“Exactly.”
“And that’s another isolated server. Appearing real but with fake data on it.”
“Yep.”
Ambrose straightened behind Millican. “Okay. As long as they’re chasing the wrong target.”
“That’s the idea.”
It was a simple ploy, really. But crafted very carefully. Millican and the rest of his team had only hours to recreate the separate, yet isolated version of the agency’s internal network. Servers, routers, switches, everything. And with precisely the same configurations in order to ensure that Will Borger believed he was on the production network when he breached their system.
In fact, it was more than just a ruse. It was a stroke of genius on Millican’s part. Borger would attain falsified versions of the data, sending him and his team on a wild goose chase. One long enough to prevent them from finding the two captured women before the pair reached a CIA secure location. But even more than that, Millican and his team were recording every move Borger made, which would provide Director Andrew Hayes with concrete proof of Borger’s illegal activities. And by extension, Admiral Langford’s and Secretary Miller’s. All part of Hayes’ covert effort to gather as much evidence of illegal and treasonous acts as possible, and to bury them.
87
The distant roar of the C-20 Gulfstream III could be heard by both Clay and Caesare long before it emerged from the dark clouds overhead. The rain had abated briefly before returning with a vengeance, gradually drenching both men. They stood waiting a few hundred yards from the Camden Airstrip runway in a field of tall, and rather soaked, emerald green grass.
Both wore grave expressions as the military jet appeared and aligned with the runway in front of it. On the ground, Caesare’s eyes studied the long strip of asphalt and noted the multitude of skid marks dotting its light gray surface. Most of the markings were farther down the runway and narrower in width, evidence of something other than aircraft tires. Notably, they hinted at Camden Airstrip’s not-so-secret life as the island’s premier dragstrip.
Together, Clay and Caesare watched as the Gulfstream sent by Langford descended. It floated briefly, and dropped the last few feet, kissing the runway with two loud screeches. They watched as the craft continued down the airstrip while Clay pulled his phone from his pocket––its ringing almost entirely drowned out by the rumbling of the arriving aircraft.
Clay waited a moment before holding the cell phone up between himself and Caesare. He pressed the small green button and answered.
“Where we headed, Will?”
“We have a fix on them. Aboard a Dassault Falcon 50. Just entered U.S. airspace a few minutes ago. Headed toward Texas.”
Clay’s subsequent stare at Caesare happened for two reasons. First, the Dassault Falcon 50 jet had developed a reputation over the years for masquerading as a business aircraft when instead it was being used by agencies like the CIA for moving undisclosed cargo. Or more specifically, people. Called rendition flights, the use of the Falcon 50s had sparked a wave of controversy over the CIA’s practices in the early 2000s. The second reason for Clay’s look was the mention of Texas, Caesare’s home state. Which clearly was not going to sit well.
“What’s their ETA?”
“About ninety minutes until they reach Texas. They’re certainly not going to break any speed records.”
“Trying to avoid attention,” Caesare said.
Clay looked at his watch. An hour and a half to reach Texas. And potentially another hour to cross it.
“Any idea where it’s headed?”
“No. No flight plan. Which means–”
“Special clearance.”
“Right. And that means we probably have some big players involved,” Borger finished.
Clay was looking away, watching their plane come to a stop at the end of the runway where it began its wide turn. “Do we know who they are yet?”
“I’ve identified the woman. The one posing as Tricia Rhoades. Her real name is Debra Borssen. Norwegian descent, born in Fort Wayne, Indiana. Top of her class in both high school and college. And recruited into the CIA not long after graduating. She’s been an operative ever since. And let me tell you something, this woman has been around. Nicaragua, Laos, Columbia, you name it. Their database says she’s an expert in counterintelligence, hand-to-hand combat, weapons, and geez!” Borger exclaimed, “tactical interrogation.”
“Who else?”
“No one else I can find on the CIA roster. But there are references to someone called The Anvil. A contractor of some kind, but I don’t have anything on him yet. Can’t seem to find a real name.”
Clay peered at Caesare. “Sounds like a match for our friend at the hotel.”
“Who’s that?” Borger asked.
“Not sure. But his friends referred to him as the beast.”
“They didn’t get a name either?”
“Nope. I’m guessing he’s not the type of person who needs to use it.”
“Okay. I’ll keep on it.”
Clay reached down and picked up his duffle bag from the sopping grass. “We’re heading out. Call us when you have more. And for God’s sake, do not lose that Falcon.”
***
Neely Lawton turned away from the woman in front of her to check again on Li Na. Ashen-faced and exhausted, the teenager sat unmoving in her seat, handcuffed and staring vacantly at the empty seat directly across from her.
Neely wanted to say something reassuring. Anything to give the girl hope. But it would have been an empty gesture. Neely didn’t know much more than Li Na. Neither had any idea who these people were or where they were headed. She only knew why. Why they took her and Li Na and left Doctor Kanna and Officer Tiewater behind. God, she hoped they were okay.
And even though Neely was on board the plane, she knew the person they were really after was Li Na. She was the one who had the microorganisms circulating in her bloodstream. At best, Neely was merely an expert on the bacterium, along with what it could do and what it was doing to Li Na. Because that’s what they wanted. The bacterium. It was the only reason she could think of.
The woman sitting across from her, Tricia Rhoades or whatever her real name was, peered at Neely with a strange expression which could only be described as ambivalence. Her blue eyes remained relaxed and calm, indicating that she was thinking about something else. Just as she had been since Neely awoke.
A few seats behind her sat the giant hulk of a man who had stormed their small hospital wing. Rhoades had let him inside, and he was the last person Neely remembered seeing before losing consciousness.
Neely turned back to the teenager.
“Li Na?”
There was no answer.
“Li Na?” she called a little louder this time.
Still nothing.
As if suddenly distracted, Rhoades finally turned her head to watch but said nothing.
When Neely gave up, their eyes abruptly met. After a tense silence, Neely spoke with disdain.
“You must be happy.”
Rhoades looked at her curiously for a moment, then smirked.
“I know you’re American.”
The other woman curled her lip. “What makes you think that?”
“It’s obvious.”
Rhoades seemed amused.
“Little things. Subtle references when we met. Things a foreigner wouldn’t get.”
The woman simply stared back at her.
“So, who are you? Smart enough, I’m sure, not to use your real name. And you’re not a doctor either.”
The woman suppressed a laugh as she shrugged. “Close enough.”
“Maybe for me. But not Doctor Kanna. He knew you weren’t. Almost from the beginning.”
“Then he should have listened to his instincts sooner.”
“But you fooled everyone else,” Neely said accusingly before motioning to Li Na. “All to get her.”
The other woman leaned her head back. “Save your breath. I’m not about
to start telling you everything out of guilt or boredom.”
“It’s not that hard to figure out. You’re a con artist, working for someone else to get the same thing everybody else wants. The bacterium. Probably to sell to the highest bidder.” When the woman didn’t respond, Neely continued. “Or to keep it for yourself.”
Rhoades grinned. “Oh, I’m a lot smarter than that.”
“I doubt it,” sneered Neely. “You’re just doing the dirty work for someone else.”
“We all work for someone else.”
At that, Neely Lawton frowned sarcastically. “Right. It’s your duty.”
“We’re all playing a role. Aren’t we now?”
“I guess we are. So it just comes down to which side you’re on.”
“You think there are sides?” Rhoades smirked again. “How naïve.”
“At least I know which side I’m on.”
“Let me guess. You’re on the good side. On the side of those who care. The moral side. Honor and truth and all that. Right?”
Neely remained quiet.
“Because what you’re doing, what you and your friends are doing, is the right thing to do.”
“That’s right.”
“Of course it is. Because you’re so brilliant, you’ve thought through everything. You couldn’t possibly be wrong.”
Neely’s admonished expression began to show uncertainty.
“Because you understand everything that’s happening in our country. And the rest of the world. So naturally, those who don’t have the same priorities as you do, they are the enemy.”
“I think anyone who has to deceive–”
Rhoades cut her off with a short laugh. “Deceive? That’s what your opinions are based on? A person is on the bad side if it involves deception? Tell me you’re not that stupid.”
Neely didn’t respond.
“Tell me you and your team have not deceived anyone. Can you? No. Jesus, you’ve deceived everyone.”
“We had to. To keep people like you–”
“To keep people like me away. Of course, you did. And the rest of the bad people too.”
“That’s right.”
Rhoades shook her head and leaned back against the seat. “You bleeding hearts have never been that bright. Always so obsessed with doing what you think is the right thing that it never occurs to you there is no right or wrong. No good and bad. There are only objectives. And everyone’s are different. Every country, every ethnicity, every military. Each has their own objectives. And it all comes down to how far each will go to reach them.”
“Well, I guess we know how far you’re willing to go.”
Rhoades merely shook her head again and closed her eyes. Her reply was short and dismissive. “Oh, Commander Lawton. You have no idea.”
88
Deep underground beneath the Dugway Proving Ground in Utah, Dr. Janice Talbot carefully returned her phone to its cradle. She let her hand drop gently onto her desk where she drummed her fingers thoughtfully against the cool metal surface.
Both women had been captured and were now en route to Dugway.
It was the best news she could have hoped for. Talbot was no soldier, but she knew just how easily things could go wrong. She’d seen it before. Her greatest fear was that their mission would fail, now in its final stages. After they, or more specifically she, had come so far.
She had been worried that one, or both women, would be injured during the raid in Trinidad. Or even worse. But to her relief, both were confirmed alive. Exactly what she was hoping for. And exactly what she needed.
Talbot relaxed and reached for her computer mouse, returning the small arrow on the screen to the audio file she had paused before taking the call. She dragged the thin progress bar backward along the timeline and began listening again.
“…the bacterium?”
“No. I was the one who used Bacillus Coagulans, not the Chinese. It’s used a lot in biological testing and was one of the few human samples I had access to aboard the Bowditch. The Chinese used a different strain with a torque transducer, which is much faster.”
Janice Talbot was listening to an exchange between Neely Lawton and Debra Borssen, one of their operatives. Secretly recorded and sent just a few days before the women were seized. While Lawton still trusted Borssen as an ally. And a doctor.
Even though Talbot herself didn’t care much for working with others, she had to admit that Borssen was one of the most impressive operatives she’d met. And possibly the best in the agency when it came to assuming different identities.
The socially awkward Talbot knew of a number of people who had a gift when it came to getting others to trust them. People who seemed as genuinely gifted with people as she was with science. Something which fascinated and puzzled her at the same time. It was a skill that she personally couldn’t understand. And Debra Borssen had it.
Of course, many operatives had their own exceptional skills, such as lightning-fast reflexes or detailed memory recall. Borssen had both of those and more. Hers was instinctual, a certain way with people that could not be replicated. Lord knows they’d tried. The woman simply had an innate gift when she chose to use it. A smoothness about her that could make others feel comfortable. And trustful. Even to their own detriment.
“So what strain was it? That the Chinese used.”
Neely Lawton’s voice resumed in the recording. “They used staphylococcus epidermidis, another intestinal bacterium that can spread just as quickly. One of the easiest to manipulate through transduction. The same I would have used if I were them.”
“And that’s what was injected into Li Na?”
“By her father. While she was hospitalized and dying from degenerative heart disease, probably in the final stages.”
Borssen’s voice could be heard sighing. “That poor girl.”
Talbot clicked her mouse again and stopped the audio. She stared at the monitor, unblinking. There was more, a lot more, but this was one of the most important pieces of Borssen’s recordings. The name of the bacterium to look for once they had the girl. The process in which it was extracted by the Chinese. Even the cellular behavior to study. And of course, their remedy to the harmful side effects, which would have killed her. Medically crude but effective.
Talbot was excited. She was sure they could do better. After isolating the sequence, they could apply the new DNA faster and surely more accurately. And find a better way to solve the malady of extreme exhaustion, rather than through induced coma.
The teenage girl was the primary target. She had the strain. But Talbot was growing increasingly interested in the Neely Lawton woman. She appeared to have a lot of information that Talbot needed if she was going to make this work.
She couldn’t wait to dig into Lawton’s brain.
89
Talbot pushed open the heavy metal door and let it swing closed behind her. At the top, the hydraulic arm eased the door to a gradual close until it shut with the sound of a loud click.
The white walls and polished floor tiles resembled a common hospital hallway, which it effectively was, only smaller. Passing two windowed offices, Talbot rounded a corner into a larger room with two hospital beds, medical monitors, and a long curtain hanging from the ceiling between them. The curtain was pulled back and tied to the wall, near a fluorescent light shining brightly over one of the beds. The rest of the room was well lit from a set of fluorescent tubes recessed in the ceiling.
She focused her attention on the man sitting on the edge of the illuminated bed. Dressed in a pair of athletic pants, his upper body was shirtless. Exposing a lean, muscular chest and arms. His right shoulder bore a tattoo comprised of two letters––two As, with their opposing outer edges curving into the shape of a circle, and the word Airborne stenciled above them. A common insignia for the 82nd Airborne Army Paratroopers.
On his left arm was a bandage, wrapped around the bicep, being secured by one of Talbot’s medical staff. Dots of blood could be seen seep
ing through the white fabric.
Talbot’s eyes shifted from the soldier to the woman standing next to him. “What happened?”
The nurse glanced at the man, then to Talbot. “A training accident.”
“Another accident,” she repeated, peering down at him. The man grinned back nefariously.
“Just a scratch,” he said.
Talbot couldn’t hide the irritation in her eyes. “You can’t afford many of those.”
“Eh, I’ll heal.”
“Not well enough.”
“Not yet,” he countered, still grinning.
Talbot bit her lip to stop from replying. The man’s name was James Seever, and he was a perfect example of why she didn’t like working with others. His hubris and bravado were downright annoying. No, worse than that, grating. A man who seemed to have no respect for what they were trying to achieve. Or what it took.
Some might consider it karma, if she believed in such a thing. But at the very least, it was nature’s cruel joke. Of that, she was certain. Dozens of test subjects had all failed in one way or another to successfully receive the DNA changes. Some accepted them early on, when the segments they were editing were small. But when she tried to apply the same adjustments throughout the rest of the body, problems arose quickly.
It took years from those early tests to understand what was happening, what they were doing wrong. The science was not far enough along yet. And some of the side effects the subjects experienced were more than a little…unfortunate. Some were rather horrific. Especially when editing or adding multiple DNA segments. Uncontrollable spasms, loss of senses such as hearing or vision, and even organ failure had all occurred more than once. Two notable subjects actually had their hearts explode inside their chest walls, which was a setback. Making it fortunate that the first waves of test subjects were medical patients. Government sanctioned and usually unconscious, unable to refuse.
All in all, it was a difficult time. And a very long and frustrating process. And through it all, the greatest irony—no, the greatest mockery—would come from James Seever. A difficult, arrogant, contentious man who proved willing to do anything to be released from his current circumstance. A deal even Talbot had doubts about as to whether it was worth it. Especially now.
Mosaic (Breakthrough Book 5) Page 26
