by Ethan Cross
The dying CEO rasped out a harsh, gurgling whisper of wild incoherent ramblings as his body trembled and seized. Munroe understood a few of the words, but the rest was indecipherable. “Don’t know… Bankrupt… Deal… Devil… Almeida’s after the… Weapon… Declaring war…”
Then Brendan Lennix’s body relaxed, and his eyes fell shut for the last time.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE
Munroe heard the scrape and rattle of a vehicle approaching and knew exactly what it meant. Almeida had escaped and with him their chances of finding his daughters. The pain and fear and anxiety at the thought of losing them threatened to overwhelm his faculties. His chest grew tight, but he fought back the roiling tide of a panic attack. He needed to focus, concentrate on the things that he could control.
The SUV came to a stop, and the door creaked open. Black simply said, “Almeida’s gone.”
Munroe heard the footfalls of someone jogging up behind them and reasoned that it was Corrigan, who must have abandoned his sniper’s perch.
“We need to get back to DC,” Munroe said as he struggled to make sense of all they knew and determine what Almeida had planned.
As soon as they were back on the road and had left the scene of the bloody firefight behind, Munroe said, “Let’s go over what we know from the beginning. Wyatt Randall made a revolutionary discovery and took it to his old friend, Brendan Lennix. But Lennix had just avoided bankruptcy by making a deal with the Castillo Cartel, which has been worming its greasy fingers into US businesses and organized crime for years. So then Lennix has everything he needs, the new drug and the money to fund its development. He sells it to the DOD, and they begin testing its effect on soldiers under controlled conditions.”
Speaking loudly over the wind pouring through the broken windows, Katherine added, “But then the incident happens with Corrigan and the military and Lennix cover it up. They don’t want anything to taint the release of their new miracle drug.”
Munroe pointed in the direction of her voice and said, “Right, which from a certain perspective would have been fine, except that it didn’t stop there. Castillo sees the potential for the bad batch of the drug to be developed as a weapon and makes a deal or coerces Lennix into creating it. Either way, Wyatt Randall learns what Lennix is doing and doesn’t want his discovery corrupted into something ugly. Maybe he’s also conflicted about Corrigan’s upcoming execution and that served as a catalyst. So Randall steals the research, maybe even destroys the other records, and runs to the top man in the Marine Corps. I’ll bet he was trying to use the evidence and Easton to stop Corrigan’s execution. Couldn’t live with that blood on his hands. General Easton starts poking around and gets himself killed to protect the secret and the billions of dollars in revenue that would be lost if all this was exposed.”
Black said, “So now Almeida has the research for this drug, Focus—which he could sell to our enemies—and he also has a powerful chemical weapon.”
Munroe drummed his fingers on his thighs and tried to figure out what he was missing. He thought of what Brendan Lennix said before he died. Lennix had mumbled that Almeida was after the weapon, not that he had the weapon. Lennix seemed to be trying to tell them that Almeida didn’t have all the pieces yet.
“Randall didn’t know about the weapon until recently. Maybe he didn’t have access to that data. He may not have known how it was being weaponized, just that it was. The directory listing on the flash drive was John Corrigan, Wyatt Randall, Compound 119, Site B, Money Transfers, and Trial Results. We obviously know about the first two. Compound 119 is probably the drug, the lab name for Focus. Trial results and money transfers are self-explanatory. So that leaves Site B.”
“I think they called the testing facility Site B,” Corrigan said.
“That must be where Almeida is headed. Where the weapon is being developed and stored. If we can find that facility, then we can find Almeida. If we stop Almeida, we can make him tell us where the kids are buried.”
Black said, “That’s great. We just have to find a secret research facility in the middle of nowhere, stop a group of paramilitary mercenaries from stealing a chemical weapon, and do it all before three teenagers suffocate to death.”
CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO
When dealing with a complex problem, Munroe broke it down and focused on one step at a time. If he thought too much about the big picture, it could be overwhelming and hinder the process. Now, he ignored the end goal of saving the kids for the time being and concentrated instead on the next logical step. Finding Site B.
With this in mind, Munroe said, “Corrigan, we need more information about this facility. Anything you saw or heard? Anything distinctive?”
“They transported us inside the back of a truck with no windows, and so I can’t tell you anything about the drive there. We’re trained to rest when we can, and so honestly, I slept a big part of the time during the ride.”
“What about once you arrived?”
“A lot of trees. A small nondescript brick structure above ground and then two levels below where the actual labs were located.”
“Did you hear or see anything while you were there? Anything in the woods? No matter how small or insignificant. Anything that stood out to you?”
“I noticed a lot of geese. Oh, and they told us to watch out for unexploded ordinance in the woods.”
Munroe cross-referenced these details with what they already knew. Within a half hour to forty minutes of Fort Meade…Geese…Lots of trees…Unexploded ordinance. “When you were in the woods, did you ever see any old telegraph poles?”
Corrigan hesitated a moment but then said, “Maybe. There were some old poles among the trees in a few spots. They looked sort of like telephone poles. I never paid much attention to them.”
The last pieces of the puzzle fell into place. A theory on Site B’s location started to take shape. “My wife, Beth, was big into the outdoors. We used to do a lot of hiking and nature walks with the girls. And one of her favorite spots to visit was the Patuxent Research Refuge.”
Katherine asked, “What’s that?”
“It’s a wildlife refuge and research center located just south of Fort Meade. In fact, the North Tract of the refuge used to be part of the base before the military donated that land. They still find unexploded ordinance there from time to time. Stuff left over from when the Army used it as a testing range. You even have to sign a waiver before you hike up there. Then there’s the telegraph poles. The major thoroughfare from Baltimore to Washington, DC used to run right through the land now occupied by the refuge. It’s been unused for so long that no semblance of a road or path remains in most spots, but a lot of the old telegraph poles are still standing.”
Katherine seemed to be the first to follow his logic. Her Irish accented voice said, “So all we need is a map of the old road, and we can trace it back to a facility located in the refuge’s North Tract.”
Black immediately added, “Almeida already has a head start. We can drive the Yukon to the closest town and get some gas or even steal a car and—”
Munroe reached out into the darkness and found the big man’s shoulder. “We can’t do this alone anymore. It’s bigger than us now. We can’t risk Almeida escaping with this weapon or the drug. We have to call in the cavalry.”
Black shoved Munroe’s hand away. “We don’t have time for that! Someone might suspect us for Corrigan’s escape already. Then there’s what happened to you at the hospital. By the time we can wade through all the questions and bureaucracy and convince the right people of what’s really going on, Almeida will be long gone.”
“You’re right, Mr. Black. But I have an idea about how to make all that go away.”
CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE
Joey Helgeson sat within his black 1969 GTO Judge convertible at a small gas station off I-395, waiting for the others to arrive. Recent events had convinced Joey that l
ife was too short not to take chances. He thought of that with a smile as he sipped his Starbucks coffee and admired the phone number written across its side with a black permanent marker. His eyes went wide as the bullet-riddled Yukon pulled up beside him.
Collecting his papers, Joey walked to the passenger window. The tinted glass slid down to reveal Munroe’s face. Joey had never seen his boss look so pale and worn-down, and the Yukon’s interior stank of sweat and gasoline.
“Did you find him?” Munroe asked.
“Yeah,” Joey said. “His secretary said that he’s a big Jefferson fan and sometimes goes to the memorial in the afternoon to clear his head. I hacked the GPS in his cell to verify it. That’s where he is now.”
“Good, let’s give him something else to think about. Did you find the info I requested?”
Joey passed two manilla folders through the window to Black. “The bank statements and the list of sites are in there.”
Munroe nodded. “Mr. Black, we’ll keep the bank statements but please pass the other folder back to Annabelle.”
Black handed the folder to the backseat, and Annabelle asked, “What’s this?”
“Marine clay,” Munroe said. “Almeida told us that they had buried bodies in this location many times before, but none had been found. That suggests a certain kind of access and use. Not just some random farm or new location. Someone would see them and wonder what they were doing there. Unless it’s their place. It could be a central base of operations or some business or site that they own. Something of that nature. And at the Easton and Randall crime scenes they found traces of Marine clay, brick dust, plaster, insulation, and glass particles.”
“Construction sites? Places undergoing renovations?”
“I’ve had Joey doing some research for me since right after the Randall scene. Marine clay typically occurs in the coastal plain most prominently in Fairfax County Virginia east of Interstates 95 and 395. That narrows down the geographic region. He’s also been researching companies and locations in that area to find the most likely sites where they could have buried the kids.”
“Sounds pretty thin,” Black said.
“Thin is all we have right now. Joey’s checked with a few of my contacts at the DEA, but they weren’t any help. Which could mean nothing, since those guys like to play their cards close to the chest. We’re going to attack this thing from both fronts. If we find Almeida, we can find the kids. But if we fail, maybe Annabelle will fair better with the traditional approach. Annabelle, take Corrigan with you and use Joey’s car.”
Joey’s voice cracked as he said, “What?”
Munroe ignored him. “Don’t get too deep into anything or put yourself in danger. If you think you’re on to something, call in the troops. I’m counting on you to find my babies.”
Annabelle reached forward and squeezed his shoulder. Munroe pressed his cheek against her hand. They held the embrace a moment, and then she and Corrigan exited the vehicle and moved toward the GTO.
“Keys in it?” she asked Joey.
“Uhhh…”
She didn’t wait for his response as she climbed inside the vintage car, started it up, and sped from the lot. Munroe said, “Take a cab back to your office, Joey. We may need you to run some more data for us.”
Then Munroe rolled up the window, and the Yukon headed back toward the interstate. Joey stood there a moment in shock before pulling out his cell phone and surfing the Internet for the number of a cab company.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR
With Black guiding him to the right spot, Munroe dropped onto a stone bench inside the rotunda of the Jefferson Memorial. Thomas Jefferson fascinated Munroe, and the memorial had been a favorite spot of his for years, although he had seldom visited after losing his sight. Still, he could picture it in his mind—the grand dome, the massive rotunda, circular marble steps, the colonnade of Ionic order columns, the nineteen-foot tall bronze statue of the former president. Munroe had always found the neoclassical building reminiscent of the Roman Pantheon.
Without looking toward the man he had come to confront—Undersecretary of Defense Damian Lightoller—Munroe said, “Jefferson drafted the Declaration of Independence and wrote the Virginia Statute for Religious Freedom. He was the man who penned, ‘all men are created equal,’ and yet, he owned over six hundred slaves during the course of his life. Not much has changed in DC. What’s that old joke? A mother asks her son where liars go. The boy instantly replies, Washington, DC. You fit right in, don’t you, Mr. Lightoller?”
“I don’t like being insulted or threatened, Munroe.”
“Don’t worry. Where you’re headed, you’ll get used to it.”
“What does that mean?”
“Prison, Mr. Lightoller.”
“We’re through here.” Lightoller stood, but Munroe grabbed his arm and jerked him back down to the bench. Lightoller pulled away and said, “Don’t touch me!”
Munroe maintained his calm and soothing Southern tone. “I knew you had lied to me that day at the Pentagon, but I wasn’t ready to confront you about it at the time. Now I am. I had a friend with the Pentagon Police pull your phone records and found that, immediately after I left your office, you placed a call to Brendan Lennix. And what a coincidence, I was almost killed shortly thereafter.”
“That doesn’t prove anything.”
“No, but I also had an associate hack into your bank account, and that does tell an interesting story.” Munroe held out the manilla folder Joey had provided.
Lightoller snatched it from his grasp, flipped through the sheets, and said, “This is illegal!”
“Is it? Well, don’t worry we’ll get a warrant before we come after those records for real. That way it’s all on the up and up. You’ve been taking bribes and kickbacks for some time. You were most definitely involved in covering up the murders of John Corrigan’s family, and who knows what else will crawl out when we start kicking over all your rocks.”
Lightoller shifted nervously on the bench. “You can’t do this.”
“Oh, I believe I am. Brendan Lennix is dead, and when all this comes out, they’ll need to hang it around someone’s neck. Guess who that’s going to be. I suspect the charges will involve fraud, bribery, and conspiracy to commit murder, among others. Not to mention the violation of the Chemical Weapons Convention, which if you recall is a pesky little international arms control agreement outlawing the production, stockpiling, and use of chemical weapons.”
“I had nothing to do with any of that. I helped cover up the scandal with John Corrigan, and I may have received some funds through improper channels, but I didn’t have anything to do with murder or chemical weapons.”
Munroe shrugged. “That’ll be for the courts to decide.”
“What do you want, Munroe?”
“Finally, to the heart of the matter. From what I hear, you’re a rising star and have become an expert at playing the game. You’ve made some influential friends who have invested substantially in your future. I need you to call in every favor you have.”
“For what?”
“John Corrigan is going to turn himself in, and you’re going to get the execution postponed. Then you’re going to pin the breakout on Lennix and his gang of hired mercenaries. I’ll give you their location.”
“They dead?”
“That’s right. Finally, you’re going to pull strings with the FBI to get me full control of a strike force from the FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team and a chopper to transport me to Lennix’s secret facility up in the Patuxent Research Refuge. I need all that in less than an hour.”
Lightoller laughed with condescension. “You’re out of your mind. What you’re asking for is impossible.”
Munroe stood and adjusted his dark sunglasses. “You never know how fast you can run until you’re being chased, Mr. Lightoller. Make no mistake about it…you are most certai
nly being chased right now.”
PART SIX
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE
Flown by the HRT’s Tactical Aviation Unit, the Sikorsky UH-60 Black Hawk tactical transport helicopter swooped low and fast over the Maryland countryside. Munroe could barely think over the whirring of the rotors and howl of the wind coupled with the strong smells of sweat and burning fuel. His two companions, Jonas Black and Katherine O’Connell, hadn’t spoken a word since climbing into the chopper. He imagined that they each had a lot on their minds.
Over his headset, the assault team leader said, “ETA five minutes!”
A full HRT unit couldn’t be assembled in the time they had, but Lightoller was able to round up a six man fireteam and a pilot. Plus, Black would be going in with them. The seven highly trained operators should have no problem taking the facility, or so he hoped.
With nothing to do but reflect, Munroe couldn’t help but think of his girls. They had both been under five years old the last time he had seen their faces, and he imagined how different they must look now. He had a picture in his head of them as little girls, playing in the backyard with their mother. He tried to imagine them as aged versions with some of their mother thrown in, but he couldn’t help but still think of them as those little girls.
And now, they were out there in a hole somewhere, alone and scared to death and waiting for him to save them, wondering if he would make it in time. He tried not to consider the possibility that he may never hear their voices again, their laughter, their bickering.
He was on the verge of tears when the team leader called out that they had arrived at Site B.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX
Almeida loaded an aluminum carrying case with the weapon canisters and a few of the small prototype dispersal devices as Pike transferred the information from the lab’s database onto a portable hard drive. The data would be used to reproduce the weapon, and the samples in the case would be used for the following day’s attack.
