The Clearing - DSA Season One, Book One

by Lou Paduano

  Zac ran a hand along the back of his neck. “I’ve tried. Whoever did it is good. They’ve covered their tracks well.”

  “So that would be a no.”

  “Well, yeah, but—”

  “Then no, I haven’t told the Inter-Agency’s lapdog about our illegal operation in Bellbrook.”

  “Illegal?” he exclaimed. “I didn’t realize I—”

  “Nothing will be put on you, Zac,” Metcalf said. “I was the one who made the call.”

  “But why?”

  “This is a chance to show the Council how useful we can be—how with a few more resources, more agents at our disposal, we can be a fully functional force within the system.”

  “If Sullivan finds out though…”

  Metcalf cut him off with a cold stare. “He won’t.”

  “Okay,” Zac said, unsure. So much for the DSA being immune to politics. “So what can I do for you?”

  “I need two things,” she answered. “You won’t like either one, but you’re going to do them.”

  “Is this about the team? Has something happened?” It had been eight hours since the team went silent—the moment they crossed into Bellbrook. Eight hours of waiting with no word as to whether or not the team was still alive. As to whether or not a threat even existed. They had no intel of any kind. Zac hated that feeling more than anything.

  “Still no word,” Metcalf reconfirmed. “Not what this is about though. I need some files secured. My eyes only.”

  Zac’s brow furrowed. “Command-level clearance allows you to lock any directory you—”

  “Not secure enough.” Metcalf lowered her voice. “Can you make it happen?”

  “Sure, but I don’t know why—”

  “Second request,” she said, her voice quiet and her hand on the door to make sure it stayed closed. “I need you to track Sullivan. Full digital footprint, on and off our system. Call logs. Everything.”

  “Susan—”

  “Director.” She took a breath. “Zac, I need you to do this.”

  “He’s deputy director. He just got here and you’re treating him—”

  “Zac. He’s been digging through my files. Through directories he has no right to—”

  “Have you talked to him?” She offered no response, and his head fell to his chest. “Right. Above my pay grade.”

  Her look softened. “I’m not condemning the man. I just don’t trust him yet.”

  “Well, spying on him should help build that bridge.”

  “A precaution, nothing more.”

  Zac nodded. “Like securing the files.”

  Metcalf pulled out a small piece of paper and handed it to him. “These are the directories.”

  He read the file paths and immediately handed the note back. Metcalf tore the scrap three times over before allowing it to find its new home in the trash can tucked next to her desk.

  “Thank you.” She opened the door and he shuffled for the hall.

  Zac found no words. There was no understanding Metcalf’s actions or desires. Only his loyalty to the work mattered—what should matter to them all. Still, her decision irked him. Combined with the arrival of a new field agent without any advance warning, it felt as if he had been dismissed as a common grunt instead of a critical component in the department. The idea, the very thought, burned in his veins, threatening to explode. “Director, I really think—”

  “I’ll be in Operations soon.”

  The door shut in his face, drowning out his unspoken request. He stared deep into the metal slab for a long moment while he waited for it to open again.

  “Right,” Zac grumbled in surrender. “I guess I’ll head there now.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “I’m not condemning the man. I just don’t trust him yet.”

  Metcalf’s conversation with Zac came through the earpiece with crystal-clear clarity. Even over the pulsing traffic rushing out of the DC area, Sullivan picked up every nuance, every inflection of the director’s voice as if she were seated across from him in the town car.

  His driver shot him curious looks, to which he replied by raising the glass divider. This wasn’t to be shared, hence the small speaker resting in his left ear. This was for him alone.

  “Bellbrook…” The name settled on his lips as the echo of Metcalf’s door resounded in his ear. He removed the earpiece and sank deeper into his seat, a smile on his lips. There was a reason behind the rapid movement of personnel at the warehouse, one purposely hidden from him. Now he knew why and he also knew what he could do with the information.

  Outside, the city slept with its eyes wide open. Pedestrians wandered the streets, the decent temperatures quickly diminishing with the fading sunlight. Cars blitzed from block to block, caught in an endless loop of traffic. All were oblivious to the truth around them, to the work being done behind closed doors.

  Work which controlled every aspect of their pathetically insignificant lives—a level of control now within Sullivan’s grasp.

  His phone rang, stirring him from his pleasant rumination. “Yes?”

  “You sound pleased with yourself, Greg,” the voice said, deep and hoarse. It fit Donald Stallworth, Assistant Director of the National Security Agency, perfectly.

  “I am, Donald. Long night?”

  Stallworth huffed. “I didn’t call for conversation. She took the bait?”

  Rummaging through her files was meant to be loud. It was meant to be seen and acted upon. Metcalf’s fear, her suspicious attitude toward his clumsy attempt to view sensitive documents, surprised him though. He’d always assumed she was smarter than that, at least enough to realize a ploy when one was dangled before her, instead of jumping in whole hog.

  “She did.”

  “This is dangerous, Greg. There are easier ways to get the information when her guard is down.”

  Sullivan shook his head to no one. “The woman’s guard doesn’t come down. But raise her suspicions? Make her paranoid enough and she will make a mistake. In fact, I believe she already has. Tell me, Donald, does the Council have any current operations in Bellbrook?”

  “Bellbrook?” Typing fingers answered him. Deep breaths boomed in the speaker. “Ohio? Not a one. Why? Has something—?”

  “I’m looking into it now,” Sullivan said.

  “Greg, if they find out what you’ve been doing—”

  “What we’ve been doing, you mean,” Sullivan interrupted. “Don’t you trust me anymore, Donald?”

  “She came too close to our operation in Buffalo.”

  “She found nothing and the damage was mitigated,” Sullivan lied. Riley’s recruitment had been unforeseen. Did they know more than they were letting on? He decided not to share that question with the figure on the other end of the line. Not yet.

  “This is a dangerous game we’re playing. If the Trust should learn of this betrayal? You need to be aware of the risks.”

  “I am. And I am handling it as I see fit. That is why they put me at the DSA in the first place, is it not?”

  Stallworth had made the motion to the Council. None had complained. None had found fault. Frankly, the position didn’t deserve the argument. Metcalf ran the DSA and anyone else was second fiddle, barely worth their notice. That was his hope in the appointment. He was the wolf in the fold—waiting for the sheep to slip from their pen.

  Waiting to pounce.

  “The Wellspring?”

  “Buffalo was a misstep, one that will not be repeated. The Wellspring will be ours. All in good time.” Sullivan hung up the phone before Stallworth could comment further. His hand rustled along his beard. He let out a thin breath. The leather of the plush interior cushioned him like a body pillow.

  An operation in Bellbrook without proper authorization? One hidden from not only him but the Council? Metcalf played her own dangerous game, and it was going to catch up with her faster than she could possibly imagine.

  Sullivan scroll
ed through the contacts listed in his phone and selected the appropriate number. It rang loudly twice before a voice greeted him.

  “Yes, dear. I need to speak with General Adams about a situation developing in Ohio. Tell him it’s a trusted friend.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Water pooled in Ruth’s hands, the rain increasing with each passing breath. Filled, she splashed the cool, clear liquid over her face. Her hands held firm to her cheeks, then ran up through short-cut locks.

  Closing her eyes helped. The effect, however, diminished with each attempt. Her body fought against her wishes, struggling to betray her with each step. Her head pounded and her muscles ached. The cut on her arm pulsed, deep red caked under her thin jacket.

  It had been a long day, the flight and drive here not expected when she’d crawled into the office from another late night. Another perfect night, but one she denied occurred in the presence of the others. She was field leader now, promoted due to the loss of Grissom. This was their first mission under her command and she was fading fast. Heat billowed from her chest. Her eyes wavered, unable to focus on anything or anyone.

  Aspirin did little to curb the effects. Her third dose in two hours caused her stomach to begin to cramp up. The three round pills joined her breakfast along the far side of their SUV.

  Ruth watched the contents of her stomach flow to the nearby sewer grate, and she found herself wishing she could join them in the dark. She was tired and exhausted; the thought of making decisions was nauseating, though it was a better solution than relying on others.

  Especially Lincoln. He fought every choice, every order given. His attitude threatened to fray the team, something she refused to let happen. She owed it to Grissom to keep them in line, to continue the tradition he’d set forth during his tenure. She owed him so much more, but it was all she had to offer the man who had given her a second chance.

  Ruth opened her eyes. The moon was tucked behind the clouds. Streetlights provided the only illumination along the dark Bellbrook streets. The forest loomed in the distance, menacing from afar. What secrets it held needed to be known. They had to find the source of the signal. That was the job, no matter the illness she felt. No matter her fear.

  No matter how much she disliked the idea of spending another minute with Ben Riley.

  “This might not be the smart play,” he said, rounding the car. Ruth shot up at his approach. She quickly wiped away the drool on her bottom lip.

  “It isn’t,” she said. A deep breath filled her and agony swelled in her chest. Then she turned to face the recruit. His smile unnerved her, his naiveté at their situation. Who the hell is this guy and what was Metcalf thinking bringing him on the team?

  “Okay,” Ben held the word out as Morgan joined them. “So let’s not drive into the ominous forest to find a mystery signal that is making people go whack-a-doo before pulling a Houdini?”

  Lincoln glanced at her from the storefront window, constantly keeping the pacing form of Howard Clevinger in sight. His dark eyes were heavy as he judged her reaction to Ben’s stupidly efficient summation of their situation.

  It made her want to scream. Or was that the pounding against her skull? Her fists balled up tight to her sides. Before she could respond, Morgan stepped forward.

  “Go easy on him, Ruth.”

  “I have been,” she snapped through her clenched jaw.

  “What?” Ben asked, a chuckle escaping. “Wait. Is this because I saved our butts back there?”

  Ruth pushed through the pain. Her finger prodded the man’s chest. “You mean how you shot to hell our best chance at figuring out the exact position this signal was coming from? How you took it upon yourself to open fire without any knowledge of the equipment you were ruining? Yeah, Riley, this is about you and that idiotic move.”

  “Well, you’re welcome.”

  Fingers clutched tight to his jacket. “And you’re a pain in the—”

  “Ruth!” Morgan pulled her off Ben, then shoved her against the side of the SUV. Morgan let go, but the exhausted woman hung close to the cool exterior of the vehicle, letting it soothe the raging inferno growing inside. She shouldn’t have lost it. Ben had stopped a shooter and put an end to an unknown threat. None of them could have done better, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it aloud.

  They needed that equipment, not the word of Howard Clevinger, to put an end to the threat in the forest. They needed a chance to understand what was coming, what was waiting for them in the dark. Walking into the unknown was what had taken Grissom from them.

  Ruth closed her eyes, letting the darkness take over. She was in charge, yet control slipped from her as easily as her breakfast along the rain-slicked parking lot. It was never a job she’d wanted; she had been content with the tech side of each mission using skills learned from her time at the NSA. She succeeded through knowledge. Unfortunately, all they had in Bellbrook were questions. They needed answers, not only for the sake of seven thousand residents.

  But for their own lives.

  “Ruth, listen…” Ben started, but she just shook her head.

  “Just get in the car,” she exhaled and opened her eyes.

  “I can drive.”

  Ruth held out the keys to him, then pulled them back. “Like hell you can.”

  Ben laughed and returned to the other side of the vehicle. Lincoln flipped him the bird before returning to his task.

  Ruth reached for the door, but was stopped by the worried expression spread across Morgan’s face.

  “You sure everything is all right with you?” Morgan asked.

  Ruth’s head drooped. She pulled her soaked hair from her forehead and nodded. “I’m fine.”

  “That cut—”

  “Is just a cut. It’s no big deal.”

  Morgan’s arms crossed her chest, cocked eyebrow questioning her resolve. Ruth turned toward the electronics store. Lincoln rested against a nearby display, gun in hand. It was how she always pictured him when she closed her eyes. That and his smile, the one few ever saw on the job. One he shared with her.

  “How is he?” she asked, her voice soft against the raging wind. “I mean, how is he really?”

  “Lincoln? He’s all right,” Morgan replied. “What about the good doctor in there?”

  “He knows more than he’s saying. Way more.”

  “So ask him?”

  “Might have to do more than ask, Morgan.”

  The medic of the team took a step back, ready to argue. She was always ready to argue when it came back to the violence of their job. Ruth reached for her shoulder and squeezed lightly, eyes catching the tall woman’s deep, brown orbs.

  “Hey,” she breathed. “We need to know what he’s hiding.”

  “Right.”

  “We’ll send word as soon as the signal’s down. Keep your comm’s open.”

  “Make it quick, all right?”

  Ruth huffed then reached for the door handle.

  “And maybe don’t kill him yet.”

  She shot Morgan a look of disbelief. “Like him that much?”

  Morgan shrugged. “Not really.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Ruth laughed.

  She slipped behind the steering wheel. The key turned in the ignition and the engine drowned out the rain for a moment before the storm surged back. She flicked the wipers on, letting the windshield clear for a second. The forest filled her view.

  Ben reached for the radio, but she slapped his hand away on instinct. They didn’t need the symphony of static as background noise to their travels.

  Ruth sighed and shifted the SUV into drive. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “They on their way?”

  Lincoln’s question pulled Morgan from the street. Their rental turned the corner, tires squealing as they picked up speed for their destination. The rain followed suit. A full blown storm soaked the area. Wind whipped Morgan’s hair from
her face, chilling her to the bone.

  Or was it the chill from the look in Ruth’s eyes that cemented that feeling? Eyes of quiet desperation pleaded for assistance that would never be truly accepted. Morgan had wanted to call her back—if only the moment had held for a second longer. If only she could have found a way to make it right, to have made the correct gesture to win Ruth over from her stubbornness. She hoped she would have another opportunity.

  “Yeah,” she said. She shifted from the rain back into the shop. Glass cracked under her flats. Her smile offset the sickening sensation deep in her gut. “I don’t think they’ll be picking out curtains anytime soon.”

  A grin curled from the corner of his lip, though Lincoln did his best to suppress the emotion. His focus remained on the third member of their party. Clevinger paced across the back of the shop; his tattered robe billowed behind him like a cape. His slippers tripped him up, but he failed to care as he muttered notes under heavy breath.

  Lincoln lowered his sidearm, aggravated as Clevinger began another lap. He settled against a support column in the shop. “Warn him about Ruth’s driving?”

  “The keep-your-head-down-and-your-mouth-shut lecture?”

  “That’s the one.”

  Morgan shrugged. “He’ll figure it out.”

  “Cold.”

  “With reason,” Morgan said.

  Lincoln’s brow furrowed. “Riley?”

  “No,” she answered, holding the word for a second too long. Something about their new colleague set her off. Perhaps it was the fact that Metcalf had never consulted the team in the first place. Maybe it had more to do with Metcalf recruiting at all. Grissom had run the team, part of his role as deputy director. Grissom had come with too many memories, too many emotions—and too many regrets. Just like Ruth’s pleading eyes. “Not Riley. Him.”

  Clevinger was an oddity. Out of everyone that had been trapped in Bellbrook when the signal began, somehow he’d survived. Not only survived, but taken steps to save himself over all others. He understood more about what happened than he shared—they all recognized it in his hesitation. In the answers that weren’t said more than the ones offered to the team.