Red Cell Seven

by Stephen Frey

  “Well, at least you know which associates they are. You can monitor them.”

  Bill shook his head. “That might not be all of the associates who are helping him, and I can’t do anything about the ones I suspect are. These are very wealthy people, son. Each of the twenty associates has a personal net worth of at least a hundred million dollars, and most of them are much wealthier than that. It would be impossible for me to figure out what was going on in their personal finances without a SWAT team of forensic accountants analyzing and dissecting every wire and money transfer they’ve made in the last two years. And of course, that won’t be happening. I won’t ever get that kind of access even though I know them all very well.”

  Every associate has a net worth of at least a hundred million dollars. The words echoed in Troy’s mind.

  It was the first time he’d heard his father even vaguely put a number on the net worth. It was no secret that the family had serious money. His parents’ mansion outside Greenwich was over ten thousand square feet, and it sat in the middle of five hundred acres of pricey Connecticut real estate along with a stable full of expensive Thoroughbreds his mother loved to ride. The mansion’s back porch, which they were sitting on when Jack had been shot, was a hundred feet wide and thirty feet deep. And the family maintained several other homes around the world. Troy had used two of them when he was on missions—so had other Falcons.

  He glanced around the beautiful interior of the plane. This was the family’s G450 they were flying on tonight. No wonder Bill could afford it.

  “Can’t you just tell them not to help him?”

  “I wish it were that easy,” Bill answered. “These people respect me as the leader of the associates, but they aren’t accustomed to being told what to do. And they’re very loyal when it comes to someone who takes care of a problem they’re having. Particularly like the ones I just described. They don’t like getting their hands dirty, if you get my drift. So they appreciate people who will and who will stay quiet about it.”

  “Of course.”

  “Which means Maddux has at least somewhat of a support system,” Bill continued. “When it’s only a few agents Maddux has with him, two or three associates would be plenty to support him. He’s smart. He probably wouldn’t have defected without arranging it. He’s a front-line guy, but he understands and appreciates the need for logistics.”

  That was true. Maddux had always preached to Troy about the need for warriors to be well-supplied. How heroics and grit only went so far.

  “There’s someone I want you to work with on the Mall Attacks,” Bill said as the plane turned off the runway and headed for the terminal. “Maybe you’ve run into him before on one of your missions.”

  “Who’s that?”

  Bill leaned toward Troy, as if he was concerned about listening devices on his own plane. “Major Wilson Travers,” he said quietly. “He’s in the Interrogation Division.”

  Troy shook his head. “I might have met him, but those guys are pretty careful about not using real names around anybody they don’t know. Even Falcons.”

  “He’s the best interrogator we have, other than Maddux, of course. Unlike Shane, Travers is completely trustworthy, and he’s a big, good-looking African American guy.”

  “Agent Walker,” Troy murmured.

  “What?”

  “I think I know who you mean. Last spring I took cash and instructions to a guy over in Athens, Greece. I think that was Travers. He was with another guy. They called each other Agent Walker and Agent Smirnoff.”

  IT TOOK three men to get Travers into the tiny cell. They’d tased him again several times on the ride to keep him subdued, but he was already recuperating. When they dropped him roughly on the wet cement floor, he tried to crawl after them. So they’d secured him to an iron ring that was affixed firmly to a wall of the room. One end of the chain was locked to the ring in the wall while the other was attached to a collar that was locked around Travers’s neck. They were taking no chances.

  “That’s one tough bastard,” the man who’d tased Travers muttered as he locked the cell door.

  Nathan Kohler nodded. “Yup.” He chuckled as he admired the bars of the cell. “I’m glad I had this thing made so strong. And I had that ring sunk into the wall.”

  BAXTER HURRIED into the Oval Office. He’d just finished a briefing with Homeland Security. The news wasn’t good. “Mr. President?” He stopped with the toes of his black leather tasseled loafers resting on the eagle’s tail. Dorn hadn’t even looked around when Baxter opened the door. He just kept staring out the window into the dark, rainy night outside. “Sir?”

  “Yes, Stewart,” Dorn finally answered, slowly turning the wheelchair back toward the desk.

  “I just finished my briefing with Jane Travanti and her staff.”

  “Let me guess,” Dorn responded stoically. “We have no leads on any of the death squads. They all evaporated into thin air, except for the ones we think attacked the Mall of America in Minneapolis. And even though we have the remains of those men, we don’t know anything about them.”

  “Not yet.”

  “We never will, Stewart.”

  “We’ve taken DNA samples and—”

  “Did we at least confirm that they were the men involved in the MOA attack?”

  “Yes, sir. Spent ammunition found at the mall matched the guns in their van.”

  “But other than that, we have nothing. Correct?”

  Baxter nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  The president gestured at Baxter, then at Connie. “Will you two give me a few minutes alone?”

  Baxter didn’t like the sound of that. “Mr. President, I don’t think you should be—”

  “Enough, Stewart.” Dorn glanced at Connie. “Please go. Take him with you. I’ll call you in a few minutes. Don’t come back until I do.”

  Connie looked quickly at Baxter for guidance. He pointed subtly at the door and nodded.

  When they were both outside the office, Baxter took Connie’s hand in his. “Stay right here,” he ordered. “Wait two minutes and then go back in. I need to get something from my office and make a few calls. Then I’ll come back.”

  “But, Mr. Baxter, the president said—”

  “I don’t care what he said. You go back in there in two minutes. And when I get back, we’ll take him up into the residence together. In fact, I’ll call Mrs. Dorn on my way to my office. She’ll help us convince him. If the president doesn’t get some rest soon, he’ll die of exhaustion. I can’t have that.” He hesitated. “I mean, we can’t have that.”

  TROY STARED at the tombstone as snow fell on the graveyard, covering the freshly turned earth above the coffin. It was just before midnight, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep well. So he’d come out here after saying good-bye to Bill at the Westchester Airport. He rarely needed more than five hours a night, and tonight wouldn’t have been one of those nights even if he wanted it to be. He was tired, and tomorrow was going to be a long day. But he had way too much on his mind to get that kind of rest.

  “I miss you, brother,” he whispered.

  “I miss him, too.”

  “Jesus.” Troy whipped around at the sound of the female voice coming from behind him.

  “Sorry about that,” Karen said as she moved up beside him. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “I’m fine.” Troy glanced up through the darkness at the bare trees towering over the graveyard like sentinels—or ghosts. His heart was still pounding. He didn’t like graveyards to begin with, and hearing that voice out of nowhere had shocked him. “What are you doing out here?”

  “The same thing you are. Trying to say good-bye to Jack.”

  Troy reached out and took Karen’s hand. She’d been engaged to another Falcon—Charlie Banks—who’d been a close friend of Troy’s. Until Banks had been thrown into the Beri
ng Sea from the Arctic Fire for the same reason Troy had—discovering that Shane Maddux was doing things he shouldn’t have been. Unfortunately, Banks hadn’t made it out of the water alive after he’d been tossed overboard by the four-man crew of the Fire who worked for Maddux. Banks hadn’t been lucky enough to have a brother race to Alaska to save him. His body had never been recovered.

  Jack had begun his quest to find out what had really happened to Troy that night on the Arctic Fire—he hadn’t believed the official story—by contacting Karen. She lived in Baltimore, and Jack had shown up unannounced at her waitressing job in Fell’s Point on his way west, the night after he left Connecticut. When she understood how the same thing that had happened to her fiancé had happened to Troy, she’d made it clear to Jack in no uncertain terms that she was going to Alaska with him. And they’d fallen in love.

  “I’m sorry for you more than anyone else,” Troy said, squeezing her fingers gently. “You’ve already gone through this once before, and it wasn’t that long ago. No one should have to deal with so much.”

  “Thanks.” She smiled sadly as she nodded at the headstone. “He loved you very much, Troy.”

  “I know. We had our challenges, but all brothers do.”

  “He wanted to be your brother so badly.”

  “He was my brother.”

  “I think that’s why he went to Alaska when everyone else said you were dead, when everyone else told him he was crazy and to just leave it alone, even your father.” Karen shook her head. “He knew you were alive. Even I tried to convince him he was crazy, but he wouldn’t listen. And thank God, right? I think that’s why he figured you two were brothers even when your father had told everyone you weren’t. Jack figured only a brother could know that.” It was Karen’s turn to squeeze Troy’s fingers. “He was jealous of you.”

  “No, that’s not…I mean, that was all overblown, Karen. He wasn’t really—”

  “Oh, yeah, he was. You were the star of the family. You played every sport, and you were the go-to guy on every team. You were everyone’s All-American in high school and at Dartmouth, especially Bill’s. Jack lived in your very long shadow for a very long time.”

  “Yeah, well, I—”

  “How’s Little Jack?”

  Troy shut his eyes tightly.

  “Sorry,” Karen murmured. “I didn’t mean to—”

  “L.J.’s doing great.”

  “L.J.?”

  “That’s my nickname for the baby.” Troy grinned. “Mom doesn’t like it much, but she’ll get over it. She’s been a big help. L.J.’s living at the house in Greenwich with her and my father.”

  “I know. She told me today at the funeral. It’s meant a lot to her to have Little Jack around during this time. She loves taking care of him.”

  During the last six years Troy had rarely made it home. But once in a while he had returned. Last year, on one of those infrequent trips, he’d met a woman from Brooklyn named Lisa Martinez while he was with friends at a club in Manhattan. A few months ago Lisa had given birth to Troy’s son and named him Jack because Jack had been the one who’d taken care of her during her pregnancy. Then she’d been murdered, and the Jensen family had taken in Little Jack.

  “I should have taken care of Lisa while she was pregnant. It shouldn’t have been Jack.”

  Karen shook her head. “How could you, Troy? You were always thousands of miles away keeping this country safe. You were an RCS Falcon. I get that. Everyone does.”

  Troy glanced over at her when she uttered the word Falcon. “Charlie told you everything about RCS, didn’t he?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. Did he?”

  “He wasn’t supposed to tell you anything.”

  “We were getting married, Troy. Come on.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Look, I’m not going to tell anyone anything Charlie told me about—”

  “It’s not about you telling anyone voluntarily,” Troy interrupted. “It’s about you being forced to tell people. It’s about you knowing anything that makes you a target for other people who want to know. And that makes Red Cell Seven vulnerable.”

  “Thanks so much for your concern.”

  “I am concerned, Karen, believe me. You have no idea what certain elements would do to you if they thought they could get information out of you.”

  “I’ll be fine,” she said firmly, letting go of his hand. They were quiet for a while. “What’s going to happen?” she finally asked.

  “With what?”

  “The attacks.”

  Troy shrugged. “I don’t know. No one does.”

  “Oh, come on. I know where you and Bill went today.”

  “Who told you?”

  “Nobody. It wasn’t hard to figure out.”

  Of course, he realized.

  “It’s crazy,” she murmured. “The newspeople are talking about how these death squads could start shooting people anywhere, anytime, maybe even invading homes. I don’t think anyone will ever go outside again. Everyone will stay barricaded in their houses and shoot anyone who even steps on their property.”

  “Yeah, it’s gonna be—” Troy interrupted himself when his phone rang. “Sorry, I need to take this,” he said, turning away and walking several paces off into the darkness. “Okay,” he muttered when he heard the bad news and the dangerous instructions. Tomorrow was going to be a very long day.

  THE PRESIDENT gazed steadily into the darkness outside. This had been the hardest day of his administration, the hardest day of his life. Even harder than the day he’d been shot. Once he’d gotten onto the operating table after taking the bullet, there was a definitive solution to the problem, and everyone was working to achieve it.

  He let his face drop into his hands. No one seemed to know what the solution was here. No one even seemed able to tell him where to start.

  CHAPTER 12

  TROY FOLLOWED the doctor into a private room of the Fairfax County Hospital in northern Virginia. He stopped just inside as the door to the busy corridor outside swung slowly shut behind him. He glanced at the young woman who was lying on the bed with her eyes closed and her arms at her sides as the sounds from the corridor faded away. Then he checked the room carefully, as though something sinister might be lurking.

  He hated hospitals as much as he hated graveyards. But it was the prospect of death that got to him here, not the finality of skeletons in the ground beneath him. He’d dedicated himself to protecting lives, often risking his own in the process. Death winning was always extremely personal for him.

  He understood that it was all an exercise in delaying the inevitable—that death eventually conquered everyone. But it was the length of that delay that was crucial. He was committed to keeping good people alive as long as possible, any way he could. It was what mattered to him most.

  He’d tried explaining all that to Lisa once, but it hadn’t come out exactly right. Still, she’d cried and hugged him when he was finished.

  That was the night she’d gotten pregnant with L.J. He was convinced of it.

  The irony of his resolve was that he killed people in order to prolong life. And he’d do it again if the situation required it. He had no problem killing evil to preserve good. He didn’t see that as a conflict—which was how he could relate to Maddux in a distant way.

  Troy took a deep breath and immediately regretted it. He hated the smell of hospitals. It wasn’t the odor of antiseptics that hung everywhere that so offended him. It was the occasional stench of sickness and death overpowering the antiseptics.

  He’d only gotten three hours of sleep last night, but he felt fine. He’d decided on taking this detour to Washington last night right after Bill had ordered him to go to North Carolina.

  He took one more careful look around the room before refocusing on the young woman. Bill had tried talking
him out of coming here, but Troy was glad he’d come.

  The woman’s body was connected to a web of tubes that led off in different directions to several machines, and it was eerily noisy in here with the beeping and whirring of the devices. Despite the noise and the seriousness of her wounds, she seemed to be resting peacefully.

  She was very pretty, and as Troy gazed at her features, he noticed that she strongly resembled Lisa. She had the same sharp, sculpted facial lines; beautiful light-mahogany skin; and long, wavy jet-black hair. She probably had that same wonderful smile, too, he figured as he looked at her high cheekbones and full lips. Hopefully, she’d recover from this tragedy so she could smile that smile again.

  He missed Lisa, he realized as he stared down at Jennie, more and more each day. The hole in his heart her murder had left wasn’t healing the way it was supposed to, but he couldn’t tell anyone. He was the tough brother. Jack was the son who had worn his heart on his sleeve.

  Though Troy couldn’t prove it, he believed Maddux had killed Lisa execution-style in her Brooklyn apartment a month ago. Since Troy had heard the stories yesterday of how Red Cell Seven had saved the nation so many times, he better understood Maddux’s unwavering resolve to do away with anyone who got in the cell’s way—including the president.

  But none of that could make up for Maddux ripping Lisa and Jack out of his life. He would avenge their deaths if he ever had the chance. He’d sworn that oath to himself on the way down here this morning on the plane. Bill was right. Those two murders were personal.

  At least Maddux hadn’t been a total monster, Troy figured. He hadn’t murdered Little Jack after killing Lisa. There was at least that measure of loyalty.

  “How many times was Ms. Perez shot?”

  “Twice. Once in the shoulder,” the doctor explained, reaching over his shoulder to show Troy the spot, “and once in the middle of the back.” This time he reached beneath his armpit and around his torso to point out the location of the entry wound—which was just to the left of the upper spine.