The Patrick Bowers Files - 05 - The Queen

by Steven James

  “This guy Becker Hahn was at the Pickron home, and Cassandra, Terry’s old partner, is working with him.” The clues were like filaments, narrow, encircling each other, dancing, flirting, never quite touching. “The call to Ardis’s phone following the murders on Thursday came from Egypt. If that’s where Terry’s being held, I’d say that’s enough evidence to move forward.”

  Margaret didn’t reply immediately. “I’ll get the schematics to you and track down Terry Manoji. You—find a way to get to that base.”

  Julianne arrived, and after we’d confirmed that the other section of the basement was unoccupied, I took Weatherford to her car and had her lock him in the backseat so we wouldn’t have to keep an eye on him when we went to get Kayla Tatum.

  While Tessa worked at the fire, Amber sat beside her in chilly silence. It made Tessa uneasy and she knew she needed to do something, say something to help her. But she had no idea what in the world that might be.

  Three armed CIA agents burst into Terry Manoji’s room, strapped his wrists to the arms of his wheelchair, and began methodically searching the room.

  Despite himself, Terry felt a tiny wisp of concern.

  Without consulting his phone he didn’t know exactly what time it was, but he did know that in less than forty-five minutes Cassandra would be sending the ELF signal and eleven minutes after that Jerusalem would cease to exist and he would be free—but someone had obviously tipped off the CIA that something was up.

  Terry’s phone was tucked beneath one of his useless thighs. As long as the men kept him restrained in the wheelchair he would be all right.

  But if they decided to move him to the bed, it would be another story.

  As he watched the CIA agents scour the room, he began to quietly formulate an appropriate response in the event that they tried to transfer him out of the chair.

  83

  8:20 p.m.

  40 minutes until the transmission

  Julianne Doerr and I arrived in the room where Alexei had left Kayla.

  Officer Doerr, a sturdy, serious-looking woman in her early forties, reassured Kayla, “I’m going to take you to the hospital so we can make sure you’re all right.”

  But even as she said that I realized that in the spate of phone calls over the last few minutes, I hadn’t been thinking clearly. You never let a victim ride in a police car with a suspect and you never let a civilian ride in the front of a cruiser, so if Julianne took Kayla to the hospital, Weatherford would need to stay here with Lien-hua and me—but that wouldn’t work, since Margaret had been clear that she wanted us to find a way to get to the ELF base.

  Quickly, I called Natasha again, arranged for her to come over and transport Kayla to the hospital. Officer Doerr agreed to take Weatherford to the sheriff’s department for questioning, since he was already in her car, then she and Lien-hua helped Kayla, who was still somewhat groggy, to her feet.

  On the way up the stairs, I thought about Becker Hahn, Alexei, Cassandra, Terry; the loose, tangential web of associations that seemed to tie them all together.

  And Valkyrie? Where did Valkyrie fit in? Was there psychological significance to the code name after all, as Lien-hua had postulated?

  I like cases in which facts are solid, verifiable; you lock them into place and move on; you discover a truth that you can’t disprove and it gives you a basis on which to build your investigation. However, this week I felt out of my element, forced to deal with facts that didn’t quite mesh and hypotheses that squirmed out of my grasp as soon as I tried to pin them down.

  Maybe I did need to trust my instincts more.

  When we hit the lobby, Lien-hua and Julianne waited with Kayla for Natasha to arrive, and I flipped open my laptop to check my gmail account to see if the information from Margaret had come.

  It had.

  She’d sent a short text message with an attached, password-protected PDF file. In her note she mentioned that the CIA’s analysts hadn’t found any evidence of instances in which Taylor and Chekov’s paths might have crossed. Also, they were sending their interrogators to Terry’s room “to confirm that he has had no access to the internet.”

  I unlocked the PDF file, and though only moments earlier I’d been optimistic that the schematics would help us, now that I was finally able to examine them, I found their thoroughness and attention to detail frustratingly disappointing.

  There were three levels to the underground base, that much was clear: an entry bay for some kind of freight elevator that led to the surface, a middle level of crew quarters, and a command center and power generation facility below that. Eight tunnels led from the facility, but there was no clear indication of where—if anywhere—they might be accessed.

  These can’t be the most detailed or up-to-date files.

  Why would Margaret send me these?

  As I studied the diagrams, Natasha arrived. Julianne led Kayla to her and Lien-hua strode toward me.

  The underground ELF base was located near the coordinates in the center of the Chequamegon-Nicolet National Forest where the aboveground station had been. The forest service roads haven’t been plowed, we’ll never be able to get there by—

  “Well?” Lien-hua stood beside me, and I tilted my laptop so she could see the screen. She studied it. “Is that the only entrance?”

  “It’s the only one visible on this set of maps.” I pointed to the tunnels that spread away from the station. “But I find it hard to believe that there would only be one way into the base.”

  “Always leave an escape route.”

  “Right.”

  “Where do the tunnels terminate?”

  I shook my head. “There’s no way to tell.”

  Unless—

  “Hang on.” I closed my eyes and visualized the topography of the area surrounding the old ELF site, evaluating the terrain and comparing it to the snowmobile trail map I’d studied my first night up here. Carefully, I rotated both maps in my mind, overlaying the features.

  Donnie took longer than he needed to when getting to work on Mondays and Fridays . . .

  “They would have to staff the station . . .” I said, thinking aloud. “That means getting people into and out of the base undetected. But in such a small, close-knit community, how could you do that?”

  Opening my eyes I studied the schematics again, scrutinizing the precise geographic orientation of the tunnels. “Where could strangers regularly arrive and leave from without raising any red flags?” I mumbled, but even as I said the words I realized where one of the tunnels, if it were long enough, would lead.

  “Oh, Lien-hua, that’s it.”

  “What? What are you thinking?”

  “Renovations in 2004. It would have been the perfect time to—”

  She gave me a sudden look of comprehension. “What? You mean here? The hotel?”

  “A National Historic Landmark can’t be torn down. The government was protecting its investment.” I was on my way to the door, laptop in hand.

  “Where are you going?” She quickened her pace to catch up with me.

  “Weatherford. He knows more than he’s been letting on.”

  The fire was slowly growing large enough to warm Tessa and Amber, and they’d pulled a couch close and now sat together, silently watching the flames. Amber had lit some candles, and the room smelled of sweet vanilla and crackling, burning pine. Just a few feet away, the storm churned outside the window.

  Amber drew out her cell, called the bait shop. “Sean, the electricity went out.” Tessa could tell she was leaving a message. “Pat and Lien-hua had to leave. I’m here with Tessa.” A long pause. It seemed like Amber might start crying again. “I’m sorry about everything tonight. About things with Patrick back . . . I love you . . . um . . . if you get this, call me. Okay?”

  After she hung up, Tessa tried to reassure her. “I’m sure he’ll be back soon. You guys’ll figure things out, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Even in the dim, flickering light Tessa
could see a storm of loneliness burdening Amber’s face, but before she could say anything else to try and cheer her up, Amber said, “Did Pat give you some sleeping pills earlier tonight?”

  “Yeah, they’re in my room.”

  “I think maybe I could use one to calm down.”

  “Okay. Sure. They’re on my dresser. On the left.” Tessa scootched forward to retrieve them, but Amber stood first. “That’s all right. I’ve got it.”

  From the edge of the couch Tessa watched her stepaunt head toward the hallway, and then disappear into the shadows lingering just beyond the fire’s light.

  84

  8:26 p.m.

  34 minutes until the transmission

  I stared at the door.

  Rusted, located at the back of the Schoenberg Inn near the dumpsters beside the food service loading bay. Though the door had a keycard reader and a numbered touch pad, since it was just an unobtrusive exterior door around the back of the building, I imagined it wouldn’t draw much attention from anyone.

  That’s how they could transfer staff and supplies into and out of the base without being noticed. The thought gave me hope that there would be a motorized way to get to the base after all.

  Julianne, Lien-hua, and Weatherford stood beside me. He’d taken bribes, wasted our time, endangered lives. I was so angry with him, but I kept my mouth shut. I was on the brink of saying something I would seriously regret.

  “How much did the Navy pay you?” Lien-hua asked him irritably.

  “They don’t pay me, it’s just a condition of my employment.” He sounded rattled but also slightly defiant. “All I know is that the door is here. People come. They leave. I almost never even see ’em.” He gestured toward the flat surface of the door where a doorknob or handle should have been. “I don’t even know how to get in.”

  I do.

  “Get him to the sheriff’s department,” I said, pulling out the biometric ID card.

  Julianne began to escort Weatherford back to her cruiser, but as they reached a strip of ice just past the dumpster, he kicked at her leg and she went down hard.

  “Hey!” I yelled. I started for him, but he rabbited toward the woods, and with my ankle slowing me down, Lien-hua was able to pass me and get to him first. She tackled him with authority.

  I was moving toward her, but she shook her head. “Get that door open, Pat. We’ll take care of him. I’ll be right back.”

  She and Julianne hustled Weatherford out of sight around the edge of the building, and I went back to insert Donnie’s biometric ID card into the scanner.

  Tessa heard the water running in the bathroom sink.

  “Did you need one?” Amber called.

  “Naw, I actually took one earlier. Thanks.” Now that the topic had come up, Tessa realized she was starting to feel a little mellow, the medication-induced drowsiness catching up with her.

  “I’ll leave them here in the medicine cabinet.” Amber’s voice sounded more muted than it should have, as if the hungry darkness in the hallway were swallowing some of the sound.

  But Tessa did manage to hear the faint click as the medicine cabinet opened, and then another as Amber shut it again. And for some reason she thought of Patrick, of his mission to find that kidnapped woman. Though it was a little uncharacteristic of her, Tessa said a brief prayer for his success. And a short prayer too, for Amber, that she would be able to find the rest and peace that she needed tonight.

  The keycard didn’t open the lock.

  Instead, on the screen just above the number pad, a prompt came up asking me to enter a password, and I had no idea what that might be.

  Remembering the cipher I’d passed along to Angela and Lacey, I tried 27219.

  Nope.

  I entered Donnie’s work ID, the phone number we were tracking related to Valkyrie, even alphanumeric ways of spelling Queen, all to no avail.

  The clues circled around, sliding into place, then dislodging again.

  Squirming away.

  Revelation 21:9.

  What did it say again? Seven plagues? Seven vials?

  Maybe there’s something in that verse. Something you can use.

  Having left my computer in Julianne’s cruiser, I used my phone to pull up an online Bible: “And there came unto me one of the seven angels which had the seven vials full of the seven last plagues, and talked with me, saying, Come hither, I will shew thee the bride, the Lamb’s wife.”

  Seven angels. Seven vials. Seven plagues.

  I tried 777.

  No.

  As I scanned the next few lines I felt my heart plummet: “And he carried me away in the spirit to a great and high mountain, and shewed me that great city, the holy Jerusalem, descending out of heaven from God.”

  Jerusalem?

  Is Jerusalem the bride? The queen?

  Pulse racing, I read the verses again, hoping to establish if that’s what the apostle John was referring to. It seemed to be, but I wasn’t certain of the interpretation, there might be more to—

  Secretary of State Nielson is in Tehran this week . . .

  Iran and Israel? Is this something to do with Jerusalem and Tehran?

  Alexei had mentioned that Russia sold its military secrets to Iran.

  Jerusalem.

  The bride. The queen.

  What else had Alexei said? The Beriev A-60 can shoot down a satellite, even from hundreds of kilometers away . . . It heats the outer casing, causes structural damage.

  It was the Russian version of the Boeing YAL-1.

  None of this was certain, but if Alexei was right, it played in our favor. I called Margaret again and asked her to check on any Boeing YAL-1s we might have stationed in the Persian Gulf.

  She didn’t even question why I was asking this but took a minute to make a call on another line, then said, “No. That aircraft was only experimental. The program was scrapped. There are only a couple left at Edwards Air Force Base.”

  That was in California. “Hang on a sec.”

  A quick online search told me that the Vahdati Air Base was the closest Iranian Air Force base to Israel.

  That would be the most likely one.

  If you’re right, Pat—yes—

  Timing . . . location . . .

  I told Margaret what I was thinking about Jerusalem, and she listened intently. “If anything happens,” I said, “Israel is going to strike back at the most likely country to fire a nuclear missile at them. Get in touch with Secretary of State Nielson. He needs to call his counterpart in Israel, get them to put up whatever missile defense shields they have around Jerusalem. And we’re going to need Iran to scramble some planes.”

  When I mentioned the Beriev A-60s Margaret scoffed at first but finally committed to calling Nielson. Before we hung up I remembered the web-based encrypted message from the base, realized there was a way to communicate with the outside world, and informed her I’d follow up as soon as I could. “Keep this line open.”

  She hung up and I saw Lien-hua jogging toward me, her sable hair whipping wildly behind her in the wind. “No luck?” she called, pointing to the door.

  “No. Any ideas?”

  She studied it. “Step back.” I was surprised to see her crouch into a ready position for kickboxing.

  “It’s a metal door.”

  “Step back, Pat.”

  “Lien-hua—”

  I saw the intensity in her eyes and I stepped back.

  She took a calming breath and then burst forward with a fierce front kick, landing her left foot against the door right beside the keycard reader. The impact didn’t appear to do any damage to the lock.

  “We need to find another way—”

  “Quiet.”

  I was quiet.

  She went at the door again, aiming for the lock itself, and when she kicked it, the door shuddered, but still the lock didn’t give. She backed up a third time, took a deep breath, then flew forward with a brutal spinning side kick, and this time when her foot smacked against the
door I heard a pop inside the lock.

  Nice.

  If Eco-Tech used this entrance, they might have left someone to guard the entryway. I drew my weapon and pressed against the door to test it, but it wouldn’t give.

  “One more shot,” she said softly.

  I moved aside, and she exploded toward the door—another carefully placed spinning side kick—and the lock finally shattered. Immediately, the door snapped open. She had her weapon out now too.

  “I never doubted you for an instant,” I said.

  “Uh-huh.”

  I signaled that I’d go first; she covered me.

  “FBI!” I shouted into the darkness. “On the ground. Arms outstretched!”

  No verbal response. I drew out my Maglite and clicked it on, held it between my middle and ring fingers of my left hand, cap end against my palm so I could use a standard two-handed grip on my weapon.

  Swung through the doorway.

  Empty. Nothing, except a downward-sloping tunnel of hard-packed earth.

  So they could roll supplies in, I thought, once again hopeful that there’d be some means of transport to the base. It’s at least five miles. Surely they don’t just walk the whole way . . .

  Before going any farther I contacted Tait to get backup on the way, but in this weather I knew that’d take awhile and I wasn’t about to stand around here waiting for them.

  “Let’s go,” I told Lien-hua.

  Weapons drawn and ready, we entered the tunnel.

  One of the interrogators searching Terry’s room discovered the spliced section of cord from the lamp beside his bed, the wires Terry had used to charge the cell phone.

  “He’s got something here,” he announced. “And I want it found. Now!”

  Terry watched the three men carefully, noting which of them appeared least vigilant about keeping his weapon protected.

  The youngest agent, a guy Terry had heard the others refer to as Riley, seemed to fit the bill.

  It wouldn’t be easy, Terry decided, and he might not be able to kill all three men before they could get a shot off at him, but if it came down to it, he was willing to take that chance rather than risk having them move him out of here before Abdul’s militants arrived.