Off Guard: A clean action adventure book

by Glen Robins

  “Yes. He said he came by to take me to lunch that day, but I didn’t even know he was in town, let alone that he wanted to have lunch together. He said he feels terrible about it because if he had shown up ten minutes earlier, none of this would have happened.” Emily stopped cold, looked at Sarah. “I’m sorry, that was selfish and insensitive of me, Sarah. All I know is that he was here, at the hospital, when I woke up and has been a huge comfort to me and a huge help to the whole family.”

  Richard stepped forward and added, “Yes, he was the one who picked me and my sister up at the airport and brought us here to see our parents. He also looked in on my dad when he was at the hospital in Huntington Beach. Rob is the one that informed us of what was going on and coordinated our travel schedules and pick-ups. He has been a God-send.”

  “And where does Mr. Howell reside?”

  “He has an apartment in Los Angeles and, I believe, another one in New York,” said Sarah. “But he travels all over the place. He’s always gone. London, Sydney, Tokyo. He goes everywhere. He’s hardly ever at home.”

  “And what does he do for work?”

  “He’s a venture capitalist,” said Henry. “He’s helped many start-ups hit it big and, in the process, has become quiet wealthy himself.”

  “I see,” said Reggie. “So, he’s been instrumental during all of these family crises. Does this strike anyone else as odd?” Reggie surveyed the room. “Mr. Cook, were you aware that Mr. Howell was in town prior to his showing up here at the hospital?”

  Sarah squeezed Henry’s hand and answered for him. “Rob made contact with us prior to when Emily and I were taken. It was shortly after Hurricane Abigail, when no one was certain whether Collin had survived. I never believed he was dead, but my faith was confirmed when Rob showed up and told us that he knew for certain that Collin was alive.”

  “How did he know, Mrs. Cook?”

  “Like Emily said, those two are very close.”

  “So, Collin called Mr. Howell on the phone after the hurricane and told him he was alive?”

  “I suppose so, though I never asked,” explained Sarah, who suddenly seemed flustered and unsure of herself. “He just said that he knew Collin was alive and would be OK, eventually.”

  “Mr. Cook, do you have anything to add?” asked Reggie.

  “Only that Rob asked us not to tell anyone of his involvement. The only reason I tell you now is that I fear he may be in danger. After what has happened here lately with all of us, I believe anything is possible. These people will stop at nothing to get what they want.”

  “So why was Mr. Howell here?”

  “Like Emily said, he’s practically a member of our family, has been since his father abandoned him, his sister, and his mother. They lived just three doors down. Rob and Collin were thick as thieves, as they say. I think Rob may have slept at our house as much or more than he slept at his own during those growing-up years. So, to answer your question, he came to support the family in a time of need.”

  “OK, if that’s true, which one of you alerted Rob that Collin was in danger?” said McCoy.

  No one answered.

  “How did he know if no one told him?”

  Again, no one said anything.

  “It just looks strange to us as outsiders, maybe not to you because you know him. But why is it weird things happen to this family only when this Rob Howell is around?” McCoy let that sink in for a few seconds, then added, “You also know, don’t you, that since this is an active investigation and since you all knew it was an active investigation since our first meeting back in what—November?—you could be arrested for obstruction of justice for failing to share relevant information about this active investigation with the proper authorities?”

  ****

  Villahermosa, Mexico

  June 17, 3:20 p.m. Local Time; 1:20 p.m. Pacific Time

  Mongoose had taken the device from Collin and rolled it over in his hands several times. He, like the others stationed at this safehouse, was of Mexican-American descent. He had short black hair, tan skin, and desert camo fatigues. After rummaging through a drawer, he found a power cord and a connector. “This is the good stuff,” he explained. “Top of the line. Incredible range. Massive battery capability. And supposedly waterproof. I guess we’ll see, won’t we?” Mongoose plugged in the cord and connector and attached it to a PC. “How long did you say it was underwater?”

  “I don’t know, several hours. The ship went down in the early evening and I went back around midnight the following night.”

  “So over twenty-four hours?”

  “Yeah, something like that.”

  “And how deep were you when you found it?”

  “About a hundred feet,” Collin said.

  “Wow. This will be interesting. Even with this high-tech waterproof casing, I have my doubts about the integrity of the components inside. That’s a lot of time and a lot of pressure.”

  “Had I been thinking more clearly while I was trying to escape with my life . . .” Collin started to say, then realized the sarcasm may not play as well to someone who didn’t know him.

  “Let me run some analysis on the storage drive. Then we’ll be able to see if there’s any way to salvage the data on it.” Mongoose’s hands never stopped. If they weren’t checking the cables and connections, they were drumming the desk or tapping on the keyboard or clicking the mouse. He was a bundle of kinetic energy. He talked fast, too.

  That was forty-five minutes earlier.

  Collin looked on in curiosity for the first few minutes. Rows of numbers began scrolling across the screen. Then a few blank lines, then more digits and letters rolled past. Mongoose typed a command of some kind when the cursor appeared and blinked at him. Then the progression restarted.

  Collin’s eyes grew heavy and he struggled to keep them open.

  “Why don’t you go lay down, man?” said Mongoose, pointing to a couch on the other side of the narrow room. “You look like you could use some sleep. I’ll wake you up when I’m done with this.”

  At last, a line at the top of the screen read: system scan completed. 5223 files scanned. 4357 files damaged or inaccessible. It was accompanied by a loud beep.

  The beep woke Collin with a start. He popped up to a sitting position and rubbed his eyes as he stood and moved closer to the computer.

  Mongoose sat back and groaned. His fingers twitched above the keyboard, like they were dancing in air. He typed in another command at lightning speed and pounded on the enter key.

  The monitor changed to a colored pie chart. The big red section took up most of the pie and was labeled “irreparable.” The next biggest section was a narrow blue wedge. Its label indicated “readable.” The smallest area on the chart, a tiny sliver in comparison to the huge red section, was green and said “accessible.”

  Another sigh emanated from the baby-faced IT guru. “Let’s give it a whirl, shall we?”

  He clicked the mouse and typed some more commands and the screen returned to black with line after line of small white text racing from top to bottom. Or was it bottom to top? Collin couldn’t tell it was moving so fast.

  “Ah-hah,” said Mongoose when the scrolling stopped again. Another typed command yielded a white screen with boxes and text in black. “Looks like we have a call log, a text log, and a few IP addresses.”

  “Are those time stamps there next to the called numbers?” asked Collin, reaching in and pointing at a box.

  “Indeed, they are,” said Mongoose with an air of approval. “You’re as sharp as they said.”

  Collin ignored the compliment and focused on the information in front of him. “Will you be able to trace those addresses and translate the text into English?”

  “Should be able to do that better from HQ. That’s why I’m going to do as your friend requested and upload all this information to his FTP site and let him and his team analyze to their heart’s content. Meanwhile, I’ve got to prep my men for their mission.” Mongoose stood
and moved to a wire shelving unit on the wall behind him. He began sorting out small pieces of equipment that appeared to be bodywear cameras and microphones. There were also earpieces, handheld devices, and monitors that looked like they would be strapped onto the forearm. “You’d better go get yourself prepared, too. My understanding is that you guys ship out of here at eighteen hundred hours.”

  “Wait, what? Shipping out? Tonight? First I’ve heard of it,” Collin stuttered.

  “Yeah, you didn’t expect to fly out of here in that plane, did you?” Mongoose chuckled at the thought. “It’ll take too long to get another one in here and loaded up. You’re heading out with four of our operatives in a truck right after chow.”

  “In a truck? How long will that take?”

  “It’s a long day’s drive to Mexico City—maybe ten or twelve hours—but it’d take a lot longer, like I said, to wait for another plane that could carry all of you and the gear you’ll need.”

  “Do you know what the plan is? Cause I certainly don’t,” Collin said, shaking his head.

  “You’ll have to talk to your friend in Washington. He’s the one calling the shots. Kind of surprised he hasn’t brought you up to speed.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Washington, DC

  June 17, 4:22 p.m. Eastern Time; 1:22 p.m. Pacific Time

  Lukas slammed his cane crossways on top of the desk in front of him. They missed him. An hour and a half into it and there was still no sign of Rob Howell. Either the blockade was set up too late or the searches were not thorough enough. In any case, Lukas was out of luck and Rob was certainly now in dangerous territory, location and exact destination unknown. One thing he did know, Mexico City was the focal point of a massive amount of communication and information flow on the dark net over the past several days. All indications were that Penh would show up sooner rather than later and that Rob would play a role in his plans. Lukas planned to use the data from the satellite phone Collin had taken to track Penh’s whereabouts, but he figured Rob and Penh would end up in the same place very soon. He also knew Collin would, too. He had to.

  Useful information from Lukas’s cohorts in Mexico had been hard to come by until recently. When it did show up, it was usually late and sketchy. The working relationship between the intelligence communities of Mexico and the US were currently more strained than usual, due to a number of factors. Among them were an increase in savage violence on both sides of the border by the Mexican drug cartels, a breakdown in diplomatic relations, and, coinciding with the arrival of several of Penh’s associates in Mexico City, rumors had begun circulating of a plot by the American clandestine network to assassinate the president of Mexico. Lukas’s counterparts in Mexico had become wary and, at times, hostile thanks to the rising suspicions of US intentions regarding their neighbors to the south.

  The overall situation made Lukas’s blood boil. His two dearest friends in the world were now within the borders of the same country and he would have virtually no way to track, monitor, or surveille the movements of those who had taken Rob into Mexico without a level of collaboration between the two countries inconceivable just a month earlier. Lukas would have felt completely hopeless were it not for the small handful of cooperative cohorts with whom he had fostered healthy working relationships over the past several weeks. As a result of the voluminous data he had presented regarding Pho Nam Penh and his diabolical schemes, a new level of trust and cooperation was beginning to emerge, at least among this handful of open-minded individuals within Mexico’s Center for Research and National Security.

  Kevin interrupted his brooding. “Sir, I think you’ll want to look at this.”

  Lukas sat forward, snatched up his cane, and pushed himself to a standing position, managing to hide the discomfort by keeping every muscle in his face frozen in the same look of consternation that had been there while he sat ruminating. Kevin displayed his findings on one of the large flat screens at the front of the room. It was a split screen with a face on each side. The one on the left was a portrait of Rob Howell—a picture Lukas had taken of him just before Lukas helped Collin disappear seven months earlier. It had a series of green cones and white lines with tiny numbers next to them at various points on Rob’s face. The one on the right was much darker and grainier. It showed an older Asian gentleman leaning to the side. His face, too, was punctuated by the same maze of green and white. But they were flashing, indicating a match.

  “Can you enhance the picture on the right?” Lukas asked.

  “This is as enhanced as I can get it. The lighting is dim and subject is obscured enough by the passenger sitting next to him to make it difficult to get a clear view. But the software picks up the key biometrics and compares them, as you know. This man, though Asian in appearance, shares the same measurements along the key indicators as your friend, which leads me to believe his captors did a great makeup job on him to smuggle him into Mexico. You can alter appearances, but you can’t change the distance between the eyes or from the eyes to the ears. This facial map is as close as you can get without an exact match. It simply shows us that they applied some makeup, but made no attempt to alter the key biometrics.”

  “Clever. Very, very clever. Not unexpected, I guess,” Lukas said, pointing a finger at the screen. “We have a description on the vehicle he’s in?”

  “Yes, sir, we do. A handicap-accessible minivan. Blue Dodge. California plates.”

  “Can we run a trace?”

  “The Mexican authorities are working on it, sir. But you know how it is with them right now.”

  “Unfortunately, I do,” said Lukas, scratching his chin. “Are we able to hack their CCTV feeds?”

  “Perhaps. I mean, we’ve done it before, but it’s not undetectable. At some point, they’re going to figure out what we did and will spike our efforts.”

  “I’m sure you’re right. Let me make a couple calls to my contacts down there and see if I can get their help, but if they don’t cooperate within the next hour, I may need you to hack in.”

  “That’s a huge risk, sir,” Kevin said.

  “I know, but we can mend fences later. For now, we can’t give Penh a free pass. This is about more than just my friends. This is about protecting our country and theirs from Penh’s massive cyberattack aimed at crippling the entire banking system. The ripple effects would be global and catastrophic. If we blow it now, the world could be plunged into an economic depression that would make what happened in the thirties look like a birthday party.”

  ****

  Oceanside, California

  June 17, 2:39 p.m. Pacific Time

  Reggie and Spinner were just finishing lunch at a quaint pub off the main drag in the beach town of Oceanside when Reggie’s phone began buzzing on the table. He wiped his mouth and answered. “Tom?”

  “Reggie,” came Tom’s gravelly voice between halting breaths and the rush of wind against the phone’s mic. Reggie guessed he was walking outside.

  “Have you got something for me?”

  “Listen, Reggie. I’ve got to be quick here. I’m on my way into an urgent meeting to discuss your case. I can’t believe it. First time I’ve heard of this guy Penh and your friend Cook was from you three hours ago. I ask a few questions and now I’m invited to high-level powwows to go over strategy. Unbelievable.”

  “That’s a major shift in focus,” Reggie said, trying to wrap his head around Tom’s rapid-fire download.

  “Your friends over at NSA ordered a blockade at the Mexican border, south of El Centro. The guy they’re looking for wasn’t found, so they’re running all the images from the border patrol officers’ body cams against facial recognition software.”

  “What’d they find? Anything?”

  “Yeah, they found the guy they’re looking for all dressed up like an Asian businessman being snuck over the border a couple hours ago.”

  “Hmm,” said Reggie. “Sounds interesting, but what has this got to do with Collin Cook and Pho Nam Penh?”

&n
bsp; “The guy who got smuggled into Mexico, the guy they were searching for, is Collin Cook’s best friend.”

  “Rob Howell?”

  “Yeah, how’d you know his name?”

  “We just interrogated the family and girlfriend and learned that this guy Howell has been MIA since early this morning. They were worried, but hadn’t bothered to tell us about him.”

  “Well, this guy Howell is now right in the middle of this whole brouhaha,” muttered Tom.

  “My partner and I figure he’s being used as bait to draw Collin Cook into a trap.”

  “That’s my guess, too, Reggie. Not sure what to do about it, but I’ll let you know what I find out in this meeting.”

  “I hear you, Tom. Thanks for your—” Reggie said to a dial tone. Tom was already gone. Reggie sat staring at his phone for a moment, shaking his head.

  Spinner shot him a curious look. “That sounded promising.”

  “Well, yeah, I guess you could say that. Tom is on his way to a ‘high-level meeting’ to talk about our boy Collin,” said Reggie, using his fingers to make air quotes.

  “So I guess the question now is what are we going to do about it?”

  “What can we do? We don’t have jurisdiction in Mexico. It’s out of our hands,” said Reggie, staring at something in the middle of the table, lost in thought.

  “Is that what you want to tell Sarah Cook? ‘It’s out of our hands’?”

  “Definitely not, but I’m not sure what we can do at this point. That’s a different country and we have no authority beyond our borders.”

  Spinner locked Reggie in his gaze with a raised eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

  ****

  Scripps Cancer Research Patient Clinic, La Jolla, California

  June 17, 4:10 p.m. Pacific Time

  The Cook family had all departed for Emily’s condo after reviewing and discussing what they had heard from Agents Crabtree and McCoy, leaving Sarah and Emily alone in their room to rest.