyatt,” McCorkell said. “Head to her. Murphy, we have three rooms, adjoining, and she has agents from the local Field Office there, standing watch and kitted out to protect you and your family. There are three local PD cruisers out front, six officers providing perimeter security. Murphy, your family will be safe there; it’s a bubble of security.”