The Black Directive (P.I. Jude Wyland Thrillers Book 1)

by Blake Dixon

  Chapter Nine

  It was just after four when Jude pulled into the parking lot at the CIA field office in Norfolk. He had two calls to make before he headed inside. One was to the bait shop. Clover answered the phone, sounding relieved when he told her to close early and lock up, and that he’d be there in the morning for opening.

  The second call wasn’t going to be so pleasant.

  Ray Rubin answered after one ring. “It’s about time you called,” he said.

  “I’ve been a little busy today,” Jude shot back. “You know. Interviews. Assholes with guns trying to threaten me off the case. The usual.”

  The pause was slightly longer than he expected. “I didn’t arrange that,” Ray said.

  “I’d be lying if I said I never suspected you did. But thanks for that.” He believed the deputy director on this, at least. The pause confirmed it. “I’ve got a witness sketch coming in any minute, which is costing you two grand by the way, and a partial plate I’m about to run.”

  “Terrific. You at the Norfolk office?”

  “Yeah, I am. I take it you’re not.”

  “No.”

  “Fine. I’ve got another bone for you,” he said. “The garrote.”

  “What about it?”

  This time there’d been no hesitation. Ray already knew. “That’s some damned creative editing on those police reports,” he said tightly. “Remember when I said to tell me everything you know?”

  “Yes, I do. This was something I needed you to find on your own.”

  He almost asked why, but he figured it out an instant later. “So I’d know it was a plant,” he said. “You’ve already barked up this tree, haven’t you?”

  “Exactly. Either those merc bastards are getting sloppy, or someone’s trying damned hard to make it look like they’re behind the kidnapping.” Ray huffed a breath. “The garrote isn’t the only thing pointing to them. You’ll see when you go through the evidence at the office. We can’t rule them out yet — but we also can’t focus on them exclusively.”

  Jude found himself nodding, and it kind of pissed him off that he agreed with Ray’s underhanded tactics. Especially when the bastard had used them on him. “Fine,” he said. “You hired me because you knew I’d dig deeper. But you might not like how deep I’m willing to go here.”

  “You’re wrong,” Ray said. “I’m counting on it.”

  “Sure you are. Gotta run, but I’ll call you back soon.”

  “For what?”

  “I’ll tell you when I call.”

  He hung up and jammed the phone in his pocket. When it came to the Black Strings, there was one person who could get the information he needed. One man absolutely no one trusted, especially Ray Rubin. Highly trained, dangerous and unquestionably psychotic.

  Garrett Kane. The man who’d killed his partner.

  And Jude still wouldn’t hesitate to use him, if it meant saving Valerie.

  Walking inside this place was a step back in time Jude had never wanted to take.

  Though he and Sarah had worked primarily out of a satellite office in the D.C. area when they weren’t traveling on assignment, he’d probably been to the Norfolk office a time or two. Not that it mattered much. They were all the same — high-gloss executive, a lot of glass and polished stone, security tighter than a politician’s asshole.

  In fact, this lobby could’ve been the one at his former base office. It was virtually indistinguishable. Front glass doors, the first security checkpoint complete with guard and metal detectors. Beyond that, the wide columned space lined on either side with commemorative plaques and American flags, the gleaming black-and-white checkered granite floor imprinted with the CIA seal. The eagle and shield bearing a compass rose.

  Symbolism he used to believe in, but the bloom wore off fast for anyone in this particular field. The more you learned, the more jobs you worked, the less you were able to believe that the CIA was actually in the protection business.

  The checkpoint guard watched him approach with a neutral expression, apparently trying to decide whether he belonged here. A slight downturn at the corners of his mouth proclaimed the conclusion — he didn’t belong.

  Jude decided to preempt the interrogation by answering all the questions before the guard could ask. He pulled out the laminate clearance badge Ray had given him, just before he reached the checkpoint. “Jude Wyland,” he said. “I’m a consultant on an investigation here, hired by Ray Rubin. I have a weapon on me and a permit to carry concealed, in conjunction with a private investigator’s license.”

  The guard pointed to an electronic reader slot in front of the monitor that faced him behind the stand. “Swipe your card here, Mr. Wyland,” he said in a tone that clearly said he wasn’t impressed by a private investigator.

  Jude swiped the card. The red light on the reader flashed green, and the guard studied the monitor screen. His expression and demeanor changed instantly. “Chief Special Agent Wyland. Welcome to Norfolk,” he said. “If you’ll place anything metal in that bin, you can come on through.”

  “I’m not an agent.” He held back his anger, saving it for Ray. He’d have words with the man later about this — especially with regards to loading the full mouthful of his former title onto that card.

  At least he was familiar with the metal detector drill. Wallet, keys, and gun in the tray. Walk through the frame, wait for the bin to come through the x-ray machine. Put everything back and wish the guard a pleasant day.

  As he moved down the wide corridor to the shallow stairs and the platform at the other end, his footsteps echoing around him, a forty-something man in dress-down casual stepped through a door at the far side of the platform. The man stopped and watched Jude approach with the air of someone trying to remember where he’d seen a guy before.

  He did look vaguely familiar, but Jude couldn’t place him.

  The casually dressed man broke into a smile when Jude mounted the steps. “Agent Wyland, isn’t it?” he said.

  “Not anymore.” Jude resigned himself to small talk as he scanned the platform, looking for a directory. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t quite come up with your name.”

  “Glenn Roosevelt.” The man held a hand out, and Jude was obliged to shake. “We worked on an investigation together, many years ago. Suspected terrorism case. You and your partner … Sarah, I believe? How is she doing?”

  Dead. Except he couldn’t actually say that, thanks to Rubin. “I’m not sure,” he said. “I’ve been retired for three years.”

  “Really. You’re out of the game? Good on you,” Glenn said. “If you don’t mind my asking, what are you doing here?”

  He did mind, actually. But maybe Glenn could point him in the right direction. “Director Rubin hired me as a contractor for the Noakes investigation,” he said. “I’m here to meet the team.”

  “Oh, that little girl. Sorry stuff.” Glenn shook his head. “They’re set up in a ready room down in C wing,” he said. “I’m headed that way myself. I can walk you down, if you want.”

  “Sure, that’d be great. Thank you, Agent Roosevelt.”

  “Junior supervisor, actually. Finally got that promotion — only took them ten years to get around to it.” The man grinned. “Right this way.”

  Jude followed, already wishing that Ray Rubin had never turned up in his little shop.

  Chapter Ten

  Just as Ray promised, every agent at the field office was cooperative, even polite. With the notable exception of the agent who’d been assigned to babysit him while he walked through the evidence.

  For some reason, Natalie Moore hated him on sight.

  He’d never met the woman before today. She was currently sitting at the back of the ready room, scowling into her coffee as he read the last of the files stacked on the conference table. The room was set up in standard live investigation format — corkboard tacked with flagged map, photos and printouts on one side, whiteboard printed with suspect names and relevant info on the other, cente
red table with makeshift workstations for the team.

  He’d almost feel right at home, except for the not-so-standard angry brunette with chips on both shoulders glaring holes through his back.

  “All right,” he said when he finished the last file, turning sideways in his chair to regard his unhappy handler. “Where are the notes?”

  The look she gave him suggested he was a few fries short of a Happy Meal. “You mean besides the everything you just read?”

  “The ransom notes, Agent Moore,” he said. “They weren’t in there.”

  She rose slowly and approached the table with a stiff gait. Moved past him, sat in the next chair and pushed an open laptop in front of him. “They aren’t notes,” she said. “They’re videos. The two files on that thumb drive.”

  “Jesus.” He remembered Ray saying the kidnappers were persuasive, and ugly as hell. This must be where the ugly part came in. Hoping he wasn’t about to watch a video of a little girl being tortured, he opened the drive folder and clicked on the first file, labeled V_N_1.

  The video started right up with the camera centered on Valerie. She was dressed in a filthy men’s T-shirt, sitting in a straight-back chair, her ankles tied with rope to the wooden legs. Hair tangled, face dirty and streaked with tears, trembling all over. Directly behind her was a gray concrete wall, probably a basement. A slim stack of what looked like poster boards leaned against the side of the chair.

  After a few seconds, a distorted voice off-camera said, “One. Just like we practiced.”

  Sobbing, the little girl reached over and picked up one of the poster boards. She held it in front of her, hands shaking hard enough to make the thick paper flap and shudder with a sound like a flag in a high wind. But the words written on the paper were still legible.

  Dear Daddy, greetings from a place you’ll never find. I am not doing okay.

  Jude sucked in a harsh breath. “Jesus,” he repeated tonelessly.

  On the video, the distorted voice said, “Now two.”

  Valerie dropped the poster board and picked up the next one, still sobbing. Not saying a single word.

  You can’t be the governor, Daddy. You have to drop out of the race. They said so.

  “Three.”

  If you don’t drop out, they’ll kill me. If you show this message to the police, they’ll kill me.

  “Four.”

  Please don’t let them kill me, Daddy. They won’t kill me fast.

  Jude’s stomach twisted sharply. Ugly wasn’t a strong enough word for these bastards.

  “All right. You did good,” the distorted voice said. “You can say something now.”

  The girl dropped the last awful message, shivering all over. “I want my mommy,” she said in a thick, rasping tone that broke his heart. Like she’d screamed herself hoarse right before this was recorded. “Please let me go home. Daddy, please help me. I just wanna go home, please.”

  She dissolved into breathless cries, and the video ended abruptly.

  It was a long moment before Jude trusted himself to speak. “Is the next one this bad?”

  “Worse,” Agent Moore said.

  He nodded, composed himself and opened the second file.

  Same setup, dirtier T-shirt, dirtier girl — this time with a bruise on her cheek and blood soaking into the ropes around her ankles. She was still shaking, still wide-eyed and terrified. But not sobbing. Too afraid to make a sound.

  The distorted off-camera voice ordered her through four poster boards.

  Dear Daddy, they know you’re working with the CIA.

  Now they want more. They want money. And you still have to drop out.

  They’ll tell you how much they want. Soon.

  How well are you sleeping at night, Daddy, knowing that you’re making them hurt me?

  She wasn’t allowed to speak this time. The video stopped after the last written message.

  Jude shoved the laptop away with a snarled oath and stood, pacing away from the table. If he sat there any longer, he’d break something. “Her parents saw those?” he said to Agent Moore without looking at her.

  “Yes. They were sent in text messages to the D.A.’s cell phone.”

  “And you traced them?”

  Moore snorted. “No, we didn’t. We have no idea how to do our jobs. Must be why Rubin brought you in,” she said. “Of course we traced them. They were routed through a cloned cell, made to look like they came from Noakes’ phone.”

  “Listen, Moore.” He turned to face her. “This is your case. I get it. In fact, I bet you’re lead on the team, right?”

  Her sullen silence answered the question.

  “I’m not here to step on your toes,” he said. “I’m just getting caught up on the details. My investigation is going to be completely separate from yours — but damn it, we’re still on the same side. The issue here is not jurisdiction. It’s that little girl.” He jabbed a finger at the laptop. “So can we lay off the sarcasm and focus on Valerie Noakes?”

  Something in her expression changed. But before she could respond, the door to the ready room banged open and a male agent strode in, headed for the conference table. “Nat, we’ve got something,” he said as he dropped in front of a laptop at the far end and started hitting keys. “They just sent Noakes another message.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Whatever these people had done to the girl, she was no longer resisting. Not even a little bit. The video message used the same format as the other two. A bedraggled Valerie sat in the chair, staring dully at the camera, and shuffled through the poster boards in complete silence as the robotic voice counted them off.

  This time they’d been very specific. Ten million dollars wired to an account number in the Grand Caymans, and a press conference declaring Noakes’ intention to drop out of the candidacy for governor.

  He had four days to comply.

  Soon after the male agent hastily introduced as Derek Wells had played the video, the ready room swarmed with activity as Moore’s team descended on the new evidence. Jude waited until the frenzy subsided, and then pulled Agent Moore aside. “I need a word,” he said under his breath. “In private.”

  She glared at him and yanked her arm away. “I’m a little busy right now, Mr. Wyland.”

  “Yeah, no shit. So give me a minute, and I’ll get out of your way.”

  “Promise?”

  “Cross my heart.”

  “Fine. Come on.” Rolling her eyes, she led him toward the back of the room and into a large, mostly empty supply closet. “Okay,” she said when he closed the door. “You’ve got one minute.”

  He let out a breath. “Look, I just want to know what you think,” he said.

  “About what?”

  “The case, the suspects, all of it. Who looks good to you?”

  “Really,” she said. “Now you want my opinion?”

  “Jesus Christ. I wanted it when I got here,” he said. “But you weren’t exactly in a sharing kind of mood.”

  “You mean not like now, when I really seem like I want to share.” This time she smiled, just a little. “Okay, I’ll give you that one. Approachable isn’t exactly my middle name.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  She sighed and leaned against the back shelves, rubbing her forehead slightly. “First of all, I think Senator Bromwell is the wrong place to look here,” she said.

  “I’m with you on that.”

  “If that’s a compliment, I guess I’ll take it,” she said. “But the mercs, the Black Strings — I’m convinced they’re involved in it somehow. Probably not the actual kidnapping, because the evidence is too damned obvious. Still, they’re connected.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “What makes you so sure?”

  “A few little things, and one big thing,” she said. “They’re the reason the current governor isn’t running for reelection.”

  “Well, shit.” That bit of information definitely hadn’t been in Ray’s little welcome packet. “How’d that happen?”


  She shook her head. “They got to him last year. Told him all he had to do was step down after his term ended and enjoy life as a retiree, and things wouldn’t get worse.”

  “Worse than what?”

  “They killed his dog.”

  “Fucking mercs,” he spat. “So whatever happens with this Noakes-Bromwell contest, everything’s going to shake up at the top during the next election cycle. They’ve already put that in motion.”

  “Exactly.”

  “And you don’t know who hired those bastards to go after the governor.”

  “No clue.”

  Jude closed his eyes. Figuring out who the client was behind the high-level shakedown was probably their best bet to unravel the kidnapping case and save Valerie. And there was only one sure way to do that.

  He’d have to make the call to Ray.

  Something tugged at him, a sudden intuition. He’d learned not to ignore that feeling. “Listen, Agent Moore,” he said. “Does Rubin know about the merc op against the governor?”

  She shrugged. “Not sure. I just found out myself, yesterday. Had to cash a lot of chips to get as much as I did.”

  “And you haven’t told him?”

  “It was going in my next report.”

  “Okay. Do me a favor and leave it out. For now,” he said when she gave him a puzzled look. Ray hadn’t told him about this, so there was a chance the deputy director either didn’t know — or didn’t want him to know. And at this stage he suspected everyone. Even Agent Natalie Moore might be the kidnapper, ridiculous as the idea was. “I might be able to expand on your lead, but I need a little time to do it,” he said.

  “And we shouldn’t tell Director Rubin … why?”

  He looked away for a moment, searching for the right words to phrase what he wanted to say. He was only a hired gun now, but she still reported to the director — and he didn’t want to slander her superior. “I’ve known Ray a long time,” he finally said. “Let’s just say he doesn’t always use information in the most orthodox manner. He’s very results-oriented. Understand?”