Search and Destroy

by JT Sawyer

  Patterson had to pull several agents from the field and spent the morning on the phone with case officers from Belize to Turkey in an effort to prevent any catastrophic fallout on ongoing missions.

  Patterson’s stomach began churning as he thought of the ludicrous news articles he’d seen about Shepard.

  Who’s now on the run and being hunted by his own fucking countrymen! As if the FBI on his trail wasn’t enough of a concern, now terrorist organizations and rival agencies around the world know what Shepard looks like. Where can he hide?

  He heard the staff in their cubicles whispering amongst themselves as he walked past, catching brief mentions about Patterson having to resign or being fired by Director of National Intelligence Jason Begley, who had requested a meeting with him to discuss the revelatory claims in the media.

  Who the fuck leaked the story about Cal? I’ll hunt them down myself and empty a mag in ’em.

  He turned the corner, heading to the large office at the end of the hallway, then paused at the desk of Begley’s secretary.

  “How are you today, sir?” She gave a nervous grin as she started to stand.

  “It’s OK, Melanie, don’t get up. I know my way in.”

  “He’s waiting for you.”

  “Thanks.” He gave a forced smile then opened the office door.

  Begley was sitting behind his spacious redwood desk, continuing to type on his keyboard as Patterson took a seat in front of him.

  The Director of National Intelligence finished, removing his reading glasses and flinging them on the desk. “Absolute clusterfuck, Neil. You want to tell me what’s going on instead of me reading about it in the Times today!”

  “This was a false-flag operation. Someone is setting up Shepard. I don’t have all the details yet, but there is a bigger picture here connected with what Burke revealed to us in our meeting. Has to be.”

  “So, you don’t have anything concrete…just speculation? You work for the world’s pre-eminent intelligence agency as the fucking director of clandestine affairs and you can only speculate on what is happening?”

  “I have a team working on the forensics at Burke’s place, and I’ve been in touch with the FBI agent in charge of the investigation there, but with Shepard in the wind after their botched arrest effort, I don’t have much more to go on yet.”

  “And what about whoever leaked all this classified intel about Shepard being with SAD? That had to come from within Langley.”

  “One of my chief analysts indicated that it has all the markings of a dark-web hacker. Apparently, they mailed pre-programmed tablets to the newsrooms of the major media outlets, which insinuated themselves onto the Wi-Fi servers and uploaded the malicious articles about Shepard.”

  “But you don’t have anyone in custody? Do you even have a solid lead on any suspects?”

  “We’re working on that, and I have a designated task force focused on that effort.”

  “Neil, I don’t have to tell you what this does to discredit the agency and my work overseeing all of our intel agencies, not to mention what a blunder of this scale does to a person’s career, even a person with a stellar record like yours.”

  Patterson’s eyes narrowed. He knew where this was headed, and he wasn’t about to lower his head and offer his resignation. He also knew Begley had little backbone for dealing with any agency staff who were former operators. It was beneath him, and his utter disdain for the old-school warriors like Patterson was well known within the clandestine-ops community. He wondered how many times the man had to rehearse this well-delivered speech in front of a mirror to bolster his confidence so he wouldn’t piss himself.

  “Do you think that Shepard was on the take? Maybe there was some truth to the story I read about him wanting to get Burke and his top people out of the picture so he’d have exclusivity on selling off Perseus to the highest bidder. That would make sense, especially given how all of the proprietary software at Burke’s company was stolen within hours of the catastrophe at the estate.”

  “Not a chance. I’ve known the man for over fifteen years—fought beside him. This whole thing is a setup by someone or some group with a lot of funds and muscle.”

  “Yeah, well, people change too…especially when a bag of cash is thrown in their lap. Maybe you didn’t know him as well as you thought.”

  Patterson shook his head again, folding his arms. “I’ll get to the bottom of this, trust me.”

  Begley interlaced his fingers, leaning back. “Don’t get me wrong; this isn’t personal. And next week, when Shepard turns up drunk on some beach in Thailand or goes down in a shootout with the Feds if he’s stupid enough to stay in the U.S., the news stations will have a field day and move on, but shit like losing a multi-million-dollar program like Perseus doesn’t just get quietly filed away. I have to answer to an oversight committee, who will want to know where the money they signed off on went…and why we don’t have a fucking thing to show for it now.” He flung his hands in the air. “And then there’s this thing about the technology being out there on the streets in the hands of someone who could use it for their own ends.”

  Patterson wondered if this was the real issue, since Begley was a master of explaining away misallocated funds that he trickled into compartmentalized black-ops programs known only to him.

  Patterson’s back was aching, and he stood, moving towards the window, staring out at a low row of clouds along the cityscape. “You were never really interested in using Perseus on an international scope, were you? That was just how you sold it to your pals on the Hill. You’ve been one of the key supporters of the national anti-terrorism task force for years. That was your end game for Perseus, wasn’t it? To monitor and target homegrown organizations who meet your personal criteria for being a threat to national security?”

  Begley rocked his head from side to side. “You think you and your SAD guys are the only ones fighting the war on terror, Neil?” He waved his hand in a broad sweeping motion. “Remember, while you were halfway around the world kicking in doors for most of your career, I was back here watching the country degenerate into political and militant factions right under my own eyes. Do you know how many well-armed extremists are dug in deep in this country? The new threat facing this nation’s security isn’t just in some fucking Al Qaeda encampment in Africa or Yemen anymore. It’s right on our doorstep, and Perseus will provide the means for locating those groups and individuals.”

  “I’ll be the first to agree that we have threats within our borders that merit attention, but using something like Perseus to paint bullseyes on the American public’s back isn’t the answer. We’re already at that precipice because of the Patriot Act, for Christ’s sake.”

  “And where has that gotten us? Our intelligence agencies are all hamstrung when it comes to widespread monitoring of our citizens.” He shook his head. “You’re still living twenty years in the past, Neil. This country has become a battlefield with hidden pockets of resistance, and those people need to be rounded up or we will become rudderless, torn apart by too many extremist views. We don’t plan to sit by and let them turn this into another Latin America.”

  Patterson flared an eyebrow. “We? Are you running a new outfit or advisory board in the shadows now?” His eyes darted along the ceiling. “Of course you are…that’s where the funding for Perseus came from and why you greenlighted the project so quickly.”

  “Perseus and programs like it are the future of warfare, old-timer. If you can’t accept that reality, then maybe you should step aside. And democracy…that’ll be gone in another decade or so. But before that happens, we need to have the means of controlling the masses on a scale far greater than what we’ve been doing.”

  He took a step forward, resting his balled fists on the desk, causing Begley to roll his chair back slightly. “What would a pencil-dick like you even know about being at war? I bet you can’t even tell me how many fucking stars for our service members are on the north wall at Langley. You know, the ser
vice memorial you’ve walked past a few hundred times during your visits over the years…the stars representing the men and women in clandestine ops who died in the line of duty.”

  Begley canted his head. “Fifty or so. Fuck if I know. But what I can tell you is that they never would have seen a day of action and played hero if it wasn’t for people like me who trudge up to the Capitol and sign off on all the ops you guys do, so don’t lecture me about patriotic duty.”

  Begley stood up, looking at the door. “Now, if you’ll be on your way. I have one of those very meetings on the Hill to prepare for. Keep me posted on any developments with locating the stolen databases from Burke’s company and when Shepard is finally apprehended. I don’t want to read about it on my laptop this time.”

  Patterson glared at the director. He could have snaked his hand out across the desk and snapped the man’s neck in a move that was not unfamiliar to him. Instead, he took a measured breath, like he was about to pull the trigger on a sniper rifle.

  “My efforts to locate Perseus will continue, as they have from the get-go, but whoever was behind the theft had skills, funding and resources. Since I can vouch for my people, maybe you should look at the other agencies under your watch. Talk to the senior personnel in person for once, instead of polishing the armrests of that chair with your elbows in this office. The frontlines on any war, here or abroad, are fought by men willing to walk into the storm, not hide behind their desk because they lack the balls to lead.”

  He turned, heading for the door then pausing at the entrance. “And it’s a hundred and thirty-three stars on the wall. Each one of those operators was an embodiment of valor and integrity in a way I don’t expect you to ever comprehend.”

  Patterson pivoted, then calmly opened the door, exiting as the other office staff parted along the hallway in his wake.

  After the man departed, Begley still felt a need to clutch the edge of his desk to control his quivering hands. It had taken every ounce of courage in his wispy frame to talk down to the former field agent, and now he felt exhausted.

  He eased back into his chair, his shoulder slumping forward. “That old fossil…time for him to file his resignation already.” Begley hoped that the bull-headed agent had gotten that hint, since he didn’t have the reserves of fortitude to demand it outright.

  With Perseus’ core components missing, it would set back Begley’s plans for creating his coveted domestic anti-terrorism unit. The recruits were already being trained at an isolated location in New England, but its success revolved around Perseus’ unique software. Fortunately, due to his forethought in the matter, he had required Burke to sign off on an agreement in their contract for Begley to be provided with a monthly backup of Perseus’ hard drive with the caveat that Burke would deliver the completed package and the root program upon completion of his research.

  At least I have a chunk of Perseus, so my techs will only be a few months behind in finishing what Burke started, assuming we can locate the fucking source code.

  He tilted his head to either side, stretching his neck.

  Then we can enter a new era of law enforcement in this country and purge the Neanderthals.

  28

  Cal looked out the dirty window of his second-floor room at the hostel in downtown Baltimore, expecting a SWAT team to roll up at any second.

  Relax. You should be good for now.

  He took a deep breath, trying to convince himself, then returned to his crude tailoring work on the suit, which he was converting into a quick-change outfit with the help of the office stapler. He inserted the buttoned-up shirt into the suit then stapled the two garments together at the sleeves, the collar, and at the bottom hem. Then he attached the blue tie, stapling it in place. He had bought a shirt and suit a bit larger than his frame to allow him to slide the entire arrangement over his head like a hoodie, as his urban evasion instructors in Israel had taught him to do.

  The switch from his casual attire of jeans and a t-shirt could be accomplished in less than a minute by changing out of his pants and sliding on the shirt-suit, allowing him to quickly alter his visual appearance long enough to further an escape.

  Once that task was completed, he practiced the outfit change a dozen times until it was fluid, then folded up the suit and slacks, placing them back in the pack.

  Cal wolfed down a power bar and finished off a liter of water, then he began the tedious process of dyeing his sandy-colored hair black.

  An hour later, he grabbed his gear and headed downstairs to the back door. He passed a young Scandinavian couple in the parking lot who were intent on having him take their photo before the hostel sign. He snapped off a few then handed the camera back to them, feigning a southern accent.

  He headed along the alley, walking for eight blocks until he arrived at a pawn shop he’d seen earlier.

  Sighing from the gut punch that was about to come, he entered the store and looked around at the items hanging on the wall and in the locked display cases, then he held up the Rolex to the portly figure behind the counter.

  The man slipped his shovel-like hand under the thick security glass, clutching the watch and scrutinizing the faceplate then glancing up at Shepard before grabbing a jeweler’s lens from below. He examined the Rolex then sized up the seller again.

  “Looks fairly legit…give you $300 for it.”

  Cal’s mouth unhinged. “You’re shitting me, right? That’s worth a few thousand even in a place like this.”

  The man shoved the watch back at Shepard. “Did you see the sign on the front door? It says Sal’s Pawn Shop, not fucking Tiffany’s of Paris.”

  He knew the man realized what was sitting before him, but Cal expected to get more than what was being offered. Still, he needed the cash to stay off the grid, and this was all he had to bargain with. He also knew the owner was probably going to be closing for the month once he figured out how to sell of the pricey watch.

  Sorry, Stephen.

  “Well, I’ll take it to another place then. I was looking for at least $750. It was my old man’s, and I need the money to pay off a debt fast.”

  The man frowned, palming the watch again and running his chubby fingers along the edges then turning it over. “It’s got some bullshit written on the back, but I can go as high as $600.”

  Shepard glanced down at the glass display case, eyeing several items. “Tell you what, throw in this pair of binoculars, the two pre-paid cellphones and the lockpicking set and it’s yours for $500.”

  The man put the watch in his pocket then removed a steel case from under the cabinet. He thumbed through a stack of bills, pulling out an assortment of 20s, 50s, and 100s and sliding the correct amount under the Lexan barrier, then he squatted down, opening the display case and removing the requested items.

  The owner grinned. “Good doing business with you, man. Bring your friends back next time.”

  Cal frowned as an empty feeling washed through him. He paused at the entrance, examining the security system and hardened window frames that were covered with rebar on the outside.

  He waved at the man on his way out.

  “I’ll be back someday."

  In the morning, he waited until the communal kitchen at the hostel emptied out then grabbed his daypack and headed downstairs. He grabbed one of the pre-made breakfast burritos from the freezer and heated it in the microwave then tossed a five-dollar bill in the slot of the tip jar bolted to the counter.

  He headed to the adjacent internet room and sat down, enjoying the egg, bacon and potato burrito while pulling up Google. He hung his hat over the camera on the computer then typed in the listing for Arlington Craigslist. Cal paused before going any further, wondering if Vogel would have followed through at this point, given recent events that had unfolded.

  She must be asking the same questions as everyone else at the agency and even amongst my old team: whether I’m the rat-bastard traitor I’m being painted as in the media.

  Whoever set me up like that had to
have advanced hacking skills on par with our best analysts. Was it someone at the agency or a rogue freelancer from the dark web hired for a one-time job? But who was pulling their strings? He sighed. Who the fuck is pulling any of the strings behind this past week?

  He just hoped Vogel’s faith in him hadn’t been shattered. Will she use this opportunity now to lure me in? She may be under pressure to do so.

  He had known her a long time. When his very life and the lives of his team had hung by a thread, she had been there, the guiding voice on the other end, pointing them towards the proverbial light. He had little to lose, but he couldn’t afford to lose his faith in her. She was one of the few people left on this side of the globe that he knew still believed in him.

  She has to.

  He clicked on the heading for pets and scrolled down the list until he came to a posting for a white rabbit. He and Vogel had previously used this system based upon Alice in Wonderland, which she suggested after reading the book to her niece the night before their first use of the dead-drop system they were practicing. They had since used the arrangement countless times when relaying information during urban evasion exercises.

  He clicked on the posting, seeing a plump rabbit then reading the description. He jotted down the weight and age of the animal, which corresponded with a physical address, then he took the first letter of each word in the carefully written description, using that to form the street name. The first four digits of the fake phone number was the meeting time, and the last five digits was the zip-code. The final sentence indicated the bunny was available for adoption on Tuesday. It was old-school—simple but effective.

  Shepard closed out the page, entering the address into the map app on the computer then scrutinizing the location.