Mark Midway Box Set: Mark One, Mark Two, Mark Three, and Mark Four

by John Hindmarsh

  Mark checked the results and realized he needed to report his discovery. He called Schmidt’s cell phone from his computer, which allowed him to disguise the source of the call, just in case anyone was tracking calls from the apartment or calls to Schmidt’s cell phone. Paranoia rules, he thought.

  Schmidt answered promptly. “Yes?”

  “I need to meet with you.” He assumed Schmidt would recognize his voice.

  “Indeed. When?”

  “Now? Can you visit here?”

  “It’s that urgent?”

  “If you want the location of an ambulance, yes.”

  “Thirty minutes, OK?”

  “Yes.”

  They each disconnected. Mark paced the floor of the living room. He assumed his software’s identification of the vehicle’s location was accurate; it would require at least a raid by the FBI to establish whether he was correct. Schmidt and MayAnn were people who could make that decision, he thought.

  At last his visitors arrived. The Winter security team members immediately provided Schmidt and MayAnn access to the building and to the apartment.

  “Hi Schmidt, MayAnn, come in,” Mark urged and led the way to where he had his computer. “Just find a chair.”

  “Well, my friend, what do you have?” asked Schmidt, when they were seated.

  Mark described his search software and showed the images of the destination of the ambulance.

  “Excellent.” Schmidt’s eyes gleamed. “This discovery is a first. If you’ve found a Cerberus location, it will help us confirm their existence. Can you let me have copies of all of your work—your programs and files, as well as all the output? I have a team that can very quickly assess your results.” Schmidt turned to MayAnn. “What do you think?”

  MayAnn agreed. “Yes, do that, and once we have Maeve’s OK, we—the FBI—can take action.”

  Schmidt turned his attention back to Mark. “Don’t worry about your programs—if we like them and want to use them in the future, we’ll pay you for them,” said Schmidt. He provided Mark with details of his private data cloud. “Upload everything to this location, and my people can then download your files. Don’t worry, it’s secure. Can my people contact you if they have questions?”

  Mark provided Schmidt with an email address and a VoIP telephone number that connected to his computer; both, he hoped were secure and the encryption impenetrable without applying significant computing power.

  “Well done, Mark,” concluded Schmidt. “Very well done. We’ll process all this as quickly as possible. I’ll let you know the results and keep you updated with anything we find.”

  ***

  Chapter 12

  Julian scheduled his dinner for Friday evening; Sam, her brother Evan, and Katrina had accepted their invitations and arrived promptly. MayAnn and Schmidt arrived almost at the same time. Paula set out to be the impeccable hostess and Julian was his ineffable self, relaxed and generous. Mark tried to stay in the background, unsuccessfully. They were all gathered in the larger sitting room, enjoying a fine wine and various pre-dinner items set out by the housekeeper.

  “I understand you’re the hero of the week,” said Evan, addressing Mark. “Well done.”

  “I agree,” Julian said. “Mark did some very good forensic work and identified that Bergman, my security chief, was involved in Paula’s attempted kidnap.” At Julian’s suggestion everyone raised their glasses in a toast to Mark.

  “We just need to find who shot Bergman, now,” commented MayAnn. She did not mention Mark’s efforts in tracing the ambulance—that was not yet ready for public disclosure. She had scheduled the raid on the ambulance location for very early Saturday morning, just hours away. “Somehow, the FBI always ends up with the difficult tasks.”

  Her comment was met with sympathy from all except Schmidt; he made a soft-voiced comment that no one else was supposed to hear. “And if you can’t solve it, you hand it off to me.”

  “Unfair,” protested MayAnn.

  Sam cornered Mark and asked, “Are you coming home now?”

  “Tomorrow,” he said. “Julian promised. Winter has his security in place. So hopefully my life will return to normal.”

  “Do you think so? What about Paula?”

  “Oh, I don’t have to be her bodyguard anymore.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  Schmidt interrupted their quiet conversation. “I agree with Julian and Evan, Mark. It was well done. So you hope your life will return to normal, now?”

  “That’s what I was just explaining to Sam—I’m not sure she believes me.”

  “Neither do I—I want to talk to you about an idea of mine, either over the weekend, or early next week.”

  MayAnn had approached and was listening to Schmidt. “Mark, have nothing to do with this man. He is well known for throwing Christians to the lions. Or lions to the Christians, one or the other.”

  Sam and Mark laughed at Schmidt’s expression.

  “I don’t know how he does it,” said MayAnn. “He’s so innocent.”

  “Let me be clear,” said Mark. “I have one objective—I want my life to return to its routine, as boring as some of you may think it is. I’m going back to my apartment, tomorrow. I’m re-starting my computer course on Monday. My life will be normal.” Sam nodded her agreement.

  “Good luck with that,” said Julian, who also had been listening to their conversation. “I have a feeling you are like a lightning rod: you attract trouble. Hopefully without getting struck yourself, though.”

  “I think you’re correct. It seems that while I’m just minding my own business, Bam! something happens,” said Mark. “I could, I suppose, just shut my eyes.”

  “Fortunately for me, you kept them open,” said Paula, approaching Mark from the side opposite Sam. “Please don’t shut them.”

  “I can’t imagine that happening,” MayAnn said with a laugh.

  “You’ve known Mark for a while?” asked Sam.

  “We met last year, on a very intensive law enforcement training course. We challenged each other to see who could top the results.” She did not mention that another person, Lee Yu—now deceased—had also joined in the challenge. “Mark set a very aggressive pace.”

  “Who won?” asked Paula.

  “I think we tied.”

  Sam said, “I didn’t know he was involved in law enforcement.”

  “Well, he isn’t really, although he has been very helpful to us, on a number of occasions. Both Schmidt and I keep trying to recruit him.”

  “Is Schmidt part of the FBI?” asked Sam. “I get confused—I know you are, but he doesn’t seem to be?”

  MayAnn looked at Schmidt. “I’ll let you answer that—it’s definitely above my pay grade.”

  “No one knows who employs Schmidt,” interjected Mark. “We suspect he reports to the President.”

  Sudden explosions rocked the room. Ceiling plaster collapsed, creating a wave of dust and lumps of falling plaster. Beams fell, fortunately only part way to the floor. Two large windows blew out, sending glass crashing down to the street. Wires hung down, some sparking as they touched. Two stun grenades rolled through one of the now glassless windows and Mark leaped forward, picked them up and threw them back. They exploded just outside and below the window; even at that distance the noise was stunning, adding to the chaos inside the room. Schmidt had drawn his weapon and fired at a black-clad shape swinging forward from outside the smashed windows. MayAnn was targeting a second black-clad figure. Both figures fell, screaming. The fallen attackers were quickly replaced by others; they were sliding down ropes suspended from the top of the building. Mark had kept the Glock provided by Julian, and drew the weapon. He fired at one of the intruders swinging in through a window and his target fell backwards, down towards the street below.

  He realized MayAnn and Schmidt were in control of the intruders trying to enter through the windows and looked to see if he could assist Julian’s other visitors. Evan had cuts on his face a
nd was holding and comforting Katrina; she appeared to be unharmed although in a state of shock. Julian Kelly was kneeling beside Sam, who was bleeding from a gash across her forehead. He was wiping blood from her face. Paula was sitting on the floor, stunned, and Mark went to her side. As he leaned down to check her condition, another two grenades rolled through the open windows—they were too far away for him to reach. The grenades exploded, sending white clouds of gas to fill the room. Before he could check Paula’s pulse, Mark fell, collapsing onto the floor, his world blanking out.

  ~~~

  Mark could hear voices, although he could not distinguish the words. His head ached; indeed, his entire body ached. He tried to remember what had happened. His mind was blank. He struggled to sit up and failed. Straps, he realized, were holding him down. His world faded again and he dropped back into unconsciousness.

  The next time he woke, he felt stronger and his headache had lessened. His body still ached. He still did not recall what had happened. The room was dark, unlit. He could feel restraints; he was unable to move. Again, he heard voices—this time they were clearer, possibly closer, and he was able to distinguish components of the conversation.

  “Colonel, do you realize you’ve created a state of undeclared war?” It was a woman speaking.

  The reply was a mumble.

  “Yes, I understand, we now have Midway. However, we’ve a complete disaster in Boston, thanks to you. I’m not sure Midway outweighs the mess you’ve created.”

  The indecipherable reply had angry overtones.

  “Colonel, don’t speak to me that way, if you wish to survive this disaster of yours. Tell me, what’s your plan from here?”

  All Mark heard of the reply was his name, Midway. His world faded again and blackness enveloped him.

  ***

  Chapter 13

  Schmidt regarded MayAnn with concern. They were both waiting to be discharged from the hospital. They had no serious injuries, they had suffered no significant after affects from the gas apart from headaches and now, at the conclusion of twenty-four hours of observation, both were anxious to be released. Schmidt had checked on the other victims of the assault on Kelly’s apartment; all were in a satisfactory state and were also impatient to leave. The exception was Mark—he was missing. Surely, Schmidt thought, Mark had not been the reason for the raid.

  “Julian thinks the raid was his fault,” said MayAnn. “I’m not sure. Did we miss something?”

  “Relax,” instructed Schmidt. “It was a Cerberus attack. They took Mark. Again. They may wish they hadn’t done that; he’ll be royally pissed.”

  “Gross is waiting for us, so let’s get out of here,” said MayAnn. “If the doctors need to do more tests, they can come to my office.”

  Gross Brown had earlier arranged for one of his team to deliver a change of clothes for each of them, and they were dressed and ready to go. The discharge process seemed to be unduly prolonged and Schmidt sympathized with MayAnn’s impatience. At last they were permitted to go. Evan and Julian were due to be released in another hour. Sam, Katrina, and Paula were not due for release until the next morning; the three had suffered cuts and possible concussion; the doctors, aware of Julian’s prestige, were taking the utmost care of their patients.

  “Aah, there’s Gross,” said MayAnn. “Come on, let’s go. He needs to debrief us and then take statements from the others. The GTU will be busy all day, on this.”

  “More likely they’ll be busy for the next month,” said Schmidt. He followed MayAnn through the doors to where the FBI agent was waiting.

  ~~~

  Schmidt was annoyed; it was Tuesday and in his opinion their progress was far too slow. They were in MayAnn’s Boston office, working through the aftermath of the assault. Between the two of them, they had shot five of the assailants. Schmidt thought Mark had accounted for another, for a total of six apparent deaths. It was almost halfway through the week following the attack, and the FBI still had no leads; the six bodies had disappeared before police had arrived, presumably recovered by survivors of whoever had carried out the assault on the apartment. The GTU agents had held a number of debriefing sessions with each of the victims and Gross had expressed his frustration at the lack of evidence—apart from a wrecked apartment—in no uncertain terms. Schmidt realized that no evidence and a minimum of general information was beginning to stress his companion.

  “It seems to be the oddest affair,” he said.

  MayAnn looked up from the file she was studying. “Odd?”

  “Yes. As in stupid. The raid generated phenomenal publicity; they wrecked part of Kelly’s apartment and, according to us, we shot six assailants, possibly fatally, and other people were injured. Somehow the attackers disabled the security guards with their damned gas. And they recovered their dead. We both know we shot to kill, but there are no bodies. Mark disappeared; presumably he’s now a prisoner of whoever arranged the raid. We’re fortunate that we’ve succeeded in hiding Mark’s disappearance. The media had enough material encompassing a criminal attack involving a billionaire, a prominent Boston attorney, their families and friends including a senior FBI special agent, plus her noble assistant, to keep them churning for a month. However, I just don’t understand the motive.”

  “Maybe there wasn’t one?” MayAnn mused. Frown lines creased her forehead. “At least, not a rational one.”

  “A rogue operation, just to capture Mark? Probability is 65 percent. Worth considering.”

  “How do you do that?”

  “What? Calculate probabilities? Intuition, mainly, with help from Maeve and her analysis team.”

  “Let me know when they dig up anything I can use.”

  “I will, indeed. Is there anything we can learn from Gross’s raid on the local Cerberus base?”

  “I’m still reviewing reports from the team. It’s a pity we were in hospital when they did that. Gross apprehended ten men and two women, plus of course, they found the ambulance, three other vehicles, and some records. These people appear to belong to some kind of private enterprise first responder team, contracting for medical emergencies. An ideal cover. We’ve identified the two people who rescued Gilmore by matching fingerprints from the building where he was prisoner. We’ve still not identified their sniper. However, they all claim innocence, mistaken identities, they alibi each other, and everything else you’d expect. There are four attorneys hitting us, attempting to obtain release of the suspects. When Gross’s team went in, the suspects destroyed their computers beyond any possible recovery, and are claiming that it was an accident. It’s all very frustrating.”

  “At least you’ve detained twelve suspected members of Cerberus. Do you want me to interview them?”

  “I’m thinking about it. We’ll have to release them tomorrow, unless we charge them with something.”

  “Have you got their DNA test results?”

  “Yes,” she thumped the file she was holding. “These are the reports. I’m trying to make sense of the details. We may have to call in some outside consultants. Our lab people say there are major anomalies in what they’re seeing and then they use scientific jargon to describe the results. If I were a degree more cynical, I’d suggest someone is stalling or trying to cloud the issue. The lab has requested new samples, as well.”

  “As bad as that?”

  “Yes,” said MayAnn. “That reminds me: has Maeve’s team managed to open Gilmore’s files, yet?”

  “Indeed, yes. I forgot. I downloaded them for you, this morning.”

  “Did you look at them?”

  “No, I was leaving that task to you.”

  “You’re making me do all the work?”

  “No, there’s a lot of sharing taking place. I’ve had Maeve utilize Mark’s software to trace vehicles near Kelly’s apartment, either arriving in the evening or departing after the raid. Also, we’ve been trying to determine when the explosives were placed in the ceiling and who the manufacturer is.” Schmidt was tiptoeing around some detail
s; they still were preliminary, without proof.

  “Are you holding back on me?” MayAnn frowned. She could read Schmidt, far better than he realized.

  “Well, Maeve’s team identified a small convoy of vehicles, license plates, makes, and models. Two small convoys appear to have driven from Maryland; one drove to Boston early last week, the second on Thursday. The vehicles all returned on Saturday.”

  “And?” MayAnn leaned forward, pinning Schmidt with her concerns.

  “The vehicles were military. Army. However, officially—according to unit records—they were all parked, locked up for the entire week, and there is no record of them leaving the base or returning. I’ve been trying to determine how we can break down that wall.”

  “Given your reputation with a certain Army general—what’s his name?—I can understand your difficulties.” The general in question had threatened Schmidt in a meeting earlier that year.

  “General Jamieson. He’s due for very early retirement, although he doesn’t know it yet. It’s worse than you think; the base is under his control, which raises a specter.”

  “Do you think?”

  “He’s part of Cerberus, 60 percent probability. There’s an MP unit, they’re Alpha Company, 145th MP Battalion—it seems the general has persuaded SECDEF to approve formation of a new MP battalion and Alpha is its first company. It occupies the base and, unfortunately for us, someone managed to cut orders for the unit to deploy immediately to Afghanistan. Apparently it consists of about 180 soldiers, 170 in Alpha Company, the remainder forming a battalion command unit. They all had completed their pre-mission training and were back in Maryland, pending deployment. Now they’re on their way to Bagram, as we speak. Someone has more influence with defense areas than they should.”