To Hunt a Sub

by Jacqui Murray

  Rowe quietly reclaimed her fingers. There was the electricity again. “Think about how Otto researches people. Everything you know about Fairgrove is superficial—what a search engine uncovers and what he chooses to tell you. It’s not through his actions, personal relationships, or the trail left as he travels through time. I’ve worked with him, Kali. Every critical juncture in Fairgrove’s life went his way. I don’t believe that was luck, or because he’s smart.” Rowe smoothed her hair. “He’s mixed up with bad people, probably thinks he can outmaneuver them, but he can’t, and they’ll do what is needed to accomplish their goals.”

  If Rowe wanted to frighten her, he’d already succeeded, but he continued. “Someone stole Cat’s research and now wants yours, too.”

  “How can that be true?” she sputtered. “Cat understands what a breakthrough NEV is—light-years ahead of anything similar. She has the same security Otto uses!”

  Rowe’s answer surprised her. “She allowed it. She’s helping Bobby James at the FBI. If that was all they wanted, it would be under control. But it isn’t. They want Otto, too. They tried—”

  “—and failed, and will continue to fail. No one gets through my firewalls.”

  “There are other ways, like threatening Sean. They won’t stop until they get what they want. Or we beat them.”

  Her fear spiked. He made his point. Sean was her vulnerability. “What can I do?”

  “Don’t talk about Otto’s potential skills with anyone.”

  “I’m about to submit my draft dissertation to the Dean.”

  “Can it wait?”

  Kali didn’t want to wait. What if Zeke and Eitan were wrong and this had less to do with terrorists than intellectual theft? Her solution—to publish—would solve it. The headache thumped. “The Dean gave me until tomorrow and then he pulls the plug.”

  Rowe’s mouth tightened, but he said nothing. Kali popped two more Tylenol.

  He called James on a secure line. “Any word from Annie?”

  “Yeah. The guy she’s tailing stopped at Matt Monroe’s on his way north and she got pictures of two other men at the house. I’m running them through NCIC.”

  Rowe’s shoulders tensed. “Anything on Monroe’s key?”

  “No prints other than his, although I just got his bank statements. Those are interesting.” James hmphed. “We put a trap on Hemren’s ‘sister’ calls. It might really be his sisters.”

  “How are we doing on call-ins?”

  “Up to ten.”

  Not enough. That left hundreds of submariners in danger. Rowe was about to disconnect, but James stopped him. “Annie won’t be back for at least another day.”

  “Got it.” He needed to check on Mr. Winters anyway.

  Chapter 44

  Thursday

  Kali trudged into her tiny apartment. Her eyes felt gritty and her mouth tasted like kibble—not that Sandy allowed her to eat it. Zeke’s request still upset her, even five hours later. All she wanted was to lose herself in mindless television and fall asleep.

  Before she could lock the door and drop her briefcase, Wyn called.

  “You’re home! Allow me to take you to dinner, to celebrate.”

  Kali washed back to memories of Fake Fred and his fake fiancée relaxing after a tiring day over a quiet meal. “Sure. Why not? Let me shower and get Sandy settled.”

  Where was Sandy? “Come here boy!” She chewed a vitamin C as she wandered through the Lab’s favorite spots—the patch of sunlight by the window, Kali’s bed, the cool darkness of the bathroom tile. “Hungry?”

  The house remained silent and no sign of him in the yard, either.

  “What’s up, kitten?”

  “Hi, Mr. Winters. Have you seen Sandy?”

  “He went out once to do his business, and then whined at my door so I gave him a bone. He kept nuzzling me, putting his paw on my arm as though he wished he could talk. I checked for injuries, but he seemed OK and eventually went back in your apartment.”

  “I’m going to look for him. Grab him, please, if he comes home.”

  She started to leave a message for Wyn when he answered. “Sandy … Your dog? We’ll eat. I bet he’s back by the time we return.”

  “I won’t be hungry until I find him, Wyn,” and hung up.

  She walked the neighborhood first, then Riverside Park to Harlem in the north and the Pier at the south, past the Amsterdam bus stop where Sean caught his bus to school, and even the route they took around campus when she had time. She checked in with Mr. Winters several times, but no luck. She shouted Sandy’s name and asked everyone she ran into, but no one had seen an eighty-pound three-legged yellow lab. One youngish Slavic-looking man thought a Labrador and a gangly teen had been jogging in Riverside Park. Something about his eyes made her uncomfortable, but she dutifully made a second tour of the area.

  After two hours, she gave up, tired and discouraged. A call to the pound came up empty. If she posted signs or contacted the campus authorities, the landlord would find out. As she struggled with what to do next, her phone rang.

  “Hi, Sean!” She forced an upbeat tone. “Are you still in DC?”

  “Master Sgt. McClelland gave me etudes to practice. They’re the hardest I’ve ever played!”

  “And you’ve had some hard ones.” Kali was having trouble concentrating.

  “Yeah.” He sounded confused. “A friend of yours asked me to call you. He said he’s undercover. How cool you hang out with CIA types. He wants you to send him whatever it was you two discussed.”

  “Hmm. No name?”

  “I forgot to ask, but I got a picture when he was down the block. I’ll text it.”

  Her phone beeped. A shiver ran down her back. The photo was the young Slav she talked to while searching for Sandy. Was this a message? She remembered Rowe’s words about what could pressure her to give up Otto.

  In a heartbeat.

  Her temples thrummed, but she forced her voice to remain calm.

  “I recognize him. Thanks.”

  “Gotta go, Mom. Love you!” And he was gone.

  Kali raced outside, but the sidewalk was empty.

  Rowe sat in his car half a block away, hidden between two SUVs. Alarms had been clanging all day in his brain. Everywhere he went, he found himself glancing over his shoulder and checking the reflection in windows, sure he had a tail but finding none. James was watching Fairgrove while Rowe kept an eye on Kali. Rowe had gone through Annie’s recent uploads, but uncovered nothing that rhymed with a clue. He’d have to wait until Al-Zahrawi made a mistake.

  He took a picture of a middle-aged man with a blue scat bag walking a toy poodle, and another of a medium height dog walker with musculature typical of Special Forces. His German shepherd marked everything as though this was new terrain.

  Kali arrived, looking exhausted, and disappeared inside. No one was following her. When she reappeared, she had on comfortable walking clothes and carried Sandy’s leash but no Sandy. She stopped everyone she ran into, said something to which she always got a head shake—No. Why the hell was Military Man still here? A sneer painted his mouth even as he answered Kali’s questions. Rowe took a picture and uploaded it to James.

  As he was deciding whether she needed help, Sun called.

  “Someone put a sniffer on Kali’s computer. When she calls out or sends an email, the firewall will open a port and the sniffer will sneak through.”

  “Which means they aren’t getting what they want. How’d you catch it?”

  “Why would I miss it?”

  Rowe breathed out. “Can you return the favor?”

  The clack of keystrokes stuttered over the phone as Sun disconnected.

  By the time Rowe hung up, Kali had reappeared, head hanging. She shuffled into her building and doused the lights. Rowe waited half an hour and was about to leave when one of the dog walkers re-appeared, this time alone. Rowe ignored him earlier, but now, dressed in black with a duffle bag, he caught Rowe’s attention. The man surveyed his s
urroundings quickly and approached Kali’s building.

  “Hey! Can I help you?”

  Rowe was halfway across the street when the man fled.

  “Stop!” Rowe shouted and exploded after him. The would-be intruder was wiry, skinny and should be a high school sprinter. Rowe’s running style was awkward, but fast enough to chase down most people. In fact, after a block, despite his throbbing knees, he was almost there.

  Rowe speed dialed Bobby. “Get someone over to 112th and Broadway!” and then, “Stop! Federal agent!”

  He’d have to stop. No way would the runner get across six lanes of nonstop headlights at full speed. The man peeked over his shoulder and then dove into the stream of cars.

  Rowe yelled, but it was too late. A car slammed into him with a squeal of breaks and threw his limp body up and over the center divider. He was airborne for five seconds then bounced off a Chevy and crashed to earth with a sickening thump. Rowe just missed a car as it piled into two others, blocking all movement on the street, as he bobbed through stalled cars until he reached the body. The runner couldn’t even be twenty, with peach fuzz for a beard, Middle Eastern bone structure, blue-black hair now streaked with red. His hands were smooth and manicured, his clothes expensive. His neck was twisted at an odd angle and blood dripped from his mouth. Rowe put a finger to his carotid and found nothing.

  Rowe went through his pockets, but he carried no ID, just a half a stick of gum, a receipt from a bodega, two quarters, and Kali’s address. He palmed that and slipped it into his pocket. When the police arrived, he told a whitewashed version of his involvement. Customers at Tom’s Restaurant on the corner verified the man ran into traffic without slowing. A scientist from Goddard Institute for Space Studies out for a smoke said Rowe yelled at the runner to stop, but he ignored the warning.

  Chapter 45

  Friday

  Without Sandy fighting for his piece of the bed, crawling up to cuddle on her pillow, his warm damp breath panting into her ear as morning approached, Kali gave up sleeping. She showered, threw on the first thing she put her hands on, and went to work. Sean was not due home for a week, Annie hadn’t called, and now Sandy was missing. She couldn’t remember ever feeling this lonely.

  As she turned onto her hall, she found Zeke leaning against her doorjamb, holding two cups and wearing a crooked smile. She wanted to fold herself into his arms, hear him say everything would be OK, but settled for a scowl.

  “I’m in a nasty mood.” She unlocked the door and took one step, but stalled at the aroma of cinnamon coffee, no cream, no sugar. Perfect. “Thank you,” she mumbled.

  “You aren’t wearing your earrings.”

  She fingered her ears distractedly. “I guess I forgot them.” A gentleness in his voice made her wonder if he knew about Sandy. Had he talked to Mr. Winters? When she left this morning, her neighbor suggested she check at lunchtime because Sandy always came over then.

  “Someone’s been playing in your sandbox again.”

  Ah. This wasn’t about her dog. “No one can get around my security, especially since you and Eitan made me paranoid.”

  She pressed her thumb against a pinprick-sized dot on the desktop and squinted at the retinal scanner, then inspected the text scrolling down the screen. “One incursion attempted, from inside Columbia’s network. Otto stopped it.”

  “We think Dean Manfried is involved,” and Rowe explained the connection.

  How could that be? Everything about him screamed bureaucrat from his button down shirts, pleated linen pants, and bland jackets to his dark socks and wingtips. Casual meant taking his jacket off. He socialized with academes, and subscribed to administrative magazines. In his time off, he schmoozed contributors.

  On the other hand, nothing surprised her anymore.

  “I hacked Wyn’s computer,” Kali offered while rubbing her temples.

  Rowe smiled. “You’ve seen through his infamous charms.”

  “He’s dumb and proud of it.”

  “You can lead a man to knowledge, but you can’t make him think.”

  She offered a wan smile despite herself. Rowe always made her feel good would prevail. “That call about Sean, Zeke. Something strange.” Before she could say more, Wyn entered.

  “Wyn. Your conscience must be burning,” but Rowe couldn’t take his eyes off the image. It was one of last night’s dog walkers.

  Fairgrove ignored Rowe. His appearance was…contrived, like a report copy-pasted in pieces from the internet, everything there but nothing fit. He wore an open-collar shirt, seersucker jacket, cuffed white twill slacks and Top-Siders without socks. No one dressed this way except to offer firm manly handshakes to similarly-attired country club blokes.

  “Kalian, my dear. The Dean said you had more computer break-ins.”

  Kali glared at Wyn. “A thwarted attack.”

  “You continue to be the pinnacle of Columbia’s information mountain, Wyn.” This time, Kali scowled at Rowe and he changed his tone to one of polite inquiry. “The cafeteria again?”

  “Porter and I often discuss strategic plans.” He puffed out his chest, expecting acknowledgement of his importance. “In this case, Dr. Rowe was the topic.”

  Rowe rolled his eyes as Fairgrove slid in behind Kali and gulped.

  “What—who’s that?” Recognition flared which he covered it quickly. This was better than Rowe had hoped.

  “My son took it in DC, but I saw him yesterday outside my apartment when Sandy disappeared.” When she paused, Rowe took over.

  “When I did Navy intel years ago, a truncated profile like this was a dead end, but today’s facial recognition tools will identify him in a snap. You can save time and tell me who it is.”

  “I-I’m simply jealous. Is he an anthropologist?” Fairgrove didn’t wait for an answer. “Are you tired, Kalian? Oh—your dog. What’s his name? Rover? Did you find him?”

  Kali shook her head and her face drooped.

  “Dog’s disappear all the time, darling. Does yours run away often?”

  “Never.” Kali’s voice trembled as she exhaled the word.

  Fairgrove rubbed his chin, and then crossed his arms. “To happier topics. Porter got another donation from your sponsor. No surprise now that we’re together.”

  When Kali didn’t respond, he waved and hurried out.

  Rowe excused himself. “Hey, Wyn. Hold up.”

  Fairgrove never slowed, but his head dipped.

  “That man in the picture—he’s stalking Kali. She’s in danger.”

  “What are you, an amateur detective?” Fairgrove’s anger blasted through his meticulously-molded image.

  “Is he Al-Zahrawi’s henchman? That’s right, I’m aware of your relationship with the terrorist, Salah Mahmud Al-Zahrawi. He gets rid of your women once you no longer need them.”

  Fairgrove pulled a ticket off his windshield and tossed it on the ground, banging his knee against the door as he jumped into his car.

  “One of Al-Zahrawi’s minions got himself killed last night by Kali’s apartment. What did he want from Kali?”

  Fairgrove swerved through traffic, and then turned onto W 120th and vanished.

  Rowe’s phone rang. “What did you find out, Bobby?”

  “Dead boy was here on a student visa. He was active in the same Muslim group Hemren belongs to. And, the dog walker who is also Sean’s stalker—also belongs to Hemren’s mosque.”

  First Sean, now Sandy. Eventually, Kali would give up Otto. Rowe couldn’t let that happen.

  “One more thing. Annie missed her check-in.”

  Rowe found Kali in her lab. He was about to ask if she had heard from Annie when Stockbury arrived. A painful bruise surrounded her left eye and a raw bloody scratch stretched from cheek to swollen lip. Kali gasped and Rowe asked, “Did you fall again, Cat?”

  She didn’t answer, fluffing dull, limp hair over the damage without raising her head from a thorough study of her right hand. Two nails were cracked below the quick, but Stockbury
didn’t seem to care. She picked at the polish on the remaining fingers and dropped the flakes onto the floor. Rowe tried a distraction.

  “What do you call ten millipedes?”

  She paused for a second and answered, “A centipede.” Not even a smirk. “Gunner wants to sail around the Mediterranean. He invited you, Kali. He was unhappy you didn’t come to Paris.”

  Rowe knew an endgame when he heard it. Stockbury had outlived her usefulness and a cruise in international waters was a good way to get rid of her. “Don’t go, Cat.”

  Stockbury wound a finger through a strand of lifeless hair and swallowed.

  Rowe eased onto a corner of Stockbury’s desk. “Tell me what’s going on, Cat.”

  Her face crumpled, dissolving into a look he’d seen on wives who couldn’t escape abusive husbands. On women who realized their lives would never get better with the men and the religion they’d picked. Kali put her arms around her best friend and pulled her head to her shoulder. A tear rolled down Stockbury’s damaged face.

  “He had friends over last night. He came to bed angry,” Stockbury pawed at her injuries. “I left before he woke up,”

  “Do you have his picture?” Rowe’s voice was calm, but hard as steel.

  She reached beneath a paperweight and handed Rowe a blurred image of a tanned face surrounded by wavy blonde hair.

  “I took this in Paris.” A Patrician nose arched through bushy eyebrows to a vaulted forehead. He sported a flowered shirt over pleated pants. His appearance exuded confidence bordering on arrogance as he viewed his surroundings with piercing eyes and an irreverent smirk. On his arm was a Rolex Cellini Prince.

  It was Sean’s stalker.

  “His last name is Goya.”

  Rowe uploaded it to James. “Gunner Goya, Stockbury’s boyfriend and the guy following Sean.”

  As he hung up, Stockbury pulled him aside. “Gunner knows you’re Special Forces. Last night, he asked where you lived. When I wouldn’t answer, he slapped me. After I went to bed, he was talking to someone about you and Kali and something that was going to make him rich. Soon. Zeke, I’m scared.” Her lower lip quivered.