Ian nodded as he pulled Jenn into his arms and hugged her tight. "I'm sure it's nothing, sweetheart. Your dad's lawyer probably gave him a copy of the will and somehow the disc ended up with your stuff when we packed everything up." He looked intently at Kristen over Jenn's shoulder.
"Why don't you go back to Dev's with Kristen and we'll check it out. If it's anything you need to know about, I promise I'll tell you, okay? Kristen, would you mind calling for some pizza for everyone. Order enough pies for the MPs and guards, too. Lunch came around fast and we're all getting hungry."
Devon was proud of Kristen. She realized Ian was worried about what was on the disc and took command of Jenn by wrapping her arm around the young woman's shoulders. With a reassuring smile and false bravado, she turned to lead the girl back down the hallway. "Sure, no problem. And no anchovies, right?" Before the door shut again, he heard her say, "See, I told you it was probably a copy. Come on, Beau, we'll get you some kibble, too."
As he sat down and inserted the disc into his laptop, Brody grumbled, "You know, I never thought I'd say this, but I'm getting really sick of pizza." His teammates and Dobrowski all crowded around him as the file was scanned. "It's only one file. A word doc." The document came up on the screen. "Three pages long."
"Print it," Ian ordered.
The nearby printer started spitting out pages and Ian went to grab them. The rest of them began to read over Brody's shoulder. The computer geek was the first to comment. "Is Jeff fucking kidding me?"
Barbara Chan had remained seated since she wouldn't be able to see anything with six big men surrounding and reading the fifteen-inch screen. "What's it say?"
"It's a list of SEALs he worked with over the years and what he bequeathed them upon his death."
The agent looked puzzled and shrugged. "So? What's wrong with that?"
"Well, he left me his snow-blower and a pair of snowshoes. When was the last time it snowed in Tampa? He left Ian his collection of shot glasses from around the world–I didn't know he had one–and a paperback copy of Uncle John's Bathroom Reader. Prichard was supposed to get a surfboard and one of those singing mounted fish which is ridiculous since the man lived in fucking Iowa."
Boomer chuckled, reading over his friend's shoulder. "It's not as bad as what I got. A dancing reindeer and his old combat boots. My feet are two sizes bigger than his. What the hell am I going to do with those?'
Pointing to a name on the list, Jake started laughing. "Oh man, Urkel must have pissed him off at some point. He left the guy a collection of used jockstraps and a deflated basketball." Steve 'Urkel' Romanelli had been their Heavy Weapons Operator and the man to beat on the basketball court when they were playing one-on-one.
"The whole list is like this, it's fucking nuts," Brody added. "Did Jeff have a fucking screw loose and we didn't know about it?"
Ian had taken a seat across the table and was shuffling through the pages in front of him. "No, it's a coded message. Do you see how the names aren't indented but the rest of the entry is?"
"Yeah."
"It looks like the names are in random order. They're not alphabetical or in order of service dates, or even how he was closer to some more than others. Devon doesn't show up on the list until the bottom of the second page and he's listed as Sawyer, Devon. Marco is two above him and he's down as Marco DeAngelis. By the way Reverend, he left you his ugly Christmas sweater and a yellow rubber ducky. Sometime you're going to have to tell us what that's all about." Jake rolled his eyes as Ian flipped one of the pages over and grabbed a pen. "He's using some first names, some last and some call signs. Start reading off the names, Brody, exactly as he has them."
"Okay, You're first. “I.' Next is Archer, Pete…Neil Radovsky…Boomer…Urkel…” Brody continued down the entire list then eyeballed Ian, along with everyone else.
"Ian, bury me in the place I hate the most–Jeff Mullins." While the rest of them watched in total confusion, Ian jumped up from his chair and started searching the content papers taped to the front of each box they hadn't gone through yet.
Dobrowski jumped up to help. "Which one?" he asked.
"Colombia. Ernesto Diaz."
"It's over here, I think." The agent moved over to several stacks of boxes under the large video screen on the wall. "Yeah, here it is. Four boxes."
Ian rushed over and grabbed the top cardboard box with Dobrowski picking up the second. Devon scratched his head in confusion. "Um, Boss-man, you going to clue the rest of us in?"
Dropping the box on the table, Ian threw the lid off and started removing the large files, tossing one at each member of his team. "Don't you remember how much Jeff was complaining about being in the jungles down there? Said he'd rather be any place else on earth. He hated it there. It was his last mission with us and he was bitching because it had to be with all those damn mosquitoes and creepy crawlers." Ian kept a file for himself and took a seat. "Jeff figured something out. Something which had to do with this mission and for whatever fucking reason he had, he was investigating it himself. He needed to give us a starting point but couldn't risk the hint being found if something happened to him. Anyone looking at the list would think the guy was joking around or, like Egghead said, just plain nuts. Whatever evidence or notes he had were probably stolen with the rest of the stuff taken to make it look like a burglary gone wrong. The answer we're looking for is somewhere in these four boxes."
"Son of a fucking bitch." Like the rest of the team, Devon grabbed the file which had landed in front of him, sat down and started pouring over every little detail of the month-long mission.
CHAPTER 22
The assassin was back in his tree for the second day in a row, watching the compound. He'd been there since dawn, covered in camouflage to escape being detected. He took a sip of warm, brown liquid from the flask he brought with him, annoyed to find it only had a few drops left. Adjusting the sniper rifle which was resting on his legs, he went back to scanning the area a few degrees downhill from his position with his high-tech binoculars. The first thing he'd done was calculate the distance between his roost and the door to the building where his targets had all gathered again. Even though he had two days left to eliminate them, he was getting nervous and wanted to get the job over with so he could head to the tropics and lose himself in his four W's–whiskey and a warm, willing woman.
The hair on the back of his neck had been standing up for the past hour but he couldn't figure out why. He didn't see anything in the compound or the surrounding wooded area which would trigger his unease, yet the feeling wouldn't leave him.
He saw the two Navy MPs leave the building after their replacements arrived and glanced at his watch as they drove from the compound. Nineteen thirty hours. It shouldn't be long now. As soon as his targets were out in the open, four quick shots would end their lives. He was out of options. Short of dropping a bomb on the compound or bringing in some help, this was his last resort. After his failed attempt two days ago, the men were now alert and would do everything they could to thwart further efforts to eliminate them. He had a stolen motorcycle stashed on a bike trail about a third of a mile behind him. With the panic and confusion, along with no gate in the fence on this side, he would have enough of a head start to get away without any problems. Putting away his binoculars, he readied his rifle. As he peeked through the high-powered scope, he took a deep breath and waited.
* * *
Eight hours, eight pizzas and a lot of coffee and bottles of water later, there were two points they all agreed on and neither one identified who wanted them dead. One, Polo and Boomer were probably not targets, and two, Prichard's name was on the killer's hit list out of pure circumstance. The first two hadn't been on that particular mission. Boomer had been sidelined with a broken ankle, while Marco's grandmother, the woman who'd raised him and his sister, had passed away in New York a few days before they left on the mission. He'd taken a hardship leave to help his sister with the funeral and aftermath of settling the crotchety old woma
n's meager yet messy estate. Unfortunately for Eric Prichard, he'd taken Marco's vacated spot for the mission; a spot which wound up getting him killed. A fact that was getting to Marco more and more as they poured through the files.
Only a seven-man team had been sent to Colombia for a month to gather intelligence on drug lord Ernesto Diaz. The man had his hands in a few pots other than the one which contained his cocaine empire. Among them were a sex-slavery ring and arms trade. He was killed in a raid of one of his warehouses while making a high-grade weapons sale with members of Al Qaeda. Team Four had been a part of the raid six months after their original mission. Due to a diagnosis of rheumatoid arthritis with increasing symptoms, Lt. Jeff Mullins accepted a promotion to a base position in Little Creek, VA, and ended his time in the field after the mission. He hadn't been on the raid, so that file wasn't with the ones they needed to search.
Although sitting there reading wasn't a strenuous activity, they were all exhausted and bug-eyed when Ian finally called it a day. "We'll pick up again first thing in the morning. I know it's here, we just haven't found it yet. Keon sent me a text earlier. He'll be here around ten a.m."
As the team cleaned up the pizza boxes and coffee cups, the two NCIS agents gathered their things with a promise to bring breakfast in for everyone around eight. Sometime within the past hour the MPs had changed shifts and two new men stood in the hallway. After everyone else exited the conference room, the door was locked again behind them.
It was still light outside as they poured out into the parking area, stretching and inhaling the fresh air. Devon was anxious to see Kristen and check on Jenn. He and Ian had gone up to Devon's apartment earlier with one of the pizzas for the two women and to tell their niece what they found on the disc. Of course, they'd down-played it as a comical last will and testament of things her dad wanted to leave to the men he'd worked with and loved like brothers. She accepted their explanation but they could tell she was still bothered by her find.
After exchanging a few fist bumps with his team and verbal goodbyes with the agents, Devon turned in the direction of his apartment when a single shot from a high-powered rifle rang out, echoing through the air around them. Almost as one, with adrenaline surging through them, the team, agents and men guarding the compound dropped to the ground, un-holstering their weapons and looking for a target as they did. Whoever was after the team was getting desperate if he was firing on the heavily armed compound. Time seemed to stand still as they all tried to assess the situation. No other shots were fired as everyone scrambled for cover. As the echoed report faded and silence ensued, Ian called out with more calm then he felt. "Anyone hit? Sit-rep!"
As everyone responded they were all okay, nobody was hit and the shot had come from the east, outside the fence-line, Devon's cell phone rang. Thinking it was Kristen or Jenn scared out of their minds, he answered the call without looking at the screen. But it wasn't one of the two frightened female voices he expected to hear. An unruffled and familiar deep rumble came over the line. "Tango eliminated. Half a klick from your eleven. I'll be in after I'm sure he was alone. Call Keon for clean-up."
The call was disconnected and a stunned Devon stared at the phone in his hand for a moment or two. Translated, the brief one-sided conversation meant their enemy was dead about a third of a mile almost straight ahead of Devon's position and the deputy director was needed to cover up what'd happened. The only problem was, Devon had no clue what had happen. He yelled out for all to hear, "Stand down but stay alert. Tango's been taken out by one of ours. He's clearing the area before he comes in." Looking at the confused faces of the NCIS agents and his teammates, in a much lower voice he simply said one name, "Carter."
* * *
Three hours later, the FBI's Deputy Director walked into the conference room of Trident Security and sat down with a heavy sigh. Larry Keon had gotten the next available flight from Jacksonville after receiving Ian's call and had a local agent pick him up at the airport instead of waiting around for a rental. Personnel from the FBI's Tampa field office were swarming the woods behind the compound and processing the scene which included a corpse missing a good portion of its skull and brain thanks to Carter and his trusty MK11 sniper rifle which was now hidden in the trunk of Devon's classic Mustang. The man wasn't taking any chances the local feds wouldn't try to confiscate his baby and his own vehicle was too far away at the moment. Two other crime scenes, one where a stolen motorcycle was parked and another at a local motel, were also being combed over. The dead man's motel room was located after a key was discovered on the body.
Because the compound was considered a crime scene for the time being, the club had to be closed for the night. Thankfully, it was a Sunday and early enough in the evening when they alerted their members via a mass text, another one of Brody's ideas which came in handy every once in a while. There hadn't been any members in the parking lot when the shot was fired and the handful of staff and members already in the club never heard it over the music. Ian called Mitch, after they got the all clear from Carter, and told him to shut it down and send everyone home. The compound was now in lock-down with only the necessary personnel.
Devon moved Kristen and Jenn, along with their furry bodyguard, from his apartment to the rec room above the conference room because he needed them as close to him as he could get. He'd been terrified when he and Boomer, only seconds after Carter's call, sprinted across the compound, up the stairs and into his living room only to find the women weren't there. But his heart started beating again when he found them hiding in his walk-in closet with Beau in battle-mode, a bunch of kitchen knives and one of his 9 mm handguns which Jenn knew where to find and how to shoot it, if necessary. Devon wouldn't admit it, but he'd almost cried with relief when he saw both women were safe and unharmed. And now, because the two had no federal security clearance to be with the team while they met with the investigators, upstairs was the closest comfortable place for them to be.
The conference room was now close to being filled to capacity with the six men of Trident, Carter, Dobrowski, Chan, Keon, and three FBI agents from the local office. The lead investigating agent had been brought up to speed, although some information was intentionally omitted by Keon after the incident on the bridge two nights earlier. Special Agent in Charge Frank Stonewall wasn't happy with Carter, who refused to say a word to him, including his name and who he worked for, until the deputy director joined them. It didn't help when Ian, his team and the two NCIS agents weren't forthcoming with tons of information, but at least they'd given him a few limited answers.
Stonewall had been firing questions at Carter every few minutes for the past two hours to no avail. The red-faced fed even threatened him with arrest which only brought a bark of wry laughter and a shake of the undercover agent's head. After Jake heated up the last three pieces of leftover pizza for him, their friend ate in silence then reclined back in his chair and closed his eyes. No one in the room was fooled though; the spy was one hundred percent alert. Now, he was still relaxing in his chair, with his eyes opened again and his feet resting on the table mirroring Brody's own laid-back position. It drove Ian crazy when anybody put their feet up, but the boss was letting the infractions go for now.
Once the door was shut again, SAC Frank Stonewall glared at the man who was still wearing his camos and all but snarled, "Okay, Keon is here. Now start talking."
Carter didn't move and his blank face never changed as he glanced at the two men with Stonewall and then to Keon. The latter understood what the operative never said. "Frank, why don't you have your agents here go check on the status of the scenes."
Stonewall was ready to blow his cork but conceded he was outranked and, with a brief nod of his head, dismissed his equally pissed-off subordinates. He was your typical fed from a bad movie–short, balding, overweight with a rumpled, ill–fitting suit and an arrogance you wanted to beat out of him. After the others left, he crossed his arms and lifted an eyebrow at the black ops agent and waited.
/> Slowly pulling his feet down, Carter leaned forward with a stern, don't-fuck-with-me expression which most men feared, and rested his elbows on the table. Devon almost chuckled when Stonewall flinched. If he hadn't been looking directly at the SAC, he would've missed it, but it was there nonetheless. The team knew what Carter was going to say, since he'd filled them in before anyone else got there, but first he would lay down some ground rules with the overconfident Stonewall.
Staring at the man, he addressed him in what his friends knew was his best Dom and super-spy voice. "The name's Carter...one word...and it's all you need to know about me. Don't write it down and forget it after you leave this room. Don't ask who I work for because you won't get any answers you like. For this instance, you can say I report to Keon. Call it a temporary assignment or whatever you want, I don't give a crap. Don't ever threaten me with arrest or anything else again. I don't answer to you and can have your cocky ass demoted and working in some bum-fuck away-station you've never even heard of before midnight. I have more federal security clearance than you could ever dream of, so sit your pompous ass down and stop acting like I'm one of your minions or worse, a criminal, because that shit only pisses me off. And since someone is gunning for my friends here and almost succeeded in taking at least one of them out tonight, you don't want to piss me off any more than I am."
A few mouths around the table twitched and some bottom lips were bitten but no one dared crack a smile. After a glance at Keon, who gave him a single nod, and then a pause to let them all know he still wasn't happy with the situation, a noticeably paler SAC Stonewall did what he was told and took a seat. He then indicated for Carter to continue with a polite flash of his upturned palm, although it almost killed him to do so. The fed was finally getting a little smarter.
Leaning back in his chair again, yet keeping his feet on the ground this time, Carter relaxed and related the information he had and the events leading up to when he killed the hired assassin.
Leather & Lace: Trident Security Book 1 Page 22