Kane nodded. “I do know what they’re working on, and my money’s on a foreign government kidnapping them.”
“Can you—”
Kane raised a hand. “No, I can’t tell you what it is. Let’s just say it’s dangerous if used for the wrong thing, a Pandora’s Box sort of thing.”
“Jesus Christ,” muttered Percy. “What is it with scientists?”
Kane shrugged his shoulders then nodded out the windshield.
“Fifteen minutes. That means this is a high priority mission for the agency.”
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t preposition a cleanup crew on US soil unless you think there’s a high likelihood you’re going to need them.”
“So what does that mean?”
“It means they expected somebody to die. Probably me.”
“So what are you going to do now?”
“Visit an old friend.”
Entyse, Wine Bar & Lounge, Tysons Boulevard, McLean, Virginia
Chris Leroux eyed the steak and garlic mashed potatoes sitting on the plate, then across the table at Sherrie’s garden salad with seasoned chicken breast, a raspberry vinaigrette on the side.
Garlic mashed potatoes? Garlic! What were you thinking?
“Can I get a light Caesar dressing instead?” she asked the waiter, who nodded then walked away. Sherrie looked at him. “We both better have garlic breath tonight, or this evening isn’t going anywhere.”
Chris laughed nervously, and was certain he turned several shades closer to the lobster at the next table.
Sherrie winked at him and reached across the table, taking his hand and squeezing it.
“I’m just joking with you, I could tell by the way you were eying the potatoes you were regretting your choice.”
Chris shook his head and laughed.
“You know me so well, it’s uncanny.”
“Hey, I’m CIA, remember?”
She laughed and so did he, both stifling the laughter when the waiter returned with her new dressing. He politely waited for her to take her first bite, then dug in himself, his nerves for the moment forgotten, the ease he felt with Sherrie unlike anything he had ever felt.
And the feeling he was being played returned.
“So, where are you originally from?” she asked.
No harm in answering that.
“Allentown, Pennsylvania.”
“Pennsylvania? Never been there. Pretty?”
Chris nodded as he swallowed some of the potatoes. Good!
“It’s quiet, that’s for sure.”
“Where’d you go to college?”
“Berkeley.”
“Good school.”
He nodded.
“You? Where’d you grow up?”
She put her fork down and gently dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin.
“If my mother were alive, she’d probably say I never did grow up!” laughed Sherrie. “Born and raised in Houston. Folks were both killed in a car accident when I was sixteen.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
She shrugged. “It was tough at first, especially having to live with my grandparents for two years, but as soon as I could, I got out, went to college, and applied to the Agency. Been slaving away ever since.”
“Same. The Agency was my first job too, recruited right out of school. One of my professors had me take some aptitude test, and a few weeks later I was in a room with a couple of suits, asking me questions, then two more weeks I had a job offer.”
“Did you have to think about it?” asked Sherrie. “I mean, you don’t strike me as the cloak and dagger type.” She paused, then added, “No offense.”
Chris smiled. “None taken. Yeah, I had to think about it. A lot. But then I realized it was a chance to serve my country, make a decent stable income, and perhaps do some good.”
His thoughts drifted to the Brass Monkey incident, and how it had been him that had put together the pieces. If it weren’t for me, the world might be a very different place today.
“For me I knew as soon as I watched Alias on TV what I wanted to be,” said Sherrie as she stabbed a cherry tomato, the juices spurting out slightly. She dabbed it in the dressing. “Travel, kick some ass, save the world.” She shrugged her shoulders. “What’s not to like?” She popped the tomato into her mouth.
“Desk work isn’t exactly exciting,” said Chris, swirling his fork in his potatoes. “I’d love to be an agent, but I just don’t think I’d have the, you know, courage for it. I know an agent. Him, I see him as agent material all the way. But me? Special Operations Group would laugh me out of the building.”
Sherrie swallowed a piece of broccoli. “You really shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.” She jabbed her fork in the air without looking up, instead examining her salad. “This agent you mentioned, how’d you meet him?”
“Kane? I—”
Chris caught himself, but too late. The name was out. He wasn’t sure what to say. All he knew is that he had publicly said the name of an agent. A top secret special agent in the Special Activities Division of the Special Operations Group.
“What was the name?”
“Forget it. I shouldn’t have said it.”
Sherrie nodded. “Best you don’t repeat it, certainly not here.” She paused and speared a cucumber. “Let’s call him ‘Jim’. Where’d you meet Jim?”
Chris felt his stomach churn. He knew it was forbidden to talk about agents and assets. Even in code, unless there was an operational necessity. And trying to get past first base on a first date was not an operational necessity, no matter how horny he was and how long it had been since he had been with a woman.
The exact date and time flashed in his mind and it was embarrassingly long ago for a man in the prime of his life. He felt himself weaken momentarily, then saved himself by taking a bite of his steak, making a motion with his hand that he couldn’t talk until he swallowed. This only bought him a few seconds, but it forced her to pick up the conversation.
“I’d love to meet an agent, swap stories. Or I guess, listen to stories. As soon as I’m eligible I’m applying. I’ve been taking Karate for years now and just got my second degree black belt.”
Swallow.
“So you can kick pretty much anybody’s ass then,” said Chris, happy for a way to change the conversation. “I’ve always wanted to take a class, but never really got around to it. My hours are so scattered that I just can’t make the commitment.”
“It’s definitely a commitment,” said Sherrie as she battled with a rather large piece of lettuce. “If you’re not willing to put in the time, you might as well just take a kickboxing class for the cardio.”
Chris nodded as a forkful of steak and garlic mash entered his mouth. He put his fork and knife down as he chewed, and glanced around the restaurant. Something moved in the window, and he nearly gasped. He could have sworn it was Kane, but another look showed no one.
“You okay?”
“I thought I just saw…”
His voice drifted as he realized it couldn’t be.
“Your spy friend?” asked Sherrie playfully, waving her fork at him.
“What would make you say that?” he asked, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. It couldn’t have been Kane, but he could swear the person in the window was looking straight at him. But with the conversation dancing around him, he wasn’t sure if it was just his subconscious playing tricks on him.
“It was a joke, sweetie.” She reached out and squeezed his hand. “Sorry, you’re right, I’ll let it go.” She seductively pulled a cherry tomato off her fork with her teeth, her lips slightly open as she stared at him.
Chris adjusted himself, his pants suddenly becoming rather constraining, then quickly looked at his half eaten steak and equally assailed mound of potatoes. Suddenly he couldn’t remember how to eat.
“I know a great place for dessert that we can go to. It’s not far from here.”
He looked up at her, flus
hed. Dessert sounded great. “Sounds good. Where?”
“My place.”
Leif Morrison Residence, River Oaks Drive, Mclean, Virginia
Leif Morrison tossed his jacket on the back of the chair in the front hall, then thought better of it. Just because your wife’s away… He could hear Marlene now, reminding him to take it easy on Maria, otherwise she might quit and take one of the other myriad of offers she’s received. And she’s the only one I trust to clean my silverware!
He smiled.
Marlene had been at her mother’s for a week now and he missed her. Oh, the first couple of nights were great, reliving the bachelor days, but when you’re Director of the National Clandestine Service for the Central Intelligence Agency, you couldn’t exactly pretend you were Tom Cruise and slide around the house in your socks and underwear à la Risky Business.
Christ, if the Senate Select Committee saw that, I’d be locked away somewhere cold and dark.
He chuckled as he hung up his jacket in the closet, then sat down to pull his shoes off. An audible sigh escaped at the relief of freeing his feet from the iron maiden they had been shackled in all day. He swore his feet sighed too.
The hiss of carbon dioxide escaping its confines caused his heart to slam into his chest. A second hiss had him on his feet, reaching for the drawer in the hallway console that he kept a Glock in.
“Don’t bother,” came a voice from deeper in the house. He peered into the darkness, but could see nothing, the only light in the entranceway where he was.
He made a mental note to have the main floor lights upgraded so they’d turn on automatically when someone came home and deactivated the alarm. He reached for his watch to alert the security detail outside.
“Uh ah! There’s no need for company,” said the voice, closer this time. He could see their shadow. The voice was familiar, he knew he had heard it before, but he couldn’t place it. The footsteps were slow, and if he had to, which if he survived, he would be doing later tonight in a report, he would characterize them as casual. The voice was calm, non-threatening, but since it was coming out of the darkness of his own home, it was still terrifying.
Morrison reached for the light panel and flicked a row of switches up with his finger. The hallway flooded with light, and the friendly face that was revealed left his heart slamming against his chest even harder.
“Kane! What the hell are you doing here?”
Kane held up two opened beer bottles.
“Hoping to enjoy a cool beverage with my boss, and ask him why he tried to kill me today.”
Morrison’s chest tightened.
“What the hell are you talking about? You killed three agents today!”
Kane stepped forward and put one of the bottles on the teak accent table his wife had picked up in Scandinavia six years ago.
Coaster!
He picked it up quickly and wiped away the condensation ring with his hand. Kane raised his beer in a toast, took a swig, then spoke.
“Let’s just clarify. I killed two agents, and one BlackTide scumbag.” He jabbed the air with his hand holding the bottle. “Who tried to shoot first!”
“Correction. You killed three agents, and a BlackTide scumbag.”
This seemed to catch Kane off guard. The beer lowered from his lips.
“What?”
“You heard me. You killed the entire team sent to question you.”
Kane waved his finger in the air, shaking his head.
“Nooo, that’s not the way it happened. Four guys entered my room uninvited, I got the drop on them, BlackTide goes to shoot, I take him out, two others open fire, I take them out, and the fourth I don’t touch. I left him alive, cuffed, after he called his own cleanup crew. They arrived about fifteen minutes later.”
“And when they arrived, he was cuffed, like you said, but had been beaten to a pulp, and shot in the head.”
“That’s bullshit, sir. I have a civilian eyewitness, a detective, who can corroborate my story. He was with me when we questioned the kid. Christ, sir, he was green, straight out of field training. He said he was a last minute replacement. I never laid a hand on him.” He took a swig of his beer. “Well, that’s not exactly true, I used a pressure point, but that was it. He spilled in record time.”
“What did he say?”
“Just that he was a last minute replacement, something bad had happened the week before, and that the guy who went to shoot first was BlackTide. He said his orders were to find out why I was back and in Ogden.”
“Those were his orders.”
Kane seemed to visibly relax, apparently relieved he wasn’t on some termination list. Kane turned, and walked deeper into the house, the exposing of his back not lost on Morrison.
He’s saying he trusts you.
Morrison followed him, and they both took seats, Kane on the leather couch, the wall to his back, with views of both the front hallway and rear windows, Morrison in his well-worn leather chair, inherited from his father years ago.
He sipped his beer.
“Tell me what you know,” he said, putting the bottle on a coaster and leaning back.
Kane spilled for several minutes. His intel was thin, superficial stuff, as if gleaned from someone on the outside looking in. We have a leak, but not a high level one. He chuckled at the tailpipe and wasp spray, and felt his chest tighten at the shooting of his agents. But if Kane was telling the truth, it wasn’t his fault.
“So where’d you get your intel?”
“Can’t say.”
“You and I both know who it was. I won’t bother mentioning his name, he’s already on my shit list for ignoring orders to drop this case.”
“Why? Why drop it when you know what these guys are working on?”
Morrison lowered his head and massaged his temples with his fingers, then sighed.
“Did it ever occur to you that we wanted to let it happen?”
Unknown Location
One Day after the Kidnappings
Jason Peterson felt the wheels touch down with a bounce and squelch, then the plane rapidly decelerated as the brakes were applied. Everyone was awake now, and he had his left arm around Darius, his right across Ayla’s shoulders, his hand resting on Maggie’s. Across was Carl Shephard, their teenage boy Charlie sitting between Carl and his wife Phoebe.
He exchanged scared glances with Carl as the plane turned, beginning to taxi to wherever their destination was. He had no idea how long they had been on the plane, his watch, which they had let him keep, broken. All other watches had been taken, along with cellphones and MP3 players. He was convinced he was allowed to keep his beat-up Timex as some sick joke. All he knew was it was the second plane since this ordeal had begun, this one not military, but some sort of private jet.
The plane jerked to a halt and the man who had cut his bindings earlier rose and grabbed something from one of the seats. He stepped toward the rear where Jason and the others were being held, and began tossing something at each of them.
“Put these over your heads.”
Somebody opened the door near the front of the plane, and immediately a cold wind howled inside, causing Jason to shiver and instinctively hold his children tighter.
“Now.”
Jason nodded and took the piece of fabric that sat on his lap and placed it over his face. Immediately all went dark except for where some light made it through the bottom near his neck.
It provided little comfort.
Darius began to whimper and Jason pulled his mask up to help the little man with his own.
“It’ll be okay, buddy. We’re almost done.”
“I w-want to g-go home,” he cried.
“We will, just not yet. I promise you.”
A shadow cast across them both as their captor approached.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
Leif Morrison Residence, River Oaks Drive, Mclean, Virginia
Today, Five Days after the Kidnappings
Kan
e’s mind reeled. What the hell did he mean? They wanted to let it happen? Why the hell would the CIA want top researchers in a field that held so much wonder and danger, along with their equipment, to fall into the hands of some party with ulterior motives?
“Huh?”
Morrison had taken a sip of his beer, apparently pleased he had caught Kane by surprise.
“What? You think the Agency is required to keep you informed of every action it takes? You’re an agent. You’re told what you need to know. You, along with pretty much every other agent and employee out there, knew nothing about what was supposed to happen.”
Kane caught the wording and raised a finger.
“Supposed to happen?”
Morrison shifted in his chair.
“You’re up to your neck in this shit now, so I’ll read you in.”
Kane put the beer aside and leaned forward.
“Three months ago apparently there was a terrible accident at the research lab. The experiment broke containment, and almost escaped the lab.”
Kane’s heart beat a little faster.
“Implications?”
Air burst from Morrison’s lips as he tipped the bottle of beer, taking another sip.
“You can well imagine. End of the world type stuff. And I mean complete end of the world, not something where some survivors miraculously make it onto a ship and find an island unaffected. This is total, permanent annihilation, with no hope the planet would ever sustain life again for eternity.”
Kane had guessed as much when his buddy Chris had described the research, but hearing it said by his boss was another thing. And the fear in his boss’ voice added to his own.
“What went wrong?”
“We’re not clear on that. The reports say a coding error, but they activated an EMP and managed to stop it before it spread too far.”
“An EMP can stop it?”
“An Electro Magnetic Pulse is apparently the only way to stop it, and if you had a wide enough infestation, you’d need a nuke to stop it. And that’s only if a few square miles are affected.”
“So there’s hope.”
“Do you realize what would happen if the United States launched a nuke, or possibly several nukes, at a country to try and stop some infestation? Most likely there’d be war, and if they were a nuclear power, there’d be retaliation. Do you think the Administration would ever be able to come to a decision in time?”
Rogue Operator (A Special Agent Dylan Kane Thriller, Book #1) Page 11