Nefarious

by Steven F Freeman

  “Yes, I’ll log in from one of the unassigned desks—the ones we provide for agents from other offices—and use the guest user name. If the organization looking for you is monitoring FBI systems in general, at least they won’t know who is continuing to research these people.”

  “Thanks, Chief,” said Mallory. “I’ll text you their names and socials. I’m not using my normal cell phone. In fact, I turned it off and took out the batteries, so you won’t be able to call me. I’ll touch base with you tomorrow. Since you won’t be able to call me, though, do you want to at least know where we’ll be, in case you need to contact me urgently?”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” replied Sutton. “If the perpetrators can cut off your FBI system access, they could potentially monitor FBI calls. So, in case this call is being monitored, I don’t want you to say anything about where you are or where you’re going. It could put you at risk.”

  “Good point. I’ll check in with you tomorrow, Chief.” Mallory texted the information on her suspects to Sutton and threw the phone away.

  In the meantime, Alton used another disposable phone to call David Dunlow, his Kabul companion now working for the Secret Service. Alton summarized the events of the past few days and asked David if he could help.

  “You know it, brother,” replied David, foregoing the nickname of “Al” in the seriousness of the moment.

  “Can you go to the Richmond area and wait for me to contact you? I’m not sure yet where we’ll be.”

  “Sure, Al,” replied David, unconsciously reverting back to his friend’s nickname.

  “Don’t tell anyone what you’re doing, of course.” Alton pondered for a moment. “Do you still carry around your riot-control supplies—flashbangs, phosphorus grenades, that kind of stuff?

  “Yep. I have good old frags, too. These days, we have to be ready for anything.”

  “Good. And David, do you still have that Beretta you picked up in Afghanistan?”

  “Yes.”

  “Bring it with you.”

  CHAPTER 58

  Outside Richmond, Virginia

  Mallory and Alton headed south on I-95, looking for a small town with heavy interstate traffic in which an unfamiliar car wouldn’t draw attention. As they drove, their conversation drifted into a range of topics.

  “So how did you get interested in Army accounting?” asked Alton. “I can understand an interest in accounting or in the Army, but both?

  “Up until last year, my mom was a Brigadier General in the National Guard. At the beginning of her career, she was in the Quartermaster Corp in the regular Army and rose through the ranks. I grew up hearing stories about the criminals she caught as an Army auditor. And of course I grew up hearing stories about the Army itself, since that’s where she and my dad met. After they retired from the Army, mom got a job in banking, back when that was considered an honorable profession, and did pretty well there too.”

  “Didn’t you tell me you got a beamer for your sweet sixteen?” asked Alton, chuckling. “I’d say she must have been doing pretty well.”

  “I suppose. My family could have paid for my college, but I got an accounting scholarship, and they were off the hook. So instead they now have a houseboat named SS College Fund,” she replied with her own laugh.

  She became more serious. “I guess you could say I have the perfect occupation. The part of my job I like best is bringing criminals to justice. I have more opportunities to do that in the FBI than I did in the Army.”

  “It sounds like the perfect life,” said Alton, somehow disappointed that it could be so perfect without him in it.

  “I guess so…,”said Mallory, trailing off. It seemed to Alton that she was tempted to say more, but she remained silent. For a moment, the sound of the wind buffeting the windows became more prominent as neither friend spoke.

  After a minute, Mallory asked Alton about his childhood and learned of his efforts to provide for his family as a teenager. He told her of feeling proud during those years, knowing that he was helping his mother and younger sisters.

  “My family wasn’t dirt poor, but we didn’t have a lot of money,” said Alton.

  “How did you swing college?” asked Mallory.

  “I got a few small scholarships and joined the university’s ROTC program. I also worked part-time as a teaching assistant.”

  “You majored in…let me remember…Telecommunication Cryptography, right?”

  “Yep. By the time I finished college, I knew what I wanted to do: field cryptology for the Army. I was living the dream back with the seventy-sixth, up until the injury. As you know, I felt kind of lost once that was taken away.” He seemed to be talking more to himself than to his companion. “For the first time in a while, I don’t feel lost anymore.”

  He regained his focus and gave his head a shake. “Now I just need to create a new plan for my life.”

  “And how are you going to do that?” asked Mallory, peering at him intently.

  “I actually have a pretty good way of forming one. A long time ago, I adopted a philosophy I like to call ‘regret avoidance.’”

  “Meaning…?”

  “Meaning that it’s important to make the right decisions at the right time, to avoid having regrets in the future. That’s how I kept going when I was taking care of my sisters and finishing high school and college. I knew if I slacked off then, I’d regret it later.”

  “I remember your mentioning something like that back in Gandamak’s Lodge when you were talking about your physical therapy,” said Mallory. “You said you didn’t want to be remorseful if you didn’t try your best.” Her tone softened. “What about now? What regrets are you trying to avoid?”

  “I’m not sure anymore. Ask me again when all of this is over.” A kaleidoscope of thoughts rushed through Alton’s mind. He contemplated how the course he had planned for his life—at one point so clear—had been diverted in one tragic moment. He thought how that change had given rise to regrets of unrealized dreams and unpursued goals that no amount of motivation could overcome. His life had been irrevocably changed, and some goals he might have pursued now fell outside his grasp.

  In the midst of this ruminating, Alton noticed Mallory staring at him. She smiled and glanced out the window.

  “We’d better find a place to get some sleep,” she said.

  They stopped outside of Ashland—a suburb just north of Richmond—to eat, rest, and plan their next steps. After ordering take-out cheeseburgers from Waffle House, they checked into the Super Saver motel. Mallory suggested they share a room for their mutual safety, and Alton was careful to acquire one with two queen beds. After eating, they crafted an impromptu barricade for the door, ensured the windows in the rear bathroom were not rusted shut, and enjoyed the luxury of deep sleep for the first time in almost two days.

  CHAPTER 59

  Ashland, Virginia

  The next morning Alton and Mallory awoke, showered, and discussed their next steps as they ate cheese omelets Alton had brought back from Waffle House.

  “Before we call Sutton,” said Alton, “Let’s review what we know. Even with a disposable phone, it won’t take long for our unknown friends use its signal to triangulate in on our location. We’ll only have a few minutes to safely speak with him.”

  “Good idea,” said Mallory. “I’ll start. I don’t think Perkins is a perpetrator, since an attempt was made on his life. I don’t rule out the possibility that the assassination attempt could be a cover story he created to throw off suspicion, but that seems unlikely. Plus, a competing company would probably not be able to pull strings at the federal level, at least not to the extent of assassinations and shutting down the system access of an FBI agent.”

  “Agreed,” said Alton. “We’ll keep him on the list, but at the bottom. I’ve been thinking about Jeffrey Finch, Briggsfield’s R&D director. Could he be working in tandem with Colonel Drake? Do you remember how Romero said Finch was driven to finish the project at all costs? Ma
ybe Finch doesn’t have enough money at Briggsfield to finish the project without government help, or perhaps Colonel Drake suggested the cooperation, and Finch figured the extra Pentagon funding would ensure the project’s success. In exchange for providing the funds to finish the drug for animal use, could Colonel Drake be receiving the lab results for each formula being tested? Is it possible he’s using the Rabinil formulas to develop a ‘black ops’ weapon? In the isolated terrorist camps targeted by Special Forces, Rabinil could be used with minimal collateral damage, certainly within the acceptable limits of the Pentagon.”

  “All of those questions are legitimate,” said Mallory. “Perhaps Sutton can help research Briggsfield’s financial position. If they’re stretched thin, they would be more likely to jump at Pentagon funding.” Mallory scribbled a few hurried notes and then continued, “There’s another possibility we haven’t considered. We assumed that the assassination attempts were undertaken by the military. What if they were, but not by our military?”

  “What are you suggesting?” asked Alton.

  “When I was in the office yesterday, I researched Amy Newton, the lady you saw practicing Arabic in the Briggsfield cafeteria. Do you remember telling me her husband is from Sudan? At the moment, there is a giant power struggle taking place in Sudan between three terrorist groups and the government. Hezbollah, the main terrorist group, is battling for control with governmental forces and with a few smaller insurgent groups—mainly Palestine Islamic Jihad and HAMAS. Amy Newton’s husband, Muhammad Sali, is the cousin of Hezbollah’s leader. What if Newton is somehow involved with providing Rabinil formulas to Hezbollah for some nefarious purpose? Maybe our government is trying to spot the leak, and Hezbollah is trying to silence anyone who might able to help Colonel Drake learn the truth.”

  “It fits the facts, doesn’t it?” said Alton. “So we now have several reasonable lines of inquiry. What additional questions do we want to pose to Sutton?”

  Without warning, the phone in their motel room jarred to life. They sat perfectly still, silently staring at the ringing phone, realizing they had told no one their location.

  “Kill the lights,” said Alton.

  CHAPTER 60

  Ashland, Virginia

  Mallory hit the light switch, plunging the room into darkness.

  Alton used a new disposable phone to call David Dunlow. “Where are you?”

  “Waiting in Richmond, just like you asked,” replied David. “Why, you want a Big Mac?”

  “No, dammit. David, listen.” Alton quickly explained their dilemma and provided the hotel’s address. “I need eyes on the outside and possibly help getting out of here, depending on the forces we’re facing. How quickly can you get here?”

  “Thirty, maybe forty minutes.”

  “Hurry—we may not have that long. We’ll try to reinforce our position and stall.”

  In case their room was stormed and they were forced to scramble, Alton and Mallory agreed on a reconnoitering point. After unplugging the lamps to ensure their concealment wouldn’t be eliminated with the flip of a light switch, they waited in the dark. Muffled voices signaled the steady advance of the forces outside. Those forces didn’t realize Alton and Mallory were unarmed, or they probably would have stormed the room immediately.

  Alton tried to slow his racing heart, reminding himself of a quote he had read long ago: “Courage and fear are the same thing. The difference is how you react to that same emotion.” He looked at Mallory, whose eyes were large but focused, and gave her a reassuring smile, determined to react with courage for her sake.

  CHAPTER 61

  Ashland, Virginia

  David finally arrived within a few miles of the Super Saver motel in which Alton and Mallory had barricaded themselves. As he neared the lodging, David identified the vehicles being used by the forces preparing to assault his friends: two cars about half-a-mile down the state highway from the motel, and three more in the motel parking lot near the office. As he neared the motel, he threw several remotely-detonated grenades into the empty field across the highway before entering the parking lot.

  Some enemy agents were in their cars, while others were on foot, slowly deploying along the walkway on either side of his friends’ room. Originally, David had planned to call Alton and Mallory to discuss an extraction plan, but he could see that there was no time. Within seconds, the agents would be in position to storm the room.

  David tossed half a dozen remote-controlled phosphorus and smoke grenades around the motel parking lot in the shape of a semicircle around his friends’ room. He called Alton’s cell phone and told him to prepare to flee.

  David detonated all remote devices simultaneously, creating for a few precious seconds blinding light and huge clouds of impenetrable smoke, complimented by deafening blasts from the grenades across the street. At the height of the chaos, he drove across the lot straight into the smoke and phosphorus cloud. Alton and Mallory darted from the room and raced through the billowing smoke, flinching as they heard the occasional crack of random gunshots and ricochets. They could smell the sour odor of gunpowder as they jumped into David’s still-moving LeSabre.

  “Gun it!” shouted Alton as he and Mallory spilled into the back seat.

  As David pulled out of the parking lot, the LeSabre emerged from the concealment provided by the smoke and phosphorus melee and was met with a hail of gunfire. Loud thuds, reminiscent of heavy raindrops, signaled the impact of multiple rounds into the car’s trunk and side panels. The glass on the LeSabre’s rear and left windows shattered. Alton felt a stab of while-hot pain in his left arm, another stab in his left shoulder, and a dull impact on the back of his head. He heard Mallory cry out and saw blood trickling down the side of her face.

  “Are you okay? Where are you hit?” he slurred.

  “It just grazed my ear. It’s not bad. What about you?”

  Alton tried to answer but felt a furious spinning in the back of his head, which he suddenly couldn’t seem to hold up. His vision began to blur, starting at the periphery and working its way in, until all he could see was Mallory’s face, staring at him with wide eyes. He thought she was crying but couldn’t be sure. He struggled again to speak but couldn’t. Alton wondered momentarily who their assailants were, but found his thoughts returning to Mallory.

  Was he discovering within himself a regret he had failed to avoid, a chance for happiness he had failed to pursue, an aspiration that until now he had failed to act on due to fear, uncertainly, and self-doubt? He tried to speak of this to Mallory but was too disoriented to form his thoughts into words. The world became more confused, and his respiration slowed. He met her worried gaze with his own wordless stare for a few seconds, and then, eyes rolling back, was still.

  CHAPTER 62

  Durham, North Carolina

  Polo and Sunglasses met once again to discuss the latest wrinkle in their plans, this time at a funeral home, where their whispering didn’t appear out of place. An air of suspicion pervaded their conversation.

  “Luis Romero’s death is a great blow to the project,” said Polo. “He was the undisputed leader of the lab work and was instrumental in keeping the project on track. He’ll be hard to replace.”

  “It’s unfortunate,” acknowledged Sunglasses, “but we must press ahead. We’re paying you to drive this project to completion. You’ll need to rise above this adversity. Are there other members of the project who can replace Romero?”

  “Several of the team leads in the lab would be adequate replacements. They’d get the job done, but not as well as Romero would have.”

  “You know best how to proceed to fill this role. I leave you to that task. We’re in agreement that the project is still on track, correct?”

  “Yes, of course,” said Polo grimly. “We’re not throwing in the towel at this point.”

  CHAPTER 63

  Ruther Glen, Virginia

  “You’re lucky, you know that?” said Mallory to Alton.

  As Alton’s l
ast thoughts before slipping into unconsciousness had centered on Mallory, so were his first as he awoke. Yes, I am. I’m with you, if only for a few more days. But in reply, he only grinned weakly and said, “I’d hate to see what you call unlucky.”

  “Your arm wounds are gunshots. Your head wound is a concussion, most likely caused by all that flying debris from the trunk panel. Switch those around and you’d probably be dead.”

  Alton realized they were still in the back seat of the LeSabre. He had regained his senses enough to be thankful for the darkness that hid the car’s condition.

  “Where are we?” he asked.

  “Headed north on I-95, back towards Washington,” said Mallory. She turned to the front seat. “David, we need to treat Alton’s wounds and ditch the car; the damage is too noticeable.”

  “To Al or to the car?” quipped David.

  “I was referring to the car, but Alton’s not in the best shape, either,” said Mallory with a laugh, relaxing now that she felt assured of Alton’s recovery.

  David stopped at a Walgreens pharmacy and returned with first aid supplies, ibuprofen, Doritos, and a six-pack of Gatorade.

  “Breakfast of champions,” he said as he handed over the food and supplies. He then left to acquire a replacement car while Alton and Mallory locked themselves in the bathroom of a nearby BP gas station to dress their wounds.

  “Drink this,” Mallory told Alton, handing him a Glazier Freeze. “It’ll help replace the fluids and electrolytes you lost from bleeding.”

  Mallory swabbed the dirt and blood from Alton’s arm and shoulder wounds and applied a disinfectant and antibiotic to both.

  “Your shoulder wound is a clean ‘in-and-out.’ The bullet passed right through,” she said. “The round that hit your arm is still there. I can see it. Stay still for just a moment.” Alton grimaced but did not cry out as Mallory used tweezers from the first aid kit to deftly remove the round from his arm.