by Russ Snyder
"Understood, sir," Larrow acknowledged reluctantly.
"Good."
Randall turned loose. What next?
"Ryyaki Ali could employ any number of teams that have skill. The man is wealthy beyond most people's comprehension. I want three-hour updates." Larrow's phone went dead.
Larrow turned to Toni Latell, who had entered the room. "Toni, when was their last check?"
"At eleven thirty, sir. They reported a dark green or black four-door Jeep Wrangler parked in an obscure location next to Ryyaki Ali's property. We have the plate number. We're running it now."
Larrow cringed inside. "And why did you wait until now?"
"Sir, we just discovered the problem fifteen minutes ago."
"Agent Latell, the problem started one second after they didn't check in."
"Yes, sir. If it were any other agents, I would have informed you immediately, but Jackson and Hutch have a history of not keeping to schedule. I just didn't see a problem at that moment. My fault."
"I am well aware of Jackson's peculiarities. I can't say I don't agree with your particular assessment. It gets worse. All intel with regard to the downed agents goes directly to Randall."
"Randall, sir? Are you sure about that?"
"Straight from the director, Latell. We don't have any choice."
"If you say so, sir. Better get the women and kids off the streets."
"No shit. I need a cell phone."
Latell went to a small case, retrieved one of the standard-issue phones, and handed it to him. "Broke another one, sir?"
Larrow just glared at her and returned to his room.
T-Minus 7 Hours
At seven thirty that Sunday morning, President Lamar, along with his chief of staff, was convening a breakfast meeting with the directors of his different security agencies. Absent was Coverley Merritt of the Department of the Presidential Office.
"Good morning, gentlemen. Please read me in where we stand."
Elliott Ragar and Bernard Backersley took turns in bringing the president up to speed on everything that had transpired since their last meeting.
"You mean to tell me you've lost three agents?" The president bristled.
"Yes, sir. I have turned that aspect of the operation over to the lead on our response team."
"What aspect of what operation? Backersley, what did you not understand about turning over all your information to Sanderson and Ragar and withdrawing? Hell, man, you are the CIA; it is completely illegal for you to be operating inside our borders." The president was visibly angry.
"Sir, I lost three of my agents before we had the chance to withdraw. With all due respect, I am not turning that aspect over to anybody. We take care of our own. We will operate with all due caution, but the CIA will continue to conduct the investigation into the deaths of three CIA agents. If you find that disagreeable, you may ask for my resignation." Backersley was not going to give ground on this point.
The president was quiet for a few moments. "All right, you continue that, and only that. If I find out that you have stepped outside those boundaries, you will be fired. If this blows up in my face, you will be fired. If my coffee gets cold, you will be fired. Is there anything about what I just said that you don't understand?"
"No, sir. Not at all."
Elliott Ragar, director of the NSA, spoke up. "Sir, I understand how Director Backersley feels. I would feel the same." There were a few looks of surprise on some of the faces in attendance.
Matt Sanderson, director of the FBI, asked a question. "Sir, I have noticed the absence of Merritt in the last meetings and was wondering why."
"I have decided that the DPO that President Williams initiated is unnecessary. Under my administration, heads of agencies are going to be more cooperative with each other and me, or they will be gone, thus eliminating the need. Merritt will be reassigned. He's a good man. I won't make it official until we have eliminated this biological threat. I don't want distractions."
"Yes, sir, and if I may say so, I believe it's a good call."
"You may not. Worry about your own agency; I'll worry about all of them."
Toni Latell nearly jumped out of her chair when the door to the motel room that she and her assistant, Jay Sling, were using as a temporary HQ burst in. Latell spun around in her chair ready to chastise whoever couldn't even bother to knock but froze in place. Special Agent Robert Randall was walking toward her. He was the leader of one of the CIA's most respected, and definitely most feared, response teams. Randall was a man who instilled fear. At six feet and five inches tall, weighing 260 pounds, he made most men nervous. He kept his head shaved smooth except for a black mustache and goatee-style beard. Dark eyebrows and dark brown eyes completed the package. His left eye twitched occasionally, the everlasting effects of a concussion grenade. He was an avid weight lifter and looked it. The personality of a snapping turtle with a sore ass was the icing on the cake.
"You know this has pretty much been turned over to me, right?"
"I know that Agent Larrow is in charge of logistics and that any action taken shall be coordinated through you."
"Fuck Larrow. We should've gone into that facility already. We're wasting time."
"We don't know if Ali is in possession of the toxin yet. That is what we're waiting on."
"Why should that be a problem? We go in, take the place over, and wait. What's so damned hard about that?"
"Agent Randall," she replied, standing her ground. "That is a question that needs to be taken up with at least Agent Larrow or Langley. That is not my call."
"Langley told me I was in charge."
"Langley told me that you were both in charge of separate operations of this action. I can get whomever you might want to speak with if you need clarification."
"Latell, I don't work on clarification. Where is Larrow?"
"I'm sorry, but I'm not his personal secretary or babysitter. Why don't you try using your cell phone and call him?"
"Latell, don't think I won't shove a cell phone up your ass just because you're a female. All I want from you is information. Is that understood?"
"No, it's not. I take my orders from Larrow, who is my immediate superior. I pass on to you what he tells me to. You are not in my chain of command. I know that most people are scared shitless of you; I don't even blame them. But if you give me problems, ultimately you will answer to someone who is not scared of you, so go fuck yourself."
In response, Randall leaned over and grabbed her computer monitor and sent it flying across the room. "Next time you decide to give me shit, that'll be you." He stormed out of the room.
Jay Sling exclaimed, "Are you out of your mind? That psycho has killed more men than some army platoons!"
"He's an ass." But she couldn't stop her voice from shaking.
J. C. Christman was walking out of Air Rentals. He had chartered a helicopter for seventy-two hours, citing a high-paying photography assignment. The rental transaction went smoothly after Christman showed his pilot's license with multiple endorsements, including rotorcraft. He was assured that his Jeep would be secure, and he backed it into the concrete building that was located at the far end of Portland International Airport. The chopper was a newer model, could comfortably seat four besides himself, and had storage for the "photography" gear. He had told the owner that he had some errands to run and would be back for the copter in a couple of hours. In reality, he was going to pick up gear from the DPO jet.
Ninety minutes later, he returned and pulled the Jeep up tight to the chopper. He loaded the equipment he'd retrieved and stowed it securely. Lastly, he covered everything with a black tarp. He returned the Jeep to its original parking space and then walked back to the copter. After going through his preflight inspection, he climbed into the pilot's seat and started the blades whirling.
Starr was driving, seeking
a good spot to pull in and wait. He spotted a strip mall on the right. Besides all the little chain stores one usually finds in such a place, there was a Burger King at the end. Might as well get some food. He pulled up to the drive-through and ordered five egg-and-cheese breakfast sandwiches on biscuits. These he could eat cold as well as hot, giving him something to nibble on during the day since he didn't know when he would be stopping again. He had brought along several bottles of water, so drinks were not a problem. After receiving his order, he found a parking spot one row back from the road, close to the exit, allowing him a quick exit when the time came. There was a row of neglected bushes planted next to the road, which would provide further cover even though he was not worried about being spotted. Ellhad would have no idea that he was even there, much less what he was driving. Now parked and in position and watching the GPS tracker, he had seen the vehicle he was monitoring move slightly. He zoomed in and was able to determine it had moved to the main house and parked. The road wasn't too busy, and Styles had provided him with a reasonable description of the pickup truck he would be tailing. Now he just had to wait.
Styles and Phillips had pulled into a Home Depot. Phillips had pulled up Google Earth and zoomed down on Ryyaki Ali's estate. With a few clicks, the image was amazing. You could easily see individuals on the property.
"Do a perimeter search. That is where we might see some friendlies."
"Gotcha."
Styles watched as Phillips performed her magic on her laptop. The connection between the two reminded him strongly of himself and his sniper rifle. Synergy.
"I've got a vehicle that's partially hidden just off the property. I don't see any individuals." She turned the screen so he could see for himself.
"Show me the position on an overlay of the entire property."
Phillips complied. "Is this what you want?"
"Yeah. Looks like they're about two hundred yards south of where I went in. That's too close. We're going to go in ninety degrees from them, here," he said, pointing toward the electronic map. "That allows a good distance between us, just about a mile."
"Won't they have the place surrounded?"
"No. They're just watching the outskirts. If they're that close, I'm surprised they got past the guards up in the tree stands. That's pretty smart."
"They might have run a recon with infrared over them like we did. Even though they can't do that from a satellite, they can certainly do that with a drone."
"Maybe." Styles started the Yukon and pulled into traffic, while Phillips fired up her laptop that received the video feeds from the cameras Styles planted.
"On second thought," Styles advised, "keep the subsonic rounds loaded. We might be better off keeping noise to a minimum with those agents so close."
"How's the leg?" she asked.
"Little sore; it's no concern."
29
T-Minus 6 Hours
President Lamar had called Coverley Merritt into the Oval Office. "Have a seat, Coverley." Merritt sat down across the desk from the president. "I'm going to make some changes; some of them involve you. I'm not convinced that this DPO is really necessary. Under my administration, the heads of agencies are going to work together, or they'll be looking for new jobs. Therefore, I'm going to eliminate this. You're a good man, and I don't want to lose you---or worse, waste you---so I'm going to have you assist Elliott Ragar of the NSA. I want to get through this biological problem before I announce it; we don't need any distractions. I just wanted to give you a heads-up. I'd like you to keep this under wraps until I make it official. If you have some extraordinary people under you, I'd like you to make a list and submit it to me. Good people are hard to find. Be sure that loyalty weighs in any decisions you might suggest. For now, it will be business as normal; just be aware that change is coming. Do you have any questions?"
"No questions, sir. However, I'd like permission to speak freely."
"Go on." Just then, the president held his hand up to stop Merritt as a knock on the door came and coffee was delivered. The assistant set one cup in front of the president and the second one in front of Merritt. Once the president's assistant had left the room, closing the door behind him, Lamar motioned for Merritt to continue.
"I'm not making comparisons here, understand. Your predecessor found the different directors quite often did not play well together. This new department he created eliminated much of the friction. I applaud your expectations, but quite honestly, sir, I believe you will find that particular expectation much harder than one might think."
"This is not a frivolous decision, Coverley. However, for me, I believe it is the correct one."
"Whatever you say, sir, I serve at the pleasure of the president."
"Good. I believe you will enjoy your position at the NSA. I'll be in touch, and keep me up to date as you find necessary. Thank you, Coverley. I do appreciate your support."
"Yes, sir." Merritt left, nodding toward the president.
Elliott Ragar, Matt Sanderson, and Charles Rockford had decided to meet privately. They had arranged to convene at a restaurant a short distance outside Washington. They had requested a table in the far corner. While there were a few men also dressed in suits, most were in casual wear.
Ragar spoke. "As we all know, Backersley lost three agents yesterday and last night."
Both Rockford and Sanderson nodded.
"He is supposed to turn over anything he finds to us. Either of you received anything?"
"Not a thing," answered Rockford.
"I haven't heard from him," replied Sanderson. "His ego is going to toast him one of these days."
"We'll be lucky if it doesn't toast all of us," snapped Ragar.
Sanderson added, "My people tell me that he has an intelligence unit there, as well as a response team. It's believed that Robert Randall is leading the response team."
"Christ, isn't that the same SOB that caused all that shit in Italy two years ago?" questioned Ragar.
"Yeah. He's good at his job but can't see past his own ass. He doesn't care who gets caught in any crossfire. If he's out there, and Backersley turns him loose, there'll be hell to pay."
Starr's attention picked up. The little dot representing Ellhad's truck was on the move.
"We've got movement on the truck," he stated over his comm set.
"Okay, Starr, he's all yours. Don't screw this up," asserted Styles.
"You do your job, sonny boy, and let me do mine."
"Keep us posted."
"Roger that."
Phillips interposed, "Confirmation on the truck's location."
"You got anything else going on?" queried Styles.
"All other cameras show quiet. Hold on. The truck is still moving."
"Starr, Phillips says the truck is moving."
"I can see that. I got a good idea. Don't call me; I'll call you."
"Don't get so touchy." Styles grinned as he spoke.
"Tell him that Ellhad is about ten minutes from him," offered Phillips.
"Phillips says he's about ten minutes out from you."
"How does Phillips know where I am? Never mind. I retract the question."
"You're finally learning," Phillips responded after donning her own comm set.
Styles called out, "J. C., you got your ears on?"
"Loud and clear. I just finished the preflight on the chopper. All the gear is loaded up. I did not touch your favorite toy."
"No reason to; I won't need it here, at least not at this location. We may grab it. I don't know yet."
"I'm going to take this bird over to a small uncontrolled airport that's only about twenty miles from you. That's a good staging place for me. I can be on-site in under ten minutes if need be. Just tell me when you want me airborne."
"Roger that, J. C."
"I've got the truck in sight. I'll chec
k back in," interjected Starr.
"Roger that, Starr. Do not let him spot you."
"He won't."
Styles found a spot where he wanted to park the Yukon. It was in the middle of a large cluster of shrubs that also had a monster maple tree with branches hanging directly overhead. It was a good hiding spot from both the ground and the air.
"I'll be right back. Get your gear ready." He made a quick ten-minute sweep of the area and came back satisfied no one was nearby. He saw Phillips just tucking her ponytail up into a camo watch cap, pulling it down to the top of her ears and farther down the back of her neck.
Surveying her, he said, "Good job. Now let me paint you." He applied a combination of green and brown paint to her face, neck, ears, and hands. Finished, he stepped back and nodded. "You'll be invisible from twenty feet away in the woods." Next he applied the paint to himself. Finally, he grabbed his own gear. Phillips noticed he had three throwing knives. "One last thing," Styles said. "Hold out your fingers." Doing so, Styles applied Nu Skin to her fingertips, then his own. "This will eliminate fingerprints."
"Better than gloves."
"Oh yeah. Are you ready?"
"Absolutely."
"Okay, be sure you have your comm in place. Stay ten feet behind me and off to my right. When I stop, you stop. When I move, you move. Don't use the comm set unless I do. We'll use basic hand signals. Every minute we'll pause, and you use your smartphone for a camera view. We don't want to walk into anything. You good?"
"Yeah. Thanks for the shot at this."
Styles turned and stared at her hard. "If you weren't ready, you wouldn't be here."
She nodded.
Phillips's heart was racing. She was ten feet to Styles's right when he motioned for her to stop and signaled her to look up and to her right. She got down on one knee and scanned hard. Then she saw what he'd seen: a guard in a tree platform. She saw Styles motion with a slashing gesture across his throat. She knew what that meant. She very carefully and quietly repositioned herself next to the base of a medium-size tree. She used a low branch to rest her AR-15 on. She quietly clicked the safety off. She turned on the EOTech scope. Looking through it, she placed the holographic red spot on the bridge of the guard's nose. She breathed in once, twice, and when the air was out of her lungs, she gently squeezed the trigger. To her ears, the action was loud, and she instantly was afraid she'd been heard. She saw the guard thrown backward out of the tree stand, never attempting to break his fall. He hit with a thud. She froze. Then she remembered to breathe again. She looked over at Styles. He nodded and then motioned for them to move on. He signaled one of three, meaning two more guards to go. Forward they moved. They came upon the two up in the trees, with Phillips removing one more, and Styles the second.