by Cap Daniels
He leapt from his chair and stumbled over an attaché case he hadn’t noticed was there. He stuck out his hand. “Johnson Clark, ma’am.”
“Your name is Johnson Clark? That’s quite an unfortunate name, Mr. Clark. I’m Joanna Grayson, but please call me Duchess.”
“Duchess?” Clark asked, his mouth still agape.
“Yes, Duchess. Your name is Johnson Clark, and you’re making fun of my call sign? Now that’s rich.”
“Call sign?”
“Yes, Duchess is my call sign. I’m an aviator. That’s what these mean,” she said, pointing to the gold wings on her chest.
“Yeah, I’m a pilot, too.” He stuck out his bottom lip and pointed to an empty spot on his shirt. “But I don’t have wings.”
I caught Ryan staring at Clark and trying not to laugh.
He patted Clark on the arm. “Don’t worry, dude. She has that effect on most men.”
When I finally contained my own laughter, I said, “His name is actually Clark Johnson, and he really is a pilot. And believe it or not, he’s usually much smoother than this. I’m Chase, by the way. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you as well, Chase. And also you, pilot Clark Johnson. You’re pretty cute, but I’m here to look at your pictures. Maybe we can talk about dinner and cocktails later.”
Clark blushed and grinned like a love-smitten schoolboy. “I took the pictures.”
Duchess laughed and handed Clark her hat. “Here, Clark. Play with this. I’ll be back with you in a bit.”
Clark took the lieutenant’s hat and watched her squeeze her way in front of the monitors alongside Ryan.
Several minutes after Duchess sat down, Ryan asked, “What do you see?”
“I see a brand-new Suburban sitting outside when there appears to be a perfectly good garage with an abnormally high garage door. What’s interesting is what I don’t see.”
Ryan’s eyes lit up. “That’s what I was hoping you’d notice.”
“No aerial power lines or phone lines. Everything’s underground, and that’s extremely rare in Staunton.”
The realization hit me. “But it’s exactly what you’d want if you were going to fly a helicopter in or out.”
“Precisely.” Duchess ran her finger across the screen, tracing barely visible marks on the concrete outside the garage. “There’s a chopper in the garage. You can see the faint black marks left by the rubber-wheeled dolly on which they roll it in and out.”
These guys are good . . . very good.
“Is that what you were looking for?” asked Duchess.
“What else do you see?” Clark asked.
The two photo analysts scanned the monitors again.
“There’s three satellite television dishes mounted on the roof. That’s not routine. I’d bet at least one of them has nothing to do with television, but that’s not the most interesting thing I see,” said Duchess. “Watch the woman in the pool. Play that back in slo-mo.”
We leaned in to watch the woman as she stroked through the water.
Duchess pointed to the screen. “Watch this . . . coming up right here.”
The woman in the pool looked briefly skyward and then dived for the bottom of the pool and lay in the shadows for over a minute. The video went wild at that point since I’d banked and dived the plane aggressively before Clark could get me under control. By the time the stabilized video returned, the woman was out of the pool and apparently back in the house. Whoever she was, she didn’t want to be identified.
I hid my excitement. “How much can you enhance the video of the woman?”
“Why?” Duchess asked. “Is she a target?”
Ryan touched her arm and shook his head, likely reminding the lieutenant that she was only there to provide expert photo analysis and not ask questions.
“Sorry,” she said. “I get wrapped up in these things sometimes, and it’s hard to keep them at arm’s length.”
Clark stared at her profile. “I know exactly what you mean.”
She cast him a sideways glance and a hint of a smile.
“Wait.” Ryan squinted at the screen. “What’s this in the tree line? That shadow isn’t consistent with the others in the area.”
“Zoom and enhance,” said Duchess.
“It’s a bunker of some kind,” Ryan said. “And look, there’s a ventilation stack fifty feet away.”
“Generator,” she said. “It’s a bunkered generator in case the house loses power.”
That’s a handy little tidbit to know.
“Keep looking,” I encouraged them. “Let us know what else you see.”
“Well,” said Ryan, “there’s four sniper nests in the trees . . . at least that I’ve seen so far.”
“Can you tell if they’re inward-facing or perimeter nests?” I asked.
“Two of each is what it looks like to me, but it’s tough to say. I can tell you they were empty when this video was taken.”
“How about a perimeter fence of any kind?” Clark said.
“I don’t see any physical fences,” Ryan said, “but that doesn’t mean there aren’t seismic sensors or motion-detecting cameras. Systems like that are tough to detect from aerials. You’d need a ground recon to make that determination.”
“Ground recon is certainly something we can do,” Clark said confidently.
“What time was this run taken?” asked Ryan.
“It was just after noon,” I said.
“There’s infrared interlaced with the video, so if you’ll give me a minute, I can tell you how long the Suburban’s been sitting there.”
He made several keystrokes and clicks with the mouse and changed the image to a ghostly grayscale. “The Suburban’s cold. The hood is the same temp as the roof, so it’s been there several hours. My guess is if this is some kind of safe house, it’s nearing shift change.”
As valuable as the rest of the information was, I was consumed by a single thought. “So, back to the woman in the pool. We need to ID her. Can we see an enhanced shot of her looking at our plane?”
Duchess eyed me conspiratorially. “We’ll see what we can do. Give us a few minutes.”
Clark took me by the elbow and led me to the end of the room, as far away from the two analysts as we could get. “What are you doing, Chase? We’re here to draw Tornovich out no matter who the woman in the pool is.”
“I know, but if it’s her, that’s a bonus.”
“It’s a bonus for you,” he said, “but not for the mission. If that’s her, it complicates everything . . . especially everything for you.”
Ryan looked over his shoulder. “This is the best we can do.”
The screen was full of the long, lean body of a young woman of an indeterminate age and hair color. She could’ve been Anya, but she also could’ve been a million other twenty-something, fit women. With her hair wet, it was impossible to know if it was blonde or dark brown.
But I had no doubt. It was her. I felt the lump in my throat grow as I thought about what I’d say to her when we stormed that house and found Anya inside. Part of me wanted the woman in the pool to be someone else . . . anyone else, but even without a clear picture, I knew the truth.
“We’ll look through the stills one more time if you want,” Duchess said. “We might see something we missed.”
“Sure,” Clark said. “One more look isn’t going to hurt.”
Using separate monitors, Duchess started with still picture number one and worked upward.
Ryan started at the high-altitude wide shots we finished the day with. “Chase, you said these were taken right after noon, is that right?”
“Yeah, the high stills were taken around twelve-forty-five or maybe a little closer to one, but the sun was still high in the sky.”
Ryan placed his finger on a small point on the screen. “Take a look at this.”
There was a tiny starburst pattern reflecting from the side of steep sloping hill east of the house.
“What
is that?” I asked.
“I can’t be sure, but it looks like a rifle scope pointed skyward.”
Clark leaned in and stared at the tiny glint on the screen.
Ryan joined him, moving in closer than before. “That’s too big to be a rifle scope, and look at the area south of the glint. Whatever that is, the area around it is disturbed.”
“It’s definitely not a sniper,” Clark said. “No sniper is that sloppy. First, he’d never point a rifle into the sun, and there’s no way he’d leave a trail like that leading to his position.”
Duchess stopped what she was doing and looked at Ryan’s screen. “Show me where you are. I may have a closer shot in this low-altitude stack.”
Ryan zoomed back out and pointed to the spot.
Duchess buried her head back into her monitor. “Got him! And you’re right, it’s not a sniper. It’s a pair of binoculars standing on its end beside someone who’s trying not to be seen. Whoever he is, he wasn’t expecting an airplane.”
“He’s watching the house,” I whispered.
“He certainly is,” said Duchess. “And I think this is the first time he’s been in that spot. There’s no trail leading in or out, so either he’s using a different route to get in every time, which isn’t likely since he was sloppy enough to stand up his binos, or this is his first or second time in that O.P.”
“Is that the only observation point you see?” Clark asked.
“Give us a few minutes,” she said.
We impatiently watched over their shoulders as the two scoured the pictures.
“That’s it,” she said. “If there’s more, the other watchers are a lot more cautious, but I think our guy is a single.”
“Thanks, guys. You two are amazing,” I said, thoroughly impressed.
“It’s what we do,” said Ryan. “I’m glad we could help, but tell Brian that sooner or later, I’m going to call in one of the favors he owes me.”
“If you don’t mind,” I said, “don’t charge this one to Brian. He was helping us out, and we like to pay our debts before the lender comes calling.” I stuffed ten hundred-dollar bills into his hand and patted him on the shoulder.
Ryan’s eyes flashed at the sight of the bills. “Hey, thanks! Say, can we keep these shots? They’d make great training aids.”
“I’m afraid not,” I said. “They’re classified now, but if everything washes out the way we hope, I’ll see what I can do to get you a copy.”
“It’s always classified,” he mumbled.
25
O.K. Corral
Armed with the new information, Clark and I headed back to Staunton.
“The watcher on the slope was one of Tornovich’s men, wasn’t he?”
Clark buckled himself into the left seat of the King Air. “Yep, I think so.”
“They’re faster than I expected them to be,” I said.
“Yeah, me too. I didn’t think they’d get here for another couple of days. It looks like our timetable has been moved up.”
The flight back to Shenandoah was uneventful and brief. It felt like we were descending to land before we’d actually settled into cruise flight. I liked the Garner’s King Air way too much.
I paid the same lineman who’d refueled the Cessna for us the day before, and he took very good care of us.
Brian pulled up to the airport as we were leaving the terminal. “Hey, guys. How did it go with Ryan?”
“He’s amazing,” I said. “He found things in those films we’d have never seen.”
“The lady lieutenant wasn’t bad either,” Clark added.
Brian laughed. “You must mean Duchess. Yeah, she’s something else. She’s almost as good as Ryan, and a lot easier to look at.”
“You’ve got that right,” Clark said. “In fact, I’m going to be doing a little more looking at her once we get all this mess cleaned up.”
“What?” I slugged him.
“Yep, I got her number.”
“You sly devil, you.”
“Are you guys hungry?” Brian asked.
“We’ve got a lot of work to do,” I said.
“You have to eat sometime,” he argued. “It might as well be now. They’ve got a great little diner here at the airport. Come on, I’ll buy your lunch.”
“You’re not buying our lunch,” I said, “but we’ll buy yours.”
We ate at the airport diner, and as Brian said, it was fantastic. I was liking the Shenandoah Valley more and more.
“That’s a great plane you’ve got there,” I said.
“Yeah, we’re proud of our little fleet. Dad’s been flying since Vietnam. He was a Birddog pilot over there. I guess you could say it got in his blood. We’ve got a couple of pilots on the payroll, but if Dad’s aboard, he’s in the front seat, and usually doing the driving.”
“Well, he’s got great taste in airplanes. I can say that for him.”
Clark slid his chair back and stood up. “We hate to eat and run, Brian, but we’ve got a lot to do.”
Brian put his hand on Clark’s arm. “Wait a minute.” He checked around to make sure no one else was listening. “Look, guys. It’s no big secret that the house you’re looking into doesn’t fit in out here, but folks tend to look the other way and not talk about it. You guys aren’t going to do anything to get CNN rushing down here to our sleepy little valley, are you?”
“We hope not,” I said. “It’s hard to say what’ll happen, but we want to keep it as low-key as possible. None of this is technically government-sanctioned, if you know what I mean.”
“I understand,” he said, “but we don’t need no shoot-out at the O.K. Corral out there in the woods. It’s bad for business in a town like this, and my family and I need business to stay good. I’m sure you understand.”
“We understand,” said Clark. “And we’ll do our best to handle our business so nobody knows we’re here.”
Brian scanned the room again and saw the waitress approaching. He shook his head and she changed direction.
“You boys fit in well enough around here, but there’s some people who don’t quite mix with the locals. I had breakfast down at Barbara-Anne’s this morning, and Tammy was telling me about a couple of guys who came in sounding like maybe they were Russian or something. They’d eaten breakfast and ordered two thermos bottles of coffee to go, then asked to have a fresh pot made extra strong. Now I don’t know if that’s got anything to do with you two, but it sure isn’t something that happens in Staunton, Virginia, every day.”
“Tell me about the local police,” I said.
“There’s about thirty-five regular officers, a couple of lieutenants, and the chief. They run a good clean department from all appearances. We don’t have much trouble around here. It’s pretty quiet most of the time.”
“How hard is it going to be to keep the local cops out of this?”
He frowned. “Well, if Tammy told me about the Russians, she’s told a hundred other folks, so I’m sure the cops have heard the rumor. God only knows what the rumor has turned into by now. There is one convenient little distraction right now, though. The arts gala is going on, so we get all sorts of people from all over the place when stuff like that comes to town. There’s a better-than-good shot the cops will write it off as some out-of-towners here for the gala. I wouldn’t worry too much.”
It was Clark’s turn to look around the diner before opening his mouth. “Brian, we flew here commercial, so. . . .”
“I figured you’d ask me about some firepower,” he said. “I’ve got you covered with whatever you need. We’ll run by the house on the way back into town and get you boys strapped up.”
“Thanks, Brian,” Clark said. “I knew we could count on you.”
“Yeah, about that. I’d love to come riding in with you two, guns-a-blazing and all, and I will if you need me, but I’ve got a pretty good life here—a wife I actually like, and a couple pretty great kids.”
“We understand,” Clark said. “This is our fi
ght, and we didn’t mean to drag you into it.”
“You didn’t drag me. I jumped in with both feet. Well, I’ve only got one real foot, so I jumped in with all the feet I have. I’d rather not see this turn into a shit show with a Garner right in the middle of it.”
“You’ve done more than we could’ve asked, and we’ll keep you and your family out of it. You’ve made enough sacrifices for your country. You deserve the good life you’ve got going here.”
“Thanks,” he said. Brian yelled across the empty diner. “Hey, Jenny. Put all of this on my tab, will you?”
“Sure thing, Mr. Garner.”
I tossed plenty of money on the table to cover the meal and tip. “I told you you aren’t buying our dinner.”
Brian bundled my wad of cash and held it up for the approaching waitress. “This is the tip, sweetheart. Put the meal on my tab.”
* * *
Brian Garners’s house was a very nice four-bedroom basement rancher, but not the million-dollar house on the hill I’d expected. A pair of black Labrador Retrievers galloped to meet us when we stepped from our rental truck. Brian picked up a tennis ball from the driveway and threw it across the yard. Both dogs took off as if they’d been shot from a cannon.
“If I could throw it to West Virginia, those two would find it and fetch it. Come inside, and we’ll see what kind of toys we can find you boys to play with.”
By the time we made it to the basement door, the dogs were back, slobbering and bouncing, waiting for Brian to throw the ball again. Inside the basement, Brian opened the doors on the front of a giant safe holding an arsenal that would make the Fort Knox armorer envious.
“Take what you think you’ll need. Bullets are in the footlockers over there. Make yourselves at home. I need to check my messages upstairs.”
We pulled a pair of AR-15s and an AR-10 chambered in .308 for some knockdown power. Clark grabbed a pair of Glock 9mm pistols with suppressors. The footlockers full of ammo were organized neatly by caliber, making it easy to find what we needed. We weren’t trying to be greedy, but we packed more than we thought we’d need because when guns go click, they become sticks, and we weren’t planning to start a stick fight.
