The Observer (Derek Cole Suspense Thriller Book 3)

by Phelps, T Patrick

  "Not a ton, unfortunately," Crown said. "Just enough to know that you are playing with some bad asses down there."

  "I've learned that already. What did you find out?"

  "Did I ever tell you how secure the FBI's servers are? Well, if I didn't, they are as secure as shit. But there's always an idiot out there that leaves a port open."

  "You got into the FBI's network?" Derek said.

  "Not their network," Crown corrected. "Just into a Columbus-based agent's computer. The Columbus office sits right next door to a small law firm that is run by a bunch of morons. I've hacked into their network a dozen times. They were one of my ex's lawyers, and I needed some competitive advantages during the divorce. They leave their WiFi open with no security and even broadcast their SSID."

  "I have no idea what the hell you're talking about."

  "You don't need to," Crown said. "Just know that they are close enough to the FBI office that they share the same data pipe. I hacked into the law firm's network and found an attenuation point that allowed me to cross-bounce into the VPN used by the agents in the FBI office. It ain't safe to do and is easily discoverable, but no one in that office seems to give a shit about their VPN protocols."

  "Again, no idea."

  "I told you that an agent left a port open. I captured and redirected his secure stream that comes from the Fed's server. Read all about Juan Cortez, Abdul Fattah Huda and the bombing in your hotel. Read a lot about you, too, Cole. You're not assumed dead. They know it wasn't your body they found in the hotel room." Though Crown's voice was distorted, her concern for Cole was coming through the decryption algorithm loud and clear. "You have a whole bunch of people looking for you and none of them are just hoping that you share your mom's pumpkin pie recipe with them if they find you."

  "I'm working with Cortez, and he came up with a plan to take me off the radar."

  "His plan better work. Based on what I've read, you're a very wanted man. And so is he. I wouldn't be seen with Cortez if I were you."

  "Anything about Adbul or Badr Irani?"

  "Both have been monitored over the last two years. The strange thing is that all surveillance was pulled from both of them around two months ago. Saw that in the stream archives."

  "Any explanation?"

  "It's just a stream of highlights. In order to see details, I would need to have access to the servers."

  "Strange that they were both on the list of suspects I received when I started this case, but the FBI stopped watching them two months ago."

  "Wish I had more for you, Cole," Crown said. "I can tell you that Abdul was known to have a 'special student' named Izzat Abu. Izzat was on every terror suspect list known to man. But, thanks to our government's policies, he was never picked up and deported. As shitty as that is, what's worse is that there are around seven more suspected terrorists all living in the Big Apple. Seems like you have a lot of unfriendly people around you down there. Most of these seven were grouped in with Abdul. I ripped an image of Izzat that I'll text over to you, as well as images of a few others on the terror-watch list. Maybe a face will ring a bell."

  "Son of a bitch," Derek said a bit louder than he was comfortable with. "Anything about Badr?"

  "Not sure what to make of this, but the mosque he runs is funded by a United Nations group."

  "Yeah, the IUIEEO. I know all about it and about their involvement with this whole thing. Start checking around to see what you can find out about a Tareef Omar. He's the head of this whole plot and has some position at the UN."

  "Got it."

  "I gotta run. Need to get my name cleared before someone puts a bullet in my head."

  "I'll see what else I can dig up. And Cole?"

  "Yeah?"

  "You seriously need to not get killed."

  "I know, you need the job."

  "So does Nikkie."

  "Who the hell is Nikkie?" Derek snapped.

  "She's your new investigator. Comes from a firm out in LA. Solid rep. You'll like her, but she was damn expensive."

  "You hired someone without asking me? Crown, you know that I own the agency, right?"

  "You were busy, and we needed to grab her before someone else did."

  Derek sighed. "We'll talk about this when I get back."

  "If you get back, you mean. Any way, I changed the agency's name, too. Derek Cole Investigations sounded boring."

  "Crown, what . . ."

  "Yeah, yeah, yeah," Crown said. "Don't get your panties all bunched up your ass-crack. You'll thank me if you make it out of there alive."

  "I should fire you, you know that?”

  "Probably, but then you'd really be in the shit. Should have mentioned that we picked up two new cases since you went on your Big Apple trip. Made you more money this month than what you've made in the past six months."

  "How the hell am I supposed to work three cases at once? This one is taking a tad bit of my time."

  "You don't need to worry about the other cases. Nikkie has this unique ability to do more than one thing at a time. You just keep remembering to breathe while you're walking, and I'll take care of everything back here. Okay?"

  "Crown," Derek said, "if this case doesn't kill me, I think you will."

  "Not a chance," Crown replied. "You still sign the paychecks. I haven't mastered forging your signature. Yet."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  He drew a deep breath, hoping that it would cleanse his mind. Instead, the heavy Manhattan air, ripe with the building scents of the approaching day, caused Derek to cough. He moved towards the front of the alley, making sure that no one saw where he was coming from. As he reached the soon-to-be busy street in front of the warehouse, he unlocked his iPhone with his thumbprint, scrolled through his recent calls until he found the number he wanted.

  "Special Agent Henderson," Derek said, making his voice sound as filled with as much confusion and exhaustion as he could. "It's Derek Cole."

  "Cole," Mark said, sounding more awake and alert than Derek thought he should sound considering the early hour. "Where are you? Are you okay? Tell me where you are."

  "I'm in front of some warehouse. Not exactly sure where. Cortez knocked me out last night, and I woke up with him standing over me an hour ago."

  "Juan? Is he with you?"

  "No," Derek said a bit too eagerly than he wanted. "No. He tried to convince me that he needed my help with some crazy-ass conspiracy he created. When I wouldn't listen to him, asshole beat the snot out of me. He took off after knocking me out."

  "Cole, don't contact the police. Find out what street you're on, and I'll pick you up."

  After walking to the nearest corner, Derek rattled off the nearest intersection.

  "Stay out of sight," Mark instructed. "I'm 15 minutes away. I'm driving a late model Ford Taurus, dark blue, Connecticut plates. I'll be there in 15. Stay out of sight."

  ***I***

  Wherever Mark Henderson was driving him to, Derek knew that it was off of Manhattan.

  "Christ Cole," Mark said as soon as Derek sat down in the passenger's seat, "Cortez really did a number on you. Need to see a doctor?"

  "No thanks," Derek said. "Just need a bag of ice and some stuff to clean up my knees. Asshole must have dragged me across that warehouse floor."

  Before he pulled away, Mark took a long look at the warehouse, then wrote down the address on a scrap sheet of paper he pulled from his front pocket.

  He drove Derek for well over 45 minutes, asking questions the entire time.

  "What did Cortez tell you?"

  "That he was on to something and, whatever it was that he was on to, got people in our government very nervous."

  "What people? Did he tell you who was getting nervous?"

  "He mentioned only you by name. No one else. Said that you know what's going on with this investigation, but that you are too chicken-shit to admit it to yourself. Those were his words, not mine," Derek qualified his remarks.

  Mark Henderson grew quiet for a fu
ll minute before resuming his questions. "Why did he grab you? Did he tell you why he grabbed you and not anyone else?"

  "He didn't give me any details, but said that once he heard that Abdul called me out as the reason for his death, he knew that I must have hit a nerve."

  "He planted that bomb in your hotel room, didn't he?"

  "He didn't say and I didn't ask. I was in my other hotel room when I heard the explosion. I took off towards the Marquis to see what the hell happened. NYPD had arrived and was not allowing anyone inside. I took off towards the back of the hotel to try to get in through the rear entrance. People were pouring out of the hotel and, I guess, from the bars and restaurants around the hotel. People were all around me so I never saw him coming. Cortez grabbed me and pulled me towards the loading dock beneath the hotel. By the time I realized it was him, he cracked me in the jaw and shoved me in to his car. Next thing I know, I'm waking up in that warehouse, head and jaw pounding and my legs all bloody."

  "Before he left," Mark asked without giving himself a second to process what Derek had just told him, "did he tell you how to contact him?"

  Derek's mind flashed to the disposable cell phone he had tucked into his sock. That was the overlooked detail. The tell-tale sign that he and Juan Cortez were working together. The "one thing" that destroys even the best thought-out plans. Derek cursed himself and Juan for not considering a better way of communication. "He just took off," Derek said. "Got pissed off that I wouldn't listen to him or believe him, cracked me in the back of my head with something. When I came to, he was gone."

  "What was in that warehouse back there?" Mark asked.

  "A few empty boxes and a whole lot of nothing," Derek answered, happy that Mark was showing an interest in the warehouse. Juan's plan depended on Mark wanting to learn more about the warehouse, who owned it, what it was used for and, most importantly, why Juan had not only mentioned the warehouse to him a few days ago, but had chosen it as a location to bring Derek. "Where are you taking me?" Derek asked.

  "Someplace safe. Someplace that Juan won't be able to grab you again," Mark said in a low voice. "We're also going to need to ask you some questions."

  "You said that 'we are' going to ask some questions. So, I take it that you won't be the only one asking me questions?"

  “Cole," Mark said, "I can't get into the details with you, but understand that Cortez may be involved in something that has the entire FBI and DHS very interested in finding him. After you contacted me and told me that Juan kidnapped you, I called my Director. She's meeting us at the hotel we're headed to."

  "You think that I got involved in whatever the hell it is that Cortez is wrapped up in?" Derek asked, making sure that his voice conveyed only anger and not worry.

  "Not at all," Mark replied. "It's not like that. We just need to find Juan and are hoping that he may have said something to you that will give us a lead as to his whereabouts. Trust me, the fact that you called me removed you from any list."

  "Implying that my name was on a list at one point?"

  "You're hired for one of the most sensitive cases, ever. A suspect you meet with blows himself up in the middle of Times Square a few hours after you meet with him and he screams your name for everyone to hear. You rent out a room in your name, but don't stay in that room and instead, get another room under a false name. And to put a cherry on top of this wonderful sundae, the room you rented out, but didn't stay in, is blown up and we find a body of one of our suspects in the bed that you were expected to be sleeping in. Now, if you don't think that all that would put you on a list of people of interest, you're not thinking like a detective."

  "When you spell it all out like that. . ."

  "No worries, though," Mark said. "I promise you, that as long as you're not hiding anything from us, you'll be fine."

  “Like the burner cell phone shoved into my sock that Juan gave me to call him once the plan he designed starts to work? Hiding something like that, you mean?” Derek grew nervous.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Calmness was a trait her mother told her would serve her well.

  “Keep your head while all about you others are losing theirs, Marissa. You’ll have more advantages over the rest of them than you could ever imagine.”

  Her mother’s words were not wasted. Throughout her life, when faced with a challenge, Marissa Rica adopted a calm approach. Never rushing to a decision and, as a result, seldom regretting one. Her time with the FBI had awarded her with never-ending opportunities to both test and improve her patience. From high pressure, life and death situations, to dealing with the chauvinistic tendencies that many in the law enforcement industry possessed. Marissa Rica was patient.

  When she received a private line phone call the morning of August 12, and after she had confirmed that she fully understood her orders, Marissa wondered how to temper her patience in order to get done what she needed to get done.

  “This is a matter of national security, Rica,” her superior said. “These orders, while not at all easy to deliver or follow, come directly from the top. Full compliance and absolute confidentiality are demanded.”

  “Yes, sir,” Marissa said. “I understand. I’ll make sure it happens.”

  “Three things before I let you go, Rica. One, we don’t want a trail of bodies following you. Trails lead places. Second, when I say confidential, I mean confidential. You’re going to need to be on your own at times. You’re good and can handle it alone. No one doubts that. That’s why it’s you I’m calling and no one else. Lastly, if you need to get messy, clean up after yourself. Know that you’re covered, but we can’t cover you if you leave any loose ends behind. Tie this all up in a nice pretty bow, and you’ll have nothing to worry about.”

  “As far as communications go?”

  “There won’t be any. You give the instructions to each of the agents on the case to contact you, and only you, if they find him. You tell no one and you tell them to keep their mouths shut. You identify any breaches, possible or known, and don’t contact me or anyone else until all of the threats have been eliminated. I know this is asking a lot of you, Rica, as does the man sitting behind the big desk. It won’t be easy but it needs to be done. Clear?”

  “Clear.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  "I know you've been through a lot, Mr. Cole and please don't confuse my questioning tactics as being accusatory. We just need you to tell us everything Juan Cortez said to you. No matter if you think it was trivial or important, tell us."

  "I understand. I'll tell you anything you want but, honestly, Cortez didn't say much to me."

  "I'm sure that he said something."

  The first floor hotel suite was comfortable. Two bedrooms with a living room the size of most middle-class family homes in between the two bedrooms. A gas-fired fireplace sat unused in the far corner of the living room. Derek sat on a couch beside Marissa Rica, the Northeastern Regional Director for the FBI. Mark Henderson was seated in the rather uncomfortable chair across from the couch. As Marissa spoke, Mark took copious notes and continually checked that the digital recorder he had placed on the coffee table in front of the couch was still recording.

  When Derek was led into the first-floor suite, he made his way to one of the bathrooms. "I need to clean myself up a bit. You don't have any Bacitracin or any antibiotic spray on you by chance?"

  "No, sorry. Director Rica should be here any minute. I'll give her a call and see if she can pick up some first aid supplies for you."

  "Great. Mind if I shower?"

  "That's fine. But Cole, just in case you are thinking about doing anything stupid. . ."

  "Special Agent Henderson," Derek said, "I've had a pretty shitty last 24 hours. I just want to take a shower, clean up my knees and get my name cleared from any list that it may still be on. I'm not an idiot and am not thinking about doing anything stupid."

  "Didn't think so," Mark said. "Just felt the need to be sure."

  After Derek cleaned himself up, he
stashed the cell phone Juan Cortez had given him beneath the dresser in his hotel room. He checked multiple times from multiple angles to make sure that the phone could not be seen from any angle. He walked over to the window, pulled it open and drew a deep breath of the morning air.

  “Calm down,” he thought to himself as he turned and walked back into the living room.

  Derek forced himself to appear as relaxed and as comfortable as he could as he sat beside Marissa Rica. He assumed that since he only had the clothes on his back and his iPhone in his pocket when Henderson picked him up from the warehouse, that neither Henderson or Rica would suspect that he had smuggled in anything of interest.

  "We know that these past few days have been confusing for you, Mr. Cole," Marissa said calmly.

  "Confusing to say the least," Derek replied. "I'm hired by the FBI to help prevent a terrorist attack in the nation's largest city, given very little information, then sent out to find what I can find. I talk with two people, get nowhere with either, then, a few hours later, one of the men I spoke with yells out my name before he blows himself up. Then, the room I booked is blown up. Confusing? More like a terrifying disaster."

  "You neglected to mention being mugged and taken hostage by one of the FBI agents you first contacted. Any reason for that omission?"

  "Everything sort of blends in together."

  "Mr. Cole," Marissa continued, "former Special Agent Cortez has involved himself in something that has many people very concerned. While I am not at liberty to discuss his exact actions, nor to share with you my assumptions about his intentions, I do need to impress upon you how critical your cooperation is in this matter. I'd like you to take a moment, and tell me everything that Cortez said either to you or that you heard him say to anyone else while you were under his control."

  Marissa Rica carried herself with lethal grace. Her tailored and well-fitting charcoal grey pant suit suggestively hugged her well-defined and toned body as if intending to suggest professionalism and appeal. She was much younger than the other Regional Directors, an accomplishment that she attributed only to her relentless commitment and drive for excellence.