Deep Disclosure

by Dee Davis

“Go,” Tucker yelled, his eyes on the car in the bayou.

  “I’m trying,” Alexis said, pumping the accelerator, praying for the old car to find traction. With a lurch the tires found solid ground, and the car sprang forward as she guided it back onto the road. On an exhale of breath, she headed back the way they’d come. Behind them the evening descended into night. “Oh my God.” She tipped her head back, the wind whipping through her hair as she drove, elation making her giddy. “I can’t believe it. It worked.”

  “I told you it would. All you had to do was have a little faith.” Tucker was smiling too.

  “And nerves of steel.” She blew out a long breath. “What about the Honda? Did you see what happened?”

  “I saw them go off the ramp. And heard them hit the bayou. Which means at the very least, they aren’t going anywhere anytime soon.”

  “And at the very worst?”

  He shrugged. “They aren’t going anywhere ever. Either way we win.”

  She nodded, but the idea was sobering. She’d already seen one dead man today and was, at least indirectly, responsible for his death. The idea that two more might be dead should have mortified her. But it didn’t. Not if the bastards had been part of the plan to kill George. “So what do we do now?”

  “We ditch this car and make our way back to New Orleans. One thing I learned a long time ago—it’s always better to hide in plain sight.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Montreal, Canada

  I wasn’t expecting to see you again in person,” Alain DuBois said, careful to keep his tone even as he gestured to the chair across from his desk, city lights flickering to life as night descended. “I thought we’d agreed that you’d use the drop we arranged.”

  “I would have, but there’s been a small setback.” George Atterley, or whoever the hell he really was, took a seat in one of the chairs artfully arranged in front of Alain’s desk.

  Alain studied the man as he fought against a surge of anger. Several weeks ago a man claiming to be Atterley had approached an associate, trying to sell a formula for aerosolizing biotoxins. Because of the magnitude of the weapon, he’d needed a buyer with not only deep pockets, but also with the ability to keep the sale completely off the radar. The associate had brought the proposition to Alain. Who had then brought it to his bosses.

  Despite the fact that the man was clearly lying about his identity—the real George Atterley was in prison, or at least he had been—it had been decided that the prize was well worth the risk. The deal had been struck.

  Alain sat back, steepling his fingers. Perhaps they’d acted a bit too hastily. “I’m not sure I heard you correctly,” he said.

  “I said, I don’t have the formula,” the other man repeated, his eyes darting around the office. “I’m having more trouble than anticipated retrieving it. I just need a little more time.”

  “Our deal was very specific, Mr. Atterley. The formula you claim to possess is very valuable, but it is also a liability. We live in a digital age, information pulsing around the world in nanoseconds. And your fumbling attempts to find a buyer cannot have gone unnoticed. Which means that the window for a safe exchange is closing quickly.”

  “I told you it’s just a delay. Nothing to worry about.” Atterley lifted his chin. “We had a deal.”

  “With time constraints attached. And, as you were no doubt aware when you accepted advance payment, my associates and I are not about to forgive a debt. You agreed to bring us the key to weaponizing biotoxins, and if you can’t”—he waved a hand through the air to emphasize his point—“there will be consequences.”

  “I understand your position, but let me remind you, Mr. DuBois,” Atterley said, his gaze turning hard and calculating, “that without me, you have no chance at all of getting your hands on the formula. And if something were to happen to me, I can assure you that the technology would suffer the same fate. Bottom line is that I hold the winning cards. Not you. And so if I say you have to wait—then you’ll have to wait.”

  “There is certainly truth in what you’re saying,” Alain said, biting down his anger. There was no sense in antagonizing the man. Not when they were so close to obtaining the formula. “But please don’t make the mistake of underestimating the people you’re dealing with. If this is some kind of trick, then you’ll be the one to pay. We’ve already spent a great deal of time and money on this project. But we’re not willing to risk exposure because of your ineptitude. And if that means ultimately losing the formula”—he paused, waiting until the older man dropped his gaze—“so be it.”

  “Look, I came to you. And it’s in both of our interests to conclude this deal as quickly and quietly as possible.”

  “You never did say why you wanted to sell now. After all this time.”

  “It’s simple,” the man said, his shrug pragmatic. “I need the money. I made some bad investments.”

  “Haven’t we all,” Alain said, hoping this wasn’t one of them. “Anyway, whatever your personal problems, I assure you double-crossing us will make them seem like a walk in the proverbial park.”

  “I’m not double-crossing you, and I promise you that I have every intention of fulfilling my end of the bargain. It’s just going to take a little more time than I anticipated. There are fail-safes. For both of our protection.” Atterley stood up and offered a hand.

  Pushing to his feet, Alain ignored it, signaling instead to a man standing a few feet away. “François will see you out.”

  Atterley stood for a moment, his gaze still locked on DuBois, and then, with a brief nod, he preceded François from the room.

  “You heard everything?” Alain asked, his eyes dropping to the telephone on the credenza behind his desk.

  “I did.” Michael Brecht’s voice filled the room even though it was only an amplification from the speaker phone.

  “And your thoughts?” Brecht was his boss, so it was crucial that Alain stay on his good side.

  “I think,” Brecht said, “that, as you already alluded, Mr. Atterley is quickly becoming a liability. But the formula is important. It’ll move us years ahead in the quest to achieve our ultimate goals.”

  “So you believe him when he says that this is only a delay?”

  “My instinct tells me there’s something more going on, but until we can sort it all out, better to let him believe that we’ve bought into his assurances. Things have just gotten more complicated, I’m afraid. I’ve just had word that A-Tac is sniffing around again.”

  “I’m afraid we opened a Pandora’s box when we allowed their operative to be a part of the organization.”

  “Well, it’s a box we’re going to have to close.”

  “So what’s set them off this time?”

  “I’m assuming they picked up the chatter surrounding the surfacing of the formula.”

  “Because of Atterley.” Alain nodded even though Brecht couldn’t possibly see him. “So what do you want to do?”

  “For now we wait. If we’re lucky, before A-Tac can find anything concrete, Atterley will produce.”

  “And if that doesn’t happen?”

  “Then I’m afraid we’ll have to throw Atterley under the proverbial bus, and if we play our cards right”—there was a pause, and Alain could almost feel Brecht thinking—“then maybe we can arrange it so that he takes A-Tac with him.”

  New Orleans, Louisiana

  “Hey, you’re supposed to be watching Alexis.” Drake frowned as Tucker walked into her house. Drake and Hannah were running the scene with the help of a couple of co-opted forensic techs from the local FBI office.

  “It’s not a problem,” Tucker reassured him with a shake of his head. “She’s back at the apartment. Last I heard, headed for a shower and bed.”

  “Where does she think you are?” Drake asked.

  “Here, actually. I told her I had to ditch the car we stole and then check on things here. See if maybe I could find a clue as to who’s behind all of this. I’m assuming you guys already took care of
the car.”

  “Done,” Hannah said, from her perch on the sofa, her ever-present laptop in front of her on the coffee table. As usual, her glasses and hair were at odds with one another, the former a vibrant shade of purple and the latter streaked turquoise blue. In any other town her look would have been memorable. But not in New Orleans.

  “So what have you got here?” he asked, tipping his head at the tech who was kneeling at the foot of the stairs taking a photo of something on the floor.

  “Not much so far,” Drake said. “Unfortunately, they managed to get the body out before we got here, along with casings and anything else that might have been useful in identifying the shooters.”

  “What about the picture I sent?” He’d managed to text the photo just before all hell had broken loose.

  “So far it hasn’t matched anyone in our databases. But I’ve only just started looking,” Hannah said. “So I’m still hopeful we’ll be able to ID him.”

  “What about the bomb site?” Tucker asked. “Tyler have any luck there?”

  “Nothing definitive yet.” Drake reached for the pitcher of cream. “But she’s put together a profile, and she’s running it through the ATF registry to see if she gets a hit. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find out this wasn’t our bomber’s first time around the block.”

  “And Alexis Markham? What have we got on her?” Tucker asked, dropping down into the chair adjacent to the sofa.

  “Nothing condemning.” Hannah shook her head. “She’s definitely kept herself off the grid. Lives mainly off cash. Best I can tell, never been on the Internet. Or if she has, she’s used an alias. She rents the house. Long term. Paid cash for the full term of the lease. No driver’s license, at least in her name, and only one bank account.”

  “So where is she getting money? Does she have a job?”

  “Nothing that’s traceable. I’m guessing whatever she does, it’s an off-the-books, cash-only kind of operation.”

  “Like arms sales.” Tucker frowned, trying to reframe his view of Alexis.

  “It’s a possibility we can’t ignore. George Atterley could have hooked her up with the right contacts. And she’s certainly in a position to use his name,” Hannah agreed. “But there are a lot of ways to make money without leaving a paper trail. Especially in a city like New Orleans.”

  “We pulled her fingerprints from the house,” Drake said, “and so far no hits. But we’ll keep digging. And we’ve got DNA too. From dirty dishes in the kitchen. We’ll run it against every database we’ve got access to. Maybe something will pop.”

  “And, in the meantime, I’ll keep watching Alexis.” It wasn’t exactly a hardship assignment. The woman was easy on the eyes, and the truth was it beat the hell out of the life he’d been living in Redlands.

  “Yeah,” Drake agreed. “Avery wants to keep this within the unit. If we’re right and Alexis, or someone she’s associated with, is trying to sell the formula to the Consortium, then we need someone on the inside. And you’ve got the background to go to ground with her.”

  “What about my history? Alexis isn’t stupid. She’s going to check my story.”

  “Well, she won’t find anything about Colombia,” Hannah said. “Everything that happened there has been buried so deep it’s unreachable.”

  “Yeah, well, if they’d just told the truth from the beginning, there wouldn’t be anything to bury—at least stateside.” There was bitterness underlying his brother’s words.

  “Hey,” Tucker said, his eyes meeting Drake’s. “I’m alive. And we’re together. And we’ve got Madeline.”

  “I’ve got Madeline.” His brother smiled, the expression chasing away the shadows. “And you’ve got us. Emphasis on ‘us.’ ”

  “Believe me, I know. I’ve seen the way she looks at you.” Lena’s face filled his mind, her dark eyes smiling. But he shook his head, pushing thoughts of the past aside. There was nothing to be gained by reliving his losses. “So,” he said, lifting an eyebrow as he turned his attention back to Hannah, “I’m assuming you’ve got all the bases covered as far as the rest of my cover is concerned?”

  “Yes. If anyone contacts the prison, they’ll confirm that you were a prisoner there. And that you were on the same cell block as George Atterley. That’d put you in rotation with him in the yard and at mealtimes. It would have been easy enough for you to have been friends.”

  “And if someone digs a little further?”

  “Got that covered too.” Hannah smiled. “There’s documented evidence of your conviction and incarceration, as well as your release. There’s also proof that you were set up, and that a tip from George Atterley figured prominently in your name being cleared and the record expunged.”

  “You guys are good. So how did you keep the lid on George’s death?”

  “Avery pulled a favor with the local constabulary, an inside track for some federal funding they’ve been after in return for a new name for the bombing vic. A homeless man—predeceased George by about ten hours. His body was unclaimed at the morgue. So it was easy enough to change cause of death. Did you get a read on the shooters?” Drake asked.

  “Wasn’t a lot of time.” Tucker shook his head. “But, based on the firepower, I’d say that the outside shooters, at least, were pros. There was coordination at a level you wouldn’t expect with gangs or run-of-the-mill criminals.”

  “And the guy on the inside?”

  “Definitely seemed more intent on taking Alexis than killing her. He was carrying a Walther. I’ve got it here.” He passed a small bag containing the weapon across the table to his brother. “No serial number, which again could signify almost anything. He wasn’t carrying ID, just some ammo.”

  “Do you think the shooters were working with the inside man?” Hannah asked.

  “I hadn’t considered any other possibility until now, to be honest. I suppose they could have been separate incidents. Especially if you consider that the second group of shooters didn’t seem as interested in sparing Alexis.”

  “So basically we’ve got three incidents that may or may not be related,” Drake mused, his eyes narrowed in thought. “The ransacking of Alexis’s house. The attempted kidnapping. And the shooters at the house.”

  “Actually, if you want to quantify it that way, then there are the shooters in the car as well. Although if I had to call it, I’d say they were the same men shooting at us here. Did you find bodies in the bayou?”

  Hannah shook her head. “No such luck. Just the car. We pulled it out of the muck and have forensics people going over it now. But so far nothing to identify the occupants. We tried to run the registration, but the VIN had been removed.”

  “Sorry I didn’t manage to take them out. What about the Chevy being bugged? Did you find anything on the car?”

  “That was a little more revealing.” Drake nodded. “The bug was located in the wheel well. A very sophisticated piece of nanotechnology, not something just anyone would have access to. Follows with your take that the second set of shooters were pros.”

  “But that wasn’t the most interesting part,” Hannah said, her expression tightening. “The specific technology used is government issue. U.S. government.”

  “So you think this is some kind of inside job?” Tucker frowned, running his thumb along the ripped arm of the chair. “You’d know if it was CIA, right?”

  “If it was sanctioned,” Drake said with a shrug. “If not, well, hell, it could be anybody. FBI. NSA. Even a freelancer. Anyone with the connections to get hold of that kind of device. But it does signify a major player.”

  “At least it’s something, I guess.” Tucker shook his head, the motion negating his words. What they had were a hell of a lot of unanswered questions.

  “Well, we know for certain that someone was trying to find something at Alexis’s.” Drake leaned forward, arms crossed. “And that they didn’t find it. And by extrapolation, I think we can assume it was the formula.”

  “Yeah, but all we’ve got is chatter in
dicating that the formula might have surfaced,” Hannah said. “And contextual evidence that the Consortium is involved somehow. But we’ve got nothing to verify any of it.”

  “Yet.” The word hung in the air for a moment, and Tucker’s gaze encompassed them both. “But we do have Alexis Markham.”

  “So maybe we should bring her in?” Hannah asked.

  “No.” He shook his head. “Whatever the hell is going on, she’s been off the grid a long time. My guess is that she doesn’t trust authority. Hell, I don’t think she trusts anybody. We bring her in now, and it’ll take extreme measures to get at what she knows.”

  “And you think you can do better?” Drake frowned.

  “Maybe. But more importantly, I think if she’s out there, she’s still a target. So even if she doesn’t spill her guts, there’s every chance that we’ll get another shot at the people who want her. And this time we’ll be ready.”

  CHAPTER 7

  The apartment was dark.

  Tucker closed the door and reached for the light, then thought better of it. If Alexis was sleeping, he didn’t want to disturb her. The french doors separating the living room from the bedroom were more ornamental than functional, making the two rooms, for all practical purposes, one.

  Light from the city outside served to illuminate the apartment enough to make getting around possible. It wasn’t too far above places that probably rented by the hour, but it was serviceable and suited his purposes.

  For the most part, he’d stuck to the truth when talking with Alexis. Her questions hadn’t been particularly probing, and it had been easy enough to mix his fictional life with his real one. There was safety in the truth—at least an edited version. Although he had no illusions that keeping her believing would be an easy task.

  He crossed the silent living room and stopped by the door to take a look into the bedroom. At first he thought she was huddled in the corner of the bed, but closer inspection sent his blood pressure rising. Throwing open the door, he crossed to the bed, only to find his suspicions confirmed. The covers were drawn over pillows stacked together in the shadows, the resulting shape taking human form.