by Lee Gimenez
Erica opened the door, yawned. “Hi, Sarah. What’s up?”
“Looks like somebody had a long night,” Sarah said, chuckling. “You must have worn out the poor man.”
“I wish. No, just a hangover.”
“Been there, hon.” Then the waitress’s face turned serious. “I’m heading off to work, but wanted you to know something. I had a couple of hang-up calls last night and I saw a black car stop in front of the duplex early this morning.” The woman lowered her voice. “May be nothing, but I’m guessing a girl like you, without luggage, and paying cash for everything, may have a past.”
Erica tensed, and her thoughts flashed to the news camera yesterday. “Thanks, Sarah. I appreciate it.”
The woman gave her a sad smile. “If you need anything, call me at the restaurant or go over and see Dwayne. It’s still summer vacation and all that lazy son of mine does is watch television.” She waved and walked away.
Erica closed the door, the hunger gone. Pacing the room, she realized she had to leave Atlanta. Now.
It would take too long to walk to the Greyhound station, so she pulled out her phone and began to punch in the cab company’s number.
Just then she heard a car pull into the duplex’s driveway. Peering around the edge of the closed blinds, she saw it immediately. A black Ford sedan with cheap hubcaps and heavily tinted windows. It had government car written all over it.
Two men in dark suits and aviator sunglasses climbed out of the car, looked around. One of them walked to Sarah’s front door and the second came her way.
There was a loud knock on her door. “I’m with the Census Bureau,” she heard. “We’re doing the survey.”
Pulling the .38 out of her pocket, her eyes darted around the room. There was no back door, and the only window besides the front one was in the bathroom. And that one was very small – she’d have trouble squeezing through.
“I don’t do surveys,” she replied, moving to the left of the closed door.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. But it’s a legal requirement. Every citizen has to be counted in the census.”
Her heart pounded in her chest. “I’m sick. Come back later.”
Then everything happened in an instant. Through the thin wall of the apartment she heard a scream for help, followed by a muffled shot. Then she heard her own door being kicked in.
The cheap wood splintered and the lock gave way. The man in the suit crouched into the room, holding a Glock in front of him.
Erica leveled the .38 and fired two shots, the loud noise echoing in the small room. The man flinched back, but didn’t drop. Damn, she thought, he must be wearing a Kevlar vest.
He whirled around to face her just as she fired two more rounds. Screaming, the man clutched his leg and crumpled to the floor.
The smell of gunpowder hung in the air as she sprinted out of the apartment. Reaching the sidewalk, she heard a man’s voice from behind. “Stop, Blake! Or I’ll shoot!”
Quickly spinning around and dropping to one knee, she fired the revolver’s last two rounds. He tumbled backward, but not before firing his own gun.
Erica saw his muzzle flash and immediately felt a blinding pain in her shoulder.
She staggered to the ground, clutching her bleeding upper left arm. Gritting her teeth to stave off the intense throb, she almost passed out but recovered a moment later.
Sitting up, she glanced at the wounded man who lay moaning a few feet from her.
Police sirens wailed in the distance, coming closer.
Struggling to her feet, she strode over to the fallen man. Bleeding but conscious, the man reached for his Glock, which lay on the ground next to him.
Using her revolver, she struck him in the temple and he slumped, unconscious. Reaching into his pants pocket, she grabbed his car keys, then picked up his pistol and slipped it in the waistband of her jeans. But she knew she needed one more thing from him.
Ignoring the pain in her arm, she awkwardly pulled off his suit jacket and put it on. It was way too big for her, but would hide the bleeding.
Realizing she only had seconds before the cops arrived, she ran to the Ford sedan and fired it up. Backing out of the driveway, she turned around on the street and stomped on the gas, the car lurching forward. She sped west, desperately looking for signs to the interstate.
Twenty minutes later she was speeding south on I-75, with Atlanta’s tall skyline in the rear-view mirror. Erica felt a sharp jab of pain and she glanced under the coat at her wound. She knew the bullet hadn’t hit an artery, or she’d be dead already. It looked like the shot was a through-and-through, but it was still bleeding and she had to stop the flow.
But she pushed that thought aside. The cops at the scene would have talked to the NSA agents by now. An APB for her and the car had probably already been issued. She had to ditch the car’s license plates.
A large sign loomed ahead. The next exit was for Atlanta’s Hartsfield Airport.
Jerking the wheel right, she crossed two lanes and got on the off-ramp, ignoring the blasts of horns from other cars. Driving past the secondary turn-offs for the terminals and car rental returns, she spotted the Long Term Parking sign and took that exit.
Minutes later she was inside the massive, multi-story concrete structure, which was almost completely full of cars. On the 3rd level she found an empty slot and backed into it.
Resting a moment to alleviate the pain, she then rummaged through the glove compartment, looking for anything to use as a tourniquet. She found a man’s handkerchief and she painfully shrugged off the jacket. Wrapping the cloth around her bleeding upper arm, she tied it tightly, gasping from a fresh stab of pain.
That done, she dug a quarter out of her pocket and got out of the car.
Looking around first to make sure no one was nearby, she walked to the rear of a nearby Impala and crouched by the license plate. She unscrewed the plate and went back to the Ford. Taking off its plate she replaced it with the new one. Since she was in a long-term lot, she hoped the owner of the Impala wouldn’t be back for days, maybe longer.
Climbing back in the Ford, she pulled out of the slot and sped toward the exit, her tires squealing all the way.
An hour later she was near Macon, still heading south on I-75. Glancing at the gas gauge, she knew she’d have to stop soon. Spotting an Exxon sign for the next exit, she swung into the right lane and slowed down. Exiting the interstate, she pulled in front of one of the pumps of the large gas station. It was all self-service and the machines only took credit cards. She’d have to go inside to prepay in cash.
Getting out of the car, she awkwardly shrugged on the jacket and walked inside the building, which included a Subway restaurant and a large convenience store.
With her arm still throbbing, she walked the aisles of the store, picked up a bottle of Bayer and a box of large bandages. Realizing she’d need more items, she grabbed a small shopping basket and dumped in the aspirin and bandages. Then she walked around the store, grabbed a map of the U.S., a six-pack of Coke, and a bottle of No-Doz. Finally, she found the food aisle and clutched a dozen candy bars.
Walking back to the cash register at the front of the store, she stood in line to pay. When it was her turn, she said, “This stuff and thirty dollars of gas on pump six.”
The attendant behind the register was an Asian man, short and wiry. His name tag said Mike, but she doubted that was his original name. Wordlessly, the man rang up her stuff and told her the total in broken English.
She handed him the cash and he gave her the filled plastic bag. “You…want…receipt?” he asked.
“No, thanks. Don’t think I’ll need it.”
Walking back to her car, she put the bag in the passenger seat and then pumped the gas.
Getting in the vehicle, she turned on the engine and pulled out of the station. A minute later she was back on the highway.
She knew she had to get out of Georgia fast. Probably out of the country.
***
U.S. Senate Chamber
Washington, D.C.
Megan Lewis was sitting in the large chamber, talking with another senator. They were discussing the upcoming vote on the defense budget when her cell phone rang.
Plucking the phone out of her Dior shoulder purse, she looked at the caller ID. She held up a hand and said, “Excuse me Senator, I need to take this.”
She stood and walked to a quiet area of the room, away from the other lawmakers.
“Hello,” she said, holding the phone to her ear.
“It’s me,” she heard – it was Colonel Norton’s voice, but it sounded tinny as if he were far away. “I’m on a secure line, Senator.”
“Good. What’s up?”
“Remember the conversation we had the other day?”
“Yes, Jack. I know exactly what you’re talking about.”
“Perfect. Although this is a secure line, I’d rather not get too specific. Things are getting dicey.”
“I understand.”
“Senator, I’ve just received confirmation from several sources. The operation is real. Very real.”
Stunned by the news, she was speechless a moment.
“Senator, are you still there?”
“Yes, Jack. I’m still on. You said things are dicey. What do you mean?”
“One of my sergeants, the one that cracked the encrypted message, he’s gone missing.”
She broke into a cold sweat. Audrey Cruz missing and now this. Damn. She glanced at the corner of the chamber, spotted her two bodyguards standing by the wall. No question she’d made the right decision on that.
“Okay, Jack. I understand what’s happening.”
“Good, Senator. But watch your back. Some heavy shit is coming down.”
“I hear you.”
The line went dead and she put the phone back in her purse. She was about to walk back when it rang again.
Grabbing it quickly, she took the call. “What is it, Jack?”
But instead of the colonel’s voice she heard Erica Blake’s.
“Hi, Senator,” the young woman said.
“Erica, I’m glad you called. I’ve been worried about you.”
“Things have been hectic, to say the least.”
“I can imagine, Erica. Don’t tell me where you are, it’s better that way.”
“I agree.”
“Do you need anything, Erica? I can wire you money.”
“I’m okay, for now. But maybe soon. I’m on the move right now. I just wanted you to know I was still alive.”
“It’s good to hear your voice. By the way, what we talked about before, the connection between the various…incidents…I just got confirmation. They’re all connected. It’s big. Bigger and much worse than I imagined.”
“Damn.”
“My thought exactly. Whatever you do, don’t come back to D.C. Things are getting scary, even for me. I’ve hired bodyguards.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Amen to that. Listen, Erica, I’ve got to go. But keep in touch. And if you need anything, call me.”
“Thank you, Senator.”
***
The Oval Office
The White House
Washington, D.C.
Matt Taylor stood by the three tall windows and stared out at the Rose Garden. He was in a sour mood and even the peaceful garden scene wasn’t helping.
“Mr. President, General Corvan is here to see you,” he heard Alice say over the intercom.
“Show him in, Alice,” he replied, as he sat down behind his desk.
The general came in, nodded, and sat down on one of the wingback visitors chairs.
“I’m in a foul mood, General. Please don’t make it worse.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What do you have?”
“Sir, all of the preparations are going smoothly on BlackSnow. I was just at the Pentagon and met with the key generals and admirals. The technical aspects of the operation are all in place.”
“That’s good to hear. What about the Air Force sergeant we talked about the other day? Have you dealt with that?”
“Yes, Mr. President. He won’t be a problem anymore.”
“Excellent.”
“We do have one other issue, on a related matter.”
Taylor shook his head slowly. “I guess it’s unavoidable, in a complex operation like this. What is it?”
“Do you remember that FBI agent? Erica Blake?”
The president nodded.
“The National Security Agency guys found her in Atlanta. Unfortunately there was a shootout and she got away.”
“Damn it, Corvan. She’s one woman. How could she get away from them a second time? Are those idiots incompetent?”
“I can’t answer that, sir. I do know she’s on the loose and they’re trying to locate her. She wounded two NSA agents and now there’s a nationwide manhunt for her.”
Taylor gritted his teeth. “I’m tired of this. Forget the NSA. Send Garcia after her.”
“Yes, Mr. President. Do you want her terminated?”
Taylor shook his head forcefully. “No. Bring her in alive, if possible. We need to question her to find out who else she’s been talking to.”
“Yes, sir.”
The president leaned back in his chair, was quiet a minute. Then he said, “Corvan, looking at the bigger picture, I think BlackSnow is going as well as can be expected. We’ve had some minor setbacks, like this FBI woman, but other than that, I’m pleased with our progress.”
“I agree, Mr. President. Do you think you can stall the Chinese until Zero hour?”
Taylor barked out a laugh. “Yeah. I think I’ve got those jerks snowed.”
“That’s good. What about Megan Lewis and the Swiss proposal? How do you plan to handle that?”
“She’s a very influential senator. I could use her support in the election. I’ll stall her too.”
“Good thinking, sir.”
Taylor closed his eyes and swallowed hard. He hadn’t had a drop of liquor in three days and he felt the pain of withdrawal. But BlackSnow was only a week away and he had sworn to himself he’d stay off the booze until after the operation was over. He knew he had to keep a clear head. Too many things could still backfire.
“Are you okay, sir?” he heard Corvan ask. The president opened his eyes, let out a deep breath.
“I’m fine, General.”
A worried look crossed Corvan’s face. “You look a bit pale,” the general said. “Maybe I should get your doctor in here?”
Taylor waved a hand in the air. “No. It’s nothing. I stopped drinking a few days ago, that’s all. I want my mind sharp.”
Corvan nodded.
“Got anything else for me, General?”
“No, sir.” The man stood up. “I’ll call Garcia now. And give you an update this afternoon.”
The president nodded absently, having already forgotten about the FBI woman. His thoughts had drifted back to the logistics of Operation BlackSnow.
“We’ll talk later, Corvan.” He swiveled his chair and stared out the windows, the peaceful view of the Rose Garden momentarily calming him. But a moment later his disposition turned dark as the lurking dangers of the next week flooded his mind.
7 Days to Zero Hour
Special Operations
Marine Corps Detachment
Training Facility, Building 14
Fort Bragg, North Carolina
Bobbie Garcia paced his office as he considered his new assignment. The general had been explicit in his instructions. Find Blake. Interrogate her. Then send her to the special place.
The problem was she could be anywhere right now. The NSA guys had screwed up big time. They had her cornered and let her get away. He shook his head. Those clowns were good at gathering intel but not very proficient at field work. Now it was up to him to clean up their mess.
There was a knock at the door and he said, “Come in.”
Sergeant Thomas opened it and
peered around it. “Anything on her whereabouts, Captain?”
“Not yet. But get the jet ready. We’ll go as soon as something breaks.”
“Yes, sir.” The man nodded and closed the door.
Garcia continued pacing and a few minutes later his cell phone rang. Unclipping it from his belt, he held the phone to his ear.
He heard an unfamiliar voice. “This is James Moseley.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m with the National Security Agency. Assistant Director of the Atlanta office.”
“How’d you get my number, Moseley?”
“General Corvan.”
Garcia didn’t like getting calls from people he hadn’t personally worked with, but hearing the general’s name made him feel less suspicious.
“What’s the code word for today, Moseley?”
“Red spinach.”
“Okay,” Garcia said, relaxing. “You’re good.”
“I just got off the phone with the general and he told me to contact you directly. I’ve got info on Erica Blake.”
Garcia’s interest shot up. “What do you have?”
“She was spotted in El Paso, Texas, close to the border with Mexico. She ditched the car she took from us and was last seen on foot. We think she’ll cross the border. I should have a more exact fix on her location later today.”
“Good. I’ll head down there right now. But don’t have your guys try to pick her up. You’ve done enough damage already. I’ll take care of this with my crew.”
There was a pause on the other end. “Listen, two of our men were wounded. We’re not happy about this either.”
“Yeah, I hear you, Moseley. Call me as soon as you have more.” He hung up and left his office to find Thomas.
***
Hart Senate Office Building
Adjacent to the U.S. Capitol
Washington, D.C.
Megan Lewis stepped out of her office and approached her assistant’s desk. “Have you reached Colonel Norton, Lisa? I told you I needed to speak with him immediately.”
The young woman looked up, a frown on her face. “I just got off the phone with his office. They…can’t locate him…haven’t seen him all day.”
“Christ. What the hell is going on? Call his private cell number.”