The Carbon Cross (The Carbon Series Book 2)

by Randy Dutton

  The dog yipped.

  “How do I know? Well, we employed some of the best at the Campus. Someone this experienced in evasion must have good life-or-death reasons not to be found.... Watch my back, buddy, this runner’s gonna be tough!”

  The dog yipped again.

  Duke restarted the images’ rotation so Olga’s facial features would be ingrained in his memory.

  “I gotta say, having a beautiful woman’s pictures around certainly makes this job more pleasurable...and damn lonely.” He toasted her image and took a gulp.

  The center screen showed Google Earth imagery superimposed with location-tagged clues. The client required all bounty hunters to log them, evaluate them, and to rank their importance. The unused data was archived. All leads for his territory came from Harley, and were comprised of images, artificial intelligence facial recognition software output, and human intelligence bulletins. Some images were random sightings identified by government analysts with access to satellite, drone, and surveillance camera images.

  How Harley got DHS to contribute assets to this search, Duke figured, had to do with connections. He fondly recalled his own Agency work before arthritis impinged his field work and forced him into early retirement.

  The right screen had text messages generated by Harley. Whatever Duke needed, Harley would provide it – funding, resources, intel.

  “This is a great gig, Kyler.” He reached down to pet the shepherd’s head. “We’re being paid pretty damn good to follow leads even if we don’t find her, which isn’t likely here in the sticks. Oh, but if we do, we can retire in style!”

  Out of habit, he looked out the tinted window. A thin line of grayish green Fuzz had accumulated on the window’s edge. “Time to brush that crap off again before people start thinking I’m a Walmart parking lot fixture. Whoever created that moss should be shot!”

  He heard a low rumble and glanced at the dog, then at his own paunchy stomach. “Hungry? Yeah, me too. How about we go into the MacDonald’s and get dinner?” He bent to get up.

  A Beauty Online Contest image flashed onto the second screen and caught his attention. Website photos were forwarded automatically if the score was in a narrow range set by the subscriber and taken within his assigned territory. For Duke, that ran all the way to Washington State. Over a hundred contest submission images already had come in today. His sideways glance caught a beautiful blond with deep blue eyes and unbound, long wavy hair. She was in a moment of sheer happiness. His hand reflectively reached to flick the image into the archive file.

  Kyler let out a small “yip” and his tail started bouncing.

  Duke’s hand paused and his eyes narrowed at the woman with loose cascading hair over her shoulders.

  “Whoa! Good eye!” Duke sat. His fingers tapped the keyboard and zoomed the image, also revealing the datatag and photographer’s contact info. His finger flipped the left screen to a few select images to match against this new one. The stock pictures had stoic or posed expressions and more makeup, and showed her hair always smartly styled or pulled back.

  “She’s a dead-ringer, but I don’t know, Kyler.” His eyes narrowed at the image. “None of the photos Harley sent shows a woman this carefree.”

  “Let’s compare what we know about Olga with this candidate.”

  His nose wrinkled at the geotagged location. “Olga frequents cities and avoids unpopulated areas. Glacier National Park’s very isolated and not near anyplace that fits her profile.”

  He zoomed in to her eyes. “Okay, the irises closely match but her eyes should be intense, not bright. The hair’s loose and it’s a natural blond color...no dark roots, and it’s shiny. This woman isn’t even wearing a hat or much, if any, makeup! How’s that for bad spycraft?”

  The dog’s tail swished back and forth.

  “Still convinced, huh? Okay, study her smile. Every stock photo shows a pleasant or artificial smile...like a Vogue model.” He pointed at the screen. “This woman’s truly happy.”

  The dog cocked its head.

  “How do I know? This is a ‘Duchenne Smile.’ The muscles surrounding the opening of her eyes are in play...something we don’t see in Olga’s stock photos. See the crinkling at the outer corners? This and a few other factors are proof. This ‘enjoyment smile’ isn’t faked.”

  “Still... she’s a dead ringer. So you think we’ve found her?”

  Kyler continued wagging excitedly.

  “So do I.”

  A tap of his finger initiated the printer. “Let’s get more info, shall we? Contact info’s right here on the contest entry.”

  Duke typed a short text message ‘Congratulations, you have been selected as a finalist in today’s Beauty Online Contest. To be complete your prize eligibility please submit your raw photo file to this number and provide your physical location and contact information.’

  “Now we wait.”

  In minutes, the now drunk photographer had happily forwarded the raw photo file to the man he thought was a contest judge.

  Duke analyzed the just-emailed, uncropped image. “The bodies match – tanned, fit, well-proportioned. See the bare arms, Kyler? Well-defined, toned, fairly square shoulders – dancing or martial arts I’d say. No visible jewelry. Too bad the goat’s blocking her left hand and from the waist down. And this guy in the foreground’s shielding the view of her companion. Well, at least the punk gave me a vague description of the big guy she was with – tall and muscular, rugged good looks, unshaven. Shame he didn’t get the white SUV model or plates.”

  “Yip!”

  “You’re right...that’s important. He said she headed east. Fool photog was happy for three hundred bucks to sit tight until we get there.... He didn’t realize how valuable his photo was. Could have gotten twenty times the price. Next, we’ll show the kid more photos to confirm the sighting.”

  Duke sent a text message and photo attachment to Harley, ‘following strong lead....’ and provided the latitude and longitude of the sighting and known direction. ‘Target possibly heading to Canadian border.’

  “By logging this, we’re ensured to get or share the bounty. Retirement’s looking good, buddy.”

  He put the leash on the shepherd. “Come on, Kyler. We’re gonna dash into Mickey D’s and get a bunch of burgers. We’ve got a long drive tonight.... The game’s afoot!”

  Chapter 42

  August 28, 1600 hours

  Glacier National Park, MT

  The SUV exited the park and headed north. Sixteen klicks south of the border, Anna touched Pete’s right arm. “Pete, would you pull into that gravel parking lot? Please?”

  “Do you need—”

  “I need to get something out of the car. Trust me, it’s a precaution.”

  “Okay.” Pete drove into a large, empty gravel lot and watched her pulled a set of license plates and a couple magnetic bumper stickers out from under the passenger seat.

  Anna turned toward him. “Now before you get upset, I want to make this car harder to track into Canada.”

  Pete’s brow furrowed as she got out a screwdriver, a spray can of contact adhesive, and some decals. He joined her when she stepped outside. “You had fake plates made?”

  “These aren’t fake.” She was removing the clear license plate cover. “They’re from an identical make and model SUV.”

  “Who does it belong to?”

  “It was damaged and sold cheap...to me”—she grinned—“or I should say a youngish guy with long black hair about my height...who paid cash.” She started switching plates, making sure the one with bug splatters was on the front, and the dusty one on the back.

  He stood over her. “Why?”

  “In case someone’s tracking us and enters the license plate number into a database at the border.”

  “Where’s the Expedition...the other one?”

  “In a junkyard...crushed into a cube.”

  “That’s a lot for a pair of plates.”

  “Come on Pete, it’s just money.
And I’ve got another set under the seat for backup.” She lightly sprayed the vehicle’s sides and plate covers with the water based adhesive, then wet-wiped her hands. She saw his concern. “Relax. It’ll wash off the moment we hit rain.”

  “And the old NASCAR stickers are more misdirection?”

  “They give anyone who cares, something to focus upon.... Don’t worry, they’re magnetic. We’ll take them off once we’re across the border....” She grinned. “Unless you don’t like NASCAR.... If that case, I’ve got ‘Save the Whales’, ‘Dirt Worshipping Tree Hugger’, ‘Legalize Cannabis’, and ‘Aspiring Canadian.’”

  “Cute!” His wide eyes narrowed. “Are you entering Canada as my wife...or someone else?”

  She turned to him. Her voice was tentative. “As your girlfriend.”

  He frowned at the implications as they got into the vehicle.

  She pulled out a couple passports and handed one to him. “But right now...you’re not Pete.” She removed her wedding ring and tenderly slid his off. Both went into her purse.

  Pete stared at his passport. “Where’d you get these?”

  “From a cobbler.” She detected confusion. “A professional forger specializing in passports.”

  “How’d you find one?”

  “I’ve always maintained a list of...suppliers. The problem’s knowing where their allegiances lie.”

  “When did you do this? I mean, we’ve been together almost all the time since we got back from Europe.” He looked at the passport details.

  “I’m efficient. I found time. When a woman says she has to go clothes shopping, do you really think it takes all day?”

  “And if we get caught?”

  “We won’t and I’ve got a contingency. Trust me. These biometric passports are good. The photo images in the embedded chips match our appearances. Mine has me with black hair.” She started applying heavy makeup.

  “Any more surprises I should know?” he asked dubiously.

  “Always...but then they wouldn’t be surprises, would they?”

  Seeing her playful response didn’t placate him, Anna took a more serious tack. “Pete, I need to be clear about something. We’re at risk. You accepted that when we got married and we have to be cautious, now, and in the future. That means taking precautions. The plates and fake IDs are part of those precautions. I’ve got a go-bag behind the front seat. It has things to help us if we feel threatened.”

  “I thought this was a honeymoon”—he let out a sigh—“not a mission.”

  “It is a honeymoon, Darling, but one that allows us to deal with contingencies. This may be the course of our entire lives.” She grabbed his knitted turtle neck sweater out of a suitcase and pulled it on.

  He squinted. “Little large for you isn’t it? Oh...never mind, I get it.”

  She smiled mischievously. “Then you’ll understand this too.” She put on the black wig. After clipping it in place, from behind his seat she pulled out a spray can and towel. “And now you.”

  “Huh?”

  “Hold still.” Like a barber about to clip hair, she put a towel around his neck and started spraying the fibrous hair thickener. Within seconds his days-old beard looked weeks-old and darker. With an appraising eye, she next applied some hair spray over it, then pulled down his visor so he could see himself in the mirror. “There.”

  He was about to touch his chin. “Looks—”

  “Don’t,” she warned. “Let it set.”

  “So what else did you bring?” He sighed.

  “Well, my silenced pistol – one that breaks down quickly.” Her brow lifted when she looked at Pete’s expression. “Don’t give me that frown. It’s saved my life before.”

  He grimaced. “Is there more?”

  She responded playfully, “The usual 20 essentials as you Boy Scouts call them – disguise aides, covert communication equipment, medical blowout kit, couple of tasers, you know...basic stuff.”

  “Scouts have ten, and you haven’t mentioned even one of them.”

  “I’m more prepared.”

  “I’m wondering, then, if it’s a good idea to cross the border.”

  “Pete, we need to be cautious, but that doesn’t mean fearful. I still plan on us living a good life. That includes traveling, just perhaps to more remote places. After listening to your descriptions, I want to go to Banff. It’s been on my ‘bucket list’ for weeks.”

  Moving closer so their bodies touched, she combed his hair over his forehead. With an amused expression, she stuck a floppy fishing hat on him and pulled both sides to his ears. Her hands flipped up his collar and zipped up his windbreaker.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Hiding you,” she said lovingly. She slid a large pair of black-framed reflective driving glasses on him.

  “I don’t wear glasses.”

  “For the next 20 klicks you do. These are nonprescription.” She reached over him and reset his seat as low and far back as it would go.

  “And now?”

  “Making you look shorter.” She elevated her own seat.

  “Reducing our apparent eight-inch difference?”

  “Yep!”

  While she dialed the windows to be more opaque, he studied the two passports and matching driver’s licenses. He cocked his head. “Why does your character’s name seem familiar?”

  Anna emoted a low-throated response, “Because, Darling...she’s the original...Catwoman.”

  Pete’s confusion turned to amusement. He held his new passport. “So, who’s this guy with my image and the photoshopped beard?”

  Anna’s smile widened and she seductively whispered into his ear, “He created Catwoman.”

  “You’ve got a wicked sense of humor...Cat.” He drew out the nickname he usually reserved for the bedroom.

  She squeezed his arm and purred. “I love it when you use that.... Now before we get back onto the highway, please drive some circles around this gravel parking.”

  “Does this have something to do with you making the SUV sticky?”

  She nodded. “I want it covered in dust and Fuzz.”

  Chapter 43

  August 28, 1730 hours

  US – Canadian Border

  Her overly rouged face tilted toward the border services officer. Giving the young man a nicotine stained smile, Anna angled the hat brim to shield her face from the mounted camera.

  “The purpose of your visit?” The officer glanced from the shaggy driver to the self-possessed woman with bare feet on the dash tapping to loud pop music leaking from the iPod ear plugs. She was chewing gum and filing her nails.

  “Strictly pleasure,” Pete grinned. “Camping mostly.”

  “Are you transporting any firearms, Sir?” The border agent glanced through Pete’s window at the loaded SUV.

  “Naw,” Pete said.

  “Guns? Sheesh!” Anna crinkled her nose while diligently filing a just-attached, acrylic fingernail.

  The agent swiped the passports through a reader, glanced again at the couple, and handed back the documents. “Mr. Robert Kane, Miss Holly Robinson, welcome to Canada.”

  With that acceptance, they drove north toward Calgary.

  She turned off the iPod, removed the gum and put the irregular yellowed teeth overlay back into a cosmetic case. “See...I told you it would be easy!” She wiped off the bluish lipstick and pulled off the wig. “Quite an adrenalin kick, too!”

  “You really think this subterfuge’s necessary?” His tone wasn’t as upbeat.

  “Yes. Plan for the worst and hope for the best...and?” A brow lifted.

  “Always have an escape route.”

  “Right.” She smiled. “Don’t worry, we’ll be fine, Darling. All the documents linking us are sealed by court order. I can’t imagine how anyone could connect us.”

  In the back of Anna’s mind, she wondered whether desiring a normal life was causing her to get careless. She knew intelligence operatives could surveil the movements of people nearly anywhere.
It only took money to activate the watchers. If the Russian mob or the victimized financiers were sufficiently motivated, they’d search everywhere.

  Minutes later, Pete broke her reverie. “Babe, tell you what. Let’s skip Calgary and press on to Banff, that way we’ll arrive at the hotel late tonight. Up for it?”

  “Let’s see...sleep in a cheap motel or luxuriate in the five-star Chateau Lake Louise tonight?” Her lips pursed in mock concentration.

  “Got the hint, we’ll drive through. And we’ll stay a third night...if that’s alright with you?”

  She squeezed his right arm and kissed his stubbly cheek.

  With the distraction of each other, neither noticed the lights of a Beechcraft 1900 twin prop pass 1000 meters overhead.

  At midnight, the couple entered the moonlit eight-story hotel and wheeled their luggage past the massive entrance. Once in the large lobby, Pete checked in at the counter with his fake identification. Meanwhile, Anna, still wearing her wide hat, perused the Chateau’s deli menu under the large central chandelier.

  When he returned, her eyes batted at him. “Honey...would you grab some sandwiches from the deli? I’m famished.”

  His head motioned to vending machines next to a bank of telephones. “There’s a faster way—”

  She touched his arm. “No.” Her interruption was abrupt yet barely audible. “See the Intel logo on the sandwich machine?”

  “Yes...”

  “It has facial recognition.... Besides, I like fresh.”

  “Then, I’ll meet you in the room.” He handed her a key card and sweetly kissed her cheek.

  A whiff of Chanel No. 5 greeted Pete as he entered the dark suite. Overlooking shimmering Lake Louise, Anna was lounging on the cushioned window seat. Glaciered, snow-capped peaks surrounded three sides of the lake, reflecting the bright moon and starlight. That same reflection illuminated her wavy blond hair and fair complexion through the sheer black lace negligee. She was as serene as he had ever seen her.