by CW Browning
Stephanie drove slowly, taking in the rolling hills and aged trees. She went over one hill, then drove on for a few moments before rolling over another hill. In the distance, she saw the road split in two, one going left and one going right. She stayed to the left and continued on until she saw a large, square mausoleum nestled in the center of some trees. Stephanie pulled her car to the side of the road and got out, beeping the car locked. She glanced at the address on the slip of paper and started walking. True to what her friend in the office had said, Shannon's final resting place was only a short walk down. Stephanie stepped off the pavement and started walking up the row, the thick grass soft beneath her feet. A gentle, humid breeze carried the scent of honeysuckle and she inhaled deeply, walking slowly and checking each stone as she passed.
She never had any intention of going to the Poconos when she left New Jersey. John would have tried to stop her if he had known she was coming down to Virginia to poke around some more into Shannon's death. He wanted to let sleeping dogs lie when it came to all the events three months ago, but Stephanie couldn't do that. She wanted to find out what really happened to Shannon and if that meant using her vacation to do some digging around, so be it.
Shannon's grave was near the end of the row. Stephanie stopped before it and looked down. A wreath of flowers was propped up on one side of the tombstone and Stephanie stared at the name carved in the marble, feeling hollow. She hadn't been able to make it down for the funeral, which took place the day after the incident on Three Mile Island. She supposed that was why it, somehow, wasn't real. But now, faced with the cold, hard marble with Shannon's name engraved in large block letters, Stephanie felt as if her heart had stopped. The engraving was simple, with just Shannon's name, birthday and end date. There were no cute quotes on the stone, but there was an engraving of a DHS badge in the marble.
Stephanie crouched before the stone with a smile. Shannon had been so proud to be part of the Department of Homeland Security. Her family had chosen well when they included the badge on the stone. She would have liked that.
“I'm sorry it took so long to get here,” Stephanie whispered, blinking back a sudden rush of tears. “I'm sorry that I caused this. It's my fault you aren't with us anymore.”
Her voice caught and she took a deep breath, clearing her throat and staring at the block letters in the marble.
“I will find who did this, and I'll make sure that they pay for it,” she promised softly.
SHANNON GLEASON.
Three months ago, she had been killed in a convenient car accident after she started a private inquiry into the mysterious DHS agent named Damon Peterson. The last time Stephanie heard from her, she had been convinced that she was being watched. The next day, she was dead.
The mysterious Mr. Peterson was conveniently absent for two days at the time of the accident. Alina had claimed at the time that Damon was in Cairo, Egypt, and nowhere near DC, but before he returned, the incident at Three Mile Island happened and the next day, Alina was gone.
And so was Stephanie's link to Damon.
Stephanie stood up slowly. She didn't know if Damon was involved or not, but she knew she had to find him and question him. She had to find the person who had put Shannon in the ground.
And when she found that person, she had all intentions of returning the favor.
“What the hell do you mean, no one's there?” Michael exclaimed, following Frank, the Head of Security, into the small room lined with monitors.
“Just that, no one's there,” Frank replied. “Look and see for yourself. We saw you walking to your truck, and then we saw you on the ground. Look!”
He pointed to the monitors defiantly. Michael watched the monitors in confusion as the tech seated before them played back the camera images. Frank pointed to four monitors which corresponded with the four cameras on the fourth floor of the parking garage, and Michael watched himself walk out of the alcove from the elevators and cross the parking lot, loosening his tie. He walked up to his truck and stopped briefly, then all four cameras showed him lying on the ground next to the truck, unconscious. The transition between frames was so seamless that it appeared as if he simply dropped to the ground.
“As soon as Bill saw you on the ground, he called me and I rushed out,” Frank told him, shaking his head. “We've gone back through the video stream for the whole day and can't find anything.”
“But that's impossible.” Michael stared at the screens.
“Not according to the cameras,” Frank replied apologetically.
Michael glanced at him before returning his frown to the screens. He stared at them, his mind trying to grasp what was on them. The cameras were a live feed from the parking garage to the security room. How had someone removed a portion of a live feed?
“Bill, were you watching the monitors when I went down?” Michael asked the tech in front of the monitors suddenly after a moment. Bill looked at him apologetically.
“I was, but there are 51 other cameras to watch as well,” he answered. “I saw you walk out of the alcove. I remember because that was the only movement on any of the monitors at that moment. But then the eighth level had some movement, and the sixth had a car alarm. When I went back to the fourth level, you were on the ground. I called Frank right away.”
“And when you played back the stream, this is what you got.” Michael shook his head again angrily.
“How did they hack into our feed? That's what I want to know,” Frank said, scratching his head.
Michael glanced at him sharply. He hadn't told Frank who attacked him, just that he was taken by surprise on his way to the truck. Frank automatically assumed it was a botched robbery attempt, and Michael let him believe it. He was still fuzzy-headed and a dull headache was making his eyes hurt, but he knew that Frank wasn't going to believe that this was a robbery attempt now.
“Where's the video feed stored?” Michael asked him.
“On a server,” Frank answered. “The feed comes in and then gets saved in real time.”
Michael nodded slowly.
“Ok,” he said, running his hand through his short hair. His fingers slid over a welt where Viper had hit him and a fresh wave of anger washed over him. “I'll take care of this. This doesn't leave this room. Understood?”
“But, our system's been compromised!” Frank protested. Michael shook his head.
“It doesn't leave this room,” he repeated firmly. “I don't want this getting out.”
“What about our feed?” Frank demanded.
“Make two copies of the files,” Michael told him. “Give me one, you keep the other, and then delete it from the server. And I mean delete. I want it gone, like it never happened.”
“And my copy?” Frank asked, looking at him.
Michael met his eyes squarely.
“You keep it safe until I tell you what to do with it.”
Frank gave him a hard look before nodding.
“Ok, Mike,” he agreed. “I've known you long enough to know you have something up your sleeve. I'll do it, but for God's Sake, don't make me regret it.”
Michael grinned and clapped him on the shoulder.
“Trust me,” he promised. “You won't be the one to regret it.”
Chapter Five
By the time Michael got home, it was after eleven o'clock. Frank had insisted that he go to the ER to get checked for concussion. Michael refused the ER, but relented and went to an urgent care clinic instead to shut Frank up. The nurse practitioner checked him out, declared that he was fine, and sent him home with pain killers for the headache. Michael tossed the script into the glove box of his truck. He wasn't taking a prescription pain killer for a damn headache.
But he was going to find Viper and make sure she got a headache of her own. He was furious. He was furious with himself for being taken off guard. He was furious with her for toying with him. And he was furious with his employers for making him try to find her in the first place.
He slammed the doo
r to his truck closed and beeped it locked. Walking down the driveway to the sidewalk, he swiped up the newspaper that had been tossed there in the morning. It wasn't until he turned around to cut back up across his front lawn that he spotted the package.
Frowning, Michael crossed to his front porch. Nestled comfortably against his front door was a brown paper bag with a white envelope propped up against it. Michael glanced around the dark and quiet neighborhood. He lived in a small, comfortable development where the neighbors were friendly and quiet. Most of the houses on his street were already dark. They worked hard here and went to bed early. The odds of anyone having seen who left the package were slim to none. He bent to pick up the envelope, careful not to touch or bump the bag. Ripping it open, he pulled out a card.
Sorry I missed you. I heard you were working in DC now. Just wanted to stop and say hello. It's been a long time and I feel like Dave would have liked it if we kept in touch. I understand if you feel it's been too long. I'm only in town for the weekend, but my number is below if you want to catch up. Otherwise, enjoy the bottle!
Alina Maschik
Michael stared at the name in surprise. Lina? His mind searched back and brought forth the memory of an attractive brunette with large dark eyes that looked disconcertingly like her brother's. He went to see her when he came stateside years ago after her brother Dave, his best friend, had fallen in Iraq. Dave made him promise to keep an eye on his sister and Michael had wanted to keep in touch back then. Unfortunately, Alina made it impossible to keep that promise by disappearing a few months later. He heard at one point that she joined the Navy, which hadn't surprised him, and then he lost track of her.
Michael bent down to swipe up the bag and grinned when he saw the bottle of Jameson inside. Poor Lina. By the time they finished the bottle of Jameson that night, she looked green. But she had held her own, going shot for shot with him.
Mike unlocked his front door and carried the bottle in, switching on the light as he stepped inside. He kicked the door closed behind him and dropped his keys on the hall stand. The front door opened into a hallway, which stretched back to the kitchen at the back of the house. Stairs went up the right side of the hall to the second floor. On the right was the living room and on the left was the dining room, where he had hung the world map, transforming it into his temporary command center. Carrying the bottle into the dining room, Michael dropped his laptop onto one of the chairs and set the bottle on the table. He dropped the card next to it before turning to switch on the light and take off his suit jacket tiredly.
Dave Maschik had been his best friend in boot camp, and they became brothers when they ended up in the same unit together. When Dave took a bullet to the head, half of Michael had died as well. He turned back to the table with a sigh and draped his suit jacket over the back of one of the chairs. Lifting the bottle of whiskey out of the bag, he carried it over to the side table where glasses were set on a tray and poured himself a drink. Carrying it back to the table, Michael re-read the message from Lina. She had left a cell number at the bottom of the card. He smiled slightly and dropped it back onto the table, glancing at his watch. He supposed it was too late to call now. He would call her tomorrow and arrange to meet her for dinner.
Maybe now he could fulfill that promise he made so long ago.
“I don't like it,” Damon said, shaking his head. He was sitting on the edge of the kitchen counter, watching as Alina unloaded the dishwasher and put the dishes away. “You're giving him too much of an opportunity to connect the dots and realize who you are.”
“No, I'm not.” Alina opened a drawer and started putting away cutlery. “He's not going to see Viper. He's going to see Lina, his buddy's kid sister. There is absolutely no reason for him to connect one with the other.”
“It's too risky,” he argued. “What happens if he gets hold of your file somehow? Or if someone leaks your real name? Enough people know it. What if your old flame from Jersey says something that trickles back to Washington and Michael puts two and two together?”
“If that happens, it won't matter whether I've been in contact with him or not,” Alina retorted. “He's going to recognize the name if someone tells him, regardless.”
“So why increase the odds?” Damon demanded. “Are you trying to make this more difficult than it already is?”
Alina laughed and turned to face him. Her eyes were sparkling and she was tense with barely contained energy.
“I'm not increasing the odds. Ok, maybe just a little,” she admitted before grinning a grin of pure mischief. “Look. There is absolutely no reason for Michael to connect his encounter with Viper to an old friend who's looking him up while she's in town. None. If I can get close to him, I can keep track of him. The only reason you don't like it is because you think my real name is going to get out. If that happens, it'll be better if I'm already close to Michael. It will reinforce the impression that I'm not the enemy here.”
“You really think that will matter if he finds out you're the one who clocked him on the head in the parking garage?” Damon grinned. “You give Marines too much credit.”
Alina shrugged and turned back to the dishwasher.
“Possibly,” she admitted. “I may be relying too heavily on past loyalties. But do you have a better idea for getting inside his head?”
Damon was silent and she glanced back at him. He was staring straight ahead, thinking. Alina let him think as she finished unloading the dishwasher. She wiped down the counters and turned to face him. He shook his head reluctantly.
“No,” he admitted. “This is probably the only way to get an in on the Secret Service.”
“Good. Now we can move on,” she said cheerfully. Damon shook his head.
“I still don't like it,” he muttered, getting off the counter and following her to the kitchen table where they had set up four laptops. “I don't like any of this.”
“I know.”
“You're too exposed,” Damon added.
“I know,” she agreed. “But this is how it has to be.”
“Doesn't mean I...” Damon began.
“...have to like it,” Alina finished for him.
He looked at her and grinned sheepishly, his blue eyes sparkling.
“Ok. I'll stop now,” he said, dropping into a chair and opening one of the laptops. Alina laughed and sat opposite him.
“Don't worry,” she said. “I'll hear it from Harry as well. Charlie is the only one who agrees with me on this.”
“Well, he's the only one who counts right now,” Damon murmured. He glanced up at the two plasmas hanging on the kitchen wall and opened one of the laptops, directing a map onto one of the screens. “And right now, he's covering both our hides with the other agencies. He bought us a little time by backing you, but it won't do any good if we can't get proof that our guy brought a terrorist into the country.”
“I'm working on it,” Alina said, opening her email. “I'm still waiting to hear from one of my contacts in Egypt. She's doing some digging for me.”
“You still have people in Egypt?” Damon asked, glancing at her.
“Of course.” Alina didn't even look up and Damon blinked.
“Ok then,” he said after a moment. “Whoever it is, they have balls of steel, I'll give them that much,” he added. Alina laughed.
“I'll be sure to let her know,” she retorted. “She should be able to get something for us. There's always information to be had, and she is unusually gifted in finding it.”
“How long before you think Michael will bite and start running searches on The Engineer?” Damon asked, clicking open some files on his laptop.
Alina glanced up to the dark second plasma screen.
“I'm a little surprised he hasn't started already,” she admitted. “I hope I didn't hit him too hard.”
Damon grinned.
“Now that would be funny,” he said. “If our main source for information from Capitol Hill gets memory loss from you hitting him over the head, I'l
l bounce and you're on your own.”
Alina glared at him.
“I didn't hit him that hard,” she retorted. “If you like, I can demonstrate for you,” she added sweetly.
“I'll pass,” he said with a laugh. Alina grinned and went back to her emails. “Did you get the spyware on his home network without any issues?”
“Mm-hmm,” Alina murmured. “If he copies anything onto a flash drive, the tag will follow it. I'm hoping to get into his work network that way.”
“Nice.” Damon sat back in his chair and leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling thoughtfully. “Let's say this hair-brained scheme of yours works,” he said, ignoring her snort of indignation. “Let's say Michael leads us to the person who hired Johann and brought him into the country to commit an act of terror on US soil.”
“The same person who also hired an assassin to come into the country,” Alina interjected and Damon glanced at her sharply, his eyes narrowing slightly.
“Let's say we find out who arranged it, and it isn't who we think it is? What then?” Damon asked.
Alina finally looked up from her screen, staring at him.
“You don't think it's him?” she asked after a moment.
Damon's blue eyes rested on her face speculatively.
“I'm not saying that,” he answered slowly. “But we should consider the possibility.”
Alina sat back and stared at him in silence. As much as she hated to admit it, he was absolutely right.
“Talk.”
Damon shrugged and sat forward, leaning his arms on the table.
“Let's look back at everything,” he suggested. “Let's start at the very beginning.”
