Vengeance: An Action-Adventure Novel (A Jon Steadman Thriller Book 3)

by Nellie Neeman

Congressman Taylor was sitting at the breakfast table holding a cup of coffee in one hand and a folded Journal in the other when the doorbell rang.

  “I’ll get it,” his wife, Mary, called out.

  “Who’s stopping by so early?”

  “Don’t you remember that federal agent who called? Said he wanted to talk about your decision to pull out of the race.”

  “Of course. Sorry.”

  “No problem, honey. I’ll be right back.”

  She opened the front door to what her mother would have called a strapping young man. Rugged with dark, longish hair. He was wearing cowboy boots.

  “Good morning, ma’am. I’m Agent Jon Steadman with the FBI New York office.”

  “Please come in.” She led him into the foyer. “I’ll admit when you emailed us I wasn’t expecting a southern gentleman.”

  Jon smiled. “I’m a hybrid. Born and bred in New England, educated in the South.”

  “Had me fooled. Which school?”

  Moved around a bit but graduated from UNT.”

  “Then as far as I’m concerned, you’re a local.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “No more now with the ma’am. Call me Mary.”

  She led him into the kitchen.

  Jon took a look at the congressman, straight posture, greying at the temples. A pile of morning papers surrounded him. A lab mix was curled up at his feet. CNN was muted on the television behind him. When he saw Jon, he started to stand.

  “Don’t get up, sir.”

  Taylor sat back down, gesturing to the chair beside him. “Have a seat, young man.”

  Jon sat. Mary quietly placed a cup of steaming coffee in front of him, dropping two sugar cubes into the brew, and left the room.

  “Must be important that you flew out here to meet me,” Richard Taylor said.

  “Yes sir, I believe it is.”

  “If my memory serves me, and lately that’s a crap shoot, you work for Doug Matthews.”

  “That’s right.”

  “He assigned security detail for me a while back when he was working out of Dallas. Ball buster that one.”

  “Yes, sir. “

  The congressman laughed.

  Jon cut to the chase. “I watched your speech. I’m sorry for your diagnosis.”

  “Thank you, son.”

  “You referred to an anonymous letter that provided your medical prognosis.”

  “That’s right. As far as I know the FBI was working on locating the sender. As you can imagine no one wants a U.S. representative’s email being hacked, no matter which side of the aisle one supports. So far no luck.”

  “Do you know the name of the agent leading that effort?

  “Um, Steve Reynolds . . . no, Stan . . . you know I’m not really sure.”

  Jon saw Taylor’s frustration as he struggled to come up with the name.

  “No problem. I’ll find out and check in with them.”

  “All right. So what would you like to know?”

  “First of all, do you have a copy of the original email?”

  “Yes, I printed one out for you.” He handed it to Jon.

  Jon glanced at it. “Thanks. If necessary, I may need to access your email account.”

  “No problem. Just let Rowan know. That’s my aide. He’ll only be with me till the end of the month. I’m quickly being put out to pasture.”

  “I’m sure there’s lots of things you’ve been wanting to do but didn’t have the time. Now you can do them.”

  “You’re right. I need to look at the brighter side. I’ll knock things off the old bucket list. For as long as I can. I hear there are medications now for what I have. Slows the progression. Especially for early onset forms.”

  “That’s good news.”

  They sat quietly for a moment.

  Jon said, “Sir, can you think of anyone who would have it in for you? A political foe would be a good place to start.”

  “I’ve spent a great deal of time thinking about that. My supporters are convinced it originated from our opposition. But I’m not convinced.”

  Jon wasn’t ready to rule out that theory.

  Taylor stirred his coffee, went on. “What people don’t realize is even those of us in political circles who fight one another on the government playing field often get along in real life. Many of my so-called opponents are personal friends. And while I’m well aware that in politics it’s no holds barred, I simply cannot think of anyone who would stoop to this level. And logistically, I can’t fathom how they got my DNA. I haven’t had my blood drawn in two years. Too busy.”

  “It wouldn’t necessarily have to be a blood test. Someone could have taken anything from a drinking glass to your hairbrush. It’s really quite simple if you know what you’re doing.”

  “Maybe it’s a deranged supporter of my opposing candidate. Someone who just couldn’t stomach me being the governor.”

  “It’s possible, but there’s another major factor here.”

  “What?”

  “The same thing was done to Caroline Atwood.”

  The congressman squinted in thought. “Name is familiar.”

  “The woman who was to marry into the royal family.”

  “What are you saying? Someone accessed her DNA?”

  Jon nodded. “Same as you. Only in that case, her results were sent to the queen, unsolicited.”

  “Unbelievable. How devastating for Miss Atwood.”

  “She’s a strong woman. But yes, it has taken a real toll on her. At this point, we need to anticipate others will be targeted. We just don’t know the motive. There have also been many people coming forward with stories of being fired, then soon after finding out they’re sick. We believe the same people who targeted you are helping companies by exploiting their employees’ DNA.”

  Taylor drummed his fingers on the table. “Criminal minds never fail to amaze me. With each technological advance there grows a new type of scofflaw.”

  “Human nature. Good versus evil. It will always be that way.”

  “I hope for a better future than that.”

  A woman in a white coat came in to the kitchen accompanied by Mary.

  Richard smiled. “Hello, Denise.”

  “Congressman.”

  “Please. I’ve asked you to call me Richard.”

  “I’m still trying,” she laughed.

  “Jon, this is Denise, my speech therapist. She’s working with me on holding on to whatever memories I have. Things like word retrieval and retention.”

  He watched as the woman took out an iPad and some worksheets. It was his cue to hit the road.

  “Well, I’ll leave you to it then. Thanks for your help,” Jon said.

  Jon put his untouched mug in the sink.

  Richard said, “I would have to step down anyway.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “While the invasion of privacy is horrible, the truth is, it kept a deteriorating mind out of office.”

  Jon nodded, and shook the man’s hand.

  Mary escorted Jon to the front door. She said, “It’s good to be home on a regular basis now. Austin is a sweet city but we much prefer it here in San Antonio. The river, the history.”

  Jon had never been good at small talk. “He’s a remarkable man.”

  She looked at him, her eyes tired and sad. “Yes, he is. And I want him to be remembered that way. He deserves that.” She said goodbye, painting a smile on her face, and walked back inside.

  Jon stepped onto the sidewalk, momentarily pausing in front of the congressman’s stately Spanish Revival home, its red-tile roof atop an asymmetrical façade. It was a house fitting for a man who had served his country well, a man of honor. A family man. Jon felt a familiar and fierce passion. He would not allow Richard Taylor to be thought of as a victim. Whoever was behind these invasions, these virtual attacks, would be stopped. But first the Pitbull needed to pick up the scent.

  ***

  New York City

  The
symposium was held on the third and fourth floors of the Grand Hyatt on 42nd Street, next door to Grand Central Station. Known for its world-renowned lecturers, the conference attracted scientists from all over the world. Terry entered the cavernous, high-ceilinged lobby, her heels clacking on the marble floor. She wove through a throng of lanyard-wearing attendees in search of their next class, made a beeline to conference hall A and took a seat in the back to the right of the double doors. She was ten minutes early, positioned to observe all who entered.

  When Shira had explained what she had done, Terry was more than uncomfortable. She was distressed. Following Yosef’s instructions, posts had been crafted and strategically placed on the dark web, ostensibly coming from Terry’s personal device. The message, directed at info traders, alluded to her interest in selling her lab’s latest advances, claiming she had been unsuccessful obtaining necessary grants. It stated that she planned to attend the World Symposium. In essence, Shira had turned Terry into bait, setting the stage.

  Terry’s role was to make herself easily approachable. Where she’d positioned herself, anyone entering the room would easily see her. As people began drifting inside she scrutinized the influx of attendees. Not one made eye contact. When the lecture finished, Terry timed her exit to walk out after everyone had left. Except for a woman in her late twenties who lingered, staring at her laptop. Seated alone in the corner, she was easy to miss. Rail thin, limp hair, she was the quintessential wallflower. Terry was about to offer a smile when the woman stood and walked past her without saying a word. Strange girl. But no cyberterrorist. Terry knew it wouldn’t be so easy. Clearly the broker was taking extra precautions, unlikely to show without establishing a secure environment. Terry would have another opportunity to draw out the broker later at the after-hours cocktail party.

  Terry looked at her watch. Her rendezvous was set to start in a few minutes. If she didn’t get moving, she would show up late.

  ***

  Terry tried to keep up with the flow of speed-walking commuters pouring out of Grand Central Station. She turned left at the corner and walked a block south on Park Avenue, arriving at Blue Bottle Coffee. She ordered a skinny latte to go and stepped back outside. Seven minutes later she was walking past the New York Public Library, its entrance flanked by the iconic pair of stone lions. As a teenager, she’d been in awe of the ornate ceiling murals. Today there was no time to go inside. She entered Bryant Park, situated behind the library. She took a seat in view of two elderly gentleman engrossed in a game of chess. Focused on their match, they paid her no mind. She enjoyed the milieu, until Shira took a seat beside her, her hair up in a tight ponytail, Snickers bar in hand. “Shalom, doctor.”

  Terry knew Shira well enough to cut to the chase. There would be no small talk, only a status update.

  “Jon was emphatic. He doesn’t want the liaison job.”

  Shira said nothing, so Terry continued. “No one approached me.” She hesitated, then told her handler about the young woman in the lecture hall.

  “Never be fooled by appearances.” Shira spoke in her characteristically abrupt manner.

  Terry knew her handler was right. And yet. “You think it’s possible someone like that is responsible for the hacking attempts on my lab’s system?”

  Shira took a bite of her candy bar, chewing slowly. “Possible? Without question. It’s best you keep that fact in mind if you are going to succeed in this operation.”

  Terry didn’t appreciate the rebuke but let it go.

  One of the elderly chess players called out, “Check mate!” He raised his hands in victory.

  Terry asked, “Why aren’t the Americans dealing with this?”

  “I imagine they are. But we look out for ourselves, doctor. The Americans are our friends and will remain such, but when it comes to security, we take care of our own business.”

  “Why do I have the feeling I’m being kept in the dark about some of this?”

  Shira shrugged. “We all are. Think of yourself as a violin playing in a concerto. One of many musicians.”

  “I suppose Yosef is the conductor.”

  “Correct. Focus on what you do best and let Yosef manage the bigger picture.”

  Terry didn’t like it. As a self-professed control freak, ceding it to others was a challenge.

  Shira said, “Make sure you arrive on time to the cocktail party, hope the broker shows. If not, we’ll make other arrangements.”

  Terry hoped that wouldn’t be necessary. All she wanted was to get the whole thing over with and make her way back into Gabe’s loving arms.

  ***

  The Monarch Lounge was located on the top floor of a thirty-two-story building on the West Side. The space was classic Manhattan. Upscale, understated, tastefully appointed. And outrageously expensive. Terry was familiar with the borough’s sentiment. I’m better than you, but I’ll do my best not to shove it in your face.

  Terry helped herself to a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and took in the scene. Tonight was surely not the crowd typically seen at the venue. Several people stood around awkwardly sipping daiquiris and screwdrivers. Scientists were not known for their social skills. She sat alone at a two-person table, no one venturing to approach her.

  How will I ever find this broker?

  Several people were milling about. One woman appeared nerdier than the rest. She was dressed in a modest grey frock. Her glasses were out of date. With poor posture, she seemed to blend into the background. Yet something about her was familiar. It took a moment, but Terry realized. The same woman had been in several of the sessions she had attended earlier in the day. Is she following me?

  Terry reached for her purse digging for her phone so that she could photograph the woman and send the picture to Shira. As she did so, a waiter cleared Terry’s empty glass, momentarily obscuring her view.

  “Dr. Lavi, it’s a pleasure to see you here. I’m a huge fan.”

  Terry looked up. Standing there was a thin woman, five feet at most, sporting a neatly styled head of short silver hair, intelligent blue eyes smiling down at her. She was dressed elegantly in a fitted black knee-length dress, its low neckline showcasing her crepey decolletage. A fashionable grandma. Terry was impressed. Unlike many women in her age group, the woman wasn’t covering up. She appeared at ease in the surroundings, tapping her foot to Sinatra’s Fly Me to the Moon playing on the overhead speakers. The woman exuded confidence.

  Terry looked past the woman, relieved to see the nerdy girl was still lingering in the corner, peering at her phone, and gestured to the unoccupied chair. “How nice. Won’t you please join me?”

  The woman sat. Up close, her petite frame made her seem as fragile as the wine glass grasped in her manicured hand.

  Terry said, “Have we met?”

  “Sadly, no. But your work in predictive genetics is well-known. I read several of your journal articles.” She offered her hand. Terry took it. “I’m Charlotte Colbert.”

  “What a lovely name. Is it French?”

  “It is. Though it goes back a few generations.”

  “You’re American, then?”

  The woman nodded. The nerd was now on the opposite side of the room, a finger in one ear, speaking into the phone. She turned, made brief eye contact with Terry and quickly turned away.

  Terry asked Charlotte, “What sort of work do you do?”

  “I suppose you could say I’m a jack of all trades. Though my primary job is headhunter.”

  The woman chuckled at Terry’s aghast expression. “It’s just a funny name for recruiter. I look for the best talent in the science fields and hook them up with compatible companies.”

  “Fascinating.”

  “I enjoy it. As a matter of fact, I would love to discuss options for you.”

  Terry smiled, held up a hand. “I’m very happy at my job.”

  “Israel is certainly at the forefront of scientific research, but there are outstanding facilities here in the U.S. with significantly
greater salaries than you could ever earn in your current role. Not to mention grant opportunities.”

  “Thank you, but I’m perfectly content in my Haifa lab.”

  “Of course. I understand.” Charlotte stood, offering a business card. “Please reach out to me if you change your mind. If you’ll excuse me, there are a few people here I’d like to meet.”

  Terry said, “It was nice meeting you.”

  Charlotte Colbert offered a polite smile and walked away. Terry scanned the room. The nerdy girl was gone.

  Terry rushed out to the elevator just as the door closed. If it weren’t so many flights to the ground level, she’d have run down the stairs. But not in heels. It seemed to take forever till the elevator returned. She punched in the lobby and minutes later was running out the building. The woman was on the opposite side of 12th Avenue, her hand in the air, hailing a cab. Terry saw one waiting at the red light, its numerals lit up, indicating it was available. She only had seconds. Swiftly, she raised her phone, zoomed in on the woman and took a burst of photos. Moments later the cab blocked her view. As it rolled away, Terry saw the girl. She was looking directly at her.

  Chapter 22

  Austin, Texas

  Jon met up with Luanne at The Two-Step, a live music bar. They both needed a reprieve. He loved Austin, a magnet for country music’s best talent, often performing for a pittance. He considered calling Gabe to meet up but decided it would be better when Luanne wasn’t around and they could have a real guy talk. Right now, Luanne needed a friend. She’d had no success finding a joint and seemed uncharacteristically stressed out. She jumped on his suggestion to take in the music scene before catching their flights back to LA. It also gave him the chance to bring her up to speed on his meeting with the congressman.

  The place was a local hangout, with a well-stocked bar, several chipped wooden tables and a tiny stage. Four musicians were playing some of the best music Jon had heard in a while. Within minutes, Luanne appeared relaxed, sipping a Heineken. Between sets, Jon excused himself and stepped outside to the outdoor patio to make a call.

  The phone rang several times before Terry answered. “Hi, Jon. Give me a second. I just got out of the shower.”