Next Exit, Pay Toll

by CW Browning

  It was a little after eight when he received the email he had been expecting from work. It was the official notification that the bullets found in Jason Rogers and the bullets found in the cameras in the parking garage were the same caliber as the one found in Billy Conners' bedroom. The email instructed him to work on the assumption that it was the same shooter in all instances and proceed accordingly. It had been sent to both agencies involved with the investigation, and Michael knew that the other alphabets would receive a less detailed version alerting them to move Viper up on the Most-Wanted list.

  Michael sat back in his chair, rubbing his face with a yawn, and realized that his coffee mug was empty. He stood up with a stretch and picked up the mug, turning to go into the kitchen. So the news was out. The agency thought that Viper was running rampant through DC, breaking into houses, tying people up, shooting them and blowing up cars. He could only imagine the flack that Chris walked into when he got to the office this morning.

  Michael's lips tightened as he emptied the used coffee grinds from his coffeemaker and put a clean filter in the basket. Art would be flapping around, laying the blame for just about everything that happened in the city last night at Viper's feet, and Chris would be forced to pull men from other assignments to beef up security. Michael shook his head. He wouldn't be a bit surprised if the White House was evacuated just to bring more pressure to bear on the agency to find Viper.

  But she's not in the city, Michael thought absently, filling up the water reservoir to the coffeemaker. Not just now, anyway.

  Michael's head shot up, his tired eyes widening in understanding. Those had been her words, or something like them. She wasn't here now, but she was coming back.

  Michael dropped the water reservoir back into the coffeemaker and hit the button to brew before turning to pace around the kitchen. What made her leave? If he could only find out how The Engineer got into the country! Michael knew that everything hinged on that. But if he was dead, and Michael had no doubt that Viper killed him in Jersey three months ago, what else would drag her away from her manhunt? If someone in Washington brought the terrorist and assassin into the country, what could possibly call Viper away? Had the someone in Washington left the city? Was she following them? Was she running? Had she shot Jason and Billy?

  Michael frowned, sending his mind back to Saturday. He had been in here, filling a bag with ice when Alina called out, saying they had company. He ran to the kitchen door and heard the pops of gunfire. Alina had been crouched low inside the door, her back to the wall, taking cover. The black SUV was just leaving as he came running down the hall to the door. Could it have been Viper in the back of the SUV? It was an excellent shot...

  The smell of fresh brewing coffee began to fill the kitchen and still Michael paced with a slight frown. Of course it could have been Viper, but he would be willing to bet his next month's salary that it hadn't been. Even if Jason could identify her, which was doubtful since he had yet to find any connection between Jason Rogers and Viper, there would have been no reason to kill him so publicly. That just wasn't her style. She was far from flamboyant. None of this was her style.

  “Hello?”

  Michael was roused from his thoughts by a voice yelling from the backyard. He stopped in front of the sink and looked out the broken window. Blake was standing in the backyard, looking up at the jagged hole in the window. He grinned and waved when he saw Michael.

  “Morning! Do I smell coffee?” he called.

  Michael grinned, reluctantly letting go of his train of thought and going over to open the back door to his friend.

  “You do. Come on in,” he answered, leaving the back door open and going back into the kitchen to get a clean mug out of the cabinet. Blake stepped into the house and closed the door.

  “You didn't board it up?” he asked, nodding to the broken window. Michael shrugged, closing the cabinet door.

  “There wasn't much point. They're coming today to put a new one in.”

  Blake dropped his keys and sunglasses onto the island and accepted a coffee mug from Michael.

  “I guess you weren't worried about security last night,” he remarked. Michael snorted.

  “I was up half the night working,” he retorted. “By the time I went to bed, I was looking for a fight. So no, I wasn't worried about security.” Michael pulled the full coffee pot out of the machine and Blake held out his cup. “What brings you around so early?” he asked, pouring coffee into Blake's mug.

  “I wanted to see if you got the official word on the bullet casings,” Blake answered.

  Michael finished filling his cup and Blake sipped it gratefully as Michael turned to refill his own mug.

  “Got it a little while ago,” Michael murmured, pouring black coffee into his mug. He set the pot back onto the burner, turned around to lean against the counter, and sipped his coffee. “Do you have something unofficial to add?” he asked, eyeing his friend over the rim of his mug. Blake grinned.

  “A few things,” he said.

  Michael raised his eyebrows.

  “Well, then you'd better come into my office,” he told Blake, walking over and opening the door to the garage. Blake laughed and preceded him down the few steps into the garage. “I sweep this place regularly for bugs,” Michael explained, closing the door behind them. He pulled out a stool for his friend to sit on.

  “You sweep your garage for bugs?” Blake repeated, staring at him.

  Michael shrugged and leaned against his work bench.

  “What can I say? I'm careful.”

  “Paranoid is more like it,” Blake retorted. Michael grinned.

  “Maybe,” he agreed. “But at least you know what you say in here won't get out.”

  Blake chuckled.

  “True,” he agreed. He drank some more coffee before setting the mug down on the work bench. “Well, here's what I've got. The bullets you know about. All .45’s. The lab will be able to confirm that they all came from the same gun and I should know in the next few days. I sweet-talked one of the techs, so I'm hopeful that I'll have confirmation sooner rather than later.”

  Michael snorted.

  “With your idea of sweet-talk, you won't have the results for months.”

  Blake glared at him, his dancing brown eyes belying the fierce look.

  “How's your stalker?” he asked innocently and Michael grinned.

  “Point taken,” he said, holding up his hand in surrender. Blake chuckled.

  “Someday, I want to know who the mysterious stalker is,” he said. Michael sipped his coffee and was silent. “Oh! That reminds me!” Michael stifled a groan at the mischievous look stealing into Blake's face. “One of your boys told one of my boys that your date Saturday night was an old buddy's kid sister. Is she legal?”

  Michael set his mug down and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Remind me to knock some heads together when this is all over,” he muttered.

  Blake burst out laughing.

  “Who was she? I only got a glimpse of her as she was leaving, but she looked like a knock-out. You might not want to make her your lasagna again, though. She seemed to have an aversion to it,” he added.

  Michael glared at him and Blake laughed harder.

  “Keep it up, buttercup,” Michael retorted.

  “Anyway, I got the backup tapes from the cameras in the parking garage.” Blake calmed down and continued. “They were next to useless. The only thing we were able to pull was a grainy image of someone lurking around Ms. Walker's car on Saturday morning. We tried to clean it up, but it's tentative at best. The person is about the right height and build to be Billy Conners, but there's just no way to tell if it was him or someone else. One of our techs is willing to say positively that she thinks it's a man, based on the size of his hands and the way he moves, but that's far from conclusive.”

  “Does the film show him approaching the car?” Michael asked, picking up his coffee again. Blake shook his head.

  “He, or she,
never approached the car in the clips that we have,” he said. “But here's where it gets weird. The tapes are all distorted and grainy to begin with, but in that particular portion of the feed, there are other images superimposed over each other. It's almost like someone corrupted the feed somehow.”

  Michael frowned, remembering the hacked feed the night Viper attacked him.

  “This seems to be becoming a trend,” he murmured and Blake glanced at him sharply.

  “What does?” he asked. Michael shook his head.

  “Nothing,” he said. “I was just thinking out loud. What about the street cameras?”

  “Well, that's where we had some luck.” Blake drank some more coffee. “We have solid footage of a black Jeep Wrangler leaving the garage right after the explosion. Good plates and a man driving, although not one camera could pick up any facial features at all. He was wearing a hat and shades. There's also footage of the same Jeep going in, but the angle only catches the rear side of the vehicle, so no help there. We're trying to find the Jeep now.”

  “Well, that's something at least.” Michael set his mug down and crossed his arms again. “Any idea who Billy was working for yet?”

  Blake finished his coffee and set the empty mug down.

  “We're still going through his PC, but he was being paid by someone. Regular cash deposits into a bank account every week, and the SUV was leased to a security company. Morganston Security, I think it's called,” Blake answered.

  Michael's eyes narrowed and he frowned.

  “Now, why do I know that name?” he wondered and Blake raised his eyebrows.

  “You've heard of them?” he asked. Michael nodded.

  “Yes.” He thought for a moment before shaking his head. “I'll let you know when I remember how I know them.” Blake nodded.

  “Well, that's what I have so far,” he said. “I should have more by tonight. How about you? Are you making any progress?”

  “Progress? No,” Michael answered with a grimace. “I'm still trying to find out why an ex-SEAL would want to break into my house.”

  “He was working for someone, that's for sure,” Blake murmured, getting to his feet. “I'll keep you posted on any developments.” Michael nodded.

  “I appreciate that,” he said, straightening up and walking with Blake to the kitchen door. “Have you heard anything from your missing agent, Stephanie Walker?”

  “Not a peep,” Blake replied as they stepped back into the kitchen. “Now her partner is MIA as well.” He went to the sink and set his empty mug inside. “Their boss can't reach either of them on their cell phones, and we're not getting any hits on the GPS for either phone. It's like they just disappeared on Saturday.”

  Michael frowned.

  “They can't just disappear,” he said. Blake shrugged.

  “I know, but that's exactly what they did,” he replied. “You met with Ms. Walker on Saturday, didn't you? Did she say anything about where she was headed?”

  “No. All she said was that she was on vacation and didn't know how long she'd be staying in the DC area,” Michael answered.

  Blake glanced at him as he picked up his keys and sunglasses from the island.

  “What did you talk about?” he asked.

  “I had some questions about something else that I'm working on,” Michael replied. “I thought she could help.”

  “And did she?” Blake settled his sunglasses on his face, but not before Michael caught the piercing glance from brown eyes.

  “She did, actually,” Michael informed him with a smile.

  Blake nodded and turned to the door.

  “Good! I hope she checks in soon,” he said on his way to the door. “Thanks for the coffee!”

  “Anytime,” Michael assured him.

  Blake disappeared out the back door with a wave and Michael turned to pour himself more coffee. Where had Stephanie Walker disappeared to? Was she with Viper?

  Michael turned to go back to the dining room with the unsettling feeling that he was missing something.

  Marty wiped his sweaty palms on his khaki pants. He was shown into Frankie's parlor over half an hour ago, and there was still no sign of the boss. He perched on the edge of the leather arm chair and stared at the table in front of him. A vase of sunflowers was in the center, nestled in a bowl of seashells. Marty wondered if Frankie's wife had flowers in all the rooms. He had never seen any room of the shore house, other than this one. This was where business was transacted.

  The door opened suddenly and Frankie's large frame filled the doorway. He was dressed in shorts and a polo shirt and looked as if he had just come in from the beach behind the house. Closing the door behind himself, he nodded to Marty.

  “Marty! Glad you could make it.”

  Marty jumped up and held out his hand.

  “Anytime, boss, anytime,” he said, shaking Frankie's hand energetically. “It's always nice to get to the Jersey shore.”

  Frankie nodded slightly, pulling his hand away and sitting down in the arm chair opposite him. Marty dropped back into his chair.

  “It's a nice break from the city,” Frankie agreed, sitting back. “Tell me about DC,” he commanded and Marty swallowed.

  “Well, like I told you on the phone, I got a call from our contact in the Secret Service,” Marty began. “He's part of security at the Admiral's House, assigned to the VP.”

  Frankie held up a hand, stopping him.

  “How long has he been on our payroll?” he asked. Marty thought for a minute.

  “About two years now,” he answered. Frankie nodded and Marty continued. “So he tells me that the VP's cousin is really upset over Billy Conners. She wants to know how the Feds ended up with the body and what they're doing with all his stuff. Our man thinks she's afraid they'll find something she don't want found.”

  “Any idea what that might be?” Frankie asked, steepling his fingers under his chin, his elbows on the arms of the chair. Marty shrugged.

  “Nah. No one knows. But she's real nervous, or so he says,” he answered.

  “What about the SEAL?” Frankie asked.

  “The ex-Marine whose house they broke into is looking for answers on him,” Marty said, wiping his palms on his khakis again. “He's no joke, boss. He'll find out who he was working for.”

  Frankie studied him, his gaze steady, until Marty felt like squirming like a schoolboy.

  “How can they connect him back to us?” Frankie finally asked softly.

  “I don't know, but that guy, Michael O'Reilly, he's smart.” Marty swallowed. “He's not an average suit. He'll figure it out.”

  Frankie released his fingers with a sigh.

  “Marty, he'll find out that Jason Rogers was working for Regina Cummings,” Frankie informed him patiently. “There won't be any need to look any further than that.”

  “I hope you're right, boss. I wouldn't want you to have the hassle of that guy breathing down your neck,” Marty said. “He's smart. Smarter than the other Feds.”

  “Yes, you said that already,” Frankie murmured. “Did my trigger man get out of the city ok?”

  “Without a hitch, boss.” Marty nodded. “He's back in the Poconos now.” Marty reached down to the messenger bag on the floor next to his chair and picked it up. “Here's the gun, just like you said.”

  Marty got up and handed the bag to Frankie, who took it and dropped it onto the floor next to his own chair.

  “Good.” Frankie looked up and Marty swallowed nervously. Even with him standing and the boss sitting, he still felt intimidated. “How's the search going for the woman?”

  “They've just about locked DC down looking for her,” Marty answered, backing up and perching on the edge of his chair again. “They think she's in the city.”

  Frankie raised his eyebrows.

  “Do they? What do you think?” he asked softly. Marty swallowed again.

  “She's crazy if she is,” he answered. “I hear they're not so interested in her alive. If they catch her, she's de
ad.”

  Frankie was silent for a minute.

  “Did you hear that from your contact in the Admiral's House?” he asked.

  Marty shook his head.

  “Nah. I heard that from the Feds,” he said readily. “It's common knowledge down there. I guess she knows too much for her own good. General opinion is that if they do take her alive, she'll disappear into Gitmo or worse, but no one thinks she'll live long enough to make it there.”

  Frankie was studying him again, his dark eyes piercing into him.

  “You really are a wealth of information,” he commended him and Marty swelled with pride.

  “That's what you pay me to do,” he said, trying to be modest and not succeeding. “I like talking to people, but I like listening more.” Marty tapped his forehead. “It all gets stored up here. You never know if what you hear can be used.”

  “Indeed.” Frankie stood up. “Well, Marty, I want you to do something else for me. I want you to go back and order a Guinness burger with double Guinness in that Irish bar that you go to all the time.”

  Marty stood up, his startled gaze making Frankie chuckle.

  “How...how do you know about Danny's Place?” Marty stammered.

  “I know everything, Marty,” Frankie retorted. “Even that you are also on the ex-Marine's payroll as an informant,” he added softly.

  Marty felt the blood drain from his face and he stared at Frankie, speechless. Frankie smiled a Cheshire Cat smile, clapping him on his shoulder.

  “Don't worry, Marty,” he assured him. “Your usefulness has out-weighed my displeasure so far.”

  “I swear to God, boss, I ain't never given any information about the Family,” Marty stuttered. “I swear on my life!”

  Frankie led him to the door.

  “I know,” he said soothingly. “Just go back and order that burger with the extra Guinness.”

  “When?” Marty asked, stopping at the door. Beads of sweat were breaking out on his forehead and he rubbed his palms on his shirt.