Recall

by David McCaleb

  The padding on the underside of the lid was smudged red. Like . . . blood? She strained her farsighted eyes. Yes, blood. But . . . on a piece of paper. A dark scrawl indicated writing. She lowered her head to one shoulder like she was holding a phone, giving herself a few extra inches of distance. Typed, in sans serif font were the words, “Relax. It will be a long ride.”

  Maybe Tony or the kids are close.

  She kicked again, rhythmically, then waited for a reply. Nothing. She bent her knees so they smacked the lid, louder. Beat them steadily, trying to make the noise obvious over any others. Footsteps approached.

  Saved. Someone’s close.

  They stopped over in the direction of the horse. Hooves clattered as it apparently tried to rear once . . . twice . . . then nothing. She held her breath, straining to hear. Only the faintest sound came, as a whisper, and a couple muffled slaps.

  “Help! Help!” she screamed, banging her knees against the lid. The steps drew near. She held her breath again. Now someone would help. Would open the—

  The visitor rapped the lid, a deafening tone inside the coffin. “Shut up! No one will hear you! You’re scaring my horse. I’ll put a bullet through your skull and dump you in the ocean if you frighten him again!” The voice was male, middle-aged, with maybe a hint of a German accent. The visitor’s steps moved away, toward the horse again. A few more whispers, then the footsteps faded into the distance.

  Lori dropped her head back, feeling the cold metal skin of the coffin through the thin pillow. He’d said they were over an ocean. Couldn’t have been drugged that long. Probably the Atlantic. Wouldn’t have made such a scene if they weren’t alone. He’d want her to at least think she was by herself. So, if Tony wasn’t close, where was he? Dead?

  How wonderful their last six years had been. She’d actually had time with him, enough to conceive Nick and Jackson. Their life had been perfect, the way it was.

  She pressed back sobs. Choking on mucus, she turned her head and blew yellow snot onto white lace.

  All good things come to an end. Tony may be dead, but what about the kids? If he’s still alive, maybe he’ll self-recall. He’ll know who to contact. If not, my office will get him. Won’t be long. Either way, I have to stay alive to see it happen.

  Chapter 7

  Home

  Red leaned against the vinyl headrest in Jim’s car, tensing his shoulders. The engine whined a high note near his feet. They were well over the speed limit, headed east on I-64 toward Hampton Roads. The interior smelled of cigar smoke and pine air freshener. A wheel bottomed out on a pothole, as if it wanted to break loose.

  “So, why am I here?” Carter asked from the backseat. His olive complexion and jet-black hair seemed to push his figure even farther away, blending with shadow, beyond Red’s reach. Only his silhouette kept him from slipping away.

  Red turned in his seat. Trees flashed by the side window in a blur of brown and white. “Because I insisted.”

  “That’s not what I meant. I was asking him.”

  Jim looked into the rearview mirror.

  “If the military’s somehow wrapped up in this,” Carter continued, “I’ve got no need-to-know. The colonel can’t tell me anything.”

  “Maybe,” Jim said. “Or maybe I’ve got the need.”

  Red scowled. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means never underestimate the locals. We may need intel from his office for the op.”

  Red’s mouth curled. “What the hell are you talking about? You’re base supply. You sound like a spook. Where’s Lori?”

  “You honestly don’t remember? The team? The Det?”

  Red massaged a knuckle, bewildered. “What team?”

  Jim grabbed his phone and pressed a key. “Grace? Jim.” He paused. “Redeye. Remember Detective Carter? Matt Carter. Put him on the roster.”

  Red pointed to the side of the road. “Pull over and let me drive. Then you can talk to your girlfriend. You’re too damn slow.”

  Jim waved him off and the engine spun higher. “We’re inbound. Be there in eight. Call the good doctor and have him meet us.” He hit end.

  Jim glanced at Red. “You’re bizarre, know that?”

  “Yeah. And you’re still slower than my mother. Let me drive.”

  Jim smiled and gunned a finger at Carter. “If you call Carter and me friends, you need help picking ’em. The kind detective told you who he is, right? You know he’s spent time at the Bureau? Not long ago, either.”

  “We’ve all got secrets, Jim. Apparently, you’ve got ’em, too. Where’s Lori?”

  Jim straightened himself and eyed the rearview again. “I’ve agreed to temporarily sponsor your clearance, Detective Carter. However, all information about my organization—everything from now on—is classified top secret. I don’t waste time with leaks. They get plugged. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Perfectly,” came from the backseat.

  Jim settled back down, glanced sideways at Red, then back to the road. “Lori’s been taken by the Iranians.”

  “By the who?” What the hell was Jim saying?

  “They didn’t want Lori, they wanted you,” Jim said.

  “You’re nuts. Why would Iranians give a damn about me?”

  “Even so, she’s the daughter of a senator. A bargaining chip. Your father-in-law swings some weight. I got orders twenty minutes after she was taken.”

  “Jim, how do you know? And why would the Iranians want to kidnap either of us?”

  “Damn it, Red! Try to keep up.”

  Red gripped the seat. “Fine. What orders?”

  “Get her back, and the guys holding her. Assuming we don’t kill ’em in the process.”

  “You’re doing a military strike against Iran?”

  “We’re doing an op. Yes, the military is involved—maybe several branches. The op’s not planned yet. Against Iran? We don’t know where Lori is, but that won’t take long. Once we have her pinned, we’ll have wheels up in twenty-four hours. I’ve called the rest of the team.”

  “Wheels up? She’s only been gone a couple hours. Can’t be outside the U.S.” Red pushed at a split cuticle on his thumb. They were in the left lane, flashing cars a quarter mile ahead to move over. Their speed still seemed too slow. “How does Base Supply fit in? You’re helping get a team ready?”

  “No. I’m executing the op.”

  “I’m not in a mood to joke, Jim.”

  Nothing.

  Red leaned closer. “You’re serious?”

  Jim raised an eyebrow. “Yeah.”

  Red aimed his thumb at Carter. “I’d rather have the sheriff’s office on this than you guys. What, op’s tempo so high they got fat-ass supply sergeants doing HALOs?”

  Jim’s lips creased, like when Red had used to strip the basketball from him time and again. “It’ll clear up once we’re at my office.”

  They passed Langley’s main gates and drove to the far side of the airfield, stopping in Base Supply’s parking lot. The drab concrete building abutted Langley’s security fence. Functional, no flair. Low in the front, rising four windowless stories in back. Several semis were parked with trailers sealed tightly to loading ramps. The gum tree on the edge of the lot seemed twice as big as he remembered. A dirty gray heap of snow stood beneath it, stubbornly refusing to melt.

  They pulled into a spot with a blue sign that read SQUADRON COMMANDER. Red slapped the door handle and stood. His head throbbed.

  Carter took his time, as if he were being escorted to a prison cell. “Where are we?”

  Red pushed his palm to his forehead, then pointed at a faded brown sign near the roof. “Base Supply.”

  “Bullshit,” Carter said.

  Red winced, head down. “What?”

  Carter took a half step backwards. “Supply wouldn’t be all the way out here.”

  “I didn’t design the place, just worked here. It’s got some hazardous materials. That’s why it’s separate.”

  Carter crammed
his hands in pockets. “We’ll see.”

  Jim stopped at a gray metal door with a card reader. “Smile for the camera.” He waved and drew an ID through. The door buzzed and Red yanked. It was slow to open, heavy. From the front it looked like a standard metal door, like so many at work. But the edge showed quarter-inch steel plate welded front and back. Security locks fastened all four corners. Inside lay a tight square room with an identical door opposite. A single round light on the ceiling, turned off or burned out.

  Jim followed them in. “Face left.”

  That wall was smooth, almost shiny. The room had a new car scent so strong it stung Red’s eyes. Jim shut the door and all went dark. Red twisted his neck, but saw no light, not even a leak around the seams. The air was stifling, choking, a companion to the darkness in his mind. Like when the family had toured a gold mine in Colorado and the guide had turned out the lights to show how dark it was that far below the surface. An electric servo buzzed somewhere near the door and locks clicked at the corners.

  “This’ll just be a minute,” Jim mumbled.

  The light came on and Red barged through the opposite door. He stopped, squinting in bright light. Through slit eyes he could make out a spacious foyer, polished Carrara marble crisscrossed with stainless-steel expansion joints. Dark wood paneled the walls. “You guys remodeled.”

  An office space lay beyond, full of green-gray cubicles. It was only six a.m., but at least twenty staff were in view, a dozen around a maple conference table. Ahead stood a single marine, in Kevlar jacket and helmet, thumb on the safety of an M4, one ear missing a lobe. Déjà vu.

  A woman at a mahogany reception desk spun in her chair and stood, tall, nodding to Jim. Salt-and-pepper hair, physically fit, pinstriped skirt-suit.

  Jim took her hand and escorted her into their company. “Red, my assistant Grace. Known around here as Moneypenny, in honor of my favorite franchise.”

  She extended her hand to Red. “A pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Mr. Harmon.”

  Red shook. Firm grip for a prim lady. Her smile was pleasant, but guarded.

  Jim continued. “Grace, Detective Carter. Thanks for getting him on the roster. Don’t turn your back on him.”

  “Yes, I know,” Grace purred. She proffered her hand to Carter. “Nice to meet you, Detective.”

  Jim laughed. “He’s a married man. I’ll bring you a single one next time.” He eyed the guard. “Are we clear?”

  “The detective has a Glock 9mm, left arm, extra clip. Also got a 32 auto in a wallet holster, and a five-inch boot knife on the right calf. Major Harmon is clean, just the collateral inside, like you said.”

  Red tilted his head. What did that mean? Why’d the guard call him by his old rank? Nothing inside was the same, yet somehow it was as it should be. “So we need to check weapons or what? Let’s get going.”

  Jim started toward double doors. “Everybody in my office. Moneypenny, where’s the good doctor?”

  “Inside.” Her tight smile revealed deep satisfaction. “He was on his way for an appointment across base. I cancelled it.”

  “You’re a bitch, gal. Get the other one here, too—Dr. Ali. Red’s scalp needs stitches.”

  As in the car, aftershave and cigar smoke seemed to bleed from the air inside Jim’s office. Dual widescreens were pushed to one end of a deep mahogany desk.

  A gaunt man with hollow cheeks and white goatee stood, holding a cane, though he didn’t lean upon it. Dark complexion, he looked Indian. He gave an unenthusiastic smile to Jim, then took a hard look at Red. His voice held power, though his frame lacked it. “Mr. Harmon? You’re the reason my appointment was cancelled?”

  “He is,” Jim said, walking away from the man, around the opposite side of his desk. He sat in a retro wooden swivel chair, its reclining spring urrrrrching a protest, listing under the strain of its cargo. Jim massaged his temples and forehead with fingertips. He punched a button on the phone. “Grace, be a doll and get me a cup of Mr. Frank’s brew. Two more for our guests. Thanks, love.”

  He released the intercom and pressed fingertips together. “Mr. Frank’s been in clandestine circles since diapers. His coffee makes espresso taste like apple juice—only reason I keep his worthless ass around. You’re gonna need some for what I’m about to unload.” He pointed to a brown leather armchair. “Sit.”

  Grace strode in without knocking, taking long steps, carrying a tray with three cups. “Already on it.” She gave Carter’s to him with a wink, then left silently, as if without touching the floor.

  Red winced. “This guy gonna fix my head? It’s starting to throb.”

  “In a way. Another doctor’s going to stitch it up. Genova here’s a head doctor. A psychiatrist.”

  “Why’s a shrink here?”

  Jim smiled and swallowed hard. He leaned forward, breath like the burnt bottom of a coffeepot. “Red, you’re my friend. But today, a fellow soldier. Here’s the truth. You were never in Base Supply. You’re sitting in Detachment Three of Special Operations Command. We call ourselves the Det for short. Six years ago you were an operator, assigned here. A damn good one.”

  Red lifted a finger and made a swirling motion. “You can call this place the Bat Cave for all I care. When I was here, it was Base Supply.”

  Jim slapped the desk, then stared at Genova. “Get his ass through recall.”

  Genova leaned forward, eyes narrowed. He opened his mouth as if to ask a question, but remained silent.

  “What’s that mean?” Red asked. “You can do whatever you want. All I care about is getting Lori back. You said you knew something. Come clean.”

  Jim yanked one of the flat screens to face Red. “At oh-four hundred we received this video from intel.”

  Jim punched a key. The screen lit up, then faded to reveal a blurred face.

  “We can’t undo the censorship. No matter what movies say, can’t be done.”

  The blur revealed only an olive complexion and black hair. A female voice came from the speaker. She was the censored image and wore green fatigues with no rank, no insignia. Behind her stood a blank concrete wall, orange rust stain running down. The room was dim and echoed. A single overhead bulb hung by a pair of wires. No clues as to the time of day or location. She spoke a foreign language with no emotion. After a minute. she raised two fists toward the camera and shouted a word Red recognized: Moses. The video faded and cut off.

  “It was e-mailed to your father-in-law, Senator Moses, an hour before Lori’s kidnapping. We got our CIA liaison to get his best hackers on it, but so far nothing. Whoever sent it knew how to cover their tracks.”

  Carter was leaning over Red’s shoulder. “Was it sent anywhere else?”

  “Don’t know. You’re the detective. I wanna kill the bitch. Waiting for intel to tell me how. I didn’t even know Senator Moses knew the Det existed. He still may not. My guess is that whoever sent the e-mail doesn’t know who owns us, who’s a player. But they knew if they sent it to the senator, we’d get it somehow.”

  “What’d she say about Lori?” Red asked.

  “My interpreters said the lady in the video was speaking Farsi. She claimed to have ‘The Red One and the daughter of Senator Moses.’ Her demands were that the U.S. disclose all member countries of the Det. If not, they’d kill the prisoners. Gave seven days. Must’ve anticipated having Red and Lori in their hands when they made the video. Accused the U.S. of undermining Iran’s nuclear program.”

  “What’s that about?”

  Jim laughed. “We’ve been in Iran, but not only us. Israel has a good system, especially adept at setting up and managing networks of human intelligence. Humint. The U.S. doesn’t do that very well anymore. We rely on technology, satellites, communications monitoring. But those can’t see into a person’s head, what he’s thinking, what he’s planning. With our tech and Israeli humint, we’ve kept Iran below the red line. But depending on Israel is like sleeping with a rattlesnake.

  “Humint says Iran is pursuing nuclear
weapons. No surprise. The kidnap is an attempt to compromise the Det, get us off their backs. Once compromised, all the agencies, all the co-ops will pull out. It’ll cease to exist. Because that’s all we are, a hub of cooperation. A fusion cell on steroids.”

  Jim stood, the wooden chair squeaking as it rolled away. It thumped into a file cabinet. “We’ve got a hostage to find. Then I’ve got an op to plan.”

  Red’s eyes followed him. This made no sense. What about the video? He couldn’t even understand what the lady had said. This could all be Jim’s pipe dream. “So, what are you saying?”

  Jim raised an eyebrow. “Get you into recall, get the real Red back, get your wife back. Take a couple dune rats prisoner, kill the rest, leave behind no trace. Intel’s scrutinizing it now. Should have Lori’s location by the time you wake up. We may need some info that’s buried in that thick skull of yours.”

  Red wrapped fingers into a fist, but his grip felt empty. “Jim, I listened, but you’ve lost your mind. I worked in Base Supply. Don’t know what recall is. Carter and I are leaving.”

  Carter pushed out a lip. “I think you need to listen to the man, for a little longer at least.”

  “What?”

  “He’s got the video,” Carter said. “He knew something had gone down before the news announced it. I didn’t think I’d be saying it, but he’s got answers. Let’s hear him out.”

  Red turned back and squinted, pain searing an eye. “I think he’s crazy.”

  “I don’t care if you believe me,” Jim said. “But do you trust me?”

  “Used to. But right now you’re short-sheeted.”

  “Trust me for another hour. Then, if you still want out, I’ll drive you both back.”

  Red scratched a rough beard. His head throbbed like a farrier was mounting a shoe to it. What a waste of time. He ran fingers through his knotted hair, recoiling at the matted blood.

  Lori was everything to the kids, and in their innocence they’d look to him to get her back. He couldn’t face them without seeing this through. He’d been shivering all morning, but now sweat beaded on his brow. “If I do this recall thing, will I have a chance to kill these guys?”