The Fog of Dreams
Page 89
********
The thin chirp in Agent Grace's earpiece did not come as a surprise as he sat in his office typing away at his keyboard trying to catch up on some of the administrative nonsense that goes along with saving the world and furthering genetic evolution.
Instead of using the Bluetooth headset right here at his desk, he scooped up the handset sitting not two feet away and spoke abruptly into it.
"This is Grace."
"We have a problem."
Agent Grace lowered his eyes. For fuck's sake, why did every damn phone call have to start with those four words? "Speak," he responded, trying to keep the edge out of his voice.
"This is Agent McGovern. I was designated Sniper Four on over-watch at the Strickland residence."
Of course he was.
The voice on the other end continued, "At approximately 1100 hours this morning, there was an incident at the cabin in the woods behind the Strickland home."
"How bad?" Asked Grace immediately. It involved Strickland, so he knew it was bad, he just needed to know how badly.
"Three men lost, three injured."
"Strickland?"
"Affirmative."
It took all of Agent Grace's resistance to not slam his fist down on the desk. "Three? lost? Dead?"
"Yes, sir. Two snipers and the Canadian. Burndock was injured, probably a grade two concussion."
"Any clues on Strickland's present location?"
"That's the bad news, sir."
Before McGovern could continue, Agent Grace heard some muffled conversation and the sound of a phone being grabbed amidst staunch resistance.
A gruff voice spoke on the other end. "This is Burndock. I recommend a full red alert at the NSA Watch Station, sir. Repeat, full red alert."
Not much took Agent Grace by surprise. This did. "Excuse me?"
"We believe there is an imminent danger to personnel at our Watch Office, sir."
"What makes you think that?"
Burndock was rubbing his temple as he spoke, trying to remember the exact words. "Before he knocked me out, Strickland said he had to 'kill them all.' He had a mental break, sir. He remembered what happened."
"What happened?"
"To his wife, sir."
Grace was silent. Worthy's goddamned memory suppression therapy had failed somehow.
"Sir?" Agent Burndock asked the silence on the other end. "You know full well what this man is capable of. We don't have time to be pensive."
Grace started to berate his subordinate, but caught himself. After all, Burndock was right. Grace could hardly tear his head off for that.
"Understood, Agent. Let's just get our heads together and figure this out."
"Thank you, sir, and I agree. We're going to check the residence and I will call you back with more details. Meanwhile, I recommend pulling all field agents back to home base and preparing for the worst."
"I am inclined to agree. How many men do you need there?"
"If possible, I would like to keep one other man at the residence, to assist with clearing the house." Agent Burndock walked slowly in a circle, holding a hand to his aching head.
"You got it. Anyone else still standing gets back to Watch Station," Grace set the phone down in its cradle, waited a brief moment. Picking it up again, he dialed the number for Dr. Worthy.
Three short beeps answered and this number is no longer in service. Please check the number and dial again.
Agent Grace scowled and dialed the number again.
Bzzt bzzt bzzt. This number is no longer in service. Please check the number and dial again.
Agent Grace placed the phone back in the cradle, his scowl softening, just a little.
Son of a bitch.
Worthy wasn't a full time NSA Employee; he was a contractor who actually worked for an international corporation called GenTech. Had Worthy just cut and run? Or had he gotten other orders from upstairs? Suddenly Grace felt like this little operation might be evaporating out from under him. If Dr. Worthy or his superiors in the NSA thought that he would go quietly, they were wrong. He slid open the top drawer of his desk and lifted a thin false bottom, which concealed a row of cylinders and a thick blue pistol grip syringe.
Yeah, they were dead wrong.