Greene's Calling: Seventeen Book Three (A Supernatural Action Adventure Thriller Series 3)

by AD Starrling

  ‘To be fair, I didn’t know this was about killing you until I got to Washington,’ Conrad admitted.

  Woods’s expression fell at the president’s words.

  ‘I’m not blaming the Service, Clint,’ said Westwood. ‘But I still want Greene on this investigation. In fact, I think he should lead it.’

  ‘What?’ barked Conrad.

  ‘You can’t be serious, James!’ snarled Connelly.

  ‘Christ, this is just so—’ said Sullivan.

  ‘I know,’ Westwood cut in. He observed his National Security Advisor with a steadfast gaze. ‘Bill, I need you with me on this. You too, Sarah,’ he added, glancing at the Director of National Intelligence.

  Despite the anger thrumming through him, Conrad had to admire Westwood. He was as devious a bastard as Victor Dvorsky.

  Tense seconds passed. Sullivan’s shoulders finally sagged. ‘I can’t believe we’re asking a complete outsider to lead on this,’ he murmured. Connelly remained silent, her expression stony.

  Conrad stared down the man opposite him. ‘I seem to recall agreeing to assist you on this matter, not be at the helm of the entire goddamned investigation,’ he said icily.

  Westwood’s headstrong expression never wavered. ‘Think of it as a promotion.’

  Conrad inhaled sharply and was about to launch into an angry tirade when Victor cut in.

  ‘I agree with the president,’ the Bastian leader interjected. ‘You should lead.’

  Conrad stared aghast at his former mentor. ‘Have you lost your mind? I’ve not been in the field for decades!’ he roared.

  ‘That didn’t seem to stop you today,’ Victor responded calmly.

  Conrad’s knuckles whitened on the table. It didn’t take a genius to realize he didn’t have any options left. He closed his eyes briefly, a defeated sigh escaping his lips. There were no two ways about it. He was going to have to see this whole damn thing through to its bitter end.

  ‘Is he even capable of overseeing such a large operation?’ said Connelly. The Director of National Intelligence still appeared unconvinced by her commander-in-chief’s decision.

  Victor shrugged. ‘If not for Conrad, the United Kingdom of Great Britain may not have come into existence.’ He ignored the shocked expressions and gasps around the room. ‘He was my best general and the greatest team leader I’ve ever had in my section. I trust him implicitly.’

  ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence,’ Conrad said bitterly. A last surge of defiance made him straighten from the table. ‘I do have a couple of conditions.’

  The Bastian leader cast a slow, appraising look his way and arched an eyebrow. ‘And those would be?’

  ‘I want Anatole on the team,’ Conrad demanded.

  The red-haired immortal startled where he leaned against the wall. ‘Huh? Me?’ he exclaimed, his eyes round.

  Surprise darted across Victor’s face. His expression grew shuttered.

  ‘Yeah, you,’ scoffed Conrad. He directed a mocking smile at his old friend.

  Anatole’s eyes shrunk into slits. ‘Oh, you son of a—’

  ‘Agreed,’ Victor interrupted. He ignored Anatole’s choked protest and considered Laura and Woods. ‘I believe the US Secret Service would appreciate having one of their members on the team. Hartwell should be in as well.’

  ‘What?’ said Laura.

  ‘No,’ Conrad stated adamantly.

  She glared at him. ‘Oh yeah? Why not?’

  A wave of lassitude swept through Conrad. The events of the day were catching up with him.

  ‘By your reaction just now, I deduce you weren’t exactly craving the role,’ he said in a worn-out voice. ‘Besides, I thought you never wanted to have anything to do with me again.’

  Stony silence fell between them.

  ‘That’s beside the point,’ Laura stated frostily.

  Westwood looked pointedly between them. ‘Is there some history between the two of you I should be aware of?’

  Conrad caught the faintest glimmer of amusement in the president’s eyes. He was starting to wish he’d never revived the stubborn bastard.

  ‘Yeah,’ Anatole said, his tone sullen. ‘They used to get on like a house on fire. Literally.’

  Westwood’s face grew grave. ‘I hope you won’t let your personal feelings interfere with this investigation,’ he told Laura.

  She bristled at the president’s words. ‘No, sir.’

  Conrad ran a hand through his hair, too exhausted to argue. He turned to Westwood. ‘My second condition is that you provide me with Top Secret clearance to national security and counterintelligence data. On a need-to-know basis, obviously.’

  This time, the hush that followed was short-lived.

  ‘James, if you agree to this—’ Connelly started in a strained voice.

  ‘How vital is it that you have this access?’ said Westwood, his eyes not moving from Conrad’s face.

  ‘Very,’ replied the immortal. ‘I need to use all the available resources at my disposal if you want me to have a shot at finding these people.’

  Westwood mulled this over for several seconds. He turned to Connelly. ‘Do it.’

  Connelly’s lips tightened in a grim line. ‘Jesus, James, the background investigation itself takes about a year—’

  ‘Just get it done, Sarah!’ Westwood barked. ‘We don’t have a goddamned year. I want these bastards found yesterday!’

  Chapter Eleven

  An hour later, Conrad stood at the head of the White House Situation Room, in the basement of the West Wing. He studied the sea of hostile faces in front of him while Sarah Connelly spoke by his side.

  ‘Conrad Greene is a special operative assigned by President Westwood to lead the investigation on the assassination attempt that took place at the FedEx Field today,’ announced the Director of National Intelligence in a stilted voice. ‘He has been given emergency TS clearance for the duration of this mission.’

  Although it was evident that Connelly begrudged having had to violate internal regulations to grant him the classified information access Conrad had asked for, the immortal sensed she would cooperate with him as long as he did nothing to threaten the interests of the president and the United States government. She had introduced him briefly to the chief National Security Staff and the Sit Room Director ahead of the meeting of the special, multi-agency task force that had been put together to tackle the crisis.

  ‘Why an external investigator, Connelly? And a civilian at that,’ said the FBI National Security Branch Special Agent in a hard voice. ‘Does the president think this is an inside job?’

  ‘No,’ retorted Connelly. ‘Greene was the one who identified the threat.’ She hesitated. ‘Had it not been for him, the assassination attempt would have been successful. He saved the president’s life, Lewis.’

  Despite her inscrutable expression, Conrad detected the flicker of tension in the woman’s posture; the Director of National Intelligence could hardly announce that the enemy’s mission had been a positive success.

  ‘The floor is yours, Greene,’ Connelly said curtly. She stepped aside and took a seat at the head of the table dominating the crowded conference room.

  Conrad ignored the palpable resentment permeating the air. He recalled the last assignment he had spearheaded for the Bastian First Council. Although he never sought the admiration and deference the immortals under his charge so readily showed him, he was used to his commands being obeyed to the letter. This was going to be a completely different ball game.

  He waited until the low mutters died down. ‘Three things. First, I’m sorry the Service lost two men today. I wish their deaths could have been avoided,’ he said in a cold, clear voice. ‘What is done is done. Dwelling on it won’t achieve anything.’ He observed the guarded glances
being exchanged around the room.

  ‘Second, I’m just as pissed as you at my having been put in charge of this investigation. Trust me, I don’t want to be here.’ Conrad felt the animosity level drop a notch. ‘However, now that I’ve committed to this mission,’ he added, his tone hardening, ‘make no mistake, I will give it my all. And I expect no less from you.’

  The FBI lead agent grunted, his irritation plain to see. Conrad ignored him.

  ‘Third and final point.’ The immortal looked to the two figures standing silently behind him. ‘Agent Laura Hartwell of the US Secret Service and Special Operative Anatole Vassili will be my seconds in command for the duration of this assignment.’

  The red-haired immortal lifted a hand in a small wave and grinned. ‘Hi. Call me Anatole.’

  Laura rolled her eyes. Conrad stifled a sigh. Angry murmurs rose from the men and women crowded in the room.

  ‘Connelly, what the hell is going on here?’ snapped the CIA representative, a woman with auburn hair and gray eyes. ‘Who are these men?’

  The Director of National Intelligence straightened in her seat, her eyes glittering with thinly veiled anger. ‘This is what our commander-in-chief has dictated, Donaghy. As to who they are, I’m afraid that’s classified information for which none of you have clearance.’ She faltered for a beat. ‘Although I have similar reservations on the subject, I’ve seen Greene in action and I trust Westwood’s judgment. Squabbling amongst ourselves is only wasting precious time we do not have.’

  Conrad watched the assembled agents closely in the taut silence that followed. ‘Hartwell, Vassili, and I have worked together in the past. Although we have suffered casualties along the way, our squad has had a one hundred percent mission success rate.’ He frowned. ‘Let me be clear on one thing. You are now part of our team.’ He paused. ‘Any questions?’

  Grudging respect appeared on some of the faces in the room. There was a general shaking of heads. Although he knew it would take time to win the agents’ trust, Conrad saw the lack of queries as a good sign.

  ‘Good,’ he said with a curt nod. ‘Let’s get down to business.’ He looked at the communications technician standing at the head of the room. ‘Bring it up.’

  The man typed on the keyboard in front of him. One of the large wall monitors flashed on.

  ‘This investigation will have three stems, all of them targeted at finding out who was behind this assassination attempt and apprehending them,’ Conrad explained. ‘Number one: we need to identify the individual who shot the president and killed the two bodyguards at the FedEx Field.’ Satellite images and photographs of the stadium appeared on the screen. ‘Despite the emergency closure of all transport routes out of Maryland, state and county law enforcement have yet to locate a possible suspect. We can only assume the killer got away. Finding out the who and how will give us information about the organization responsible for this.’

  A voice chimed in, its tone skeptic.

  ‘What makes you think this is an organization rather than a couple of radicals who had it in for the president?’ said the Homeland Security lead agent, a guy called Petersen.

  ‘This was a sophisticated plan,’ said Laura. ‘President Westwood has made many enemies since he came into office, both on the domestic and international scenes. The list of possible suspects is long.’ She glanced at Conrad with a neutral expression. ‘What Greene hasn’t told you yet is that he came across an envelope recovered from a plane crash in Brazil two days ago. It was inside a briefcase that belonged to one of the four killers who had been assigned to this assassination and contained encoded information and detailed maps of the stadium.’ She indicated the second display terminal that lit up next to the first one. ‘Greene also found ten photographs inside that briefcase. They were all of US Secret Service agents assigned to the president’s security detail.’ Surprised mumbles erupted around the room when pictures of the envelope’s contents appeared on the screen.

  ‘Is that the encoded information that led you to the killers’ positions?’ said Petersen.

  ‘Yes,’ said Conrad. ‘Though it never gave us the location of the fourth killer.’

  ‘Hmm,’ murmured Donaghy. ‘It seems an elaborate way to get the information across.’

  ‘We believe the assassins were hired to work independently of each other,’ said Laura. ‘Hence the need to get the message through to each of them in an encoded format for which they would already have been given a key and an indication of which of the passages to take as their position. We think the haiku was written specifically to indicate the date the attempt should take place.’

  Conrad’s gaze darted over the assembled agents. He chose his next words prudently. ‘The format of these instructions tells us something about the enemy we are facing: they like theatrics.’ He paused, deliberately. ‘And they didn’t know when they were going to act until a few days ago.’

  He watched the meaning behind his words sink in.

  Donaghy’s face darkened. ‘That means we have a mole, doesn’t it?’

  ‘How so?’ said Petersen, the Homeland Security agent.

  ‘The security details for the FedEx Field fundraiser were only confirmed last week,’ said Laura in a flinty tone. ‘They included the exact routes we were going to take to deliver President Westwood and extract him in an emergency.’

  ‘Shit,’ muttered Lewis. The FBI agent’s eyes scanned the faces of his colleagues, his posture stiff.

  ‘Rest assured, we’re looking for the traitor in our midst,’ said Connelly. ‘In the meantime, we continue to work as a team.’ Her voice held a hint of a warning.

  ‘I agree,’ said Conrad. ‘Our focus needs to remain on finding out the identities of these people.’

  Knowing that they were going to have to watch their backs because of the possible double agent inside their circle would make cooperation between the different organizations involved in the investigation fraught. Conrad felt a sudden rush of gratitude for Connelly’s presence.

  ‘The body of the killer who died in the plane crash is with the medical examiner in Manaus,’ the immortal continued. ‘We need to retrieve it and get it examined by our people, along with the body of the assassin who was killed at the stadium today. We have to ID these two men fast. Although we believe them to be contract killers, their associates may be able to help with our investigation.’ His gaze flickered to the Director of National Intelligence. ‘The assassin who was captured has had his injuries treated and is being held at a secure location. So far, he’s refusing to talk.’

  The NSA agent, a man called Franklin, raised an eyebrow. ‘Haven’t we been able to establish who they are from their biometrics?’ he said, incredulous.

  Anatole shook his head. ‘Nope. Both the dead guy and the prisoner were wearing artificial skin membranes imprinted with fake prints taken off US soldiers who died in combat in Afghanistan. The killers’ palms and own fingertips looked like they’ve been surgically modified. Even if these guys were on any databases, you wouldn’t be able to identify them now. So far, we’ve had zero hits on TIDE, NCIC, hell, even Interpol.’ He grimaced. ‘The facial recognition software gave us zilch as well. We believe they went under the knife to have their features altered.’

  ‘So we know they may have connections in Asia,’ said Donaghy. ‘It’d be difficult to get our dead soldiers’ prints without someone doing it locally.’ The CIA agent’s eyes grew narrow. ‘Of course, they could have broken into the US Armed Forces database to obtain that information, but I seriously doubt it. The security protocols and firewalls have been heavily enhanced in the last ten years.’

  ‘There have been no intelligence reports from the NCC, the NSA, the TTIC, the NIC, or the DIA to suggest there was an impending domestic or international threat,’ said Connelly. She rubbed the back of her neck and sighed. ‘As much as I hate to admit it
, we’re working blind here, people.’

  A taut silence ensued. Conrad did the math and unraveled the acronyms. The enemy was seriously sophisticated if they had managed to coordinate this assassination without hitting the radar of the National Counterterrorism Center, the National Security Agency, the Terrorist Threat Integration Center, the National Intelligence Council, or the Defense Intelligence Agency.

  Donaghy leaned forward, her eyes bright as she stared at Conrad. ‘You said there were three stems to this investigation. What are the other two?’

  The immortal smiled faintly. He liked the CIA representative’s zeal. ‘Our second priority is to analyze and trace the origins of the weapons and ammunitions the killers used.’ A third screen flared brightly into life, and several forensic photographs appeared across the screen. ‘These are no ordinary guns,’ he explained as excited whispers rang across the table. ‘As far as we’re aware, there is no patent in existence for these firearms, and they are not in production or circulation in any country in the world. Initial inspection shows that they are made of some sort of carbon-fiber-reinforced plastic. The bullets are ceramic, encased in a malleable jacket for grip in the rifling. Both the weapons and the ammunition were designed for easy assembly and dismantling, and created explicitly to evade metal detectors.’ He frowned at the display. ‘Judging from their composition, they were very expensive to make and were likely never intended to last hundreds of shots, which means that the enemy has the funds and the ability to either manufacture such firearms or outsource the job to specialists.’

  The assembled agents digested this information with a range of wary looks that mirrored the immortal’s own apprehension, which had doubled when he’d come to that conclusion a short while ago.