Stealth Retribution

by Vikki Kestell

  “In order to understand, I’ve asked whose cell that is, yet you refuse to tell me. Thanks for the interagency reciprocity, by the way.”

  “You are not cleared, Mr. Wallace.”

  “Oh, right. That’s convenient, isn’t it? Well, frankly, I don’t know what else you expect me to do, General. Our man is missing. We’ve pinged his phone repeatedly and caught nothing from it until today—and the signal is about a hundred miles east of here. That doesn’t bode well for him, and we are quite concerned for his safety.

  “For all we know, Special Agent Gamble was carjacked or otherwise ambushed and left for dead by the side of the road. The signal could be coming from whomever stole his phone and has just this afternoon turned it on. I have people tracking the phone now—and I’ve told you repeatedly that we’ll let you know when we find it.”

  “And I insist, Mr. Wallace, that your Agent Gamble has not been carjacked, as you suggest, nor any other such nonsense. He is aiding and abetting the terrorist, Gemma Keyes. As such, he must also be named as a person of interest and placed on a watch list.”

  There was a brief silence from beyond the door, and I wondered if Gamble’s boss’ boss was caving or counting to ten.

  When he finally answered, his words were civil and controlled. Barely. “You know, General Cushing, we have been nothing but cooperative with your manhunt. We’ve spared no resource nor amount of manpower, but I will not put out an APB on a decorated veteran agent simply on your say-so. If you can suggest an alternative action, I’d be happy to entertain it.”

  Cushing started to answer when Gamble put his mouth by my ear. “The SAC is not happy with Cushing.”

  “I think I figured that out on my own, thanks.”

  “What I mean is that I know this man, and he’s about a hairsbreadth from giving her the boot—with all political and bureaucratic politeness, of course, but the boot, nonetheless.”

  “And?”

  “And I think the timing is great.”

  “You have an idea?”

  “Yes. I think I should join their meeting.”

  I turned around, swept my hands across the space between us, clearing the nanomites’ veil. Gamble’s eyes were bright, his expression somewhat gleeful.

  Maybe devious?

  “I’d like to stoke the fire, Miss Keyes. Nothing like dumping fuel on an imminent combustion.”

  I snorted and grinned. “I like your enthusiasm. What’s your story?”

  “A version of the truth. That I got caught up in the recovery of one Dr. Daniel Bickel, renowned nanophysicist, a man the world believes is dead—courtesy of General Cushing’s public assertions, by the way. Said Dr. Bickel tells us he has escaped the evil clutches of one General Imogene Cushing. Bickel claims he has been unlawfully imprisoned for the past three months. Oh, and Dr. Bickel is prepared to give evidence against her.”

  “But Cushing—”

  “But Cushing, what? Like you said, what can she do? Think Special Agent in Charge Wallace will allow her to haul one of his agents away in cuffs never to be seen again? This is the very confrontation we need: It takes the focus off you and puts it where it belongs—on Cushing’s illegal detainment of an American citizen.

  “Think of the shock factor, Gemma: Cushing will have no response to my accusations, and we’ll have Wallace as a witness to the confrontation. And, oh, yeah. Kidnapping and abductions are the FBI’s purview.”

  I snickered and clapped my fingers over my mouth. I whispered back, “What I wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall.”

  “You’re welcome to come with me.”

  “Don’t mind if I do.”

  Gamble rapped on the door and the escalating “discussion” within ceased. A second later, a male voice rasped, “Come in.”

  Gamble opened the door and took a step inside. I followed behind him. “Sorry to disturb, sir. I heard you were looking for me?”

  Cushing scowled at Gamble. The man whom Gamble had identified as the Special Agent in Charge of the Albuquerque field office raised his sandy-gray brows.

  “Special Agent Gamble. You’ve been missing since Sunday evening.”

  “Yes, sir. Since General Cushing is with you and my absence pertains to her, I’d like to brief you on my actions, if I may?”

  “The short version, please.”

  “Yes, sir. For the past four days, I have been assisting Dr. Daniel Bickel. Keeping him safe and secure from General Cushing, here.”

  The shock on Cushing’s face was priceless.

  “Who?” Wallace seemed confused. “I thought the manhunt was for a woman.”

  “I don’t know about the woman in question, sir, but Dr. Bickel supposedly died in a fire at Sandia National Labs last March. Do you recall the incident?”

  “Fire in a DOE laboratory? Two dead?”

  Cushing sprang to her feet, emitting a strangled noise before she managed to bellow, “Mr. Wallace, arrest this man!”

  “I beg your pardon? General, you can’t be serious.”

  “I misspoke. I will take this man into custody, myself.” She shouted toward the open door. “Trujillo! Black! Get in here!”

  Gamble’s mouth twitched, and Wallace’s incredulity grew.

  “General Cushing, you will do no such thing. You and your agents are without authority in this facility.”

  Cushing craned her neck, looking for her people to push through the door. When they didn’t, she huffed and moved toward the doorway, but Gamble closed the door and positioned himself between it and her.

  She glared a death-ray look at Gamble, then rounded on the SAC. “Mr. Wallace, the fire at Sandia was also a terrorist action tied to our present manhunt. This man,” she pointed at Gamble, “has lied to you. He is, as I suspected, colluding with the terrorist, Gemma Keyes.”

  Now, this is what I love about Special Agent Gamble. In a crunch? When it’s ‘go time’? He doesn’t flinch or pull back, as would be the natural tendency. No, he doubles down.

  Gamble stepped within inches of Cushing and towered over her. He leaned into her personal space. He’d done that before, remember?

  “General Cushing, you are a liar. You lied to the American people regarding Daniel Bickel. You attempted to kill him with the explosion in that laboratory, but he escaped and fled from you. You wanted to hunt him down with impunity, so you announced to the world that he died in that fire. You even staged his funeral and burial.

  “That was last March. In September, you finally tracked him down, and you have been keeping him imprisoned without due process for the past three months. General, it is you who will be taken into custody.”

  Wallace frowned. “Agent Gamble, these are serious charges. Can you prove them?”

  “Sir, I have Daniel Bickel. As he is not deceased, he can speak for himself.”

  During Gamble’s indictment, Cushing’s face had gone six shades of blotchy red, but the tops of her cheekbones paled to white, bloodless points. “Agent Gamble, you have no idea what you have interfered in. This investigation has authorization at the highest levels. The. Highest. Levels.”

  I had been enjoying the show up until now. All along I’d known that Cushing had top cover, probably someone connected near the summit of the political heap, but when she emphasized “the highest levels,” a shiver ran along my spine. I had to wonder, just how powerful were her masters?

  I could see that Gamble was conjecturing the same—as was Special Agent in Charge Wallace.

  “Gamble?”

  “Sir, my suggestion would be to allow General Cushing to, er, depart. Then I’ll bring in Dr. Bickel and we’ll debrief him and see where his accusations go.”

  Wallace studied Cushing as she straightened, tugged her uniform into place, and regained her equilibrium.

  “Very well, Agent Gamble. Please escort General Cushing and her people from the building. Then I want to see you.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  A thump sounded on the door. Gamble opened it; Agent Trujillo hung on the do
orjamb; Black leaned against the opposite wall, and his head lolled precariously toward his shoulder.

  Gamble grabbed and steadied Agent Trujillo. “Whoa. Hold it right there. What in the world—what’s going on with you two?”

  Gamble has the best game face I’ve ever seen. He put forward the exact right mix of concern and leery authority.

  “General . . . Cushing,” Trujillo rasped.

  Cushing pushed past Gamble. “What is wrong with you? Why didn’t you come when I called?”

  Trujillo, usually in command of her senses and responses, stuttered, “W-we a-attacked. Knocked . . . out.”

  “You were attacked?” Cushing sputtered, backed up, and jabbed a menacing finger in Gamble’s face. She spun toward Wallace while keeping her finger near Gamble’s nose. “This man attacked my agents? He attacked my people?”

  Wallace looked to Gamble. “Well?”

  “Sir, I never laid a hand on them.”

  Well, that’s true. He never touched them. I did all the heavy lifting. Literally.

  “Agent Gamble, General Cushing left her people standing outside the door. Were they there when you arrived?”

  Gamble shook his head. “Sir, I assure you that neither of these two individuals were present when I knocked at the conference room door. In fact, I saw no one in the hallway.”

  I shook with silent laughter. Yup. By the time Gamble had knocked, Agents Trujillo and Black were snoozing in the far corner of the hall, hidden from view by the copy machine.

  Trujillo wagged her head as if to clear it. “General. She. Her.”

  “Her what?” Cushing demanded.

  “Um,” Trujillo’s voice dropped to a soft hiss. “I think it was her. You know.”

  Huh.

  I was surprised. Did Trujillo actually know about my invisibility or did she only suspect? I wasn’t convinced even Cushing knew with certainty.

  Cushing’s mouth went slack. “Here?”

  When Trujillo nodded, Cushing’s eyes jetted around the room.

  Looking for me.

  I sniffed. Well, let her.

  “Close the door,” she barked. “Close it, I said!” She pushed Trujillo out and slammed the door, leaning her back against it. Panting. “Are you with us, Miss Keyes?”

  A guffaw stuck in my throat. Cushing sounded like the medium of a cheap séance: Are you with us, Miss Keyes? O Spirit of Christmas Past, are you here?

  Wallace slipped a nervous glance in Gamble’s direction, who, adding to his other notable performances, managed to convey “cuckoo” and “nuts” with one tiny lift of a shoulder.

  Wallace cleared his throat. “Uh, General Cushing. Ma’am. Special Agent Gamble will escort you and your people from the building now.”

  “No! She may be in here! She—” With the abrupt comprehension of how crazed she sounded, Cushing sucked up her protest. Squared her shoulders. Reestablished her composure.

  She canted her head toward Gamble, her shiny sharky teeth bared. “We aren’t finished, you and I, Agent Gamble.”

  “No, ma’am, we are not.” If there were a means of making Gamble’s short response more of a threat, I don’t know what that might be. His face was stone, his eyes glittering pebbles—his manners flawless.

  He gestured. “This way, ma’am.”

  Cushing gathered her things and marched on stiff legs through the conference room door. Her agents fell in behind her and Gamble took up the rear, herding them to the elevator.

  I jetted down the staircase to arrive in the lobby before them. I was waiting when the elevator dinged its arrival.

  Gamble was the portrait of chilly civility. “Goodbye, General Cushing. Have a good day.”

  Cushing barked a two-word response I won’t repeat.

  Black hurried to get the door for Cushing. Trujillo stood aside to let her pass. I followed behind.

  Cushing’s shoes clipped fast and hard toward the concrete steps leading down from the door. I hurled a hair-thin phalanx of mites toward her. The mites shot from my arm, dodged around Trujillo and past Black, and impaled themselves in the high, rounded part of Cushing’s skirt, right where I’d aimed them.

  In other words, they stung Shark Face right on the butt.

  (Sorry; that’s General Shark Face, ma’am.)

  Cushing yelped and tripped on the top step. Black and Trujillo caught her, took her arms, and hustled her toward the parking structure.

  The last I saw of the three of them, Cushing had shaken off her agents’ help and was stalking ahead of them, rubbing her backside with one hand as she went.

  When I glanced at Gamble, he was grinning every bit as much as I was.

  “Nice touch, Gemma.”

  “Thanks. Liked it myself.”

  ~~**~~

  Chapter 4

  “I have to meet with Wallace now. Coming?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  We rode the elevator to the SAC’s floor, got off, and went to his office.

  “Close the door, Agent Gamble.”

  Gamble did as he was told.

  “Take a seat, please, and help me understand what just happened.”

  “I can try, sir. Not sure I can explain the General’s bizarre behavior, though.”

  “Let’s start with where you’ve been the past four days.”

  “Yes, sir. As you know, we were called out to assist in the hunt for the suspect, one Gemma Keyes. I took my vehicle and went down I-25 toward the center of the search grid.”

  The moment we’d entered Wallace’s office, the mites and I had jumped into the FBI’s classified server, looking for any reference to Zander. When we came up empty, I put my mouth near Gamble’s ear and whispered.

  “No mention of Zander in the FBI files.”

  Without turning, he replied with an incremental nod.

  “Around Socorro, I received a phone call from Dr. Bickel. He said General Cushing had abducted him and held him against his will in an isolated facility on the White Sands Missile Range and that he had just escaped from said facility. He requested that the FBI escort him to the Albuquerque FBI field office and render him aid and sanctuary.”

  “Why you? How did he have your number?”

  Gamble shrugged. “Not sure, sir. I’d never spoken to the man prior to his call. All I can report is that I met up with him, listened to his story, and transported him back to Albuquerque.”

  “And it took you four days to get from there to here?”

  “No, sir, but this is where the situation gets a bit involved. However, since his tale is so peculiar, I would prefer for us to debrief him here and get it all on the record, in detail, rather than piecemeal.”

  “Where is Bickel right now?”

  “I have him safely stashed, sir, but will bring him in as soon as I have your permission and assurances that you will not hand him over to Cushing.”

  “I wouldn’t hand my worst enemy’s dog over to that woman.”

  “I’m glad we’re in agreement, sir.”

  “Not entirely, Agent Gamble. While I don’t trust Cushing any further than I’d trust a snake, I’m concerned that her threats of high-level authorization are real and that said authority may supersede ours. At that point, I’d be forced to comply with her demands.”

  Not gonna happen, I told Wallace in my head.

  “I understand, sir; however, Dr. Bickel’s first request is that he be allowed to broadcast the fact that he is alive. Once the public knows he is alive, much of Cushing’s hold over him will be broken. She’s only been able to keep him incarcerated because no one is looking for him.”

  Wallace cupped his chin and thought. “Any outstanding warrants or charges against Bickel?”

  Gamble snorted. “Not for a dead man, sir—nor were there any at the time of his reported demise. Before the explosion and fire in his laboratory, Dr. Bickel held a DOE Q clearance—with Special Access—and his record was without blemish.”

  “Very well. We’ll offer Dr. Bickel temporary asylum and the o
pportunity to give testimony on the record. If he wishes to hold a press conference, that is his right.

  Having made his decision, Wallace stood. “Bring him in.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Wallace seemed to hesitate. “Do you anticipate any interference from Cushing on that point?”

  “Nothing we can’t handle, sir.”

  “We?”

  “Us, sir. The agency.”

  I shook my head. Right. The agency.

  ***

  Gamble and I left the FBI building via the doors leading to staff parking. As soon as we were out of sight of the field office, I added the mites’ umbrella to him, and we began to jog.

  “We should take Zander home before we bring Dr. Bickel in,” I said.

  “Agreed. No sense putting him on Cushing’s radar. Then, as soon as we have Bickel safely inside our offices, I’ll have our media liaison set the ball rolling on a press conference.”

  I said, “Okay,” but I thought, Leave that to me.

  We found Zander and Dr. Bickel where we’d left them, and they were relieved to see us. The hour and a half had flown by; it was after 3:30 now. We climbed into the Escape, and I, as Kathy Sawyer, drove off.

  Gamble talked first. “Dr. Bickel, there’s good news and bad news. The good news is that we have the SAC’s permission to escort you to the FBI field office where we will debrief you and get your account on record. We’ll do that this evening. The next order of business will be to hold a press conference. Probably first thing in the morning. The bad news is that Cushing knows I have you.”

  “Not so bad,” I chimed in. “She won’t see us when we take you in. We’ll go in through the employee entrance under the nanomites’ cloak of invisibility.”

  Gamble nodded. “Uh, right. And, Pastor Cruz, we’ve hit a patch of good news for you, too. Apparently, no one is aware that you accompanied me south on the search for Gemma, so we’re going to drop you within a few blocks of your place.”

  “That’s a relief. I told Pastor McFee I’d be on an LEO ride-along last Sunday night and the church office is closed Mondays anyway. My only hurdle will be how I explain to him why I’ve been out of the office this week—and why I didn’t take my cell.”