by CW Browning
Alina stretched and drank some water, opening the last folder. She frowned when she saw only one file inside. Clicking it open, she scanned his progress reports from the Organization’s training facility. When she was finished, she sat back, stunned. Kyle had never completed the training course! Halfway through, his psych evaluations had deteriorated, and the last notation was from Charlie, discharging him from the program.
Kyle Anthony March had never become one of them.
Viper rubbed her eyes. Fantastic. A mercenary who was partially trained by the Organization. She didn’t know which was worse: a fully trained assassin on a par with herself, or a partially trained one, forced to complete his training on his own in the field, without the benefit of oversight from a team of veterans. At least she could predict what another asset would do in any given situation. Kyle was a wild card.
Alina sat forward again, copying his entire folder onto the external drive. When it finished, she went back to the home folder. While she was here, she might as well copy her own file. It certainly wouldn’t hurt to have a little insurance. She initiated the copy, hesitating for a moment before searching for Hawk’s. He would be furious if he ever found out, but she grabbed it anyway. She had no intention of reading it, but if things went badly, they might need proof that they both were on Team USA, even if that particular team was unaware of their existence.
She was just getting ready to close out of the drive when another number caught her attention. Alina frowned and stared at the number below the folder. It took a full minute for her to realize why the number was so familiar to her. When she did, she sucked in her breath and felt her skin go cold as a wave of shock rolled over her. Her breath caught in her throat, and Alina felt as if her heart had stopped for a few seconds. The number swam before her eyes for a moment, then her heart pounded in her chest. It couldn’t be.
It wasn’t possible.
Almost in a daze, Alina clicked on the folder. It was filled with at least twelve sub-folders. She clicked on the first folder almost fearfully, not wanting to look but knowing that she must. Even though she knew what she would find, part of her hoped against hope she was wrong. The file opened and she stared at the military history on the screen. Her stomach dropped out of her and her face went hot, then cold again.
Alina reached for her water, her hand trembling, never taking her eyes off the military ID photo attached to the file. She knew what she would find as soon as she saw the number under the folder. She knew she was opening something she didn’t want to see. It didn’t seem to matter, didn’t seem to lessen the gut-punching effect of seeing the proof before her.
Dave Maschik had been an asset in the Organization.
Chapter Forty-Two
Hawk looked around the room, closing the door behind him silently. The suite was on the ground floor of an extended stay hotel about twenty minutes from Medford. While Viper was focused on hacking into the Organization, using every available minute for that purpose, Hawk hadn’t forgotten about the assassin responsible for the stitching in his side and the chaos at John’s funeral. Last night, while she was sleeping, Hawk found him.
He moved across the living room, glancing into a small kitchenette. The coffeemaker was empty, but the smell of coffee still hung in the air. The kitchenette looked spotless. He glanced around and went into the bedroom. The bed was made, and the door to the bathroom was open, giving him a clear view of a vanity with towels folded and stacked neatly on the end. Everything was neat, clean, and almost sterile in appearance.
Damon frowned and moved back into the living room. He watched Kyle leave in a black Honda Pilot five minutes before and Hawk didn’t know how long he had before he returned. He moved quickly, going through the couch, the pressed-wood entertainment center, and the kitchen cabinets. Aside from almond milk, half a hoagie, and a case of soda in the refrigerator, and coffee in one of the cabinets, there was nothing. He went back into the bedroom and crossed to the queen-sized bed, bending down to check under it. A rolling bag was stowed next to a slim black case secured with a combination lock.
Damon pulled out the rolling bag and flopped it onto the bed, unzipping it. He carefully sorted through clothes and plastic Ziploc bags with toiletries and medical supplies, placing everything back as he had found it when he finished. He was just closing the bag again when he saw the zippered pocket on the inside of the flap.
He opened it and slid his hand inside, feeling an envelope. Pulling it out, his eyebrows soared into his forehead. A single name was scrawled across the front: Viper.
Hawk flipped the unsealed envelope over and pulled out a single sheet of paper. A scowl gathered on his face as he read the letter quickly.
Viper,
If you’re reading this, it’s all over. Obviously, this was not the ending I was hoping for, but I try to prepare for the unexpected. I admit that with you it has been challenging. My congratulations on a fight well-won. I wish I knew how it ended. I know with you it would not have been easy.
I’m leaving you a parting gift. Consider it a token of my respect. I stumbled across a hard-drive, taken from a safe deposit box kept by Agent John Smithe. I believe you knew him, so I’m passing it on to you. I’ve left it somewhere only you will find. You’re the only one I trust to handle what’s on it.
All respect,
Kyle
Hawk refolded the letter and tucked it into the inside pocket of his jacket. He zipped up the luggage and slid it back under the bed. After a second’s hesitation, he grabbed the locked case and turned to leave the hotel room swiftly. His mouth settled into a grim line as he crossed the parking lot.
The son of a bitch was going after Viper now.
That was the only explanation for the sterile state of the hotel room and the letter left where she would find it, just as he had. The assassin knew it was going to end today, one way or another.
Hawk got onto his motorcycle, securing the case on the back, and pulled his helmet over his head. Kyle had a ten-minute head start. The motorcycle roared to life and he hit the throttle, jumping the curb and pulling into traffic. He weaved through the lunch rush skillfully, ignoring the honks and hand gestures. As he sped down the highway, Damon tried not to consider that he had killed targets in much less time than ten minutes. It only took a second to pull a trigger, as he well knew.
Hawk’s jaw tightened, and calm focus overtook him as he slipped into working mode. Viper was as skilled as anyone in the game. She would be ready for Kyle.
And if she wasn’t, Hawk would make damn sure that Kyle never made it back to the hotel.
Michael pulled into an empty spot in the parking garage and glanced at his watch. After settling Angela back in her house with her cat, he had crossed the bridge into Philly to the field office. Trent was transferred into the FBI’s care that morning, but Michael still had paperwork to fill out. He opened the door and climbed out, pulling his laptop from behind his seat before slamming the door and beeping the truck locked. He sighed, turning to head toward the elevator. This was not how he had planned on spending his day, but he was glad that Trent was off the streets and Angela was safe. Now if only he could get Asad off the streets as well. Michael’s head snapped up and he caught his breath.
Asad!
He pulled the clean phone out of his pocket and dialed quickly. Between questioning Trent and taking Angela home, Michael didn’t have time to warn Viper that Asad was still alive! The call connected and he listened to it ring once, twice, and three times. Pressing his lips together, he disconnected before her voicemail could answer. He would try again later. If he still couldn’t get her, he’d call Damon.
Michael had just slipped the phone back into his pocket when his regular phone began vibrating. He rolled his eyes, fishing in his other pocket. He finally got it out, glancing at the screen. He frowned, pressing accept on the unknown number.
“Hello?”
“Is this Agent O’Reilly?” a male voice asked.
Michael’s frown grew.
“Yes, it is.”
“This is Senator Carmichael.”
Michael’s jaw dropped and he stopped short of the elevator alcove, standing near the wall.
“Senator! This is a surprise.”
“Is it?” Robert asked dryly. “I doubt that.”
“What can I do for you?” Michael asked after a moment of silence.
“Are you in Washington? I’d like to meet with you.”
“I’m not, actually. What’s on your mind?”
“I understand you’ve been given access to Trasker Pharmaceutical’s records. I think we both know what you found. I want to discuss it.”
“There really isn’t anything to discuss,” said Michael carefully.
“Oh, but there is. There’s much more to this than you know. It’s larger than me and Dominic DiBarcoli.”
Michael stilled.
“I’m listening.”
“I was Dominic’s liaison. I met him and gave him instructions, guided him through the labyrinth of Washington, DC, and helped fund certain endeavors. You know about that by now. When he died, Dominic took a lot of information with him: information that some people believe died with him.”
“I sense a but.”
“I know it all,” said Robert simply. “The information didn’t die with Dominic. I’m the one who gave it to him.”
“Why are you telling me this? You know I’m Secret Service. Anything you tell me can be used against you in court. You know that.”
“I understand. I’m willing to tell you everything.”
Michael sucked in his breath.
“You want to turn state’s evidence,” he said in sudden understanding.
“In exchange for protection for me and my family. What I know is...very sensitive.”
“How sensitive?”
“Agent O’Reilly, I’m a United States Senator. Not much has the power to intimidate me, but this does. How much do you know about that attempted terrorist attack a few weeks ago?”
“Quite a bit. Enough to know they had help.”
“Yes.” Robert paused for a long moment. “That help came from Washington.”
“And you know who’s responsible?”
“Not only who’s responsible, but how and why.” Robert paused again. “Can you guarantee me and my family’s safety?”
Michael ran a hand over his head.
“I can’t guarantee anything until I’ve spoken to my boss, and we’ve met,” he said. “If what you’re saying is true, we’ll work something out. When do you want to meet? I can be in the city tomorrow.”
“Call me when you get into DC. I’ll send you my personal cell number. It bypasses the aids and comes straight to me. I’ll tell you where to meet me.”
Robert disconnected and Michael frowned, lowering the phone and staring across the parking garage. Was it possible? Could Carmichael know the identity of the leak in Washington? If so, Michael might be able to help Viper after all.
Viper raised her head sharply when a red light silently started flashing above the stairwell leading to the kitchen. She slid to another PC, opening her security system. As soon as the database opened, her lips tightened into a grim line. The security protocol she had coded into the backup fail-safe had been activated.
A chill streaked through her and Viper got up quickly, spinning around to stride into her armory. She grabbed the combat knife she’d been sharpening earlier and slid it into the knife holster at her ankle. She strode to the stairwell, closing her laptop as she passed. That security protocol could only be activated one way. Someone had hacked into her security system, making the security perimeter useless, and disabling the audible alarm. As far as the main system was concerned, nothing was wrong. It was only the back-up system that had recognized the intruder.
She hit the button on the wall and the opening above slid open. She pulled out her phone and switched to the back-up security app as she mounted the steps swiftly. When she had set up the security system, Viper had intentionally put it on its own server, completely autonomous. Now she was glad she had taken the extra precaution. The hacker only had access to her security server, nothing else.
Viper lifted the five quart sauté pan off the magnet on her kitchen island and the structure slid over the opening to her command center. She hung it on the pot rack and turned her attention to the phone in her hand. While the main system was unaware of any breach, the back-up system knew exactly where the threat was located.
She knew who it was. She’d been waiting for him, expecting him. The reverse tracker in the GPS she took from his sedan told him exactly where she was, and she knew that when she left Philadelphia the day she took it.
Viper had known something was wrong when the GPS was still in the rental car. While she was in the coffee shop across from the parking garage, she had realized just why he left it behind. When she got back to the Jeep, she debated taking the GPS to her safe house in Old City. She had a full house, with Angela and Michael both in plain sight. Any attack on her would involve witnesses, and possibly additional causalities. However, if the assassin was as reclusive as most in their profession, he would wait until they were not there to strike. In fact, Viper had gambled on it. In the end, she decided to bring Kyle to her.
And there was no doubt in her mind he was here now.
Alina crossed the living room to the mantel and opened the box with the shotgun shells. She pulled out an extra magazine for her .45, tucking it into a pocket on her right thigh within easy reach. Turning, she strode to the sliding door.
It was time to end this.
Charlie looked up from the laptop in front of him when the light began flashing silently on his desk phone. He sighed imperceptibly. His staff knew not to disturb him unless it was urgent.
“Yes?”
He pressed the speaker-phone button, returning his gaze to the screen in front of him.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, sir, but I have Bill on your secure line. He says it’s urgent.”
Charlie raised his eyes and picked up the handset.
“Put him through.”
“Here he comes.”
There was a pause, then Bill spoke.
“Hello?”
“I’m here. What’s the problem?”
“Remember when you asked me to monitor Senator Carmichael?”
“Yes.”
“I just intercepted a phone call he made from his office,” Bill told him. “He called a Secret Service agent, name of Michael O’Reilly. You know him?”
“I’m aware of who he is,” said Charlie with a frown. “Is he assigned to the Senator’s office?”
“That’s the thing,” Bill said, a note of excitement in his voice. “He’s not. In fact, he’s not assigned to anyone’s office. He works under Chris Harbor and specializes in fraud. He’s the one who tracked down the missing money in DHS last year.”
“I’m aware of that,” Charlie said gently. “Why did Senator Carmichael call him?”
Bill paused and cleared his throat.
“He claims to be willing to give O’Reilly evidence relating to Trasker Pharmaceuticals. He wants protection in exchange for turning states evidence against someone in Washington. The inference was that it’s someone higher than him on the food chain.”
Charlie sat back in his chair and was silent for a moment.
“Send me the transcript of the conversation,” he said finally.
“Already done,” Bill replied. “And I put someone on Carmichael.”
“No,” Charlie said slowly. “Let’s not do that just yet. Call them back.”
There was silence for a beat on the line.
“Are you sure?” Bill asked finally.
“Bill, how long have we worked together now?”
“How long...err, well let’s see...about four years, I guess.”
“In four years, what has led you to believe that I am ever ‘not sure?’” Charlie asked, his voice deceptively soft.
“I...well...nothin
g. I’m sorry. I’ll call the asset back.”
“Thank you.”
Charlie hung up and opened his secure email. He read through the transcript silently and sat back in the chair. Charlie stared across the room for a moment before pushing his chair back and standing up, closing the laptop automatically as he did so. He turned to walk over to the massive window behind his desk. DC was bathed in afternoon sun, and Charlie slid his hands into his pockets, staring out over his city thoughtfully.
So Carmichael was spooked. Understandable. Everything he had worked for all his life was about to be ripped away from him, spoils in the invisible war raging in the highest echelons of Washington. He had received his hand, gambled, and lost. Dominic DiBarcoli’s death was just the beginning, causing his world to unravel strand by strand. With every attempt he made to repair the damage, it simply got worse.
Charlie wasn’t surprised that Carmichael was attempting to exchange information for security. He was desperately trying to mitigate the damage as best as he could. But really, where did the man think he could hide? He was a United States Senator, not some two-bit thug from the Bronx who ended up working for the wrong family. Senators couldn’t just disappear.
Not without him.
Charlie absently watched the traffic on the street far below. When Viper had asked him to push through the subpoena to give O’Reilly access to Trasker’s files, he was hesitant. She presented a compelling argument, however, and he agreed. If anyone could find something in those files, it was Michael O’Reilly.
Apparently he’d come through as promised.
His lips tightened ever so slightly and Charlie stared out the window without seeing the cars or people below. Carmichael thought he could outrun his involvement, but Charlie knew better. No one had made it out of this alive so far, and the death toll was only going to go up from here. Too many people were learning too many things. Now everyone was trying to do the right thing.