The Enraged jqt-7

by Brett Battles

  “If something like that ever happens again, I expect you to contact me either through e-mail or text, at the very least. It’s for your own benefit. I wouldn’t want to think that you were purposely ignoring me, and have to release the information I’ve been holding on to for you.”

  “I wasn’t ignoring you. I swear.”

  That’s what Griffin liked to hear. Desperation. “I understand that, Michael. Just wanted to make sure we were clear.”

  “We’re clear.”

  “Good. Then we’ll put that behind us. Now, can I assume you’ve made progress identifying what vehicle our friends left the cabin in?”

  “Yes,” Dima said quickly. “Yes, I have.”

  “Well, this is good news. Tell me.”

  “You were right. The owner of the cabin has a car he keeps there. A Jeep Wrangler. It’s ten years old. Dark blue with a black hardtop. Did you see it there?”

  “No. Is there a chance the owner had taken it somewhere else?”

  “I checked myself, claimed to be with his insurance company. The…the owner said it was still at the cabin.”

  “Excellent work. You know what I’m going to ask you to do next, don’t you?”

  “See if I can find out where it went?”

  “Very good.”

  * * *

  Immigrations and Customs was always Morten’s least favorite part of a trip. Thankfully, his plane arrived at Dulles right before three other international flights landed, putting him and his fellow passengers at the head of the line.

  Passport stamped and bag collected, he headed outside to where his car was waiting for him at the curb. While the driver put his luggage in the trunk, Morten climbed into the back.

  “Good evening, sir,” Griffin said. “I hope you had a good flight.”

  “It was fine, thank you.”

  “I’m happy to hear that.”

  The trunk slammed shut, the driver slipped into his seat, and within seconds, they were driving away.

  “So, are we buttoned up yet?”

  “Not quite,” Griffin said. “But I anticipate it won’t be long now.”

  Morten scowled. This was not the news he wanted to hear. “Explain.”

  Griffin told him what had happened that day, ending with the revelation that apparently this Steve Howard character knew about Miranda Keyes, and their connection to Peter’s death.

  Morten’s mood darkened. That son of a bitch Peter. Why couldn’t he have left his wife buried?

  “Tell me how you’re planning on solving this…problem,” he said, teeth clenched.

  “By locating Howard, which is in progress as we speak. Once that occurs, I’ll pay him a visit, find out who else knows and where they are, then eliminate all the problems.”

  Griffin’s confidence didn’t make Morten feel much better. This problem should have never reached this point. “How long until this is finished?”

  “A day, two at most.”

  Morten settled back in his seat and said nothing for the rest of the trip.

  * * *

  The charter jet carrying Quinn, Nate, Lanier, Berkeley, and Curson landed at 10:18 p.m. Waiting for them at the private hangar were three black Suburbans. Two of the vehicles were already full. The third had only a driver and passenger, the latter standing near the front of the SUV, his hand clasped behind him.

  As Quinn and the others approached, the man stepped forward, meeting them halfway, and held out his hand to Quinn.

  “Witten,” Quinn said, shaking.

  “Quinn,” Witten said. “Sorry I never got back to you.”

  “You kept your men from shooting us, so I’m willing to forgive and forget.”

  “Mighty big of you.”

  Quinn turned to the others. “Everyone, this is Clyde Witten. I’ll let you introduce yourselves.” He looked past Witten to the vehicles. “And I suppose this is the famous O & O?”

  “Out for a final hurrah,” Witten said.

  “Final?”

  “We’ve been told to expect reassignment.”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  “It happens.”

  Quinn glanced at the trucks again. “Any of your people know I’m the one who shot your colleague the other day?”

  “Just me.”

  “And I trust you won’t shoot me in the back?”

  “Not planning on it.” He stepped to the side and motioned to the vehicles. “Shall we?”

  CHAPTER 34

  Griffin had just returned to his office when UNKNOWN appeared on the display of the found cell phone for the third time. He rushed over to his desk and plugged it into his computer.

  “Hello?” he said.

  “How do I know you won’t have me killed if we agree to meet?”

  Griffin smiled. The mere fact that Howard was even contemplating a meeting meant Griffin had him. He only needed to reel Howard in. “As I told you before, you can choose the location.”

  In the silence that followed, Griffin sensed the other man thinking over his options.

  “Are you back in DC now? Or are you still in Trevor Hollow?” Howard asked.

  “DC. Where are you?”

  The man laughed. “Not DC.” A pause. “But I’ll be there tomorrow. Perhaps something can be arranged.”

  “Tell me the time and place.”

  “I’ll call you in the morning.”

  As soon as the call disconnected, Griffin phoned the geek.

  “I think I might have cracked it,” the geek said.

  “You got the rest?” Griffin asked. To this point, the kid had only been able to identify four numbers, leaving six to go.

  “Give me, like, five minutes.”

  It ended up taking the geek seven to call back.

  “So? Did you get it?” Griffin asked.

  “Hell, yeah, I did. Told you no one could hide anything from me.”

  After writing down the number the kid rattled off, Griffin hung up. On his phone was the customized application allowing him to pinpoint cell-phone location. He input the number, and was rewarded thirty seconds later with a glowing blue dot in the middle of a map.

  A low chuckle escaped. You’re a liar, Howard.

  Unlike what the man had told him, it appeared Howard was in DC. Not only that, he was only a few miles from where Griffin was.

  For two minutes, he stared at his phone, waiting for the blue dot to move, but it remained anchored in place.

  Excellent.

  Griffin had made a career of not only recognizing opportunities, but acting on them. Leaving the tracking app running on his cell, he picked up his desk phone and called Dima.

  “I need your assistance.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Dima asked.

  “I want you to dip into that wonderful armory you have there at O & O, then meet me.” He gave Dima an address two blocks away from where Howard was.

  “Are you kidding me? I can’t leave here. I’m on duty.”

  “I’m sure you can arrange it.”

  “I can’t come—” Dima paused. “Hold a second. I have a team calling in.” It was nearly a minute before Dima came back. “Mr. Griffin, I am not a field agent.”

  “You were once.”

  “Yes, but that was years ago.”

  “I just need your presence. I don’t need you to kill anyone,” Griffin said. While the second part was true, the first was only partially so. Yes, he needed Dima’s presence, but that was because he’d decided Dima’s usefulness had come to an end, and it was time to eliminate the weak link. If he could get Dima to help him in the process, all the better.

  “Okay, okay,” Dima said, defeated. “I’ll get someone to cover the rest of my shift. But it’ll take at least thirty minutes for me to get there.”

  “Make it twenty. Oh, and Michael?”

  “Yes?”

  “There’s one other thing I’d like you to bring.”

  * * *

  “S2 to S1,” one of Witten’s men said over the radio.r />
  “Go for S1,” Quinn replied. Unlike the others, he was the only one not wearing a radio in his ear, and had to rely on the Suburban’s dash-mounted unit.

  “Griffin is on the move,” the spotter reported.

  “Copy that.”

  * * *

  The blue dot on the tracker led Griffin to a twenty-four-hour diner called Mama Jo’s. Arriving ten minutes before his scheduled rendezvous with Dima, he did a slow drive-by so he could peer in the windows, but while he could make out several people sitting at tables and a handful of customers at the counter, the layout of the restaurant made it impossible for him to see all the diners.

  He checked his phone again. The blue dot had not moved, so either Howard had left his cell at Mama Jo’s, or he was inside.

  Griffin picked up his speed, intending to turn down the next block and head over to the meeting point, but he saw something that caused him to bring his car to a quick stop. Parked at one of the metered spots, a full half block beyond the restaurant, was a Jeep Wrangler, dark blue with a black hardtop. He checked the license number against the one Dima had given him. It was a match.

  Howard was definitely here.

  Griffin hurried over to the meeting point and was pleased to find Dima waiting for him. A honk of the horn prodded the O & O man out of his vehicle and into Griffin’s.

  “Did you bring what I asked?” Griffin said.

  Dima removed an inch-wide, rectangular box from his pocket, and tried to hand it to Griffin.

  Griffin kept his hands on the wheel. “Prep it, please.”

  “Oh, uh, okay.”

  Dima fumbled with the box before finally getting the top off. Inside was an empty syringe and a small glass bottle.

  “How long are you going to want the subject knocked out for?” Dima asked.

  “Not long. Twenty minutes should do it.”

  Dima consulted the chart on the inside of the box cover before filling the syringe from the liquid in the bottle. “They only give a range. It, um, could be as long as forty minutes.”

  “That’s fine,” Griffin said.

  Dima capped the needle and, his hand slightly shaking, gave it to Griffin.

  “Relax,” Griffin said. “This is going to go nice and smooth.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “Have a little chat with someone.”

  “With who?”

  Griffin sneered, and shifted the car into Drive. “One of the people your men were supposed to catch two days ago.”

  * * *

  “S3 to S1.”

  “Go for S1,” Nate said. With Quinn now in position, Nate had assumed command.

  “Rendezvous with Dima complete.” The way the spotter pronounced Dima’s name left no doubt how the O & O team felt about a leaker in their ranks.

  “Copy that, S3.”

  * * *

  Griffin sped back to the block Mama Jo’s was on, and parked at the curb two spots in front of the Jeep. Once they exited the sedan, Griffin took a look around. It was a mixed-use street, businesses with some apartments above. At this hour, though, the only place open was the diner, and the lights in the majority of the apartments were off.

  He checked the tracker. The blue dot was still centered over the restaurant.

  “Do you remember what the driver of the BMW in the pictures you sent me looked like?” he asked Dima.

  “Well enough, I guess.”

  “I want you to go down to that restaurant and see if you can spot him inside from the window. Don’t stay long, though. If he’s moving, I need you back here.”

  “Sure,” Dima said. He was clearly still nervous.

  “Are we going to have a problem, Michael?”

  “What? No. Of course not.”

  “Then get it together.”

  “I’m together. Don’t worry.”

  As Dima headed toward Mama Jo’s, Griffin stepped back into a recessed entrance to a closed hair salon about thirty feet past the Jeep on the restaurant side. He could stand within its shadows and watch Mama Jo’s, then move farther back where he wouldn’t be seen by anyone walking by.

  Keeping an eye on Dima, he pulled out his phone and called the head of Darvot’s own five-man special ops team. With O & O in chaos, he’d had no choice but to bring them in.

  “Status,” he asked.

  “Everything’s ready,” Reynolds said. “Team’s in place.”

  “Good. I’ll let you know when we’re on our way.”

  As soon as he hung up, he checked the tracking app again. The blue dot was still in the restaurant, but it was moving through the building toward the exit. He shot a quick glance at Dima. Though Howard should be visible to him, the man from O & O seemed to still be searching the interior.

  When the blue dot reached the front entrance, Griffin slipped his phone into his pocket and watched the door. A couple seconds later, it opened, and a man stepped out. A few feet away, Dima glanced over at him, but almost immediately returned his attention to the interior of Mama Jo’s. Griffin was starting to think Dima was a complete moron when their target stepped into the halo of the nearby streetlight.

  The man wasn’t Howard.

  Griffin snatched his phone back out and checked the screen. The dot was definitely traveling with the man. Had Howard dumped his phone on this guy? Perhaps planted it on him? Or had it not been Howard calling him at all?

  He slipped into the back corner of the entrance. What should he do? He couldn’t just grab innocent people off the street. That could get very messy. He needed to be sure. He uncapped the syringe, and positioned it in his hand in a way that it wouldn’t be seen. As soon as the man walked by, he stepped out.

  “Brian?” he said. “What are you doing here?”

  The man stopped and looked back. “Sorry. Think you have the wrong guy.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  But Griffin knew he didn’t have the wrong guy. He’d recognized the voice immediately as belonging to caller UNKNOWN.

  As the man turned away, Griffin stepped forward and jabbed the needle into the base of the guy’s neck.

  The drug worked quickly. The man had barely gotten a surprised, “What…” out of his mouth before he stumbled against a parked car. Griffin grabbed him around the waist to keep him from dropping all the way to the ground, and drunk-walked him to Griffin’s sedan. With his free hand, he opened the back door and manhandled the guy inside.

  He looked around and made sure there was no one else on the street before putting his fingers to his lips and whistling. Dima jerked around in surprise.

  “Get over here!” Griffin yelled.

  * * *

  The house was in a wooded suburb northeast of the city in Maryland, on a cul-de-sac with three other homes, all owned by Darvot Consulting.

  Reynolds opened the garage door as Griffin drove up, and immediately closed it behind him. The other four members of his team were spread out around the outside of the house in case of trouble.

  Griffin, Dima, and Reynolds lugged the prisoner into a special room in the basement designed for circumstances like this. There was a single piece of furniture in the room, a chair in the center. Though it couldn’t move, it wasn’t bolted in place. It was cemented into the floor.

  The unadorned walls and the only door were soundproof. There were no windows. The only other thing of note was the drain in the floor directly under the chair.

  Using pre-sized straps that hung on the wall outside the room, they secured the man to the chair and stepped back out. Reynolds was dismissed to join his men, while Griffin and Dima sat in front of the table that was outside the room to wait for the prisoner to wake up.

  Nearly fifteen minutes passed in silence before Dima asked, “What are you going to do to him?”

  “I told you before. I’m going to talk to him.”

  Dima looked like he wanted to ask, “And then what?” but he kept his mouth shut.

  Griffin flipped on the computer sitting on the table. From it, he c
ould control the five cameras inside. If he wanted, he could record everything, or, as he was doing now, simply look in.

  Mr. Unknown was still unconscious, his chin hanging against his chest.

  “Keep an eye on him,” he said. “If he so much as twitches, come get me.”

  * * *

  The three Suburbans sat empty two blocks away from the target house, the vehicles’ former occupants having moved silently down streets and through backyards until they were in position.

  Nate, Daeng, and Witten were crouched near the open end of the cul-de-sac. In Witten’s hand was a mini tablet computer displaying a detailed map of the area, including property lines and house footprints. As it had been since they’d arrived in the peaceful neighborhood, the glowing white dot they’d followed from Mama Jo’s restaurant was contained within the diagram denoting the house in the middle of the curved end of the road.

  “S1, this is S3,” a voice said over the comm.

  Nate turned on his mic. “Go for S1.”

  “Five guards. Two in back, three in front.”

  “Your status?” Nate asked.

  “S2 and S3 ready and willing.”

  “Take them down,” Nate said. “Nice and quiet.”

  CHAPTER 35

  “Keep an eye on him,” Griffin said. “If he so much as twitches, come get me.”

  Dima nodded his understanding, but it was a wasted gesture. Griffin had already turned away.

  Dima remained where he was until the door at the top of the stairs closed. Sure now that Griffin was gone, he entered the interrogation room.

  “He went upstairs,” Dima said. “Not sure how long he’ll be gone.”

  * * *

  Quinn lifted his head. He didn’t know the name of the man in front of him, only that he’d been O & O’s leak. When he’d been told what was going to happen to him unless he agreed to help, he had jumped at the chance, knowing it would give him at least a few years of freedom before he died.

  So far Dima had performed exactly as instructed. He had provided Griffin with the syringe loaded only with saline, and had not tipped off the other man that something was up.