by Katie Reus
Wesley’s heart rate kicked up a notch. Karen was smart and carried bear spray. More than that, she knew the dangers in the world and took precautions in most situations. It was one of the reasons he was grooming her for a new position. She looked at things with a critical, realistic eye because she knew how bad the world was—but she wasn’t a cynic. All that didn’t mean she couldn’t have been hurt, though.
“Run the plates of the vehicles leaving the park or anywhere within a two-block radius of the park in the ten minutes directly after she disappears from your view.”
“Running now,” Elliott responded.
“What about her phone?”
“Nothing. Not even a ping that tells me the battery’s out.”
Unfortunately he was probably right. Even with the encryption they should have been able to get a hit on it. Wesley reined in a curse. “Stay on the line.” He pressed MUTE on his earpiece, then pulled out another cell. There was a possibility he was being paranoid, but he didn’t think so. If something had happened to Karen, their window of finding her narrowed with each second that passed.
He called a detective friend who worked for the local PD and requested assistance in a potential investigation. Off the books for now. He and Detective Portillo had worked together on more than one occasion and Wesley trusted the guy to be thorough. After he was sure the locals would canvass the park for any clues on Karen—including looking for her phone—he clicked back over to Elliott.
“What’d you find?”
“Eighty-six vehicles moving in and around that area at the time. Not including vehicles parked. I’ve run them all through the DMV database, and one of them doesn’t exist.”
Wesley straightened at that. “What?”
“Yeah. The license plate itself doesn’t exist in any database. And it’s wrong anyway. The combination of numbers and letters isn’t right to be a real plate for this particular state.”
Wesley knew that in addition to other specific state identifiers, the majority of states used a three-letter, three-number combination for plates.
Now his blood chilled. If he had to guess, someone had simply put two license plates together. It was old-school tradecraft and very effective. Cut two license plates in half and then solder the separate pieces together, creating something virtually untraceable.
Elliott continued. “It’s an SUV and the windows are too tinted, even the front, to get a view of anyone inside. Doesn’t matter what angle I looked at it from. Might mean there’s a reflective shield in place.”
That wasn’t a coincidence. “Focus on the SUV. Track them.”
Though he tried to temper his worry, it was impossible as he waited for Elliott to give him something. Anything. Karen was sweet and while brilliant, she wasn’t trained the way Selene was. If someone had truly taken Karen, she’d have to rely on her wits. Sometimes that wasn’t enough when up against the monsters of the world. She’d worked on too many cases over the last year for him to narrow down what this could be about. But it had to be work related. The use of tradecraft indicated that.
“This isn’t good, boss. . . . The SUV went into a parking garage downtown. I hacked into the internal server of their security system, and chunks of time have been completely stripped out. There’s no way to see what happened once the SUV entered. And I don’t know if the driver timed it, but a dozen vehicles left about ten minutes after the SUV entered. I’m fast-forwarding until now and that SUV still hasn’t left.”
“Run all the plates of the vehicles that left, forward pertinent info to my e-mail, and text me the address of the parking garage now,” Wesley ordered before hanging up and taking an incoming call from Selene. “Yeah?”
“Her place shows no signs of a struggle. Coffee-maker is on. Looks like an automatic thing, so she was obviously planning on coming back. And her clothes for the day are hung up in her closet along with her shoes and coordinating jewelry. Bed’s unmade. No sneakers in the closet.”
Now Wesley’s blood iced over. He quickly gave her the rundown of what Elliott had told him. “We’re treating this as a missing person case as of now. Pull in who you want for a team and get to the parking garage now. I’ve already contacted Detective Portillo, but I’ll let him know that you’re going to coordinate with him. I’ll hook up with you as soon as I’m out of this fucking meeting.” He had a one-on-one with the director of the CIA and he couldn’t miss it. Not when this was a matter of national security and the lives of hundreds of thousands of innocent civilians were at stake. There were some things they simply couldn’t talk about over the phone or using any sort of technology. This was one of those times. Having Selene running this op eased some of his tension, but not by much. Not until they found out where Karen was.
“I want Ortiz and—”
“Whoever you want, Selene. Send the info to my phone along with any updates. I’ll be dark for the duration of the meeting, but it shouldn’t be long.”
Once they disconnected he shut off his phone and other electronics as his driver steered up to the clandestine location of the meeting.
Rayford glanced in the rearview mirror as he pulled to a stop on Hillenbrand’s block. Instead of taking the Metro and walking to the townhome, this time he’d borrowed a colleague’s vehicle from work. Of course he’d been careful to drive around in circles and take an alternative route to even enter the neighborhood, but he was certain he wasn’t being watched anyway.
At least not by law enforcement. There was always the chance that some reporter tailed him hoping to get a story, but at this point in his career it was unlikely. He had a proven track record and knew in certain circles he was mocked for being a straight arrow.
They could mock all they wanted, but with no skeletons in his closet, he never felt guilt or had to worry about past deeds coming back to haunt him. It was the reason his boss had chosen him, and why he was invaluable to the upcoming election efforts. The election his boss would win. Nothing was absolutely guaranteed, but now that their main opponent within the party was out of the way, they were even closer to victory.
As he approached Hillenbrand’s townhome, a woman with blond hair and a polished look stepped out the front door, Hillenbrand with her. The man had his hand on her ass and was obscenely groping her breast as she giggled and gave him what was clearly a parting kiss.
Rayford gritted his teeth. Hillenbrand had asked him to come here and he couldn’t risk being seen by one of the man’s whores.
A woman who accepted money in exchange for sex would easily talk if she was pulled in by law enforcement. He couldn’t have any viable connections to Hillenbrand. Bending down, he acted as if he was tying his shoe, even though he wore loafers. Today he was dressed in business casual, as it had been appropriate for the campaign work they’d been doing, but he’d snagged his colleague’s hoodie from the backseat and kept it pulled over his head.
The woman’s booted heels clicked along the sidewalk as she headed in the opposite direction. Once the sound was far enough away, he looked up. She was getting into a luxury sedan and oblivious of him, so he straightened.
Hillenbrand was waiting in the entryway, arms crossed over his chest and a pleased expression on his face.
Before he could speak, Rayford did. “You called me away from work for this. I don’t expect to cross paths with one of your women again. Ever. This business we do is between us.”
Hillenbrand’s blue eyes went cold, but he nodded. “Fair enough. Now come on.”
Silently he followed him back down to the entertainment room. He was surprised to see the DEA agent and another man there. Gary Harris, a skilled hacker with a lengthy criminal history. Hillenbrand used his services, but Rayford didn’t trust the guy. Hell, he didn’t trust anyone in this room but himself. But he was going to reach out to the DEA agent without going through Hillenbrand. Couldn’t hurt to feel the man out, discover why he was involved with them.
He nodded at both men, though Harris barely glanced up from his laptop. The grungy
-looking guy was stretched out on the Chesterfield, his sneakers kicked up on a table with no respect. He was a genius but disgusting.
“We’ve had a change of plans,” Hillenbrand said. “The men I sent out to eliminate Southers’s team have all gone radio silent.”
“Isn’t that normal?” This was out of his realm of expertise, but after the display with the drone the other night, Hillenbrand had introduced Rayford to the corrupt DEA agent. The man had briefly explained how the hit team would work. They’d all go dark while they killed Southers’s guys, then confirm the deaths once they were in secure locations.
Hillenbrand shook his head. “No. It’s been days. At least one of them would have checked in by now. And”—he nodded at the DEA agent—“we have a confirmation that the targets have tried to access their accounts at the DEA.”
Rayford raised his eyebrows. “Recently?”
The blond-haired man nodded. “Yesterday.” Which was the day after the hit team had been sent out. “I’ve revoked their access using someone else’s system so it won’t trace back to me. But we need them eliminated before they cause a problem.”
Rayford’s heart rate increased, but he forced himself to remain calm. Killing Southers’s men was part of the plan. They needed scapegoats. “So, what happens now?”
“We’re going to blow some shit up,” Harris said, almost manic glee in his voice even though he still didn’t glance up.
Rayford rolled his shoulders once, trying to ease his growing tension. He was uncomfortable associating with someone like Harris so closely. Unfortunately it was necessary. Rayford knew that in order to get his boss in the White House, he’d have to make some sacrifices. He also knew that while Hillenbrand was on the same side as he was, the other man was more in this for the money than politics. No matter what Hillenbrand said. Still, it didn’t matter as long as their goal was the same. Once they started a war in the Middle East, they’d all get rich from the government contracts—Hillenbrand’s number-one goal—and Rayford’s boss would then take his place in history starting a war they could win. He’d go down in history as a great president and their political party would gain more power. A win-win. The fact that Rayford would also get rich from their plan was just a bonus.
Hillenbrand nodded at the screen and as if on cue, a video popped up. It showed two of their targets, Kane and Brooks, at a garden center of sorts. No, not just a garden center. The U.S. Botanic Garden. “What is this?”
“Footage of them scouting out the Botanic Garden as part of their ‘terrorist plot’ to bomb it,” Hillenbrand said with that smug expression on his face.
Rayford frowned. He knew Kane and Brooks weren’t actual terrorists, but the footage of them at the garden looked real. So did the way they were doing reconnaissance. Hillenbrand was obviously setting them up to look like terrorists, but Rayford wanted to know how they’d gotten the footage in the first place. “I don’t understand.”
“We had an issue there two weeks ago. Kane and Brooks were sent to search for a suspected criminal related to an ongoing investigation,” the DEA agent said. “All off the books.”
“Thanks to my unparalleled skill,” Harris continued, obviously full of himself, “now it’s going to look as if they planted bombs.” The screen split, showing the men in various stages of sweeping the Garden, and in the second video it looked exactly as though they were indeed hiding explosives.
“Kids are there every day.” Rayford didn’t like the way this was going. He knew what he’d signed up for, but hurting children wasn’t part of his plan. Hell, he’d taken his nephews there a few months ago. He didn’t know if he could go through with this if they hurt kids.
Hillenbrand shot him an annoyed look. “No shit. We’re not going to hurt anyone. Only one bomb will be set off.” He glanced at Harris. “Do it.”
A third frame appeared on the screen. It was a shot of the interior conservatory. He couldn’t hide the automatic wince as a ball of flames burst free, sending glass and debris flying everywhere. It didn’t look as if anyone had been injured, but he was only seeing one shot of the destruction and for all he knew, Hillenbrand was lying to him about no one getting hurt. “What about the other bombs?” Rayford was surprised his voice didn’t shake.
“They’re real, but unless the bomb techs are complete idiots, they’ll find everything and be able to remove all the threats. It’s not like we’re going to set them off anyway.”
“How does this help us?” Other than the obvious. Rayford figured they wanted to destroy the credibility of the four targets, but needed to know if there was more. This whole plan had been carefully set up and no one had thought to tell Rayford. He didn’t like being in the dark and Hillenbrand seemed to thrive on keeping everything compartmentalized. It was making Rayford edgy. “And who actually set up the bombs?” he demanded, unable to keep his anger completely in check.
“To answer your first question,” Hillenbrand said, heading for his minibar even though it wasn’t even noon yet, “we’re going to anonymously release the video footage we have to the media of Brooks and Kane setting the bombs. Then we’re going to release their files—doctored files—showing their allegiance to the same Shiâ group believed to be behind their boss’s death. Along with those, we’ll include files on Tucker Pankov and Cole Erickson. We’re ruining their credibility, giving them no place to run, and painting targets on their backs by every law enforcement agency in the country. If we can’t kill them, we’ll let the government do it for us.”
Hillenbrand took a sip of his scotch, his eyes gleaming a little too madly for Rayford’s comfort. “This is absolutely brilliant,” he continued. “Everything is falling into place perfectly. We have four dirty DEA agents working with a terrorist group and killing Americans on American soil. The headlines are going to write themselves and we’re going to get our candidate into the White House. When that happens, we’ll get the war we want. The war we can win.”
If not win, they’d have a president who started a war. That would help him get elected the second time. Voters wanted someone they perceived as strong. While there was no guarantee their guy would get elected, he had a strong military background compared to the only real opponent. If people were scared they’d turn to someone they knew would do whatever it took to keep terrorists off American soil.
And they’d all become very rich when that happened, Rayford thought, trying not to focus on that too much. It was hard not to be aware, though, especially since he’d been given an eight percent stake in one of Hillenbrand’s companies. Not under his real name, of course, but the money would all be his.
It all sounded so simple, but Hillenbrand was correct. Everything did seem to be falling into place. Still . . . “What about the video footage? Won’t experts be able to tell it’s been altered?”
Harris shrugged. “Eventually, but I’m very, very good.”
“The news stations are going to run with the story,” Hillenbrand continued. “By the time there’s an official forensics video analysis, these guys will be listed as traitors and wanted by everyone in the damn country. They’re fucked.”
Plus, it would keep the authorities chasing their tails, which was a big part of this plan, he knew. No one could know the truth of what they were doing or they’d be the ones listed as traitors. And they’d all die for their crimes. Maybe not by the needle, depending upon where they were tried, but he wasn’t stupid enough to think the government wouldn’t covertly kill them for what they were doing.
Chapter 6
Dry clean: certain actions or procedures agents might take to ascertain if they are under surveillance.
Karen fought the terror splintering through her as she and Tucker—if that was even his real name—entered the house through the kitchen door. Her ankle throbbed, but she was pretty certain it was only a mild sprain. It felt like a simple twist, something she’d done before. She wasn’t concerned with her freaking ankle, though. Not when three more dangerous men were waiting in the kitchen
for them.
She winced as she limped inside, then inwardly cursed. She didn’t need to show any more weakness than necessary.
“What happened?” the blond one asked from where he leaned against a countertop. The other two were sitting at a round kitchen table, their expressions grim.
Karen had the irrational urge to move behind Tucker as cover, but she knew he wouldn’t protect her from anything.
“She twisted her ankle,” Tucker muttered.
The blond pushed up. “And you couldn’t fucking carry her?” he snapped, a surprising amount of concern in his voice, before he turned to the other two. “Get up.”
“I offered,” Tucker said, but there was no heat in his voice as he moved to where the other two men had vacated. He pulled out a chair and motioned for her to sit.
Even though she wanted to be obstinate and stand, her ankle throbbed and there was no reason to remain standing and possibly injure herself more. As she lowered herself onto one of the chairs, Tucker pulled out another one. Without asking, he took her leg gently and propped it up on the chair.
While he moved, the blond one pulled out a first-aid kit from under the sink and the heavily bearded man went to the freezer. When he retrieved an ice pack, she realized they meant to help her.
Tucker moved so quickly, efficiently removing her sneaker and sock, it was a shock to her system when his big hands gently pushed up the bottom of her black running pants, rubbing over her skin. She hadn’t expected any gentleness or warmth from him. She didn’t want to believe that there’d been any truth to what he’d said out in the woods, but if there was . . .
“Can you roll it?” he asked, looking up to meet her gaze with those intense blue eyes.
Swallowing hard, she did a couple of times. “It’s a little achy, but I don’t think it’s too bad.” There was a tiny bit of swelling on the top, so she’d probably just pulled a ligament. Since she’d broken the ankle in the past, it was more sensitive. Something she was used to.
