He changed the VR program to one he had developed by modifying the military program.
He was floating with the current in an underground cavern, following the river around bends and into side caverns. It was completely dark, except for his headlamp.
The real cave system was located a mile away on public land. It was where Rachel had supposedly drowned. He had mapped it with sonar sensors the day after she had gone missing. Kergan had been right. The cave floor he had discovered with Rachel months earlier had collapsed into a hidden river below it. It bothered him that he hadn’t known about the water.
The VR program took him past a number of caves and side tunnels that he had checked out repeatedly using miniature SCUBA tanks while attached to ropes that were anchored topside.
He continued to float along as far as he could before the tunnel narrowed to a small hole. Then he had to grip a rock projection on the ceiling to keep from bumping into the wall.
He took off the wireless headset, staring at the computer.
Somehow it never felt real to him that Rachel was gone. For a long time he strongly believed she would still turn up someday. He didn’t know if he was crazy—if it was just his obsessive nature that couldn’t let go—or if his intuition sensed she was still alive. Maybe it was just grief talking. And even though the hope of her return was beginning to fade, he wasn’t ready to give up on her.
Images swam through him like ravenous sharks, scattering his focus. Rachel. Carol. The mission. His career. He knew where he had to start. He didn’t have a choice. Before he could do anything, he needed proof. The sooner the better.
When considering his options, all of them carried risk.
Striding past the computer station, he stopped in front of a locked cabinet on the north wall, dug out another key, and opened it. Inside were shelves loaded with equipment. On one of the shelves were a half-dozen burner phones. He grabbed one, locked everything up, and got into the Jeep.
Detecting movement on the driveway, he leaned forward. A corn snake wound its way across the dirt.
He went for a drive, checking his mirrors to see if he was followed, and then headed to DC. After parking he found a small café on 15th Street and sat in a booth. The waitress took his order for coffee. He told her that would be all he would need. Then he used his phone to access the Internet.
He typed in Venezuela and assassination. Disappointment filled him when nothing came up. Either the results of the Blackhood Op were being blocked in public communications or he was wrong about the location. After Venezuela he tried El Salvador, then Honduras, Panama, and finally Nicaragua. He searched a few more South American countries with no luck.
Sifting through his memories of the jungle, he tried to remember any bird or animal calls that might be distinctive to a particular region. However, everything he recalled inhabited the tropical jungles of any number of countries in Central and South America.
He stared at the phone, wanting to put his fist through it. They could try him for treason for investigating the mission—for breaking his oath of secrecy to Blackhood Ops—and he had nothing.
A long shot, he typed in Belize. Nothing. Then Costa Rica.
He was startled by an article and quickly scanned it:
...attempted assassination of General Garcia Vegas...Costa Rican army searches jungle for attackers...six Costa Rican nationals killed…nine Mexican soldiers...Vegas, a candidate in the presidential election for Mexico...
That the target site was in Costa Rica shocked him. Six citizens killed. Sanctioning a massacre that included two generals in a friendly country was beyond brazen. And getting involved in politics in Mexico, something the CIA had been infamous for in South America during the Cold War, seemed such an act of stupidity that he needed a moment to adjust to the idea.
Komodo Op was obviously a political hit, which disturbed him even more. But the target had survived, sending a surge of adrenaline through him. It also made him wonder about the friar.
He typed in Mexico and read the same news about Vegas. The news brief also stated, ...Vegas has a chance of winning the general election against the incumbent.
General Garcia Vegas’s website had a picture of Vegas standing alongside an even bigger man, General Rivera, whose arm was in a sling. Usually generals didn’t gain popularity in Mexican elections, but maybe the voters wanted someone strong to get rid of the drug cartels.
Steel remembered seeing both men during reconnaissance for the Komodo Op. He was surprised the generals had managed to survive. Vegas must have gotten out first, and Rivera was the one Danker had shot in the room.
His eyes raced over the website. Vegas wanted to reform a number of areas of government to help the poor and middle class. The usual political drivel. No radical or terrorist language.
It didn’t make sense.
A recent picture of the friar appeared, which straightened his shoulders. Francis Sotelo. No wonder he had sensed something familiar about the man.
A few years back Sotelo had gained fame among the U.S. environmental community. Steel had first read articles about the man in Audubon and a Greenpeace article online. He had been interested in Sotelo because of his affinity with wildlife and nature. However, in past photos Sotelo had a beard, moustache, and long hair, and had been an elementary teacher. Now he was clean shaven and a friar.
A small cheer stirred in his chest that Sotelo was alive. When he had first read about Sotelo, the teacher was relatively unknown, living in a small village in Mexico. Now people were comparing him to St. Francis of Assisi.
Sotelo talked almost exclusively about how environmental pollution and degradation affected poor people, wild animals, and nature in the same way. He wanted justice for the poor—education, reparation money, housing, and health care from the governments and corporations raiding their land—and justice for nature. The two themes were inseparable in his talks.
The friar’s reputation had blossomed, especially with the multitude of looming environmental disasters. People were flocking to hear him speak. Sotelo was helping Vegas make a race of the election.
If the Komodo Op was politically motivated, maybe Vegas secretly supported terrorism and the U.S. saw him as a serious threat. Steel’s mouth was dry. If that were true, it meant someone had decided to eliminate everyone with Vegas to protect the U.S. from recriminations from abroad should any survivors point fingers.
But it didn’t make sense that Sotelo would align himself with a man who supported terrorism. Nothing fit.
He cleared the phone’s browsing history, put on disposable gloves, wiped it clean of prints, and took it apart. On the way back to his car—after making sure no one followed him—he slipped its pieces into different trash bins along the sidewalk.
He used his other phone to call Carol’s Washington apartment. Voice mail. He left a message. If his resolve held out, he wouldn’t call her again for at least a few days.
No, deep down he knew he might call her again tonight. If the nightmare came. Where he watched her jump off a cliff with his daughter, and he was unable to grasp either of them. That usually woke him up in a sweat, gasping for air. Steel, he told himself, you’re bent.
Anger over the Komodo Op welled up in his chest again. Whoever wanted Vegas and Sotelo dead would try to kill them again. He wanted to find the man behind the orders before that happened. There was no doubt now that they would come for him too—he was a liability and a dangerous loose end.
If the President was behind things, he didn’t know what he could do.
When he thought about who he could go to for help, there was only Kergan. Another risk.
CHAPTER 9
While driving home the phone rang. Steel stared at it, answering on the second ring.
A woman’s voice. It took his jumbled thoughts a few seconds to realize it wasn’t Carol. He sank into the car seat.
“…Major Steel? Are you there? This is Christie Thorton. Jack Steel?”
He remembered Christie from a Pentagon function long ago. Part of the Pentagon’s liaison personnel with Blackhood. An analyst. Used to be, at least. Sharp, quick, lots of energy. He almost hung up. “What can I do for you, Christie?”
“I’d like your advice on a scheduled Op in Afghanistan. Kergan referred me to you.”
“I’d like to help you, but I don’t have time.”
“Kergan said you were the best choice, since it involves a cave system that you explored.”
“I’m in the middle of something else.” He tapped the steering wheel softly with his knuckles.
“Kergan says you’re the best.”
“This is a bad time.”
“Isn’t that the way it always is? Life’s never quite right, is it? Can you squeeze me in? A few hours.” There was a pause. “Please. It would help your country and possibly save soldiers’ lives.”
He didn’t want to do it. His knuckles pushed against the wheel.
“Kergan said you would make time for me. He said you’re a great guy and you would see me. I need to do it soon. Orders. Could you? Please?” She chuckled softly. “I’m begging, Major Steel.”
His lips twisted. Kergan’s endorsement backed him into a corner. “All right. Come out to my place tomorrow morning.” The words grated over his teeth. He gave her his address.
“Great, see you then.” She hung up.
He tossed the phone on the passenger seat, suddenly realizing the other thing he had felt for the last days. Anger. Anger that Carol had left. Anger she might leave him for someone else. Anger that she wouldn’t work to save their marriage.
You’ve got it all together now, he thought. What a pro.
The second call was his choice. He punched a number and let it ring once and hung up. Dialing it again, he let it ring twice before he hung up. The third time it was answered on the third ring. There was no greeting on the other end and he said nothing.
Silence. He was glad.
***
They met in an hour on a quiet dirt road in the foothills of the Blue Ridge, northeast of where he lived, halfway for both of them. Dark clouds pillowed the sky and the air chilled his skin.
Steel parked his Jeep on the side of the road and got into Kergan’s Mercedes. They went for a ride. Steel wore jeans and a gray pullover, Kergan a gray sweater and black slacks. Kergan had fifteen years on him and was fit, with wide shoulders. A head taller than Steel, he had thick silver hair and a commanding presence.
Kergan was like a father to Steel. Steel’s mother had died in a car accident when he was sixteen, and his father—a sergeant major—had died two years later in combat. Kergan was a colonel at the time, and also a good friend of his father’s, and had kept in contact with Steel because of it.
Over the years Steel often turned to Kergan for advice. He trusted and admired him. Kergan didn’t say anything, his slate eyes looking forward, his strong hands on the wheel.
They had arranged this type of routine when Steel first enlisted in Blackhood Ops. It was a precaution, in case anything ever went wrong. Kergan was good at that, always seeing what might lie ahead and being prepared for it.
Kergan had overseen intelligence gathering units, including Steel’s, in Afghanistan. He had a lot of connections, and at the time of his surprisingly early retirement he wielded a lot of power as a four-star general. Kergan was the only person Steel knew who might be privileged to inside information about Blackhood Ops.
Steel cleared his throat. “Carol left me.”
Kergan kept his eyes on the road. “She called me.”
He winced. Carol had probably called everyone but him.
“I don’t want to be caught in the middle between you two,” Kergan said softly. “I’ve told her the same thing. I value both your friendships.”
The hills were painted with leaves that had turned color. Steel noticed a doe not far off the road. “Did you refer Christie Thorton to me for Op analysis?”
“Is it a problem?”
“No.”
Kergan turned the car around. “I heard things didn’t go well on the Komodo Op.” His deep voice rumbled over the words.
Steel had no idea how Kergan would take a confession from him. He decided he couldn’t give one. It might compromise Kergan with others, and it might compromise their friendship.
Kergan glanced at him. “I know how dirty things can get, and how quick.”
“I want to know who we targeted and why.” He didn’t want to tell Kergan he really only needed the why.
Kergan eyed him. “You haven’t been looking into it, have you?”
He didn’t answer.
“They can put you in jail for life, Jack. What are you thinking?”
“Do you believe every order should be followed?”
“I’m talking with you, aren’t I?” Kergan paused. “Let it go, Jack.”
“I can’t.”
“You have to. There’s nothing you can do.”
“Maybe.”
“It’s over.”
“Maybe not.”
“I’m telling you, Jack, as your friend, don’t do this. If not for yourself, then for Carol.”
Steel’s fingers tightened on his thighs. If he somehow put Carol in danger he would never forgive himself. Not after Rachel. He exhaled. This had nothing to do with Carol and she had moved out. She was safe. His hands relaxed. “Some things have to be answered for.”
“Some things are better forgotten. Get on with your life.”
“I don’t have one.”
Kergan eyed him. “And what do you get out of it?”
“My conscience.”
“What good is that if you’re in jail?”
“It’s all I have.”
“It was that bad?” Kergan sighed. “All right. General Sorenson ran the Op. I know he’s not happy about it. I was led to believe you went to South America. Where exactly and for who, I have no idea.”
“Could you find out?” They had lied to Kergan about the location so he doubted they would tell him the why.
“I’d have to be blunt and Sorenson would want to know why.” He looked at Steel. “They know we’re friends.” He turned away. “If they come after you, you’re finished.”
“What about you?”
“Let them try.”
“If it’s no risk to you, I could use your help.”
Kergan glanced at him. “I’ll see what I can turn up.”
“Thanks.” He sighed. “How are things with you?”
“I’m getting over Mary’s death. It was hard for a long time, but I’m finally remembering the great years we had. And there’s someone else there now to share my life with.”
“I’m happy for you.” The pit of Steel’s stomach tightened. He didn’t want to think of needing someone else to share his life. He looked out the window. A flock of geese made a V in the sky.
Kergan pulled up even with his car. “Listen, if you get yourself into a situation, call me.” He gripped Steel’s hand. “Call me anyway.”
“I will.” He wondered how many times in the last ten years people had said that to him and he had promised to, but never called. He would this time.
He watched Kergan drive off. The steadiness and security of his friend’s presence remained with him, but his eyes locked onto his mirrors all the way home.
CHAPTER 10
Major Christie Thorton targeted her green eyes like lasers on Steel’s back as she chased his black sweat suit through the woods, weaving in and out of trees and running hard.
The crunch of leaves beneath her tennis shoes sounded a rhythm for her strides. The sun beat down on her forehead and she was glad whenever she had shade. The big friendly chocolate lab stayed beside her step for step,
something she didn’t understand. After all, the lab was Steel’s dog.
She had arrived at eight-thirty a.m. Steel had expected her around ten and was about to begin his run. If she wanted to stay, he told her that she had to run with him. He didn’t want her hanging around his property while he was away and he didn’t want to skip the exercise. Take it or leave it, his eyes had said. Stubborn and weird. Annoyed, she had almost left.
But she wasn’t sure he would allow her to come out again and figured it might be another way to connect with the paranoid guy. Her gym bag was always in the car and he had given her five minutes to change.
He had a gun beneath his sweatshirt. She could see its outline. Cautious. No. Prepared. For what? That unsettled her and planted a small seed of fear in her thoughts. Maybe he knew why she was really here. That stiffened her back.
She liked the colors and quiet in the forest, broken by birdsong. Normally it would have had a restful effect on her. All of it signaled Steel’s preferences.
As they ran through a meadow, sharp whistles of northern cardinals broke the beat of their steady footsteps through the grass. A bright multicolored canopy of treetops stretched to the mountains in the distance. Above her, a red-shouldered hawk circled, and a light breeze blew, caressing her skin. She had to get out of the city more often.
They headed back into the woods. In another quarter mile Steel ran across a small arched wooden bridge built over a stream. He jumped over something as he crossed it and pointed to the right. Christie almost tripped as she followed his arm.
A small black bear stood far upstream, and she saw almost too late that she needed to jump over a six-foot rat snake curled up in the sun on the wood bridge. She landed off-balance, glancing back at the snake that hadn’t moved.
Steel Force Page 4
