A Lone Wolf

by J. C. Fields

  Reid’s eyes narrowed and his ego took over. “Go ahead and investigate me, Director. My record is spotless.”

  Joseph handed the DCI another sheet of paper. King looked at it and smiled. He turned his attention back to Reid as he slid the sheet across the table. “Does the information on this page look familiar, Mr. Reid?”

  Staring at the piece of paper in front of him, Reid’s face turned white and bile reached the back of his throat. The page displayed a printout of his bank balance. Not the bank account his salary went to, but the one in Switzerland. It showed withdrawals and deposits for the past ten years.

  “My letter will be on your desk within the hour, Director.”

  “Kind of what I thought. We have several gentlemen waiting outside to escort you to your office and keep you company until the letter is completed. Good day, sir.” King looked toward the door and said in a loud voice, “We’re ready in here.”

  The conference room door opened and two men entered. Both wore the uniform and badge of the CIA Security Protective Service.

  King said, “Gentlemen, will you escort Mr. Reid to his office? He knows what needs to be done. Once he has completed his task, please escort him to his personal vehicle and bid him a good day.”

  Both men nodded but remained quiet.

  Reid stood and walked out of the room, followed by the two officers.

  Once the door was shut, King chuckled and handed the bank statement back to Joseph. “How in the world did you find this information?”

  Placing it in a file folder, Joseph gave the DCI a slight smile. “Let’s just put it this way—I have a very enterprising associate who is excellent at following money trails.”

  The Attorney General frowned. “Dwight, do you want to prosecute him for the secret account?”

  King closed his eyes and shook his head. “I thought about it when all of this information was brought to my attention. No, we’ve handled this in the quietest way possible. If Reid starts making noise, then yes. We will prosecute.”

  Everyone in the room nodded and stood to leave.

  Chapter 28

  Washington, DC

  T he driver of the rented white Ford Fusion waited patiently in the parking lot of a Catholic parish. He glanced occasionally at a digital clock embedded in the car’s information display. As a man with great patience, his current hour and a half vigil paled in comparison to other operations conducted long ago and in faraway countries.

  An hour later, a black Range Rover passed the church. The corner of his mouth twitched as he casually put the car into gear. Knowing the destination of the SUV allowed the driver to follow at an unhurried pace. Keeping a safe distance behind, the driver watched for an opportunity to execute the next phase of his plan.

  At an intersection halfway to the black SUV’s ultimate destination, a traffic light changed causing the vehicle to stop at the head of the line. An opening in the turn lane next to it presented a perfect location for the driver to complete the next step. He slowed and stopped next to the black vehicle. Now in the turn lane, Michael Wolfe stared at Gerald Reid from the driver side of the Ford. Reid glanced at Wolfe and returned his attention back to the traffic light.

  Sudden recognition made his head snap back in Wolfe’s direction just as the traffic signal turned green. Without changing his expression, Wolfe stared at the now ex-CIA Deputy Director and turned the Fusion right. He accelerated away from the brief encounter.

  The unmoving Range Rover garnered indignant horn blasts from cars behind it as other vehicles appeared in the turn lane, blocking any opportunity to chase after the apparition. Wide-eyed, he finally reacted to the blaring horns behind him.

  Frustration and panic caused Reid to press hard on the accelerator and squeal the tires as he drove toward the next intersection. After maneuvering through various side streets, he returned to the one where he last saw the Fusion. Unfortunately, the Ford was nowhere to be seen.

  Wolfe glanced in his rearview mirror with a slight smile. The ambush could not have been executed better. Reid was stuck in traffic unable to do anything but move forward. He accelerated the Ford toward a stoplight displaying green. There he made a left turn and disappeared into the mid-day Alexandria, Virginia traffic.

  Thirty minutes later, Wolfe walked into the hotel room he and Nadia shared. She sat at the room’s desk studying a laptop. Turning, she smiled. “How did it go?”

  “Perfect. He looked like he’d just seen a ghost.”

  “He did, Michael. You are supposed to be dead.” She pointed to the muted TV. “CNN is reporting his retirement from the CIA.”

  Wolfe nodded. “Joseph sent a text message about it fifteen minutes ago.”

  She folded her arms. “What’s next?”

  He smiled. Nadia’s use of contractions seemed to increase each day. “Were you able to Photoshop the picture?”

  She gave him a glare. “I am not the amateur you think I am.” She pointed at the computer screen. “I am becoming very good at this. What do you think?”

  Suppressing a chuckle, he studied the image. “I think it’s perfect. Let’s get it printed and overnighted to his house.”

  At exactly 10:16 a.m. on his first full day of retirement, Gerald Reid used the stylus handed to him, to sign the LED screen confirming receipt of the FedEx package. Reid shut the door and studied the return address on the shipping label. He did not recognize the sender or the address. With only the slightest of hesitation, he opened the flat white shipping package. After extracting the single sheet, he stared at it in horror.

  Printed on the picture was a telephoto image of him standing next to his Range Rover parked in his front circle drive, his head in the crosshair of a high-powered rifle scope.

  Kendra Burges answered the call after checking the caller ID. “What do you want, Gerald?” Her tone indignant.

  “I saw him yesterday.”

  “Saw who?”

  “Wolfe.”

  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “He’s dead. Your obsession with the man got you fired.”

  “I was not fired. I retired.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Where are you?”

  “At work. I’ve been reassigned.”

  Not comprehending, Reid paused for a second. “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve been reassigned and demoted because of you. Thank you.”

  “Demoted—how? Where?”

  “I’ve been assigned to the embassy in New Zealand.”

  Reid remained silent.

  “I haven’t decided to take it yet. I may just resign.”

  “New Zealand? I don’t know what to say.”

  “Of course, you don’t. It doesn’t affect you, so why would you give a shit?”

  “That’s not fair, Kendra. Remember, I was forced to retire.”

  “Yes, but they didn’t send you to the middle of the South Pacific Ocean.”

  “Don’t go. I have plenty of money. We can sell my place and settle somewhere like Portugal or Spain.”

  “Are you sure you still have money? I bet they know about your Swiss bank accounts. They’re the CIA. I bet they’ve frozen the account and you’re as broke as I am.”

  His eyes widened as he realized his mistake of not checking his bank accounts. He ended the call without another word and rushed to his laptop. Five minutes later, he stared in horror at the balance of each of his Swiss accounts. His balance in both totaled 2 cents each.

  The call to Kendra forgotten, he accessed another account he kept in Dubai. With it still intact, he spent the next several hours transferring those funds to a safe location in Hong Kong.

  His next task was to book a flight for Barcelona.

  Staring at the now-silent phone, Kendra shook her head. With her suspicions about Gerald Reid confirmed, a new task presented itself. How to salvage her career with the CIA without the protection of a deputy director. Taking the position in New Zealand, while distasteful, might present new opportunities. She took a
deep breath. As she exhaled, her feelings of anxiety eased. With a grim smile, she dialed the number of her new supervisor to accept the posting in New Zealand.

  Nadia sat cross-legged on the hotel bed, her only attire a white terrycloth bathrobe, courtesy of the Marriott. A new text message from an unidentified sender appeared on her cell phone. The message contained a string of seven numbers. She committed the numbers to memory before deleting the message. Her next task was to open her laptop and access a bank account recently opened for their operating funds. Using the numbers she just memorized as the new password for the account, she gained access and smiled.

  Wolfe stepped out of the bathroom with a white towel wrapped around his waist. He dried his hair with another. “Why the smile?”

  She glanced up. “Gerald Reid is probably very upset right now.”

  With a chuckle, Wolfe walked closer to the bed, leaned over and studied the computer screen. After a few seconds, he said. “I’m sure he has more.” Straightening, he continued. “That should be more than enough to fund the next stage of our plan. My guess is Reid will reach out to Gerlis for another meeting.” He paused. “I have a quick errand to run early in the morning. Then we can start surveillance.”

  “Not too early.” With a smile, she reached for the towel around his waist. As it fell to the floor, he opened her robe.

  Chapter 29

  Virginia Countryside, Southeast of Alexandria

  T he black Range Rover exited the estate’s driveway and turned toward the Potomac River on its way to Dulles International Airport. A gray Chevy Malibu fell in behind the SUV at a discreet distance. With a nondescript car and wearing her hair in a French bun with blocky sunglasses, Nadia blended well into the mid-afternoon traffic surrounding Alexandria, Virginia.

  Keeping several cars between her and the SUV, it only took thirty minutes to surmise the Range Rover’s final destination. She used the car’s hands-free connection to call Wolfe.

  “We called this one correct. He is headed for Dulles.”

  Wolfe replied, “Stay with him and see if you can determine what airline he’s using. It might help us determine where he’s going.”

  “Be careful. No telling what type of security he has at the house.”

  “I will. You do the same.”

  The call ended and she concentrated on following the SUV.

  Forty-five minutes after leaving his property, Gerald Reid parked in a long-term parking lot at Dulles International Airport. By the time he arrived on the departure level, Nadia sat in a waiting area near the ticketing counters watching for him. Dressed in a woman’s long navy trench coat, black leggings, and a beige peasant blouse, she blended into the background of anonymous travelers. She positioned herself in the middle of the ticketing area and saw him emerge from the escalators. Following, she kept her distance to observe which airline he chose.

  Reid entered the queue for Air France’s first-class ticket holders. Nadia faded back and watched as he checked in. On the departure board, she saw the only flight for Air France, this late in the day, went to Paris. She noted a departure time of six-thirty and did the math. Reid would be in the air overnight, not landing in Paris until two a.m. local time.

  As soon as he disappeared through the TSA security gate, she returned to her car and called Wolfe.

  “He is leaving on Air France at six-thirty for Paris. It does not arrive until two in the morning our time. You will have plenty of time.”

  “Good. Call me when you get back.”

  From his vantage point on the northern edge of Reid’s property, Wolfe surveyed the back side of the mansion. Using his Nikon Action Extreme 12x50 binoculars to scan the landscape surrounding the structure, he found the object of his search. It resembled a small coffin, beige in color and located on the northwest corner. Wolfe guessed the generator produced 7500 watts considering the size of the home and the remoteness of the property.

  He checked his wrist watch and noted it would be dark in less than an hour. With Reid flying to Paris, he could start his operation at some point after ten. He had one additional location to find.

  Wolfe arrived back at the north side of the property at ten and parked on a gravel access road near the white PVC fence surrounding Reid’s estate. He was now dressed in black cargo pants, black long sleeve T-shirt under a black utility vest, black socks, black Reebok’s, thin black leather gloves and a black lightweight balaclava rolled up to his forehead.

  Lying prone behind the night vision rifle scope attached to his Barrett XM500 .50 caliber rifle, Wolfe placed the crosshairs on the center of the generator’s cover. Keeping his aim squared on a large unmoving target allowed him to check his watch to make sure he timed the rifle shot exactly.

  Wispy clouds obscured the stars on this moonless night as he waited. At precisely 10:37 p.m., he heard an explosion off in the distance. At the same moment, the surrounding area in this part of the Virginia countryside, plunged into total darkness. His sabotage of the local transformer had worked perfectly. During the chaos of additional explosions at the transformer site, Wolfe fired twice at the generator. As two .50 caliber slugs tore through the internal workings of the generator, its automatic engagement switch, designed to turn on during a power outage, failed.

  As complete darkness descended over the countryside, Wolfe stood and returned to the opened back hatch of his rented Chevy Equinox. He retrieved a small black sling bag with two cylindrical objects inside and placed it over his shoulder. After he lowered the balaclava over his face, he retrieved a black riot helmet from the cargo area and placed it on his head. After securing the chin straps, he secured an Armasight Night Vision Goggle to the helmet. Once he lowered the optic unit, the world was plunged into a green hue. With this accomplished, he disassembled the Barrett and secured it in a foam lined case. The next object he retrieved from the Equinox’s cargo hold resembled an exotic looking pistol.

  After extracting a burner cell phone from a side pocket of his cargo pants, he turned it on and sent a three-word message. This accomplished, he viewed the distant mansion through the night vision googles, placed his hands on the fence and vaulted over. With a quick glance at his wristwatch, he jogged toward the pitch-black structure.

  In a strip mall parking lot five miles from Wolfe’s location, Nadia heard a rumble in the distance. She then watched as street and interior lights blinked out in the surrounding area. The time on her car clock showed 10:37 p.m. With a pleased expression, she waited. Two minutes later, a three-word text message appeared on a cell phone purchased at a local convenience store that afternoon.

  On my way.

  She rolled down the window on the gray Malibu and waited to hear sirens.

  Wolfe knew the property would have battery or solar powered surveillance devices placed strategically around the exterior of the house. As he approached the multi-layer back deck of the structure, he searched the eves and doorframes for cameras. It took several minutes before he located two. With their locations determined, he raised the exotic hand gun, took aim and fired a red paint pellet at the camera on the right. Without hesitating, he aimed at the one on the left and expertly placed another pellet directly on the lens.

  Satisfied both surveillance devices were now blind, he approached the large veranda to determine how best to gain entry. Wolfe laid the now-unneeded paintball gun on a metal bistro table next to the rear entrance. Here he found two ornate French doors, each composed of steel framing and glass panels, standing guard over the home’s interior.

  Using a small glass cutting tool from a pocket on his utility vest, he scribed a semicircle in the glass next to one of the door handles. Thirty seconds later, he reached in and unlocked the door from the inside.

  As he entered, the only sound to be heard came from a large refrigerator in the open gourmet kitchen where he stood. He glanced at his watch and notated the time, 11:01. He would allow himself only one hour to search. If he received a message from Nadia, before the hour was up, he would abandon his ta
sk. Satisfied with the plan, he headed into the home’s interior.

  Wolfe located the library midway down a long hall on the first floor of the 9000 square-foot structure. On entering, he found floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with a variety of books on different topics. With closer examination, he surmised the majority of volumes had been purchased in bulk at either a used bookstore or estate sale. He smiled to himself with the realization Reid was a pretend intellectual.

  With the need to expedite the search, he started flinging books to the floor from the two eye-level shelves. Within a minute, he found the hidden wall-safe protected by a keypad.

  Out of a utility vest pocket, he extracted a small camelhair brush with a rubber bulb on one end. The bulb contained powder sensitive to fingerprints. As he gently blew powder on the keypad, four keys attracted the powder and revealed themselves in the green hue of his NVG. After studying the four, Wolfe mentally reviewed the dossier he read on Reid. The numbers did not match his birthdate, but there was something familiar about them. With a slight smile, he realized the numbers corresponded with Reid’s anniversary date with the agency. He tried the month and year. No luck. Month and day. The safe did not open. Day and year did not work either. Finally, he tried month and year backward and the safe popped open.

  Inside the wall safe, he found ten bundles of one hundred dollars bills, which he placed on the large oak desk sitting in front of the bookshelves. The next bundle to be removed contained four passports issued by different countries. Wolfe removed the rubber band holding them together and flipped through the pages. All contained Reid’s portrait, but none contained the name Gerald Reid. He placed these on top of the cash.