Off The Radar: Brotherhood Protectors World (Unknown Identities Book 7)

by Regan Black

  Yes, Danny had eliminated enemies of the state on official orders. It was a burden, a hardship, taking a life even during combat. Killing for Messenger was decidedly different. Unlike many of the operatives he’d seen during his time in the lab and in training, he couldn’t claim to be controlled by the drugs they were implementing or otherwise coerced into working against his personal code of ethics.

  Danny walked on, turmoil twisting through him. The comms of the men Messenger had tailing him were a dull murmur at the edge of his enhanced hearing. If he followed this order, a piece of himself would die with his target. He’d known it was possible that one day he’d be asked to eliminate someone on U.S. soil. He’d been a fool to assume his skills and excellent track record would save him from getting his hands dirty.

  Everyone dies. The thought brought him little comfort. He’d joined the navy to help, not hurt, though he’d understood military service meant live rounds and winners and losers in combat situations. This was New York City. The definition of combat here should not include the assassination of good people simply to satisfy the whims of one man.

  He checked his watch. Eleven hours to find Special Agent Spencer and kill her or convince her to escape with him.

  Without him, he amended immediately. If he disappeared with her, they would be found more easily. He knew the standard UI tracking device implant wasn’t as reliable on him, but until he could be sure it was defunct, he wouldn’t take that chance. She had to escape deep into her own network to put herself out of Messenger’s reach, assuming such a place existed. The man seemed to have connections everywhere.

  Escape wasn’t an option for him. He’d heard rumors of operatives who got out, but he found those tales almost as unbelievable as being turned into a walking, talking receiver and signal jammer. Having seen firsthand Messenger’s ruthless methods in pursuit of his goals, Danny didn’t have the confidence to entertain a plan that included saving himself.

  He made his way toward her apartment building, debating his approach. Getting into the building wasn’t a big deal. No, the real hurdle would be getting her to listen. How could he convince her she’d be dead before noon tomorrow if she didn’t take action?

  Danny hesitated on the corner across the street, sorting out the argument with the best likelihood of success.

  “You have other options.”

  The voice was so close, yet Danny was alone. He rubbed his ear. Had someone hacked the comms between him and the UI headquarters? Must be a trick or another test. Messenger never tired of testing the loyalties of his operatives.

  “Don’t tell me you want to kill her.”

  Danny kept his mouth shut, certain this was a trap. No one but Messenger and the person monitoring his comms had any idea who he’d been following and what he’d been ordered to do. Striding up the block, he mentally listed what he would need to make this rescue look like murder. Hearing footfalls behind him, he turned and saw no one.

  Exasperated and more than a little disconcerted, he moved away from the building toward a coffee shop wedged between a drug store and a flower shop. Now that he had some sort of tail to cope with, he needed more time to think it through.

  No, he didn’t want to kill her. He wasn’t going to kill her. He just had to figure out how to keep her safe from the operatives Messenger would send after her next.

  Chapter 3

  The soft, rapid-fire knock on her door brought Chloe out of yet another deep dive into the interviews with the primary suspects. Probably the neighbor from down the hall who was sure she’d eventually agree to a coffee date.

  She peered through the peephole and took stock of the stranger standing back so she could see him. Not her neighbor. This guy was likely in his late twenties, and he oozed law enforcement or military. He had a presence, a quiet self-assured focus she often encountered in those arenas. Opening the door, she waited for his introduction.

  “Special Agent Spencer, my name is Scott Blackwell.” He smiled warmly, but didn’t offer identification. “Could I please come in to speak with you privately?”

  “Here’s fine.” She wasn’t the sort of woman to drop her guard for charm alone. Plenty of criminals mastered charm and sway. Leaning a shoulder against the door jamb, she added, “My neighbors are discreet.”

  “I’m afraid that isn’t wise,” he continued. “I have reason to believe your life’s in danger.”

  “Aw, thanks for thinking of me, but I can take care of myself.” She stepped back, ready to close the door and call her local precinct with this idiot’s description.

  She froze when he held up a picture. The face was familiar, though she couldn’t pin it down immediately. The glint of humor in his eyes, even in the official photo from the navy, caught and held her attention.

  “Have you seen this man?”

  Yes! The affirmative answer reverberated through her mind, yet she denied it to the stranger at her door. She had a gift for faces and while this man stood out in her memory he wasn’t a top player in her current case. That meant she needed to get back to work. “No. If he’s the threat, consider me warned.”

  She tried again to close the door.

  “Special Agent Spencer, I really don’t want you to become collateral damage here. Five minutes of your time could make all the difference.”

  “Are you armed?”

  “Aren’t you?” he countered with a daring glint in his eye.

  She had to work to smother her laugh. “Come in. Clock’s ticking.”

  She allowed him just over the threshold, closing the door at his back. “I’m listening.”

  “As I said, I’m Scott Blackwell,” he began. “We have reason to believe this man—”

  “Who’s we?”

  “Umm...”

  She’d caught him without a good answer. “You know I have a security clearance that likely outranks yours.” This guy wasn’t part of any kind of official law enforcement agency. Private detective, most likely.

  “Agent Spencer, I swear this is above board. I’ll share all the intel I can, but I’m not at liberty to go into deep details about who I work with or for.”

  She folded her arms as she debated how to restrain him until the police could arrive to haul his ass away. “Do better.”

  He shifted his feet, a classic sign of nerves. “Suffice it to say we’re private investigators,” he said in a sudden rush. “We don’t often work in New York City. My partner and I were alerted to this man’s presence in the city and through the course of our observation—”

  “You’re stalking him,” she interrupted again. “Maybe I should see if he needs my help.”

  “No, ma’am. Please don’t do that. We were hired to find him and through our observations for our client, we learned he’s fixated on you.”

  If she’d seen him in passing often enough in the neighborhood it would explain why she couldn’t place the familiar face. “Fixated how?” She’d dealt with stalkers and criminology buffs often enough.

  “We’ve learned he has orders to kill you.”

  Huh. Not her first death threat, but it was never fun to hear it stated so bluntly.

  “Have you been observing him long enough to know why?” she inquired. That face was familiar and now she was more determined than ever to recall where she’d seen the man. The younger man was turning a little gray and she thought he might puke. “This is the first time you’ve had to do this isn’t it?”

  “Pretty much,” he admitted. “The man after you is a former SEAL, previously assumed killed in action, but his body wasn’t recovered due to the circumstances of the mission. We know now that, ah, someone kidnapped him, fixed him up, and has been using him as a mercenary.”

  That sounded more like a movie pitch than a case, but she frequently bumped up against strange stuff in her line of work. “Still not sure how that connects your mercenary to me.”

  “We’re still collecting information,” he admitted. “However, we believe he could be trying to impede a case that wo
uld reveal his identity or that of his handler or even the covert agency using him.”

  The only open case she had was the drone issue. “Name of this agency?” she demanded. If the CIA was nosing around stateside again, heads would roll.

  The kid actually grimaced. “They call themselves Unknown Identities. They take skilled people, often military personnel, and remake them to fit their purposes.” He held out the picture once more. “This man served honorably and through no fault of his own he’s been manipulated, likely brainwashed, and used to further a reprehensible agenda.”

  The impassioned speech had her full attention. “Sounds like you’re speaking from personal experience,” she said in an even tone, hoping to keep him from escalating further. Who exactly had she let into her home? And what kind of black-ops group was stealing and repurposing people with military skills?

  “I’ve had my run-in with the handler,” Scott said, teeth clenched. “Who we recently discovered is also in the city.” His voice dropped low, lethal.

  “I see.”

  “Not enough,” he muttered. “I’d like to escort you somewhere safe until we can drop a net over this guy.”

  “Why not just use me for bait?”

  His eyes narrowed. “The stakes are too high.”

  “So you work for a secret team of good guys, protecting people like me from the secret team of bad guys?”

  “In a nutshell, if that compels you to cooperate, yes.”

  She didn’t want to like this fresh-faced kid. He had just enough shadows in his gaze to let her know he’d seen action in whatever capacity he’d served. Still, she had no intention of following him anywhere with only his story and a picture. “What are you really after?”

  “Same thing I was after when I joined the army. I want to protect people and save lives. This man is dangerous and a direct threat to you.”

  “Through no fault of his own,” she said, echoing his earlier description. “I’ll keep an eye out and call for reinforcements if necessary.”

  “It won’t be enough,” he said. “If you’re not dead by eight a.m. tomorrow another operative will arrive to finish the job. If you’ll come with me, I can keep you safe and we can deal with a secondary operative on a playing field I know best.”

  She couldn’t have been more shocked if he’d slapped her. Or pulled his weapon. “And where exactly would that be?”

  “Montana. Please, let us protect you. I have contact information for you to verify my story. You don’t have to take my word alone.”

  “The janitor!” she exclaimed as the snippets of information lined up and the face found a context in her memory. “The man you’re looking for is a janitor in my office building.”

  “He’s switching gears tonight,” he said. “Do you know how long he’s worked in your building?”

  “I’m not sure.” She rocked back on her heels, trying to recall. “He has a nice smile, keeps to himself. If he wanted to kill me, he’s had ample opportunity.”

  “UI changes people and orders to suit their goals, often on a moment’s notice. You can’t rely on recent behavior patterns,” Scott insisted.

  “Life changes people,” she said. Education, career, relationships. Experiences put chinks in the armor or smoothed out rough edges or added scars seen and unseen. “Why don’t I just call the building and get his home address. We can talk to him together.”

  “He doesn’t have a local address.” Scott’s fingers curled and stretched. “I’d prefer to get you to a safe location. You can count on us to handle the heavy lifting. My partner is tailing the man now, trying to learn if we can save him or if he’s beyond help.”

  She didn’t like the sound of that. “And if he is beyond help?”

  “I’m on the find and assess team. The rest is above my paygrade.”

  She aimed a finger at him. “That’s a cop out.” After a momentary internal debate, she decided her course. She wasn’t getting shoved out of something this big. If there was a black-ops agency recruiting and operating here in the states, someone needed to expose them. “Being a trained investigator I can help you assess.”

  “You’re a cyber-crimes specialist…”

  She arched an eyebrow as his voice trailed off. It was comical the way he caught himself before he said anything truly stupid and digging a deeper hole. “Either I’m in on this, or the local police force is in on it.”

  The younger man closed his eyes. “All right, we’ll start this your way. It’s impossible to prepare you for how wrong or shocked you might be.”

  He pulled an outdated cell phone from his pocket and flipped it open to send a text message. “While we wait, you might want to pack a bag. You’re going to have to move to a safe location no matter how this goes down.”

  *

  Danny ordered a cup of coffee, taking comfort in the thick ceramic mug and the hot, jolting brew. So many places tried to screw up coffee when it was a relatively simple process.

  He’d taken an open corner booth that gave him a good view of the street and the front door. At the moment he was the only person in this section. Another man hunched over a slice of pie at the long counter and the solo waitress and line cook were bantering as they went about whatever work there was to do in the kitchen.

  The bell over the door jingled a greeting that sounded more suitable to a bygone era. Two men walked in, looked around, and chose seats at the counter between Danny and the door. Dressed in uniform shirts from the same janitorial service Danny had used at the FBI offices, he got the message loud and clear. This assignment would be supervised.

  Fine by him.

  He knew Messenger expected him to act swiftly, rather than dawdle over it. That was how Audible handled all of his prior operations. In this case, he felt he was entitled to a damned hour to think it through. Everyone could chill out. Any agent with common sense would take a few minutes to figure out how to escape the scene after assassinating a federal agent in a city full of law enforcement personnel.

  Unless he wasn’t supposed to escape.

  That discomfiting thought cut right to the bone. Messenger had pumped so much research and tech into making him Audible, he struggled to comprehend that a bonus effect of the order would be that he landed in a jail cell. Or a grave.

  That was a usual day for Messenger. If Danny followed through, the troublesome agent was out of the picture and he might just land in lock up under his falsified identification and prints. Then what? Messenger would order him to eavesdrop and report on inmates or guards?

  Concentrating, he focused in on the signal for the earpieces the pair at the counter was using and listened for any additional clues. On the other side of the table, the vinyl seat squeaked. Danny did a double take, and noticed an indentation in the upholstery as if someone was sitting there. Except he was alone.

  “You are not alone,” the voice said in an ominous whisper.

  Danny nearly screamed. If he answered, he’d have the full attention of the others in the coffee shop. He didn’t need anyone calling the cops on the crazy, over-caffeinated man. That would leave Spencer too vulnerable to the operatives batting cleanup.

  “And you’re not crazy. Messenger made me just like he made you.”

  “Okay,” Danny said under his breath. That didn’t do much to clear up the friend or enemy part of the equation.

  “You should order pie or something,” the voice said. “More convincing.”

  “Not hungry.”

  “I am,” the voice muttered.

  Danny wished he understood these new pieces in the puzzle. An invisible man was talking to him, helping him, but if he responded the way he wanted to, Messenger’s goons at the counter would hear him. He sipped his coffee in silence, but it was impossible to come up with scenarios that had the best chance of success when there were so many x-factors.

  “Just got a message that Special Agent Spencer will see you now,” the voice said. “I’ll escort you up, if you promise not to kill her.”

 
Danny gave the waitress a smile and covered the cup when she tried to top off his coffee. “I’m good,” he said, hoping the invisible guy on the other side of the table understood.

  “Any pie? A sandwich to go?” she offered as she wrote up his check.

  “No—” He took a hard kick to the shins. “Second thought, what kind of pie?”

  The waitress glanced up at him and smiled. “I’d recommend the cherry.”

  Danny hid his exasperation with Mr. Invisible. “All right. I’ll take whatever you have sliced of the cherry,” he asked. “To go.”

  “You got it.” She adjusted the receipt and left it on the table.

  Dropping cash to cover the coffee, pie, and a generous tip, Danny walked out of the coffee shop with the pastry box in one hand.

  A wild laugh erupted near his ear when they were across the street. “Bet the goons think you’re gonna feed her before you kill her,” the voice said.

  So far the backup team wasn’t on his tail, but there was no way to know how long the reprieve would last. “What am I supposed to do with all this pie?” Danny muttered under his breath, hurrying toward Spencer’s place.

  “We’ll eat it,” the voice said patiently. “Who doesn’t like cherry pie?”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “A friend who knows Messenger and his nasty secrets inside and out. They still call him that, right?”

  “Uh-huh.” Danny wondered how long this guy had been dancing on the edge of crazy. “Wouldn’t an insider like you know that?”

  “He doesn’t refer to himself in public and his operatives rarely use anything but sir. Doesn’t help that I’m not able to shadow him as closely as I used to.”

  “What’s your name?” Danny asked.

  “Call me Ben. Beats the codename he gave me.”

  Danny’s gaze swept the street and up to the rooftops, scanning likely sniper nests for any sign of a secondary observation team. He didn’t spot anyone, but that didn’t give him much comfort, considering Mr. Invisible Ben tagging along. “How many invisible operatives did they make?”