Fight Fire With Fire.

by Amy J. Fetzer

  “Or three. Maybe they have some of it,” Safia said, inclined her head to the flat screen suddenly flickering to life.

  Riley crossed to the living room and faced the screen as the image cleared. “Lorimer,” he said when he saw the analyst.

  “Hey Riley, how are the new knee caps holding up?”

  “Enough to keep me standing,” he said, smiling. He was still on crutches last time he’d seen David.

  Safia sent him an arched look. “Is there anyone you don’t know?”

  Riley leaned in, pulling off his headset to say, “You, lass, and not nearly well enough.” She sputtered, blushing. “Though I must say, we covered a lot of territory last night.”

  She didn’t have a response. A first, he was certain.

  Riley was about to put the headset back on when his attention focused on a familiar face in the background behind David. Safia nudged him, nodding to the screen, and wanting an explanation. “Colonel Henry Jansen,” he said lowly, the mic still off. “He was my company commander when we met. A captain. Going after Sam was disobeying his orders.”

  And they were asking for his help now? “He busted you?”

  “It was hard to get a conviction when we were a success and right. But no one would give up who put the crunch on the rescue. It should have been the NATO commander, but Jansen’s the one who told me to drop it and never look back.” Riley left the Corps, more disillusioned, a little under pressure, but it was Sam who convinced him to give up the Fundraiser hunt. He’d moved on, but he wanted the truth to put it to rest. When he stepped out of camera range, she glanced at him, confused.

  “They’re calling you, Agent Troy, not me.”

  Off camera, she gripped his hand, and murmured, “We’re going to find out the truth of that. It will just have to wait a little longer.”

  Then she took a step in front of the video camera and folded her arms, her hip cocked. It made him smile. She was just cruising for a fight and he sat back to watch the show.

  Fifteen

  Situation Room

  Pentagon

  General Al Gerardo rolled a quarter over his knuckles as they waited for the satellite link to operatives in the field. Almost anyone who worked with him knew of the tell, Hank thought. He was concentrating, and since it usually spawned brilliance, people backed off. Gerardo had just been informed that Dragon One was involved, but the agent in charge had put a lock on communications after her vehicle had been bombed. Shut down so tight, they had to learn that from another station. Beckham charmed her Intel officer into giving up a contact number, but only for a limited time and she jammed everything else around the number to keep her agent underground.

  No one in the room needed an update on Dragon One. General Joe McGill had made a personal call and Gerardo already debriefed the brass sitting round the oak table on D-1’s recovery of Silent Fire and the schematics, along with nearly a dozen arms dealers in toe tags. No one was going to bark at the help where RZ10 was concerned. The consensus was locate and destroy it. A-sap, priority one.

  The connection made, he kept the volume down, listening to the bit of conversation between Singapore and Deep Six. Hank pulled his mic away and leaned to Gerardo and said, “McGill’s sacred six, capturing Price, and a higher clearance than most of the people in this building? How come they’re not on the Company payroll?”

  “They’d have to take a pay cut,” Gerardo said. “And they don’t follow anyone’s orders but their own. Look at their Service Record Books. Donovan disobeyed direct orders and went into Serbia alone to get a pilot left for dead.”

  Hank’s features tightened, and he looked at the screen. “I know Donovan.” He recognized the agent’s name now. “The pilot was Captain Sam Wyatt. Donovan was court-martialed for disobeying orders, but not convicted. I was with NATO forces then. They wouldn’t allow the Nimitz to launch a search because of the heavy fighting near civilians, but Donovan didn’t listen. Agent Troy helped them back to the border. Donovan insisted command stalled a rescue to get the NATO countries and congress behind the conflict.”

  “Did we?” Gerardo asked.

  “Our hands were tied then, sir. U.N. was in peace negotiations, NATO pretty much in control.”

  Gerardo arched a brow. “Who was the Intel liaison?”

  Hank’s brows knit for a second, then smoothed. “Lania Price.”

  “There’s your answer and she’s in Leavenworth.” He looked at the screen. “I have no problem with Dragon One. They can get places we can’t and I’ve never seen a more ingenious group of guys.”

  “Confucius say, don’t ignore stolen food when you’re hungry?”

  “Roger that,” Gerardo said, then caught the quarter and faced the screen. Under his breath he added, “You want to tell Donovan it was Price or shall I?”

  “Do me the favor, sir. He probably wouldn’t believe me. I wouldn’t. I was a boot officer and followed orders.” It wasn’t one of his shining moments, Hank thought. Gerardo nodded, stepped back and they looked at the screen.

  The woman at the other end of the link was lovely, but showed very little of her surroundings. “Agent Troy.”

  “Colonel. Tell me what you have that concerns my Op?”

  “A shipment of RZ10, a thermobaric explosive was stolen from the UK facility,” Hank began. “The explosion in Singapore has the characteristics of the chemical.”

  He debriefed her on the power of the chemical, its movement, the bodies found in Turkey. “The canister’s trail ended with the mercs, but Interpol traced them through several training camps in the Middle East. They had help. Secondly, Marianna Island intercepted a stream in your area. A very large one. We believe it was sent from Noble Richards Incorporated. It made several hits before it landed. As of this moment, we don’t know where. We have only a fragment of the stream, but it is deeply encrypted.”

  She folded her arms, waiting for more and giving nothing up. How did we earn this kind of distrust, he wondered, then continued.

  “NRI created the RZ10. Specifically Dr. Kenneth Black.”

  “What’s Black say?”

  “I’ll find that out in a few hours, but we understand Dragon One is hunting fugitive Jason Vaghn.”

  “Actually, he was in their custody until I interfered. We’re here because Intel didn’t pass, and sir, while I’m bitching, the sensors on the station did not pick up the explosive.”

  “It’s not released and it’s classified.”

  “Not from me,” she said with all candor. “I hunt weapons, sir, and if there’s a new one out there, I need to know about it. I can’t find them if I’m going in blind.”

  “Understood, Agent Troy,” Hank said, feeling chastised. “Be advised, I’m not the last word.”

  “But the two-star behind you is and he’s listening.”

  Hank glanced and caught Gerardo’s shoulder shaking with a quiet laugh. “I see why she gets the job done,” Gerardo said too low for the others to hear.

  “The only items we brought into the station were Barasa’s discarded phone and Vaghn’s pack.” She gave them a list of the fugitive’s items. “We don’t know if the weapon was in one of them or not. But from the reports, he’s capable of concealing it.”

  Donovan stepped into camera range. “We need forensic proof but Vaghn created the weapon that detonated here, no doubt about it.” The lens pulled back to include them both. “The timing of calls to the explosion is just too neat and Vaghn was Black’s chief R&D designer till he was convicted.”

  “He designed the containers,” Jansen said, referring to his notes. “He understands its capability and the formula, obviously.”

  Donovan raked his fingers through his hair, looking frustrated. “You have to stop underestimating this kid, sir. He’s been in prison planning this payback for a long time.” Donovan sighted instances that should have sent up red flags, but none of it mattered now. “Black is part of it. In the middle of the trial, Vaghn shouldered all the blame, and trust m
e, this kid has no guilt. All charges on his boss were dropped and Black is back to business as usual. You think Vaghn rots in prison for five years doing nothing?” Donovan shook his head. “Any weapon he creates is worth more on the market, and the buyer is playing Vaghn and Barasa like a cello. A few thousand have died to protect this guy and kill us.”

  “What a prick,” he heard and Hank glanced off screen. The generals, admirals, and the president’s national security advisor looked as discouraged as he felt.

  “We downloaded his hard drive, but it needs a password. We can’t open the files or programs. We can do minimal searches, but with the exception of mail program, it’s all encrypted.”

  “As was the stream that was sent from NRI.”

  “The weapon’s schematics,” Donovan said firmly.

  Hank agreed. “According to cryptologists, every time they try to open it, the stream locks tighter.”

  “I’m not sure how this fits, sir, but we have a sequence that we’ve tried and it hasn’t worked on the hard drive, however, we matched a graphic to a novel.”

  Hank frowned. “Repeat last?”

  “The novel was delivered to Vaghn.” Donovan explained the discovery of the novel in Vaghn’s flat with its postage wrappings, the scribbling, and Hank suddenly realized the advantage of Donovan’s connection to Vaghn. No one would have thought to look deeper.

  The station agent turned to a laptop and Hank’s screen filled with a graphic. “We found this in a sequence that was in an email Vaghn had received, along with a few million other recipients disguised in one big spam send. This “I” character was in the body of the email within a sequence of random letters and numbers. Just junk,” she said. “However, it was the only character in the random set with a different font, and a shadow. When singled out and enlarged, we learned it’s a graphic. Then we compared it to the one in the novel.”

  A second window opened and showed the novel’s square grid made to look like a carving or a tombstone. Vertically, the middle of the sequence matched. He shook his head, admiring their skill.

  “You have the stream,” Troy said. “I think we have the program that runs it. The Iota graphic must be some sort of key. The sequence from Vaghn’s note pad, and the sequence in the novel contain a match to the Iota, but they are not identical.”

  “Excellent work, Agent Troy, Excellent.”

  “Thank you sir, but Dragon One was the talent there. My Intel is sending what we have to Deep Six.”

  “NSA is working on the encryption.” Hank hesitated for a moment, then asked, “Donovan, what do you think is going on?” The man’s features hardened and Hank was certain he remembered him.

  “Vaghn’s made a deal with someone a lot more powerful than Cale Barasa. Barasa’s part was to deliver Vaghn, get a weapon as payment. That means Vaghn will be making more, with financing. He has expensive tastes, the price tag will be high. Don’t be surprised if it turns up elsewhere too.” He took a step closer. “Sir, the security in the UK survived because killing those men would send more agencies after their ass. Eliminating the RZ10 carriers effectively obliterated any connection to follow. They’re cleaning up any trace as they go along.”

  Hank wondered why he didn’t mention the car explosion, then glanced as a new picture digitized on his smaller screen. It was taken at a distance, yet clear enough to recognize the woman wasn’t ugly.

  “She’s the money,” Troy stepped up to say. “Barasa has met with her once in two months, a little over forty-eight hours ago.” She told him the events since then and Hank was surprised the two were still alive and mentally listed a dozen more questions that needed answers. the laptop hard drive, once cracked, could give them a location.

  “My Intel says one call was incoming just before the explosions, one call after. From Vahgn’s computer but we aren’t positive. That first number we believe belongs to this woman, and right now that is all we have to go on.”

  Hank glanced again at the photo of a woman taken at a distance. “We’ll run it.”

  “Quickly please. They are ahead of us and we’ve already lost a member of Dragon One.”

  Hank’s face shaped with sympathy, and he rubbed his mouth. “What do you need?”

  She took a deep breath and said, “Forensics on the station, flight plans for her jet, a positive ID on her, the Ghurka soldier, and a global trace on that phone number twenty-four seven.”

  “Global?” Big area, lady, he thought.

  “Until we can identify and track her, yes. They know how to vanish, sir. When it comes on, we chase.”

  “That’s pretty thin.”

  “If you have a better solution, speak up. Barasa has the laptop and the inventor. He doesn’t need a diagram. He has all he needs to be a mobile bomb squad and sell them out of his trunk.”

  Over the Philippine Sea

  From his seat inside the aircraft, Jason peered at the island below, a fat emerald plopped in the deep blue water. Lagoons shaped the southeast, and white sand outlined the four-mile stretch like a torn hem. He spotted clusters of buildings surrounded by dense jungle before the Lear jet touched down. The jet trembled as it powered down and taxied, and he kept watching out the window till the aircraft stopped just outside the hangar. Then that prick Rahjan stood near his seat.

  “Get the fuck away from me or I’m not getting off.”

  Rahjan grabbed his arm and yanked him out of the seat, nearly hurling him toward the door. Jason stumbled, caught the back of a seat, his leg on fire again. Rahjan pushed and he went to the hatch, ignoring the man waiting as if to catch him. Squinting against the bright sunlight, he descended slowly. The air was fast and steamy, perspiration already gathering under his arms. Didn’t matter, he reeked like an old gym bag anyway.

  The hangar was surrounded by lush trees and blooming flowers, looking more like a resort, and he admitted, it felt like it. A few yards away beneath a shade awing, a woman sat in a folding chair and as he neared, she stood. The voice on the phone. Beautiful, he thought, and she reminded him a bit of his older sister, polished and perfect—almost icy. He limped toward her and the uniformed men standing just beyond the awning. This was getting more interesting by the moment, he thought and she waved, just a little trickle of her fingers. Immediately, a man brought a wheelchair forward and though he hated that he needed it, he was grateful.

  The driver pushed him to her and she waited till he was near to say, “We’ve spoken. I am Odette. Welcome.”

  He shook her hand, a weird comfort coming with the presence of a woman. “When will I meet him?”

  She smiled with gentle patience. “Soon. He’s anxious and considers the change in plans for the best.”

  Yeah, sure, more control, Jason thought and felt his embarrassment when she frowned down at his clothing. Her gaze snapped somewhere beyond him and didn’t leave. Jason hooked his arm over the back of the chair and looked at Barasa, surprised to see men searching, then stripping them of weapons. It amused the shit out of him, and he glanced at Odette. Utterly expressionless, he thought, entertained. Getting between rivals, he didn’t need, but Barasa had underestimated this woman, badly.

  When a white van pulled to a stop, his wheelchair driver followed Odette to the side. Jason was about to climb in when the man scooped him up and gently sat him in the rear seat. Jason felt his face heat. Man. A little overkill.

  “You will find the Professor more accommodating, Doctor Vaghn.”

  “Jason please,” he said. His colleagues had refused to address him by his degrees, jealous probably, but he’d grown used to not hearing it.

  “We will give you time to clean up and dine before the meeting, neh?”

  He nodded and relaxed for the ride. Before they were out of site, he looked back to see Odette striding toward Barasa.

  “Explain this.” He gestured to the armed men and their collected weapons.

  “You have no need of them. This island is completely secure and the property of the Professor. He makes the r
ules.”

  “I’m not staying.”

  She arched a tapered brow. “Your jet has been disabled, so yes, you are.”

  Anger burned through him and he wanted to smack that superior look off her pretty face. “You have him, without a trail!” Barasa said, stopping so close she was forced to look up.

  “And your actions required us to ignite the prototype,” Odette said calmly. “Now he has to create it again, so I suggest you enjoy the Professor’s hospitality. As of this moment, Dr. Jason Vaghn is no longer your concern. Touch him again—” her gaze flicked to Rahjan— “And you will feel the consequences.”

  Barasa didn’t respond. He knew when to back off. She was surrounded by guards in her territory, and keeping her mollified would gain him the weapon he needed. Beyond that, he didn’t care. Then she asked for his phone and frowning, he offered it. She opened the back and removed the battery. He took a threatening step and her gaze jerked to his.

  “How do you think they tracked you?”

  He’d assumed so after finding the marker on his car, but any number of people could have put it there. “Your own phone?” A slimmer version was clipped to her waistband.

  “No one knows who I am, Cale.” She waved to the right at the limousine with the doors open and a chauffeur standing near. “They will take you to your accommodations.” She turned away as a roofless Land Rover pulled to a stop. She slid into the rear, closed the door and never once looked back. His gaze followed the vehicle till it rounded a curve and vanished behind the jungle. He looked at Rahjan and smiled.

  “You’re hot for her?” the Ghurka said, surprised.

  “Powerful women often do that.” Barasa would reserve further judgment till he met the Professor. But there was no doubt in his mind that Odette would be trouble. She took every action against her grand plan as a personal affront to her beloved Professor. He was anxious to meet the man who had control over so many. Especially her.

  He crossed to the car, and didn’t wait for the porters. If she was so efficient, she’d see to it.