“So why did you panic when you saw an F-16?” she asked.
“Because I knew he was trying to make some girl he got from another source steal one, and I figured if you were on to him, you would be on to me as well and everything would come crashing down.”
“Who’s the other source?” she asked.
“He never told me. Just some guy that works at the base. Gave him some files or something. Made fun of his shitty car with a busted muffler, but that’s all I know. I really tried to stay out of it,” he said, still reeling from the pain.
“And you were going to frame Martin?”
“Victor talked about flipping the girl right under the guy’s nose. I read about the guy. He was kicked out of the Air Force. He flipped out on the Secretary of Defense. He seemed like a likely candidate to turn on you.”
“Sure, if he were even in the country, dumbass,” Decker said as she dropped the hammer and got up to walk out.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Operations Building
39th Fighter Squadron
Homestead ARB, FL
Spectre sat alone in the small briefing room. It was a small area with a SMART Board electronic briefing board on one wall and a traditional dry erase whiteboard on the other. It had a small table in the middle with chairs all around for members of a flight to sit as the flight lead of whatever mission the pilots were on briefed the flight. It had been years since Spectre had been in a room like this, and although he had been a Gator, he had never been in this particular briefing room. The squadron had been completely renovated since he had left the Air Force.
Spectre was exhausted. His head was killing him. The adrenaline had finally worn off from the early morning events. Upon landing, he had been arrested, hauled to the squadron, and forced to tell his story in great detail by agents from AFOSI. It was the second time in less than a week he had been isolated and forced to justify his actions to law enforcement. Although this time, they were much more polite.
They had made him sign a Classified Information Nondisclosure Agreement before beginning the debrief. Under the threat of ten years in prison and ten thousand dollars, Spectre agreed never to speak of anything related to the recovery of the aircraft or Chloe Moss. Once that was complete, the agents allowed Spectre to tell his story.
He told them the story from the time he left the meeting with the SECDEF until landing at Homestead as they recorded the conversation and jotted down notes from his statement. When he was finished, the two agents thanked him for his time and left him to sit alone in the cold briefing room.
The door to the briefing room opened. Agent Decker walked in. Her blonde hair was in a ponytail and she was wearing a navy blue jacket with FBI stenciled in yellow letters across the left breast. She looked tired and her face was bruised.
“I was starting to wonder what happened to you,” Spectre said looking at his watch. “You get lost on the way to the fax machine?”
Decker frowned as she sat across the table from Spectre. “It’s good to see you too, Cal.”
“I’m sorry. It’s been a rough morning, what happened to you?” Spectre asked, eyeing the bruises on her wrists and face.
“Apparently you were going to kill me in your house,” she replied.
Spectre’s confused look launched Decker into a narrative of the past five hours. She explained how she had been drugged and walked out of the FBI field office with Agent Leon without being able to contact the SECDEF’s staff.
As Spectre listened intently, she went on to describe how he intended to frame Spectre for murder, but underestimated her will to fight.
“Silk ties on a rickety chair?” she scoffed.“Seriously? By the way, you’re probably going to need a new dining room chair.”
“They were Chloe’s anyway,” Spectre said somberly. “Have you heard anything about the helicopter yet? The last two guys knew nothing.”
“They made it to Lower Keys Medical Center about thirty minutes after you landed,” Decker replied.
“And?” Spectre asked impatiently.
“Marcus and Moss were both rushed to surgery. Carpenter, Agent Baxter, and the two Customs guys were detained until they can get this all sorted out. It’s a real mess.”
Spectre’s head dropped. He still wasn’t sure how to deal with what Chloe said as he tried to save her. It was obvious she had some relationship with Victor and had willingly taken the F-16. He was angry with himself for not seeing it sooner. Marcus had been right. She had left him for another man.
“Cal, there’s something else,” Decker said, trying to bring him back from his thousand yard stare.
“Yeah?” Spectre asked, looking up. His eyes were bloodshot. He looked like a defeated man.
“The agent working for Alvarez mentioned getting some files from someone on this base. Do you know what he could have been talking about?” Decker asked, pulling out her notepad.
“Files? Could mean anything. Was he more specific?”
“No, he just said that Alvarez picked the girl from another source. The source gave him files that he must have used to target her,” she said as she reread her notes.
“Personnel files, flying schedules, and Emergency Data for next of kin, maybe,” Spectre replied pensively.
“Is any of that information classified?” Decker asked
“Not that I know of. At worst, it’s For Official Use Only, which basically means it’s not classified, but it still should be protected. Do you really think you can find the person that gave him the information? It’s a slap on the wrist at worst.”
“If whoever did this is a source to a known intelligence operative in the United States, it’s going to be a lot more than just a slap on the wrist,” Decker said, leaning back in her chair. “And yes, I do think I can find him. He mentioned a beat up car with a bad muffler.”
Spectre laughed dismissively. “Gee, that narrows it down. I guess you guys have your work cut out for you, staking out Pep Boys until someone shows up with a bad muffler.”
Decker glared at Spectre.
“I’m sorry,” he said, trying to backpedal out of the hole he was digging. “Did I mention it’s been a long day? Can I go home now?”
“Oh yeah, that’s why I’m here. You’re being released under my care until the State Department and Department of Defense can get together and clear you of anything criminal,” she said with a wry smile.
Spectre jumped up out of his chair and started for the door. “Sweet, I’ll buy you breakfast. Let’s get out of here.”
Decker followed as Spectre led them out of the briefing room and down the main hallway of the large multi-million dollar Operations Building. The heat from the South Florida humidity hit him as he held the door open for Decker as she passed him.
Spectre followed, squinting in the morning sun. As they reached her black SUV, Spectre stopped dead in his tracks as a car pulled into the parking lot. It sounded like a bumblebee as it downshifted and pulled into the parking spot across from them. He watched as a small man wearing a green flight suit hopped out of the car and put his blue officer’s hat on as he headed toward the entrance.
Decker’s phone rang as she reached the driver’s door of her car. She fished for the phone in her jacket pocket as Spectre stood staring at the man walking toward the Operations Building.
As Spectre realized who it was, he took off in a sprint toward the man who was punching in his access code on the door’s cipher lock. He reached the man just as he was turning the door handle.
“Coach Louhan!” Spectre yelled as he slammed the partially opened door back shut. The little man partially retreated in surprise.
“Cal!” Decker screamed from across the parking lot. “What’s going on?”
“Cal Martin. I’ve heard you’ve been busy,” Coach replied. “I would love to hear about it sometime, but, I’m very busy myself right now. Is there a problem?”
“You!” Spectre replied indignantly through his teeth as he moved into the man’s face.
He was just a few inches shorter than Spectre, but he cowered as Spectre stood in front of him.
“Excuse me?” Coach said timidly, backing up from Spectre.
“You fucking traitor!” Spectre barked, closing the small distance Coach had just gained. “You sold the documents to the Cuban.”
Coach’s eyes widened as his wrinkled face turned red. He tried to avoid eye contact. If the car hadn’t been enough to confirm his suspicion, Coach’s reaction had sealed the deal. The man standing before him who had ended his flying career was a traitor who sold information to foreign spies.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, now get out of the way,” Coach said, raising his right hand to push Spectre out of the way.
Spectre intercepted Coach’s hand as it approached his chest. With both hands, he twisted Coach’s wrist away from his body, snapping the ligaments and breaking Coach’s wrist as he buckled under the pain.
“Get up,” Spectre said, grabbing Coach’s throat with his right hand and lifting him up into the wall. He slammed his head against the brick building.
“You can’t do this,” Coach grunted. “I am a colonel. I demand respect.”
“Respect is earned, fuckstick,” Spectre said, tightening his grip around Coach’s throat and shoving his head into the wall again.
“Cal!” Decker said behind him as she ran toward the two men. “Cal, stop!”
“I had a family to think about! I had bills to pay! I owe people money!” Coach pleaded as he struggled to breathe under Spectre’s grip.
“You ruined my career and took away the only thing I had left.”
“It was either you or Pounder! He was going places! You made your bed when you chose the girl!”
“Cal! Enough!” Decker yelled as she tried to grab his shoulder. “Let the system work.”
Spectre shifted his hand from Coach’s throat to his left shoulder and pulled the man forward as he drove his right knee into Coach’s sternum.
“Enjoy your new bed in prison, asshole,” Spectre said angrily as Coach dropped to the ground gasping for air.
Decker pushed Spectre back as she dropped to a knee to cuff Coach as he rolled on the ground.
“That was the hospital in Key West calling,” she said as she snapped the second cuff to Coach’s broken wrist, causing him to scream in pain. “You’re going to want to get down there soon.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Homestead, FL
It was raining. Spectre hated funerals, and it seemed like it was always raining at them. He was sure there was some old wives’ tale that explained it, but for now, he stood in his trench coat and suit as the chaplain concluded the benediction in the light drizzle.
Spectre was standing near the back, behind the white chairs that had been set up for friends and family. He had been offered a seat near the front with family, but felt it best to stand in the back. He doubted any of the grieving family members actually considered him family anyway.
Despite everything that had gone on, Spectre felt responsible. He wondered if there was anything he could have done differently as the five-member rifle team executed the three-volley salute, firing three times in unison. As the last volley stopped, a bugler began playing “Taps.”
Spectre stood with his hand over his heart while the military members in the crowd saluted the flag draped over the casket. When the bugler finished, two Honor Guard members removed the flag from the casket and began folding it as the crowd watched in silence.
Once folded, the flag was presented by the white gloved Honor Guard member to the chaplain who in turn presented it to the family seated in the front row. Spectre thought back to the chaplain that he’d driven with to Chloe’s parents’ house. He had just found out before the ceremony that the chaplain died in ICU a few days after the shooting. He regretted not being able to attend that funeral.
“She was a fucking whore! Why are we even here getting our asses wet?” Marcus grumbled from the wheelchair next to Spectre.
“Shut up, old man, before I release your parking brake and let you roll down this mostly shallow hill,” Carpenter whispered behind him.
Spectre turned to Marcus and motioned for him to be quiet. The chaplain called for a moment of silence. A few moments later, a flight of four F-16s approached behind them in fingertip formation. As they flew over the gravesite, the number three aircraft went vertical, executing the missing man tribute.
Despite the sadness Spectre felt, he knew Marcus was right. She had betrayed her country and cheated on him. There was no justifying what she did anymore, but the official story would never reflect that.
After making the entire group sign Nondisclosure Agreements in exchange for immunity from prosecution, the official story was drafted. If Moss had lived, it would have been through a dramatic rescue effort in the Atlantic after days at sea. When she died, it just became the end to a tragic mishap.
Captain Chloe Moss had been killed on that fateful night when her F-16 crashed into the Atlantic Ocean. The cause was listed as Controlled Flight Into Terrain due to spatial disorientation. Her body had been recovered by a Coast Guard vessel, and the wreckage was never completely located.
Spectre brought up the inconvenient fact of the F-16 he had delivered to their doorstep with the tail number of the missing F-16 during their discussions. Not to worry, they told him, the aircraft would receive all new serial numbers as the latest delivery from the factory. As far as the Air Force was concerned, Chloe Moss’ aircraft had officially been lost forever.
As the funeral ended, Carpenter pushed Marcus down the hill with Spectre as they headed for his truck. There was nothing more to say. That chapter of his life was over, and they still had a struggling store to deal with.
The rain stopped as Spectre and Carpenter helped Marcus into the front seat of Spectre’s truck. He groaned in protest as they helped him with his injured leg. The doctors said it would be a few weeks before he would be able to start on crutches. He was just lucky to be alive, having nearly bled out in the back of the helicopter.
“Mr. Martin?” a man asked as Spectre started to close Marcus’s door. Carpenter and Spectre turned to face the man. He looked like any one of the civilian attendees of the funeral. He was wearing a black suit with Ray Ban sunglasses.
“Can I help you?” Spectre asked cautiously.
“I was just wondering if you had a moment?” the man asked.
“Well, as you can see, we were about to leave,” Spectre replied.
Carpenter took the hint and jumped in the back seat of Spectre’s crew cab truck.
“Who’s that guy?” Marcus asked as they watched the man walk away.
“Don’t know, he just asked for a minute so I left them alone,” Carpenter replied.
A few minutes later, Spectre hopped in the driver’s seat and started the turbo diesel engine.
“Well, that was weird,” Spectre said as he shifted from Park to Drive.
“You gonna fill us in?” Marcus asked impatiently.
“Guy said he had something he wanted to talk to me about in private and handed me his card,” Spectre said, handing the card to Marcus.
Marcus pulled his reading glasses out of his coat pocket and studied the business card. It was all white except for the name CHARLES STEELE and a phone number below it.
Thanks for reading!
Turn the page for a sneak preview of C.W. Lemoine’s second book in the SPECTRE SERIES:
AVOID. NEGOTIATE. KILL.
SPECTRE SERIES: BOOK TWO
AVAILABLE IN EBOOK AND PAPERBACK NOW.
VISIT WWW.CWLEMOINE.COM FOR MORE INFORMATION ON RELEASE DATES, BOOK SIGNINGS, AND EXCLUSIVE SPECIAL OFFERS.
Prologue
Key West Regional Hospital
Key West, FL
1500L
“I’m Jessica Kratzer,” she said, handing her ID badge to the shift supervisor. “I’m here for the 3 PM shift.”
The badge had a photo of her that looked exactly as she did st
anding in front of the older nurse. It identified her as a Registered Nurse with NextGen Nursing Solutions, Inc. Her light brown hair was held tightly in a bun and her burgundy scrubs fit tightly around her athletic body.
“You’re a bit early,” the older woman replied. She appeared to be in her late fifties, her hair almost completely white. She was several inches taller than the contract nurse standing before her. “But we can use the help. I’m Anne Millsaps. Have you worked ICU before?”
Kratzer shook her head as Millsaps returned the badge and motioned for her to follow through the automatic double doors and into the main area of the Key West Regional Intensive Care Unit. Kratzer trailed closely as the woman led her to the nurses station.
“It’s not bad. There are eight rooms here, which usually means we generally have four nurses on staff. We’re a bit short staffed right now, but luckily, there are only three patients right now. We just transferred one to the third floor.”
“Who are those guys?” Kratzer asked, pointing to the men in suits standing outside the door of one the rooms. “They look serious.”
“Protection detail. This morning we had two patients come in on some kind of military helicopter. No names, just Jane Doe and John Doe. Both had gunshot wounds. I’ve been in nursing thirty years. Never seen anything like it.”
Kratzer watched as the men standing outside the room stopped talking and eyed her. They appeared to study her for a minute as she stood next to the older nurse. Seconds later, they seemed to relax and returned to their previous conversation.
“You’ll get used to it,” Millsaps reassured her. “Although, pretty little thing like you? You’re probably already used to it.”
Millsaps grabbed three charts from behind the desk and set them down in front of Kratzer as she watched a middle-aged male nurse exit the guarded room. “That’s Tom,” she said. “He’s married, so don’t get any ideas.”
Kratzer frowned. If this lady only knew.
“Hey Tom, this is Jessica from the temp agency. I was just about to give her the run down. How’s our Jane Doe doing?”
Spectre Rising Page 28