“Oh… Okay.”
“Let’s check it out before we get too excited,” Gray recommended.
They disembarked the Jeep, and each man stiffly got to his feet, trying to keep their jackets secured in place. Austin and Ethan were still working the drowsiness from their bodies as Gray led the way with a flashlight, showing the path to the front door. As he mounted the small concrete step, Gray tested the door handle.
“It’s locked,” he informed them.
“Really?” Gray asked sarcastically. “You did read the sign, right? Foreclosed.”
“Shut up,” Dante mumbled.
Ethan grinned lightly. That was more like the Gray and Dante he knew.
“Well, there are no cars or any signs of anyone here. I mean it is foreclosed, right?” Austin pointed out.
“Yes,” Ethan agreed. He turned to walk to one of the side windows, “Maybe we can check the—”
Suddenly there was a loud bang followed by the sound of cracking wood. Ethan whirled back around, his hand went for his pistol, only to see Dante putting his foot back to the ground. The giant smiled from ear to ear, next to the now open door.
“—windows,” Ethan finished.
“After you?” Dante offered, jokingly pointing them through the entrance.
“That’s one way of doing it,” Austin commented. “Maybe not the brightest way, but a way.”
“Excuse me Mr. Computer Nerd,” Dante retorted, still grinning proudly. Austin returned the smile and walked through the entrance.
“Would a window not have sufficed?” Ethan asked, half amused, half irritated.
“Nah, Hulk here thought smashing would be more fun,” Gray joked, punching Dante playfully in the shoulder.
Dutifully playing along Dante grunted “Hulk smash!”
Ethan chuckled and patted Dante on the shoulder as he walked by. “Always the show off, huh?”
With a chuckle, Dante followed Ethan inside. Gray’s flashlight beam revealed pale yellow walls. They were bare, except for a few tiny black dots where pictures must have hung. The hardwood floors creaked as Ethan and his friends walked into what must have been the living area.
A small, brick fireplace was at the far end of the room, oddly empty and cold looking. Dust caked the wooden mantel and the baseboards that lined the foot of the walls. No one had lived here for some time.
To the left of the fireplace was an open doorway. They moved through it and reached a hallway.
“Dante, Austin. How about you two check out that end of the house and Gray and I will check out the rest?” Ethan suggested.
Dante nodded and took off down the hall with Austin close behind. Ethan continued on into the next empty room, flipping the switch on his own flashlight. A flood of light bathed the room.
He was taken off guard by an object near his head. With relief, he saw it was just a low hanging chandelier, built out of two crude pieces of log in the shape of a cross. Old-fashioned glass lanterns dangled from each of its four ends. On the left, a range of cabinets lined the wall, interrupted by a stovetop and an empty gap where a refrigerator had once stood.
Gray moved to the corner of the kitchen and looked out the window. The snow was falling lightly again, swept by the wind into swirling loops. A hint of moonlight revealed a small, lifeless back yard lined by more barren trees. A door set by the open space that used to host the refrigerator, leading outside.
The room was clear. Ethan flipped a light switch near the hallway. Nothing happened, as expected. I can dream, right?
“Well, it’s definitely vacant. No power,” Ethan tried to joked.
“You expected there to be power?” Gray asked, his left eyebrow raised. “You guys need to step up your game a little?”
Ethan waved him off with a playful smirk. “It’s the best we can do for now.”
On cue Dante and Austin ambled into the room. “All’s clear on the other end. How about here?” Dante asked.
“All’s good. Let’s get what we need and settle down for the night,” Ethan advised.
In agreement, they walked back outside into the snowy wind. Austin gathered his computer and a small bag of supplies. Gray rummaged through the trunk looking for anything they may need for the night. He grabbed a large duffle bag of supplies they had picked up at the gas station earlier in the day and followed Austin back to the house.
Dante grabbed a rifle from the Jeep and threw a small backpack of his own supplies over his shoulder. “I’m going to check the perimeter. See if there are any good routes out other than the main driveway in case we need them.”
“Okay, don’t be gone long though,” Ethan instructed and watched Dante jog away along the tree line. A chill ran up his spine. He pulled his jacket close, trying to hold in what little body heat he had left.
He bent over and picked up a small bundle of twine-wrapped firewood they had bought from one of the locals out of the back of his truck. Coming from the city, Ethan had thought the tall, grisly of a man’s, cardboard sign and truck tailgate setup was unusual. It would be freezing later though, so he gave in; it could not have been over ten degrees in the house, colder outside.
As Ethan lugged the wood back to the house, he passed Gray, who was coming back to the car to help carry in the wood. Neither spoke; they just glanced at each other in passing, both anxious and lost in thought.
Ethan pushed the worry away as he stepped through the front door and stomped the snow from his shoes. He walked past Austin, who was in the corner setting up his laptop, and placed the wood next to the fireplace.
“Are you going to have enough power to use that here?” Ethan asked Austin, placing another log in the pit.
“I brought some backup batteries, and this thing lasts a good while anyway. We’ll be fine.”
As Ethan placed the last log atop the others, Gray hauled in an arm load of wood and placed it next to the fireplace.
“That’s the last of the firewood,” Gray said worriedly. “You think it’ll be enough?”
“I hope so.” Ethan shook his head.
He grabbed a newspaper and the pack of matches from the duffel bag sitting in the corner. Crumbing the paper, Ethan set the edge on fire. He gently laid the burning paper on the wood and watched. After a few moments, the wood caught fire and the blaze slowly took off.
Its warmth radiated out, pressing against Ethan’s cold cheeks. He sighed as the cold in his hands and body dissipated. He closed his eyes and drank in the revitalizing heat. Gray and Austin both joined him beside the fire. They sat in silence, losing themselves in the balmy heat.
“Nice, y’all got the fire going!” Dante exclaimed as he stomped inside, slamming the door behind him and shoving a bag against the frame to keep it closed. “I gotta say, I wasn’t so sure you could do it.”
“Thanks for the confidence there, Dante,” Ethan chuckled. “Come on over and get warm.”
Ethan walked away from the fire, testing its reach. As long as the door remained shut, he figured the fire could warm the entire room. Hoping he was right, Ethan shed his jacket and gloves.
“Austin, do you still think you can access the information we need on Abrams?” Ethan asked.
“I’m almost done breaking into the system now,” Austin informed him with a grin, proud of his handiwork. “Just remember, no matter how stealthy I may get in, we can’t stay in the system long or they’ll track us down.”
“Understood. We’ll just get the info and get out.”
“Alright, I’m in.”
Ethan took a seat on the floor next to Austin and peered over his shoulder at the screen. He was soon joined by Dante and Gray. Lines of information and options covered the screen, accompanied by the familiar logo of the Bureau, the golden stars, the red and white flag below the scale of justice. The Agency motto—Fidelity, Bravery, Integrity—was superimposed over a blue background.
“Okay, we need to know everything we can about Agent Sean Abrams,” Ethan instructed.
Austin’s hands w
ent to work. Commands shot by as his fingers poked key after key. Within seconds they were staring at Agent Abrams’ file.
Ethan could not drag his eyes away from the photo next to Abrams’s biographical information. The tanned skin, icy blue eyes, thick brown hair and rugged jawline of the man who had framed him in Atlanta. He remembered thinking that Abrams looked more like an actor than an agent when he first met him; maybe he hadn’t been too far off the mark.
“Sean T. Abrams, born August 16, 1977 in Beaufort, South Carolina,” Austin started, reading off the information on the screen. “His dad was a maintenance tech. Died of a drug overdose when Abrams was five. His mom died in a car accident. Looks like he was two when it happened.”
Austin paused, “He lived in an orphanage until he was eighteen and joined the Army.”
In spite of the hatred he felt for Abrams, Ethan could not help but sympathize with his loss. He knew how hard it was to lose a family member. Memories of his late brother playing on the beach surfaced. He suppressed them so he could focus on the here and now.
“He served two tours in Iraq before ending his enlistment at the rank of Corporal in two thousand eight.” Austin looked up at Ethan to make sure he did not need to slow down. Ethan nodded for him to continue. “He joined the FBI in early two thousand nine and was assigned to the Atlanta Field Office shortly thereafter.”
“What about his evaluations, his assignments?” Ethan asked. “Is there anything off?”
Austin scoured the text, searching for anything that might stand out. Ethan watched as Austin’s eyes scanned line after line.
“He seems like a normal guy. Nothing really bad, nothing too commendable. He—” Austin stopped as his eyes caught something on the screen.
“What? What is it?” Gray prodded.
“Looks like more recently he’s run into a little trouble,” Austin clicked on a file and the contents flashed up on the screen. He pointed to a few lines and continued. “Seems he’s been under investigation for his interrogation methods. Says something about a review regarding enhanced interrogations conducted above the acceptable standards.”
“Above the acceptable standards?” Ethan asked. “Most go too far as it is within those acceptable levels.”
“The investigation started four months ago,” Austin went on. He clicked a button, and the screen changed again as he continued searching.
“Okay. I don’t think this is getting us anywhere,” Ethan complained. “What was his status during Riley Daniels’ assassination?”
“When was that again?” Austin asked.
“April sixteenth, last year,” Ethan recalled instantly. He had worked the case for nearly a year now, and had memorized every aspect of the case: the location of the body, where the lacerations ran across the victim’s body, the testimony of Riley’s friends and even political enemies. And every frame of the nearly useless video clip of the attack, until now.
“Ah…” Austin typed away, “Abrams was granted a short leave from April fifteenth to the seventeenth. Visiting family in North Carolina… Durham. Might as well be Raleigh.”
“And yesterday he was over security arrangements for the DNC meeting.” Ethan put his head down and sighed, “In the right place both times.”
“That doesn’t help us, though,” Gray stepped in. “Sure he was on leave when the representative was murdered and he was at the DNC meeting. We know why, but other than the one video connecting him to the location in Raleigh, we have nothing. And nothing at all firmly tying him to Georgia.”
“You’re right,” Ethan admitted, defeated. All they had was Ethan’s word and a few “chance” events. It would not be enough in court, or when the FBI came knocking again.
Ethan paced the floor, thinking.
“Austin,” Ethan’s spirits raised. “Can you download all the information they have on Abrams— missions, records, everything?”
“Yeah, sure,” Austin replied and went back to work.
“Okay, do that and we will go through the information offline. There has to be something there.”
CHAPTER 41
January 31 at 9:10 a.m. EST
Blowing Rock, NC
Sean lit the constricting passageway with a small pocket flashlight. The tunnel was barely wide enough for one person to walk through without scraping against the damp, dirt-covered walls.
Being enclosed underground in such a tight space was not among Sean’s favorite experiences. Yet, he did not fear it like his partner did. Ju-Long was struggling behind him. Despite his small build and narrow shoulders, he kept bumping into the walls, smearing dirt and clay across his button-up shirt and knocking more dirt onto the floor of the passage. Sean could see the panic growing in his eyes.
Pussy, he thought. You can put a bullet through a man’s skull, but you cannot handle a tight space
Sean knew that they were somewhere under the field separating the cabin and the barn. According to the report he pulled from the Bureau, Ethan and his group had escaped through this tunnel and made their way to their escape vehicle.
Earlier, outside the cabin, they had passed two cars: an older Nissan and a Kia. Both were riddled with bullets; the Nissan’s windshield sported a massive spider’s web of cracks. The Kia had done little better; its windshield laid in jagged shards among the punctured bucket seats
The door to the kitchen was broken open; shards of wood lay on the floor. The couches in the living area were filled with bullet holes and were bleeding white cushion stuffing. Only a few jagged pieces of glass remained in the front windows allowing the cold winter air to whistle through the cabin.
Sean knew he was dealing with a skilled agent, but he had never expected a team like this. They had fended off eight field agents. All without killing a single person. Sean groaned. Eventually that unwillingness to take life would cost them.
Ahead they reached the foot of a ladder at the end of the tunnel. Sean looked back to Ju-Long and shrugged, then climbed the ladder.
He shoved the wooden hatch up and confirmed their location. They were inside the barn. He pulled himself up the rest of the way.
“Finally,” Ju-Long said, relief in his voice.
Sean grinned and then went to work taking a mental inventory of the barn. He scanned the immediate area. A scattering of old farm equipment, several dusty wooden crates, a tool bench and a large open space. Their walk through the tunnel had been fruitless, but Sean refused to leave a single stone unturned.
According to the Bureau’s report, this was where the group’s escape vehicle had been. Sean ransacked the room, slinging tools off the bench and against the wall, and lifting lids off every crate in the space to expose their contents. Inside the last wooden bin he found a stash of ammunition. He picked up a few of the rounds: .223, .40 and 9mm.
As he rummaged through the containers, extracting the left behind gear, Sean wondered if they had been in too much of a rush to take the supplies, or if this was just extra. He pursed his lips and stepped up to the open barn doors where he imagined Ethan bucking forward in the getaway vehicle. He stared out onto the snow-covered field through a light flurry. Sean still did not know where Ethan was headed.
He had hoped to find some clue to guide him onto Ethan’s path, something to please the Council, but there was nothing.
A realization hit Sean. He grunted with a hidden grin. Ethan doesn’t know where he is going, either.
The thought pleased Sean as he stepped out into the snow.
I’ll find you, Ethan. Just wait.
CHAPTER 42
January 31 at 9:30 a.m. EST
Washington, D.C. – FBI Headquarters
“Director Hunt, you’re going to want to see this!” Agent Day burst into the Director’s office unbidden.
Richard snapped to attention behind his desk. So far the morning had been uneventful and there had been no sign of the group on the run up the Blue Ridge Mountains. It had turned in to another waiting game.
While he awaited further deve
lopments, Richard passed the time by returning to his ever-present backlog of administrative tasks. The typical bullshit he normally dealt with leading up to the president’s state of the union address. Every cynical comment about the President, every tangential threat had to be screened, threat rated and sent down the pipeline for investigation. It was an ongoing task throughout the year, but as the President’s State of the Union address neared, the caseload increased at least three-fold.
He had just put down a threat analysis purporting a possible Iranian-sympathizer was attending the President’s address. A wiretap had unearthed a vague conversation where a Khadijeh Ashtiani had complained to an unknown confidant about the Secretary of State’s recent controversial remarks toward the ongoing trade negotiations, but there had been no indication of a threat. Richard had quickly put the report down. It was a waste of his time.
“What is it?” Richard asked, hopeful.
“It’s Shaw and his group,” Aran explained. “We’ve located them.”
Richard got to his feet quickly and followed Aran out into the hall, jogging behind him toward control center.
“Where are they?”
“Fleetwood, North Carolina,” Aran informed him as they made the bend into the control room. A satellite image spanned the main screen. It was a forest with a small house sitting in the middle. Richard examined the topography.
“It’s a foreclosed house off of Highway 221,” Aran explained. Pointing at the screen, he continued, “If you look closely, you can see the smoke from the chimney.”
Richard squinted to find the smoke. It was there, rising to the east.
“How did you find them?” Richard asked.
“They hacked into our database late last night, or more precisely, Agent Austin Conway hacked into our database.” Aran explained.
“That was a bold move,” Richard commented.
“He’s good, sir, but he lingered a little too long.” Aran grinned, satisfied. “He left us a small footprint which we were able to extrapolate a general location from.”
They'll Call It Treason Page 19
