The Black Templar

by Alex Lukeman

He entered his access code and then a search for the file. An authorization warning appeared on the screen, designed to stop anyone who had gotten this far from trying to see the file without additional clearance. Harold entered the code required to reach the next level. The GROUNDHOG file appeared on the screen.

  General Voronsky. I'll be damned. Lavrov will piss his pants when he sees this, Harold thought. Voronsky is a big fish. Maybe I'll ask for two million.

  Harry copied the file onto a small thumb drive and placed it in a special capsule provided by the Russians. He exited the file, shut down the computer, and got up. His rank and seniority entitled him to a private office and bathroom. He went into the bathroom and closed the door, dropped his pants and pushed the capsule into his rectum. He wouldn't get a thumb drive past security in his briefcase, but no one was going to look up his ass. The capsule and its contents were invisible to body scans.

  He took his coat from a rack in the corner, left his office, and locked the door behind him. He turned and almost collided with one of his coworkers.

  "Taking off, Harold? Little early, isn't it?"

  Harold held a hand up against his cheek.

  "Got a dentist appointment, Walt. I don't think I'll be back in today. How are you coming on the Albanian brief?"

  "Almost done. I'll have something for you tomorrow."

  "Good."

  "I hate dentists," Walter said. "Good luck."

  "Thanks."

  "See you tomorrow."

  Maybe, Harold thought.

  Fifteen minutes later he was headed home to his condo in Alexandria. He hummed a tune as he drove. Now that he'd made up his mind to bolt, it felt as though a huge burden had been lifted from his shoulders. After this final hand off and payment, he'd be gone. He imagined the look on Lucas Monroe's face when he found out what Harold had done. Monroe was his boss. He was always picking at Harold's reports, asking for clarifications, demanding more detail.

  Harold hated Monroe, hated him with a passion. Monroe had become the focus of all of Harold's unexpressed rage. He thought him arrogant and pushy. He assumed Monroe had been promoted because he was black. Harold didn't like black people much and it bothered him that one of them could tell him what to do.

  It was one of the things he appreciated about the Russians. They didn't have a black problem in the Federation. He knew that Monroe's wife was white. Harold couldn't understand why she'd married him. As far as he was concerned, she was a traitor to her race.

  Harold was unencumbered by a wife or any serious relationships. He'd almost gotten married once, but she'd had an annoying habit of interrupting him. Harold didn't like being interrupted. What he had to say was important. People needed to listen when he was talking.

  The Russians had told him he'd be welcome in Moscow when the time came. He'd be honored there, given a medal and an apartment, feted as a hero. No one would be able to extradite him. Maybe after he'd spent a few months on the beach somewhere, he'd consider it.

  Absorbed in his thoughts, Harold never noticed the white Ford van following four cars behind.

  CHAPTER 52

  Elizabeth picked up her phone. It was DCI Hood calling.

  "Good morning, Clarence."

  "We've got the bastard," Hood said. "We've got the damn mole."

  "Who is it?"

  "His name is Harold Buttonwood. He's a senior collection management officer in the Europe division, working under Lucas. He's one of the four personnel we targeted. We've got him on video. He accessed the fake file on Voronsky, copied it to a thumb drive, and smuggled it out in his butt."

  "Ugh."

  "Yes."

  "What happens next?"

  "He has to deliver the drive. He'll either meet someone or leave it in a drop."

  "Is the FBI in on this? They have jurisdiction."

  "No, they'll want to arrest him right away. I'm keeping this in house. There's precedent, so I'm not overly concerned. If there's a problem, we'll sort out the legalities later. Once Moscow acts on the information about Voronsky, we'll pick him up."

  "Congratulations, Clarence."

  "I have to go. Are you busy tonight?"

  "I'm not sure."

  "Well. Give me a call if you're free."

  After she'd hung up, Elizabeth thought about why she was hesitating. She knew why. It was because the relationship with Clarence had reached a point where it was either going to go forward or retreat. She sensed that he was getting serious about her. She wasn't sure if she wanted to take that next step.

  The door bell sounded. She looked at the security monitor and saw Nick and Selena outside with Valentina, Ronnie and Lamont. She went to the door and let them in.

  "There's coffee and donuts on the counter in the kitchen," she said. "Fuel up. We have a lot to talk about."

  The bell rang again. This time it was Stephanie with her laptop.

  When everyone was settled, Elizabeth began.

  "Let's start with Ireland. Nick, the girl you rescued is in bad shape. She's in a catatonic state. She can't speak and has no interest in her surroundings. We've got her in a private hospital outside of Dublin."

  "Ah, hell," Ronnie said.

  "Has she been identified?" Nick asked.

  "Yes. She went missing in Northern Ireland a week ago. She may never be normal again. People who enter a state like that seldom recover."

  "She doesn't remember what happened?"

  "She can't talk, but probably not. Perhaps that's a blessing."

  "Some blessing," Ronnie said.

  "Her parents have been told she was found wandering along a highway. The police are going on the assumption she was kidnapped and somehow escaped, and that the shock was too much for her mind."

  "She's only a kid," Nick said. "That bastard Payne had a lot to answer for."

  "What do you think happened to him?"

  "Your guess is as good as mine, but he went out hard. Whatever it was, he's dead."

  "Or worse," Ronnie said. "I wouldn't wish something like that on anyone. Not even Payne."

  "All right. Moving on. Valentina, you've been granted asylum. You now have the protection of the government. There's no danger you'll be imprisoned or sent back to Russia for any reason."

  "This makes me very happy," Valentina said. "Thank you."

  Selena hugged her.

  "Valentina, that's wonderful."

  "You earned it," Elizabeth said. "I'm glad for you. I'd like you to consider working with us in the future."

  "With the Project?"

  "The Project doesn't exist anymore. But I've been talking with Clarence. We can set up as an independent consultant with Langley."

  "Doing what?" Selena said.

  "The specifics haven't been decided yet."

  "You mean like what we were doing before under a different name?" Lamont asked.

  "No, I'm thinking more of a traditional consulting group," Elizabeth said.

  "Armed?" Nick asked.

  "That might be necessary from time to time."

  Lamont shrugged. "Like I said. Same as what we were doing before."

  "I thought we could take a look at that building I told you about, the one Clarence has offered to us."

  "Director, I don't want to keep doing this."

  Nick's words didn't come as a complete surprise, but it wasn't what Elizabeth wanted to hear. He was critical to any future evolution of the Project, whatever role it played.

  "I'm asking you not to make a decision right now," she said. "I want everyone to take some time to think about working together in the future. We're a team, and we're damn good at what we do. It would too bad if the country lost that resource."

  "Appealing to patriotism is a low blow," Nick said.

  "Maybe. But it's true, nonetheless."

  Selena said, "Steph, you're going to have another baby. What do you think?"

  "Me? I love working with everyone. I'd be sad to see the team break up."

  I also would not be happy if the team disband
s.

  "Hello, Freddie," Selena said.

  Hello Selena. How are the children?

  "They're fine. Thanks for asking."

  You are welcome. In my opinion Director Harker's suggestion is a good one.

  "What suggestion?"

  That everyone take time to think about the future.

  "Can we leave it at that for today?" Elizabeth said.

  "Why not?" Nick said.

  "There's one more bit of news. Clarence has identified the mole."

  "Outstanding," Nick said. "Has he been arrested yet?"

  "Not yet. There's still an act or two to play out before the curtain comes down."

  "What happened to the treasure? Was it recovered from the ruins of Payne's castle?"

  "It's been impounded by the Irish authorities. Some of it will end up in a museum somewhere. I don't know what will happen to the rest. Croatia will probably want it back."

  "Good luck with that," Lamont said.

  "That's all I had to say," Elizabeth said.

  "I'm going to grab another donut," Lamont said.

  Ronnie followed him into the kitchen.

  Stephanie said, "Selena, a couple of my friends are coming over this afternoon with their babies. I thought maybe you could bring Jason and Katrina. Everyone's about the same age, except for Matthew."

  "That's a great idea, Steph. What time?"

  "Around two?"

  "I'll be there."

  CHAPTER 53

  Harold was in his office at Langley, looking at the day's intelligence summary from Europe. Trouble was brewing in the Balkans again between the Serbs and Bosnians, stimulated by provocateurs working for a reconstituted Al Qaeda. Al Qaeda meant "the base." It didn't matter what it was called, there would always be some form of Al Qaeda. The Islamic world was ablaze with a fire lit by men who hated America and the West. Men who had persuaded millions that their corrupt version of Islam was the only true version. Men who would never put on a suicide vest or drive a truck filled with explosives into a crowded market.

  There were serious problems in France and the threat of a popular revolution. The government was under intense pressure to do something about the explosion of violent crime caused by immigrants who lived by their own law and saw France as an opportunity to take what they wanted.

  Nothing in the intelligence brief was unusual or unexpected. Anyone with common sense could see what was happening in Europe. It was an unsustainable situation, the result of an insane ideological agenda and the self-serving machinations of powerful men who wanted a Europe they could hold under their thumb.

  It was hard for Harold to maintain the charade at work. Ever since he'd handed off the drive with the information about Voronsky, his unease had been building. He'd heard nothing from his handler. The money still hadn't been transferred to his Swiss account.

  He gave up trying to concentrate. Maybe a cup of coffee and a sandwich would help.

  He got up and left his office, headed for the cafeteria. Along the way, he stopped and bent over a water fountain in the hall. As he drank, an unsmiling man he didn't know and two security guards went by behind him. They headed down the hallway in the direction of his office.

  Get out!

  Harold didn't question the inner voice. He walked quickly to the elevator. As the doors closed he saw the men at the other end of the hall go into his office.

  A few minutes later he was in his car and driving away from the headquarters complex. Harold lived in an upscale condo not far from headquarters. He figured it would take them fifteen or twenty minutes to realize he was no longer in the building, perhaps longer. For once the incompetence he loathed might work to his advantage. If he'd been thinking ahead, there would already be a bag packed with this passport and some cash in the trunk of the car. But everything was in the condo. It wouldn't take more than five minutes to throw together what he needed, once he got home.

  He left his car in the guest lot instead of driving down to his designated space in the underground garage. His unit was on the third floor, overlooking the parking lot and the approach into the condo complex. Several thousand dollars and his passport were in a biometric safe in his bedroom, along with the big .44. He ran into the bedroom, pressed his thumb against the scanner, and opened the safe. He put the money and passport in his pocket. The pistol was heavy and awkward. He stuck it in his belt and looked out the window at the lot below.

  A plain, black Ford drove into the lot. It had the look of a government vehicle. The car stopped and four men got out. One of them looked up at Harold's window.

  Run!

  His adrenaline kicked in. The condo complex was a rabbit warren of hallways, elevators and stairs, with more than one way up or down to his floor and unit. He locked the door of the condo behind him and crossed over to the building next to his, then down the stairs. The lobby was empty. He crossed the space and looked out at the lot. The black Ford was there, but no one was in sight. He hurried to his car, climbed in and drove away.

  The analytical part of his mind began working, seeking options and solutions. They'd be watching the airports. The trains and buses, too. They'd know what make of car he was driving, what it looked like, his license plate number. Once they realized he wasn't at the condo, they'd get the police after him, maybe set up roadblocks. The FBI would be after him. They'd shut down his credit cards, chase him like an animal, until they caught him and locked him up.

  Harold felt the first flush of rage. All those years, always feeling like an outsider. Working for incompetent bureaucrats who didn't appreciate his abilities or understand his genius. Watching people get promoted past him because they sucked up to their boss, or because they were a minority.

  That really bugged him, minorities getting preference.

  Men like him were always misunderstood. He thought of the outlaw heroes of his childhood, bold men driven to desperate deeds by the hypocritical rules of the society. He was just like them. Like them, he was running for the border. Running to stay out of prison. Running for his life. Running out of time.

  He felt the hard metal shape of the pistol push against his groin. Maybe they'd catch him before he could get out of the country, maybe not. Either way, there was one more thing he had to do before he disappeared forever.

  That arrogant prick Monroe needed to be taught a lesson.

  CHAPTER 54

  Selena drove over to Stephanie's and parked on the street. She bundled the twins out of the car and into a double stroller. She pushed the stroller up the walk and rang the bell. Stephanie opened the door. Matthew stood behind her, clutching her skirt.

  "Come on in, Selena. You're the first one here. The others will be here soon."

  Stephanie and Lucas lived in a brick colonial style house in Alexandria, set on an acre of land. Most of the year the setting was green and lush, with colorful flowers bordering the lawn and house. This time of year it was brown and ragged, the trees bare of leaves. Patches of icy snow were scattered about the lawn.

  "I hope you have coffee brewing," Selena said.

  "Is the Pope Catholic? You know how I love coffee. I have a nice French roast you'll like."

  "That sounds perfect."

  "Matthew," Stephanie said. "This is Jason and Katrina."

  Matthew hid his face.

  "Lately he's been like that," Steph said. "He's turned shy."

  Selena took the twins' outer clothes off. Jason squinted his eyes. His cheeks puffed out and his face turned red. Sudden odor filled the room.

  "Phew," Selena said. "You are very stinky today."

  "Gah," Jason said. He waved his arms and smiled, proud of himself.

  Stephanie pointed. "There's a changing table in the bedroom."

  "Excuse me while I take care of this."

  "I'll watch Katrina. She'll be fine."

  Selena took Jason into the bedroom. Stephanie picked up Katrina and went into the kitchen to make coffee. The back door onto the patio stood open. She froze at the sight of a well-dr
essed man pointing a very large revolver at her.

  "You're Monroe's wife, aren't you?"

  Stephanie's first thought was that her pistol was in the other room.

  "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

  "It doesn't matter who I am. I work for your husband."

  "He's not here."

  "I know that. He's back at Langley. I didn't come here to see him. It's you I want."

  In the other room, Selena finished changing Jason. She picked him up and started back toward the front of the house. That was when she heard Stephanie talking. Her voice was unusually loud.

  "I don't know what you want, but you're making a mistake coming here. Why are you pointing that gun at me?"

  Shit, Selena thought. Then, Katrina.

  A masculine voice said, "You'll find out soon enough."

  Selena's feet made no sound on the carpet as she retraced her steps to the bedroom. She laid Jason down in the middle of the big king bed and put pillows around him to keep him from rolling off. Her pistol was in her purse in the living room. To get to the living room, she would have to cross the hall leading to the kitchen. Whoever was in the kitchen with Steph and Katrina might see her.

  She had her cell phone with her. She took it out and punched in a preprogrammed speed dial that would send an emergency signal to Nick. It was a private code between them, a personal 911. Their phones had an app installed that tracked the other. Nick would know she was at Stephanie's.

  If anything happens in the next few minutes, he'll be too late.

  In the kitchen, the man started to shout about stupid people who thought they were better than others.

  She heard Stephanie interrupt him.

  "Would you like some coffee?"

  The shouting stopped.

  "What? What did you say?"

  "I asked if you'd like some coffee."

  "Are you fucking crazy? Do you see this gun? This is the most powerful handgun in the world."

  "I don't see what that has to do with coffee," Steph said. "Anyway, that's a .44 Magnum. It's not the most powerful gun anymore."

  "What?"

  "I'm going to make coffee now. If you're going to shoot, go ahead, but we'll both feel better if we have some coffee first."