The Denali Deception

by Ernest Dempsey

  "Keep your eyes behind us," Sean said as he backed up and then shifted the car into drive. "Let's see if he follows us."

  Chapter 20

  Washington

  Adriana sat across the boardroom-style table, probing Emily and President Dawkins with a questioning gaze.

  "I'm sure you have thought of this, sir, but how in the world did that guy get that weapon into the ballroom?" Her query was one the president had, indeed, thought about. "I figured your security teams would have gone through everywhere, checking everything multiple times."

  They'd moved from the room with a cot to a makeshift boardroom. It looked much like the other, the major difference being there was a television hanging from the wall and a table in the center. Other than that, the same sterile lighting and cinder block walls were standard decor.

  "They do that everywhere I go," Dawkins said. "No way they wouldn't have done it this time as well."

  "That means someone on the security team either screwed up or was in on it," Emily said.

  "None of my Secret Service men would have been involved. I trust every single one of them like they were my own children."

  "Sometimes children disobey their parents."

  The president sighed. "I see what you're saying. Believe me, I do. But these men wouldn't have had anything to do with it."

  "Okay," Adriana said, "then who else was involved with making sure the ballroom and hotel were secure?"

  Dawkins shook his head, bewildered. "I don't know. Maybe they had some people from the CIA and FBI go through and check it out. That would have been out of the ordinary, but not impossible."

  "We need to know the names of everyone who went through that building," Emily said. "And I want to see the surveillance tapes from the previous two days before your speech."

  "They're already looking at the footage," Dawkins said. He put his hand on Emily's shoulder in an attempt to ease her temper.

  A knock came at the door.

  "Yes?" Dawkins said.

  "It's Agent Caldwell, sir."

  "Come on in."

  The door opened, and a tall man with mocha skin wearing a black suit and tie stepped in. He set a file down in front of the president.

  "The man the police shot in the alley. He's the one behind the shooting, sir."

  Dawkins opened the folder and flipped through a series of black-and-white photos.

  "These from the security cameras?"

  "Yes, sir," Caldwell said with a nod. "You can see he snuck into the sound booth carrying this case." He tapped on the image of the suspect carrying what looked almost like a musical instrument case. "This was taken the morning of the shooting."

  "Who is he?"

  Adriana and Emily leaned closer to get a look at the images.

  Caldwell hesitated.

  Sensing his bodyguard's reluctance, Dawkins reassured him it would be okay. "Speak freely, Son. I trust these two every bit as much as I trust you. They'll be fine."

  Caldwell nodded. "Yes, sir. His name was Special Agent Terry Kendricks."

  The three at the table raised their collective eyebrows. Dawkins turned his head to look up at Caldwell.

  "Which agency?"

  "CIA, sir. Our team is on the phone with Langley as we speak. We'll know more in the coming hours."

  Dawkins flipped the images back onto the table and leaned back in his chair. He put his hands behind his head and looked into the ceiling. "So, now we have CIA agents working against us."

  "He had clearance, sir. That's how he was able to walk right into the ballroom. We still don't have a motive."

  "I don't care about motives," Dawkins said. "Keep up the good work, Caldwell. Thank you."

  The agent nodded and slipped back out into the hallway.

  Emily and Adriana stared at the president, eager to hear what he would say concerning the new revelation.

  He thought for a minute before speaking. "What we really need to know is who this guy was working for."

  "Didn't your bodyguard just say he was CIA?" Emily asked.

  "Yes, that's where he worked. There's more to this than meets the eye, though. CIA agents don't usually just go rogue like this. Someone else put him up to this."

  He slid the images and file over to Emily so she could take a closer look.

  "This was sloppy," she said after poring over the pages. "Really sloppy."

  Adriana looked at the images as Emily finished each one. "Looks like he didn't care if he was spotted by the cameras."

  "Right. He made no effort to hide his face or anything."

  "Almost like he wanted to be caught."

  "Wanted to be caught?" Dawkins asked.

  Emily nodded. "Sometimes we come across those types. They commit crimes in such a way that they have almost no chance of succeeding. Have you done anything recently that would have angered someone in the CIA, perhaps given them a reason to come after you?"

  "Not that I know of."

  Adriana flicked her eyebrows. "I suppose it could be politically motivated, then. Maybe he just didn't like your policies."

  "Could be," Emily said. "But these guys go through a number of psychological assessments before they're given a job. Their training is also extremely rigorous. If Kendricks had a screw loose, someone would have picked up on it by now."

  Adriana picked up one of the photos and stared at it for a long moment. "There's a distant, vapid look in his eyes."

  "Evil," Dawkins said.

  "Maybe. It's also a look of someone who knows their number is up."

  Emily read through his dossier and looked up at the other two. "No family. Parents are both dead. Wife left him six years ago. Never had any children."

  "Sounds like the perfect trigger man," Adriana said.

  "For who?" Dawkins asked.

  Emily jumped on the question. "I know you have a team in place trying to figure that out, sir. If it's the same to you, I'd like to put a few of my own agents on it. I know they can be trusted. My unit is tighter than—"

  "Thank you for the thought," Dawkins cut her off. "But we aren't sure Axis hasn't been infiltrated yet, either. Remember the issue with Sean?"

  She'd almost forgotten. Emily blushed, embarrassed by the issue.

  Dawkins reached out his hand again and put it on her shoulder. "Don't worry. I'm sure it will all come out in the wash sooner or later."

  Adriana knew the relationship between President Dawkins and Emily was beyond the point of professional. They'd been seeing each other—as time allowed—for the better part of a few years. Somehow, they'd managed to keep it out of public view. Adriana wondered if they would ever take the relationship out for a spin. She had a feeling the American public wouldn't mind.

  "Still, sir," Emily said, "you need someone else on this. I would be happy to investigate myself."

  Dawkins looked surprised at the offer. He pursed his lips as he considered. "Very well, but take Adriana with you. You may need someone to have your back."

  "Thank you, sir. We'll figure out who is behind this and bring them to justice."

  "I'm sure you will."

  Adriana and Emily left the room and walked down the corridor. It was lined with Secret Service on both sides every few yards all the way to the steel elevator doors at the end.

  When the two women got on the elevator, Emily pressed one of the buttons. A moment later, the lift began going up.

  "So, where do we start?" Adriana asked.

  "I already have. Kendricks's file was clean, for the most part. He had a couple of ordinary bank accounts, a home in the suburbs, even a gym membership in spite of the fact he could work out at Langley whenever he wanted."

  "You said for the most part."

  "Mmhmm. I did a little digging before I came in. He had two other accounts that were less on the up and up. One was in Costa Rica. The other in Nicaragua."

  "Not the Caymans?"

  Emily shook her head. "That's usually the first place people think of when they want to hide money fr
om the federal government. After the big takedown of all those guys a few years ago with accounts in Switzerland, Cayman, and Lichtenstein, it seems the new trend is to dump money in lesser-known locations."

  Adriana processed the information. A dozen ideas ripped through her head. One stood out more than the others. Sean had offshore accounts. Tommy may have as well, though she knew less about his personal finances. While Sean kept a stash of money in his Chattanooga safe house, he also had a significant portion of money deposited in a Swiss bank account. She stuffed that thought back in her mind. Getting Sean's money wasn't the most important item on the docket. Finding out why Kendricks had offshore accounts was higher on the priority list.

  "Can you access the Kendricks accounts?" Adriana asked.

  "That's just it. Those banks are super tight when it comes to giving out access to their customers' accounts. It's why people go to them. Everyone knows that if you put money into one of those banks, they're going to keep it a secret. At least they'll do their best. That means we really have no way of figuring out where the money came from. And I'm sure whoever made the deposits—if it wasn't Kendricks—did a thorough job of cleaning up the paper trail."

  "So, you don't have any way of figuring out who made the deposits?"

  "I didn't say that." Emily turned her head and flashed a mischievous smirk. "Kendricks would have had associates, coworkers, maybe even some drinking buddies. First, we'll interview those people, find out more about the man. Then we can start to break down any clandestine meetings he may have had before the assassination attempt. If someone is pulling the strings, there will either be a paper trail or a list of people he had to meet. Sooner or later, the house of cards will come tumbling down."

  "What if there was a way to make all that happen faster?" Adriana asked.

  The elevator came to a stop, and the door opened. They stepped out into a long corridor lined with big white-framed windows. Heavy golden curtains hung on either side of each.

  As they walked forward, Adriana turned her head and looked outside. The pristine White House lawn stretched down to a row of bushes and trees surrounded by a black wrought-iron fence. The grass looked like lush green carpet.

  "Hold that thought until we're in my car," Emily said.

  She led the way through the halls, security checkpoints, and back out to where she'd parked in a secret lot behind the presidential mansion.

  Once they were in her car, she reached under the steering wheel and pressed a hidden button. A few seconds later, a voice came through the speakers. "Device check complete. No threat detected."

  Adriana's eyebrows stitched together. "Was that an onboard bug detection system?"

  Emily flashed a grin. "Yep. You can never be too careful. The car is clean. Finish your thought from the elevator. You were saying something about getting the Kendricks investigation done faster?"

  Adriana snapped back to what she was saying. "Yes. There may be a way to hurry things up a bit."

  "How do you plan on doing that?"

  "Tommy's lab assistants."

  Emily's interest piqued. "The kids?"

  "They typically specialize in doing historical research, forensics, things like that. But they might be able to hack into one of those systems and find where the money came from."

  "Sounds like a long shot."

  "It is. They may not be able to help, but while we're tracking down leads, they could at least give it a try. We don't even have to tell them what it's for. I'm sure they'll be happy to help. After all, they're lying low right now and probably bored out of their minds."

  Emily eased the car out onto the street and accelerated. She didn't like the idea of having ordinary civilians help out with a case, especially one that involved a presidential assassination attempt.

  After deliberating on the issue for a minute, she nodded. "Okay, do it. But remember, this has to stay quiet. No one can know they're doing this for me or the president. Understood?"

  "Absolutely. All the kids need to know is what we're looking for. I won't tell them anything else."

  Emily sighed. "Let's just hope they can find what we're looking for before anything else happens."

  Chapter 21

  Auburn

  Yuri watched the two Americans leave the Seward museum and return to their car. He'd turned on his car's motor three times while they were inside just to warm the interior. The gauge on the dashboard said the temperature outside was only 18 degrees Fahrenheit.

  He hated the cold.

  Growing up in Russia, he'd spent much of his life in sub-freezing temperatures. One of the benefits of working for the government was that he got out of the country to warmer climates, occasionally even to tropical places, though those were few and far between.

  Some people thought that since he'd spent his life in the cold, he would be used to it. The truth was he never grew accustomed to it. As a child, seeing his mother and sister freezing on what passed for a bed in their tiny Moscow apartment had only served to build up his distaste for winter.

  There were times when snow would blow through cracks in the windows and form little piles on the creaky wooden floor. After the fall of communism, things didn't get better for many years. Food was scarce, heating fuel was even more so, and no one had much hope for anything better. And then there was his dad's reckless spending on booze.

  The Western world had applauded the Russian people for dismantling the Soviet Union. It had welcomed Russia into the family of nations with open arms and promises of riches and prosperity.

  Those two things never came for most Russian citizens.

  Now, both of his parents were dead, and his sister was lost on the streets of Moscow. She'd never had a chance: a poor, pretty blonde girl with a toned body made an easy target for the city's seedy underworld.

  The Americans' car stopped as it was backing out of its parking spot, and Yuri's attention snapped back to the moment. He kept facing forward toward a small cinema at the end of the street, carefully eying the other vehicle.

  Why had the driver stopped so abruptly? Did one of the Americans forget something inside the museum? Or worse, had he been spotted?

  Yuri knew that if he panicked and took off, that could send a signal to the Americans that he was watching them. So, he sat perfectly still and waited. After nearly a minute, the other car pulled out of the parking area and drove away.

  When the Americans were out of sight, he picked up a tablet from the passenger seat and pressed a button. The screen flashed to life, and after a couple of seconds a map appeared with a blinking blue dot in the middle.

  The dot moved down one of the streets and hung a right, heading toward the interstate highway.

  The tracking device was working perfectly. That would make following the Americans much easier. The question was, what did they find in the museum? And why did they leave after such a short visit? Yuri didn't need to know where they were headed. That answer would come soon enough.

  He started the car and was about to shift into gear when he noticed the dot on the screen make another right. It was coming his direction.

  Yuri frowned. Why would they come back this way?

  The blinking dot grew closer. He considered pulling out onto the street and driving away. He calmed his panicked thoughts as his training had taught, and picked up the tablet once more. Staring at the screen as if watching a movie, he only watched the Americans drive by with his peripheral vision.

  Yuri never saw their faces and whether or not the other two were looking at him. For the moment, he didn't care. He just focused on the tablet.

  A moment later they were gone, turning back onto one of the other streets and disappearing from view.

  Yuri waited until they'd turned again toward the interstate before he pulled out onto the street and drove off.

  He swallowed hard, driving the lump in his throat back down into his gut. His chest rose slowly, taking in a deep breath. "Stay calm, Yuri," he told himself. "They don't know you're here or who
you even are. Just complete the mission."

  At the street where the Americans turned right, Yuri hung a left onto a side street and drove until he found an old church. He turned into the parking lot and steered his vehicle back behind the building—out of sight from the main road.

  There, he waited and watched the tablet as the blue dot circled back around through the downtown square one more time.

  "Stupid Americans," he thought. "So predictable."

  The blue dot passed by where he'd been sitting for the last several hours and then made the same turns again, only this time the other car finally stayed on course down Highway 20.

  Yuri waited patiently for another five minutes until he was certain the Americans weren't coming back around again and then took off on the same route. If they'd found something at the Seward museum, he didn't know. Sooner or later, he'd make his move, but only when the timing was right.

  Chapter 22

  Washington

  Drew Porter took a bite of his Reuben. He stared out the foggy window of his favorite DC deli as he slowly chewed the corned beef, sauerkraut, and rye. He'd released his men to go and do as they pleased until they heard from him. They understood that could mean hours or months. With this particular mission, his only request was that they stick around the area and not wander off too far.

  Porter couldn't explain it, but he had a feeling he and his team would be needed again soon.

  The television on the wall in the corner was stuck on the national news network. The anchors had been talking about the assassination attempt pretty much nonstop since Porter walked in. They kept showing the video of the mystery woman as she tackled the president just before the bullets shattered his podium and would have surely killed him on the spot. Porter lost count of how many times they cycled that footage through.

  He took a sip of his drink and swallowed the bite of sandwich before taking another.