Palmer held up her palms, it seemed to Carl, one for him and one for her director.
“Gentlemen, let’s stay on task. The president’s safety.”
Carl leaned back and nodded, as did McGrath. Their relationship had deteriorated in the past couple months, and Carl understood he was primarily to blame for that. Eight months after losing his son in the government ambush, he wasn’t getting better. In fact, he felt himself spiraling into depression and his terrorist persona taking over, dragging him farther into the abyss. And he liked it. He felt more comfortable and more content as a terrorist. It gave him power. It gave him the advantage over his enemies. He blamed McGrath for the fact that he couldn’t get over the loss of his son, and he needed revenge against someone. Aaron McGrath was a ripe target for his anger, so Agent Palmer had assumed the role of mediator between them.
Wizard unwittingly provided the détente. Carl’s laptop beeped, and a new conference window opened in place of McGrath’s. The director’s image slid over to the left half of the display, below Palmer’s.
“Good,” the computer wizard said. “I have all three of you on the same channel. I’m sending you some telemetry now. Boss, you asked me to monitor keywords associated with Officer Bonhardt, the cop who defused the second protest yesterday, and it looks like a contract for immediate execution has been purchased on him and his family in the amount of two million.”
“A contract!?” Carl said. “What the hell for?”
“International banking espionage, if you can believe that. The notation states he provided you, Carl, with trade secrets and account information that defrauded three Swiss banks out of hundreds of millions of dollars. By the way, he has also been terminated from the Chicago Police Department for his role in yesterday’s second protest. They completely bypassed any kind of suspension or other disciplinary action and went straight to the finish line.”
Everyone was silent for a moment as they digested the new information.
Carl said, “Why kill the man because he had a change of heart after I took his unit down? And why kill his family?”
Palmer nodded. “Usually, with these kinds of underworld contracts coming out of Europe, targeting the family is viewed as a deterrent for others considering betrayal or whistle-blowing. But I agree, this seems like overkill. Assuming the people who purchased the contract are the ones behind the police-control test, it’s not clear to me what threat he poses to them. He certainly can’t expose them since the police chief and the man the chief answered to are both dead.”
McGrath added, “I wonder if he might be a threat in another way.” Carl watched the director rub his chin. The one thing he respected about the director was his ability to dissect a problem. “He was, after all, a member of the test group of police officers who were subjected to whatever this biotech control methodology is. Maybe there’s something different about him.”
Wizard said, “You know, now that you mention it, when the quote-unquote American Terrorist intervened, the police didn’t blindly continue assaulting the protestors. They turned to face the new threat. And the second day, when Officer Bonhardt provided a buffer between the protestors and the police, they again stopped as if they had to process the unexpected interference.”
Palmer said, “You assume Rainman’s people were conducting the test again the second day.”
Wizard shrugged. “It’s a stretch, and there are a lot of unknowns here.”
McGrath nodded. “Maybe, but let’s go with that for a moment. What if Rainman’s people did a test failure analysis for the first day’s results? What if they discovered a potential weakness in their methodology?”
“Yes,” Carl said. “They would have modified their test. The second day, they sent many more police, yet the test still was not successful.”
Wizard added, “We assume it was not successful because the protest did not become violent.”
Palmer added, “Bonhardt surrendered his force on the first day because it was his only option to save his people. But the second day, he clearly was not under the same influence as the other police.”
McGrath said, “And, the fact that the rest of the police paused and did not continue their aggression against the protestors, assuming they were being coerced to assault the people, suggests that this biotechnology control methodology does not yield total control.”
Wizard said, “Maybe it’s more of a suggestive control mechanism.”
Carl added, “Or maybe they discovered a developmental flaw during the test. If there’s something about that cop that makes him immune or resistant, they would have to kill him and destroy his body to prevent someone from doing medical analysis that might help us understand or counter their control mechanism.”
McGrath agreed. “Hence, the two-million-dollar contract. Johnson, I think you should divert to Chicago and retrieve him. If he represents a technology flaw, we need to understand it so we can exploit it.”
Carl shook his head. “The president’s life is more important.”
“You’ll get no argument from me on that point,” the director said. “But think about it. This was admittedly a proof-of-concept test, and it represents a new and very dangerous weapon development program. It may be used for domestic population control, or it may be used, as we fear in the president’s case, for political or corporate assassination either here in the US or in any other country. A weapon of this magnitude could be devastating to the political or economic stability of every nation on the planet. At the very least, imagine what a renewed arms race would look like if the mere existence of this weapon is made public.”
Palmer said, “I agree, Carl. The president is important, but you know she would order us to move on this threat.”
“You’ll be without support retrieving the president, Nancy.”
She said, “I’ll be relying on you and Aaron to come up with a plan to get me close to the president and get her out of DC…by working together.”
Carl grunted but nodded grudgingly.
Wizard said, “Well, Boss, Officer Bonhardt certainly isn’t going to be happy to see you again.”
“Every bounty hunter in Chicago, professional and novice alike, is going to be gunning for him and his family. I’ve heard Chicago police seize more than six times as many illegal firearms per capita than even New York, so there’s going to be a lot of amateurs going after him in addition to the pros. If he knows there’s a contract in place, I’m guessing he’ll welcome my visit.”
“Unless he thinks you’re after the bounty too, in which case he might just shoot you on sight.”
“Yeah, there’s that.” Carl shrugged. “Alright, ping his phone and tell him about the bounty and that I’m coming, then set me up with whatever comm support you can muster until Three gets a team there.” Wizard nodded and his image disappeared.
Agent Palmer said, “You realize by sending me after Shirley Mallory, I may unknowingly become a threat to her if I fall under the influence of this technology.”
Carl thought about Palmer’s disclosure. “I have some thoughts about that.” He had Palmer’s image on the left side of his laptop screen again, now that Wizard had signed off, with McGrath on the right.
McGrath added, “I don’t think we can call any assumptions solid thoughts at this point.”
Carl snickered. “Oh, we’re not even on terra firma of assumptions yet. We’re still in the quagmire of wild-ass guesses. We need to get some serious brainpower on this biotechnology. Figure out what it’s capable of, how to defend against it, and what makes Officer Bonhardt apparently immune to it.”
“I agree,” McGrath said. “TER usually subcontracts this kind of tech analysis to classified university specialty research groups, but the more people outside our circle we involve, the greater the risk of Rainman’s people discovering our interest. If they think we know about their experiment, they’ll take countermeasures.”
“Agreed,” Palmer said. “So what are your thoughts, Carl?”
“Well, first, in terms of brainpower, let’s use my best friend, Randal. Well, he used to be my best friend.” Carl shuddered. “You know him as Randal Cunningham. He does problem analysis for the government. Over the years we referred to him as The Thinking Machine. During the first Gulf War, when our troops were having friendly fire problems within the tank regiments—because our tanks closely resembled certain models of the enemy tanks—Randal was given the analysis task to put a quick thirty-day, low-tech IFF solution in the field. As you know, that effort was successful.”
She nodded. “And you’re sure you can convince him to help us?”
Carl pointed a finger at McGrath’s image on his screen. “You can, Aaron. He’s worked for classified higher-ups before. He knows the gig, but…”
“But what?”
“I’m certain he won’t willingly cooperate after your folks grilled him about me, so you’re probably going to have to kidnap him.” Carl focused a deadpan gaze at the government man. “You know how to do that, right?”
McGrath grunted. “Funny.”
“And kidnap his family, too, or they’ll become a target for Atlas and Rainman.” Carl registered his verbal sparring victory with a sly half-smile that never quite reached his eyes. “So here’s what I think we know about this biotech weapon so far. I think we know it controls behavior, but we don’t know the specific aggression methodology. I mean, how does the tech identify a specific target? There must be some sort of external trigger, some kind of biotech programming. We know there’s a targeted delivery system or the protestors would also have been affected by the same technology and been equally aggressive toward the police. So, I’m thinking Agent Palmer will be safe from the influence of this weapon when she gets to the president because she will have been isolated by physical distance from the effects of whatever trigger this biotech employs. I mean, what are the odds, right? I’m thinking the targeted personnel, the Secret Service agents, will already have been infected or programmed or whatever this thing does.”
“I agree with you, Johnson,” McGrath said. He paused half a beat, then added, “Wild-ass guesses. Any other thoughts?”
Carl shook his head. “That’s all I got.”
“Let’s proceed then,” the director said. “I’ll have agents pick up Cunningham and deliver him to the safe house Agent Cummings set up in Kansas. I assume that’s where you’ll be delivering Officer Bonhardt?”
Carl nodded.
“Very well.” McGrath’s gaze seemed to dance between Carl’s and Palmer’s images and he made a shrug that included his hands. “Any ideas on how we get Shirley out of the White House without arousing suspicion, and how we isolate her for retrieval? Her schedule shows no meetings all day and tomorrow.”
“Actually, I have an idea about that.” Carl looked pointedly at McGrath. “Don’t you think it’s time to bring your relationship with her out of the closet?”
Chapter 19
Carl landed at the municipal Chicago Executive Airport for the second time in three days. Wizard had arranged a rental minivan that Carl retrieved while wearing his dark-skin Rastafarian disguise. Then he proceeded downtown to check in to his hotel on the popular tourist canal.
It was midday and hot. Insanely hot. And muggy. So it was with great pleasure that Carl got out of his Rasta disguise and took a long cool shower as soon as he got to his room. Afterward, he stood by the window, looking down eight stories below at the tourists walking along the pathways. He spied the tour boats cruising the inner-city canal in between the one-way streets.
From the shadows on the concrete below he could tell the sun would still be up for a few more hours, so he decided to drive back to the small airport. From the Gulfstream, he loaded up weapons for him and the cop, water and two meals for him and each member of the family he was about to rescue, and his battle armor. Then he made his way back to his hotel room where he ate and studied maps on his tablet. He memorized all the major streets in the area, as well as all the fast exits from the neighborhood.
He had to get the officer and his family safely to the downtown hotel undetected and keep them alive until his backup arrived in the morning with drone coverage. That meant he had to do the retrieval the old-fashioned way, alone and blind. He’d have no high-tech government support, so he wouldn’t know where the enemy was or what their numbers were. On the plus side, though, he’d have Wizard and Merc Three in his ear on comms. They’d be monitoring police frequencies, trying to guide him around any law enforcement roadblocks.
The contract on Bonhardt had been active for a few hours, so he figured the novices would park within sight of the house and see if they could prepare a quick nighttime hit. Carl wasn’t worried about them. He was infinitely more worried about the professionals. Whether they worked alone or as part of a sponsored team, the professionals would have night-vision gear like Carl had. They’d have silencers. They might even have overwatch, a military-trained sniper or maybe even a mini-drone. He had a scope with a laser to blind such a drone, but he had to see it to laser it, and the damn things were so small and whisper-quiet he probably wouldn’t find it if it was more than fifty feet away.
No doubt the contract would spawn competition. Two million dollars was a lot of money and there would be no sharing. Whoever won the contract had to present clear evidence of the kill to get paid—a video and an identifiable body part, like a head—and the successful killer would then become a target of opportunity by other contract killers seeking to steal that evidence and present it for payment. The professionals would be careful. They’d need to scout an escape route before making the kill, and Carl might be able to use that to his advantage.
As he lay on the bed, thoughts and memories drifted through his mind. Faces panned slowly across the projection screen of his brain. Faces of people he’d killed, people he had yet to kill, and people involved in the death of his son. People like Aaron McGrath.
Agent Nancy Palmer’s face popped into his mind, and so did that kiss. Something stirred deep in his soul, something he thought he’d never be able to feel again. He wondered what it was about the young woman that appealed to him. He wanted to see her again, and the thought that she also wanted to see him again felt exciting.
Then he remembered she was also involved in the death of his son, and his mind wandered to thoughts of where she was at that exact moment.
Chapter 20
TER Agent Nancy Palmer chuckled as she sat in the bar, watching the news headline ticker scroll across the bottom of the wall-mounted TV.
THE PRESIDENT HAS A BOYFRIEND!
Every major news outlets screamed the same headline, and all the other political issues were immediately relegated to filler material, subordinate to the Single-Mom-in-Chief’s sex life. No one would ever know the identity of the low-level staffer who’d leaked the information, but it had happened mere minutes before the daily White House press briefing. The White House Press Secretary had brushed aside the report and related questions successfully for two minutes, but it quickly became clear that nothing else would be on the agenda that morning. Then President Mallory herself crashed the briefing.
“Yes,” she said after the initial ruckus settled. “I have a boyfriend, and no, I’m not going to tell you who he is, other than to say we’ve been dating for many years.”
A question rang out from the back of the room, and the president replied, “No, I have no plans to get married any time soon. However,” she added, moving away from the podium, “if you’ll excuse me, I’m meeting him for lunch right now.” She teased the crowd with a shy smile. “And, no, I’m not telling where we’re going. I’m having lunch with him, not with all of you too!” She waved and was out the door.
Agent Palmer waited in the private bar tucked in the middle of the restaurant that only she, McGrath, and the president knew was going to be Mallory’s romantic rendezvous. She heard the entire exchange on TV and through the comm device in her ear. McGrath had texted the president to go on comm half an hour ago and pre
pped her for the coming leak and press fanfare. Through the president’s comm, Palmer heard all the Secret Service chatter. She knew when Mallory left the White House and when her armored limousine arrived in front of the restaurant and exactly when Secret Service protocol was ignored. No one preceded the president into the restaurant to secure the building, its staff, and its patrons.
Dressed as a server in all black, she had ID ready to pass Secret Service inspection but made a fast dash for her hidden weapon and headed to the front entrance. She aimed her silenced service weapon through the glass pane of the wooden door.
Standard Secret Service chatter came over her comm at first. “POTUS is in transit, entering the restaurant.” Then she heard, “Madam President, this is where you die.”
The top half of the ornate wood door featured a leaded-glass section with beveled inserts, so her view of the president and her escorts was severely distorted. She could vaguely tell that at least one agent had a weapon pointed at the president, but she could easily see that Mallory stood alone near the door while her agents had stepped back. That’s all Palmer needed. Still moving forward, she started shooting through the window at the dark distorted figures. Then she yanked the door open and kept shooting.
“Inside!” she shouted at the president.
As Palmer followed Mallory inside, she saw a disturbing sight. Mallory had three escort vehicles in addition to her limousine, yet only four Secret Service agents had accompanied Mallory to the restaurant door. The rest were just now realizing a shooting had occurred, thanks to Palmer’s silencer, and only then started to exit their SUVs. None pursued them into the restaurant. Rather, several were pulling their coiled earpieces from their ears and one was talking into a satellite radio.
“Aaron, I have the president,” she said as she ushered Mallory to the back exit. “But something’s very wrong. I expected a more aggressive response. Their pursuit is slow, so we can actually make the backup car I have parked in the alley.”
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