Jana’s heart rate accelerated.
“Starting to wake up? From the look in your eyes, I’d say you’re still feeling the effects of the fentanyl aerosol Rafael administered. But you should be coming out of it now. But then again,” he said as he leaned in close to her face, “you are just a frail female. And females are meant to be put in their place,” he said as he laughed, “dominated. And to think how easy it was to capture you. How readily you walked into my trap. I laid down a trail of breadcrumbs for you to follow, and they led you right where I wanted you to go. Hounds to the hunters, Miss Baker? Perhaps only now you see what a fool you are.”
He stood back and let his eyes again roll across her form.
“A fine specimen, I must say.”
It was only then that Jana looked down to find herself seated in a wooden chair and stripped down to her bra and panties. She yanked against the bindings on her wrists but could not free her hands from behind her back. Even her ankles had been lashed to the chair legs.
“Struggle, struggle,” Jarrah said. “It will do you no good. Yes, I have placed you in a rather vulnerable position, haven’t I, Miss Baker? You are way behind in the game, I’m afraid. And here we sit, in the middle of nowhere, hundreds of miles from where they search for you. And you are in exactly the position I like my females to be—one in which they know they are not in charge. I do not understand your country, Miss Baker. Women in places of power. It disgusts me.”
Jana wrenched her hands against the bindings but knew the effort was futile. Her chest heaved under the terror of her circumstances.
Jarrah lunged forward and towered over her. His left hand crunched into her throat. “The things I should do to you.”
Jana gagged against his choking grip. When he released her, she gasped to fill her lungs with air.
“Yes, the perfect female body lies before me. The perfect example of a submissive, dominated female. Yet your Christian skin repulses me. While I’d love to teach you a lesson myself, I could not tolerate the abomination of my flesh against yours.”
Relief flooded over Jana as she began to realize that the sexual assault she feared was coming, would not.
Jarrah walked to a table and his hand disappeared into the pocket of a large backpack. When he pulled out the object he sought, Jana tried to scream, but the sounds came out stilted.
Jarrah flashed a grin and almost laughed. “That’s what I like to see—fear. Let me show it to you up close. This is an ancient knife, once owned by the Prophet Mohammad. A sacred blade to say the least. I liberated it from its resting place in that infernal museum in Spain.” He held the blade to the light. “This belongs in the service of Allah, where it started its life, not in some foreign land.” He looked at Rafael. “Although not all things Spanish are to be discredited. Still, look at the thickness of the steel, Miss Baker. Look at the craftsmanship, the scrollwork on the handle. Just imagine it,” he said as his eyes widened. “One of the knives owned and used by Mohammad himself.”
Then his eyes became narrow slits.
“Perhaps you would like to see how sharp the blade is?”
Jana recoiled as he held the blade against her face.
“No? Well, there will be time for that. There will be time for a great many things, Miss Baker.”
Jarrah walked behind her, circling her chair. Her neck craned as she followed his movements, almost certain he would slash her throat with the knife, then decapitate her.
He leaned close to her ear and whispered, “You searched for more information about your parents, didn’t you?” His hot breath was nauseating.
Jarrah reared back in fits of laugher, then pulled a chair in front of her. As he sat, he placed the knife’s razor-sharp tip against Jana’s chin.
She recoiled from the pain and tried to lean her neck up. A tear rolled down her cheek. He grasped the center of Jana’s bra and pulled it just enough to position the knife handle inside of it. When he released the strap, the bra held the knife upright, the blade against her chest and neck. She could not move without being cut.
“This is even more enjoyable than I imagined it. Tell me, did you search for more information about your parents?”
Jana’s sobbing was low and silent. She struggled to keep her neck high enough.
“Answer me, Miss Baker, or things will not go so well for you.”
“Yes,” she whispered over the lump in her throat.
“And how much did you learn? Were you able to uncover the truth about them?”
She started to speak, but the blade cut a vertical slit into her throat and she winced against the pain.
“Oh, are you not able to speak freely? Such a pity. Now, perhaps you see the way a woman should be.” He removed the knife and lay it on her lap. “Now, please continue.”
“Did I learn the truth about my parents? Yes, but I’ve always known the truth about my parents. Having a father who died of cancer and a mother of a car accident is nothing to be ashamed of.”
“The information gathering capabilities of the FBI, NSA, and CIA at your fingertips, and that’s the best you can do?”
He grabbed a manila file folder from the table and pulled out the first sheet of paper. At the top, the paper read:
State of North Carolina, Certificate of Live Birth.
“Read the name and date of birth aloud, Miss Baker.”
Jana squeezed her eyes closed to push free tears obscuring her vision. “Jana Michelle Ames. Born October 19, 1986. But, but . . . this isn’t me.”
“Oh, no? Read the names of the birth parents listed here, please.”
“Father, Richard William Ames, born December 16, 1959. Mother, Lillian Baker Ames, born February 9, 1960.”
“Fascinating, Miss Baker, isn’t it? It is true, you do not recognize the surname Ames, but your father’s first and middle names were Richard and William, were they not? He was born on December 16, 1959, correct? And your mother, Lillian Baker, was, in fact, born on February 9, 1960. And let’s examine this date, October 19, 1986. This is your birth date, correct?”
Jana’s mouth hung open.
Jarrah continued. “And your mother’s maiden name was, in fact, Baker, was it not? Baker, the same surname of your grandfather. How very interesting. I can tell by that stupid expression on your face that you have never known the truth.”
Jana shook her head and more tears streamed down her face. “No. No, this can’t be. You falsified these documents! This is not my birth certificate!”
“Is it not? Yes, it would be a most disturbing revelation indeed. To discover one’s entire life to be a lie.”
“My life is not a lie!”
“Tell me. How is it that you were not aware of your own surname?”
“My last name is Baker. It’s always been Baker. My parents were never married. Are you happy now? They never married. When my father died, I was two years old. That’s why my last name is the same as my mother’s.”
“And what then, was said to be your father’s name?”
“His name was Richard William.”
“Richard William? Is that what your mother told you? It is true, the name of William is used in the Western world as a surname, but more commonly as a first or middle name, no? The surname of Williams, with an s on the end, is much more common. And this birth certificate says Richard William Ames. Hmmm, quite a coincidence that all the first names, middle names, and birth dates match up to you, your mother, and your father. Well then, let’s read further, shall we? These documents are so fascinating.”
He held up another. At the top, it read:
FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION
UNITED STATES DEPARTMENT OF JUSTICE
WASHINGTON, DC
CURRENT ARREST OR RECEIPT
Below was a mugshot and other details.
A droplet of blood rolled down Jana’s throat from the cut and landed in her lap. Her eyes locked onto the mugshot.
“You look white as a sheet, Miss Baker. The face looks familiar,
no? A striking resemblance to your father, isn’t it? Now, read for me this part here,” Jarrah said as he pointed.
Jana’s voice became monotone as she read the words. “Date arrested or received, 10/29/1988. Charge or offense,” Jana’s body shook, “18 U.S.C. 793—US Code, Section 793: Gathering, transmitting or losing defense information.” Her head leaned down into the overwhelming emotions. “No. No, this isn’t my father. It isn’t true!”
“But it is true, Miss Baker. The evidence is right in front of you. And having been at the top of your graduating class at Quantico, I assume this is a federal code section you are familiar with. And this is a federal arrest warrant, isn’t it? Tell me, what does section 793 pertain to?”
“Espionage,” she whispered.
“Correct, Miss Baker, espionage. Spying. And how interesting the date on this document is, October 29, 1988. You would have been two years old at the time.” He put his face against hers. “That particular date is etched into your memory. Don’t lie to me, Miss Baker.”
“Yes,” she said.
“And what does October 29, 1988 mean to you?”
“It’s the date my father died.” The enormity of the revelation lay upon Jana’s psyche like a thousand-pound weight.
“Your honesty is refreshing. October 29, 1988. The date your father died. Now, perhaps, you are starting to believe. Your father didn’t die on that date, Miss Baker. It’s the date he was arrested, arrested for espionage against the United States.”
“Nooo!” she screamed.
“Come now. You resist the truth. Your father was passing state secrets to the Russians. Made a bit of money, I believe.”
Jana leaned down and sobbed.
“Your mother and father were married,” Jarrah said as he pulled out a North Carolina certificate of marriage. “Your real name is Ames, not Baker. But I suppose your mother told you they were never married to hide the truth from you—that your father was an enemy of the state. The embarrassment of his arrest must have been overwhelming for her. Which is why I’m sure she went to all this trouble.”
He held up another document. It read:
STATE OF NORTH CAROLINA
CERTIFICATE OF NAME CHANGE
“She changed your legal surname, Miss Baker. Or should I call you Miss Ames?”
“My name is Baker!”
“Your life is a lie, Miss Baker. But it’s all starting to make sense to you now, isn’t it? Your father had been arrested for treason and your mother wanted to disappear from it all. So she changed both of your names to her maiden name and tried to put the past behind her. It is no wonder that you weren’t able to find more information about your parents. You were looking for the wrong names.” His voice lowered. “I have one last document for you. But let me ask first, before today, does the surname of Ames sound at all familiar to you?”
Jana’s eyes locked onto his. The name was familiar. The same thought had occurred to her when she found it on her own FBI personnel file, yet she could not place it.
“It’s not quite coming to you? Perhaps we should try to use it in context. How about the full name of Aldrich Ames?”
“Aldrich? . . .”
“Aldrich Hazen Ames,” he said the words as though calling role. “One of the most infamous spies of your country’s history.” He held another FBI arrest record in front of her. “Arrested February 21, 1994. A thirty-one-year veteran of the Central Intelligence Agency. Now, Miss Baker, take a look at the mugshot of Aldrich Ames. A striking resemblance to your father, no? A slightly older version of your father.”
Jana’s mouth hung agape.
“Well, let me be the first to introduce you to Uncle Aldrich,” he said as he rocked back in maniacal laughter.
“Nooo!” Jana screamed.
“Your father is the younger brother of Aldrich Ames. After your father’s arrest in 1988, the FBI took a hard look at Uncle Aldrich here. But it took eight years to build a case against him. Your father and your uncle, both enemies of the state. Makes one wonder if it runs in the family, Miss Baker.”
“Lies! It’s all lies!”
“Yes, and apparently, I am not the only one who had doubts about you and your lineage. The FBI knew full well who your father and uncle were when they hired you. You had not committed any crime so they had no legal basis to reject your application solely on a few bad seeds.” He leaned over her, his eyes tranquil and satisfied. “You must have wondered why the bureau polygraphed you every four months instead of every six, like the rest of the agents.”
“How would you know they polygraphed me every four months?”
“How I know is irrelevant to the question at hand.” He began walking a slow circle around her. “And what do you think their explanation would be? Hmmm?” He stopped and grabbed her jaw. “I suppose you thought they polygraphed you so often because you worked high-profile cases? And yet no other agent received such treatment, did they?” He drew a deep breath, then belted. “They never trusted you! They never trusted your loyalty!”
“No!”
“They not only believe your loyalty is in question, they never believed you had the guts to do the job of a man.”
“You filthy pig!”
He snatched the knife and straddled her and sat on her lap. They were face-to-face. His left hand yanked her hair back to expose her neck as he pressed the blade against her throat. Blood leaked onto the blade.
“Watch your tone with me, you submissive little whore. Although I may be detested at the stench emanating from your infidel skin, my friend Rafael here does not find it so repulsive.”
Both men laughed in unison. Jana looked into Rafael’s black eyes and saw lust.
“Yes,” Rafael said as he leaned over Jana from behind the chair. “The body is firm, very firm. And it would be such a shame to slice it to pieces before sampling it.”
Jarrah stood and walked to the table. He shouldered the heavy backpack, then he and Rafael walked across the creaking floor planks toward the door where Rafael unfolded a paper map.
Jarrah said, “In your scouting mission, Tower Falls is to our northwest?”
“There’s no s on the end. You mean Tower Fall, Señor Jarrah. Yes, over in that direction,” he said, pointing northwest. “But you’ll simply follow Tower Creek.” He placed a finger on the map. “That’s the water source that feeds into this lake. It will lead you right to top of the falls, a hundred-and-thirty-two-foot drop straight down into the gorge known as Devil’s Den. There are caves up there.”
“Devil’s Den, how appropriate.” Jarrah laughed. “Distance?”
“A good two kilometers.”
They exchanged a few more words, and embraced. Jarrah walked out the door and was gone.
When Rafael returned, the door closed behind him. He looked at the knife Jarrah had left on the table.
“We will wait a short time, Miss Baker,” he said as he glanced at his watch. “I have my instructions. And besides, I want the effects of the fentanyl to completely wear off before we begin. I want you fully awake so you will know what is happening to you.” He stood in front of her and rubbed the back side of his fingers across her cheekbone. When she recoiled, he reared his hand back and cracked it across her face. Her head jarred to the side. “But I don’t want to keep you in suspense too long. My instructions are quite clear. Señor Jarrah has outlined the exact time of day and method of your death. An ancient method of flaying that was used in the time of Mohammad. It will be a first for me. But as I explained earlier, unlike you, I am very loyal to my employers and I follow their instructions to the letter.” His eyes drifted across her body and he smiled. “But I have no intention of letting this body go to waste.”
The last thing Jana remembered before she blacked out was him again rearing the back of his hand.
43
PRIORITY ONE
Twin Cities Community Hospital Heliport, Templeton, California
Twelve minutes later Cade, Kyle, Agent Murphy, and the rest of hostage-re
scue team six ran toward three separate Bell UH-1Y Venom Super Huey helicopters.
“How long?” Cade yelled over the thrashing rotor blades.
Agent Murphy cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Jets are heating up at Oak Country Ranch Airport.” He pointed Northwest. “About six clicks. We’re eleven hundred miles from the caldera in Wyoming.” He nodded toward a helicopter for Cade and Kyle to board.
The National Guard chopper pilot motioned for Cade and Kyle to put on headsets.
“How long is it going to take to travel eleven hundred miles?” Cade said to Kyle.
“Agent Murphy said the Gulfstream 6 we’re about to board has a max speed of around seven hundred miles per hour. One hour and forty-five minutes.”
“Kyle, we don’t have that kind of time. We’ve lost so much time already. We’ve got to get to Jana.”
“You’re preaching to the choir, man. Not only that, but Jarrah will be preparing to detonate. He’s driven himself out to the middle of nowhere. He’s not going to sit around long.”
Once the choppers touched down on the airport tarmac, all eight HRT operators sprinted toward the jet. They were packed down with weaponry of all types. Kyle and Cade boarded last. Cade leaned into the cockpit. “Pilot, let’s go. Let’s go right now.”
“Waiting on clearance from the tower, sir. Be moving out shortly.”
“Clearance from the tower, my ass!” Cade yelled. “This is NSA priority level fifteen. I am your clearance. Now move!”
“Yes, sir,” the pilot replied as he and the copilot pushed the plane into forward motion.
When Cade strapped on a seat belt, Kyle looked at him and laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“Damn, man,” Kyle said. “You’re getting hard.”
“You ever used one of these?” Agent Murphy said as he presented Cade with the butt end of a 9 mm Glock.
Breach of Protocol Page 17
