The meter ticked up with each mile, before the cab finally stopped in front of the FBI office. It took all of Izzy’s money, and five more dollars from Maddie. That left about four dollars for dinner. Not a lot of choices, he thought as they walked to the metal detector in the lobby. He put his backpack on the conveyer belt, along with his laptop, and Maddie her purse. Once through, they walked up to the receptionist who sat behind a thick glass window, undoubtedly bulletproof. Made him wish he was on that side of it.
“Hi,” Izzy said to the woman. “I was wondering if you know where I can find Agent Carillo? He works out of the San Francisco office. He’s supposed to be here on a case.”
The woman typed something into her computer as two men walked in, one a uniformed police officer, another a man in a suit, both talking about the Redskins game. The receptionist saw the agent, saying, “Bradshaw. You know if there’s a Carillo working here from the San Francisco field office?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Then can we speak to someone else?” Maddie asked. “It’s important.”
“I’ll take it, Suzie,” the man in the suit said. “Special Agent Bradshaw,” he told them. “What seems to be the problem?”
Izzy hesitated, only because he knew what the agent’s reaction was going to be. Then again, what choice did he have? “We’re being chased. These guys came to my apartment and to hers, and they’re trying to kill us, because we knew the guy who was arrested for killing the senator.”
The agent glanced at the officer, then back at them, his expression one of disbelief, if Izzy was any judge. “Senator Grogan?”
“Yeah. We have a picture of the guy. Show him, Maddie.”
She took out her phone, brought up the picture.
“This guy was chasing you?”
“Yeah. We sent an e-mail to my computer, saying we were going to meet at the coffee shop. And then we waited across the street, and when they got there, they saw us and Maddie took their picture. And that’s when they chased us.”
“Right . . .” This last was drawn out, as the agent reached back, rubbed his neck. “Because you knew the guy who killed the senator. I’m not sure I understand.”
“Oh my God,” Maddie said. “You’re right, Izzy. They’re not going to believe us.”
The agent looked at her, his gaze narrowed. “What’d you call him?”
Maddie froze, worry clouding her eyes.
“No, you’re not in trouble,” the agent said.
“Izzy . . . ?” she repeated.
He turned to the receptionist asking, “Can you get the names on that BOLO that came out on this?”
She typed something in the computer. “Madeline Boucher and Alvin Isenhart, AKA Izzy. If found, contact SA Carillo. He’s apparently working out of HQ.”
The agent looked at them, asking, “That you?”
Izzy and Maddie nodded.
“Contact HQ,” he told the receptionist. “Let Carillo know we have those two subjects at the field office.”
Chapter 32
December 10
Washington, D.C.
If Carillo thought using his red lights and sirens would have gotten him to the field office any faster, he would’ve used them. Unfortunately some minor fender bender had had the entire street backed up, while everyone craned their heads to see what was going on, turning a ten-minute drive into twenty. When he finally made it, he found the two witnesses in an interview room, waiting.
Maddie smiled when she saw him, probably glad to see a familiar face. The kid, Izzy, didn’t look so hot. “You okay?” Carillo asked him, taking a seat at the table.
“Just wondering if we’re wasting our time.”
“You tell me.”
“Well, you’re not writing anything down.”
“One, I haven’t asked you anything yet. Two, I want to hear what you say. Trust me, you’ll be telling this so many times before we’re through, it’ll make your head spin.”
“No one else believes us.”
“Well, they don’t know what I know. So lay it on me.”
And the kid couldn’t shut up after that. Everything seemed to check out just as Carillo thought it would. Until Carillo said, “Tell me about the computer.”
“Hollis’s computer?”
From what Carillo had read in the reports, Hollis, the alleged shooter, had been the one dabbling in the dark arts of Internet hacking. Which made him wonder why Izzy would even question which computer. “Is there another computer we should be looking at?”
Izzy swallowed. “Mine? I, um, erased everything. Or tried to.”
“Why is that?”
“I didn’t want to be in trouble?”
“For what?”
The kid wiped the sweat from his upper lip, took a deep breath, then stared at his lap, saying, “Because it might be partly my fault the senator’s dead?”
Now this Carillo hadn’t expected. “Maybe you better start at the beginning,” he said, this time careful to take copious notes.
“It was just a hobby,” Izzy explained. “For me, it was all about the challenge. I’d hack into these Web sites, then notify the companies that they had a security flaw. You know, sort of doing them a favor so they could fix it.”
“I’m sure they were real appreciative.”
“Some were. I mean, we were the good guys, right? Better us than the black hats.”
“Go on,” Carillo prodded.
“For me, I was in and out pretty quick. You know, covered my tracks. Connect into a chain of computers remotely, so if someone tried to find me, well, that wasn’t about to happen.”
“So how does this tie into the senator’s murder?”
“Hollis would play these games. We all did it sometimes. You know. Like open the newspaper, read a random article about something, like a company, then see how long it took to hack into that company’s computer? I swear, I just thought he was in it for fun. It was this game and his Web site that started it.”
“How?”
“About two months back, he’s reading an article on the Web. And then he starts going off about how all these pharmaceutical companies are working behind the scenes to create these viruses just so they can come up with medicines and vaccines to make money. You know, like hanta, bird flu, swine flu. They’re all manmade, he says, and he can prove it. So he hacks into this company in San Francisco, and that leads to this U.S. lab in France and then an e-mail talking about manufacturing something called a chimera virus and they’re getting funding for it, by saying it’s for vaccines, but they’re looking for the stem cell of viruses.”
“Stem cell of viruses?” Carillo repeated. “From a lab in France?”
“They weren’t real stem cells. It was a term they used. Like finding what started life. And then it gets even weirder. They’re talking about finding them near Atlantis. I mean, they weren’t talking about finding Atlantis, all woo-woo, space aliens and historical stuff. It was like, someone mentioned it in the e-mail, like they were dubbing it this name. You know, like Project Atlantis.”
Project Atlantis aside, Carillo was alarmed at what he was hearing. Especially after his conversation with Sydney. Too many linked parallels to what she was working on, namely France and viruses, which, in his opinion, moved everything this kid was saying from the highly improbable category to the better-sit-up-and-notice category. What he didn’t get was why this whole Atlantis thing was bugging him . . . “Hold on a sec,” he said, flipping through his notes, distinctly remembering Syd saying something about this guy Faas and what he uttered before he was murdered . . . finding something before everyone was killed. Carillo located it in his notes. The word Atlant . . .
Atlantis?
“Jesus . . .” He flipped to a blank page, poised his pen over the paper. “Anything else?”
“Not much more to
tell, other than Hollis starts to go crazy, saying he knew it all the time. He showed me the e-mail. I mean, it didn’t make any sense to me, this stem cell stuff, but he was pretty adamant they were talking about us over here, not in France.”
Carillo looked up from his notebook. “Why do you think that?”
“Because one of them reads, ‘What about Grogan?’ and the response is ‘Don’t worry. It’s being dealt with.’ And Hollis is obsessed with this. He’s like, ‘They’re going to kill the senator.’ ”
What they had was a convoluted mess, and Carillo wondered if this stuff was so vague that he was reading things into it himself, including the connection to Sydney. As it was, he understood why no one believed the kid. Carillo wasn’t even sure he believed him. Except for the gut feeling that Hollis did not kill himself and there was something about the senator’s murder they were all missing. He went back through his notes. “Okay, so if I get this straight, you guys backdoor into this lab’s computer in France that is making something called a chimera virus, and somewhere along the line, it points back to Senator Grogan? Here in the States?”
“Yeah. And that’s why I thought Hollis was going to see Grogan. To warn him. But I think by that time they must have gotten to him. Because he was acting all strange that day. Delusional. I mean, he was always a little out there. Just ask Maddie.” She nodded, and he continued, saying, “But this was different. Like they gave him something. You know, that made him act weird. I wanted to take him to the hospital, but I didn’t. I should’ve, but I didn’t . . .”
“Hey, kid,” Carillo said, seeing him start to tear up. “It was out of your hands. You couldn’t have known.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah. I do.”
Izzy nodded, took a breath, then continued. “He kept saying he had to stop Grogan and find the ship.”
“What ship?”
“I have no idea. But they were going to hijack it and Hollis was saying this proved everything.”
If what this kid was saying was true, then this case was way beyond Carillo’s expertise. “You mind sitting tight while I make a phone call?”
Maddie stirred herself, saying, “Can I use the bathroom?”
“Me too,” Izzy said. “And maybe get something to drink?”
Carillo got an agent to escort the two to the restroom, then buy them a soda, while he called Tex. “You remember that missing link I was telling you about? He’s sitting in an interview room here at HQ, spouting off things like hijacked freighters and pharmaceutical labs in France.” Carillo gave him the rundown from his notes.
“Any chance that lab in France was Hilliard and Sons Pharmaceutical?”
“Not sure. I didn’t ask.”
“Well, do. It’s a U.S.–based corporation used for viral research.”
“Part of the LockeStarr conglomerate, I take it?”
“We’ve suspected so, but haven’t been able to prove it,” Tex replied. “I don’t like the timing of this. Not with Griff and Syd headed for France. Right now, the more info we can get, the better.”
“I’ll check.” Carillo returned to the interview room where Izzy and Maddie sat waiting, both drinking canned sodas.
Izzy was certain that Hilliard was the name of the company, and Carillo repeated the info to Tex, who asked, “You think this computer kid is legit?”
“I’d have to say yes.”
“Can he get into Hilliard’s system?”
Carillo lowered the phone. “Any chance you can hack into this lab again? Recover any of that data?”
“Depends,” Izzy said. “The lab patched their security flaws and added a few more safety measures. Hollis tried. Couldn’t get in a second time.”
“You hear that?” Carillo asked Tex.
“Yeah.” He was silent for a moment, then, “Ask him how hard it would be if someone had access to the actual computer inside the lab.”
Carillo asked Izzy. “Piece of cake, he says.” And then Carillo realized what Tex was after. “Please tell me you’re not thinking of sending Sydney and Griffin in there?”
“Right now, it’s only a glimmer of an idea, since I don’t have authorization for an unsanctioned black op. I’ll get back to you after the task force meeting.”
He disconnected and Carillo relaxed for all of three seconds, when it occurred to him that just about everything they were doing was unsanctioned. That thought did little to comfort him, and he hoped like hell that Sydney was okay.
Chapter 33
December 10
National Counterterrorism Center (NCTC)
Washington, D.C.
Bose called Miles precisely five minutes before the task force meeting started. “I got an update, but you’re not going to like it. I lost them.”
“What do you mean you lost them? Do you have any idea what this will do to me?”
“You think I care?”
Miles pictured the view from his White House office, reminding him of all he had at stake. “You had better care. If you want to be paid.”
“It might help if you tell me where they’re headed.”
“I have no goddamned idea where.”
“I’m the brawn, you’re the brains. They have the item, where would they take it?”
“You were the one following them.”
“Yeah, well, that was before they shot out my tire. And now they’ve got a day’s head start on me.”
Miles glanced at his watch. “I have to go. I’ll get back to you.” He disconnected, then ran down the hall to the conference room, where the security task force meeting had already started. Lucky for him the men sitting around the table were too wrapped up in their conversation to notice his tardiness and he relaxed—until he heard the subject matter.
“So what is this team in France planning to do?” Roy Santiago asked. “Walk inside and get this information?”
“They’re waiting for our direction,” McNiel said. “We haven’t yet figured out how to proceed.”
Miles reached for the pitcher of water and poured himself a glass, trying not to appear too interested, as Thorndike said, “What makes them so sure this lab in France is involved?”
“We have an informant who apparently tapped into the lab’s computer.”
Miles’s hand shook, knocking the pitcher into his glass. “Sorry,” he said, setting the pitcher down, worried he might dump water over the entire table.
Thorndike glanced at him, then turned back to McNiel, asking, “How do you know the information is valid?”
“We won’t know until we check it out. But our informant mentioned the stolen freighter, stating that it was hijacked for the specific purpose of testing this new virus.”
To which Miles said, “That freighter has been on every news channel since it went missing however many weeks ago. Anyone could take that and twist it. The Enquirer already said it was stolen by space aliens in the Bermuda Triangle, for God’s sake.”
“He’s right,” Thorndike said. “It’s not that much of a stretch to concoct some strange story about viruses.”
“Except,” McNiel said, “we just received a report from the navy saying a freighter was seen off the coast of Brazil with fifteen dead.”
Miles had also seen the report. He just hadn’t expected them to link it to the lab’s virus so quickly. His mouth grew dry, and he eyed his glass of water, wondering if he even dared pick it up.
“And what,” Santiago asked McNiel, “is being done with this information? I’m assuming someone is going to determine what is on this freighter?”
“We have a team not too far from it, just off the Cayman Islands,” McNiel said. “We’ll send them out to assist. It’s possible that none of it is related, but we want to discount any terrorist threat.”
“Agreed,” Santiago replied. “Apprise me the moment you know anything.
I’d like to know we’re on top of any terrorist activity, especially in light of the upcoming global summit. Hard to brag to the attending countries that terrorism is our top priority when we don’t even know what’s going on near our own backyard.”
Miles felt his stomach clench with each passing minute, and by the conclusion of the meeting he couldn’t get out of there fast enough. He rushed back to his office. When he stepped through the door, his cell phone rang, and he pulled it out, thinking he didn’t have time to deal with the bullshit of Washington right now. Not when he had a bigger problem to handle, he thought, answering the call, fully expecting to hear his secretary droning on about some trivial matter that needed attention. “Hello?”
“We seem to be having a bit of a communication problem, Mr. Cavanaugh.”
Miles froze on hearing the voice. It took him a moment to recover. “No. No problem.”
“Then why hasn’t this matter with Zachary Griffin been handled?”
“A momentary setback. He’ll be dealt with soon. In fact, he and the woman with him are probably headed toward the lab in Paris right now.” He related the information he’d learned at the meeting, concluding with “I intend to send Bose there to cut them off.”
“Tell Bose he is no longer needed.”
“Why?”
“We already have someone in France who can deal with them, which means it is time to redirect attention by pointing out that the CIA is facilitating a double agent. One who is currently feeding information to the Black Network.”
Miles sat mute for several seconds. “Thorndike? Running a double agent? Are you sure we can get away with this?”
“If it’s handled correctly, Mr. Cavanaugh, Thorndike and his CIA agents will be scrambling to pick up the pieces. In fact every agency involved in this mess will have to reevaluate their own positions. I expect it will cause quite a stir.”
“How will this help us?”
“Because it’s a win-win situation.”
“So that you can discover the identity of this CIA agent working in France to kill him?”
The Dark Hour Page 16
