Black Flagged

by Konkoly, Steven; A. Sullivan, Felicia

  His mind raced with thousands of possibilities, variables, and scenarios, as he searched for an unlocked car in the third row away from Starbucks. His training had broken through, but it felt like a glitchy computer. He shook his head, as if he could rattle his brain’s circuitry back into place. After checking several cars, he found an unlocked Honda Accord, and slipped into the back seat.

  **

  Parker veered his Grand Cherokee left at the split of Auburn Street and Washington Avenue, and spotted the traffic signal that marked the front entrance to the Northgate shopping center. His stomach was knotted, and he tried for the hundredth time, since arriving in Portland, to stop grinding his teeth. He’d seen enough of the Petrovich file to warrant an ulcer.

  He arrived at the red light, and scanned the parking lot in front of the Starbucks and Shaws for a BMW, though he was reasonably certain that he’d beaten Petrovich to the shopping center. His only goal had been to get into the Starbucks alive, where, in front of witnesses, he’d at least have a brief opportunity to explain that he knew nothing about Zorana Sekulic, only the name. The general had made it clear that this would be the most pressing business on the table, and that Parker’s survival would depend on it.

  The light turned green and Parker sat for a few seconds, momentarily paralyzed. A horn jarred him back to reality, and he pulled into the plaza, cruising slowly while he searched for the BMW.

  **

  Daniel spotted the Cherokee immediately thanks to an impatient Mainer. Three short horn blasts drew his attention to the front entrance of the parking lot, where even the most unobservant field agent could spot Parker cruising “casually” past Shaws, craning his neck in every direction.

  He peeked through the Accord’s headrest and watched the Cherokee drive past Starbucks, and turn into the second row of cars. As the SUV headed in his direction, one row away, Daniel slid himself across the back seat and unlocked the passenger door. Hand on the door handle, he waited for the Cherokee to park.

  The driver guided the SUV into a parking space two rows back from the entrance to Starbucks, and Daniel slid out of the back seat of the sedan. Staying low, he sprinted from one row of cars to the next, centering on the back of the Cherokee to avoid detection in either of the Cherokee’s side mirrors. He heard the doors unlock, and the dark haired driver leaned over into the front seat. As the man straightened back up in the driver’s seat, Daniel opened the door and pressed the barrel of his pistol to the back of his head.

  “Hands up on the dashboard above the radio. Do not turn your head. Understood?” Daniel said and closed the rear driver car door, settling into the back seat and easing the pistol back from Parker’s head.

  Parker nodded once and carefully placed his hands, palms down on the dashboard.

  “I’ll ask you some questions. If I don’t like the answers, then all the general’s horses and all the general’s men, won’t be able put you back together again. Understood?” Daniel said, and Parker nodded once more.

  “I assume you’ve read some kind of file regarding my previous line of work?”

  “Yes, but I don’t know anything about the name I mentioned earlier.”

  “Which name?” Daniel said, curious if he’d repeat it.

  “Zorana. The general told me to use this name if I didn’t think you would meet with me.”

  “Well, the general must not like you very much, because he knows damn well I won’t entertain any of his proposals…and giving you that name was potential death sentence. How well do you know General Sanderson?”

  “I’ve been working directly under General Sanderson for two years.”

  “He’s not a general any more. Pissed on too many people. Important people. How did you get stuck with him?”

  “We met in Afghanistan before he retired,” said Parker.

  “Retired…doesn’t sound like he retired.”

  “He didn’t. That’s why I’m here.”

  “What do you know about Zorana Sekulic?” Daniel whispered, and pushed the pistol into the base of his skull, at the top of his neck.

  Parker cleared his throat. “Absolutely nothing beyond the name. The general stressed to me that the first thing I needed to clear up with you, is the fact that I know nothing about Zorana. He said my life depended on it.”

  “And you still showed up?” Daniel said, pulling the pistol back, but keeping it aimed at the back of Parker’s seat.

  “I didn’t really have much of a choice,” said Parker.

  “That’s the problem with General Sanderson. He doesn’t like for any of his people to get comfortable with the concept of free will, which is why we parted ways long ago. I’m done with your general, Mr���?”

  “Parker. James Parker. Can we talk about this over some coffee? The mission is critically important to our work and national security. You might change your mind.”

  “I’ll listen, but I need you to know that I won’t hesitate to add your brains to the African artwork in that place. Are you armed?”

  “No. Gun’s in the glove box…but I have a small Spyderco knife in my right front pocket.”

  “I expect to hear that knife clatter on the pavement as soon as we start walking. You can pick it up later, if it’s still there. And the coffee’s on you. Fair?”

  “Fair,” said Parker, clearly relieved.

  A few minutes later, Parker placed two coffees on the table and took a seat across from Daniel, who sat against the back wall, one hand hidden under the table. Daniel examined him for a few seconds, as he reached out for his drink. Parker had deep blue eyes and thick, black hair, closely cropped for a neat, trimmed impression. Not short enough to immediately betray a military background, but clearly the preferred look for someone not completely comfortable with civilian life. His outfit matched the haircut: khakis, casual blue dress shirt with no tie, and a dark blue blazer. Business casual for the ex-military officer. Petrovich suspected that he had been a senior Army captain or possibly a major. He looked lean, and slightly muscular.

  “Special Forces in Afghanistan?” Daniel said, and took a sip of steaming hot cappuccino.

  “Navy SEAL platoon commander. I met General Sanderson at Forward Operating Base (FOB) Anaconda in 2004. He showed a lot of interest in the spec ops guys operating out of the Korangal Valley. That was before we started sticking outposts up there. Fucking Wild West. We stayed in touch, and he offered me a job as a security consultant when I got out.”

  “So what’s in the bag, Mr. Navy SEAL?”

  “Mission specifics. Untraceable weapon,” he responded, glancing around secretively as he spoke.

  Daniel kept control of the tension evoked by the sudden realization that Parker had lied about being armed, and only slightly tightened his grip on the Sig Sauer pistol hidden under the table.

  “I thought I said no weapons,” said Petrovich.

  “The case is locked, and I don’t have the combination. I have a phone number for you to dial, which is programmed to respond to your cell phone number. You get the combo from a recording. I know who the target is, and all of the mission details, but Sanderson did not want me to have access to the contents of the briefcase. I don’t ask questions.”

  “What’s the phone number?” Petrovich said, removing his cell phone from one of the inside pockets of his jacket.

  “You’re going to open the case here?” asked Parker.

  Petrovich leaned across and whispered, “You’re goddamn right I am. I don’t need this case exploding inside my car…and if I don’t like the contents, I don’t want to make another trip to return it. The number please.”

  Parker recited the number as Daniel dialed. The call lasted less than thirty seconds before Daniel abruptly snapped the phone closed. He leaned over the left side of the table to look at the nylon case.

  “May I?” said Daniel.

  “The case is yours.”

  Daniel lifted the case off the floor and placed it in his lap, backing his chair up flush against the wall. He
still wanted some room to maneuver, just in case this elaborate set-up was a trap, though he felt comfortable enough about Parker. The guy was far from a trained agent or contract killer. Daniel suspected that he was exactly what he claimed to be.

  He dialed the four-digit combination and flipped open the top of the case. He stared at the contents, noting the presence of a Ziploc bag enclosed pistol in the padded compartment normally reserved for a laptop computer. He found two sealed documents in the other side of the case, and removed them. One was a thick packet, and the other was a small envelope.

  “Do you have to look at this here?” said Parker, glancing nervously over his shoulder at two women who occupied brown leather chairs several tables away.

  “You need to relax. I didn’t drag the gun out, did I?”

  Parker didn’t look relieved by his response, and continued to look over his shoulder while Daniel unsealed the packet. Daniel extracted the contents, and placed them on the table next to his coffee. The top item was a picture.

  Petrovich opened and read the contents of the envelope, and replaced the letter. He put the envelope back into the briefcase and took the picture off the table. Staring at the picture, he asked, “I suppose this gentleman needs to take a permanent vacation?”

  “Something like that. His name is…”

  “I don’t need to know his name. I assume this packet contains all of the information I’ll need? Places of business, hours of work, gym, favorite bars…though I get the feeling this guy might not partake in the consumption of alcohol, or bacon.”

  For the first time since Daniel placed a gun against his head, Parker cracked a smile.

  “Ah, a sense of humor. I don’t think the general likes those either,” said Daniel. “So, I’ll track this guy down, and find an opportunity, but I need to talk to your general personally, right now, or this whole thing is off.”

  “The general isn’t available to talk right now. He went offline right before I arrived in Portland.”

  “Get him on the phone, or you’re going to have to kill this guy yourself. I don’t think this kind of work would suit you.”

  “I’ll try, but I’m serious about…”

  Daniel’s cell phone interrupted Parker’s sentence. Unknown number.

  “Daniel Petrovich,” he answered dryly, now pretty sure he was under surveillance. Another deception by Parker.

  “Danny! It’s been a while. Great to hear your voice.”

  “Well, you can play it back all day and night I suppose,” said Daniel.

  “Newest technology on the streets. Turned Parker’s cell phone into a bug without him knowing,” said General Sanderson.

  “Congratulations. I’m glad to know you didn’t spend the Hadzic trust fund all in one place,” said Daniel.

  “I need you in on this operation, Daniel. We’re sending a strong message to the Muslim fundamentalist movement here at home…”

  “Are you fucking kidding me? Save that bullshit for the rest of your zealots. I’ll take a look at the file. If I agree to do this…I don’t want to hear from you again. Ever. Is that clear?”

  “If that’s what you want.”

  “It’s what I always wanted, but here we are. I’ll need a few days for reconnaissance…”

  “I need this done tonight. Our timeline is set in stone,” the general said.

  Parker shifted in his seat uncomfortably, as if he sensed an immediate threat to his existence, which couldn’t have been further from the truth. Daniel’s brain worked like a perfect machine when under pressure, and his processors analyzed hundreds of solutions to his current dilemma within seconds. Killing Parker in a suburban Starbucks never passed through Daniel’s neural connections. Petrovich knew that the general had the upper hand, and that all paths led to the completion of the task outlined in the briefcase. It had been no accident that Parker arrived only hours before the mission’s deadline.

  “I’m done after this. You understand that, right?”

  “I understand. I apologize for pulling out the trump card-”

  “Apologies never suited you General, and I don’t believe it for one fucking second,” Daniel said, shaking his head slowly.

  “Whether you believe it or not, your actions will make a huge contribution to the war on terror, and-”

  “Save the elevator speech for Parker. I have a long afternoon ahead of me. My slate is clean.”

  “Clean,” said General Sanderson.

  “I’m curious, how long have you known about her?”

  “Do you remember one of the first things I told your training class? There’s no such thing as a coincidence,” Sanderson said, and disconnected the call.

  Petrovich set the phone down on the target dossier and glanced up at Parker. The former special operations soldier looked tense, and ready to make a bad decision.

  “Parker, chill out and drink your coffee. You’re making me nervous. I need a contact number in case I run into unforeseen circumstances,” he said.

  “You’ll find instructions for that in the file. I’ll need to collect the dossier and the gun when you’re finished,” he replied.

  “I’ll leave it all at the scene for you,” Daniel said, and slipped the file into the briefcase alongside the table. He collected his cell phone and picked up his coffee. “Don’t bother getting up. Thanks for the coffee by the way.”

  “My pleasure,” said Parker.

  Daniel left the Starbucks with the briefcase, checking over his shoulder once to make sure Parker stayed seated. As soon as he walked out the door, he was hit in the face by a cloud of cigarette smoke from a homeless man sitting at one of the coffee house’s outdoor wrought iron tables. The tobacco smoke reminded him of a past he apparently couldn’t escape.

  He walked back to his car, sipping coffee and firmly clutching the briefcase. Sanderson was a careful and thorough operator, so he felt considerably secure that he would not have to play the counter-surveillance game this afternoon. If he suspected any possibility that his plot had been detected, he would have given Daniel some warning. Not for Daniel’s safety or wellbeing, but to give Daniel the best possible shot at accomplishing the mission. The outcome had always been the general’s only true concern. He could be unfailingly loyal, as long as your usefulness outweighed your burden. Daniel had learned this early, and leveraged it throughout his “stay” overseas. Unmarked graves scattered across the continents covered the remains of “graduates” that never quite grasped this concept.

  Daniel reached his car and deactivated the alarm system, which emitted two sharp chirps. Three low chirps would have indicated that someone or something had made contact with the car in his absence. The vibrational sensitivity of the system could detect someone leaning against the car, or even the slightest bump of an opening door. The alarm would only sound if someone tried to open one of the doors, or forcefully hit the car.

  He started the car, and moved it to an empty row in the back of the parking lot, where he opened the case, and pulled out the file. He quickly thumbed through the documents, taking in all of the salient points. The general’s operational files hadn’t changed in years. Functional and easy to navigate, Daniel had a solid assessment of the job within minutes. A rough plan developed before he could shift gears and speed out of the parking lot. He had a lot to accomplish before soccer practice tonight.

  Chapter Two

  8:20 PM

  Portland, Maine

  Daniel checked his watch before opening the door to the house, determining that he was well within the range of returning from soccer practice. He pressed the garage door button and stepped inside as the door motor hummed behind him.

  “That you, Danny?” he heard from deep inside the house.

  “Were you expecting someone else?” he yelled back, kicking off his running shoes onto the gray tile floor.

  He placed a dark blue gym bag down on a small white bench in the crowded mudroom, and turned to the closet to pretend to hang his work clothes. He opened and shut t
he closet, spying the work outfit that he’d stuffed between jackets earlier in the day. He just wanted to make sure it was still there. He had visited the house during the late afternoon to change clothes, and pick up a few items. He was long gone by the time Jess returned home from work.

  Jessica appeared under the soft glow of the kitchen’s pendant lighting, and placed a book on the butcher-block island.

  “Yeah, I keep bringing Thai food home for Antonio Banderas, but to no avail. You want some Thai food?” she said, and ran both hands through long, dark brown hair, tying it with a black scrunchie she had kept hidden on one of her wrists.

  “Now how do you think that makes me feel?” he said, stepping into the kitchen.

  “You don’t like Thai food anymore?” she asked, closing the distance between them.

  Daniel took her hand and pulled her in tight, giving her a passionate kiss. Her arms wrapped around him and she pressed her body against his. They kissed for several moments, before Jess untangled herself.

  “You…need a shower. How was soccer?” she asked.

  “Not bad. We needed this practice badly. We got our asses handed to us last night. Did you eat?” he asked, and opened the refrigerator.

  “I was waiting for you. It’s still bagged up in the fridge,” she said.

  He saw one large brown takeout bag and reached for it, but his hand swerved toward a corked bottle of white wine in the door.

  “How about we both take a shower, and bring this bottle along with us?” he asked, pulling the bottle out and shutting the door.

  “Sure you’re not biting off more than you can chew? Late game last night, extra practice today, late dinner. Can you handle it?” she teased, and turned to walk toward the staircase.

  “I can handle it,” he said.

  **

  Sitting on the floor in front of the couch, Jess and Daniel finished the last of the Thai dinner and Riesling about an hour later. Two pillar candles burned low on the round coffee table, casting a flickering orange glow over plastic takeout containers and empty plates.