Mosaic (Breakthrough Book 5)

by Michael C. Grumley

  He’d used the technique before, to trace General Wei’s movements outside of Beijing––but this time every number and every signal on which he could zero in traced back to local addresses.

  Clay and Caesare were adamant that the woman posing as Dr. Tricia Rhoades had used a cell phone from the location. But Borger couldn’t find any standouts. Even going back several days.

  He frowned and pressed his hands together in front of his mouth. It was not the only thing he could try, but it should have been the most likely to give them something. Anything to try to locate Neely and the girl Li Na before it was too late. But whatever phone the woman was using, it was not using any of the local towers. Unless it was somehow spoofing or copying a signal. No. Borger shook his head. It would take much too long to find another phone signal, break its encryption, then try to piggyback. It had to be something else. But what?

  Satellite maybe, or maybe some other type of signal. Something that wouldn’t require a tower. Maybe point to point.

  Silently, Borger went through the possibilities. Was there any hardware that could have captured a different frequency being used? Maybe even something in the hospital? No. Probably not. And even if it did, it would take way too long to try to figure it out.

  He had to find another way to locate them. Something faster. Transportation? On or off the island? Maybe. But that would be a hell of a lot of data to sift through. What else? What other traces would they have left? Clay said it was a professional hit. Fast and precise.

  Borger paused, repeating the thought in his head. Fast and precise. Fast and precise. His eyes suddenly narrowed. He was no soldier. Certainly not like Clay or Caesare. But he did know enough to understand tactics. And as Neely would always say, there was no free lunch. Not in anything. Everything was a tradeoff. Including being fast and precise.

  What was the tradeoff for something that was fast and precise? Will Borger slowly began to lean forward. The tradeoff…was time and planning.

  Anything executed that quickly, and that perfectly had to have been planned. And carefully. Which meant observation. Whoever it was would have to have been observing for a long enough time, to recognize a window of opportunity.

  And that meant, they would have to have been within eyesight. Which would also make it easy to communicate without the use of a tower. Better known as line of sight.

  Borger whispered to himself. “Okay, that’s something.” He leaned forward and began typing again. If he could just figure out where they were. Track them to their location. If he could just–

  Borger suddenly stopped. “Wait a minute.” He remained still for several seconds before his eyes shifted away, then back to his laptop screen.

  He reached out, picked up his own satellite phone, and studied it. He then returned to the laptop and switched windows, typing over the connection to his D.C. computer. Someone had been tracking him for days! That someone, he assumed, was using him to find the others. He knew it because he’d written a program to notify him when carrier records were accessed to find his number’s location.

  Borger checked his watch. Something had changed, literally within the last hour.

  For the last few days, his number was being tracked constantly. But now, according to his own program, it had stopped.

  Why?

  Borger’s large frame nearly jumped out of his seat when Bruna burst into the room, practically yelling in hushed tones.

  “Mister Borger!” Bruna was almost hyperventilating. “Mister Borger!”

  “What is it?!”

  “There is something outside!” Her eyes were wide with worry. “Come with me, hurry!”

  The room she led him into was dark and appeared to be a ground floor office. Against the wall, two shelves were filled with books, next to a small bare table and high-backed armchair––a silent, visual accompaniment to the room’s stale air. The walls were lightly decorated and surrounded a large, old wooden desk situated several feet from a window. The view looked out toward the main entrance of the center’s property.

  Bruna rushed over the worn carpet, keeping herself close to the left wall. When she reached the desk, she carefully inched past until she reached the window. Outside and overhead, the setting sun lit up the ground’s heavy foliage in a bright orange glow. Tiny sparkles glittered on the wet asphalt.

  Bruna closed in against the window and leaned out just past the left edge pane. “Out there.”

  Borger leaned with her, towering over the woman’s head and peering out. He didn’t have time for this. “Where?”

  “There. Beneath the kapok trees.”

  Borger frowned. “I have no idea what a kapok tree is.”

  The older woman rolled her eyes without looking up. “The tall ones. There. Look to the bottom.”

  Borger squinted but didn’t see anything. He had just begun to open his mouth when a shadow moved at the base of the trunk and then became still again. “What is that?”

  Bruna breathed in nervously. “I think someone is watching us.”

  81

  With each step, the old and faded tar crackled under the pressure of Caesare’s boot. Heavy raindrops freckled the dirty surface of the roof, as the same storm pounding Captain Emerson and his crew finally reached Trinidad.

  Caesare peered out, spotting the small hospital in the distance while wearing a look of smoldering fury. He turned and glanced over his shoulder upon hearing John Clay step out from the stairwell and onto the roof of the old hotel.

  Clay approached as his partner turned back around. “Confirmed. This was it.”

  Caesare nodded grimly. “Any decent scope would have given them a perfect line of sight.” After a moment, he shook his head. “Why the hell didn’t we see them?”

  “They were professionals. They wouldn’t have seen us either.”

  Caesare shrugged, unmoved.

  “They were here for three days,” Clay said. “An American and five Africans. One of the hotel staff is from Africa and thinks they were Kenyans.”

  “Kenyan?”

  “Apparently. The American was in charge. Said he looked like a beast. Short and all muscle. And bald. Acted like a soldier.”

  “Any ID?”

  “They paid in cash. And they paid a lot.”

  “Including access to the roof, I’m sure.”

  “Yep.”

  Caesare remained standing there stoically for a few moments longer, his hands on his waist, before lowering his shaking head. “We screwed up, John. We screwed up big.”

  “It was my fault.”

  Caesare glowered. “This one’s on both of us.”

  “I should have caught this.”

  “We all should have. But we didn’t. Whoever she was, that broad was smooth,” he replied. “This whole thing has gone FUBAR. And now they’ve got them.”

  “They’re alive.”

  Caesare merely frowned. He wasn’t feeling so optimistic.

  “They were the targets, which means they’re both valuable. And whoever took them isn’t stupid.”

  He turned to face Clay. “Just being valuable doesn’t save you. We both know that. You and I have seen a lot of valuable people killed by maniacs who didn’t care. Unlike the movies, in the real world, it’s just as much of a liability as an asset. And one can become the other pretty damn fast.”

  “We’re going to find them.”

  “I know,” Caesare said. “But I’ll tell you this. When we do, they’d better be alive.”

  Clay nodded. He knew what Caesare meant. And felt the same way. They were both men of honor. Dedicated to doing the right thing. But deep down, beneath all of it, was something rooted even deeper. It was a code, an ethos, more unrelenting and deadlier than almost any other. A resolve that could be summed up in six simple, unwavering words––Once a SEAL, always a SEAL.

  Beneath all the honor and all the principle, there was still one unwavering trait burning forever inside both men. They were Navy SEALs. And they were trained to kill.

/>   Caesare’s voice was now a growl. “I swear to God, John. Whoever took them better pray those girls are alive when we find them. Because if they’re not, I’ll kill every last one of them!”

  There was no argument from Clay. Together the two men stood silently atop the hotel as the rain began to fall harder. Both becoming drenched by a curtain of rain. And resolve.

  Their eyes suddenly met when Clay’s phone sounded.

  A cold expression on his face, Clay reached down and retrieved it. In one motion, he glanced at the screen and brought it to his ear. “What is it?”

  Borger’s voice crackled over a poor connection. “Clay, we have a situation.”

  “What situation?”

  Clay listened while he continued staring at Caesare, standing like a statue in what was quickly turning into a shower. “Describe the area.”

  Clay remained motionless, thinking. “Is it just you and Bruna?”

  When Borger acknowledged affirmatively, Clay spoke in a low, calculating voice. “Listen to me very carefully.”

  ***

  Will Borger hung up and focused straight ahead, almost in a trance. “He’s got to be kidding.”

  “What did he say?”

  Borger, deep in thought, appeared not to hear her. It took several blinks before he turned and peered at Bruna through his round glasses. “Or he’s insane.”

  82

  As the old four-cylinder engine roared to life, the sound reverberated painfully off the cinder block walls of the research center’s underground garage. To Borger, who was lying flat in the dingy bed of the small Toyota truck, it was almost deafening.

  Bruna mashed the pedal to the floor. Within seconds the echo chamber fell behind. The truck powered up the steep incline as though it was the old vehicle’s last and final charge.

  When they reached the upper driveway, Bruna briefly eased up and then made a hard right. The truck followed the small paved road, around and out toward the main entrance.

  In the bed behind her, Borger clenched his teeth and tried to remain as flat as possible. Not an easy feat given his size. Head pressed to one side, he felt the vibrations from the aging engine travel through his cheek and into his jaw.

  At least now he knew. Clay wasn’t joking…he actually was crazy! This was his plan?

  It was all he could think about as the vehicle bounced out through the wrought iron arches and swerved left onto the public street.

  The small engine roared again, but with less protest this time. They accelerated, continuing west for almost a mile until they were well out of sight from the research center. Once there, Bruna slowed and swung a U-turn, pulling into the first driveway––a small parking lot that appeared abandoned. Next door, an old building housed a tired-looking diner and beauty salon, neither of which seemed far away from closing shop.

  Bruna abruptly stopped the truck, causing the larger Borger to slide forward in the bed and bang his head against the back of the cab. She opened the door and looked down at him.

  “What did you do?”

  He squinted at her, incredulous while rubbing the top of his head. “I made the mistake of getting in.”

  Emitting a large groan, he pushed himself up onto his knees. “Where did you learn to drive?”

  Bruna looked confused by the question. “Puerto Rico.”

  “It was rhetorical,” he quipped, lifting a leg over the side of the truck bed. After sliding to the ground, he gave his head one last rub and lowered both hands to dust himself off. He then looked himself over, clothed in filthy blue coveralls. “I can’t believe this is all you had.” He frowned and reached back into the truck bed for a shovel. “Aren’t I going to look a little strange walking down the street and carrying a shovel?”

  The expression only deepened on Bruna’s face. “Why would you look strange?”

  “Well, because I’m–” He stopped. “Forget it.” Borger checked his watch and looked up at the sky. The sun had set almost half an hour ago, and the ensuing darkness was almost upon them, bringing with it a cool, refreshing breeze. Just a few more minutes.

  “You know what to do?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you have to wait for me.”

  Bruna nodded. “Yes. I will wait.”

  Borger reached behind his neck and tucked his ponytail into his collar. There wasn’t much he could do about the glasses.

  “This is insane,” he muttered to himself. “What the hell are they thinking?”

  He was no soldier. He had no training. Christ, he wasn’t even a real groundskeeper. But here he was. Dressed like one and toting a shovel. A shovel!

  Yet for all his complaining, he had to admit he agreed with Clay. They didn’t have much time. Or choice. They needed information, now. And someone was there staking him out, for whatever reason. If that individual might somehow have any knowledge of Neely or Li Na, he and Bruna had to take the chance.

  Unfortunately, Borger’s greatest concern had not been diminished in the least––even with Clay’s reassurance that if they hadn’t made a move by now, the person was likely inexperienced and unarmed. His exact words were low probability but he never actually said how low that was.

  Borger checked his watch again. Crap. It was almost dark enough. Borger could feel his heart beating nervously in his chest. Why? Why did it have to be him?

  ***

  As soon as darkness engulfed them, Borger reluctantly began walking back the way they came. Gradually increasing his pace, he was already sweating and tried to distract himself by talking through the logic. Neely and Li Na needed help. Quickly. Whatever the cost. Whatever the cost, he repeated. Neely would do it for him. Of that, he was sure.

  When he finally saw the taillights of Bruna’s truck pass him, he began walking faster, then broke into a lumbering trot.

  83

  Bruna returned, slowly pulling in off the street and back into the driveway of the research center. Very nonchalantly this time, she rounded the curve and continued forward, pausing at the northwest corner of the building. Less than fifty feet from the giant kapok trees.

  The entire area was almost dark, except for a street light on the opposite side of the street, and of course, the yellowed headlights from the truck. Inside and behind those headlights, Bruna brought her head down and fidgeted with her hands, pretending to be doing something behind the wheel. But in reality, her dark eyes were staring directly forward. Waiting.

  She stalled for several minutes until she had what she was waiting for. All at once, she released the brake and jammed the gas pedal down, causing the truck to suddenly lurch forward. Quickly closing in on the tree grove, she immediately stomped hard on the brake with her other foot. The small truck shuddered violently to a stop at which point Bruna turned on the vehicle’s brights, flooding the entire area in front of her.

  Hidden in the shadows of the dense foliage, the crouching figure had been watching the truck with curiosity while it sat idling near the building. When it unexpectedly roared forward, the figure was caught off guard––instinctively scrambling backward before the vehicle came to a screeching halt just as quickly.

  When the woman suddenly began yelling from the truck, the figure clumsily retreated even further, frantically reaching back for something on the ground.

  What he was not aware of was the loud roar of the engine masking something coming from behind him. A pounding that would not be heard until it was virtually right on top of him. The sound of two hundred and forty pounds of Will Borger lumbering through the foliage like a charging rhinoceros, breathing heavily as he emerged through the waist-high bushes carrying something large in his hands.

  The figure in the shadows had no time to react before a yelling Borger reached him, swinging the shovel into the person’s legs and knocking him completely off his feet.

  The stranger hit the ground with a thud and immediately tried to roll over, panicked and searching desperately in the dark.

  But Borger moved quickly. He stumbled forward a
nd chased the crawling man through bushes, trying to see through the glaring headlights. After several strides, one of his shoes caught an object on the ground—a protruding root or rock—which stopped his legs and sent him crashing down on top of the person, losing his grip on the shovel.

  “NO!” Borger bellowed. Scrambling quickly to grasp the person’s outstretched hands, Will pulled them away from a large object on the ground. Some kind of bag.

  “Bruna! Help!”

  The short Puerto Rican woman had already leaped from the cab and charged forward into the bushes. She then saw Borger wrestling the figure on the ground.

  She threw herself down, inadvertently finding the shovel with her right foot. Lunging to grab it, she climbed back onto her feet, forcefully whipped the tool around, and lowered the tip of the spade directly over the stranger’s head.

  “STOP!” she screamed.

  His reaction was instant. Spotting what appeared to be a giant blade threatening his skull, the man froze. His eyes remained fixed on the shovel before gradually looking at Will Borger, on top of him and almost hyperventilating.

  84

  “Langford here.”

  “Admiral, it’s Will Borger. I’ve got Clay and Caesare on the line.”

  “Borger? Where the hell are you?”

  “At the research center in Puerto Rico. Kind of a long story. Should we get Secretary Miller on?”

  Langford checked his watch. “He’s not available. I’ll brief him later.”

  “Okay. You there, Clay?”

  “Yes.”

  “Admiral. I, uh, have some good news and bad news.”

  Langford sighed. “Get to it, Borger.”

  “Sorry. I’m not trying to be funny.” Still in his coveralls, Borger was standing in a dimly lit room where he turned around to Bruna, standing over their captive. She still held her shovel firmly in both hands. “We seem to have a new development. And by the way, thanks a whole heck of a lot, Clay.”