by JT Sawyer
“You already know the answer,” said Mitch. “This company has deep pockets that are filled by someone high up in D.C. like Monroe.”
“He’s right,” said Anatoly. “Monroe is the foundation of this whole enterprise, though without access to that data file, it will be hard to prove.”
“With your former government connections, why not just hand this intel over to our agencies here?” said Mitch, looking at Anatoly.
“‘Former connections’ are the key words there, my friend. And spreading what would be looked upon as potential rumors about a high-ranking DOD member involved in a terrorist attack—that would have put an end to my ability to get eyes inside of Aeneid.”
“Sure this doesn’t also have something to do with Israeli politics and their relations with Iran?”
Anatoly just gave him a sideways glance and grumbled. “I’m never one to back away from action that would cripple Iran’s supreme leader, but not something that would compromise my government’s relations with the U.S. in the process.”
Mitch stared back at the laptop. “So where can you decode these files?”
Dev looked at him then at her father. She ran her hand through her thick mane of hair. “Aeneid is a sure bet. If we access their server, we can find out the details of what’s about to unfold.” She removed a small device from her shoulder bag and palmed it in her right hand. It was the size of a TV remote with a side port and two blinking red lights. The hi-tech gadget was something developed recently by Israeli intelligence and enabled the user to surreptitiously force pairing with another computer network within ten feet. It had allowed Dev to obtain the files days before at Aeneid and now she dreaded the thought of having to use it once more inside that wretched hive of lunatics.
“Surely they would’ve reconfigured their plans by now knowing you have this intel,” said Mitch.
“The pipeline project in the Caspian Sea is slated to begin next week—seven days from today—so they’re unlikely to have altered things on their end, especially since they thought Devorah would be out of the picture by now,” said Anatoly, resting a hand on his daughter’s shoulder.
Dev leaned back to stretch then looked at her watch. “If we’re heading to Anaheim then we shouldn’t delay.”
“My thoughts exactly,” said Anatoly, getting up. “I will talk with my men and go over the best routes there.” He placed his empty glass on the table and suppressed a slight belch of pleasure from his elixir.
Dev looked at her laptop screen in frustration. “I never wanted to set foot inside Aeneid again. How did I miss this?”
“The thought that you even made it as far as you did there and got out is damn impressive,” said Mitch. He realized just how close he was sitting next to her and he scooched back a few feet.
She glanced at his neckline and moved his shirt collar. “Ooh, looks like you’ve got some nasty scrapes there from all the bushwhacking we did.”
He tucked in his chin, straining his eyes to the left to see. “It does feel like I was just in my first rodeo now that you mention it.” He rolled his shoulders back, realizing how sore he was. She got up and walked over to the kitchen sink, returning with a damp washcloth.
She began dabbing the lacerations, pulling back his soiled collar slightly. “So you’re a combat medic too, in addition to a spy and cyber-sleuth?” he said.
“Probably like you, I’ve had to become proficient at a lot of skills over being expert at one or two.”
He looked at her, enjoying her touch but also wanting to pull away. “I didn’t know Israeli women had such a caring side to them. At least not the ones I’ve worked with in the past.”
“They don’t but there are a few exceptional ones like me,” she said with a grin while looking at his face. He returned the gaze, locking his eyes onto hers, then suddenly he grabbed the washcloth and stood up. “I’m good now, thanks. I…I appreciate the kind gesture.”
Anatoly had re-entered, walking through the living room, and hesitated briefly when he saw the interaction. His slight smile faded as he informed them of their need to depart.
“The L.A. area is around six hundred miles from here. We will pick up another vehicle in Barstow. You and Dev will drive to the outskirts of Anaheim. My men and I will head to Aeneid near downtown.”
“The outskirts—what for?” said Mitch.
“I’ll explain as we head west. Sometimes the best solution is also the least obvious one.”
Chapter 27
Fareed Mahmoud drove his black Honda Accord behind the rear of the shuttered two-story car stereo warehouse on Lampson Avenue, pausing long enough to see the moon flickering off the chipped cement walls. He had only been this far south in Anaheim a few times but he’d always carried a pistol which boosted his feeling of confidence in handling himself. He’d trained overseas in the foothills in Yemen with a variety of weapons at an Al Qaeda affiliated camp but he’d never actually shot anyone and he longed for the coming attack when he could prove himself to Allah and his brethren. He watched any film that involved gun battles or warfare, studying the demeanor of the protagonist while mimicking the drawing and reholstering in front of the mirror in his shabby studio apartment adjacent to the university.
At last, the training, the prayers, the planning would all come to fruition in the next few days. His contact, Gamal, had proven trustworthy even for an Egyptian—Fareed had tailed him one night to confirm he was who he claimed. The other eight men in Fareed’s inner circle were true believers like himself and would do what he commanded. They were younger but even more jaded than him. They had grown fond of hearing him recount his training days in Yemen, and their intensified drills in small-unit tactics during the past week had only strengthened their bonds.
He got out of the car, looking both ways, and then skulked up to the door, inserting the key to his uncle’s old warehouse. Once inside, he walked around to the other exit doors and checked the egress routes outside to make sure they were clear just in case something went wrong during the upcoming exchange. Fareed then walked around the warehouse, picking up any debris left behind from their training activities and sweeping the assemblage of old boot prints dotting the dusty floor. He didn’t want anything being connected to his uncle, who was a hard-working businessman, though he had been softened too much by his Western lifestyle.
When he was done grooming the place, he walked over to the windows by the large rolling garage door. He peered out beyond several rows of storage containers to an immense field that looked like a thatched blanket with its stalks of parched grass. Fareed looked up at the moon while extracting a bronze dagger from its leather sheath in his beltline. The blade had his family’s crest stamped into the handle and it was one of his most treasured items, one that he felt spiritually connected him to his homeland. He rolled up his left sleeve and looked at the seven parallel scars on his outer forearm. Each one a symbol of faith, to mark the months since he began this sacred undertaking. He slid the tip of the curved blade across his skin, making another two-inch-long incision, just deep enough to leave a future scar but not deep enough, like the first one, to require stitches. As the knife revealed its passage, he whispered up to the moon while clenching his teeth. “Without pain there is no reward in heaven.” He repeated the words over and over and over as his blade hand shook and a rivulet of sweat rolled off his forehead. When the incision was complete, his frantic mantra stopped and his lips revealed a tremulous smile. He gasped from the exquisite pain which seemed almost euphoric in between the burning flares fired by his nerve endings.
He wrapped the wound with a roll of gauze from his jacket, making sure no blood droplets made it to the floor. He sucked down another deep breath and faced the moon, partly glancing at his own faint reflection in the window. Fareed put away his blade and then rested his palm on the pistol concealed in his waistline. He wished his will could move the earth to increase its revolutions so the next day would come sooner.
Chapter 28
After le
aving the cabin near Flagstaff, Anatoly discussed their plans for breaching Aeneid’s security and gaining access to their computer network. His men had a duffle bag of weapons that Mitch and Dev resupplied from while hearing about Anatoly’s scheme. Arriving at Barstow, California around three AM, Dev and Mitch were dropped off in a Motel Six parking lot. Dev had identified an older Subaru Forester parked under a burnt-out light that was worthy of procuring, much to Mitch’s disapproving looks.
She stood beside the driver’s door, working the entry with her small lockpicking set while Mitch scanned their surroundings for anyone up late enough to notice them.
“So I’m sure you thought about the family you’re gonna leave stranded here when they get up in the morning,” said Mitch. “You couldn’t have chosen a more beat-up rig that maybe belonged to some dude passing through?”
“What’s it matter? This vehicle is just another tool for getting the job done. They’re insured and will have a new car by next week. Besides, I’m doing them a favor—did you see all the disgusting juice stains on the back seat?” She nodded to the rear while jimmying the door open.
“I just pity the poor bunch of folks that have to be stranded in Barstow.”
She scrunched her nose at him and emitted a short grunt. “How you even have the time or mental energy to worry about such BS is beyond me. Tools are tools—weapons, vehicles, electronics, even people if necessary.” She paused, looking at him for a second while contemplating the last word. “I didn’t mean you, per se.”
“Uh-huh. You owe my friend a new bunkhouse at his ranch, by the way.” He exhaled, studying the parking lot near the rear of the hotel. “As for me, I haven’t decided if I should thank you for yanking me out of a job I didn’t really enjoy or if I should call my bureau chief again.”
“Look, I’m sorry for the mess I brought upon you. It wasn’t my intention. Life rarely goes according to one’s wishes even when you have a well-though-out plan, don’t you agree?”
“I would agree that you operate in a world that is much grayer than mine. You seem bent on getting the job done regardless of how much mayhem it costs others around you.”
She ignored his comment and started the vehicle, then hopped inside. “I’ll drive first. You can entertain me with more of your tales of morality as we head west.”
Mitch walked around and got in, stuffing the duffle bag with their rifles in the rear seat over the spilled Cheerios and empty Kool-Aid packets. Anatoly had provided them with additional ammunition, radios, flash-bang grenades, and suppressors for their pistols along with encrypted radios.
He admired Dev’s spirit of pushing ahead regardless of how arduous the task but wondered if she really cared about anything other than reaching her end goal. He was already sucked in too deep to this plot to turn back and his innocence was riding on the completion of what lay ahead. Would she and Anatoly simply disappear afterwards, leaving him in their wake to put his career back together and face months of investigations from the Department of Justice? Or would he be stripped of his status as an agent, publicly disgraced, and then slapped with criminal fines? He didn’t know but as he looked over at her while they zipped onto the entrance ramp, he was certain the coming day would be enlightening on many accounts and would be a far cry from the doldrums of his usual work.
For the next few hours while heading towards Anaheim, they discussed their upcoming roles, contingency plans, and fighting tactics if they came under fire. Mitch climbed into the back seat and did an inventory of the weapons along with tearing through a beef stroganoff MRE packet that Anatoly had provided.
“I feel sorry for you soldiers in the American military who have to live on that kind of food when you’re deployed.”
“Yeah, Meals-Refused-by-Ethiopians is what we call it. Hell, I once had to do sixty-seven days on this shit during a long mission. They’d do helo resupply drops once a week. You know things are bad when you start having dreams about a juicy steak that knows your name.”
“That’s another difference between our two countries’ militaries—we believe long-term care of the body is as essential as the mind, given how many decades we have been in continuous conflict. We openly acknowledge the reality of PTSD and don’t consider it a stigma on our record if we seek treatment.” She glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “America has long been our ally but your country is used to coming and going from different theaters of operation depending on the administration at the time. My people have had a war on their doorstep since my grandmother’s childhood. When you go to sleep at night in your bedroom to the thunder of distant mortar fire, you grow up knowing that the world is a fractured place.”
Mitch thought of his own youth on his uncle’s ranch, which had become a sanctuary for him after his parents’ untimely deaths. The honest work with his hands out on the land gave him a sense of purpose and helped to heal his spirit. Having known firsthand the effects that constant combat in war-torn regions has upon the psyche, he couldn’t imagine what Dev’s childhood was like growing up amidst the daily threat of terrorism. It explained the raw edge she had at times and Mitch wondered if her mother was the sole reason the woman still had a glimmer of trust in her eyes. Surely Anatoly would have, consciously or otherwise, imparted another set of traits altogether.
Mitch saw the green sign for downtown Anaheim emerge on the interstate overpass. The sooner they got this done the better. Not only did he desperately need to find out what was on that file but he despised being in large cities. Even Phoenix made him claustrophobic and edgy.
They did a verbal rundown of their roles one more time as Dev drove past the freeway exit that led to Aeneid, continuing west.
“How did you get hired on and insert yourself there?”
“Once Aeneid’s involvement in the Caspian Sea region was identified through the hostage we rescued, I spent the next seven months slowly building a relationship with their cyber security director, Jessica Carter.” She could see Mitch’s eyes widen in the mirror. “No, not that kind of relationship.” She changed lanes and continued the story. “I established rapport with her at several insider trade conventions open to DOD contractors, eventually gaining her trust and convincing her that I knew the field. This was not hard to do given my background in cyber security but my father’s organization also played a role in forging the false identity of Mira Sanchez.”
“Is that how you’ve managed to stay out of the databases for so long? You never showed up when I was searching for Anatoly.”
“Precisely, although he started with me at an early age, making sure I had no digital presence online or later on social media sites. He knew back in the ’90s what was coming with the cyber world and our personal security. You won’t find anything on me except a few photos he’s planted and even those have cosmetic changes from the real me.”
“‘The real you’—when do I get to see that person or is this her?”
“She’s crept out a few times. Maybe you should pay more attention.” She gave him a coy smile in the mirror and then pointed to their exit. “Twenty minutes and we’ll be at our destination.”
Chapter 29
Perry was standing amidst numerous security monitors in the control room on the ground floor of the Aeneid Corporation. On the brief flight from Phoenix to Anaheim on Ritter’s company jet, Perry had changed into his usual suit and dress slacks, his two Sig P229 pistols riding on shoulder holsters.
The double doors swung over and Aeneid’s new security chief walked in, having recently received his promotion after Drake’s demise. He moved alongside Perry, who was still busy staring at the monitors.
“My name’s Seth Garretson, head of security. Mr. Ritter informed me of your arrival.”
Perry gave him a sideways glance, his forehead creasing. “Seth—that sounds like the name of a fucking banker. You ever done mop-up operations like this before?”
Seth rolled his shoulders back, a smug grin issuing forth from his lips. “More than a few times in several c
ountries.”
“Good, ’cause I want you to impress the shit out of me by doing exactly what I tell you to—got it?” he said, inching closer to Seth, who took a slight step back.
Seth looked over his shoulder, pointing to the monitors. “We’ve got cameras on every entrance in the lobby, sub-basement, and exit doors of the entire building as well as in each elevator. If someone tries to breach the place, we’ll see it.”
“What about the terminals where files can be opened?”
Seth tapped his finger on a gray monitor to the far left. “Only one place in the entire facility—the mainframe on the fifth floor. It has three levels of security doors and the guards have been doubled. All of the entrances have been sealed except in the front lobby. The stairwells, rooftop, and fire escapes are all locked up tighter than a camel’s ass in a sandstorm.”
Perry placed his hands on his hips. “How many men do you have at your disposal?”
“Eighteen ex-military with extensive experience and then a dozen more of our regular security guards who will go where they’re needed.”
Perry ran through all the figures in his head and then studied the black-and-white images on the screens before him. Good thing Mitch is a fucking redneck. He’ll be out of his element in the city. That woman is the wild card though. She’s probably tugging him along for the ride, giving his pathetic life some sense of purpose. She’s the one who could slip by if we missed something.
Ritter walked in and moved between the two men, causing Seth’s facial muscles to quiver as he stepped aside.
“Has my man provided everything you need?” said Ritter, running his tongue over his capped teeth.
