The Hidden Vector: A Spy Thriller

by Mathew Snyder

  Ethan climbed down to find Andrei’s contorted body on the ground. In his pockets he found the van keys he’d hoped Andrei still carried. He searched again and found his phone, but no weapon. As much as Ethan wished for a gun now, it meant they were lucky to make it this far. Their escape caught Andrei off guard. If he had found time to grab a weapon, both of them would be dead.

  Ethan glanced along the long building and its many doorways. The doors stayed shut. No guards pursued them, but it was only a question of seconds now. He hobbled to Andrei’s white van across the lot. Behind him, Kamran limped along as he pressed his hands against the hole in his chest.

  Shouts erupted from a doorway down the far length of the building. Men emerged from the door like scattering black ants, all dressed like the guard that stood outside his cell door overnight. They brandished sidearms, and one signaled to the others toward the van.

  Ethan started the engine and jerked the gearshift into reverse. He maneuvered the van between Kamran and the guards. They opened fire. The first shots drummed along the van’s side like a crash of hailstones. Ethan ducked and leaned over to open the passenger door where Kamran fumbled with the handle.

  “Get in!”

  A bullet struck Ethan’s window. He raised his hands in a desperate reflex as the tiny pieces of glass rained upon him. The cadence of gunfire increased, and Ethan floored the accelerator. Gravel churned beneath the back tires, and the van rocketed toward another parked vehicle. He swerved around it to block the gunfire, then sped toward the boom gate at the lot’s perimeter.

  Kamran slumped in the seat next to him, unable to lift his wagging head.

  “Stay with me, Kamran. Hold on.”

  The van burst through the boom gate and onto a narrow lane of cracked blacktop that ran out of the mountain valley into a maze of industrial buildings. He leaned to check the far side mirror for pursuers. He rounded a corner, then took several narrow lanes and hard turns to find a wider avenue into the city.

  Kamran sputtered something next to him. He spoke in Farsi, but to Ethan it was the ravings of a dying man. His clothes had soaked through with dark blood. Ethan pounded the steering wheel in frustration. He didn’t even know where they were. It was a city large enough to have a sprawling industrial neighborhood that slowed their escape, which meant it had a hospital.

  A car appeared in the mirror far behind. It sped closer. He turned hard into a walled yard behind a massive white warehouse and looked for a way around the building. The wall trapped them in with no route to the warehouse’s front. He reversed the van along wall where he could see the opening. But the car rolled by, leaving them alone in the empty yard. He stopped to check on Kamran.

  “I think we made it. We’ve got to get you to a hospital.”

  Kamran’s breathing slowed. He faced Ethan with a pained look as he fought to speak.

  “Did you love her? Your wife?”

  How could he ask this now? He knew the answer without doubt, but it changed nothing. She was lost to him, and he bore the blame. He let the Agency become more important somehow, and when she left he drove himself deeper into the profession. Now people all around him were dying, and he began to doubt everything else.

  “I never stopped,” he said.

  Kamran’s face eased, as though he’d let go of the pain and embraced the inevitable. “I never had a woman.”

  “Just hold on. I’m going to get you help.”

  If Sarah ever was his, she wasn’t any more. He couldn’t tell Kamran that. The man who just saved his life sat there dying, just like Marcus Eldridge and Seda Alaskhanova had. He’d watched the dullness in their eyes as they died. He’d lain helpless when flames engulfed Russell and Wade. Now he would add Kamran’s face to his fitful dreams, and he’d wake knowing he didn’t do enough to save them.

  Kamran held the gold watch to his mouth and kissed it, streaking its crystal face with red. He repeated something quietly over and over, and Ethan wondered what it meant. He knew the words were not for him. Maybe for someone Kamran had loved, some last solace for a terrible death. He hoped so.

  “I’m burning. I’m burning. I’m …”

  The words became a thin rasp, and then he was still. Ethan sat helpless, afraid to touch Kamran’s bloodied body. He let out a frustrated scream that filled the van’s confined space. He pounded the wheel again with his fists with such force the van shook. Nothing he could have done would have saved Kamran. No matter how fast he drove or how hard he fought, he couldn’t have saved the man who saved him. He told himself this, but the voice in his head rang false.

  He had to abandon Kamran and leave the vehicle. Scorpio would not give up on finding them both. If he drove into the city and found the police, they’d detain him longer than he could afford to wait. They might even suspect him. Worse, whoever found the body here risked infection.

  Ethan leaned over Karman’s remains and searched the glove box. Beneath a stack of papers he found an orange road kit with a bundle of flares. He lit one and set it back into the glove box, then exited the still running van.

  Through the shattered driver side window, he watched the flames grow on the dash until the dark gray smoke obscured Kamran’s lifeless body.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “You deserved better.”

  ◆◆◆

  Ethan wandered the alleys and streets of the industrial yards where not a soul appeared on a quiet Saturday. At each street he crossed, he checked over his shoulder for his pursuers. None appeared, so on he shuffled between the buildings. The sounds of his own feet dragging over the gravel lots echoed around the rusting ghost town. He kept the pine covered hills to his left to stay on a course to the city. Behind him a tendril of dark smoke rose from the burning van.

  The city spread under golden sunlight below. He strode down through hedges and around the black metal fences of a housing district.

  The pain welled in his ribs, and he slowed to a lumbering pace. His breath eased once the adrenaline thinned. His fingers and feet trembled from the ordeal. A woman smoking a cigarette observed him from a balcony above. He squinted up at her where she perched behind striped sheets hung to dry in the morning sun. He rounded her building’s corner just as the wail of sirens wound through the narrow streets heading off toward the smoke.

  He leaned against the apartment building under the cool shade of a balcony just over his head. He wouldn’t get far on foot with no identification and no money. Andrei’s phone had a signal, but calling the U.S. Embassy invited Scorpio to follow. He needed Wade’s help, but he last saw him engulfed in flames. He dreaded calling his friend for fear he wouldn’t answer.

  He dialed the number of the phone he’d bought himself in Bucharest. If Wade had any sense—if he was still alive—he’d answer. Ethan hoped he kept the phone after what happened. He hoped Wade had made it. The tone chirped as he waited. No answer could mean anything. That Wade had discarded the phone like he should have. That Wade was busy trying to find him. But with each ring his thoughts fell to the worst option—that Wade was dead and he was alone after all. Please pick up that phone, man. He never questioned Wade’s loyalty, and Wade followed him into fire. Wade had given him a trust he no longer could justify. Pick up. They had shared a bond beyond that of officers. Wade was his only friend. Pick up. That was gone now, too, and he was to blame.

  The phone clicked in his ear, and a baritone voice answered.

  “This better be who I think it is,” Wade said.

  “It’s me. I thought you might be dead.”

  “God damn!” Wade whooped in his ear. “I thought the same about you. Where the hell are you? You okay?”

  “I’ve been better, but I’ll make it. Just a little banged up. I think I’m in Brașov.”

  “Listen, man, you go to ground and sit tight. We’ll come get you.”

  “We?”

  “I’m with our people. And a few others. The rest of us from the op are here. Everyone except Russell. He’s in the hospital. He got the worst of it
in the blast, but it looks like he’ll pull through it.”

  “So, Langley knows what happened?”

  “Chief of Station handled that, yeah. We can’t keep up this off-the-reservation shit forever. We had to call it in to track you down.”

  “I wish you hadn’t done that.”

  “What the hell were we supposed to do, man? The op was a bust. Russell was hurt bad. We thought you were dead.”

  “They know everything now,” Ethan said. He bowed his head and rubbed his eyes. No matter what they did, this adversary stayed one step ahead.

  “Look, it doesn’t matter right now. We’ll figure it out. I’ll gather up a team and come get you.”

  “No. Just you.” Ethan checked the streets in both directions. “I don’t trust anyone else now. They’re after Sarah.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m certain. Come get me, and I’ll explain. Tell Hourglass we need a paramilitary team to move. Right away. We need transport to sea.”

  “Wait, what? That’s not going to be easy. Chief’s going to freak.”

  “Do whatever it takes. We need this. They’ve got a bioweapon in play.” He thought of Kamran’s corpse amid the smoke. “They really did it. Just get here fast. Call me when you’re here, and I’ll guide you to me.”

  “What’s all this got to do with Sarah?”

  “Like I said, I’ll explain.”

  “Roger that. Sit tight.”

  “And, Wade? Way to follow my instructions on ditching the phone.”

  “Told you it was a bad idea. You’ll be thanking me later, you lucky motherfucker.”

  “I’m thanking you right now.”

  Chapter 22: Infernal Revelation

  Vienna, Virginia

  8:10 p.m., Saturday, June 22

  Paul sat on his side of the bed and wiped a layer of dust from of his father’s shotgun. He kept it high in his closet where it had rested out of sight for years. He never fired the thing. Like most of his inheritances, it was a relic for which he had no real fondness. His father had loved the gun—an Italian masterpiece he had spent considerable money on when Paul was a boy. Paul admired the etched scrollwork on the lock plate and the long lines of the over-under barrels. That beauty had tarnished under the grime and dust these long years in the closet where the humidity rose and fell with the seasons. He had no need for its decoration, nor any wish to sell it. Now it was just a gun, the only one in the house.

  A box of Janey’s things from the accident still sat on the bed behind him. Her side. He slept—when he slept—on his side, barely disturbing the bed she’d made last Saturday. He ignored the box each morning and night. It remained on the bed’s edge undisturbed, a reminder of things he didn’t want to remember. As he ran a washcloth down the length of the shotgun, he knocked the box from the bed with the stock. He leaned the gun against his side of the bed and walked around to gather her things.

  Janey’s possessions spilled out onto the floor. Her lipstick rolled onto the carpet. A little vial of perfume tumbled out of her sequined wallet. He held the vial between his fingers and savored the fragrance. Alongside it all were her black heels, which she’d traded for a pair of flats like she always did after her benefit dinners. He righted the box and placed the heels inside along with the items from her purse. In the purse he found her iPhone. Its face had cracked in the crash like a portrait of dueling spider’s webs. He stared at its inscrutable surface and heard a ringing. But no one could call her anymore.

  The ringing came from his phone. It was Michael.

  “Hi, Pop. How you holding up?”

  “As well as I can be.”

  “Did you get yourself something to eat?”

  He hadn’t bothered. Janey’s friends had stocked the refrigerator with more food than he could eat in a week. But he hadn’t thought about food after spending most of his Saturday at Langley trying to find anything to explain away the photograph of Harley and the others. What he found only strengthened his suspicions.

  “I’ll get myself something here soon. I was at the office the better part of the day catching up.”

  Michael knew better than to ask more. He couldn’t tell his son he had spent hours studying the men who killed his mother.

  “Well, you’ve got to eat. Mom would want us to take care of ourselves. We’ve just got to keep on going.”

  “I know what you mean, son. Don’t worry about me,” he said. He looked at the cracked phone, then at the shotgun propped against the bedpost. “I’m keeping myself occupied.”

  “That’s good. Don’t overdo it. Work will be there when you get back. I hear the house is in good shape. Just take it easy. I’m worried about you.”

  “I’m the one who’s supposed to be worried about you boys. You heard from your brother?”

  “Yeah, we talked today. He’s doing okay.”

  “Doesn’t sound like you mean it.”

  “He’s pretty broken up. He said he’s worried he won’t remember what she looks like. Isn’t that a weird thing for him to say?”

  “He just misses your mother. I know the feeling,” he said. He put Janey’s phone in his pocket and went to the window where the last bits of daylight peeked through the maple trees. “How are you holding up yourself?”

  “I don’t know. I’m just getting through it for now. Emily’s been here a lot this week, so that helps. Listen, we were thinking we could come over for lunch tomorrow. Jacob can come with us. We can get some steaks and grill out. How’s that sound?”

  He wanted to say yes and tell Michael how proud he was of him for staying strong. He was so much like Janey. He had her patience, and Paul needed that now more than ever. Paul’s attention dwelt only on her killers. They were the same people who drove to headquarters every day like him. They put on neck ties and kissed their loved ones. They passed through the same gates he did, and they ate the same cafeteria food. Their likeness ended there. They betrayed the Agency and killed their own. He had attention only for them, and he didn’t know where that would take him by tomorrow. Neither did he much care.

  “Pop, you there?”

  “I’m here. How about I take a rain check on that, Michael. I just need to be alone for the next couple of days. There are a few things I need to sort through by myself.”

  “You’re sure I can’t change your mind?”

  “I’m sure. You look after your brother.”

  “I will. See you soon, Pop.”

  “Goodbye, Michael.”

  He took the gun downstairs to the kitchen, where he loaded two shells into the breech and set it by the door to the garage. The gun did nothing to ease his growing paranoia. If they wanted to eliminate him, they would, just as they had Janey.

  Under the light at the sink he studied the photographs again. Caspari he knew, and Harley and Maria Hessler. One of the youngest faces was Brian Crowley. He scowled and held the photos close to his nose, remembering the names of some he knew and others he thought he recognized from the Agency. Maybe he imagined seeing them, but he couldn’t be sure. They could be anyone.

  They were just old photos. They were evidence only that Harley knew the others, not that he’d gathered them up for some traitorous cabal years prior, long before the Scorpio Compact even existed. He couldn’t believe they’d take part in their radical politics. But the faces smiled back at him, and now he knew they were connected. He needed more. Until he had it, he was on his own—with one reliable exception.

  He called Kay Linh and prayed she was home for once on a Saturday night.

  “Paul?”

  “Where are you?”

  “At home,” she said with a mouthful of food. “Is everything okay? What happened this morning?”

  “You alone?”

  “Thanks for reminding me. Yes, I’m home and alone. Again.”

  “Good,” he said. “I got your sympathy card. Nice touch.”

  “It was the best I could think of. Tell me you took that home with you. I don’t want anyone seeing that an
d getting the wrong idea.”

  “Or the right one. Yes, I took it home by way of your new friend’s place, where I found something interesting.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like he has friends, too. Several, in fact.”

  Paul heard a fork plink on her plate. Silence followed while she considered the implications, running down the possible collaborators in her head.

  “There’s something else,” she said. “It’s Pierce.”

  “Is he dead?”

  “We don’t know. I shouldn’t be telling you this on the phone.”

  “Then don’t. If there’s a chance, that’s enough. We can’t help him unless we handle things on this end first.”

  “What do you need me to do?”

  “This isn’t exactly official business. You need to know that going in. If you don’t want to do this, you need to say it now. This could end either of us. Our jobs. Our …”

  “Paul, maybe I was unclear. What do you need me to do?”

  “I’m going to send over some photos I found. Hold on to them for now. Then I need you to be my ears. I’ll call from a different number later tonight. Stay quiet and record everything you hear. If anything happens to me, take everything to the Director. Only the Director. No one else. Understand?”

  “Affirmative. Just don’t let anything happen to you. Suzanne is driving me insane.”

  “I’ll do what I can.”

  He hung up without saying more. He doubted he could stop what would happen to him. They had killed Janey, and for reasons he only suspected, they hadn’t killed him yet.

  He didn’t believe in fate. He’d seen too much of God’s absent hand to think men had no choice. But he made up his mind the day they took Janey from him. Pierce faced the same odds, he guessed. If Kay didn’t know anything, that meant he disappeared hours ago. God, let him be alive, he thought.

  He had one more call to make. Ethan’s disappearance meant time had run out. They’d made their move in Bucharest, and worse would follow. He dialed Harley Gilchrist’s number.