“I’ll be here.”
“As far as your government is concerned, Mr. Austin, your oath of silence begins immediately, as soon as I leave this room.”
He started to walk away, but then turned back and looked at Trace.
“Mr. Austin—”
“Sir?”
“Good luck.”
CHAPTER 125
Washington, DC The present
Isabella and Trace kept their old identities after they were clandestinely extricated from the Quarantine Zone and had returned home to Washington.
Ibrahim, once he was given a plausible, but false reason by ODMC explaining why he’d been removed from the Quarantine Zone and why he would need a cover story, bought into the scheme and performed his role like the well-trained ex-Israeli soldier he was.
Viktor, however, elected to remain in the Quarantine Zone. He gave as his reason that he wanted to remain near his sister, not abandon her to the conditions of martial law. In fact, he stayed because he wanted to continue his life as the Quarantine Zone sniper. After all, he thought, he hadn’t felt so alive in years, not since he’d been discharged from the Russian military.
The cover story created for Trace and Isabella was simple enough to be believable: the story stated that Trace and Bella had left Fort Lauderdale for a few days, without Pete and Nanna, to rejuvenate their marriage with a simulated second honeymoon. While they were gone, the president announced the imposition of the quarantine and martial law so that Trace and Isabella were barred from reentering Fort Lauderdale.
According to the cover story, they then waited in a nearby town for the quarantine and martial law to end, expecting to rejoin Pete and Nanna when they were permitted to do so, but that plan did not work out. Instead, according to their cover story, when they hadn’t heard from Pete and Nanna, Trace and Isabella asked Trace’s friend at the Pentagon, Admiral Max Tyler, to use his military connections to contact them in Fort Lauderdale. When Max reported — so the cover story went — that Pete and Nanna had died from the terrorists’ disease, Trace and Isabella returned to Washington.
Their friends, Trace’s law partners, and their neighbors seemed to accept the story at face value.
Life in the Quarantine Zone continued as it had before the government extracted Trace, Isabella and Ibrahim.
General Vista remained as the District Military Commander, ruling the Quarantine Zone with an iron fist until martial law ended.
Viktor, meanwhile, continued his reign of terror, shooting civilians by day and the authorities after dark. He intended to cease this activity when the quarantine ended. He would then seek compensation from the government for his guns that had been confiscated and would reopen his gun shop.
Alex and Jenna performed their duties as soldier and ROTC cadet, respectively, assisting ODMC when called upon. Both survived the quarantine.
Gradually, as the period of martial law entered its three months’ anniversary, the Pentagon eased the pressure on the Quarantine Zone. It now regularly delivered food, medicine and various amenities to the Quarantine Zone’s occupants. It also relaxed the enforcement of the Field Orders and removed the quarantine in measured phases. The architects of the experiment had learned all they believed they could learn from OPERATION TESTING GROUND.
CHAPTER 126
Washington, DC The present
One Saturday morning in October as Trace dusted Pete’s bedroom, Isabella entered the room for the first time since she and Trace had returned to Washington.
She said nothing to Trace, but walked directly to Pete’s desk and picked up a baseball sitting in a display stand on one corner. The ball had been autographed for Trace, when he was a teenager, by now long-deceased ballplayer, Ted Williams. Trace had given the ball to Pete when Pete became a Red Sox fan in his teens. Now, Bella held the ball in her palms and looked at it as if she were gazing into a crystal ball. After a few minutes, she put the ball back on the desk and left the room. She never said a word.
This is progress, Trace thought. Bella has come back into Pete’s bedroom.
A few weeks later, as he walked down the hallway, Trace noticed that Pete’s door was open. He stopped at the doorway and looked in.
Isabella was sitting on the edge of the bed staring at Pete’s corkboard hanging on the wall, with its many reminders of Pete’s presence.
She looked over when Trace filled the doorway. She held out her hand to beckon him in.
Trace sat close to Isabella and put his arm around her waist, pulling her in to him. He kissed her.
“I miss him so much. I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Isabella said.
“I miss him, too, all the time.”
She put her head on Trace’s shoulder and cried, so softly that Trace could only feel her anguish against his body; he could not hear it.
Trace eventually convinced Isabella to help him go through Pete’s closet to sort out clothing to give to Goodwill. It had taken him the past two weeks of gently nudging her along this path, but, to Isabella’s credit, she eventually overcame her resistance and worked with him to take this step. As a result, Trace began to relax his concern for Isabella’s emotional well-being.
On the last Saturday of the month, Trace stretched out on the sofa and soon slipped into that state of consciousness somewhere between dozing and wakefulness, thinking about Pete, thinking especially about their time together fishing in Key West.
He listened to the news on the radio as he lay on the sofa. The newsreader’s headline stated that the president, just that morning, had ended the quarantine and martial law in Fort Lauderdale. He added that federal aid was poised to pour into the city to help the people who’d been trapped there and to help rebuild the city and its local economy.
I’d like to think that I had some role in hastening the end of OPERATION TESTING GROUND, Trace thought.
Then his reverie screeched to a halt.
Isabella called him from the kitchen, yanking Trace from his daydream. Something in her tone put Trace on high alert.
He sat up as Isabella rushed in from the kitchen holding that morning’s early edition of the Washington Post.
“You need to see this,” she said. She pointed to an article as she handed Trace the paper.
Trace glanced at the article’s headline. Then he looked up at Isabella.
She made a face, and said, “I’m sorry, Trace.”
Trace pushed back into the cushions and read the article.
NAVY OFFICER DIES IN CAR CRASH
Rear Admiral Max Tyler died yesterday when the car he was driving crashed into a tree in Rock Creek Park. Admiral Tyler was alone at the time of the accident which occurred at approximately 4:00 a.m., Friday morning.
The preliminary results of the toxicology report indicate that at the time of the fatal accident Admiral Tyler had a blood alcohol concentration of 1.10%, which is significantly above the 0.08% legal limit for driving in the District of Columbia.
Admiral Tyler is survived by his wife, Carole, and their two children.
In an unrelated event, Admiral Tyler’s home in Chevy Chase, Maryland, caught fire this morning and burned to the ground. No one was home at the time and there are no casualties reported. The cause of the fire has not yet been determined, but fire department inspectors said the cause was suspicious, and would require further investigation.
[Please turn to page B3]
Trace folded the newspaper and placed it onto his lap. He looked at Isabella.
“Maybe he outgrew his alcohol allergy,” Isabella said, “and we just didn’t know. It’s been years since we’ve been out with him and Carole.”
“No,” Trace said, “he didn’t outgrow it. He joked about it when he called me for my birthday, kidded about still not being able to have a birthday drink with his best middle-aged SEAL buddy.”
“Then why would he drink and drive?”
“He wouldn’t,” Trace said. “He didn’t. Not voluntarily.”
CHAPTER 127
Washington, DC The present
Four days later Trace answered his cell phone as he and Isabella were coming in through the front door, returning from Max’s funeral.
He was in no mood to talk to anyone. He debated letting the call go to voice mail, but decided to take it when he saw the identity of the caller on the phone’s screen.
As he pressed the TALK button with one hand, he used his other hand to loosen the knot on his only black necktie.
“This is Trace,” he said.
“Hello, Trace. It’s Aaron Weiss. Very sorry about Pete. He was a good kid. Hope you’re doing all right under the circumstances.”
“Thanks, Aaron. I’m a little better each day. In fact, I’ve been meaning to call you,” Trace said. “I’ve been thinking about returning to my law practice soon.”
“Well, you might have to delay your return for a while,” Aaron said. “That’s why I’m calling, to give you a heads-up.” He paused.
Trace waited, then he thought, That was a strange response, and this pause is too long.
Trace waited two more beats, then said, “Aaron, you called me.”
“Yes. Well . . . Trace, the reason I’m calling might undo your peace of mind. I almost didn’t call.”
“What is it?”
“It’s not public yet, but Harlan Crockett, his wife and kids, and two of Harlan’s friends, disappeared a few days ago while on vacation. Their chartered sailboat went missing in the Caribbean.
“This morning,” Aaron said, “the Coast Guard found some of the boat’s wreckage. They said the boat had been destroyed by an explosion of unknown origin. The Coast Guard hasn’t found any survivors or bodies, but from the extensive damage to the boat, they presume everyone on board was killed.”
Trace said nothing.
“Trace. Are you there?”
“Are you sure it was Harlan? Is there any chance it wasn’t him? Any possibility he wasn’t aboard?”
“It was Harlan’s charter all right.” Aaron paused. “They recovered the registration number from a piece of the boat. No doubt about it. The dock master also reported helping Harlan, his family, and guests get settled aboard that same morning and watching them cast off.”
“What does that have to do with delaying my return to the firm?” Trace said.
“There’s something else,” Aaron said.
Trace didn’t say anything at first. Then he said, “Tell me.”
“The day after Harlan went missing,” Aaron said, “his house and our firm’s office burned down. Both deliberately torched, the fire marshal said.” He paused to let Trace say something, but Trace remained silent.
“Fortunately,” Aaron said, “it was in the middle of the night for both. No one was home at Harlan’s house, of course, and no one was at the law office that late, so no one was hurt, but our law practice is in chaos. We’re trying to find temporary office space and to reconstruct our active, missing files.”
Trace thought about the file — the encryption KEY — he’d given Harlan for safekeeping, and wondered if it was among the casualties of the arson. Doesn’t matter. Harlan will never use it now, he thought.
He assumed the file was the target of the two fires and was destroyed in one or the other. He couldn’t reasonably assume otherwise.
Trace said, “I’ve got to go, Aaron. I’ll call you later.”
He ended the call, placed the cell phone in his pocket, and walked to the kitchen to tell Bella what he’d just learned.
CHAPTER 128
Washington, DC
Trace led Bella into the living room, over to the sofa, and held both her hands on his lap as he recounted Aaron’s conversation to her. When he finished, he nodded once to indicate he’d finished, and waited for Bella to say something. The color had drained from her face.
“First Max, now Harlan,” she said. “What’s it mean?”
“It means somehow the government identified them as our insurance policy, and found out about the file and encryption KEY they were holding for us, then eliminated them and the files as threats.”
“Why didn’t they kill us, too?”
“Probably because they aren’t sure Max and Harlan were our only backup.”
“Are there others? You never said.”
Trace put his finger to his lips to indicate that Bella should be quiet. Then he led her by the hand to the bathroom, and turned the water on in the sink and shower.
He whispered, “No other people, but, yes, another backup thumb drive, although the government doesn’t know that.” Trace took his finger and stroked Isabella’s cheek.
“What’s going to happen to us, Trace?”
He leaned in to Bella so his lips lightly touched her ear. “I’m going to contact the secretary of defense and let him know how pissed off I am about Max and Harlan. I’ll say I had given another copy of the file to someone else because we anticipated this possibility. I’ll rant and rave how I don’t care what they do to us now, that I’m going public with the file.”
He continued softly, “Even if he doesn’t believe I have another insurance policy, he’ll have no choice but to proceed as if he does believe me. He’ll start by trying to calm me down.”
“But won’t he eventually figure out you’re bluffing?” Bell whispered to him.
Trace nodded. “Possibly, but they will leave us alone anyway because we’ve kept our end of the bargain and because they can’t be certain we’re bluffing.”
Isabella put her head on Trace’s shoulder and hugged him tightly. “Those bastards,” she said. “Poor Max and Harlan, and their families.”
“Bella,” Trace said, as he pulled away from her to look into her eyes, “I will keep us safe. I promise.”
Isabella kissed him on the cheek, and said, “I know you will.”
Trace kissed the top of her head, and said, “I’ll go make the call to the secretary of defense to set up the meeting.”
THE END
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Writing a novel is mostly a solitary endeavor, yet so many people played important roles in bringing this book to fruition. My special thanks go to Dominica for her continued support and encouragement; to Quintin Peterson, District of Columbia Metropolitan Police Department (ret.); to Dr. Stanley Roth (deceased) for his comments concerning the symptoms related to Melioidosis; to my friend Richard M. Wrona for his valuable suggestions concerning aspects of the military occupation of the target city and concerning sniper weapons used by Russian Spetsnaz units; to Dr. Peter Aron, MD, pediatric psychiatrist, for his valuable comments concerning General Anthony Vista’s childhood; and to my early readers, Gary Griffith and Hubert Grissom, Esq., for their valuable suggestions with respect to the manuscript.
I also would like to thank noted crime novelist Charlie Stella for his helpful comments on the manuscript.
Finally, I want to thank my Launch Team, comprised of dedicated fans and friends, who offered many significant comments on the manuscript and much encouragement.
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Free Copies of the Report to the President and General Vista’s Field Orders
If you would like to read the summary of the report given to the president by the secretary of defense in which the secretary recommended that the president implement OPERATION TESTING GROUND, and if you would like to see the three comprehensive Field Orders put in place by General Vista during martial law, you can download them for free by clicking this link: Download Report and Field Orders.
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MYSTERY NOVELS BY STEVEN M. ROTH
The Socrates Cheng mysteries:
MANDARIN YELLOW
THE MOURNING WOMAN
Coming soon:
&nb
sp; The third Socrates Cheng mystery novel.
THE COUNTERFEIT TWIN
Turn the page to read a preview chapter.
SAMPLE CHAPTER:
THE COUNTERFEIT TWIN
A Socrates Cheng mystery
CHAPTER 1
The first time I ever heard that the much revered Confederate general Robert E. Lee was born a black slave who passed for white was when I sat across the desk from the director of the Museum of the Golden Knights of the Confederacy in his office in Richmond, Virginia.
“You’re kidding.” I said.
“Do I sound like I’m kidding, Mr. Cheng?”
He didn’t. I shook my head.
“Why haven’t I heard this before?” I asked. “I read a lot of Civil War history when I was younger, including some well-respected biographies of Lee. None said anything like that. Didn’t even hint at it.”
“Of course not. There are only eight people alive who know this secret,” the director said. “Seven trustees of the Museum and me.”
“Nine then, including me,” I said.
“Point taken, Suh. Nine.”
The circumstance leading to my meeting with the director began when he called to ask me to come to Richmond to meet with him. He wouldn’t tell me why on the phone. He only said he believed I would be intrigued by the case he wanted me to investigate on behalf of the Museum.
NO SAFE PLACE Page 29