FATAL eMPULSE

by Mark Young

  “Maybe you did not hear me. Who do you represent?” Yegorov asked.

  Richard shook his head. “You already know about two of those interests. And the benefit to Russia. That is all you need at this time.”

  Ivan’s face tightened. “I know that you represent certain Americans who seek a different path for that country. This is good, but my country is…how you say, skeptical.”

  Richard relaxed. He finally piqued Yegorov’s interest. “First, I cannot give you their names for obvious reasons. But I can tell you they want to join with Russia and other countries in creating a global community, a larger government entity in which our differences can be mutually worked out—even if that means America must waive some of its sovereignty to achieve these goals. They are taking a big risk.” He began to lay out the plan.

  Yegorov nodded as he listened to the plan unfold. “I understand our part. But how do you plan on achieving this?”

  “You must trust me, Ivan. The only way this plan will work is if each of us does our part, knowing what the ultimate goal will be. The less each of you knows about the other’s part, the greater our chance of success. That gives you plausible deniability.”

  Yegorov shrugged and stood. “I will convey your proposal to my people.”

  Richard rose and shook Yegorov’s hand. “Time is critical. We will stay in contact as before. We must be very careful from here on out. Remember, if they even suspect your people might try to attack U.S. interests, the consequences will be disastrous.”

  Yegorov nodded. “For both sides.”

  Richard stood at the balcony, watching Yegorov walking along the canal. It was good to know that the Russians still did not know his real name. If they did, they might suspect how he really felt toward them. What they did to his people. He distrusted the Russians almost as much as he did the next person he was about to meet. And this person hated the Russians almost as much as the Americans.

  Hate could be a useful tool in the right hands.

  Chapter 5

  February 21

  Lake Tahoe, California

  Gerrit eyed the blue, shimmering waters of Lake Tahoe far below as the jet’s left wing dipped toward the runway. South Lake Tahoe—gambling casinos on the Nevada side brushing next to the California border of motels, hotels and restaurants—straddled two worlds, one side feeding the other. He briefly visited the south shore a few years back while attending a conference on organized crime hosted by the U.S. Attorney’s Office. He enjoyed the crisp, high altitude of this lake and the outdoor activities it offered.

  “So this will be our new home?” He glanced across the narrow aisle of the aircraft. “I could suffer through this.”

  Alena smiled. “I could think of worse places to work. Joe thought it might be easier to set up operations here.”

  Gerrit looked toward the cockpit where his uncle Joe sat in the pilot’s seat. “He did, did he?”

  “Joe thought this might be a good place to lay down while we reestablish ourselves.”

  “Lay down? Oh, you mean lay low. What about living apart for safety reasons?”

  Alena let out a sly grin. “Does that trouble you? Living with me?”

  Leaning back, he grimaced. “First, you blow up my houseboat in Seattle just as the bad guys set off their own bomb, and right after you dump a dead guy on my bed. Then you drag me to your place in San Francisco a nanosecond before it’s compromised. Then we traipse back and forth between the U.S. and Europe trying to stay one step ahead of Kane’s death squad.” He gave her a mock scowl. “You nearly get me killed on two continents and half a dozen states in a matter of weeks. Now, why wouldn’t I want to spend more time with you?”

  She tsk-tsked and shook her head. “I thought you cared. Change your mind?”

  “Huh! The way you and Joe are arranging my future, you’d think we’re married or something.” He regretted those words the moment they came tumbling out. Idiot!

  Alena’s eyes flashed. Leaning closer, she whispered, “I never asked for a wedding ring, Gerrit. It did not even enter my mind. We are just trying to stay alive for one more day.”

  He could tell she was not being truthful. They both must have contemplated what their future together might hold. That subject crossed his mind more than once. “Look, I’m an idiot. That just came out wrong. I—”

  “This is your captain speaking. Buckle up, folks, we’re about to land.”“ Joe’s voice boomed over the intercom. “Lock your trays in place and bring your seats to an upright position, blah, blah, blah.”

  Alena straightened up, staring forward with a scowl. “At least you got one thing right—you are an idiot.”

  Locking his seat belt in place, Gerrit studied her for a moment. She continued to look straight ahead, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed. Even an idiot could tell she was one ticked-off woman. Tahoe might turn out to be even colder than the icy lake water below.

  Snow still capped the top of the mountains in what appeared to be a mild winter as they approached Hurricane Bay on the lake’s west side. Gerrit and the others all fit into one van, Willy driving and Joe riding shotgun. Alena, sitting next to him in the middle seats, hardly exchanged a word during the long, twisty ride.

  As they pulled off Highway 89’s West Lake Boulevard, they continued down a paved single-lane road that cut through a grove of sequoias toward the lake. A few minutes later they came to a meadow where a large chalet—timber and quarry-rock construction—was visible through the black-grated gate and fence. Beyond the dwelling, Gerrit saw the inviting lake.

  “Hey, Uncle. Whose place is this?”

  Joe turned to face him. “It’s owned by a corporation.”

  “And how did you get permission to use it?”

  “I control the corporation.” Joe shot him a smile. “There’s a lot I haven’t had time to tell you. Maybe we can get to it while we’re here.”

  Gerrit watched as the gate slowly swung open. A camera peered down from a black metal pole like a one-eyed Cyclops, scanning the gate and entryway. “Someone manning the place?”

  Joe saw him looking at the camera. “I am. Remotely.”

  Smiling, Gerrit shook his head. “Figures. “

  Willy waited until the gate fully opened before driving forward. “Mr. J, you never told him how rich you are?”

  “Never flaunt what you have, Willy. Besides, it’s not all mine.”

  Willy chuckled. “Mr. G, you’re in for quite a surprise.”

  Gerrit leaned forward. “Why here, Joe? Seems out of the way.”

  “Right now we need to put some distance between us and those looking to do us harm. We stayed longer than I’d liked at the hospital in Seattle. But that couldn’t be helped. Now, we need to start rebuilding our operation before they have a chance to track us.”

  “You pick up any chatter I should know about?”

  Willy and Joe exchanged glances.

  Willy drove up to the front steps of the chalet as Joe turned forward. “Let’s get settled and then I’ll brief everyone at the same time.”

  As he climbed out of the van, Gerrit saw beyond the main structure several outlying cabins connected by a mortared rock path that led back to the main dwelling. Almost like a mini conference ground.

  Joe yelled out to everyone, “Grab your gear. You can bunk inside the main house—several nice-sized bedrooms on the second floor—or pick your own cabin. We’ll meet in the main living room in about fifteen. Okay?”

  They moved off in several directions, Gerrit choosing a separate cabin that seemed the farthest from the main house. Like all the others, it offered a nice view of the lake and provided privacy with large overhanging trees and bushes that shielded his cabin from the others. He left his belongings inside, then moved toward the main house just as the others began to gather.

  As he neared, he thought about Joe’s comments in the van. He hoped his uncle would share more about this world Gerrit had become a part of after joining this team. Ever since Alena whisked him from his Se
attle boathouse, they’d been on the run, always looking over their shoulders. Maybe now, in this place, they could settle down and take a breather.

  If only their enemies would leave them alone.

  Chapter 6

  February 21

  Gerrit tensed. An unknown vehicle just entered the compound. He tried to relax, but he could not shake this feeling. It was the same guardedness he tried to work through each time he returned from a war zone. Sudden unexpected events jarred a defensive, muscle-wrenching wariness. Friend or foe? Dangerous or safe? His mind clicked through each of these scenarios in a fight-or-flight reflex.

  Like now.

  A navy-blue Suburban reached the main house at about the same time Gerrit came through the back door. Peering through a front window, he saw a familiar figure climb out of the car followed by loud barking.

  Beck Malloy. Gerrit relaxed.

  As he moved outside he saw a streak of muscle and fur hurling his way. Bones? He braced himself as the sand-colored Labrador slowed down just enough to plant two paws on Gerrit’s chest. A wet, sloppy tongue licked his face. He gave the dog a hug and then forced him back to the ground.

  “Down, boy.”

  Bones wiggled with pent-up energy as Gerrit patted his head and stroked the dog’s sides. He heard someone walking up the path behind him.

  “Man, am I glad to finally get that pest hooked up with you.” Beck smiled. “The agent who drove him down here said this mutt could hardly sit still the entire trip. Must have known he was coming to see you.”

  Gerrit shook Beck’s hand. “This is a surprise. We’ve been on the move since Seattle. I heard you managed to escape unscathed. Sorry we couldn’t stay behind to help.”

  “No sweat. You guys were the target, not me. As soon as you jammed out of there, the gunmen pulled back. They didn’t want to reengage.”

  “Anyway, thanks for getting Bones here.” Gerrit reached down to pat the dog’s head. “I wasn’t sure when I’d see the mutt again.”

  Bones came over to sniff Beck’s shoes. He leaned down and stroked the dog’s head. “No problem. One of the agents met me in Sacramento on my way up here. Now, how did the dog come by the name Bones? It doesn’t look like that dog has missed many meals.”

  Bones wandered off to explore. “I found him in Iraq, just as we were pulling out of Fallujah. Our recon unit encountered incoming when this dog—just a puppy, really, all skin and bones—kept following me around. He and I have been together ever since.” Gerrit wanted to move the conversation in another direction. “I didn’t even know we were coming here to Tahoe.”

  “Joe needed a place for us to regroup, to get our act together before Round 2.”

  “Well, it’s time to move forward.”

  Beck began walking toward the house. “Come on, let’s find Joe. I need to catch everyone up on the latest.”

  “Trouble?” Gerrit fell into step with the FBI agent.

  “You can’t believe how much trouble you guys started back in D.C. Everyone’s scrambling to find out what happened at that lab you guys attacked in Washington state. Meanwhile, with a new president on board, bureaucrats are trying to figure what their future might hold in the coming months.”

  “Will they change your assignment?”

  “Nah, I’m too far down the totem pole. Should be interesting, though, with enough congressional seats changing to shift the power base and President Chambers getting his team together. Total confusion. A good time to stay away from Capitol Hill.”

  “Where does this leave you?” Gerrit watched as Bones headed for the shoreline, the dog leaping into the water like he was still a puppy.

  “It leaves me free to come out and check on you guys. Speaking of which, your favorite Marine will be here tonight. He’s flying into Reno under an alias.”

  “Colonel Thompson? How come he’s making the trip?”

  “Jack picked up some chatter from one of our intelligence agencies. Your name came up. He wanted to talk about it face to face.”

  Thompson had been Gerrit’s CO overseas, heading up 1st Reconnaissance Battalion. Then when they moved Jack to U.S. Special Operations Command, he began to use his connections to help Gerrit and the others in special ops forays.

  Laughter pealed out of the main house. Gerrit gave a sharp whistle, and Bones came running full speed from the lake, dripping wet. The dog waited until he reached Gerrit before stopping to shake off the water. “You couldn’t do that by the lake?”

  Beck laughed. “Hey, that dog minds well. You whistled. He came. Don’t blame him for following orders.”

  They climbed broad stone steps leading to the expansive back patio. Lounge chairs had been scattered around a rock-paved deck, offering comfort to anyone who wanted to sit outside and enjoy the lake view. Gerrit opened the door after gesturing to Bones to lie down on the patio. “You’ll have to stay outside until you dry off, boy. Stay.”

  Bones shot him a look as if to say, “You called me up here to lie down?”

  They went inside, leaving Bones whimpering.

  Jack gaped at the huge central house near the Tahoe shore as he passed through the security gate. This was a whole lot bigger—and nicer—than the Quonset huts he’d grown used to in the Marine Corp. His body ached after the long flight from D.C., following an even longer flight from NATO headquarters in Brussels last night. And he hated to bring them the news he’d just picked up.

  Just don’t shoot the messenger.

  Moments later, he joined Joe O’Rourke and the others in the main room. Everyone was sitting around a huge fireplace. As he sank into a soft leather armchair, Jack saw Gerrit and Bones enter from the direction of the lake. Gerrit looked tired.

  It was good to see him still walking. Ever since the bombing, Jack and Malloy had been working on the case. Some pieces started to fall in place with Malloy’s help, but they had a long way to go before there would be any clarity to the situation.

  Until then, every effort was being made to make sure this little group would stay safe.

  Gerrit strode over and shook Jack’s hand. “Colonel. Great to see you again.”

  “Likewise, Marine. See you still got your flea-bitten mutt.”

  “Hey, you have only yourself to blame. If you hadn’t pulled a few strings back in the big sandbox to get us stateside, Bones and I would have separated years ago.”

  Jack reached down and gently cuffed Bone’s head just as Joe stood. “I know everyone is tired, especially Jack. He just flew in from Europe this morning. But he has an important update.”

  Willy sat off to one side while typing away on his ever-present laptop. Next to Willy sat Alena Shapiro, a woman of many talents. He was still trying to figure out her past and wondered what kind of future she and Gerrit might have together, particularly in light of the information he just learned in Europe. It was going to be a rough ride for a while. He noticed the two of them chose not to sit together. Not a good sign.

  Jack took a deep breath. It was time to begin.

  Alena watched Jack run a hand over the bristled hairs of his buzz cut, his light-blue eyes pensive as he rose and began to pace. He could never sit still. Every so often, she glanced over at Gerrit standing near the fireplace. They had hardly spoken to each other since their arrival in Tahoe. His dig about marriage cut deeper than she had expected. Sometimes he really angered her. What was that expression Americans seemed fond of? Ticked me off. That’s how she felt right now.

  Wasn’t there a bug called a tick? Could that be where the expression came from? Jack’s voice drew her from her thoughts. She tried to focus on what the colonel was saying and ignore Gerrit.

  “After the last operation this group survived, I thought we better try to understand what we’re up against.”

  Alena stole a quick look at Gerrit. He was looking right at her. Angrily, she felt herself blush. Focus, Alena. Focus.

  “I met with Beck, Joe, and Willy, taking a look at the communications links between Stan Cromwell and that myster
ious contact back in D.C.”

  “What did you turn up, sir?” Gerrit asked.

  “After we seized the lab in Washington, we grabbed all of Richard Kane’s portable communications links—his cell phone, laptop, etc.—as well as any communications received or sent from that facility during the entire operation. Willy also did a timeline search to access Kane’s database through the daemon files.”

  She remembered Kane’s face just before she squeezed off two shots as he shot his hostage, Joe O’Rourke. Fortunately for Joe, it was just a graze. Kane—not so lucky. Her shots hit him square on.

  As Alena stood over her former boss, watching him slowly bleed out, she had realized something inside her was different. Before Gerrit, killing had become a necessary action. No feeling. Just action. She had been trained for it, and her shady life while in Russian further added to the callousness she’d developed inside. A wall of protection. A wall she could hide behind when her feelings got in the way of the job. Then she met Joe O’Rourke, and before that, Gerrit’s folks. And then she met Gerrit face to face.

  This irritating man awakened feelings deep inside her soul she thought had died long ago. These new feelings frightened her. At times, he was like a splinter festering its way under her calloused skin. Other times, he seemed like a refreshing ocean breeze sweeping over the dryness of her life. All this seemed to come to a head when she pulled that trigger on Kane— and she could not seem to shake it.

  Would she be able to function at a critical moment if her emotions made her hesitate, to waver just enough to give the enemy an edge?

  Maybe this was part of why she snapped at Gerrit on the plane. Angry at him for making her care, angry for his joke about marriage at a time when she could not decide what was going on inside. She forced herself to put aside these thoughts for another day. Right now, she needed to focus on the matter at hand.

  Jack continued. “One phone number in D.C. linked both Kane and Cromwell to this source, just before both men died. We could not retrieve the messages, but we were able to get a location. Beck, you want to take it from here?”