Sam took the cash, without bothering to put any of it into his wallet. “Thanks. I’ll be back in a second.”
“Where are you going?”
“That general store over there.”
Ben asked, “What are you going to buy?”
“A cell phone.”
“Really?” Ben’s eyes flashed. “We have eighty-five dollars to get us from here to North Dakota and you want to spend it on a cell phone?”
Sam smiled. “Yeah, why not?”
Ben sighed. “All right. You want me to come?”
“No. That will only make it more likely someone will recognize us later when the FBI starts to show our faces everywhere. You can wait here. Actually, better yet, head over to the train station, and find out what it costs to take a train to the next stop.”
“Which direction?”
Sam said, “I don’t care. Whichever way the next train’s heading.”
“Okay.”
Sam walked into the general store and returned a couple minutes later as the proud owner of a brand-new Nokia 3110C cellular phone – an updated version of the original popular Nokia from a decade earlier, and a tribute to those who just wanted a cell phone to make calls.
Ben returned. “I hope you didn’t spend all our money. There’s a train leaving for Martinsburg in half an hour. It costs nine dollars-fifty for a single ticket.”
“Great. That’ll do.”
Ben’s eyes lowered. As he ran them across the strange device in Sam’s hand, his face crunched up as though he was examining an alien device. “What is that?”
Sam lifted it up proudly. “This is what forty-eight dollars and fifty cents gets you these days in cellular technology.”
“What do you do with it?” Ben asked. “There’s no LCD screen. How do you access the internet?”
“You don’t.”
“Then what did you buy it for?”
“To make a phone call.”
“Really?” Ben was incredulous. “We’re down to thirty-six dollars fifty, because you want to make a phone call!”
Sam shrugged. “It’s an important call.”
“Who are you going to ring?”
“A good friend of mine. She’s good with computers. I have an idea she can help us out of this mess…”
Ben warned, “They might be tracking her calls.”
“Not this one.”
“Are you sure? They are the government; they can authorize anything they want. If this thing’s as big as you think it is, they won’t let a little thing like the Fourth Amendment get in the way of things.”
Sam shook his head. “Doesn’t matter if they do or don’t. No one can hack my friend’s system.”
“He’s that good, is he?”
“No. He’s a she. And she’s even better than that.”
Ben’s reply was immediate and emphatic, “Every phone can be hacked.”
“Not this one.”
“All right. If you say so.”
Sam said, “I do say so. Now pass me the photo of your family. I need to send her a copy.”
Ben handed it to him.
Sam stared at the old cell phone. It had an integrated 1.3-megapixel camera with up to 8x digital zoom that was considered extraordinary back in its heyday in early 2007. He placed the 2.5 x 3.5-inch photo that Ben had given him onto a park table and tried to take a picture.
The phone made an audible click sound as it snapped the picture.
He stared at the screen trying to make out the image. The 1.8-inch display supported a maximum resolution of 128 × 160. It captured a basic outline of the image, but Sam doubted Elise could do much with its resolution.
Ben looked over his shoulder. “You think she can see that?”
“Probably not, but it’s worth a try. Hey, stand still for a moment.”
Ben looked at him. Sam took another picture. This time it was of Ben’s face.
“Hey, what was that for?”
“Sentimental value.”
“Right.”
Sam dialed a phone number by heart.
“Yes?” a soft, female voice answered.
“Elise, it’s Sam! I’m alive but I need help.”
“What’s new?” Elise replied, teasingly. “I hadn’t heard you were meant to be dead. Weren’t you heading off on a vacation while the Maria Helena’s replacement was being built at the Quonset Shipyard?”
“I was.” Sam glanced at Ben and smiled. “Something held me up.”
“Oh Sam, when will you learn to take a break?” she chided.
“I’m working on it but I need your help.”
“Sure, what do you need?”
“We’re about to catch a train to Martinsburg. I need you to order something to be delivered from there to North Dakota. Something big. Something that will fit in a shipping container if you know what I mean. Also, you might want to add some food and clothes for us.”
“Sam. Of all the places you want to go right now, you’ve chosen to visit her?”
Sam stared vacantly at a pair of mallards diving for fish upon the glistening surface of the Potomac River, his mind much further away, recalling fond times long since passed. He shook his head. “It’s not about her. I need answers and right now she might just be the only person who can provide them.”
“All right. I’ll organize a shipment delivered to Martinsburg to be loaded on the next freight train bound for North Dakota.” Sam heard the staccato of fingers on keys, typing in the background. “The next freight train leaves at 3 a.m. I’ll text you with details soon.”
“Thanks. Now, I need you to find everything you can find on a man named Ben Gellie. I’ll text you an image of his face and his last known address.”
“Okay, anything else?”
“Yeah. There’s a photo of Ben with his parents taken in the seventies. I need you to locate the cave for me.”
“Have you tried Googling the image?”
“Yeah. Elise, we’ve tried the usual paths. Now we need your expertise.”
“Okay. What about his parents. You want to know where they are now?”
“That would be great. Their names were John and Jenny Gellie. They have a record with the CIA, but I have no idea what it says. The FBI says they’re terrorists. Something they did a long time ago.”
“Do you have a last known address?”
“I’ll text it to you, but I’m not sure it will do you any good.”
“How come?”
“They moved in 1978.”
“Any idea where?”
“No. They faked their deaths in ‘78.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thanks, Elise.”
“Sam.” There was a slight hesitation in her voice.
“Yes?”
“This man, Ben Gellie, is he dangerous?”
“I don’t know,” Sam said, looking him right in the eye. “But right now, the FBI believes he’s the most dangerous person in the world.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Pentagon, Virginia
The Secretary of Defense picked up the phone.
Without preamble she said, “Tell me you’ve got his body.”
“I’m afraid not, ma’am,” replied Devereaux.
“And what about Sam Reilly?”
“His body’s missing too.”
“Really?” The secretary took a deep breath. “All right. They have a forty-hour head start. With no money and nowhere to go, they can’t have gotten too far.”
“Agreed.”
“And Devereaux…”
“Yes?”
“This time make certain he’s dead for Christ’s sake!”
“Yes ma’am.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Pentagon, Virginia
Tom Bower entered the private office at the Pentagon.
He had been picked up at the motel he’d slept at last night – although slept being the operative word, he did very little of it – while he awaited news direct from the helicopter wreck site
, and was escorted by Special Agent Ryan Devereaux back to the Pentagon. On the way, Devereaux had said very little. His tone, curt and dispassionate, made it clear that it wasn’t going to be a friendly meeting. Tom figured the guy’s team at the FBI was in trouble. After all, it was their stuff up that made them lose a suspected terrorist and eventually get his best friend, Sam Reilly, killed. Maybe they were looking for a scapegoat.
Well, that wasn’t going to be him. He and Sam’s only involvement was that they were leaving the Secretary of Defense’s office at the time the man was trying to escape. It wasn’t like any of them could have chosen to do anything different.
The hostage taker was the one with the Glock.
Tom ran his eyes across the room.
There was a single desk and a recliner chair with a set of thick Tuff-ties broken on the ground. The place was clearly an interrogation room – presumably the same one from which the fugitive, Ben Gellie, had escaped.
It was clearly meant to be an intimidation tactic. Tom bridled. Who did these guys think he was? It would take more than an unkempt interrogation room in the Pentagon to put him on edge. His father had been an admiral in the U.S. Navy, he’d spent six years flying helicopters in the marines, and seen active service in Afghanistan, Iraq, and Istanbul. Not to mention for the past decade he’d worked for Sam Reilly, which had exposed him to some of the greatest risks of his life.
Special Agent Devereaux threw a thick manila folder on the desk.
Tom opened it, taking it in at a glance. The file had no name, but a service number, rank, and proficiency marks. It might have looked like a school report card. This one was used for induction training in the military.
Tom leveled his contempt-filled gaze at Devereaux. “And this is?”
“Sam Reilly’s induction training records.”
“So?”
“What do you think?”
“I think my friend has a relatively high IQ, above average stamina, an inhuman fear of heights and enclosed spaces, and he can shoot better than ninety-nine out of every hundred soldiers out there.”
“That score makes him a better marksman than every nine-hundred and ninety-nine soldiers out of a thousand, who took the test.” Devereaux shook his head as though it was a personal afront. “In fact, in the year he completed his induction training he achieved the highest overall scores of any person on the course – not just his course – but any SEAL course that year.”
Tom shrugged. “So? I told you the guy was smart, tenacious, and patriotic.”
“Sure,” Devereaux said, leveling his dark brown eyes at him, with his palms held outward in a conciliatory gesture. “So now you see where we’re coming from?”
Tom crossed his arms. “Afraid not. You’d better explain it to me, because right now, all you’re doing is confirming what we already knew – America lost one of its greatest patriots.”
Devereaux stared at him through narrowed eyes. “You haven’t heard?”
“Heard what?”
“Our team reached the crash site early today – there were no bodies in the wreckage.”
Tom felt his heart thump. “Sam’s still alive?”
“It would appear so.” Devereaux sighed heavily. “And with him is Ben Gellie. So, now you must see my problem with Mr. Reilly.”
Tom was still focusing on the newfound knowledge that his friend was alive. “I’m afraid I still don’t get where you’re headed.”
“Well,” Devereaux said, picking up the manila folder. “What I see here is a man who graduated from the marines with the highest ability for hand to hand combat and weapons combat. He’s out there with my suspect, who we believe has no formal military training.”
“Again. So what?”
“So, don’t you think it’s a little hard to swallow that someone with no military training could keep someone with Sam Reilly’s background hostage, while they race through the wilderness?”
Tom expelled a deep breath. “You think he’s working with the terrorist?”
“I do, son.”
Tom shook his head. “You’re nuts.”
“The report doesn’t lie.”
“Yeah. Well, you know what else the report says here… Sam Reilly is one of the most disciplined, loyal, and trustworthy people on Earth. He would never betray his own country.”
Devereaux shook his head. “You really believe that, don’t you?”
Tom stood up. “I’m finished here. I suggest you get back to doing your job and try and locate your suspect and my friend.”
“Mr. Bower,” Devereaux said, his voice hard and menacing. “If you receive any word from Sam Reilly, be sure to contact me straight away. Anything you withhold from here on in could be considered treason, and given the stakes, I don’t think the FBI would look favorably on your chances of ever seeing the outside of a federal prison again.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“Not at all, Mr. Bower. I just wanted to be certain that I make myself clear.”
Tom opened the door. “Go do your job. I can see myself out.”
Devereaux shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
Tom reached the end of wedge three at the Pentagon, walked out the main doors, and into the visitor’s carpark. There he climbed into his rental car – a Toyota Camry – started the engine and drove off along Rotary Road.
A blue taxi came to an abrupt stop in front of him.
Tom had to jam on the brakes.
A woman with short brown hair got out. She wasn’t tall, but neither was she particularly short. She turned and walked toward him with a distinctive purpose in her stride.
She opened the passenger side door and got in.
Tom beamed with pleasure. “Hello Genevieve! You’re one hell of a nice sight to see!”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Drive,” she ordered without preamble.
Tom shifted his foot over to the accelerator. “Where to?”
“Take the next exit onto the Jefferson Davis highway. We have a flight to catch at Ronald Reagan National Airport.”
Tom smiled, happy to see his girl again and wishing that he had more time to embrace her. “Where are we headed?”
“Arkhangelsk Oblast, Russia.”
Tom grinned. “Obviously.”
He drove on, waiting for more of an explanation, but getting nothing but silence.
“All right,” he said, “I’ll bite. I hear the weather’s pretty cold in Arkhangelsk Oblast this time of year, so do you mind telling me what’s in Oblast?”
“The Bolshoi Zayatsky Island.”
Tom turned off the highway and into the airport. He pulled into the first parking bay, lifted the handbrake, and switched off the car. He turned and kissed her firmly on the lips, letting his lips linger there as long as he could, before she broke the embrace.
“Why are we going to Bolshoi Zayatsky Island, Genevieve?”
“Elise just contacted me. Sam’s alive. He needs our help.”
“He’s in Russia?”
“No. We don’t know where he is. It’s safer that way. Safer for everyone.”
Tom understood the principle of a stopgap in spy networks, but how this related to he and Sam, he couldn’t even guess. Still, he trusted the man with his life and was willing to give him a bit of room to work with. “What does he need?”
“He wants us to check out a lead. Something about his captor’s past, the reason the FBI thought he was a Russian terrorist, everything leads back to Bolshoi Zayatsky Island.”
Tom asked, “What’s on the island?”
“A two and a half thousand-year-old series of stone labyrinths.”
“Really?” Tom’s lips curled into a wry smile. “Did you mention that neither of us usually work archeological sites? Maybe we should contact Billy?”
Dr. Billy Swan was an expert archeologist and anthropologist, who had worked closely with Sam Reilly and his team on a number of occasions, specifically focusing on the ancient race known as the Master Builders.<
br />
She was also Tom’s ex-girlfriend.
Genevieve shook her head. “According to Elise, the ancient texts were written in Russian, so unless Billy took a recent crash course in the language, I’m the best bet to translate the texts written on the ancient ruins. Besides, she’s off the grid currently.”
Tom withheld a smile. “Elise already tried?”
Genevieve tilted her head, her lips parting in a coy smile that was entirely fake. “Yes, she already tried. We’re Sam’s second-best chance at working this out.”
“Okay.”
Genevieve went to open the door.
Tom reached over and stopped her. Leaning in close to Genevieve’s ear, he asked, “What does any of this have to do with Sam and his captor?”
Genevieve whispered, “Ben Gellie’s parents were allegedly leaders of a Russian terrorist organization. They followed an ancient Russian text that predicted an exact date and time for the ending of the present-day order of the world. There were multiple interpretations, but most pointed to a widespread plague that would decimate the Earth’s population of Homo sapiens, allowing another species to rise up from the ashes. The ancient site even referred to a virus, named the Phoenix Plague. By the looks of things, Ben’s parents attempted to make the prediction come true.”
“When was this supposed to take place?”
“Before the end of this year.”
“So what happened to Ben’s parents?”
“The CIA got lucky. Someone from within the cult’s team betrayed them. A black ops team was sanctioned to end their program back in 1975.”
“What went wrong?” Tom asked.
Genevieve said, “They destroyed the cult, but its two ringleaders – John and Jenny Gellie – somehow escaped.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Shenandoah National Park
The Boeing AH-64 Apache helicopter was built to be a predator.
It was an American built, twin-turboshaft attack helicopter with a tailwheel-type landing gear arrangement and a tandem cockpit for a crew of two, with the pilot sitting behind and above the co-pilot-come-gunner.
Powered by two General Electric T700 turboshaft engines with high-mounted exhausts on either side of the fuselage, the machine looked like an unearthly beast, designed for nothing but death. At its nose were sensors mounted for target acquisition and night vision systems. It was armed with a 1.18-inch M230 chain gun carried between the main landing gear, under the aircraft's forward fuselage, and four hardpoints mounted on stub-wing pylons carried a combination of AGM-114 Hellfire missiles and Hydra 70 rocket pods.
The Holy Grail (Sam Reilly Book 13) Page 11
