by L. T. Ryan
He nodded.
"Active?"
"Yeah. Special Activities."
"Been to Tenerife?"
The guy clenched his jaw and said nothing.
"That woman you killed, the girl's mother." Jack wiped his brow and held out his left hand. "She was special to me."
Brett placed his pistol in Jack's hand. Threaded to the muzzle was a suppressor.
Jack said, "If I had more time, you'd get special treatment."
"I told you where the girl is man," the guy said. "Just leave me be. I won't tell Butch or anyone."
"That's right," Jack said. "You won't."
He lifted the pistol. His finger slipped behind the trigger guard. The man's pleas went unregistered. Jack squeezed and fired a round into the center of the guy's forehead. The man slumped in the chair, sliding on the milk-covered padded seat.
"What about him?" Brett said, jutting his chin toward the man facing the wall.
Jack returned Brett's pistol. "He had the chance and didn't speak up. Kill him."
Brett put two bullets into the back of the man's head. Then he opened the wallet he'd found on the bed. Fished out the ID. The picture matched the guy Jack had interrogated.
"His name is Jared Akers," Brett said.
"No," Jack said. "His name was Jared Akers."
Chapter 89
New York City.
THEY EXITED THE room and headed down the stairs to the first floor. Grease Stain did a double take at the two men entering his office.
"The hell happened up there?" he said.
"He didn't have what I was looking for," Jack said.
Grease Stain pointed to a sink. "Better wash that stuff off you." After Jack and Brett rinsed off, the big man said, "Come with me."
He led them down to the basement, to a small room with multiple monitors.
"Security feeds," he said. "What's she look like?"
Jack reached for a wallet that wasn't there. "They took everything I had a few weeks ago."
They focused on three screens as Grease Stain wound backward through the footage.
"There," Jack said. "Freeze that."
The image on the screen was of two men and Mia. One guy's identity was revealed right away. Butch Monaco. The other was shielded from view. They backtracked a bit and found the same at every point where the trio passed the camera.
"I'd seen her before," Grease Stain said. "Man, if I'd have known, I'd have done something about it."
"It's not your problem to worry about," Jack said.
"I got five daughters, man. I'd have made it my problem." He pointed to the screen. "They got about two hours lead on you."
They spent another ten minutes going through footage on all cameras at the same time, but were unable to determine the second man's identity.
"You know where they're headed?" the man asked.
"Possibly to South Carolina. We've got intelligence people looking, too. They'll help us."
"Don't worry about the scene in the room," he said. "I'll dispose of the body in the furnace. It's hot enough to reduce him to ash. Don't ask how I know that. Also, I'll get a crew to clean the room. Won't be a trace left behind. Nations top forensics team wouldn't be able to figure it out."
Jack and Brett thanked the guy and exited the room, found the stairwell and made it up to the lobby. As they reached the front door, a booming voice called out from behind.
"Wait!"
Jack turned to see Grease Stain standing by the elevators, hands on his knees as though he'd taken the stairs four at a time and sprinted the rest of the way.
"What is it?"
"I got the other guy."
They raced back to the room in the basement. Jack arrived first. The guy had frozen the image on the main screen and blown it up. Jack knew the face well.
Frank Skinner.
IT TOOK LESS than five minutes for the men to reach the car. Another fifteen to get out of Manhattan. Two hours later, they flirted with the outskirts of D.C.
Jack had worked the phones, calling Brandon and Sasha. He updated both with the events of the morning. But he left out the information about Frank. It'd come out, in time. If at all possible, he wanted to confront the man.
It made no damn sense.
Jack wanted to know how and why and when the man became involved. He had Jack at that airfield. He could have killed him then. Instead, he shipped Jack off to South Africa. Why go through all this trouble?
Brandon told them that he found little else of use on the laptop and had returned it to broadcasting its heartbeat. He loaded it up with a bunch of false intel that would have the agency's police running down bullshit lead after bullshit lead.
What Brandon had managed to find indicated that Ballard was involved in the planning of the op, but was not a part of the plan to steal Mia's money. He was dangerous to the overall plan. When they had something worthy of pulling the trigger, they did so. Whether it was sanctioned was anyone's guess. Jack knew they'd never find out, so he stopped worrying about it.
Neither Brandon nor Sasha had managed to track the men and Mia after they left the hotel. It had been luck that they even found the original signal. Their phones, like Brett's, were secure enough to eliminate all attempts to locate them.
For now, they had to wait until the next attempt to move on Mia's custody and inheritance. They'd screwed up once. They'd do it again.
Entering the city, Jack hoped they made the right decision. If Monaco and Frank had taken Mia to South Carolina, they now had a considerable lead on Jack and Brett. Flying was not an option, unless they could get a private charter on a moment's notice. As the thought crossed his mind, he decided it was one they should act on. They were on Brett's turf, so the guy reached out to a contact and within twenty minutes had a flight on standby.
They stopped near SIS headquarters. The place had always looked deserted. Now it appeared condemned. Plywood covered the main floor entrance to the building, and all the windows. None of the offices were ever in use, and the front desk never manned. It was all for appearances. Just a typical D.C. office building.
"Drive forward and circle the block," Jack said.
As they passed the side alley entrance, Jack saw that it had been closed off. And not by the security gate toward the rear. The alley had actually been blocked with five layers of concrete jersey walls.
"Did they move?" Brett asked as he pulled over and grabbed his cell phone.
Jack exited onto the sidewalk and crossed the street. He hopped over the jersey walls and made it to the back gate. 'Do Not Trespass' signs had been hung. He hopped up and looked over and saw nothing there. On his way back to the car, he called Brandon.
"Tell me what's going on with the SIS," Jack said.
"What do you mean?" Brandon said.
"I'm standing outside of their headquarters, and it no longer exists. Where are they now?"
"I should ask why, but I'm not gonna. So just give me a minute."
Jack stood in the shadows of the building, across the street from Brett and the car. It was late morning and already over ninety with no relief from the humidity. He wiped the sweat from his brow before it pooled and poured into his eyes.
"I don't know if they bumped up a level in security clearance, but to me it looks like the SIS is no more. In fact, when I cross check my last known roster, there's only one man standing."
"Skinner."
"You got it. Wanna tell me what it means?"
"No." Jack saw Brett emerge from the car. The look on the guy's face told him that Brett had arrived at the same conclusion. "Just do whatever you can to find him, Brandon. Can you do that for me?"
"You got it."
Jack ended the call and crossed the street, stopping in the middle to allow a mini-van to pass.
"They're no more," Brett said. "The SIS has been dissolved."
Jack nodded as he passed toward the passenger side. "Not only that. Frank's the last man standing from the group."
"No surp
rise there. Seeing him on tape with Monaco kind of places him right in the middle of the damn thing."
"From the beginning though?" Jack couldn't let go of what happened in Ithaca. "He saved me, then shipped me off. If the point was to kill me, why not do it then?"
"I'm not sure, Jack."
"Frank knew what was going on. Someone had tipped him off, or he had uncovered intelligence, or maybe he just pieced it together when his agents started dying. Perhaps after he couldn't save me, he decided to sell his soul to Monaco?"
"What could he offer? If what you're saying is true, then the noose was already around Skinner's neck. All Monaco had to do was yank on it and the guy was history."
Jack leaned his head back and stared at the car's ceiling. They could go back and forth for days and never figure it out. "I guess we'll have to find him and ask then, won't we?"
They drove past Brett's condo building. There was no going in. Agents were posted on the corners surrounding the building and at the entrances. They continued on with no destination while waiting for calls to be returned.
Finally, one came in. Sasha.
"Jack, I've got both good and bad news."
"Hit me with the bad stuff."
"Someone is really pushing this hearing through, and it seems like they are on track to gain custody. I'm trying to block it, but so far I'm failing. I can't tell from where, but it looks like they have someone on the inside working for them. My guess would be a hefty bribe. After all, they stand to make a couple billion here. I can't say how long you've got. A day? Maybe two?"
"Unless we go all out and reveal I'm still alive."
"That might be the only choice. But perhaps we should hang onto that until the last minute?"
"You're right. Now what's the good news."
"We've located the site of their last transmission."
Jack relayed the coordinates Sasha provided. Brett plugged them in and waited for the mapping program to respond.
As it came into focus, Brett said, "Christ, Jack. Do you realize where that is?"
Jack looked at the map. To him, it looked like Any Street, Washington, D.C. An area with lots of businesses and residences contained in large buildings. Hundreds, maybe thousands of businesses in the small area.
Brett said, "That's the location of one of the Special Activities Division buildings. The one I worked out of. Thing is, it's supposed to be defunct now."
"Yeah? Well, maybe we should go see for ourselves."
Chapter 90
Washington, D.C.
NOTHING LOOKED OUT of place as they passed the building. No obvious security. There was no manned desk inside. When they went in, they saw a bunch of plaques on the wall indicating which business was located in which office. Jack wondered if any of them were real entities.
"The first four levels were nothing but empty offices," Brett said as he studied the name plates. "These were always here, a way of making the place look legit even though anyone who knew better was aware of the truth. Everything happened on the top floor. If anyone still works here, my guess is that's where they are."
The elevator was out of service. Brett led the way to the stairwell, explaining that you couldn't get from the main level to the top floor directly. It required switching elevators or stairwells.
A few minutes later, they reached the final landing. Wires poked out from the wall. Brett said that's where the security began, starting with a magnetic card reader.
With the device gone, the door opened freely. Jack had his pistol out. Brett had the HK MP5 he found at the Excelsior strapped around his chest. He aimed ahead with it as he stepped into the hallway.
The drab gray carpet and paint ran the length of the building. There were five doors spaced evenly from one end to the other.
"They all go to the same place," Brett said. "Beyond that wall is a fairly open room. Glass walls, for the most part. In the corners facing out were the rooms for VIPs. They were private. As was the briefing/discipline room. That's at the other end, in the corner against this wall. My guess is that's where they'll have her, if they're in here."
"Which door should we go in through?"
Brett looked as though he searched a mental image store, recalling the layout and position of every desk, cubicle, printer, coffee maker, and other obstacles.
"They're all fairly open, Jack. Not gonna lie. We'll be vulnerable when we step through those doors. If it were me, I'd have three guns positioned between each of the doors with orders to shoot first. But, considering what these two are dealing with, they're probably keeping it as hush as possible. Plus, they figure we can't track them here. You know, maybe we only got to New York because of Ballard. They saw the laptop was compromised, so they ran here."
"Monaco knows this place as well as you."
Brett shrugged. "I suppose. This isn't the only unmarked building in town. Or the nation, for that matter." Brett glanced down the hallway. "Fortunately for us, it looks like all of the security systems were dismantled. We could probably wait right here until they step out and ambush them."
"No," Jack said. "As soon as they have control over Mia, and her money, she's dead. They won't need her. We have to go on the offensive. We need to attack."
"Then let's do it."
The men formulated their plan and entered at the closest door, which put them furthest from where Brett suspected Mia was being held.
A few rows of fluorescent lights were on, but other than that, the sunlight filtering through the tinted windows lit the room. The carpet obviously had not been cleaned in some time. The room smelled like stale corn chips.
Rows of cubicles had been dismantled, leaving floor track and modular desks in place. It gave them a view clear across the room. It also gave anyone on the other side a clear view of them.
But they saw no one.
Brett pointed to the corner office. Both men hunched over and used the chairs and desks as cover as they made their way to the door. While the other offices were surrounded with glass, this one was encased in drywall. Jack wondered if it was bulletproof drywall. It made sense, considering some of the men who had occupied the building time to time. Mostly, it was analysts and handlers. The shooters rarely spent time at the place. They had offices scattered through other facilities. It was not often that teams met, and even less frequent that they intermingled with individuals from other teams.
Jack reached for the handle. Found it unlocked. He opened it a crack. Brett peeked in and gave Jack a clear signal. He threw the door open. Both men rushed in, guns scanning in advance of their gazes.
The room was clear.
It was an empty box. No desk. No table. No chairs. Just a window looking down on the back alley and over the top of the building behind it.
"So down the hall, or take our chances through the room?" Brett said.
"The hall seems like the more logical choice," Jack said. "Unless we encounter a team in it. Then we're dead."
"So through the room?"
"Let's do it."
They exited, stayed low, and worked in tandem to the midpoint. There they stopped for a moment. The building had no air conditioning. It was upwards of a hundred inside. Both men were drenched in sweat.
The silent room offered no clues as to whether someone was there. So they continued moving, slowly, using desks for cover.
Brett stopped, held up his hand, balled in a fist.
Jack approached. Whispered, "What is it?"
Brett pointed at a thin wire running down what used to be an aisle.
"Think it's an explosive?" Jack said.
"Silent alarm would be my guess." Brett glanced over his shoulder. "Someone's monitoring. And now I'm worried we tripped one of these without knowing. Maybe when we opened the door to the office. Could have been on the inside, you know, like the traps we set on our own doors, only this one linked to a system."
"It's plausible. Place still has power, even if no AC."
Brett smiled. "Just be careful here on. I could b
e wrong about the function of the tripwire."
After five sweaty minutes, they managed to clear the floor and reach the other office. This time, the door was locked. Both men pressed their ears to the wall. Heard nothing.
"We can't wait," Jack said.
Brett agreed. "Cover me."
The guy stepped back and kicked the door open. It swung and slammed into the wall. Brett rolled to his right, out of view of the opening. Which likely wouldn't matter if someone started shooting.
But no one did.
Jack stepped around the corner, into the room. He ducked and checked under the desk, then rose and kicked it back. Except for being furnished, it was the same as the other office.
Empty.
"Shit," Jack said. "They're not here. Should have trusted my gut and gone to South Carolina."
"We had to clear it, Jack, after the intel Sasha provided."
Jack walked past him and out of the office.
"The plane is only a twenty minute drive from here," Brett said. "We'll be in the air in less than forty minutes if we leave now."
They started toward the door, mindful of the path they took. No one was in the building, but that didn't mean a trap hadn't been set. One false step could alert a murder squad and Jack and Brett would pay with their lives.
Jack grabbed the knob, turned it, stopped. A faint noise, soft and high, from somewhere nearby.
"You hear that?" he said.
Brett nodded and looked up.
They both turned toward the room Brett had said had been designated for briefings and discipline.
"It's her." Jack rushed past Brett.
"Wait," Brett called out.
"Mia!" Jack yelled.
The small voice grew loud. Her muffled calls of 'Jack' were clear.
"Don't open the door, Jack."
Jack grabbed the knob. Felt a hand on his shoulder. Brett yanked him backward.
"Hold on or you're going to blow the roof off this place."
Jack took a step back. Glanced down. Four wires ran from the room, two running under the carpet, one along the wall, and the last on the ground.
"It wasn't a tripwire," Brett said. "This place is wired to blow if that door opens."
