He shook his head. Now wasn’t the time to think about it. Based on his conversation with San, there was a good chance that he’d be hunting terrorists before the sun went down. The drive to Hillcrest might be his last opportunity to relax for a very long time.
San was in the briefing room, standing over a mosaic of satellite images and classified documents. He held his chin in his hand and stared at the table as if trying to piece together a puzzle.
It was a good sign. If he was able to focus so intently on the upcoming mission, he probably hadn’t tracked Eugene’s phone to Susana’s house.
“What are we looking at, boss?” Eugene said, taking a seat on the oak table.
“I have no idea.” San nodded at the collection of papers in front of him. “There are maps, surveillance photos, birthdates, credit histories…I don’t know where to start.”
Eugene grinned and leaned forward to grab a transcript from an interrogation. “Assembling target packages is worse than being tortured, in my experience. Why don’t you get a cup of coffee while I take a look?”
San exhaled slowly and clapped him on the back. “Thank you. I have to discuss a few things with Felicity, but I’ll be back to keep you company.”
Eugene scanned the page for a moment and frowned. “Do you mind sending the rest of the team down? The ones who can walk, I mean.”
“Of course.” San paused in the doorway. “By the way, did you see Doctor Wagner on your way in?”
Eugene shook his head.
San let out an impatient sigh. “The man isn’t on his own schedule anymore. I don’t know how long it will take him to learn that.”
The door closed, and Eugene stretched out on the table, using a stack of papers as a pillow. The interrogators had been thorough, compiling more information in a few days than he could have gathered in a year. They had even included notes regarding the prisoner’s state of mind during each session.
He tossed a page aside, letting it fall to the floor. The problem with these Katharos agents was immediately apparent—they simply didn’t know anything. Their network had been compartmentalized to the extreme, and the agents used old-fashioned dead drops to transport and receive weapons and instructions. On top of that, everyone in the organization used code names when referring to each other and aliases when interacting with the rest of the world. Though Katharos had suffered a substantial loss of manpower during Jarrod’s attack on the Siberian headquarters, the infrastructure that allowed Katharos agents to remain in the shadows for decades still remained.
Even the all-seeing eye of the NSA had failed to root out the remaining Katharos agents and prevent the attack on New Orleans. And the Intel about the attack at Waikiki had been sheer luck—a gift from a disgruntled terrorist.
Eugene read a corroborated report between two interrogators about “something” happening in Atlanta. He put the report aside, stared up at the ceiling, and exhaled slowly. The failed attack at Waikiki would have forced the remaining terrorists underground—which meant any information gathered during the interrogation would be potentially useless.
The door slid open, and Nicole limped in. Her left arm was in a sling, and she held a steaming mug of coffee in the other. “Compliments of Director Torres,” she said, setting the mug beside him.
Eugene sat up and surveyed his team. Nicole had seen better days and would be no use in the field, but her experience hunting terrorists in Israel could prove invaluable during mission-planning. Eli Graham and Yuri Sokolov looked healthy enough, though Eugene knew they were suffering inside. Yuri was tormented by the fact that he hadn’t been present at Philadelphia. He’d been out of the country, visiting with family and friends and mourning the loss of his father. As the team medic, he felt a pang of illogical guilt over Kacen’s gruesome injuries, even though his presence during the mission would have done nothing to prevent them.
For Eli, the situation was even more complicated. He and Janson were close friends, and he felt her absence more poignantly than anyone else in the building. When he learned why Janson had left, he had nearly followed in her footsteps. To him, Eugene and San’s cooperation with Jarrod was an act of betrayal. But thankfully, Eli decided to stay. He was angry, bitter, and cold, but he was still in the fight.
Getting to his feet, Eugene handed out stacks of paper to the operatives. The tension in the room was palpable, but he knew the operatives would work as hard as they could. The stakes were too high and their common enemy was too dangerous for anything else. “This train-wreck of data comes from our friends at the CIA. Using methods you and I probably don’t want to know about, they’ve convinced our prisoners to tell us everything they know. And I mean everything. I need your help identifying potential targets.”
The team spread out and began sorting through the documents. Nicole and Eugene occupied the table, while Eli and Yuri spread their assigned paperwork across the floor. Other than the sound of pages turning, the room fell silent.
Nearly thirty minutes later, Yuri was the first to speak. “We’re getting nowhere. This is pointless.”
Nicole looked up from a list of phone records and frowned. “It isn’t pointless. We need to locate another terrorist or data cache if we want to stop the next attack.”
“That’s not what I mean.” He stood and stretched his arms above his head then cast a sidelong glance at Eli. “I haven’t been here as long as some of you, but I know who we have downstairs, and what he’s capable of.”
“You mean Jarrod,” Eli said without looking up.
“Well…yes.” Yuri hesitated before continuing on. “And I’m not saying I understand everything about him or the ways he’s hurt you, Eli. But he tracked down the Katharos headquarters on his own. If he’s here, we should use him.”
Instead of responding, Eli glared at Eugene for a moment before returning his attention to the document in his hands.
Eugene leaned back in his chair and chewed his lower lip. He couldn’t argue with Yuri’s logic, but he had been hoping to delay the inevitable meeting between Jarrod and the rest of the team.
Suddenly, he remembered the look on Janson’s face when she discovered the wounded terrorists in Hawaii—the stolid mask that couldn’t completely hide the pain beneath. “You’re right, Yuri. We should be using every resource available to us, regardless of our feelings.” He strode across the room and accessed a security terminal. “Felicity, could you bring Jarrod to the briefing room in Sub-Level One?”
There was a long pause then an uneasy reply. “Uh…are you sure about that?”
“Positive.”
Eugene could feel the heat of Eli’s gaze as he returned to his seat. Instinctively, Yuri moved away from the doorway, but Eli remained on the floor, still glaring in Eugene’s direction.
When the door opened, Nicole struggled to her feet and backed toward the wall. She shifted her weight onto her uninjured leg and clenched her right hand into a fist, ready to aid her teammates if a fight broke out.
Soft footsteps preceded Felicity’s arrival. She paused and studied the operatives one by one. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. But, uh…yeah. I’ll just leave him with you, I guess.”
Felicity skirted past Jarrod, who entered the room with his shoulders back and his head level.
He took a deep breath, then glanced at Eli and spoke in low, even tones. “What is it you want from me?”
Eli slowly rose to his feet and held his hands at his sides. His right index finger twitched as if pulling the trigger on an invisible rifle. “It wasn’t my idea to bring you up here.” He nodded at Eugene. “Ask him.”
Jarrod didn’t budge. “I’m aware Eugene summoned me. My question remains: what do you want?”
Eli’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure you want to know?”
“Will you kids shut the hell up?” Eugene wiped his face with his hands and stared at the overhead light. “For crying out loud; I sound like Daron.” He shifted in his seat and rapped a knuckle against the table. “Jarrod, I need y
ou to take a look at this.”
Jarrod approached the table and began spreading out the stacks of paper with his hands. His eyes darkened, filling with metamaterial, and after a long moment, he said, “Where did you get this?”
“The Katharos landscaping crew in Hawaii. They’ve been singing like canaries since they arrived at the interrogation room, but we haven’t been able to identify a follow-on target.”
Jarrod flipped through the next stack of documents, glancing at each page for less than a second before setting it aside. “Are there phone records?”
“Here,” Nicole said, relaxing a little. She handed him a packet of nine pages stapled together.
“Thank you.” Jarrod tore the staple out and studied the lists of numbers and addresses. He set them aside then turned around to study the pages on the floor. Two minutes passed before he held up a paper and said, “Ithaca.”
Eugene frowned. “New York?”
“That’s correct.”
“Alright, enlighten me. What’s in New York?”
“A veterinary surgery center, it seems.” He handed Eugene the paper. “There are three separate phone calls to the same area code. And one of the prisoners reported having a wound treated at an animal hospital.”
Eugene shook his head. “What does that have to do with bio-weapons?”
Jarrod hesitated. “I’ve been programmed with instructions for producing expedient biological weapons. Animal hospitals have less security and oversight than traditional hospitals, and they offer diverse species for the mutation and production of bacterial and viral weapons.”
“Holy crap…” Eugene murmured. He studied the document and frowned. “He didn’t list a specific clinic. If we take you to Ithaca, do you think you could identify the right place?”
“Yes.”
Eugene patted him on the shoulder. “Good job, buddy. You can head back downstairs, and I’ll let you know when we’re ready to roll out.” Eugene thought for a moment then added, “Unless…somebody wants to get something off his chest?”
Eli didn’t take the bait. At least, not at first. But as Jarrod approached the door, he shook his head and spoke through clenched teeth. “You’re not even sorry, are you?”
Smothering silence descended on the room like a heavy blanket. Jarrod stopped short and glanced over his shoulder then turned to face Eli. “You’ll have to be more specific.”
“Eli, this isn’t the time for this,” Nicole put in, but Eugene held up his hand.
“It’s okay. Let him talk.”
Eli wrinkled his nose, not wanting Eugene’s support. “You don’t know what ‘sorry’ means? Is that what you’re telling me, tin-head?” He snorted. “It means you feel regret—that you wish you hadn’t ripped Ford’s head off.”
“Feeling regret and wishing to change something that cannot be changed are different things.” Jarrod raised his chin. “But no, I do not regret killing Agent Ford.”
The muscles in Eli’s jaw flexed, and a vein on his forehead began to pulse. “I didn’t think so.”
“I regret,” Jarrod said, speaking over him, “volunteering for Project Nerium. If I hadn’t, I would have never met Agent Ford. I regret falling in love with my wife. If I hadn’t, she would not have given birth to my son, and I would not have been forced to watch him die.”
Jarrod took a step forward, and his voice rose slightly. “I regret beating a man to death before my eighteenth birthday. I regret slaughtering tens of thousands of terrorists. I regret that my mother died giving birth to me. I have known nothing but violence and death since the moment I took my first breath.”
Some of the tension left Eli’s shoulders, and he stared at the floor.
Jarrod went on. “I regret my entire life, but I cannot change a single moment of the past. And if I could, I would not stop myself from killing Agent Ford.” He shook his head. “I would stop myself from ever existing—before I could bring any pain into the world.”
For a long moment, there was silence. Eli took shallow breaths, wanting to speak, but unable to find the words. Finally, Jarrod turned away and said, “I can’t change the past, but I can change who I will become. Which is why I am here and why I will go to Ithaca.”
When the steel door slid shut, the temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. Eugene watched Eli for several seconds, but the younger operative kept his eyes downcast.
“I’ll get the Op approved,” Eugene said. “Eli and Yuri, meet me at the Helipad in sixty minutes. Civilian attire and concealed weapons only.”
The operatives nodded and moved toward the door.
“And Eli?”
The sniper finally met his team leader’s gaze.
“You can hold grudges if you want, but when you’re on the ground, you follow my orders and keep your head in the here-and-now, got it?”
He took a deep breath, swallowed, and said, “Yes, sir.”
16
Ithaca, New York
The woman behind the counter raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry…who do you work for?”
Eugene twisted the knob on a door labeled, Employees Only. It was locked. “We’re with the, uh, Department of Animal Wellness Department. We just need to take a quick look around.”
Jarrod shook his head. “No, we don’t. This isn’t the place.”
Eugene spun around. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
The woman began tapping her foot. “What are you gentlemen looking for, exactly? I might be able to point you in the right direction.”
Eugene thanked her but declined to share any information about their investigation. Jarrod was already on his way out the door.
When Eugene caught up to him, Jarrod said, “This would go much faster if I searched the city on my own. I wouldn’t need to travel undercover.”
Eugene thought for a moment. “I tell you what; why don’t you head west from here, and I’ll take the rest of the team east. We’ll cover more ground if we split up.”
“Sounds good to me.” Jarrod stripped off his jacket, t-shirt, and jeans. The black metamaterial on his body spread to envelope his head, and his figure turned translucent before fading from view.
“Real subtle, Jarrod.”
“We don’t have time for subtle. I’ll call you if I find something.”
Stooping, Eugene gathered Jarrod’s clothes and checked both ways before crossing the street and climbing into the back seat of a gray SUV.
“Where to, chief?” Yuri asked.
“East. We’ll visit the shelter by Cornell, next.”
Eli shifted in his seat. “You sure we can trust Jarrod to…act responsibly on his own?”
“Absolutely not.” Eugene stared out the window at the foliage of a maple tree, which had changed to brilliant shades of yellow and red with the arrival of autumn. “But we’re trying to find a biological weapons facility, so I’m willing to risk it.”
As if to emphasize his statement, the team drove past a white bus with a red cross on the side. Men and women wearing respirators were handing out packets of electrolytes, to be given to anyone showing symptoms of the airborne strain of Cholera. The pathogen had spread rapidly throughout the country, infecting tens of thousands in the span of a few days. Mortality was low—the bio-weapon killed at a rate comparable to the flu—but the impact on the economy couldn’t be overstated. Schools, businesses, government offices, and public transportation had all shuttered their doors in an attempt to stop the spread of the contagion. The pathogen’s capacity to reduce its victims to a dried-out husk of their former selves had a tremendous psychological impact, and the media was more than happy to share graphic images of men and women who had died of dehydration.
But clean water was plentiful in the United States, and the CDC had already begun distributing vaccines. In time, Americans would recover their health, but the economy would suffer for years to come.
And for surrounding nations, the outlook was even bleaker. With less clean water and fewer medical
resources, nations like Haiti, Nicaragua, Guyana, and Honduras would soon be facing unimaginable death tolls.
And the losses would be exponentially higher if Katharos succeeded in releasing another bio-weapon. Eugene gripped the edge of his seat and leaned forward. “Step on it, Yuri.”
Jarrod sprinted past a row of vehicles that were stopped at a red light then leapt over a sedan as he crossed the intersection. He turned east, disobeying Eugene’s orders, and headed toward Cornell University. It was the most logical place to begin his search; a secret Katharos laboratory would be much easier to hide among the various university research centers than within a private veterinary practice downtown.
And, while en route to Ithaca, he had borrowed a laptop and studied satellite imagery of the area. He identified the most viable target—a steel structure, built fourteen months ago, just east of the Cornell campus. He kept the information to himself because millions of lives hung in the balance. The rest of the team would only slow him down, and he doubted they would approve of his…methods.
The ground sloped upward, and Jarrod picked up speed to catch up with a delivery truck. He grabbed a railing beside the roll-up door, lifted himself, and rested his left heel on the bumper. Trees and shrubs encroaching on the edges of the road passed in a blur, and the smell of manure hung in the air like a thick, invisible fog. The truck rumbled past the manicured lawns, greenhouses, and barns surrounding the university. To the east, the pastoral serenity gave way to the tree-covered hills of Hammond Hill State Forest.
Jarrod observed the natural beauty and immediately dismissed it as irrelevant to his mission. He lowered his head, counting the seconds as the truck drew closer to the steel structure. It rumbled past a cluster of spruce and pine trees, and Jarrod tensed. When the trees gave way to a picturesque, grass-covered hillside, he pushed off and landed in a shallow ditch. He rolled, somersaulting seven, then eight times to dissipate his momentum. When he finally came to a stop, he was covered with dirt and green stains. To an outside observer, the patches of discoloration would seem to float in the air, giving shape to his otherwise invisible form. He didn’t bother to remove them—there was no time.
Heir to the Nightmare Page 8
