Connect the Dots

by Denise Robbins

  Waldo grinned a devilish grin. “It is a satellite tracker. I have not tried it on a plane, but according to the manufacturer, it should to work.”

  “Should.”

  “Relax. When the plane lands we will have her coordinates.”

  “Okay. Did Charley give any indication as to where she was headed and for how long?”

  “She said she would be back by tonight, at the latest tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow! Am I just supposed to sit back and wait?” Jake started to pace again. “No. Charley is too quick. If she went traipsing off after everything that has happened, she has the scent.” He stopped, spun back around, and looked pointedly at Waldo.

  “Did she tell you?”

  He answered with a shake of his head. “Charley is tight-lipped. In her business, she has to be.”

  Yeah. He knew that. Now what? With a snap of his fingers, he had it. “It has got to be on those damn computers of hers.” Great. A needle in a haystack. “I’ve got to go.” Jake started for the door then turned when he reached for the knob.

  “Thanks, Waldo. She is lucky to have you.”

  “I think we are the lucky ones.”

  Jake regarded the floor then Waldo. “You’re right and since I’m not about to lose my good luck, I’m on my way to figure out what she knows.”

  “I’ll call you when she lands and keep you updated.”

  Jake inclined his head and swung the door open, letting it hit the wall as he exited the tiny room and high-tailed it back to his place, or in this case, Charley’s barn.

  FORTY-ONE

  “Tell me how you came by this picture.” Grayson slid the printed photo across his expansive desk.

  For only the third time in her career, Charley sat in Grayson’s office, and she was more nervous now than the first time when he announced he had selected her to work under him. That day, she wanted to jump out of her skin. Today, she just wanted out and at Dick. She did not want to sit there explaining herself and her case against him.

  With an inward sigh, Charley acknowledged she had no choice. She had to tell Grayson everything. In as brief and as succinct as her reports to him, she outlined the events that led up to the photo of Dick Grande inside her home.

  “A friend of mine, ex-military…”

  “Former.”

  Charley glanced up and smiled. “Sorry, former military. Anyway, a friend with experience devised a device that works similar to a motion detector but instead of the annoying alarm, it activates the digital camera.” She shrugged and sat back.

  “Apparently, the flash went off and scared him away before he could do anything more than leave the card.”

  Charley sat up, ramrod straight. “Jake said there were two people snooping around. If Dick was in my bedroom then that means his cohort rigged the stove to explode.”

  On a long whistle, Grayson sat back and scrubbed at his face. “Your plan is what exactly?”

  “To get Dick to admit he was there, tell me the name of his partner, and find out why.”

  “Do you honestly think you can get a man trained in SERE to reveal something, anything?”

  Just like Dick Grande, Charley had been through SERE. Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape, a military program that provides personnel, civilians, and contractors with training in evading capture, survival skills, and the military code of conduct. The code prohibits surrender except when all reasonable means of resistance are exhausted and certain death the only alternative. If captured, Americans were to resist by all means available and make every effort to escape and aid others. The code also outlined proper conduct for prisoners of war, reaffirming that under the Geneva Conventions; prisoners of war should give only name, rank, service number, and birth date. Lastly, the code requires that under interrogation, captured military personnel should evade answering further questions to the utmost of their ability.

  From Charley’s point of view, if Dick could break the Geneva Conventions based on the use of torture, then why would she not be able to break him of just his name, rank, and serial number?

  Under hooded lids, Charley peered up at her boss, and answered. “Yes. I won’t even need to use any of his enhanced interrogation techniques. I will go strictly by the Army Manual.”

  Grayson looked at her, skepticism written clear on his face. “Are you ready?”

  She inclined her head once and stood. “More ready than a girl on prom night.”

  Grayson chuckled then cleared his throat. “Exactly who is this Jake fella you live next door to?”

  Not going there, she thought. “Just some country bumpkin.”

  “Hmm.” Grayson rubbed at his chin. “I think some of his bumpkin is rubbing off.”

  Charley rolled her eyes. Great. “Let’s go, shall we.”

  Grayson met her on the other side of the desk and held the door for her. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he muttered near her ear as they walked through.

  She nodded. “I do.”

  “And you’re prepared?”

  “As ready as I ever will be.” She held up the stacks of papers topped with the photo of Dick delivering his Queen of Spades.

  * * * *

  One elevator ride and several hallways later, they halted in front of a small windowless room. “Good luck.” Grayson went through one door and shut it.

  Charley faced the other plain white door, took a deep breath and steeled her nerves. On the exhale, she turned the knob, and went in. She beamed at the large man who sat cross-armed, muscles bulging out of short black sleeves, leaning back in his metal chair, feet up on the table.

  “What the hell do you think you are doing?” Dick asked in a low, menacing tone.

  “Hello, Dick.” Charley kept the smile plastered on her face as she sat her things on the table and sat down across from him.

  “What? No cookies, Cupcake?” His feet dropped to the floor and he straightened. “Don’t I rate cookies? Or did you have something better in mind for me?”

  Dick licked his lips and his gaze roamed over her, pausing at the open button on her blouse. She wanted to throw up, to throw something at him. Instead, Charley willed the hot flush from her cheeks and glared at him.

  “Is that what you want? Cookies?”

  Dick sat back and crossed his arms again, putting up the barrier in their conversation. “It ain’t cookies that I want.” He leered. “If you want to question me, you should try it with your mouth around my cock.”

  Charley held back the shiver that waited to race up her spine and continued. “Thanks, but that isn’t going to happen.”

  “Oh? Is that because of your new boyfriend?”

  Bingo! Men are so easy.

  “Who would you be referring to?”

  “Don’t play coy with me. I’m better at this game than you.”

  She shrugged. “I know you are. You have a lot more experience and years under your belt.” His chest puffed up. Ego.

  “So with that experience and skill, I am curious as to why you got caught on camera delivering a Queen of Spades onto my nightstand.”

  “Are you nuts? I did no such thing,” he blustered.

  Charley reached into her stack of papers and tugged out a plastic bag with the playing card, and laid it on the table directly in front of Dick, face up.

  “This doesn’t look familiar to you?” she asked tapping her finger on the plastic.

  His gaze never left her face.

  “At least look at it. Maybe it isn’t yours. Maybe it belongs to someone else.”

  He glanced down then back up and shrugged. “It is a playing card. It could belong to anyone. It could belong to you.” Dick narrowed his eyes in accusation.

  Charley sat back, mirroring his posture, minus the crossed arms. “Come on. You’re too smart for that.”

  “What can I say? I don’t know.”

  “What if I told you there were fingerprints on it?”

  “I’d say you’re a liar.” Dick shoved the card back at her.


  “No, there is definitely a print on there.”

  “Impossible!” Did he think he wore gloves?

  “No see.” She picked up the baggie and pointed to a smudge on the corner of the card.

  His eyes grew wide but he denied it. “Not mine.” Maybe. Maybe not. It was probably smudged beyond use since both she and Jake had touched it.

  “Whose?”

  “I don’t know,” he growled and sat forward.

  Charley fished through her pile and pulled out the photo of him in her bedroom. “That’s you.” She pointed to the image when she laid it down in front of him.

  “Get a grip. All you see is a man dressed in black carrying something.”

  “True.” She brought out another picture, one she zoomed in on the hand. “You can see here,” she pointed at the enlarged photo. “You didn’t wear gloves.”

  Dick was nervous. He scratched his neck five times. “So.” All his bluster vanished.

  “Look closer, Dick. See if you notice the tell-tale item that made me recognize the person that broke into my house.”

  He leaned forward over the photo so his face sat just inches away from it. He jerked back and tossed the picture at her. “I do not see anything.” His ears flushed indicating he was trying to bluff his way out or had a fear of getting caught. Could be both.

  “Then I guess you are not as observant as you claim to be.”

  “Bullshit! I’m the best little darlin’.”

  “Really? Then how come I caught you red-handed?” Charley stood, slamming the photo back down on the table, stunned her detainee into silence, and stabbed a nail at the pinky finger of the man in the picture then grabbed Dick’s right hand. “That is you! It is the same ring I’m staring at on your finger right here and right now.”

  “Because I forgot to wear gloves!” he shouted.

  Shocked, she blinked twice and gaped at him. Did he just admit?

  He flung off her hand and reversed their positions. “You want to touch me little girl, you better do it with feeling.” His grasp burned and bruised. When he released her, she fell back a step and watched as Dick looked over her shoulder expectantly.

  “No watchers in the other room?”

  She shook her head and lied with ease. “No.” She stood tall, stiffening her spine. “This is between you and me.”

  Dick sat back. His arms fell and hung to his sides in a relaxed pose. “Oh, I like the sound of that. Just you and me. One on one.” He stretched his legs out in front of him, clasped his hands behind his head.

  “Good.” She stepped forward and sat again. “Who rigged my place for a gas explosion?”

  His eyes flashed up and his mouth dropped in complete surprise. That was one good thing, she supposed.

  “At least you weren’t the one who tried to fry me.”

  “The little piss-ant. I’ll kill him,” he swore under his breath.

  “Who?”

  Dick waved her question away. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Not worry about it?” she asked incredulous. “The guy tried to turn me into human shish-kabob.”

  Dick laughed then straightened. “Nice image.”

  “Thanks. Here’s another image for you.” Charley reached for the earmarked page and pulled it out, sliding it over for Dick to view. “Your handiwork.” She gestured to the mark left on Kyle’s torso.

  Scrutinizing Dick’s reactions, she watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down several times and he rubbed his ear. Taking his gaze from the picture, he looked her dead in the eye.

  “I did not kill him.” His lips thinned.

  The thin line of his mouth indicated he was holding back. His statement was how did Jake put it? Rehearsed. He chose his words carefully. Partial lie. He did not want to be accused of murder.

  “Who killed Kyle?”

  Dick shook his head.

  “You were there.” She pulled out another blown up picture, showing him the mark. “If you didn’t kill him, you know who did.” Okay, so there was no question there but it was implied. This interrogating the interrogator was a little odd so she had to adjust.

  “Who?”

  He shook his head again.

  “Tell me why?” she demanded holding back tears for the loss of a good man.

  He whistled. Charley sat back and stared as Dick puckered up his lips and blew. Oh! He was telling her without telling her. Whistlebowing. Whistleblower. Her pulse raced. Keep thinking.

  “Because of my research?”

  “You need to not get your panties in a bunch. Shit happens. We save lives. We prevent terrorism.” He shrugged. “Well, I do. You, I’m not so sure of.”

  Her temper spiked but she kept it at bay only clenching her jaw. “My intelligence report was correct. You know me. I do not extract bad intel. I did not get those people killed.”

  “Maybe not, little girl, but somebody did.”

  Was he giving her a clue? She looked Dick in the eye in an attempt to read him but got nothing. What was she to say?

  Dick played his fingers on the table and whistled again. His fingers tapped on the table as if … typing! Someone changed her report? She made a mental note to access a copy of it.

  “Who?”

  Again, Dick shook his head at her. “Not me. I only follow orders. I am after all, Army Intelligence.”

  “Did you follow orders when you left your mark on Kyle?”

  He leaned across the table and stabbed a finger at the photo. “I do not leave marks. Not my work.”

  Staring into dark eyes, Charley swallowed. He was right. She had never once seen a mark on any of his detainees. She had seen him fake drown a few, seen more than a few sleep deprived through forced standing on their feet for hours with their feet shackled to eyebolts. Not once had she ever seen Dick actually strike an individual even though the belly slap was an approved enhanced interrogation technique according to some CIA officials.

  Wait. Back up. Dick said he only follows orders. Whose? If the mark on Kyle’s body is not Dick’s then whose is it? It had to be someone in Intelligence. Someone Dick would report to.

  The eyebolts!

  Charley pointed to Kyle’s picture. “What detention center is this?” Excitement caused her voice to eek higher.

  One of Dick’s eyebrows lifted. “You should know.”

  She should know? How? Charley rubbed at her temples. She could not take much more of this word game.

  “Do I need to write it in a note for you?”

  Brows furrowed, Charley peered up at Dick who tugged at his collar. As his words sank in, her eyes widened in comprehension. He emphasized the word note. Note. The letter he accused her of receiving from Onder Gozcu.

  FORTY-TWO

  Jake made it home from Waldo’s in record time and did not stop until he let himself into the barn. Knowing that Waldo was keeping track of Charley’s movements, allowed him to at least push her to the back of his mind and concentrate on the task at hand. Who was he kidding? Charley was in the forefront of his mind. He worried. Worried? Hell, the mess she was in tormented him.

  That was why he pulled up a chair in front of Charley’s computers. He had to figure out where her mind had gone before she took off and why. He had to find out what she knew and had not shared. He had to find the danger and snuff it out before it snuffed her.

  He tapped a key on the keyboard in front of him and the computer came to life. He did the same thing to the other two, and their screens lit up. On two of the monitors, he stared at the pictures he had examined the night before. One was the guy who left the death threat. If he ever got his hands on the asshole, Jake thought, fisting his hands. The other image was of Charley’s ex-lover.

  “What did you see that made you fly off to DC?”

  Leaning back, he pulled both photos into his line of sight, angled his head left and right. There was something, he just could not see it.

  “Come on, darlin’, talk to me.”

  She did. His eyes narrowed in on the co
mmon thread between them. It was an insignia. The man’s right hand carried a gold insignia ring. The body of the other man had the imprint from the same insignia.

  Grabbing the mouse for the third computer, he opened up another web browser and searched on military insignias then filtered his criteria to military intelligence.

  “I’ll be damned.” There it was.

  “She thinks the same person who broke into her house, tortured her ex. And that person is military intelligence.” Then that person would have gone to the black sites. Charley worked with him! Her boss?

  “Holy Mary Mother!” His insides twisted in knots of realization as what Charley planned to do hit him. She went to confront the guy!

  He had to go after her. Find her.

  His cell phone rang.

  “Waldo.”

  “She is on the move.”

  “Where?”

  “She moved but she’s still in Langley.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “How the hell do I know?”

  “Call me back as soon as she stops again.” Jake shut the phone.

  He closed the browser and froze. Everything in his body ceased to function as the words he saw on the screen hit him with a force that sent him reeling.

  On the monitor was an article about “Black Ninja CIA”. The first line, the line that took his breath away, read, “Big people in black balaclavas or hoods kidnapped suspected terrorist.” He remembered Charley mumbled something about black hoods last night when she added a box to the diagram she drew.

  The entire article, told to a reporter by an unnamed American intelligence source, listed the disgusting and inhuman way members of the intelligence community picked up and transported a detainee to secret prisons. Jake swallowed and read. The detainee was blindfolded by the black-dressed ninja CIA agents, his hands and feet were shackled, and then his clothes were cutoff, all of them, and a diaper affixed to him. His heart started again in overtime as he read the next step included a fully-body cavity search. After that, the ninjas took the prisoner to an awaiting plane, shackled him to a stretcher in a degrading position, and absconded with him for parts unknown, usually making several stops along the route so as not to be identifiable.