The Code Within: A Thriller (Trent Turner Series)

by S. L. Jones

  “Yeah. I guess so.”

  “Well, he wouldn’t have extended the courtesy to either one of us, that’s pretty obvious,” Sanders said, referring to the CPR. “It was him or us.”

  She looked up at him. “Sure, but it doesn’t make me feel any better about it.”

  “He had a concussion. That can make you nauseous. I nearly tossed my cookies too—he gave me a hard knock. Hell, I might puke my brains out yet.”

  He returned her look of guilt with a caring smile before putting his arm around her.

  She pulled him closer. Moynihan pondered the possibilities, the chances of a relationship, until the vibration from Sanders’s phone stole the moment. He pulled the phone out, and they both looked down at the display to see FBI Director Frank Culder was calling.

  “I have to take this outside,” Sanders said.

  She could sense that there was something wrong. They both headed outside as Sanders answered the call. She stayed by the door to the trailer and watched him continue to walk until he was out of earshot.

  “Yeah,” she heard him answer.

  Moynihan observed Sanders from a distance as he paced back and forth gesticulating, tugging up his pants at the small of his back on occasion. The electricity between the two of them had just been shorted out, and intuition was telling her it had nothing to do with the man she had just killed. He ended the call and stopped pacing before looking up to the sky. Sanders stayed that way for a long moment, looked down to the ground and then strode purposefully toward her. His eyes were somehow increasingly distant the closer he got, but they narrowed as he reached back to adjust his pants again.

  Chapter 69

  Hart Senate Office Building, Washington, DC

  THE LIGHTS WERE off. Senator Soller had been steaming in silence at his desk since the call with his wife. His eyes were closed when he raised the tulip-shaped glass to his lips. The darkness enhanced the familiar smell that greeted his nose. It was the only sense that hadn’t been overcome by anger. Scotch, Macallan, 1939. Its peaty taste and potency wiped away his thoughts once again.

  There was a rhythm to his drinking. Pour, swill, close eyes, sip, and repeat. It was a sacred habit, a ritual he had developed over the years. Even in darkness, nothing changed. This was his escape, his paradise. He would take another drink when there wasn’t enough taste for him to savor.

  A ring destroyed his fleeting tranquility. He didn’t recognize the number.

  “Yes?” Soller answered.

  “Max?” The voice sounded unsure.

  “Who is this?” Soller barked impatiently.

  “It’s Bart.”

  There was a short pause while Soller connected the voice to Bart Stapleton. He had already spoken to the Federal Reserve chairman once today. As he tried to gather his thoughts, he realized the scotch was having its intended effect.

  “Bart?”

  “Did I wake you up?” Stapleton asked. “You sound distracted.”

  Soller rubbed the bridge of his nose and said, “No, no. What do you need?”

  “It’s that president of yours. He’s trying to dig into our business.”

  The two men forever lamented the fact that Vincent Cross couldn’t be bought, and referring to him in that manner had become commonplace.

  “What? How do you mean?”

  “He said he wants access to everything. He wants me to let some geek squad into the Fed’s computer systems to”—his voice switched to a mocking tone—“check things out.” The chairman let out an exaggerated sigh. “He says it has to do with national security. Convenient, wouldn’t you say?”

  Soller’s brow creased. “You’re kidding?”

  “I would never joke about something like this. I’m not sure if he’ll try to apply some pressure on you in the morning, so I wanted to give you a heads up.”

  “I see.”

  “Who knows what he’s up to?” Stapleton said. “I don’t like it. He could be trying to dig up some dirt.”

  Soller knew just what Stapleton meant. He was referring to the secret society to which they both belonged. The bankers and politicians who breathed the rarified air that had anointed them into its ranks simply referred to it as The Group. Death and the fall of communism had been the only events that had changed the faces of its membership, and they had begrudgingly agreed to involve the Russians.

  The Group increased the wealth of its ranks in many ways, chief among them by manipulating interest rates and controlling the derivatives market. It was in the business of growing money and abusing the power that came with it. Recently, a crack had appeared in The Group’s armor when a few of its members were implicated in a recent Libor rate scandal. Those involved were removed unceremoniously from The Group in an unprecedented action, and the subject still sparked flare ups between its members. The Group was still tying up loose ends from the incident, not the least of which was finding the leak, and they were still on edge after the recent shakedown. Soller was soon planning to take care of things on his own with his special arrangement.

  Buzz about the possibility of The Group’s existence had again found its way into the news, and any press was bad press. Soller was chairman of the Senate Committee on Finance, so the job to keep politicians in America in check fell squarely on him. President Cross wielded great media influence, and since he couldn’t be bought, he was a difficult man to rein in.

  “He won’t get past me on this,” Soller said.

  “I know. I didn’t want him to catch you by surprise, so I called.”

  “Maybe it’s time we take care of Cross for good.”

  “I like the sound of that. We need to get someone who understands his place in the grand scheme of things back in office.”

  Not having the US presidency in their pocket had made things complicated.

  Soller swilled his glass and snuffed another shot. “I think Culder might be able to help us out with this.”

  “Good. I’ll be flying to Lisbon first thing in the morning for the meeting. I’ll phone you from there to share the good news.”

  Chapter 70

  Lucky Stone Quarry, Ashburn, VA

  JAKE SANDERS WAS sitting next to Cathy Moynihan on the steps outside the trailer in silence. The mood had been tense since his conversation with FBI Director Frank Culder. He had cut the dead Russian from the chair and dragged him outside while they waited for his colleague to arrive. Their blank stares toward the road were occasionally interrupted by a shared uncomfortable glance.

  Sanders felt the phone in his pocket vibrate. He pulled it out so he could read the message, and then responded. The pressure from the weapon he had tucked in the small of his back ripped away at his conscience. He waited anxiously for Moynihan to turn away so he could do the deed. She hadn’t complied, and each time their eyes met, all he could do was force an awkward smile. This time her eyes held his gaze and penetrated his soul.

  “What is it, Jake?” she asked.

  Those four words and the sincerity behind them crushed his nerve. He found himself unable to answer. His eyes darted nervously when he heard the sound of crunching gravel, signaling the arrival of the SUV. It stopped in the driveway before it came into view.

  Moynihan reached over and took his hand. “Jake, you can talk to me.”

  He looked away, so she leaned toward him and entered his field of view.

  “I’m here for you. I just want you to know that.”

  He began to sweat and clenched his jaw and toes as he wrestled with his conflicting thoughts.

  The noise of the vehicle’s door opening and closing shattered the silence.

  “We’re going to be okay.” Moynihan smiled confidently, her eyes reflecting her heart.

  Sanders heard the back door of the truck open and stood up. It was followed by the sound of rustling material.

  “I know,” he said. He put his arm around her. “Come on. There’s someone I want you to meet. Something’s come up, and I need to head out, but I’ll be in touch.”


  They walked around the trailer and rounded the back of the SUV. Rudy Pagano stood there with a confused look on his face.

  “Hey, Rudy, this is Agent Moynihan.”

  Moynihan held her hand out and looked to the ground as he shook her hand. She froze when she saw the pair of body bags laid out next to the vehicle. Her face was ashen when she looked back up at Pagano. She turned to Sanders, and her body began to shake.

  “Only one tonight,” Sanders said to Pagano with a nod.

  “Oh,” he said, obviously confused. The two men exchanged an uncomfortable look. “Sorry about that. Where’s the stiff?”

  Sanders knew Moynihan had felt the tension between the two men.

  “This way,” he said.

  He grabbed a body bag and led Pagano over to the trailer. The two shared severe glances as they stuffed the Russian into the bag, walked to the vehicle and heaved it into the back of the Chevy Tahoe. After a brief silence, Pagano grabbed the other body bag and threw it in the back before closing the hatch.

  “We’ve got to head out. I’ll be in touch,” Sanders said, before the two men climbed into the SUV and drove off.

  Chapter 71

  SHE STOOD THERE in shock, afraid of what might happen next. The faint sound of gravel being crunched under the weight of a car’s tires sent a cold shiver down Cathy Moynihan’s spine. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been standing there, but it had seemed like an eternity.

  Her heart pounded from a combination of nervousness and fear as she scrambled into the bushes. A silver Honda Civic was slowly pulling into the quarry with its headlights turned off. A man got out and walked over to the trailer. He looked inside and then returned to the car.

  The man placed a call on his cell phone. Moynihan couldn’t understand Russian, but she could detect the urgency in his voice.

  She stayed hidden and watched and waited, trying not to move a muscle. Within twenty minutes another car approached. The FBI agent recognized the black sedan and its tinted windows from earlier in the evening, and her pulse quickened. Her suspicions were confirmed when the driver’s-side door opened and the dome light inside the car remained dark. She noted a man was in the passenger seat, before watching the driver get out and walk over to the Honda. He grabbed a package and headed back to his car.

  Moynihan worked her way through the trees as quickly and silently as she could. There were no cars in sight, so she dashed to her Camry and carefully glided inside just before the black sedan pulled out of the driveway. Her heart thumped loudly as the car turned left. It was immediately followed by the silver Honda. She quickly ducked down into her seat and let the car pass. When she sat up, Moynihan realized she had been holding her breath and quickly filled her lungs with air before starting the engine.

  She left her lights off and pulled out quickly in pursuit of the black sedan. A deer suddenly jumped out of the woods and forced her to slam on the brakes. She managed to avoid contact with the animal, before nervously continuing after the car.

  The situation was overwhelming. Moynihan was almost certain that one of the two body bags Rudy Pagano had laid out was meant for her, but she had no proof. She decided the events of the past few hours were too far above her pay grade to sort out on her own. There was no doubt in her mind that the phone call she had been putting off needed to be made. Someone she could trust needed to know what was going on.

  The FBI agent turned on her cell phone and punched in his number, but the answering machine picked up on the first ring. Things had already spun out of control, so her best bet was to leave a message.

  “Uncle Ivor, sorry to bother you, but there’s something going on that I think you should know about. Director Culder has pulled me into something he’s claiming has to do with national security. I’ve been told not to let anyone at the bureau know about what’s going on. The story I’m getting is that he thinks there’s a mole at the bureau.

  “I’m pretty sure he’s full of shit, so I wanted to fill you in. People have died… We lost three agents at a house in Poolesville. They were taking a teenager in for questioning—off the record—which doesn’t seem right. This poor girl’s brother was connected to the death of Senator Soller’s son.

  “I’m worried about what’s going on, so I need your help. At first I wasn’t sure if you had something to do with my involvement in the case, but now I’m sure that couldn’t be possible. I’m scared and don’t want to make it four dead, if you know what I mean. Jake Sanders is one of the men involved. He’s working with some other guy named Rudy… I can’t remember his last name. I was a little distracted when I met him.

  “Jake seemed to be okay at first, but I got the heebie-geebies just before this Rudy guy showed up. I don’t think I’m in any immediate danger, but…I don’t know, I just feel better knowing that you know, if that makes any sense.

  “I love you. Call me soon.”

  The call to her uncle had helped settle her nerves. He wasn’t her uncle by blood, but he was her father’s best friend, and the very reason she had chosen law enforcement for her career path. Moynihan had been adamant about making it through the bureau on her own. Her uncle respected her decision, and together they had made sure nobody knew how significant their connection was. Right now she just wanted to find out where this car was heading, and then she would try to make sense of the rest of this in the morning.

  Chapter 72

  Route 267, Virginia

  RUDY PAGANO SHOT a disgusted look at his friend and looked back to the road. “What was that all about?” he asked in his heavy New York accent.

  “Don’t worry about it, okay?” Jake Sanders said, clearly annoyed.

  “Culder gave you the order to take her out. What the hell happened?”

  “Look, man, she’s FBI.” Sanders stiffened. “There’s no fucking way I’m going to kill someone who’s just trying to do the right thing.”

  “Jesus. So that’s it,” Pagano said in an inquisitive tone. “You want to bang her.” He laughed. “I should have put her out of your misery. I’d have been doing her a favor!”

  “Yeah, right. Like you’re some prize.”

  Pagano shot him a probing glance. “It ain’t gonna happen. You realize that, don’t you?” His tone had an uncomfortable finality. “She’s as good as dead. She knows too much.”

  “That’s my problem, all right?” Sanders poked Pagano in the arm with his index finger. “I don’t need a fuckin’ preacher. And if you hear anything about it going down, you tell me. Got that?”

  They had been working on the HVT Squad together since its inception, and for two years prior to that on the FBI TacOps team. The two men had developed a strong bond over the years, and it ran deeper than their loyalty to the FBI director.

  “She’s really got you worked up. Did you already tap that shit? Man, you dog.” Pagano couldn’t help but laugh at the fact that he was half serious. “I didn’t think you had it in you. A regular Prince Charming we’ve got here.”

  Sanders exhaled loudly and shot a disapproving look at his friend. “Do me a favor and shut the fuck up.”

  Pagano shook his head in disgust. “Look, Jake. We’ve been friends for a long time, so I’m going to give it to you straight. If it’s not you, then he’ll have someone else take care of it.” He thumped Sanders on the chest with the back of his fist as if it would knock some sense into him. “You know that. You should’ve just saved yourself the shit storm this is going to cause.”

  “Whatever,” Sanders snapped.

  “I’m serious. Culder isn’t bad if he likes you, but this is bound to piss him off. If you don’t take care of it, it’s going to come back and bite you in the ass.”

  “All right, all right, I get it. I fucking hear you. This conversation is over.” Sanders fired an angry look at Pagano and said, “I’ll deal with Culder, don’t you fucking worry.”

  Pagano was starting to worry. “Man, did you hit your head on something?” He looked over at Sanders and could instantly tell the comment
had struck a nerve.

  “That’s right,” he spat.

  “What?”

  “Our buddy in the back there.” He motioned with his thumb to the back of the truck. “He knocked the shit out of me.” He turned to Pagano and said, “She saved my ass.”

  His friend could tell by the tone of his voice that he was serious.

  “Un-fucking-real.” Pagano shook his head and smiled. “Good to know Wonder Woman has stayed hot after all these years.”

  “Yeah, no shit.” Sanders exhaled in relief after getting that off his chest. “I’d be in one of those bags if it wasn’t for her.”

  “Got it.” Pagano turned and shot him a grave look. “You’re still trying to bang her. You can’t bullshit me.”

  The two men burst out laughing.

  “Prick,” Sanders said. “Where are we heading?”

  “The airport. We’ll pick up Culder tomorrow when he’s ready and head to Chicago.” He glanced at his friend and then back to the road. “Oh, and make sure I have my phone ready when you tell him the news about your girlfriend.”

  “What?” Sanders asked, confused.

  Pagano put on a big smile and said, “I want to take a picture of the look on his face.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Chapter 73

  Khrushchev Residence, Moscow, Russia

  THE SOUND OF the grandiose doorbell echoed through the mansion’s cavernous hallways. Yuri Khrushchev had been expecting his guest. Normally the house staff would take care of tending to the door, but today was a special day, and he wasn’t going to leave anything to chance. Everyone had been dismissed for the weekend so he could celebrate the occasion without distraction. For him, this marked the beginning of a new Soviet era. It was the culmination of decades of careful planning and preparation.

  This was their time. A combination of technological breakthroughs and economic circumstance had presented the perfect opportunity to strike. In one crippling blow, they would destabilize the United States. The journey back to power was almost complete.