Black Ops Bundle: Volume One

by Allan Leverone

  The 4Runner was thrown out into the street, sideswiping the rearmost police car and knocking the cruiser into a parked car on the other side of Q Street, where it blocked the cramped Georgetown street. Daniel heard several gunshots as Parker steadied the SUV, which accelerated down Q Street, structurally undamaged after miraculously sailing through a cramped city corner at over 50 miles per hour. Farrington fired three extended bursts with his assault rifle down the street at the maneuvering police cars, showering the SUV's cab with spent brass.

  Petrovich had been tossed around the front seat like a rag doll, but beyond a few additional bruises and the growing pain around his lower ribcage, he was fine. He turned in his seat immediately, aiming his gun toward the rapidly shrinking police cars at the intersection. He knew it would take them time to bypass the disabled police vehicle blocking the road. Farrington remained braced against the center of the second row bench seat, his assault rifle steadied against the middle headrest, aiming back toward the receding blue lights.

  Colonel Farrington glanced back at Daniel with an impassionate face. "The mission failed," he uttered.

  "We're fine," Parker said.

  "The general said he made an arrangement that far exceeded his expectations for the day. He called your raid a success, and he doesn't say that kind of shit unless he means it." Parker turned right onto 35th Street, heading north.

  He kept the SUV on the road for a few seconds, then killed the lights and turned left, departing the road and driving across a Georgetown University soccer field. He continued straight across the field as police cars turned right at the intersection, following their path, but continued past the soccer field, heading north on 35th Street.

  "This should buy us a few minutes," Parker said.

  "Let me guess. Your specialty is getaway car driver?" Daniel said.

  "Aggressive Mobile Escape and Evasion," Parker replied.

  "Things have changed since you graduated from the program. It's a little more sophisticated," Farrington said, still turned toward the back of the vehicle.

  "Barely," Petrovich said and turned forward in his seat, putting on his seatbelt.

  The 4Runner reached a small parking lot on the other side of the field, and more police cars raced north on 35th. Parker stopped momentarily, and they listened to the city's emergency services mobilize. Fire engine and police car sirens filled the late evening quiet with a sense of urgency.

  "So, now what?" Petrovich asked.

  "First priority is finding a new ride," Parker commented.

  "I assume one of you knows how to hotwire a car?" Petrovich said.

  "That's why we brought you along," Parker said.

  "You're kidding me. Neither of you can jump a car? I'm going to have talk to Sanderson about his curriculum."

  "I think he had something like that in mind. Full time," Parker said.

  "I bet," Petrovich said.

  They stepped out of the battered 4Runner into a humid, but temperate night on the Georgetown campus.

  "You might want to take off that ski mask," Farrington said, grinning at him over the hood.

  "Right. Probably not the best way to fit in on campus," Daniel replied, tossing the mask back into the truck through the open window.

  They sanitized the SUV, taking all communications gear and armament. Farrington hefted a black backpack filled with spare ammunition magazines and explosives over his shoulder, while Parker stuffed Daniel's backpack with the remaining loose radios. Each of them removed their communications rig, detaching their throat microphones and earpieces, and stuffed them in Daniel's pack. They considered torching the SUV, which was standard operating procedure, but decided against drawing the unnecessary attention. The police wouldn't find anything useful in the vehicle beyond some DNA, which at this point didn't really matter.

  Petrovich and Farrington would soon find themselves on the FBI's most wanted list, and Parker would join them in a specialized subcategory of known associates to General Terrence Sanderson. All of them would be permanently out of the country as soon as practical.

  "I went to school here. We should cut south and head toward student housing. We can find a suitable vehicle down there," Farrington said, and they headed down the center of the parking lot toward some of the taller buildings.

  "Georgetown? Not bad. Northwestern. What about you, Parker?"

  "Cornell. Rich, you might want to tuck that M-4 away better."

  Farrington did his best to conceal the assault rifle under a short brown jacket. The barrel still protruded a few inches from the bottom, but to the untrained eye, it would likely go unnoticed. Unfortunately, three serious-looking men in their mid to late thirties, strolling through an undergraduate college campus at one in the morning would likely result in a 911 call. They would need to find a new vehicle fast.

  They walked among the trees between a large two-story gray building and tennis courts, headed toward a sparsely populated parking lot. Daniel did his best to keep up with the two men, despite a throbbing knee and the sidesplitting pain of two broken ribs. He would need medical attention soon, to make sure he had no internal bleeding from the fractured ribs. Right now, he focused on finding a car.

  So far, they hadn't seen anyone on campus. A five-story residence hall loomed over the parking lot, and Daniel began to wonder if the campus might be an unlikely place to find a car this late in the spring. Most of the students would be finished with classes, and the campus should be relatively deserted. He didn't want to head back out onto the streets of Georgetown at the moment. The college campus felt insulated, though it wouldn't take the police long to discover their deception.

  "Georgetown and Cornell? I feel like the underachiever. How did three smart guys get mixed up in this kind of shit?"

  "Are you always this chatty?" Farrington said.

  "Usually."

  "Great, and we have a three-hour car ride ahead of us."

  "Where to?" Daniel asked and stopped, bringing the rest of his entourage to a halt.

  "South. We don't have time to stop and discuss this. We need to keep moving," Parker replied.

  "I'll be headed in the opposite direction," Petrovich said, scanning the trees and benches around them.

  "Sanderson wants to keep us all in one place and debrief us together. We still have a long way to go before we're in the clear," Parker said.

  Daniel weighed his options and decided that he'd been through enough today on behalf of General Sanderson. He could join up with Sanderson's crew a little later, after he had time to discuss their predicament with Jessica. He had no idea where the rest of the day might lead them. He and Jessica might decide to follow a path separate from Sanderson. One thing was certain: he needed to get out of Sanderson's gravitational field to think straight. He'd been attached to invisible strings for the past two days and needed a chance to move around on his own. Mostly, he needed to see Jessica.

  "I think this is where we part ways, for now. I need to take care of something a lot more important than Sanderson's timeline. I'll be in touch," he said and continued down the small hill along a red brick walkway toward the parking lot, keeping his eye on both of the general's operatives.

  "Sanderson's orders were specific," Parker said, casting a furtive glance at Farrington.

  Petrovich stopped and turned around to face them. "Did his orders include killing me?"

  "No. Quite the opposite."

  "Then the last thing either of you would want to do is point a gun at me. My orders don't include a restriction on killing either of you."

  Petrovich turned around to continue down the path, talking over his shoulder. "Gentlemen, I'd be happy to help you jump a car, but after…"

  Farrington never reached inside of his jacket for the M-4 rifle, an action that would have gotten him killed very quickly. He had, however, retrieved an item from his coat pocket as soon as Petrovich showed resistance to the general's rendezvous plan. The item resembled a small cylinder and spit a tight pattern of darts in Daniel
's direction. Daniel heard an angry hiss and felt the darts strike his upper back, but couldn't react. He tried to grip the MP-9, but his hand didn't respond. Nothing did. He remained upright for a brief second before toppling forward, his head still over his shoulder. His sight dimmed, while his hearing faded. He heard Parker say something that enraged him.

  "Daniel, don't worry about Jessica. Sanderson said she was safe and already on her way to meet us."

  Everything faded for Daniel.

  FADE TO BLACK

  May 26, 2005

  Chapter Forty-Six

  3:10 a.m.

  Logan International Airport, Boston, Massachusetts

  Jessica jogged through Central Parking toward the row and section Daniel had indicated in his first phone call. She held a key fob in her right hand and pressed the unlock button. After several tries, a dark sedan answered the call, flashing its rear brake lights in response to the fob's signal. At least getting out of Portland and finding the car hadn't been a problem for her. The rest of the day hadn't exactly gone as planned, but she improvised, and as always, she came out on top.

  She had expected the FBI to come to her office, but as the day dragged onward, with no sign of the police or FBI, she began to worry that Daniel might have already been taken into custody. Two phone calls, one late in the afternoon and one in the early evening, assured her that Daniel was fine, but did little to relieve her anxiety.

  General Sanderson had contacted her at her office before she left work to prepare her for the inevitable raid on her house. He also asked her to do him a favor, stressing that it would be in Daniel's best interest if she didn't mention his call. He spoke in nebulous terms and answered few of her detailed questions about Daniel, but his favor mirrored Daniel's suggested course of action, so Jessica played along.

  Before Daniel left for D.C., they had worked out a rough plan for the day, which was the only reason she remained in town. Daniel had assured her earlier that within twenty-four hours, they would vanish from the grid together and start over. She trusted his assessment of the situation, and her own skills. One way or the other, she could get out of Portland, even if placed in full police custody.

  Daniel called her as soon as she left work, on one of her untraceable cell phones, and convinced her that he was fine. He was waiting at a Marriott Hotel for further instructions and told her to follow her regular routine. She went for a run after that and spotted the police trucks behind the elementary school. She added an extra mile to her run in order to give the two stakeout cars on her street the impression that she hadn't been near the elementary school. She waited for what seemed like an eternity in the house, playing music and pretending to be busy.

  The Portland Police Department's SWAT officers did an amazingly professional job moving in on the house undetected. The team's sudden entry truly startled her, and she reacted instinctively, almost putting her entire plan in jeopardy. Luckily for her, she had only been holding a spoon, preparing to pull a yogurt from the refrigerator. A knife or fork might have resulted in a bullet to the head. Agent Edwards arrived in time to break things up and keep her out of police custody, which was a blessing. She could tell by his first glance at her on the floor that he would be an easy target for later. She softened one of her looks in his direction, and Edwards did the rest. She didn't even have to suggest they leave the house. He was already forming that plan while she lay on the floor.

  Once her job with Edwards was finished at the hotel, she grabbed the first taxi she could find and called Daniel, but the phone he had been using went to voicemail immediately. She tried the next number in the sequence she had been given, and it did the same thing. Her next call went to Sanderson, but he didn't answer either. She tried the same combination of numbers several times on the way to Logan Airport, with the same result. She wondered if it was possible that Sanderson's entire crew had been rolled up by the FBI. She doubted it.

  At this point, she didn't see any option other than to proceed west on the Massachusetts Turnpike, toward West Virginia. Sanderson had given her a rendezvous point where he claimed Daniel would be waiting, and they could organize their departure from the United States. Sanderson promised to help them in any way possible. Daniel had wanted her to head south toward D.C., but given her complete inability to make contact with either of them, she decided to head in a safer direction.

  She opened the trunk of the Toyota Camry and removed a black nylon gym bag, taking it into the car with her. She placed it on the passenger seat and zipped it open. At the top, a pistol sat under an envelope. She opened it and read Daniel's note:

  "Sorry this caught up to us so quickly. We've both been through hell and back, so this is nothing. A small bump in the road. We'll be fine. If for some reason you lose contact with me for more than twenty-four hours, find Sanderson. I don't completely trust him, but he will be your best option for setting up the arrangements to leave the country. Sunset drinks at the Santa Isabel. Love you always, Danny."

  "Damn it," she whispered and leaned her head back against the headrest.

  Jessica took a moment to clear her head, which didn't work. Her thoughts kept returning to their house and the pictures. She had to walk around the house for hours and wait for the inevitable, staring at the memories she couldn't take with her. This was almost more than she could endure, and she considered putting together a package to mail…somewhere. She didn't know where, but she wanted to save something. Anything. Daniel had warned her against doing this, and he had been right. Anything she did could have tipped off the police or FBI…though she doubted Edwards would have figured it out. She could have pulled a small framed picture out of her purse in the hotel room, and he wouldn't have put it together. His mind had strayed about as far as possible from the investigation at that point.

  She wondered if they'd ever be safe in one place again. Maybe it didn't matter. Maybe it was a ridiculous dream to invest so much energy into creating a "normal" life. Nothing about either of them was normal, and this next time around, they wouldn't fall into the same mental trap. Still, a deep part of her yearned for everything in that house, and it comforted her in a way. It reminded her that she hadn't been completely ruined.

  She folded the letter and stuffed it between the bag and the back of the seat. She removed the pistol, with suppressor already attached, and pulled the slide back far enough to check the chamber. She saw the brief reflection of brass and could tell that Danny had left the gun ready for immediate use. She tucked the pistol under the driver's seat for quick access, hoping she would never have to use it. She despised firearms. Dirty, unsophisticated instruments. She preferred the cold, razor-sharp blade of a knife, if circumstances allowed. She had taken to edged weapon training at The Farm like it was second nature, eventually pushing the CIA's best instructors to their limits.

  Reaching into the bag again, she found several large Ziploc bags, each filled with a different style wig. She pushed through the bags, selecting a medium-length red one. Using the rearview mirror to adjust the hairpiece, she tied her own hair down in several tight knots and made a sudden transformation from black to dark red hair. A kit containing various contact lenses completed the one-minute change. Now she had red hair and green eyes. Once she located a suitable bathroom, she'd change clothing and get rid of Agent D'Angelo's hideous running shoes.

  She had a lot of things to ditch along the way, including all of her current identification and credit cards. She felt around for the other object that would have to go, according to standard procedure. She wasn't sure if Daniel had already taken care of it for her and started to give up searching through the bag, until her hand bumped up against the familiar nylon scabbard. She pulled the Gerber commando knife out of the bag and stared at it for a moment. Less than thirty-six hours ago, this knife had sealed their involvement in Sanderson's plan. She promised herself that if the general had double-crossed them, she would plunge the same knife deep into his neck.

  Satisfied that everything was ready, she starte
d the car, bracing herself for a long drive. She wanted to get out of Massachusetts by sunrise. More importantly, she needed to put as much distance behind her as possible. She was used to running and didn't have any expectation that this aspect of her life would ever change. At least she had someone to run with.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  5:42 a.m.

  Portland, Maine

  Justin Edwards' head pounded, and his mouth stuck together, completely lacking any recent, significant saliva production. He could barely separate his caked-together lips. His face felt a little numb, like he was drunk, but beyond this slight anesthesia, his entire body ached. What the fuck had happened?

  He lifted his eyelids, but the effort required to keep them open was a near Herculean task for him, so he squinted for a few seconds, then closed them. He lay on his back, not wanting to turn his head, but he didn't recognize the room during the brief eyeball reconnaissance. He could tell it was a hotel, but his mind couldn't process any facts or data related to his presence in this room.

  He opened his eyes a little further and could see the green glass of a wine bottle on the desk out of the corner of his eye. He managed to move his head far enough to examine the bottle through his hazy vision, evoking a splitting migraine. He could see two empty wine glasses on the desk next to the bottle, one stained around the rim with lipstick. He undertook the effort to move his hand across his body, which was no small task, and his hand dragged across his privates. He now realized that he was naked.

  No memories of this room passed through his head, though he started to process other important aspects of his visit to Portland. Did he screw Jessica Petrovich, and let her go home? Shit, he was in trouble. How long had he been here? His thoughts were coming faster, but his body could not keep up. He glanced at his watch, which told him it was early, and at first this made him happy.