by A P Bateman
“What do you mean by hamper?”
He glanced back at the photograph. “Well, you know... Hell, we all knew about those damn rag heads hatching a plan to take out American targets on US soil,” he paused. “Well, I'm sure you knew too, right? Hell, of course you did, anybody worth a damn did. And hey, you were out here, soit must have been hell on you, what with knowing that procedures had prevented us from sharing the intelligence we had ...” He shook his head, slammed his fist on the table. The cup of cappuccino spilt a little over the lip and onto the papers. “God damn fucking bureaucrats! If it wasn't for protocol and procedure and the damn necessity to cross every T and dot every last fucking I, we'd have stopped Al-Qaeda in their damn tracks. You know it, I know it.” He looked at the liaison officer and held up both hands helplessly. “Sir, I apologize for my behavior. It just sickens me to the core that we are all so tied by procedure these days.”
“Please, don't apologize, it's not necessary.” The liaison officer looked at him intently. “And you think your lead is along the same lines? You think there's a possibility of another large-scale catastrophe?”
“Hell, all I know is that my lead was going to take me out to New York. Another terror attack planned, another screw-pot outfit looking for a major coup,” he paused. “Go see Orville B Sullivan out at the New York office, they said...”
The liaison frowned. “Who said?”
He tapped his nose again. “Loose lips, sink ships. Anyway, where was I? Oh Yeah, go and see Orville B Sullivan. Real go to guy. He's making a name for himself. He's going places fast. Right to the top. Go see him and he'll move heaven and earth to get you what you need. Hell, time's at a premium and I need to move fast on this. You'll help me, right? You'll cut through the procedure crap and help avoid another catastrophe, right? I'll understand if you don't think you can, if you don't feel you can make such a big call. But if you can't make the decision, I need to know now. I need to know like ten minutes ago. And I need to speak to someone big enough, with enough balls who can...”
The liaison officer put his hand up to silence him. “Agent Hardy, I think I've heard enough, and don't want to waste anymore of your time,” he paused and handed him the sheaf of papers. “Now, tell me what it is you need and I’ll make it happen...”
FORTY FOUR
Stone kept up the rearguard, training his pistol through a wide arc of fire every few paces. He kept their direction unobvious, changing tack regularly as a sailboat navigates its course and like the navigators of old, he used the bearing of the sun to plot his course and keep direction. This was a skill he had honed during his time in Special Forces. He had wanted to head east, but before he could, he had to establish north and south. He had pointed the hour hand of his watch towards the sun, and then found the mid-way point between the hour hand and the twelve o'clock position. The line from the center of the watch pointed due south. From here, he could mentally recall his bearings every few minutes, re-tack his course and keep them from heading in the wrong direction.
They reached the top of a steep slope and Stone caught hold of Isobel's shoulder and steadied her. “Take a breath,” he paused. “We've gained good ground, and if he's tracking us, he'll be a lot slower and besides, we've sent him on a merry little detour.”
She rested her palms on her knees and breathed heavily. Stone slipped a hand under her ribs and eased her upright. “I can't get my breath,” she protested.
“Keep standing up straight, you won't get enough air down you otherwise.” He turned his back on her and used their elevation to get his bearings. “I reckon another mile, maybe a little less and we'll meet up with the road we came in on.”
She looked at him, feigned a smile. “What the hell are we waiting for then?”
“Take it easy, tiger,” he smiled. “Get a good breather and we'll make better time. We've made less than a mile to this point.”
“You're kidding! We've been running for ages!” She looked despondent, crestfallen. “What about the gunman? Do you think he's close to us?”
Stone shook his head. “I'm not saying that he's not chasing us, but the path we took was far from straight and if he's following he's got to study the ground thoroughly. The forest is too dense to see further than seventy or eighty yards.”
“Unless he's figured out our options. He knows where we took off from, and he might know by now where the road goes to. He knows we need to get back to the car, or the town. He may even have a map and work out where we’re going.”
Stone looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded. “Alright, in that case we had better hit the trail again. Put in a little more distance.”
FORTY FIVE
The sirens and flashing lights helped. The small, but efficient task force that Orville B Sullivan had assembled had only added to the effect and the bank had been entered with much swagger and flashing of ID wallets and the customers had been swiftly escorted outside.
The FBI would have been livid. The deployment of the CIA’s recently devised counter-terrorist task force, in tandem operational control with Homeland Security, was not something they would have taken lightly. As ever, on US soil the FBI would and should have been notified first. The paperwork had been professionally compiled and was thoroughly complete. Even a high-court judge would have been fooled by its content and appearance and would have gladly signed his name to authorize the seizure of illicit contents. Which he indeed had, not twenty minutes previously on their way across town.
The bank’s manager had been concerned for the personal safety of his staff and had been resolutely assured that there was in fact no immediate danger and that all personnel should temporarily occupy the break room and have an impromptu coffee break while the Task Force went about their necessary business.
Tom Hardy ushered the manager to one side and asked him to carefully read the order, signed and authorized by the judge and requested that he should have the bank's full co-operation in the matter. He reminded the manager that he was not Switzerland, merely a bank with safety deposit services and if the next 9-11 was to happen, he would not want to be the man the nation would turn to as having been able to halt another attack in its tracks. It may not have worked in Chicago or Los Angeles but this was New York, and New York was still raw. It always would be.
The manager had been only too pleased to help, apologized profusely for any impropriety which could have possibly taken part on the bank's premises and offered his full co-operation without premium. Ten minutes later and both the manager, Orville B Sullivan and Tom Hardy stood in the strong room, while the chief teller saw to recovering the safety deposit box, overriding the previously installed security system with the bank's own emergency default system.
The teller presented Hardy with the box and he thanked him, barely able to suppress the desire to smile. He did his best at appearing melancholy, like looking inside would only confirm his innermost fears, and walked off to the privacy booth to inspect the contents. He turned back to a perplexed Sullivan, and nodded his thanks. “You'll understand the need for security. Please, fetch me an evidence bag and I'll be right out.”
Inside the box were the two flash drives. They looked tiny and insignificant in such a large container, yet what they contained could change the world dramatically. He picked them up, reached into his inside pocket and retrieved a clear plastic case containing four identical flash drives. He opened the case, tipped the drives out and replaced them with the two original drives from the facility and put them safely in his pocket. Next, he put two substitute drives back in the safety deposit box. He took a handkerchief from the pocket of his pants and wiped his brow hurriedly. He was perspiring and his heart beat rapidly. He took a deep, steadying breath and then opened the curtain and looked triumphantly at the CIA liaison officer.
“Eureka! These definitely look like what we've been looking for.” He handed the safety deposit box back to the manager. “Please replace this. I’ve substituted the evidence. I will contact both you and your super
iors about further action. We may need to conduct a sting in due course.” He turned to Sullivan who had returned with the evidence bag. He held out the box with the two dummy drives inside. “Perhaps, you'll do the honors? This would not have been possible without you.”
Sullivan beamed with pride as he put the two worthless disks into the plastic bag. He sealed it with the fastener and Hardy handed him a pen.
“Go on, make history. Evidence number A01, New York City,” he said with a smile. “Now date it and write the name of the bank on the back. Sullivan grinned when he had finished and held the bag out for him. Hardy shook his head. “Please, initialit. I need a little anonymity with this case. Any commendations and I'll see that they come your way. Now, take them back to headquarters and lock them away. I’ll have a tech team come over and inspect the data.” He turned to the manager and held out his hand. The manager clasped it and Tom Hardy held his eye as they shook hands warmly. “You've been invaluable. I shall pass your name on to your superiors. Without your co-operation... well, need I say any more?”
The manager beamed a grin almost as ridiculous as Sullivan's and modestly said that there was nothing to be grateful for, and that he had merely acted in his bank's best interests.
As they made their way out of the strong room, Hardy turned to the manager and spoke quietly. “I have to call this in. Do you mind if use a computer with internet access? I need send a quick e-mail.”
FORTY SIX
“I've got to stop for a moment,” Isobel panted breathily. She reached out and held herself against a large fir tree. Her legs were shaking. Her chest heaved as she breathed, her blouse was ripped and Stone caught a fleeting glimpse of bare flesh underneath. “I need a rest,” she added.
Stone nodded and caught hold of her arm and led her to the other side of the tree. “Here, sit down and take a breather, you're out of sight right there, if he’s behind us.”
She rested her head back against the tree and closed her eyes. “My legs ache so much! How far to you think we've come?”
He looked up at the ridge of mountains and looked thoughtful for a moment. She thought he was using the question to catch his breath also, and didn't feel quite so guilty at holding them up. “Around three and a half to four miles,” he replied. “Seems like fifteen with all the dense trees and obstacles we've met.”
“And hills the height of skyscrapers!” she exclaimed.
“Yeah, it is a bit up and down out here, I'll give you that.”
“Did you learn that stuff with your watch in the military?” She asked, then prompted him. “You said to Joe Carver that you were in the military, or at least told him where you saw action.”
Stone smiled. He sighted the hour hand back on the sun and looked off to his left. “This is just Boy Scout stuff, that's all.”
“Why do I detect you're just being modest? So is that it, you're just a regular Boy Scout, nothing more than that?” she smirked. And as quick as she lightened the mood, she looked as if she were about to break down and cry.
“What's wrong?”
Isobel looked down at the ground, shook her head slowly. “I just can't believe what happened back there. Or in New York. I’ve seen dead bodies before, but not people murdered. I was part of the Ebola task force sent out to Sierra Leone. A six week learning tour. It was thought good knowledge would come from it. I saw plenty of dead people and people in great distress. But I never saw somebody shot before. It was just awful.” She wiped a tear away from her eye and looked up at him solemnly. “It's all my fault as well. If I hadn't have taken those damned drives, then Elizabeth, David Stein and Joe Carver would all still be alive. Oh god, and I had already forgotten about the poor girl who looked like me at the station! And that poor hotel porter…” She put her head down and started to sob. She was shaking, and her sobbing was becoming increasingly like a wail. She was like a child, hurt and wounded, insecure and scared.
Stone walked to her and crouched down. He took both her hands in his and rubbed them gently. “Hush now, don't cry. This situation is tough, but believe me, if you hadn't taken those drives with the information on them and they had got into the wrong hands, many more people might well have died in the future.” He let go of her hands and pulled her towards him, he hugged her, comforted her, and held her close. “Isobel, you have been so brave, so decisive. Imagine if you hadn't taken them? Imagine what death and suffering could have occurred if you had been too scared to act? You did the right thing, I promise you that.”
She stopped crying and wiped her eyes. She looked up at him and seemed so vulnerable in his arms. He wiped her wet cheek with his sleeve and smiled at her. She reached up and kissed him lightly on the edge of the mouth. It was a gesture of thanks, a token. Nothing more was meant, but as she did so, he kissed her back, returning her gesture with that of his own. They looked at each other for a moment, their heartbeats increasing in rhythm and pace. The look between them both became more intense, intoxicating even, and finally Stone could resist no more. He reached down and kissed her full on the lips, and to his relief, she responded. Their lips touched, sought each other, tentatively at first, and then with more hunger, and their tongues gradually started to probe and explore. It was a passionate kiss, with mutual meaning and adulation, but suddenly, Isobel pulled away and looked down at the ground.
“I can't do this,” she said stiffly. “I can't do this out here with ...”
It wasn't necessary for her to finish the sentence. Stone knew exactly what she had meant. And when he thought about the circumstances, it even seemed ridiculous to him, that they should lose sight of the situation and get emotional. He caught hold of her arm and helped her to her feet.
“You're right,” he said, but without any trace of malice or indignity. “Come on, let's get the hell out of here.”
Even in the perilous situation they were in, there was the irony of everyday normality. And as they jogged and marched their way through the forest, with danger behind them and the unknown ahead, there was still the awkward silence and shared idiosyncrasies of their demeanor. It was almost humorous to think that a mere kiss could affect the shared bond brought about by the situation.
Thankfully, and almost instantly, they suddenly stumbled out of the forest and to the edge of a road which cut a snaking path through the forest and led deep into the mountains.
“Oh, thank god!” Isobel exclaimed loudly. She turned around and hugged Stone, but it was nothing more than friendly, a gesture brought about through the emotional relief that they had actually made it.
He returned her gesture with a sportsman's pat on the back, and smiled. “I knew we would, but I was getting worried after that last break. I couldn't have gone much further without another word from you.” He grinned. “Come on, this way. I know this stretch of road.”
“You do?”
“Yes. I've been here before,” he smiled. “Perhaps this is just another coincidence?”
However, his words were lost on Isobel, who was looking down the road excitedly. “Look! There's a car. We can hitch a lift!” She stuck out her arm and made a thumbing sign. “This is a first, I've never done this before.”
Stone looked up and smiled. A car was winding its way along the mountain road towards them, gaining ground quickly. It was a large silver colored sedan. Stone squinted in the sunlight, trying to make out the make and model. It was a big Mercedes, one of the new shapes. He could hear the engine. It was under heavy acceleration and sounded powerful. It certainly wasn't a common car for these parts, quite unusual really. There was a sudden and dramatic change in the engine's pitch. He put an arm around Isobel's shoulder and smiled at her. “Looks like we’re in luck,” he said. “It’s slowing down.”
FORTY SEVEN
He had watched the corpse for a while and reflected upon the quality of the shot. He had no intention to go after Rob Stone and Isobel Bartlett in the forest, had no reason to. He had simply moved the game up a level and flushed them out once more. He felt sure tha
t in doing so, he would force them into making a mistake and lead him to the flash drives.
After shooting the tramp he had removed the set of specially designed camouflage overalls and replaced the army issue jungle boots with his hand stitched Italian shoes. His appearance was slightly more ruffled than he would otherwise have wished, but necessity and practicality was the greater part of fashion today. After he had made the custom-built Colt M4 assault rifle safe and had re-loaded the magazine with ammunition, he had stowed it safely in its hidden rack in the trunk of the car.
He had then checked the transponder and transceiver hidden in the lining of Isobel Bartlett’s coat and watched the devious course that they were taking through the forest. The map showed the green pattern that denoted forest, as well as depth and gradient.It also showed the road that they were heading towards some five miles to the east. Either it was dumb luck, or Stone was a more notable adversary than he had first anticipated. But either way, he would arrive at their destination fresh and ready to make the next move.
However, the move he was now to make was the move he had so waited for. The e-mail had come in from his paymaster and informed him that the level of the game had been raised to the highest stakes, and that he was to eliminate them both immediately. He had so wanted the message back in New York. Back where he could have ended it there and then with one precise squeeze of the trigger. Although, out here in the wilderness, he realized that there was now true sport ahead of him, and that nature could only add to the wealth of the experience. He was looking forward to the hunt.