“Yes sir,” Brassard responded, and went to work, pulling the cables from the wall.
Stone was a thorn in his side once again. Gavreau tightened his jaw and let the pain serve to replace his frustration. He turned and swung a boot out hard, launching the chair at the computer desk across the living room.
“Is everything alright, sir?” Brassard stood with the computer tucked under his arm.
Gavreau waved his man off. “Once we find John Stone, I’m going to make sure we bury him with charges for interfering in our investigation. If the Four Serpents strike again, Stone will have blood on his hands.”
* * *
Azhaar bin Hashim stood in a courtyard, admiring the French skyline. He didn’t hate those that were not believers. His was a bigger mission, against a greater enemy. Those in the government that would control its citizens with their heathen ways, and no moral compass.
A giant of a man, bin Hashim’s bodyguard, entered the courtyard. Kaliq followed close behind. Though the smaller man stood a full two heads shorter than the brute, he showed no fear, physically mimicking his movements and mannerisms.
They both stood, waiting for bin Hashim’s command, Kaliq positioning himself and posturing like the guard. Bin Hashim smiled at the sight of the two then nodded to the larger man. The bodyguard turned to let Kaliq pass and frowned at the sight of the smaller man seeming to mock him.
That wasn’t the case, however, and the guard was told as such. The head of the Four Serpents summoned this small, strange man personally. Kaliq possessed a high-level skill set that allowed him to infiltrate and complete tasks many others would find too difficult.
The trade-off was that he always seemed to behave in a peculiar way, imitating physical characteristics he would see in others. He spoke very little, and when he did, he would rarely stay on topic. Bin Hashim accepted his quirks and utilized Kaliq’s ability to it’s fullest to further their cause.
“Come in, my friend,” bin Hashim said to the man.
Kaliq took two more steps forward then stopped. They stood in silence for a few awkwardly long moments, when bin Hashim decided to break the silence.
“The man, Matthias. Is he dead?” bin Hashim asked.
The assassin rocked side to side slightly and nodded.
“Matthias is Dietrich. Dietrich is dead.”
Bin Hashim found the response somewhat confusing but smiled at the news. Kaliq’s affirmative nod was all the answer the Serpent leader needed. His words would tend come out in short, often irrelevant sentences, all over the place at times, but physical movements were always the true intent of what Kaliq wanted to express.
“This is excellent news, friend,” bin Hashim said, a genuine smile on his face.
Matthias fully funded the operation for The Four Serpents, with the promise of riches and power beyond anything he could imagine. His greed was his undoing, as it was for many westerners in power. The plan bin Hashim set into motion was the most ambitious idea of any jihad ever attempted. Years in the planning, costing so much money to implement, that outside sources were necessary to provide the required capital.
The tradeoff was the elevated risk of exposure, however. Once the pieces of bin Hashim’s plan were in place, the Serpents systematically eliminated anyone involved that hadn’t pledged one hundred percent loyalty to the organization. Matthias was the last variable, and with that final loose end tied off, they could now implement their plan in the shadows.
“Kaliq, my friend, it is time for you to begin the next step.”
The assassin nodded. “The doctor. Get the doctor,” he said.
CHAPTER
9
Los Angeles, California
Parker combed his fingers back through his hair, staring at the progress bar for his search. On the bed next to his desk, AC/DC’s Highway to Hell started playing, the ringtone telling him right away who was calling. He tapped the button on his earpiece to answer the call.
“Hey John, how’s everything going?” Parker asked.
“I could use a little help. I found a key drive, and I need to pull all the data. I’m just not able to get into it,” John said.
“Sure thing buddy. Give me a sec,” Parker said.
A few clicks on his keyboard, and the desktop screen of John’s laptop computer appeared on Parker’s monitor. Parker’s eyes opened wide for a moment at the chaotic clutter of files and folders scattered all over the desktop.
“Ugh, your file structure is an abomination. Don’t you use folders?” Parker asked.
“Sue me,” John said.
“Are you still using the eight dot three naming convention? This is like staring at the nineties.”
“Parker, please,” John said. “We don’t have time to screw around.”
Parker chuckled and moved the cursor over the drive icon on the desktop, double-clicking it. A moment later, the security prompt opened on the window.
“Hmmm, let’s see what we have here,” Parker said.
Parker’s fingers danced over the keyboard, sometimes pausing before resuming the staccato rhythm. The dual monitor setup allowed him to access his own computer files as well as those on John’s computer.
“Your corporate shelfware is no match for my digital wizardry,” he mumbled.
“What?”
“Oh. Nothing,” Parker said. “I mean, ta-da.” He flourished his hands, knowing John wouldn’t be able to see the gesture.
The key drive icon opened to reveal a list of folders with cryptic names. Nothing stood out to Parker as he scanned through them. The arrow on John’s desktop began to move toward one of the folders. Parker chuckled imagining John being too impatient and opening the files on his own now.
The first folder opened, displaying a list of text files. Again, nothing stood out. One by one, John searched each of the folders on the drive, occasionally battling for control of the computer with Parker. The programmer finally relented, letting John take point.
“Looks like a bunch of text files,” John said.
“Hang on, John,” Parker said retaking control of John’s computer. “Let me try something.”
Parker copied the contents of the flash drive to his own computer.
“I cast detect magic,” He said, running a subroutine that scanned through all the text files, looking for patterns, like recurring names and dates.
After a couple of minutes, the program started populating a growing list to display its findings.
“I see names listed here, with dates and Euro amounts. These look like payments between two parties. I mean it looks pretty innocuous, but given that it was in a secret drive―”
John made a sound like an impatient grunt, interrupting Parker’s monologue.
“Right, sorry,” Parker said.
Parker clicked a few keys and dragged a window around until John could see Parker’s desktop displayed on his own laptop.
* * *
“Like I said, nothing out of the ordinary here, unless these are payments for some type of nefarious purpose,” Parker said.
John sat at the desk of a new hotel room and scanned the names on the list. He looked for anyone linked to Matthias Keppler, or any of his known aliases.
“Parker, can you tell if any of the bank accounts listed here are somehow connected with more than one person on this list?” John asked.
“There isn’t enough information,” Parker said. “All I’ve got are the last four digits of each account and in some cases the name of the bank.”
John sat back in his seat. “Why would Keppler have this information?”
“He’s a middleman. A financier,” Parker said.
John focused his attention on the recipients, scanning down the list until one near the middle grabbed his attention.
“Wait, C. Brassard. I recognize that name. He’s one of the RAID guys. Gavreau’s second in command,” John said, sitting up straighter.
“Hold on. I’ll check him out,” Parker said.
John saw
windows opening and text flying across the view of Parker’s desktop on his laptop. He was in awe of how fast Parker was moving and processing the information he found. A picture showed Christopher’s Brassard’s identification photo and career credentials.
“That’s him,” John said. “Get me everything you can about him.”
“You think he’s dirty?” Parker asked. “I mean, what if RAID is using him as an undercover agent to infiltrate the Four Serpents?”
“Under his real name? Do it, Parker. We can’t take any chances.”
CHAPTER
10
RAID HQ
The RAID team computer tech finished hooking up Matthias Keppler’s computer and powering it up.
“How old is this thing?” Brassard asked as several minutes passed.
After several more diagnostic screens flashed, the operating system started, greeting the team with the login prompt.
“Okay, it might be a while before I can get in here,” the tech said.
“How long?” Gavreau asked.
“Well, if we could guess his password, not long at all. Did you happen to find any clues that would point us in the right direction?”
Gavreau grew impatient. “No, nothing. Just do what you can to get in there.”
“Alright. It might be a while,” the tech said, repeating himself.
The man rolled his chair to another computer and pulled up a command prompt screen.
“I’ll be back,” Brassard said.
Gavreau grunted his acknowledgment, staying focused on the tech and Keppler’s computer.
Brassard exited the room and made his way to the stairwell. He took the stairs instead of the elevator, heading for the blind spot he knew about in the building’s security camera coverage. Once out from under the digital eye of the surveillance system, he pulled a SIM card from a hidden pocket and swapped the one in his cell phone.
Brassard continued down to the front exit of the building. He walked outside and down the street, to a nearby bench. Once there, he sat down and lit up a cigarette before sending a message on his phone, attaching the digital files he had on John Stone.
Brassard casually finished his cigarette, grinding the butt out with his boot, and walked back into the RAID headquarters.
He went up the stairs, switching his SIM card out in the same blind spot, and headed back to the IT room. Gavreau exited the door as he opened it, so Brassard followed the commander.
“It’s going to be a while,” Gavreau said, the frustration in his voice evident.
“Is there anything you need now?” Brassard asked.
“No, thank you. I’ll be in my office. Call me if the techs find anything.”
“Yes, sir.”
Brassard watched the RAID commander head into his office, closing the door behind him. He then headed into the room with the computer tech.
* * *
Omari Malouf groaned as he sat on the floor next to his children. The smile on his face beamed, made brighter by the wonderful scent wafting out from the kitchen where his wife prepared their supper. Omari’s son and daughter laughed and rolled around as he joined them.
“What are we playing now?” he asked.
His five-year-old son jumped on Omari’s back as he leaned over to tickle his daughter.
“You’re a horsey, now!” his son squealed.
He laughed as he caught his breath for a moment, then began to crawl around the living room, whinnying and neighing. Omari’s daughter, only three and a half, started to walk in front of him holding an imaginary treat to lead him.
“Carrot. Want carrot?” she asked.
He followed her around for a bit, then without warning, rose up waving his hands in the air, like a horse standing on its hind legs. His son screamed, and wrapped his arms around his father’s neck, squealing with laughter.
A cell phone on the end table buzzed. Omari trotted like a horse on his hands and knees, taking his son to the couch.
“Okay, son, horsey needs a break,” he said, bucking his son onto the couch.
“Me too!” his daughter said.
Chuckling, he swung his daughter onto his back, then bucked her off gently onto the couch next to her brother. Omari stood and picked up his phone. His smile faltered slightly as he read the incoming message. He spoke to his son, careful not to let his smile change now.
“Take your sister to your room, and play until dinner is ready.”
“Yes, daddy,” his son said. He grabbed his sister’s hand and led her down the hall.
Omari read the message from his contact in RAID, frowning when he saw that they found out about Matthias, securing a computer from his residence. He skimmed over the information about the American, John Stone. Would this man be a threat to the upcoming plans?
He closed the message then dialed a number on his phone. After two rings, someone on the other end answered.
“It’s Omari. I need to speak with him,” he said.
“We will call you back.” Before Omari could say anything, the line disconnected.
He sat on the couch and waited for a few agonizing minutes. The ringing phone startled Omari, snapping him out of his haze. He knew that the line would be secured on the other end.
“What do you want?” Azhaar bin Hashim asked.
“There is a complication with Matthias. RAID has taken the computer from his apartment,” Omari said.
“Are you positive?”
“Yes. Our contact has confirmed.”
Bin Hashim sighed on the other end, then silence. Omari wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, wanting to say something, anything, to break the silence. He feared it was a judgment of his fate for this news.
“Very well. We will have to move up the timetable, now,” bin Hashim said. “Get your part ready, Malouf. Do not fail me in this mission.”
“It will be done,” Omari answered.
* * *
Minutes stretched out, feeling like hours before Parker sighed over the speakerphone.
“There is no evidence of wrongdoing that can be pinned on this Brassard guy,” He said.
“You can’t find anything connecting Brassard and Keppler?” John asked.
“I found records of money transferred to his account, which is innocuous enough since I don’t know who sent the payments. But, given the size of the transfers and Matthias’ dubious nature―”*
“I have to tell Gavreau,” John said, interrupting.
“ Tell him what? We don’t have much here.”
“This is too much of a coincidence. We can’t risk having a rat in that task force,” John answered.
“We?”
“Now isn’t the time to worry about jurisdictions,” John said. “The Four Serpents are still out there. They could strike again at any time, and right now RAID could be compromised.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Parker said.
John pulled the small USB key drive from his laptop, stuffed it into a pocket, and grabbed Keppler’s leather-bound notebook.
“See if you can find anything that could tell me where to go next,” John said.
“I’ll see what I can do, but Keppler was just a money man. I’m not sure I’ll find any specific evidence,” Parker said.
“Run the rest of the team, Parker. Make sure there are no other surprises.”
“The entire team?” Parker asked.
“Yes. Especially Gavreau,” John said before ending the call and heading out the door.
CHAPTER
11
RAID HQ, France
It was past 8pm, and the most of the personnel in the office had already gone home. Gavreau spent most of the afternoon and early evening at his desk, or in the computer rooms, bothering the techs handling Keppler’s computer. He finally stood up from his chair and stretched before turning out the lights and closing his door as he left the office.
“Goodnight, Diana,” he said as he passed the reception desk.
“Good night, sir,” she re
plied.
Gavreau headed for the parking lot, pulling the keys from his pocket to unlock his car. He reached for the handle to the driver side door, when someone spoke behind him.
“We need to talk.” The deep voice came from the shadows.
Gavreau turned to look, pivoting with his feet, to square up with the voice behind him. A head turn alone would leave him vulnerable. The American, John Stone, stepped into the golden glow from an overhead light.
In one smooth motion, Gavreau had his Smith & Wesson 629 drawn from the holster, its sights centered on the American’s chest.
John’s hands rose up to shoulder height, palms forward to show he was unarmed. “Easy, I come in peace,” he said.
“You are under arrest, Stone. Keep your hands up,” Gavreau said.
The two men stared at each other in a tense stand-off. John waiting to see what Gavreau would do next, and The RAID commander playing out the possibilities of John resisting arrest in his head.
It was John that broke the silent tension.
“I have information you need, that’s bigger than this,” John said, gesturing to the pistol in Gavreau’s hand.
“You can tell me everything you need to when we're back inside the headquarters,” Gavreau said, reaching for his radio with his free hand.
“It’s about Brassard,” John said looking him in the eye.
Gavreau froze. His grip on the pistol tightened, and he stared daggers at the American.
“What did you do to Christopher?” he asked, venom dripping from his words.
“He’s fine,” John said to assure Gavreau. “But I think he’s been compromised.”
“Do not dare to question my men,” he said through gritted teeth.
“I have something to show you,” John said.
Though he was not as muscular as John, Gavreau was just as tall. The tension permeated the space between the two, a near tangible presence.
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