by CJ Petterson
Mirabel checked her watch. They’d been meeting for twenty-six minutes.
The senior official looked over his glasses at Marshall. “This threat is being pursued by the appropriate agencies?”
“Aggressively.”
The official pocketed his glasses and placed both hands on the table. “You’re already working under the aegis of Homeland Security. The Secretary of State will apprise the National Security Administration and the Joint Chiefs of Staff of the situation within the hour. They won’t like giving up their command positions, Marshall, but you’ll be the man in charge of this one. Try to keep the territorial skirmishes to a low roar. You’ll be reporting indirectly to the president through the Undersecretary of State’s office.” The senior White House official looked around the room then into the camera. “Questions?”
“No, sir,” Marshall said as the others around him shook their heads.
“Keep us apprised as events unfold. We want the president’s daily briefing material to reflect your progress.”
“Yes, sir.” Marshall nodded.
The official returned the nod. “Then I think we’re done here. I’ll leave the situation in your capable hands.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for coming.” The mic went silent, the screen went blank, and a low rumble of voices filled the room.
Mirabel got a glimpse of the door behind her closing — the mysterious man in the silver shirt had disappeared.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
“Didn’t know you were so well known in D.C.,” Marshall said to Sully. Mirabel heard a note of annoyance in his voice.
“No one knows me, Marshall. Your senior White House official and I happened to be in TOPGUN training together at Naval Air Station Fallon.”
Marshall caught the eye of his aide and glared. “I should have been briefed.”
“That went well, don’t you think?” Sully patted Marshall on the back. “Congratulations on the new assignment.”
“That landed in my lap like a lead balloon.” Marshall rose and picked up the briefing notes he had spread out on the table.
Marshall glanced at the team in front of him. “Okay, folks, here we go.” The murmurs stopped, and all faces turned toward Marshall. “You know your assignments,” he said.
“The FBI will concentrate on all the locals involved,” the lady suit said. “Dr. Briggs is already in custody. Agents picked him up in Sacramento trying to board a plane to Miami. He was carrying a ticket for a connecting hop to the Bahamas.”
“That’s one,” Marshall said and ran a ballpoint line across one of the documents.
Mirabel felt a twinge — maybe it was satisfaction, maybe sadness. “What’s going to happen to him?”
“That’s not up to us,” Marshall said, “but he could be charged with treason.”
“He’s not an evil person,” Mirabel said. “Just a greedy one.”
“He made wrong decisions,” Sully said. “At the minimum, he’ll do prison time.”
Marshall pointed to the lady suit. “Check out anyone who pops up on your radar and then check them again. And that includes the sheriff’s wife and his dispatcher. No shortcuts. We’re looking for squeaky clean. Mr. O’Sullivan will handle the sheriff’s deputy.”
Mirabel slid her eyes to Sully. He was scanning the agents’ faces but nodded when Marshall looked in his direction.
Marshall scanned one of the documents in front of him and motioned to a CIA agent. “Throw a wide net, and make sure you catch up with the Mount Palomar astronomer who passed along the info on Dr. Campbell’s sighting.”
Mirabel felt her cheeks go cold when the color drained from her face. Mount Palomar astronomer?
“Yes, sir.”
Marshall’s gaze did a tour around the room. “I’ve set up an office here in Sacramento to function as operations center. My aide will give you names, phone numbers, passwords. Make contact every four hours. Any questions?”
Agents looked at each other and then shook their heads.
“Then let’s get to it.”
The man wearing the plaid outfit walked up behind them.
Marshall stuck out his hand. “Dr. Brewer. How about the NIH? Do you have any suggestions?”
Brewer pulled a Briar pipe that smelled a little charred and a little sweet out of his shirt pocket. He cupped the bowl in the palm of his hand and pointed the shank at Marshall. “Disarm the satellite or shoot the damn thing down.” He turned and walked away, pulling a pouch of tobacco from his pants pocket.
Mirabel smiled at his matter-of-factness. This man is a true cliché, she thought.
Marshall sighed. “Hacking into the nanosat’s telemetry will take more time than we have.”
Something clicked in Mirabel’s mind. The telemetry is the Achilles heel. “If your Mr. Itoh plans to create artificial lightning, the satellite has to be filled with some pretty sophisticated electronics. Right?”
“Of course,” Sully said. Curiosity glowed in his eyes. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m no engineer, but I’ve been around enough electronics to know that it’s pretty easy to disrupt finely tuned programming. And that nanosat has to be exquisitely tuned.” She watched Marshall and Sully trade looks. “You two wouldn’t know anything about this, I’m sure, but I read somewhere, probably in a supermarket tabloid, that one of our enigmatic government agencies is testing plane-mounted laser cannons in New Mexico. I’ve got to believe there’s a lot of Star Wars technology floating around out there that you’re not telling the public about.”
“Do I detect a hint of sarcasm?” Sully said.
“Look, it’s been in the news that former defense companies are building things using futuristic mirror technology. If you could bounce a laser beam off the mirror at just the right angle, maybe you could scramble the satellite’s electronic brains. It’d be like playing space billiards.”
Sully’s eyebrows lifted. “You never fail to surprise me.”
Marshall shook his head. “We can’t risk an explosion.”
Mirabel shook her finger at him. “Wouldn’t be one. It won’t take much energy; just a low-voltage bump.”
“Too simple.”
Sully’s face lit up. “What if Itoh didn’t plan for simple? If we can push a jolt of energy past the shielding on the electronics and zap an arc over the computers’ motherboards, we might fry enough wiring to put it out of commission. All NASA will have to do is reel it in.”
Marshall waved for his aide. “We’ll get engineers to check on it.”
Mirabel didn’t manage not to grin.
Another aide materialized at Marshall’s elbow. They spoke quietly for a few moments then the aide disappeared. “Good news. We’ve identified your leak. You saw our asset from the Japanese embassy sitting behind us?”
Asset? Mirabel thought. Of course, the good-looking man in the beautiful silk shirt.
Sully’s eyebrows knitted together. “Wonder how Itoh got to him.”
“Nobody’s mentioned Esther Lee in a while,” Mirabel said. “Is she still out there?”
“Afraid so. She’s Itoh’s sister,” Sully said. “Her real name is Miiko, and she was the one in the Mercedes.”
Mirabel grabbed Sully’s arm. “Is she the one who killed Evan? Is Christina in danger? Where’s Evan’s wife? Darlene’s in a wheelchair. She needs help.”
“I suspect Miiko murdered Evan as a warning to Saint John,” Sully said when Mirabel stopped to take a breath. “I doubt she’s interested in Tina or Darlene.”
“I’m not that gullible. She’s getting rid of witnesses.”
“I’ll put Sheriff Thompson’s wife and dispatcher in protective custody,” Marshall said. “We’ll keep them in a safe house until this is over.”
>
“We need to find a way to neutralize that woman,” Sully said.
“Introduce her to society,” Mirabel said. “A mystery is no longer a mystery when the antagonist has been revealed.” She shrugged when Marshall and Sully turned her way again. “Just a thought.”
“No way to do that. We’ve never acquired a viable description of her,” Marshall said.
“We have one now,” Sully said. “Miiko had an ID photo taken when she got herself hired as a sheriff’s deputy. She would have deleted the digital copy on Tina’s computer, but Frank Griebe already got a copy of it during his early background searches.”
Mirabel thought she saw a brief look of surprise, but Marshall covered that with a cough. “Then the sheriff would’ve taken a set of fingerprints, too. We’ll run those through the international agencies.”
Sully shook his head. “You know that won’t get you anything, Marshall. She’d glue artificial prints over her fingertips, but Evan’s ID photo definitely matched the face he hired.”
Marshall turned to an aide. “Get a copy released to the press with a blurb that she’s been identified as a person of interest in Evan’s death. Add some of the background info from her dossier.”
“What if Itoh spills to the press that the U.S. launched a secret nanosatellite?” Mirabel asked.
“We have to turn Procyon into another shooting star before that happens,” Marshall said. “Then we’ll have plausible denial. You brought a lot of knowledge and insight to this situation, Mirabel. We appreciate that.” He paused to give her a serious look. “Have you ever taken any psychology courses?”
“One. Part of my undergrad work.” She hoped she didn’t look as confused as she felt. What has that go to do with anything?
“If you ever start considering a career move, think about taking more psychology, at least enough for a minor.”
Sully perked up. “Don’t think so, Marshall.”
Marshall ignored him. “The CIA could always use a good scientific mind. If you ever have any interest — ”
“She’s not interested,” Sully persisted.
“How do you know?” Her face warmed with anger, and the words came out as a growl from the back of her throat.
“We have to get back to Mendocito.” Sully wrapped his fingers around her arm and tugged.
Mirabel glared at him and peeled his fingers off. “You don’t make my decisions, and I’ll get back to Mendocito on my own, thank you.”
Marshall smiled. “You sure you two aren’t still married? Mirabel, I’m afraid you’re stuck with Sully until we have everything wrapped up. My driver will take you back to the airport. I’m going to hang around here a while longer.”
• • •
Mirabel slid onto the limo’s back seat, crossed her arms in front of her chest, and stewed. “What did you think you were doing back there? Telling Marshall I wasn’t interested. How do you know I’m not? And who said you could make decisions for me?”
“I’ll make your decisions for as long as I’m protecting you.”
“And you think that includes protecting me from Marshall?”
“Yes.”
“In case you hadn’t noticed, Mr. O’Sullivan, I’m not a child, and I don’t like being treated like one. I happen to be thinking about a career move, and whether or not I accept Marshall’s very timely offer is not for you to say.”
Sully took a call, and his expression soured as he listened silently before hanging up. “Itoh has upped the ante.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.”
“Why would he settle for one enemy when he can take out two? He knows North Korea will refuse to meet his demands, and he’ll launch attacks on a few NK rice fields. That should be enough to cause Pyongyang to capitulate and return the Japanese children. Then it’s, ‘How nice you sent the kids back, and by the way, see that new star? That’s the secret U.S. satellite where the attack really came from. My satellite was a toothless bluff.’ Guess what happens next.”
Mirabel pushed back into the limo’s leather seat and stared out the window. “Armageddon. That’s not news. Marshall said the same thing in the meeting.”
“Marshall didn’t get the information from CIA intel, Mirabel. That’s what this call was about. Marshall got it directly from Soujiro Itoh.”
“Wow. How did he do that?”
He ignored her question, and as soon as the car stopped at the airport, he took off toward the hangar ahead of Mirabel. He stopped just outside the gaping doors and waited for her to catch up. “About Marshall’s job offer, the Company is a dangerous place to work, Mirabel. SinJen, Soujiro, what you’re been through, what you’ve seen and heard, all of that is just a taste of what goes on around the world every day. You’re lucky if you know who your enemies are.”
“What are you not saying?”
He lifted his arms, and for a moment she thought he was going to pull her to him. Instead, he caressed her arm.
His touch was electric, and she jerked her arm away. “Don’t try to schmooze me.”
He turned and walked away a few paces, spun a 360, and walked back. His eyes sparkled with anger. “You’re right, Mirabel. It’s not for me to say what you can do. You just go do whatever the hell it is you want to do. Go get yourself killed.”
He walked away again, stopped, and came back. Several seconds passed before he spoke, his voice soft. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” He turned and headed for the hangar.
“Damn right,” she said to his back. She knew he felt his apology ended the matter. That was all right. She’d made her point. She stood quietly for a few moments and did a double-take. “Does that mean you don’t care what I do?”
He groaned, threw up his hands, and pointed to a steaming, half-full coffee pot sitting on an electric burner at the end of an aluminum folding table next to one wall. “Pour yourself a coffee,” he said as if the argument had never happened. “The plane’s already gassed. We’ll take off as soon as I file the flight plan, and that’ll take a couple of minutes. Cups and stuff are in the cabinet.”
Mirabel was still primed for a fight, but coffee sounded good, and it didn’t smell burned. “Thanks.” She had started toward the coffee when Sully grabbed her arm and began to drag her out of the hangar.
“Get out now.”
“What’s going on?”
“My mechanic isn’t here.”
Shock zapped through her when she heard the signature throaty growl-and-rattle of a diesel engine reverberate off the metal walls. She twisted around and saw the white Mercedes drive through the doors, blocking their escape. Two men in black suits leaned their weight against the hangar doors, and the tall, metal structures rolled closed.
Mirabel stepped closer to Sully as the men jogged to the idling limo, opened the rear doors then stood aside, holding assault rifles braced against their hips. A slight figure dressed head to toe in black, loose-fitting ninja garb stepped out of the passenger door and moved to the open trunk. Seconds later, the ninja walked back into view, the haft of a sword barely visible above one shoulder.
Mirabel heard Sully inhale in a soft whistle and watched him flex his head and neck from side to side. He took an angled step forward that put her behind his left shoulder.
The man who got out of the other door was only slightly taller than the ninja. Chiseled cheekbones jutted below almond-shaped eyes. His ebony hair was slicked back and tied in the queue of a former era, even though she judged him to be close to her own age.
“What’s happening?” she whispered to Sully.
Sully stayed focused on the scene in front of him. “Meet Soujiro Itoh,” he said softly, “the warped mind behind all this mayhem. The ninja is his sister, Miiko.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Flanked by his guards, Itoh stood a few yards a
way from Mirabel. Fear and anger surged through her. Heart racing, she took a deep breath and forced a slow exhale. She glanced at Sully then studied the people who wanted them dead.
Except for the hatred that burned in his eyes, Itoh’s narrow face might have been carved out of stone. He tucked his red silk tie into his suit coat then stood with his hands open and relaxed at his sides.
Very sure of himself, Mirabel thought. In control.
His sister, Miiko, stood several paces behind him, stiff as a store window mannequin in her black ninja costume, her glossy black eyes unblinking and barely visible through the holes in her mask.
“We meet again, Sou-ji-san.” Sully leaned into a mild bow.
Itoh stiffly returned the greeting.
“Miiko desu,” his sister said with a deep bow.
“Miiko-kun,” Sully said and did not bow. He spoke quietly to Mirabel. “I just addressed her as an inferior and a boy. If I’m lucky, it will insult her enough to put a chink in her concentration.”
While he talked, he opened his coat, pulled his gun and belt holster from under his elbow, and held them out. When Itoh acknowledged the move with a nod, Sully set them on the floor and kicked them aside.
“What are you doing?” Mirabel said.
“They’ve got automatic weapons. We’d be dead before we heard the first gunshot if I tried to use this. He doesn’t plan to shoot; Miiko will be his weapon. She’s dressed to kill.” He lifted his cellphone off his belt and pressed it in her palm. “Speed dial Marshall on one-one as soon as you can. If I lose — ”
“You can’t lose,” Mirabel whispered, her voice coarse and trembling.
He captured her hand in his. “There’s always a first time. Move away from me,” he said and gave her a nudge.
She whispered, “I love you,” and backed away until she bumped into the red, mechanic’s tool cabinet next to the plane. She set the phone on top of the socket wrenches and, heart thudding in her chest, waited to see what was going to happen.
“You’re a long way from Japanese soil, Sou-ji,” Sully said, using a familiar nickname.