by CW Browning
“Harry called me this morning,” Alina told him after a few moments of silence.
Damon glanced at her, his eyebrow raised.
“What did he want?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t answer. I was in the middle of searching Kyle’s hotel room.”
“He didn’t leave a message?”
“No.”
Damon frowned.
“I haven’t heard from him since we stopped the bombs,” he said. “Charlie isn’t keeping him updated. Now he tried calling you? What the hell is going on?”
Alina shook her head.
“I don’t know, but if he calls again, I’ll have to take it. The problem is who will be listening.”
Damon looked at her.
“I don’t like any of this,” he muttered. “Are you sure you won’t disappear?”
“Yes,” she said with a short laugh.
The door behind them slid open and they both turned to watch as Michael came out onto the deck.
“I cleaned up the food and put it away,” he said, walking over to lean against the railing. “Angela just went up to bed. She said to say good night.”
Alina nodded.
“Thank you for cleaning up. You didn’t have to.”
Michael smiled.
“I know. What are your plans tomorrow? Will either of you be around?”
Damon raised an eyebrow.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“I have to go down to DC,” Michael told them. “I’m catching the six o’clock train from 30th Street station.”
“What happened?” asked Alina, watching him.
“Chris called. He wants me down there tomorrow. I think he’s found something for me about Trasker. I’m only going for the day. I’ll be back tomorrow night.”
“We’ll handle Angela,” Alina said. “Be careful. If it’s Carmichael causing the drama down there, it’s only a matter of time before he realizes Blake isn’t the only threat.”
Charlie looked up from his heart-healthy omelet as a shadow fell across him. He was seated in his favorite diner at his usual table, tucked back in the corner where he had a good view of the entire dining room, but no one had a good view of him. He looked up into Harry’s face and nodded.
“Good morning,” he said, waving Harry into a seat. “You’re late.”
“I didn’t see your message until I got to the office,” said Harry, sinking into the chair across from him and leaning his cane against the table. “Is that...egg whites?” he demanded, aghast.
Charlie smiled faintly.
“I’m watching my cholesterol,” he said calmly. “Have you eaten?”
“With the birds,” he said cheerfully, flagging down a waitress. “I’ll have some coffee, though.”
He ordered coffee and waited until the waitress disappeared again before turning his gaze back to Charlie.
“What’s so important that you invited me to breakfast?” he asked, settling into his seat comfortably. “We usually meet for coffee later in the day.”
“You’ve heard about what happened in New Jersey?” Charlie asked, glancing up.
“Hard not to,” he grunted. “It’s been all over the news. Not everyday someone walks into a Fed’s funeral and starts shooting. Have you spoken to her?”
Charlie shook his head.
“No.”
Harry stared at him.
“She’s alright, though?”
“I presume so.”
“You presume...dammit man, you don’t know?!” Harry exclaimed, startled out of his habitual calm.
Charlie looked at him, amused.
“If she wasn’t, I would have heard,” he said. “I’m sure she’s fine.”
That soothed Harry a bit.
“Do you have any idea who or why?” he asked, his voice returning to normal.
“I have a few ideas, but nothing confirmed yet. “Agent Walker was hit.”
Harry sighed heavily.
“How badly?” he asked.
“She’s in the hospital. The bullet went into her leg. I’m told it just missed her femoral artery.”
Charlie fell silent as the waitress approached with Harry’s coffee. She set it down, glanced at Charlie’s cup and took it away with a promise of a fresh cup.
“Well, hell,” Harry said after she’d gone. “How’s she doing?”
“She’ll be fine.” Charlie finished his omelet and reached for a slice of whole wheat toast. “The other one was also hurt.”
Harry raised an eyebrow.
“The other one?”
“The other friend,” said Charlie. “Angela Bolan.”
Harry’s face cleared.
“Oh yes! The banker. What happened to her?”
“A couple lacerations from a statue, nothing more. She was treated and released.”
Harry was silent for a long moment.
“Viper will be furious,” he said finally. “She’ll go after the shooter.”
“Undoubtedly. I wouldn’t place bets on his survival rate at this point.”
“Do you think she has any leads?”
“It’s Viper. You trained her. What do you think?” he asked dryly.
Harry grinned.
“Valid point.”
The waitress returned with Charlie’s coffee, set it down with a smile, and left again.
“Well, I can only think of two reasons someone would walk into an FBI funeral and hide in the organ loft with a rifle,” Harry said, sipping his black coffee. “The most likely one is they were there for Viper.”
“And the other?”
Harry shrugged.
“They were there for one of the other agents in attendance. Given the presence a few weeks ago of a terrorist who wanted her dead, I’m going with the former.”
“Have you found anything new on Kasim?” Charlie looked at him. “You’ve had enough time.”
Harry scowled.
“He’s disappeared. We can’t find any trace of him. I’m confident he hasn’t slipped out of the country, but beyond that...I’ve got a team working around the clock. He’ll pop up somewhere, but until then, we’re blind.”
Charlie sipped his coffee, watching Harry over the rim.
“I’m not happy that someone knew enough to know where Viper would be yesterday,” he said after a moment, lowering his cup. “Do you think the DHS is compromised, or should I be looking elsewhere?”
Harry shook his head.
“I think more than just Homeland is compromised,” he said slowly. “I’ve been finding informational leaks from other agencies as well. But none of the people I’m watching have clearance high enough to know about the existence of Viper or any of your assets.”
Charlie studied him.
“And yet someone does,” he said softly.
“Are you sure the leak is on our side?”
Charlie nodded.
“Yes.”
Harry sighed.
“Then I’ll keep looking. It’s damn touchy, though. The levels you’re talking about don’t take questioning well. What about you? How are you faring on your end?”
“I’m getting close,” said Charlie unexpectedly. “I think they’re getting help from other agencies. I want to know our two departments are handled before I tackle any of the others.”
“Obviously,” Harry agreed, nodding. “I’ll see what I can get for you. Give me until tomorrow night. I’ve got something set up. If they take the bait, I’ll know exactly who we’re looking at by then.”
“Good.”
Charlie lifted his coffee cup again and Harry watched him thoughtfully.
“Why is Viper still here?” he asked. “Why haven’t you sent her overseas?”
“I don’t want her in the field while assets are dropping like flies,” Charlie told him, his gray eyes arctic. “I don’t want any of my people out there, but they already are. All I can do is keep them moving and hope for the best. She’s safer stateside.”
“And Hawk?”
>
“He’s been briefed on the risks. He’s watching his back.”
Harry shook his head.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said in a low voice, “when I find out who’s behind all this, I’ll kill him.”
Charlie looked at him, a faint smile toying on lips.
“I doubt very much you’ll be in time.”
Michael glanced at his watch and pulled out the clean phone Alina had given him. Striding to the curb, he raised his hand to hail a cab. Chris met him at the station when his train came in and they went to breakfast. Over eggs, bacon and toast, his boss told him what was so important that he had to catch an early train down. Now, as a cab pulled to a stop and he climbed in the back, Michael’s lips tightened. It was not a good development.
He gave his address to the driver and sat back as the cab eased into traffic. Looking down, he dialed Alina and held the phone to his ear while it rang. After three rings, he disconnected with a low curse before the voicemail picked up. Michael stared out the window, debating, before finally calling Damon. If he couldn’t get Viper, Damon was the next best thing. Someone up there had to hear what he learned this morning before something else happened. They’d all had enough excitement for one week.
“Yes?” Damon picked up after the second ring. “Don’t tell me you’re in trouble already.”
“Not me, you guys,” Michael retorted.
There was brief beat of silence, then a soft sigh.
“Well that does not sound good, gunny.”
“It’s not. Is she with you?”
“No.”
“She’s not picking up. Do we know she’s ok?”
“I’m sure she’s fine.” Damon sounded amused. “She’s navigated through worse territories than South Jersey. What happened? Are we expecting trouble?”
“I just talked to my boss,” Michael said slowly. “He had dinner last night with an old friend of his, who is also a Vice President at Trasker.”
Damon whistled.
“Nice. What did he find out?”
“Ever since the incident with the antidote, he and two other VP’s have been trying to find out how the hell an Ebola virus was introduced into their pipeline,” Michael told him a low voice. “They determined only a handful of executives had the opportunity and ability to make the substitution.”
“And?”
“They’ve been doing a secret internal audit of their computers and network usage. They narrowed it down to two prime suspects.”
“And you have the names,” Damon stated. “I have to say, gunny, you never cease to amaze me.”
“I’m not done yet,” Michael said dryly. “Trent Whitfield is one of those names.”
Silence greeted that for a long moment. When Damon finally spoke, there wasn’t a trace of amusement left in his voice.
“You’re sure?”
“They are. They’re just waiting for him to come back from his business trip.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Alina glanced at her watch as her phone vibrated again. She left the house an hour ago. Since then, she had three missed calls. This would make four.
“You’d think it was the damn apocalypse,” she muttered to herself, lifting a case of Pepsi into the red cart. “How the hell do they all function when I’m not here?”
She pulled her phone out and glanced at the screen, ready to hit the ignore button. Alina paused when she saw that it wasn’t a phone call at all, but an incoming encrypted message. She raised an eyebrow and swiped the screen. The message was from Reyna, her contact in Egypt.
Alina slipped the phone back into her pocket and pushed the cart to the next aisle to grab a box of frosted Pop-Tarts. Honestly, she didn’t know how Angie could consume all this sugar. She looked at the next item on the list and shook her head. Bagels. She should have known.
Reyna was working faster than Viper had anticipated. She hadn’t expected to hear from her until tomorrow at the earliest. The size of the message told her Reyna included attachments, and large ones at that. They would have to wait until she returned from her supply run.
When her phone vibrated again a few minutes later, Viper’s lips tightened in annoyance. She pulled her phone out again and glanced at the number.
“Yes?”
“You sound annoyed,” Damon told her, sounding gratingly cheerful himself. “What’s wrong?”
“My phone hasn’t stopped since I left. I’m ready to turn it off.”
“I know Michael called. Who else?”
“Stephanie, Angie, and now you.” Alina paused next to a display of cleaning sprays and picked up a bottle of multi-purpose lemon-scented cleaner, tossing it into the cart. “How do you know Michael called?”
“He called me when he couldn’t get you. He had not-so-glad tidings.”
He paused and Alina waited. When he didn’t continue, she sighed.
“Do you want me to guess?”
“His boss had dinner with one of the VP’s of Trasker last night. Turns out they’ve been running an internal software audit on all their execs with access to switch the Ebola virus with the antidote,” he told her. “They narrowed it down to two names, and Trent is one of them.”
Alina’s brows drew together in a scowl.
“Damn. That’s a problem.”
“Yep.”
“I’m just finishing up and then I’ll be back.” She steered the cart toward the check out.
“Viper,” he said in a low voice, “it’s no coincidence he came after Angela.”
“Oh, I know,” she said grimly. “At least now we know what his endgame is. The question is who’s behind it.”
Hawk watched through his binoculars as a pit bull bounded out of the door, a tall, brown-haired man behind him. The dog would have cheerfully kept going but for the leash pulling him up short as his owner locked the door behind them.
Hawk studied Blake Hanover thoughtfully. He knew who he was, knew he was an FBI agent in Washington, DC who was in the Marines with Michael, and that he’d helped Stephanie not only a couple weeks ago with the bombs, but also last fall with the North Korean hacker. He knew Blake had declared war on the Casa Reinos Cartel. The man obviously had guts, and Viper liked him. That was good enough for Hawk. Viper didn’t take to people easily, if at all. Their line of work didn’t exactly foster trusting relationships.
Blake turned away from the door and headed across the sidewalk to the grass courtyard, waiting as the dog kicked up his leg in front of a bush. Damon lowered the binoculars and glanced at his watch. It was almost noon. The morning had been spent babysitting Angela and scouring the local hospitals for Trent Whitfield. His patience paid off when he came across not only his name in Virtua’s database, but also his temporary local address. Trent was at an extended stay hotel in Mt. Laurel.
Blake and the dog began moving again, and Hawk lifted his binoculars again to watch as he led the dog across the parking lot to a black Challenger. He opened the passenger’s door and the dog jumped into the backseat, circling on the seat twice before sitting down. He closed the door and circled around to the driver’s side. A moment later he was pulling out of the lot.
Once the Challenger disappeared down the road, Hawk lowered the binoculars and tucked them into his jacket pocket. He got off his motorcycle and started across the large grass courtyard. He didn’t know how long Blake would be gone, but he was glad he took the dog. While Hawk had worked around animals before, he preferred not to. Unlike Viper, he didn’t have a magical way with them.
Stephanie's front door was closing behind him a few minutes later.
He looked around, noting the dog bed near the couch, and moved through the living room to the dining room. Stacks of papers and file folders on the table illustrated just what Stephanie was in the habit of using the dining room table for, with a noticeably empty spot the size of a laptop in front of one of the chairs. Damon glanced into the kitchen and turned and went down the short hallway. On the left a door led to a spare room that was half
storage. The door across from it opened into a bathroom. Damon glanced into both, then continued to the door at the end of the hallway. This was clearly Stephanie's bedroom. After a quick glance around, he returned to the dining room and began systematically going through the papers spread over the dining room table.
If Viper knew he was here, she would be furious. Someone was hemorrhaging information about her and Hawk wasn’t discounting any possibility. While she was limited by a sense of loyalty and friendship, Hawk was not. He was doing what needed to be done. Until they found the leak, everyone was a suspect.
And that included Special Agent Stephanie Walker.
Damon made quick work of the dining room table, moving on when he was finished. He did a cursory turn around the living room, then headed back to the bedroom. His lips pressed together grimly as he thought of Kyle in the organ loft at the funeral. His gut tightened, as it did every time he allowed himself to think about the assassin with Viper’s head in his crosshairs. If it wasn’t for the freak chance of a kneeler slamming, Viper would be dead, her head blown apart with a single round.
How the bloody hell had it all come to this? Two months ago he was in the old Soviet bloc, secure in his mistaken belief that the only way their cover could be blown was if they themselves blew it. When Harry summoned him back to the States to watch Viper’s back, he knew something was wrong, but he never dreamed they had a leak.
Hawk stepped into Stephanie's room and looked around. It wasn’t neat, but it wasn’t a disaster either. There seemed to be a kind of organized chaos, kept under control by the fact that Stephanie clearly didn’t spend a lot of time in her bedroom. He went to the closet first, his attention drawn to the safe. Crouching down, he examined it for a moment before reaching into his pocket and extracting a pair of latex gloves. He pulled them on and bent over the safe. It was a standard dial combination safe and he had it open a few minutes later. He moved a stack of ammo boxes and three pistols, reaching for a pile of folders underneath. He began flipping through them, scanning the contents quickly.
As soon as Viper told him she was made in Damascus, he knew they had a serious problem. Even so, he was inclined to believe it was isolated to Viper, until Singapore. The stitches in his gut and the dull, throbbing ache from the surgery and his cracked rib were a constant reminder someone meant business, and that business affected the entire Organization.