"Focus, please," the older man growled as he leaned over the small table at the back. He was already stuffing his black leather briefcase full of the evidence he would need before clicking it shut. "Call our guy over at Google to get the woman's search history and all of her files stored on the cloud. Then call her cell phone company which is..." He snapped his fingers at the young tech.
"Uh, AT&T."
"Do we have someone there?" He was pretty sure they did.
"Oh, yeah." The tech nodded. "We have a guy that's been working with us for years."
"Great, I want Catherine Miller's phone records. The recordings of her conversations, not a list of calls. Have them sent to my cell phone along with any photos or video she may have posted on-line," the man said, shrugging on his unfashionable jacket with his full cup of coffee left steaming on the table, long since forgotten. "It shouldn't take us more than two hours to get to Seattle. I want any additional information on Catherine Miller in my hands when we land."
"Yes, sir."
The man lifted up his briefcase, and had just reached the door when he heard.
"Crap!" Followed by furious tapping away at the worn keys of the keyboard. "You better make it one and a half hours, sir."
"Why?"
"She has a brother." The kid looked concerned. "Ansel Babineaux, thirty years old."
"And?" He walked back to the computer.
The kid spun in his chair and looked him straight in the eyes. "He's Special Forces."
"How do you know?" the older man asked, the pressure in the room ratcheting up a notch as they both considered the implications.
"Because I can't find a thing on him after the age of twenty. And I mean zero." The kid shook his head, amazed. "Do you know how difficult that is in this day and age?"
"Are you sure the guy's not just dead?" he asked, knowing that records get lost down the government’s bureaucratic rabbit hole at an appalling rate.
"Absolutely sure." The younger man nodded, his dark curls emphasizing his point. "There was no death certificate ever issued. No news reports of his death. No obituary. Nothing. This guy is a ghost. And to become a ghost, you need help."
"From the military?" Or CIA. Either was bad for them. The man ran his hand through his salt and pepper hair. "And this is Catherine Miller's biological brother?"
"Yep."
"Which means he's a carrier too." It wasn't a question and the kid did not take it as one. "He'll put up a fight."
"Yep."
"How strong is the sister's positive?"
The analyst spun back around then ran his finger down Catherine Miller's DNA test results. "Eighty-nine percent. Wow, that's the highest I've ever seen and men tend to run even higher. So, the brother will---"
"Call Cody and apprise him of the situation," the older man interrupted, inhaling deeply as he thought. "Have him meet us at the airport," adding, "Do you have an address on this guy... Ansel did you say?"
"No way, this guy is off, and I mean off the grid," the tech answered, wiping it away with his hand. "The military, and maybe his sister, are the only people who even know this man exists."
"Well, it doesn't matter." The older man shrugged his broad shoulders. "As soon as the Pentagon finds out he's a carrier...they'll kill him. But for now, I need to get to Catherine Miller." He glanced at his watch. "Before they do."
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The King's Code (The Lady Spies Series #3): A Regency Historical Romance Page 27
