What Harland didn’t know was that I was already in his mind, tracking his erratic thoughts, feeling his ever-increasing apprehension that we, somehow, had actually found a way out. I interjected a suggestion into his mind:
They’re sly. They may be right below—below the perch. I’d be able to see them if I got down on my hands and knees and looked over the edge …
As I wondered if he had accepted these thoughts for his own, I heard the shuffling of his feet above as he lowered himself to his knees and squatted down on all fours onto the plywood perch. I was seeing through his eyes in real time. I knew exactly where he was—where he would be looking. My fingers tightened around the metal in my hand. I gently pushed Pippa to the side and stepped backwards until my back was up against the slump-stone wall. I waited. I could see what he saw as he positioned himself onto his belly. He placed the gun close by his side. Slowly he inched his body forward, out over the edge of the perch, right up against his hipbone. He held his bandaged hand behind him to steady himself, while his free hand held the flashlight. He lowered his upper body over the edge almost enough to see if anyone was hiding below. I pushed myself off the wall and took one, then two running steps, and leapt. I brought the piece of metal up over my head, gripped firmly in my hands. First, I saw the beam of the flashlight, then his head silhouetted behind it. I also saw my own face through his eyes. There, in midair, I aimed my metal spear high up toward his left eye.
I missed. Harland must have jerked to the right just as the metal shaft came near. It hit him in the temple instead. I saw the shaft’s edge dig into his flesh, and then break free, glancing off the side of his head. He yelped, and in a series of rapid movements, recoiled, grabbed for his head, and dropped the flashlight. For a moment he held steady there, but with his center of balance too far over the edge of the platform, he fell to the basement floor at my feet.
He’d landed on his back and the fall knocked the wind out of him. I fetched up the flashlight and walked over to the generator and the nearby light bulb. With several twists it was back on and the basement was again illuminated.
Harland had a hand up to his temple and his eyes were following my movements. Then he saw Pippa beneath the perch.
“Not sure how you two did that, but I have to give you credit. I’d say clever, but now you must realize all three of us are trapped down here, right?” He laughed abruptly and his eyes darted back and forth between us—he looked somewhat manic.
Pippa stood over Harland. She’d picked up my piece of metal and was holding it in two hands, like a bat. “You killed my partner. You slit his throat, Harland … let him lay there in that parking lot while he bled out.”
Harland kept his eyes on Pippa but spoke to me: “I can clear you, Chandler. But if you let her kill me, well, then the truth dies with me.”
“She doesn’t answer to me, Harland. Personally, I’m inclined to let her bash your head in. You’re a worthless piece of shit.”
“No! I can help you,” he said, with a distorted, forced smile. “Tell me what I have to do.”
“Well, a good start would be telling us who you’re working for, and why you’ve taken us hostage.”
Harland didn’t answer fast enough. Pippa swung the bat down on Harland’s bandaged appendage. He screamed out in agony. As he pulled his arm in to cradle his hand, fresh blood started to seep through the gauze wrappings.
This time it was Pippa asking the question: “Who are you working for?”
I knew the answer before he said the words—saw Dwight Calloway’s face in his mind. The
Deputy Executive Director (D/EXDIR) with the CIA. Four levels down from the top, the head of the CIA.
Harland reluctantly muttered his name aloud. “I work as a private contractor for Dwight Calloway.”
Pippa and I looked at each other. Neither of us had ever had much direct contact with the man. He was significantly above our pay-grade.
“What’s he want with us?” Pippa asked.
Harland was sitting up now, his hand still tucked into his stomach. “It was Calloway, his team, that got me out of Russia.”
“What do you mean his team? We were all his team.”
“No, I’m talking about his black-ops team. He runs a separate covert group; one that’s outside government channels. No one knows about it.”
“How did he drag you into that?” I asked.
“I’ve worked for Calloway for years. The price for my service, doing his special projects, was allowing Veronica to stay alive.”
“So you knew she was a double?” I asked.
“You’re ridiculously naïve, Chandler. Even you must realize the lines between treachery and heroism are often blurred. People like Calloway take in the big spectrum of things. He’s not blinded by single-minded patriotism.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Pippa asked.
“It means that it’s not the world’s various governments making the crucial decisions. It’s the financial consortiums. Economics span across borders. Interests must be protected, even if that means one’s country, or origin, takes a slight hit.”
“And what part does Calloway play in this organization?”
“As far as I’m concerned, and soon for you both as well, he’s God.”
“What’s the name of this consortium?”
Harland hesitated. His eyes leveled on me and I could see the hatred rising in him again. He was unstable—even crazed. I saw in his mind that he was poised to make a charge at me. His hatred for me trumped everything… his mission… even his own survival.
Pippa brought the bat back, ready for another swing.
“SIFTR!” he replied.
I was getting impatient with Harland and he knew it.
“It stands for Services of International Financial and Tactical Resources.”
I was back, probing into his mind, trying to get as much detail as I possibly could from him. It was then I heard a concussive explosion from above, while simultaneously seeing a dark red hole appear between Harland’s eyes. I spun toward Pippa, wanting to protect her from whatever was above us.
Chapter 25
Standing above us was a man in an impeccably tailored light-gray suit. He was flanked by four men: two on either side. Soldiers, they were dressed in black combat fatigues and each held an M4 carbine semi-automatic rifle, with both laser and night vision sights; their weapons also had the RIS vertical forestock handgrip and a suppressor.
The man had short-cropped gray hair and striking blue eyes. He was holding a Glock in his left hand and still had it pointed at Harland’s head. He nodded, as if satisfied with what he’d just accomplished. Handing the weapon to a soldier on his left, he brought his full attention down to us.
“Mr. Chandler, Agent Rosette. First off, I’d like to apologize for the way you both have been treated. Agent Rosette, I especially would like to convey my condolences on the loss of Agent Giles.”
Pippa said nothing, only stared up at the man standing on the perch above. I was already in his mind, monitoring his thoughts. What grabbed my attention, above anything else, was his total lack of emotion. Where Harland was an emotional powder keg, this man was ice. His mind was organized and his motivations were clear. He didn’t want to kill us—just the opposite. He wanted … no, needed our help. Harland had been right; Calloway was certainly the top player in the organization, this SIFTR. He was the one pulling the strings. It was Calloway’s ability to make decisions without the encumbrance of emotional conflicts that made him so effective. I wouldn’t have gone so far as to label him a sociopath, because in his reality he seemed to be concerned with taking the noblest course of action. From what I determined, in the brief few seconds I had to scan his thoughts as I stood below him on the basement floor, was that he was prepared to do anything, eliminate anyone, as necessary, to accomplish his directives.
The sound of the retractable ladder being lowered from above brought me out of his mind. I wondered, was he aware at some level that I’d be
en intruding there? That something was amiss among the incalculable order of things? I’d need to be ultra careful the next time I peered into his thoughts.
Two soldiers made their way down the ladder, while the other two standing above had their weapons trained down on us. I hadn’t noticed Calloway had left.
Arbitrarily, I picked one of the soldiers, the first one down the ladder, and peered into his mind. I arrived into a rush of frenetic thoughts and spiking emotions—images of a pretty young wife and two small children. Was he fearing for their lives? Was this man being coerced somehow into helping Calloway and this SIFTR organization? No, I soon realized, it was just the opposite. This man had been saved from a desperate situation. His loyalty to Calloway, and the SIFTR organization, was absolute. He would do anything, including killing Pippa and myself, if it came down to it.
At gunpoint we were ushered up the ladder to the plywood perch and then up into the opening at the ceiling. We followed the forward two combatants into the gloomy darkness of the hotel, back to what had become the deteriorating dining area. All trash and overturned furniture had been cleared from the room. Not a scrap of paper or an errant dust ball remained. Three chairs were positioned in the center of the room. Calloway sat primly in the one facing us as we entered.
“I know you must be uncomfortable and would like the opportunity to get freshened up. Please allow me to explain things first.”
He gestured toward the two empty chairs facing him and smiled. We both sat and said nothing. Calloway’s eyes lingered on Pippa’s bloodstained jeans and his smile faded for a brief moment.
He turned to me. “Miraculously, you survived a momentous automobile accident. One Mr. Harland had planned and executed down to the smallest detail. Your death needed to look like an accident. A fluke. The converging of events no one would question—most notably myself, and the organization I work for. His hatred for you was all encompassing. That was my mistake; I misjudged Harland in that regard. I apologize.” His eyes moved over to Pippa. “And I apologize to you as well, Agent Rosette. Again, Mr. Harland acted inappropriately.”
“Inappropriately? That’s what you call it?” Pippa was leaning forward in her chair. She looked as if she was on the verge of springing onto Calloway. Rifle muzzles came up from Calloway’s assault team.
He waved them down and sat forward in his own chair, meeting her stare head on. “This is a messy business. Espionage. You’ve chosen a career path that by its sheer nature is at odds with itself. Layers of lies and deceit, motivated by greed for personal advancement, from virtually all parties involved, has put this country in jeopardy. What you think you know, what you have based your ideals on, is incorrect. The flag of patriotism being waved before your eyes is often nothing more than a deceptive lie.”
“Let me guess. You’re going to be the one to enlighten us,” I said. I’d already infiltrated his mind, while taking extra care this time to remain unobtrusive.
Calloway smiled. His tan, handsome face, with those penetrating blue eyes, regarded me for a moment before he spoke. “I assure you, Mr. Chandler, when presented with an unbiased accounting of the workings of the world order, including that of the United States, you’ll be far less skeptical of what we’re trying to accomplish.”
Calloway certainly believed in what he was saying. Righteous and arrogant in his rhetoric, he had a mind like a machine. Nothing was going to get in his way. But there was only so much I was able to decipher from the streams of thought in his focused, uncluttered mind. Without all the typical errant images or emotional sidetracks most of us produce, I wasn’t getting much out of him.
Calloway sat back in his chair. “I would like for both of you to work for me.” He held up one palm as he saw Pippa poised to rebuff his overture. “Let me continue for one moment, Agent Rosette. The simple fact that you both survived and were in the process of escaping Mr. Harland’s prison cell below speaks to your ingenuity and resourcefulness. Your deaths as well as that of Agent Giles was never our intention. Harland’s mind had lost balance. Be it the snakebites, vengeance, whatever … he’d gone completely mad. With that said, and I’m somewhat afraid to admit this: this has been an excellent test. In the realm of things, only the very best, the most proficient and resourceful—those who are true survivors, are of any interest to me.”
“Well, isn’t that nice for you. But there’s simply no fucking way I’d ever work for you,” Pippa said, returning his smile.
“On the contrary, Agent Rosette, you already do. You both do.”
“What are you talking about?” I chimed in. “I’ve been underground for over a year. Who even knows I’m still alive? And most importantly, I’m retired. Done.”
Calloway looked amused. “There was never a moment when we didn’t know where you were hiding out. You may be interested to learn that Mr. Skykora has worked for my organization for more than six years.”
I observed his mind and he was telling the truth.
“There are very few people who are privy to the existence of this organization. The president of the United States is one of them. I do not work for him … nor does he for me. But he supports what we are doing emphatically. As do select leaders throughout the world. Again, our directives go beyond the borders of any one nation.”
“And are they ever at odds with the U.S.?” I asked.
“Not if one knows the reality of the situation. That’s not always apparent to the general populace or even their political constituency. I provide full disclosure—transparency of our motivations. You may not always agree, but you’ll have far more access to decision-making than you’ve had in the past.”
Calloway turned his attention to Pippa. “Agent Rosette, you will contact your previous supervisor, Assistant Director Hayes at DHS. He will verbally confirm your reassignment. There will be no paperwork. Nothing that can be tracked or later used to tie you to SIFTR. Mr. Chandler, your situation was somewhat more complicated. Suffice it to say you have a choice to make. Right here and now. Work for me, for SIFTR, and be one hundred percent cleared of all charges.”
“Or?” I asked.
Calloway looked bemused. “Continue to be sought, by multiple agencies, in multiple countries—living a life on the run.”
He was, it seemed from what I could determine, telling me the truth. “That seems like a tall order,” I said.
He casually shrugged, “With the exception of one foreign state, namely Russia, no one will be looking for you.” Calloway stood and looked down at us. “Over time you will be brought up to speed on your long-term operational directives.”
“And short term?” I asked.
“Keep your promise to Mr. Skykora.”
Chapter 26
Escorted by several of his armed team, Calloway left in a hurry. Another man, also wearing a well-tailored suit, this one in dark gray, entered the hotel’s former dining room. About forty, he had olive skin, was of medium height, and his black hair was trimmed short. He moved with confidence and efficiency. Like myself, he was an agent—a trained killer—I had little doubt of that. He had been waiting in the wings for Calloway to finish. He sat in Calloway’s chair and laid a briefcase on his lap.
“My name is Curtis Baltimore. You can call me Curt, if you wish. I am your point of contact from this point on. All communications will transpire through me. You will not deal with Mr. Calloway directly, unless otherwise directed to do so.” Baltimore opened the briefcase and brought out a thick manila envelope; closing the briefcase, he placed it on top. “There are several points that need to be discussed before we move forward.”
“There’s no way I’m working for you,” Pippa said.
Baltimore looked over to me. “Same for you?”
I shrugged. “Speaking for myself, as I told Mr. Calloway, I’m out of the business. Retired.”
Pippa looked at me without expression.
Baltimore looked relaxed, as if he’d had this same conversation many times. He turned to the soldier closest to him, who pa
ssed over what looked to be the latest generation satellite phone. Baltimore took the phone and entered a series of numbers. He held the phone to his ear and listened for several moments, then entered another, longer set of numbers. I was in his head, hearing the key tones. A voice broke into the line and said:“Please hold for the president.”
There was silence and then another voice broke in. “Baltimore, I need to make this quick. I have the Secretary of State waiting outside my office.”
“Yes, sir,” Baltimore said. “They are both here. I’ll put you on with Mr. Chandler first, then Ms. Rosette.”
“Fine, let’s move it along. Hand over the phone to him.”
Listening through Baltimore’s mind, I immediately recognized the voice of James C. Morrison, the president of the United States. There was no mistaking that it was him. I took the phone from Baltimore and put it up to my ear. “This is Chandler,” I said.
“Hello, Mr. Chandler. May I call you Rob?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you know who I am?”
“Yes, Mr. President. I do.”
Pippa, who had been watching me, sat up straighter in her seat, looking surprised.
The president continued: “Do you trust me, Rob?”
“I do, sir.”
“Then please take Mr. Calloway and Mr. Baltimore’s request for continued service seriously. I want you to know that you will be working toward our country’s best interests. I would not compromise the welfare of our country, Rob. There may come times when you’ll doubt what you’re doing is right. Trust me, it will be. I’m putting my faith in you and Ms. Rosette. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir. I believe I do.”
“Good. Both you and Ms. Rosette have a highly unique skill set. I’ve been told you are the best of the best at what you do. Perhaps most importantly, you’ve both been operating well beneath the radar for over a year. That alone is an advantage. There’s a new mission in the works—one that’s of the utmost importance. Within the week you’ll both be deployed back to Europe. Understand, national security has never been in more jeopardy than it is right now. Foreign infiltration into our covert agencies is at an unprecedented high level. Double agents have become the issue at hand. So you will be joining the most covert of all black-ops organizations. I’m counting on you, Rob. If you don’t have any quick questions, please put Ms. Rosette on the line,” the president asked.
Mad Powers (Tapped In) Page 12
