by Young, Mark
Gerrit stood and leaned on the desk. “You had better have a good reason for dredging all this up or I am on the next plane back to the U.S.”
“Calm down, my boy. Don’t get your feathers ruffled—”
“And if you call me boy one more time, I’ll take that file and shove it where the sun don’t shine. Are we clear?”
Kane slowly rose. “I like a man who’s not afraid to speak his mind. I’m bringing this all up for a good reason. I need—your country needs—your help. These records,” he motioned toward the open file, “tell me you are a man who sacrificed for his country.” He leaned on the desk facing off with Gerrit. “Why did you give up your work at MIT to become a Seattle cop? Do you still think you’ll find out who killed ’em?” He seemed to forget that Lawson was still in the room.
“You read my file. You tell me.”
Kane nodded. “A background investigator in Seattle asked the same question when you left the Marine Corps and turned your back on MIT to become a cop.”
“So you know the answer.”
“You told them it was none of their damn business.”
“And I’m telling you the same thing.”
“I’m surprised they took you on after that answer.”
“I guess what I had to offer outweighed what the investigator thought was an impertinent answer.”
Kane smirked. “I see things have not changed.”
“What do you mean?”
“Still trying to be a loner. Disobeying orders. Getting into situations without any backup. In short, you’re still impertinent.”
“Is that a problem for you?
“Not at all, my b—” Kane caught himself. “Not at all, Gerrit. In fact, you’re just the kind of man I want. Willing to think on his feet and take chances.”
Kane began pacing the room. “Clarke thinks you’ll be watching his back while in Vienna. That dummy thinks his backside’s worth protecting. Personally, I could care less if a terrorist caps him. But babysitting this jerk will give you a legitimate reason to be in Vienna. We have another mission for you. Another opportunity.”
“Opportunity?”
Kane returned to his desk. “Exactly. I want you to steal something for us without getting caught.”
Lawton rose. “I think I’ll be off, gentlemen. Don’t think you need me to discuss these details.” He shook Gerrit’s hand before turning toward Kane. “Richard, I know you’ve picked the right man. Let me know when you’ve knicked this thing. If you run into any trouble, I will be around in Vienna. Let’s just try to keep this operation between friends, shall we?” He nodded before leaving.
Gerrit’s stomach tightened as he watched the British agent leave. Whatever they wanted him to do, Lawton wanted to be able to say he was not part of this conversation. That he was never present when Gerrit got his marching orders.
Plausible deniability.
Chapter 11
Gerrit turned toward Kane as soon as Lawton left. “You brought me all the way over here to be a thief?”
“Cool down,” Kane said, as he returned to his seat, leaning back before continuing. “Let me preface all this by saying national security really is at the heart of the matter. There are some documents we need to get our hands on that an American scientist is concealing. If we go snooping around his office back in the States, we might ruffle some feathers over at DOJ.”
“You mean spying on American citizens on U.S. soil?”
“Exactly. Even under the Patriot Act, we’d be hard-pressed to explain why we’re snooping around this guy’s research facility.”
“But on foreign soil, the rules somehow change?”
“Not exactly, but at least it’s not on U.S. soil. And we’re using foreign operatives that can get us the kind of access and information we need to pull this off while building layers between us and—”
“Foreign operatives? Do I look like a foreign operative? And what do you mean by access? Are you talking about—?”
“This guy is not willing to level with us. He believes he has a mandate from God to share his findings with the world. That, my friend, would not be in our country’s best interests.”
“What exactly does he want to unleash on the world?”
“A way to make the Internet virtually unprotected. No secrets. No privacy. No way of shielding governments from the prying eyes of their enemies.”
“You mean computer technology and data open to the world? Like Internet banking?”
“Exactly. This moron—like those whackos from WikiLeaks—believe that all communication and data storage should be available to the world community. Everything open to gawk at. They want to curtail commerce to on-site transactions, for example.”
“How do they expect to achieve this?”
“They’ve almost achieved it. By combining recent research in quantum computers, finding the flaw in the latest bio-inspired cyber security, and by linking recent developments with nanotechnology—we believe they may have reached their goal.”
Gerrit shook his head. “There is no way one scientist was able to accomplish all that. He’d have to—”
“Conspire with a core group of scientists with the same goals. That’s exactly what this idiot did. Joined forces with other do-gooders in interrelated fields to break down our security.”
“What’s their objective? Destroy the country?”
“Naively, they think by exposing all governments to world scrutiny, this will somehow bring about world peace.”
“I can see some merit to that. But total exposure?”
“Exactly. This is why I detest weak-minded academia. No offense, Gerrit. Unlike you, they never lived in the real world.” Kane stood. “It would be absurd to be that open in the kind of world we live in. Look at the dangers we face in the intelligence community alone.”
Gerrit nodded. “Has our government sanctioned this operation?”
Kane raised his hands palms up. “Let’s just say the government would like to see us succeed.”
“What makes this guy so important? Can’t you put pressure on him to back off? The feds ought to be good at that.”
“It gets worse, Gerrit. This guy hacked into a closely guarded server the government maintains that stores every known operation—military and intelligence—throughout the world. Names, dates, times, resources, covert scientific projects, and a list of operatives and scientists in each of these operations.”
Whew! “And he intends to publish this?”
Kane nodded. “That’s why we need to stop him cold. To discredit his work, and take what he’s already stolen.”
“And if I get caught?”
Kane shrugged. “We’ll try to intervene, but…”
Gerrit had heard this music before. They’d intervene on his behalf about as solidly as he could tap dance on a sheet of thin ice with steel-toed combat boots. “These foreign operatives…how will they achieve what you want. Coercion?”
Kane grimaced. “Coercion is such a strong word. Let’s just say they will be able to reason with him more forcibly than we could under U.S. law.”
CIA interrogation efforts overseas? Gerrit heard about some of these operations, however he’d never witnessed any. He found himself divided over this issue, having seen firsthand what these terrorists were capable of. But U.S. citizens? “I won’t be a part of any operation that calls for torture—whether U.S. citizens or foreign nationals.”
“And you won’t. All we need for you to do is grab this guy’s files and extract anything that might harm our national security. He won’t even be around to bother you.”
Uneasy, Gerrit sat back down. This operation seemed to have been cleared through his chief, and the Department of Justice’s sanction would make it appear that Kane and his people would be on their best behavior. His own boss ordered him to cooperate. “Okay, tell me more about this guy and what you want me to do.”
“The target is a scientist by the name of Ron Adleman.” Kane began sharing details of th
e operation.
As Gerrit listened, he didn’t hear anything that would be outside the realm of sanctioned covert operations. It was more Kane himself that made Gerrit wonder if he was doing the right thing. Instinct urged him to walk away from this.
Instead, he sat and listened. He could not walk away from a threat to his country’s security. However, the absence of a clear chain of command, a clearly identified sanction from the government meant that he would be swimming in murky waters.
And he would be on his own. No backup. No safety net.
He’d better not fall. “Okay, I’m in.”
Kane smiled broadly and rose, walking toward the door. “Good. Be ready to move in about a week. We will be in touch with details. Now, return home and relax. Have a good trip.”
A long trip for a short conversation.
Kane wasn’t telling him everything. Lawton’s chiding words about this man’s lack of forthrightness seem to jive with Gerrit’s gut instinct. And Cromwell’s warning about watching his back with these guys troubled him. Everyone around him—Cromwell, Marilynn, the senator—all seemed to know more about what was happening than he did.
He felt like he was working in the dark without a flashlight, and he’d have a lot to lose if things went wrong.
Chapter 12
Seattle, Washington
Gerrit drew closer, sighting down the barrel of his semi-auto Smith & Wesson M&P. Squinty eyes, fat jowls, and a heavyset man slouched in the armchair, sleeping. Gerrit eased the safety off and pressed the .40 cal barrel into the fat man’s forehead.
“Wake up and die,” Gerrit hissed, watching the man’s eyes suddenly open.
Fear and stale beer mingled with sweat on the killer’s face. “Don’t hurt me! I’ll give you whatever you want.”
Gerrit clutched the man’s throat and squeezed. “Can you bring back my mother and father?”
A look of recognition and terror flickered in the man’s eyes. “Are you…?”
Squeezing tighter, Gerrit drew closer. “I’m your worst nightmare. Your first mistake was killing my parents. Your second mistake—leaving me alive.”
The man gasped for breath.
Gerrit felt like ripping the man’s throat out. “Just one question. Who hired you to kill them?”
His eyes widened. “I can’t,” he gasped. “If they find out I snitched, they’ll hunt me down.”
“Wrong answer,” Gerrit said, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. He slowly squeezed the trigger until—
Gerrit jerked awake. Light flickered across the darkened room as the black-and-white video played on the screen. A cold, wet nose nudged his hand.
Bones.
The dog placed his head on Gerrit’s lap and whined.
Stroking the animal’s head, Gerrit tried to clear his mind. Waves lapped against the pier as his houseboat creaked from Lake Washington’s current, lights from Seattle seen in the distance through a bay window. Bones always sensed when Gerrit had troubled dreams. The dog had been with him—with a few absences—since that day in Fallujah. No longer skin and bones, the dog never missed a meal. And it showed. No fat, just muscle.
The dog had been Gerrit’s jogging partner since they returned from the Middle East. Bones could run Gerrit into the ground and loved to dive off the houseboat for long swims in the lake. This desert dog loved water. At the moment, Bones was concerned about his master.
With a dry mouth, Gerrit turned and began to watch the tape he’d seen a million times as the camera operator panned the blast area. The lens zoomed downward to focus on a blackened hand, severed at the wrist, lying amid ashes and debris on the dirty-gray concrete.
One of the few parts left of his father.
As the film rolled on, investigators slowly identified other body parts, marking each one with a number for later mapping and tagging. These images still left him numb, as if he just learned of the explosion. Even after viewing this gruesome tape over and over since the blast seven years ago, his chest still tightened, his heart still ached.
As he viewed each film clip—putting his emotions aside—he’d carefully study the documented evidence trying to figure out what everyone else missed. Who triggered this ghastly killing? Give me just one lousy lead. A Russian-made detonator had been recovered. Nico Petrosky’s group? Gerrit thought so. But as always, he came up empty. And Nico was dead.
Strewn on the floor of his small office, documents and photographs lay in small piles, all duplications from the original files. Lab reports, crime-scene sketches, and reams of reports carefully recording all the efforts of every investigator assigned to the case.
In all these hundreds of investigative man-hours and all the trained eyes focused on this case—SPD, ATF, FBI, DOJ, ICE—not one substantive suspect surfaced. Not one tangible lead emerged that might give him a clue as to who might have triggered the explosion. Not one hint as to who ordered this hit or who built this bomb that destroyed the ones he loved.
He was the only one left to mourn. The only one left to carry on this investigation. Everything changed for him the moment their lives ended. Turning his back on the military and his potential future in science, Gerrit became a police officer here in Seattle. All for one purpose—to find his parents’ killers and bring them to justice. To take revenge against those responsible.
Many a night he woke up fantasizing, peering down the barrel of his gun, pointing it at the faces of his parents’ murderers. There was never any hesitation in his dreams. He always pulled that trigger.
A life for a life.
Actually three lives. The only family he’d ever known had been destroyed in one night—his parents killed and his uncle disappeared.
Three tours in the Middle East had started him down this solitary road. Once his military duty ended, he planned to start a normal life. A wife. A family. The all-American dream. When tragedy struck, however, he knew his world had changed forever. His future would never be normal.
He picked up the file on Dr. Henry Clarke that Kane had provided in England and began to review the man’s history so his cover story in Vienna would hold up. He used the flickering light from the television screen to read, too tired to get up and turn on a light.
According to the documents, Clarke supervised the UK’s Communication-Electronic Security Group, CESG, an arm of GCHQ, Government Communications Headquarters. His group made sure British communications and electronic data remained intact with no security breaches. Clarke rode shotgun on any projects aimed at improving these capabilities while keeping a watchful eye out for those who might seek to breach security.
CESG worked arm and arm with Lawton’s MI6, Secret Intelligence Service, and the MI5, the UK’s Security Service branch. Sooner or later, all intelligence and counterintelligence communications filtered through Clarke’s office.
Gerrit could see why terrorists and foreign governments might like to get inside Clarke’s arrogant head.
Two quick raps on the door followed by a key in the lock made him jump and reach for his gun. Bones never growled.
“Gerrit, you home?” Marilynn Summers. He forgot she still had his houseboat key.
He put the gun back on the end table, quickly buried Clarke’s file, and reached for the remote, killing the video and bathing the room in darkness. He heard her footsteps heading toward his office.
“Gerrit?” Lights came on, dispelling darkness. “Why are you sitting here in the dark? Watching that video again?” she said brusquely as she entered. Bones stood, and Marilynn gave the animal a look that said it all—she and Bones were not on friendly terms. “Why you choose to live in this damp houseboat I’ll never know. You can afford better.”
“It suits me, Marilynn. What are you doing here?”
“I was concerned. Never heard from you when you got back. Everything went all right in England?”
“Just fine.” He took a deep breath and exhaled. “Thanks for asking.”
Her intrusion ticked him off and he struggled to be cordial
. Everything changed over the last few weeks, particularly after their conversation while he was in San Diego. The Nico Petrosky investigation seemed less important to her, and whatever they had going on between them had cooled. She seemed willing to move on to more important matters since their meeting in D.C. It surprised him she even showed up tonight; her actions made him suspicious. Marilynn always had an agenda.
He never kidded himself about their relationship. He knew from the first day that this wasn’t going to be a forever thing with them. Marilynn wanted to climb, to achieve, and she hungered for power, a lust she learned from her father. Their relationship had become a matter of convenience. To be brutally honest, he preferred it this way. His agenda didn’t include others—including Marilynn. Finding his parents’ killer was his primary goal in life.
Everything else no longer mattered.
She walked across the room, tossing her coat on the couch. “Colder than Alaska in here. Mind if I turn up the heat?” Without waiting for a response, she cranked the dial to high. “There, now we can get comfortable.”
“You should have called. I just got back and I’m about to hit the sack.”
“Want some company?” She smiled, running her fingers through his hair. “We can really warm up this place fast.”
He stiffened, causing her face to tighten. “Not tonight. I’m beat and I’ve got a lot to do before…”
She eyed him curiously. “Before you what, leave again?”
“I’m surprised your father didn’t tell you.”
Anger replaced her curiosity. “My father always keeps me in the dark. He only tells me if he needs something…for him.”
“I’m shipping out next week. Not sure when I’ll be back. Kane seems to have cleared it with my boss and the task force.”
“I’m heading the task force, or have you forgotten? I wasn’t told anything.” Now, her anger seemed directed at him.