The Jordan Quest FBI Thriller Series: Books 1-3: The Jordan Quest FBI Thriller Series Boxset Book 1

by Gary Winston Brown

  Egan descended the iron staircase to the first floor and inspected the drying room. The cavernous chamber did little to mute the sounds of the old building. Ambient noises, faint pulses of life still left in the dying building, echoed off its walls: the occasional murmur from the unsettled pigeons perched high in the rafters; floors creaking under the shifting weight of gravity; the pop and click of metal in window frames as they expanded and contracted with the heat of the sun. Free at last from the geriatric grip of its decrepit metal frame, a pane of glass fell and shattered on the concrete factory floor.

  When he had found the dilapidated factory in the pre-dawn hours, he had parked the flower delivery van in front of the drive-in doors of the shipping and receiving dock. Fortunately, the van had not been spotted by an overnight police patrol. Had that been the case the authorities would likely have run the plates, confirmed it was stolen, and entered the building to inspect the premises and determine if the thief were hiding inside.

  Too risky. He needed to move the van inside the factory.

  Egan closed his eyes and listened. He thought he could hear faint whispers coming from the kiln drying room. Ghosts of the old building perhaps.

  He stepped out of the chamber and listened intently. Whispers became words. Words assembled into muted voices.

  Clearer now, distinct.

  One-hundred feet away, maybe less. Closing fast.

  A commotion from the south end of the building now, outside the receiving doors.

  Directions being issued.

  No, not directions...

  Orders.

  The van had been had found. Which meant it was only a matter of minutes before the outside voices would come inside in search of him.

  The safest place for him to be right now was where he had spent the night; hidden in the dark corner at the north end of the factory, behind the makeshift barricade of wooden shipping pallets.

  Egan returned to the corner and peered through the stacked slats. The wall of the factory brightened as the back door opened and the shipping area filled with sunlight.

  Six silhouettes made entry against the light.

  Two men at first, then four more, spreading out quickly, moving fast.

  He observed them and waited.

  The strange metallic band on his wrist began to glow.

  71

  THE INTERCOM CRACKLED. “General, I have Colonel Hallier for you on COMSEC.”

  “Send it down the hall.”

  “Right away, sir.”

  “And call Dwight Hammond. Have him meet me in Briefing Room 1, ALPHA priority.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Brigadier General Allan Ford picked up the EYES ONLY file folder from his desk and walked down the hall to the briefing room. The urgency with which Hallier’s message had been relayed to him was disconcerting. He re-read the transcript subject line: Situation alert. Level A1.

  The fact that the alert had come from Quentin Hallier bothered him. The Colonel was not the kind of man to sound an alarm without justification. There could be only one reason important enough for him to send the message using his ALPHA emergency identification: a problem had arisen which posed a threat to national security.

  General Ford closed the briefing room door and opened the COMMUNICATION SECURITY video feed. Hallier’s face filled the screen. Behind him, Dynamic Life Sciences security staff were busy escorting scientists and staff to buses destined for Joint Forces Training Base Los Alamitos.

  Commander Dwight Hammond entered the room. Ford motioned to join him in front of the monitor.

  “General, Commander,” Hallier said.

  Ford replied. “Why do I get the feeling you’re about to ruin my perfectly good day, Quentin?”

  “Sir, I’ve ordered Dynamic Life Sciences to be placed in lockdown. One of its scientists may no longer be operating within protocol.”

  “Who are we talking about?”

  “Dr. Jason Merrick.”

  “Team leader on the Channeler and LEEDA projects?”

  “Correct, sir. Confidence is high he may be responsible for an attack that occurred at the facility a few hours ago. Two scientists are dead, both members of his research team. Poisoned, according to DLS’s Biohazard Response Team.” Hallier removed the metal band and empty vial from his pocket. “He left these.”

  “The Challenger and LEEDA prototypes,” Commander Hammond offered.

  “Yes, along with this photograph.” Hallier read the message on the back of the picture. “We have no idea what All Will Pay means or what he wants, but I’m assuming it’s not good. We need to locate him immediately.”

  “Did Merrick kill those men?” Ford asked.

  “That’s how it’s starting to look, sir.”

  “How soon can you get back to DARPA?”

  “If it’s all the same to you, General, I’d like to stay on site until the facility is secure and the staff is en route to JFTB Los Alamitos.”

  Ford nodded. “Very well.”

  “One more thing, General. We approved Merrick to go forward with human trials for Channeler and LEEDA.”

  “And?”

  “Commander Egan is the control subject. If Merrick has other plans for Channeler and LEEDA, and he’s turned Egan...”

  “Egan shouldn’t be a problem,” Ford interrupted. “He’s chipped. Locate him and bring him in.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible sir. His bio-locator chip was removed when he was selected for Project Channeler.”

  “What about hemotracking?”

  Hallier shook his head. “No, sir. For the same reason. Egan was given a transfusion. His blood’s clean. He’s totally free of nanoparticle GPS trackers.”

  “Are you trying to tell me our department’s most valuable asset is… lost?”

  “I can’t answer that yet, General.”

  “Jesus Christ, Quentin! Either the horse has bolted the barn, or it hasn’t. Which is it?”

  Hallier paused. “Sir, I think we were set up. Merrick not only developed Channeler and LEEDA but also designed the selection criteria and project parameters for the test subjects. He had a hand in every part of the project.”

  “Your point, Colonel?”

  “What if we missed something? What if Merrick had an end game in mind that no one saw coming? If Merrick outsmarted us and now has total control over Channeler and LEEDA, as well as Commander Egan, our citizens are in danger. No one except Merrick knows the full potential of this technology. In my opinion, the message is clear. Merrick plans to deploy Channeler and LEEDA for his own purposes. To what end we don’t yet know.”

  “You need to find and secure Merrick and Egan and reacquire Channeler and LEEDA, Colonel. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ll scramble a black ops team. They’ll be waiting for you when you arrive at JFTB Los Alamitos.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  General Ford slammed the file folder on the boardroom table. “You had complete oversight on this, Quentin. This was your project. I don’t care if Merrick and Egan come back to us horizontally, vertically, or in a million godforsaken pieces. Consider both projects shut down.”

  Hallier’s face was flush, neck rigid, mouth tightly drawn. “Copy that,” he replied.

  General Ford ended the transmission. The screen in the boardroom went black.

  A computer-generated voice spoke: “COMSEC TERMINATED.”

  72

  MARINA PUZANOVA WALKED out of the café Le Pain Quotidien in Moscow, dinner in hand; a to-go order of mushroom quiche with fresh green salad, cinnamon dolce latte, and a container of blueberry yogurt for dessert.

  Her day was finishing the way it had started: hectic. Taras Verenich, her contact in Los Angeles, had left his second urgent message of the day. He had orders to fill from well-financed buyers with particular demands as he was prone to emphasize; powerful men and women who were accustomed to getting what they wanted when they asked for it and who were becoming impatient. Con
versely, he had plenty of girls who were ready to fill Marina’s European and Middle Eastern requests. In addition to being a sun-kissed paradise, Los Angeles had proven to be a well-stocked hunting ground. There were plenty of beautiful women who had no issue with bedding older men for big money. Taras’ questions for Marina were always the same. How many girls did she need? Had the buyers been confirmed? And most annoyingly, how quickly would he be paid. Russian by birth but raised in the USA, now a hot shot immigration attorney with a bustling practice in L.A., Taras Verenich expressed and carried himself with the typical holier-than-thou attitude of every spoiled American Marina had ever known. Lately he had become a little too demanding for her liking. No matter. Hot shot immigration lawyer or not, he was still the smallest fish in a very big pond. She would remind him how easily he could be replaced. His behavior was typical of players new to The Company and getting their first taste of serious money. Sooner or later they all needed to be put in their place. And she was exactly the person to do it. She would also let him know that his attitude had not gone unnoticed. The message relayed to her by her superiors had been made clear: make sure Verenich knows The Company’s demand for compliance is an order and not a request.

  The evening was pleasant and warm. A gentle breeze blew up Novinskiy Boulevard. Marina brushed a wisp of blond hair away from her face. A block away, the gold-gilded parapets of the Kremlin took on a fiery glow in the waning daylight. As she stepped down the stairs of the café, her driver opened the back door of the shiny black town car. A sudden rush of warm air blew his jacket open and briefly exposed the Tokarev pistol secured in his shoulder holster. The driver scanned the street for any unusual movements that could be interpreted as a threat to Marina’s safety. Satisfied that all was well, he fastened his jacket.

  Marina’s cell phone rang as she stepped into the car. She pressed a button on the center console. With a quiet hum, the soundproof privacy screen dividing the driver and passenger compartments raised and locked. The phone display read ‘035’. Marina stored her contacts by number only, having committed their corresponding client names to memory. She took the call.

  “I missed you this morning,” Konstantin said. A smile was evident in his gravelly voice.

  “After what you put me through last night, I figured you’d had enough,” Marina replied.

  “Of you? Never. I left you a little treat. Did you find it?”

  The tone of her voice was playful. “A treat?” Marina asked. She had learned long ago that it was in her best interest to ensure complete client satisfaction before, during, and after her outcalls. Besides, only those who could afford her ten-thousand dollar per night fee were given her private cell number. Her phone contained the names of dozens of such men and women.

  “Check your purse,” Konstantin said, “The inside pocket.”

  The compartment bulged. Marina unzipped her Palladino handbag and looked inside.

  “What is this?” she said. She held the phone to her chest, lowered the privacy screen, mouthed the word home to her bodyguard and motioned for him to drive. The limousine pulled away from the curb as the screen rose and locked into place.

  Konstantin laughed. “I suppose you’ll just have to open it to find out!”

  Men and their cocks, Marina thought. At least in Konstantin’s case he was worth her time.

  From her purse she removed a slim black box tied with a red satin ribbon, its cover embossed in silver with the letters “HW.” Inside the box was the most beautiful watch she had ever seen. She gasped.

  Konstantin heard her reaction. He laughed. “I take it you like it?”

  “It’s absolutely beautiful,” she said. “I’m speechless.”

  “A small token of my appreciation, my love. Just promise me you’ll think of me when you wear it. I bought it in New York. It’s Harry Winston. 18 karat yellow gold. Turn it over.”

  Marina looked at the back. It was numbered ‘1.’

  “Only fifty of these exist in the world. You have number 1.”

  “You didn’t need to do this, Konstantin.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  Marina felt the sincerity in his voice. It was the same sentiment men had bestowed upon her all her life.

  “You are perfection, Marina,” Konstantin said. “A work of art, just like the watch. And a masterpiece deserves a masterpiece.”

  “I’m flattered, Konstantin. Thank you.”

  “You’re most welcome.” The call waiting tone sounded on Konstantin’s line. “I’m sorry, my love. I have to take this call. See you next week. Same time?”

  “Of course.”

  “Enjoy your evening. And the watch. Good night.”

  “And you.”

  Marina ended the call and placed her phone on the passenger seat. She admired the watch for a few seconds then slipped it back into the box. She would have to remember to wear it when she met with Konstantin next week.

  If only he knew how easy this is for me, she thought. Konstantin was no more important to her than 34 or 36 or any of the other numbered contacts in her phone.

  And now, thanks to his call, her quiche was getting cold.

  The smell of the food and the hot latte reminded her of how hungry she was. She was still thirty minutes from home. The latte couldn’t wait. She opened the lid and inhaled its heavenly aroma.

  On the seat, her the cell phone vibrated. The screen read UNKNOWN CALLER. Perhaps one of her clients had shared her number with a friend, a practice strictly against Company policy. She also changed her number every sixty days. Marina debated whether to take the call or let it go to voicemail. She answered the phone.

  “Hello?”

  The line was open, but no one spoke.

  “Who’s calling please?”

  The caller was silent. Seagulls cried in the background.

  “I’m hanging up...”

  “Her name was Paige,” the caller said. He paused. “She was my daughter. And you killed her.”

  73

  EVEN THOUGH THE key card tracking system indicated Jason Merrick had swiped out of Dynamic Life Sciences and left the campus shortly after 8:00 A.M., every nook and cranny of the facility needed to be searched. Sergeant Taylor rallied the members of his security team.

  Hallier pointed to Taylor’s computer tablet. “Can you access DLS personnel records with that?”

  “Yes, sir,” Taylor replied.

  “How detailed are your reports?”

  “Very.”

  “Send me everything you’ve got on Merrick.”

  “I’ll email his file to you.” Taylor tapped the tablet screen several times. “You should have it now, sir.”

  Hallier checked his phone. A copy of Merrick’s personnel file was in his Inbox.

  “Got it. Get back to me if your men turn up anything. Button this place up. When you’re done, join the others at Los Alamitos.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good work, son.”

  The Sergeant saluted. “Thank you, sir.”

  Hallier walked away from the security team and placed a call.

  “Federal Bureau of Investigation, Los Angeles Field Office.”

  “This is Colonel Quentin Hallier with the Department of Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency. I need to speak with your Assistant Director in Charge immediately.”

  “I’m sorry sir, she’s not available to speak…”

  “I’m not asking, young lady,” Hallier demanded. “Find her. Tell her this is a matter of national security.”

  “Right away, sir. Please hold.”

  Hallier’s call was picked up seconds later. “This is Assistant Director Ann Ridgeway. How can I help you, Colonel?”

  “Thank you for taking my call, Assistant Director. I have a missing persons situation that requires the immediate assistance of the Bureau.”

  “Shouldn’t you be speaking to LAPD’s Missing Persons Unit, Colonel?”

  “Not under these circumstances. My subject is a civilian scientist with to
p secret clearance whose life could be in danger. It’s possible he could be under the control of persons with an interest in extracting military secrets from him. Suffice it to say, we need to find him right away.”

  “When was he last seen?”

  “Shortly after eight this morning.”

  The Assistant Director checked her watch. 1:10 P.M. “Colonel, he’s been gone a little over five hours. Why are you reporting him missing so soon?”

  Hallier knew Ridgeway was at a significant disadvantage in this discussion. He wasn’t able to share with her the full story of the frightening events that had transpired within the last few hours at Dynamic Life Sciences and the potential danger Dr. Jason Merrick posed to the country. That information was Top Secret. She would have to be vetted, her security clearance raised by the Department of Defense before he could reveal the truth; that Merrick's sudden and unexplained disappearance, his actions, and probably his theft of the Channeler and LEEDA technologies, now placed the lives of every American citizen in danger. Even if he could reveal the information to her, she might find it too impossible to believe. But the threat was real, damn real, and he needed her support. Every second spent talking on the phone with her was time lost in the search for Merrick. God knows what plans he might already have executed and the catastrophic fallout those actions would bring. The message scrawled on the back of the family picture, All Will Pay, coupled with the murder of his colleagues, made one thing abundantly clear. Merrick was preparing to carry out a mission of his own with the most powerful military technology known to man at his disposal; a weapon so advanced that not even DARPA understood the full extent of its capabilities.

  “I’m not at liberty to share the specifics of the situation with you at this time, Assistant Director. But suffice it to say this is a matter of the highest priority. I need your full and complete cooperation and I need it now. If it sounds like I’m telling you what to do it’s because I am.”