Dark Waters: A gripping political thriller with a killer twist (Deborah Jones Crime Thriller Series Book 2)
Page 21
‘Yes,’ she said, before he’d even finished his sentence.
‘You don’t know what I’m going to ask yet.’
‘It doesn’t matter. The answer is still yes.’
Sam smiled, his fond gaze confirming to her that she’d found the only man who understood and loved her.
‘The answer will always be yes.’
They walked out of the cemetery, holding hands, as a burnt-orange sunset blanketed the quietest corner of Little Havana. Deborah felt the warmth of the last rays of the unforgiving Miami sun on her skin, and heard the merest sound of salsa music hanging in the warm night breeze.
Epilogue
Three days later, when the story had come off the front pages, a Learjet registered to a front company, Rossington Foundation of Palm Beach, Florida, swooped low over the scrub pines and fields of tobacco in rural Virginia on the banks of the York River. It landed at Camp Peary also known as ‘The Farm’. Six men and their bodyguards disembarked and made their way in a fleet of SUVs parked on the edge of the runway to an underground office.
The 9000-acre wooded site was officially referred to as the Armed Forces Experimental Training Activity, under the auspices of the Department of Defense, but it was widely viewed as a covert CIA training facility.
Armed guards patrolled the eight-foot-high barbed-wire fence.
None of the men spoke until they were safely underground. At the same time, two hours’ drive north, a removals truck with untraceable plates and with four men inside snaked its way around one of Washington’s finest suburbs, Bethesda, the driver checking occasionally in the side mirror for any tail. The satellite navigation system on the driver’s dashboard indicated that he should take a left, then a right.
A few minutes later the vehicle was guided to the only empty mansion on the block. In the middle of the newly mown lawn was a For Sale sign.
The driver reversed into the driveway. Then his three colleagues, dressed in matching dark blue uniforms and carrying duct tape, a toolbox and various cardboard boxes, got out and let themselves into the house owned by Charles Woodrow Henke.
Once inside, they got to work.
Using wiring diagrams, the senior man traced the cabling down into the cellar and another member of the group opened the toolbox. He unpacked the imaging equipment and meticulously scanned the stone floor. The three-dimensional images on the monitor were conclusive.
Fifteen minutes later they had uncovered a secret basement, as they’d been told they would. It contained two laptops wrapped in plastic, sitting on a desk. They were taken away in a box.
Late in the afternoon, after the basement had been stripped bare, including all wiring, the four-man team entered the Lamoura Tower in downtown Bethesda, HQ of Lamoura Telecommunications. They rode the service elevator to the sixth floor and walked through a maze of corridors until they got to Room 614A.
The computer specialist—the youngest in the group—punched in the seven-digit access code. The door opened to reveal a massive room that contained around a dozen cabinets, including servers, routers and an industrial-size air-conditioner.
Two floors above, high-speed fiber-optic circuits were laid out on the eighth floor and ran down to the seventh floor where they connected to routers. But to monitor the information going through the circuits was some highly advanced circuitry inside a gray metal cabinet in this sixth-floor room.
The men crouched down. Stenciled in black on the front of the cabinet were the words ‘Property of the US Government’.
The computer man pressed his thumb on the fingerprint-recognition panel at the side, which duly clicked and opened the cabinet. Inside were the standalone traffic analyzers that collected network and customer-usage information.
Then he flicked a switch, which routed the information back to a similar facility in downtown Seattle, which in turn fed back to the offices of the Security Intelligence Branch of the CIA.
The men left the building by a side entrance.
The basement office in Camp Peary smelled of stale coffee and donuts. The six men sat around the oval table, studying the restricted report. Satisfied that everyone had finished, the chairman of the group leaned back in his seat.
‘The Saudis are furious this has come out, not surprisingly’ he said. ‘But they’ve calmed down, realizing that it’s in no one’s interests to disturb the mutually beneficial prospects for growth and security over the next decade that our group has outlined. Besides, they need us as much as we need them.’
‘What about Charles?’ Redditch asked.
‘What about him?’
‘How is he?’
‘He’s fine. Being looked after. But there will be no electronic footprints from Charles which can be traced back to any of us. Nothing at all.’
Redditch nodded.
‘But we’re not out of the woods yet.’
A few shrugs.
‘I’m sorry to report that Senator Harry Steinberg has made a formal request to my office, asking me to appear in front of his committee in a fortnight’s time. Deborah Jones will also be giving evidence.’
The air-con unit growled low in the background.
‘I think she’s piecing this together. I’ve even heard whispers within the Pentagon that she’s got a log of all my cellphone calls to Charles.’
Silence.
‘I’m afraid, gentlemen, they’re going to try and pick us off one by one. Unless…’
‘Unless what?’ asked Redditch.
‘Unless one of us contacts Steinberg.’
‘Steinberg? Why him?’
‘He has the power. Influence. He alone can guide the committee. You know that.’
‘What do you propose?’
The chairman opened his briefcase and handed round five copies of another restricted file. ‘All men have secrets, they say. Some darker than others. Harry Steinberg is no different.’
Later that night, with the six men safely back on board the plane and heading to a global security conference in California, the chairman made a call to an unlisted number at an underground office fifteen miles southwest of Baltimore. It was an NSA number. ‘Any update for me?’
‘It’s all in hand. We’ve got plenty on your Senator.’ The chairman clicked off the call. Then he leaned over and relayed the message to Redditch.
Redditch called up a number from his cellphone and sighed. ‘Good evening, Senator. This is Bud Redditch, national security adviser. You fancy meeting up for lunch next week? My treat.’ A pause. ‘Great. How are the kids?’ A pause. ‘And Kathleen?’ A pause. ‘Of course, Senator. I look forward to that. Good night to you.’
He hung up.
The chairman stared out at the darkness.
‘What contingency plans have you drawn up for Steinberg?’
‘He’s booked a seven-night break in Aspen ahead of the hearings. Very fond of off-piste skiing with his new intern, so I’m led to believe.’
Redditch closed his eyes and smiled.
Acknowledgements
I’d like to thank Paul Sidey, who not only helped me define the book, but was also a great sounding board as the story developed. Many thanks also to Caradoc King.
Special mention must go to Oxblood Ruffin, a technology expert and human rights activist, who gave me a couple of ideas about how to hack into a smartphone. In addition, the work of Seymour M. Hersh in the New Yorker magazine I found not only fascinating, but informative as I wrote this book. His portrayal of military and security matters in Iraq, and abuses inside Abu Ghraib, I found compelling. I also found ‘Read Between the Lines of Those Missing 28 Pages’ by Robert Scheer in The Nation, July 29, 2003, highly informative.
Many thanks also to Billy Martin in Washington DC and the experts at the Everglades National Park in Florida.
Regards to the great Ash Swanson and Stuart Chisholm in South Beach, and the regulars and irregulars at Mac’s Club Deuce bar on 14th Street, Miami Beach. Not
forgetting Melissa, Kenny and Colin.
Finally, my wife Susan and my two boys, Robbie and Ewan, for the inspiration and keeping me sane.
About the Author
J.B. Turner is a thriller writer. His latest book Hard Wired is the third in the acclaimed Jon Reznick political/government thriller series. He also wrote the two ‘Deborah Jones’ investigative crime thrillers, Miami Requiem and Dark Waters. He is a former journalist. He is married with two young children.
Check out his website at www.jbturnerauthor.com
Follow him on Twitter @jbturnerauthor