He sensed someone staring at him. A quick glance at the driver’s seat confirmed it.
“What?”
“I can’t get over your new look,” said his son-in-law, smirking. “The eyebrows are a little over-the-top metro, but uh . . . man, I wish Carlie could see this. She’d laugh her ass off. They should have made your hair blond. That would have been the icing on the cake.”
“You done having fun?”
“It’s gonna take a while to get used to the new you,” he said.
“I knew it was a mistake to get in touch with you.”
“You kind of look like a Cro-Magnon man slash alternative rock band promoter. Or maybe like—”
“I’ll give you to St. Joseph, Missouri, to get this out of your system before I consider pushing you out of the car—while it’s moving.”
“Just busting your chops. They could have put you in blond curls and pink lipstick as long as it keeps you off the radar.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” said Stuart.
“Might be a little easier on the eyes,” he said, laughing up a storm for several seconds.
Stuart stared at the road ahead, hoping his overt lack of interest would put an end to the jokes. Normally he appreciated Blake’s sense of humor, but he was exhausted to the point of grumpiness. He’d arrived at a crappy, no-questions-asked motel west of Kansas City around one in the morning to catch up on some sleep before Blake arrived, but his siesta was cut short by dozens of anxious thoughts rattling inside his head, the most important being his son’s convoy. It was no coincidence that he woke up minutes before the convoy was scheduled to leave Camp Pendleton. He knew sleep wouldn’t come until David had confirmed they had safely arrived at Yuma. That call had never come either.
He’d spent the next four hours fading in and out of consciousness, loosely plotting a more permanent solution to the Cerberus problem. His biggest challenge was finding people with the right connections that he could trust. His list of people with the right connections was long. No problem there. Identifying people he could trust was a different story. At the moment, he was seated next to half of that list. Sentinel’s reach was extensive, and he needed to do some more digging before he could risk approaching some of his more powerful connections.
His satellite phone beeped.
“About time,” he said, snatching the phone out of the center console.
“David?” said Blake.
“No. Jon Fisher,” he said, accepting the call. “Will this be pickup or delivery?”
“Delivery. With a smile.”
It was an easy-to-remember, effective code. Anyone guessing had a one in two chance of getting the question right, but that wasn’t what mattered. The follow-on sentence obeyed a simple protocol. Always three words.
“Have you heard from the boys?” Stuart asked.
“No. I just tried a few minutes ago,” said Jon. “Wait. You didn’t talk to them yet?”
“I talked to David a few hours before the convoy left. I haven’t heard from him since.”
“They’re probably being extra cautious about leaving any electronic trace. I’m sure they’ll get in touch once they make some progress north.”
“I don’t know,” said Stuart. “David was pretty clear about contacting me. I’ll call Major General Nichols and shake the trees at First Marine Division. How are you and Leah holding up?”
“Pretty well. Scott let us out of the yard for a few hours while he runs errands. I just checked my account at Protekt. It appears you were right about getting out of the house right away. Someone broke into my house no more than two hours after we left.”
Protekt? That’s right. Home security monitoring. He’d recommended the service to Jon a few years ago. Shit. “I forgot about Protekt. Can you step away from your laptop? Preferably a few tables over. And please whisper.”
A few seconds passed before Jon spoke in a hush. “Did I screw up?”
Stuart might not have the time to explain. “How did you log in?”
“From my laptop, through a Wi-Fi signal.”
“How long ago?”
“A few minutes.”
“Good. Where are you, precisely?”
“At a Starbucks in Missoula. I screwed up, didn’t I?”
“It’s not a matter of you screwing up. It’s a matter of Cerberus having unlimited resources and zero scruples. If they discovered the security system, they probably hacked into Protekt and installed a log-in trace, which would give them the Starbucks IP address.”
“I’m pretty sure they discovered the system,” Jon said. “Protekt stopped receiving data several minutes into the break-in.”
“That was sloppy of them.”
“Not as sloppy as me.”
“Maybe we can take advantage of this. They know you’re in Missoula. We know where to find them.”
“That doesn’t sound like good odds.”
“I brought an associate.”
“Someone you can trust?”
“I let him marry my daughter, so that puts him at the top of that list,” said Stuart, glaring at Blake. “Though he’s been getting on my nerves, and we’re barely an hour into the drive.”
“Does he have the skill set necessary for this kind of thing? I’d hate to get your son-in-law killed. I feel bad enough dragging David and you into this.”
“He spent six years in the Marine Raiders, followed by a two-year stint with the CIA’s Global Response Staff. I introduced him to Carlie when he got out of that line of work.”
“Hell. We might slow him down.”
“I suspect we will,” said Stuart.
The Global Response Staff was a little-known CIA unit recruited exclusively from the special operations ranks. They provided on-site security for CIA case officers and installations located in high-risk locations worldwide. The work had a burnout rate close to 50 percent, with most members leaving voluntarily within a year. Two years was a long tour of duty with that outfit. Too many of Blake’s friends left involuntarily—in body bags.
“Here’s what I need you to do, Jon. Leave the laptop on the table and get out of there. If they traced the laptop, they’ll ping the Wi-Fi antenna, turning it into a homing beacon. I’d say you have forty-five minutes to an hour before they arrive, unless they already have an associate in Missoula. Then you’ve got between five and ten minutes. Call Scott and find a clean place where he can pick you up.”
“What do you mean by clean?”
“No surveillance cameras. The side of a road or the back of a parking lot would probably be your best bet. Stay out of sight until he’s close to picking you up.”
“Got it,” said Jon.
“Give me a quick call when Scott picks you up, so I know you didn’t get nabbed. I’ll plan to meet with you tomorrow morning—nowhere near Starbucks.”
“I don’t know how Scott is going to feel about that. I might send Leah back with him and stay at the town house. I can’t ask him to drive me back into town tomorrow. Not with Cerberus around.”
“Sounds like the right thing to do,” said Stuart. “If we drive straight through, you can expect us around zero eight hundred hours. We’ll come straight to the town house.”
“Drive safe, Stu, and thank you again for all of this. I can’t . . . uh—” Jon sounded like he was choking up.
“Don’t get soft on me, Jon. I need Sergeant Major Fisher in the game for this one.”
“He never left the game, my friend.”
“Good to know. Now get the fuck out of there,” he said, ending the call.
Blake’s expression had changed from mischievous to pensive. “You think they made it to Yuma?” he asked without taking his eyes off the road.
Stuart shook his head slowly back and forth. “No. I don’t.”
CHAPTER 6
Jon Fisher held Leah close, taking in faint traces of her favorite lavender-scented shampoo. They pressed tightly together, motionless except for the synchronized rhythm of their breathin
g. He tensed at the sound of the slow approach of Scott’s Jeep, the parking lot gravel crackling under its oversize tires, then melted back into his wife’s arms. Jon hadn’t felt this way since his last wartime deployment. Like he needed to drag out the farewell as long as possible, because the homecoming might involve an honor guard delivering his casket. Leah squeezed him tighter. She understood the stakes, too.
“I guess this is it for a little while,” he said.
“I suppose so,” she responded, looking around them. “Not exactly your best send-off.”
They had walked a few miles south of Starbucks along Reserve Street, taking temporary refuge in a massive parking lot attached to Retz Brothers RV and Marine Showcase. Scott had directed them to the business, seemingly well aware that cameras didn’t monitor the place. Rows of recreational vehicles and motorboats swarmed the lot, creating the perfect barrier from prying eyes. The tan Jeep appeared between two nearby mobile homes.
“Do you have everything you need?”
“Satphone. Pistol with three mags. Wallet with cash. I’m good,” he said, kissing her forehead.
“What’s the plan?”
“Get our boys and their families to safety,” said Jon. “That’s it for now. We can worry about the rest later.”
She nodded, a painful smile on her face. “Can you try him one more time?”
“Sure,” said Jon, taking the satphone out of his pocket.
As Scott’s Jeep turned into the wide aisle created by two rows of side-by-side parked motor homes, he dialed David Quinn’s number. The Jeep pulled even with them as the call went to voice mail. He shook his head, about to disconnect the call, when Leah grabbed the phone. Jon met Scott in front of the Jeep, giving his wife some privacy to leave Nathan a message.
“You sure about this?” said Scott.
“It’s the only way. You keep her there until we’re done with this thing.”
“I can’t keep her prisoner, Jon.”
“She understands what’s going on. If things go well, she’ll be out of your hair in a few weeks—”
“She’s no bother at all, my friend.”
“I know, and I can’t thank you enough, but once we find our own safe haven, I’ll be back to reclaim the love of my life,” he said, turning to smile at Leah.
“Sounds like he’s ass kissing,” she said. “What are the two of you conspiring over?”
Scott laughed. “I was just telling your obstinate husband that his wife is welcome to stay as long as she’d like.”
“I’ll be back before you know it,” said Jon. “We better get moving.”
When Leah turned to open the passenger door, Scott leaned closer to Jon. “If things don’t go well down south, she has a home with us.”
Jon took a deep breath and exhaled. “I have every intention of returning—but thank you.”
“More conspiring?” said Leah before climbing into the backseat.
“Good luck with that one,” Jon said, patting Scott on the shoulder. “I almost feel bad teaming her up with Kim. You don’t stand a chance with the two of them on your case.”
“Shit. I gave up pretending I had any say in things years ago.”
“I never tried to pretend,” said Jon.
They both enjoyed a quick laugh.
“Hey,” Scott said, walking to the rear gate of his Jeep, “I keep a little never-know bag locked in the back.” He opened the gate, reaching inside to move a dirty blanket and expose a low-profile safe box extending from one side of the Jeep to the other. He entered a code into the keypad and lowered the safe’s door.
“That’s a neat contraption,” said Jon.
“It’s the only way to keep shit from being stolen out of your car up here,” he said, hauling a heavily laden duffel bag out of the hidden compartment and heaving it on top of the safe. He unzipped it, then took a step back to let Jon get a look.
“Looks more like a never-know-when-it’s-going-to-be-World-War-Three bag,” said Jon.
“I’ll leave this with you at the apartment, because—”
“You never know.”
CHAPTER 7
“Park here,” said Riggs, pointing at an empty parking spot facing Grant Creek Road.
Tex squeezed the silver Yukon into the space, backing out once to readjust the oversize SUV dead center between two smaller vehicles. “You got enough room to get out?” he asked.
Riggs examined the space along the side of the SUV through the side mirror. “I think we’re good to go. We’re not taking them down here, anyway. This is strictly surveillance. You still tracking them inside?”
“On two different Wi-Fi networks—citywide and Starbucks,” said Nissie from the third row of leather seats.
“Just yes or no will do it,” said Riggs.
“Ahhhh-firrrrr-maaaa-tive,” she replied. “Is that better?”
“Way better.”
“Is one of us going in?” said Tex.
“You in a hurry?” said Riggs.
“No, I just thought—”
“Can I run the show for a second? We just fucking pulled in.”
“All right,” said Tex, taking his hands off the steering wheel and shrugging his shoulders.
“Obviously, this is a shitty stakeout location,” said Riggs.
“Just slightly,” said Ross, twisting in his seat and looking through the lift gate window, or at Nissie. Riggs couldn’t tell.
“The other choice was parking right up against the building, nose in. Wouldn’t take James Bond to figure out we were up to something.”
“If they’re paying attention, this will still look funny,” said Tex. “Big-ass truck with tinted windows. Nobody getting out.”
“You’re killing me, Tex,” said Riggs. “I’m going in to buy us all some coffees. I’ll locate our targets, make sure they’re not sitting with a bunch of FBI-looking goons, then we’ll park somewhere else where we can watch from a distance. As long as we can track the laptop, we can make ourselves look inconspicuous. Good enough plan for you?”
“Didn’t mean to jump the gun,” said Tex, which was as close to an apology as Riggs could expect.
“What does everyone want?” said Riggs.
His team stuck to straight coffee. Nissie ordered a drink requiring more than six words. He’d already forgotten three of them.
“I’m not ordering queer drinks,” said Riggs. “You want soy milk, I can live with that.”
“Can’t remember the order?” she said.
“I can remember the order,” he said, lying. “I’m just not ordering froufrou drinks.”
“I can repeat the order,” insisted Nissie.
“What did she order?” said Oz, elbowing Ross.
The two smirked at each other before Ross joined in. “I didn’t catch it either. What was it, Tex?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll have what she’s having,” said Tex.
“You get coffee. That’s it,” said Riggs, opening the door hard enough to bump the car next to them. “Fucking assholes. You’re lucky I didn’t set off the car alarm.”
“I’ll have what she’s having, too,” yelled Ross.
“Fuck you,” he muttered, shutting the door on their nonsense.
Riggs shook his head, ignoring the repeated knocks on the windows. He didn’t care how much Flagg appreciated Miss Keane’s talents—that bitch needed to be taught some manners. In fact, his whole team could benefit from an attitude adjustment. Crossing the parking lot, he glanced back at the Yukon, imagining flames roaring from the windows as charred arms flailed inside. Or he could get a new team. He shook the image and focused on the mission.
Inside Starbucks, he didn’t immediately spot anyone fitting the description of either Jon or Leah Fisher. Without obviously panning back and forth over the customers, he ordered four caramel Frappuccinos, having heard at least two of the words spoken by that stupid bitch, and a regular coffee. While he waited, he pretended to check his phone and scanned the tables for laptops again. He sp
otted several but was unable to match any faces to the pictures on his phone. She said the computer was here!
A few minutes later, still not seeing the Fishers, the last drinks in his order were placed on the counter. He packed them on the tray as an idea hit him. Riggs checked his phone again and gestured for one of the baristas.
“Sorry to bug you. I was messaging a friend who lost his laptop. He doesn’t think he left it here, but he can’t be sure. Do you guys keep a lost and found? If it’s here, he’ll head over and grab it.”
“Sure. What kind is it?”
“I think it’s a Dell. Let me check,” he said, pretending to send a text.
“Hold on,” she said, disappearing into the back office and reappearing.
A few moments later, a thin woman emerged from the room carrying a silver laptop. She identified herself as the manager. He could tell right away that the computer she held was not a Dell. It looked more like an Apple product. Could Nissie tell what kind of computer she was tracking?
“He said it was a Dell Inspiron. That doesn’t look like a Dell,” he said, feigning a disappointed look. “Bummer. He’s been without that computer for three days, if you can imagine.”
“This looks like a Mac Pro. An older couple walked out without it maybe an hour and a half ago,” she said. “Sorry. Hope your friend finds it soon.”
“I’m sure he will. Thank you.”
When he got back to the SUV, he removed his coffee and handed the tray to Tex.
“What the fuck is this?”
“It’s your froufrou drink! I got everyone whipped cream because I didn’t want any of you to miss out on the full bitch experience,” said Riggs, slamming the door shut.
He took a sip of his black coffee while the froufrou tray made its rounds.
Rogue State (Fractured State Series Book 2) Page 4