The Rogue Agent (The Agent Series)

by Daniel Judson

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “I employ a lot of people, Tom. Type A, ambitious people, all of whom possess a deadly set of skills. I learned early on that it’s a good idea for me to determine which are the smart ones. So, I strongly disagree. It does matter whose idea it was.”

  “It was mine,” Tom said.

  Raveis nodded. “But Carrington provided you with the necessary fake documents, correct?”

  Tom didn’t answer.

  “And Stella’s obtaining the license for the business in the name of her deceased mother, was that your idea, too, Tom? I only just learned that the deed to the property is in her mother’s name as well. And so are Stella’s bank account and the accounts she has with your vendors. From what I understand, theft of a dead parent’s identity by a surviving child isn’t an uncommon thing. Still, kudos to you for coming up with that. And that’s what you’re telling me, right? That all this fraud you and Stella have committed was your idea. Carrington simply assisted, providing you with whatever you needed when you needed it.”

  “Yes.”

  “So I guess that makes you the smart one.”

  Tom remained silent.

  “I’m sure the IRS wouldn’t be happy to hear that you and Stella haven’t reported any income in the past two years,” Raveis said. “Of course, how could either of you file a return? Technically, you have no earnings to report. You’re not even you, and the means by which you earn your living is owned by a woman who has been dead for decades. As far as we’re concerned, Tom, you absolutely did the right thing. If you can’t keep moving, then dig in deep and fortify. I doubt, though, that it would matter to the IRS that you had no other choice. I don’t really see them taking into consideration the fact that you did what you did to prevent your enemies from finding you. Finding and killing you and Stella. That’s if she was lucky, of course. We both know what the men who want you dead are capable of. We both know what Stella would be forced to endure before she was finally killed. How could anyone blame a man for doing what he needed to do to spare the woman he loves from that?”

  Raveis paused, then said, “The Colonel has clout, and he’d do anything he could for you, but it’s the fucking IRS we’re talking about here. The only truly unstoppable force in our government. Of course, what they don’t know won’t hurt them, right? And someone would have to go out of his way to tip them off. All it would take is a phone call. But I don’t see anyone doing that to you. Right?”

  Tom glanced at Grunn, then looked back at Raveis. “What is it you want?”

  “Obviously, the Colonel has a soft spot in his heart for you. Who knows, maybe someday you’ll know why. And Cahill believes you saved his life, not once but twice. He says he’d fight beside you any day. These things matter, Tom. These are the reasons why you’ve been indulged the way you have been. I certainly wouldn’t have let you walk away from us like you did. And I would not have let you disappear from our sight. And no way in hell would I have allowed you to make that drunk our only means of contacting you. Lucky for you, though, the Colonel runs the show. He considers you one of his most valuable assets. And I agree with him on that. But right now we’re in unknown territory, and what the Colonel is about to ask of you, well, frankly, you can’t say no to. He’d never say that to you, and neither would Cahill, which means I have to.”

  Raveis paused again. “So between you and me, Tom, as of this moment you’re back on the clock. In exchange for your cooperation, I’ll see to it that the cover you’ve built here holds. I’ll even reinforce it with everything you’ll need to make who you and Stella are now even more real. I can do a lot more than Carrington did. I can create pasts that no one will have any reason to doubt. But before I start this process, I need assurance from you that you won’t refuse the Colonel.”

  It took Tom a moment to answer. “I told him two years ago that if I could help, I would.”

  “That’s the B answer. Want to try for the A answer?”

  Anything shy of total compliance was unacceptable to Raveis, but the last thing Tom wanted was to appear compliant. “Your deal sounds fair to me,” he said finally.

  The more one gives to a man like Raveis, the more he will want.

  Raveis shook his head. It was obvious he was frustrated with Tom’s minor defiance, but he’d made his point.

  “If you need to text home, do it now,” Raveis said. “We’re almost at our destination. We’ll be going dark soon.”

  Raveis nodded toward Grunn, who had already removed Tom’s smartphone from her pocket and was now holding it out for him to take.

  Tom did, and began composing a text.

  Three numbers was all it would take for him to inform Stella of what was happening.

  They had three-digit codes for every possible contingency.

  Tom tried not to imagine Stella’s reaction to the information he was about to convey, knew it’d be a mix of powerful emotions that would no doubt include fear and worry.

  He had done everything he could to keep her free of such states of mind, but this was the moment they’d prepared for, the one she had been dreading.

  They’ll only ever want to talk to me, he had said back when they’d first worked out the codes. And always remember that I’ll never be away for more than an hour without contacting you.

  It was difficult to believe that a few words he’d spoken so long ago would provide her with much comfort now, but he had no choice except to hope for that.

  Hope that she knew him and trusted him—knew what he was capable of and trusted that he would always make his way to her, wherever she was and no matter who stood in his way.

  Friend or foe, or those dangerous few who had it within them to shift from the former to the latter.

  “We’re approaching the blackout threshold,” Grunn announced.

  Tom handed his phone back to her and watched as she powered it down and pocketed it.

  Being cut off from Stella like this, even temporarily, gave Tom an uneasy feeling, but he wasn’t surprised that it was necessary.

  While there were men who wanted him dead—Chechen thugs who’d lost a fortune on a series of weapons caches hidden in major US cities that Tom had helped expose—it was the man he was heading to meet who had made a career out of acquiring powerful enemies.

  The fact that the Colonel had ventured so far from where his security could be guaranteed was more of an indication of the seriousness of the matter at hand than anything Raveis had said.

  The threshold Grunn had referred to was the honeycomb of cell towers that could easily be used by anyone with Tom’s number to track and pinpoint his location, either live or after the fact.

  And along with Tom’s location, the location of anyone with whom he was meeting.

  He had given his number to just two people—Stella and Carrington—but in today’s world, that didn’t necessarily mean they were the only ones to possess it.

  Clean phones didn’t remain so for long these days.

  Grunn announced that they had passed into the blackout zone and were now ten minutes from their destination.

  Tom said to Raveis, “You have one hour, starting now.”

  Without waiting for the man’s reply, Tom turned his head and looked out the window at the last remaining moments of daylight.

  Every now and then he saw in the passing roadside scenery yet another landmark that carried with it a remembrance of the life to which he felt no connection.

  The life that had been stripped from him so long ago.

  Along with the people who had once been his entire world.

  He was thinking now the same thing he had thought every day since finding Stella, repeating it as if it were a prayer.

  Never again.

  Never again.

  Never again . . .

  Eighteen

  A fingernail moon was rising above the dark tree line to the east when the caravan turned off the main road and began winding its way around the wooded edge of a secluded lake.
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  Several minutes passed before the four vehicles finally slowed, eventually turning into a small parking area close to the shore.

  Tom identified the area—little more than a patch of dirt—as a boat launch.

  When the SUVs came to a stop, Grunn exited and made her way around to Tom’s door. Opening it, she held it for him.

  There were no other vehicles in the lot, or for that matter anywhere in sight.

  Tom didn’t move.

  Raveis said, “They’ll meet you once I’m gone. Grunn here is staying with you. She’s one of my best close-protection agents. She’ll make sure you get back home, and she’ll be outside your place twenty-four-seven for the next few days.”

  Tom didn’t like the fact that the one thing he had control over—his leaving here, alone—had been taken away.

  Nor did he like the fact that the only real information Raveis had shared with him so far was that whatever it was they needed him to do would likely take a few days.

  The idea of being pulled from his life for a few hours was bad enough.

  But being torn from it for days—days during which he would certainly be in danger and Stella would be out of his sight—was unfathomable.

  He decided to focus on the more pressing problem first. “Where’s my truck?”

  “It’s on its way. All this added security is for a reason, Tom. You’ll understand when you talk to them.” Raveis looked at him for a moment, then said, “Keep up your end of the bargain, and I’ll keep up mine.”

  Tom stepped out into the chilly evening air. The air lakeside was significantly cooler than it had been in town. His hooded sweatshirt was barely enough.

  Grunn swung the door closed, and the SUV made a U-turn and headed toward the road.

  Two of the remaining three SUVs moved to take formation, one ahead of Raveis’s vehicle, the other tailing it. This train, now only three cars long, pulled onto the road and sped away, leaving the fourth SUV behind in the dirt lot.

  Its motor was turned off, and its headlights and running lights went dark.

  All there was to hear now was the quickly fading sound of the caravan moving away.

  Tom wondered whether maybe they’d brought him here to kill him.

  It seemed as good an explanation as any.

  Facing Grunn, he met her eyes but kept the center of her torso within his peripheral vision. He knew that any movement she might make would generate from there.

  “It should only be a few minutes more,” she said.

  Tom nodded, studied her for a moment longer, then said, “Do you love someone?”

  The question caught her off guard. “I’m sorry.”

  “Do you love someone? Is someone waiting for you to come home?”

  She hesitated, opening her mouth as if to speak, but ultimately she didn’t answer.

  “Someone’s waiting for me,” Tom said.

  Again, Grunn didn’t seem to know how to respond. And Tom didn’t see the need to elaborate.

  Turning his head, he watched the road, but he needed to wait only a few seconds before a pair of headlights came into view.

  Behind that vehicle were a number of other vehicles.

  It didn’t take long for Tom to determine that the lead vehicle was his pickup, and that among this collection of vehicles was a black Mercedes sedan with New York State markers and heavily tinted glass.

  Unlike Raveis, the Colonel was a man who generally preferred a lighter touch, in every way possible.

  This included his traveling with a much smaller security detail.

  Smaller, but better armed.

  What was rolling up now, though, was nothing short of a show of force.

  It was also a display of wealth; the support vehicles were Range Rovers, not Chevys.

  The sight of this surging tonnage, as well as the sound it made as it headed toward the boat launch, allowed Tom to dismiss any thoughts of assassination.

  And yet his overall state of concern was in no way diminished.

  What was it Raveis had said?

  It’s bad. Worst-case-scenario bad.

  And you can’t say no.

  Tom and Grunn stepped to the edge of the lot as the vehicles flowed in—Tom’s pickup, followed by the Mercedes, then a trio of Range Rovers, all parking in a line, placing themselves like a barricade between Tom and the road. A cloud of dirt had been kicked up and was still swirling in the air when the vehicles went silent and dark.

  Then all four doors of the rear Range Rover opened, and men poured out.

  Men in suits, men just like Raveis’s men, though these were armed with carbines that hung from single-point slings fitted beneath their open jackets.

  These four men split quickly into two pairs, the first pair heading for the SUV that had remained behind, the second rushing toward the Mercedes.

  Everything about them—the way they moved, the manner in which they held their weapons—indicated that they were former special operators.

  The elite of the elite.

  The driver and front passenger of the Mercedes, similarly armed, had also exited and were standing by both rear doors.

  As the door facing Tom was opened, he saw two men seated shoulder-to-shoulder inside.

  Closest to the open door was Charlie Cahill, and beyond him was the man Tom knew only as the Colonel.

  Cahill exited the Mercedes and approached Tom. As he did, Grunn stepped off to the side.

  She walked far enough away to be just out of earshot yet remained close enough to keep a watch on Tom.

  What Tom couldn’t determine was whether she was his protector or his keeper.

  He desired neither.

  Reaching Tom, Cahill extended his hand, and Tom took it.

  As they shook, Tom saw a number of cuts on Cahill’s face—cuts that were clearly recent because they had only just begun to heal.

  Then Tom noted on the right side of Cahill’s neck a fresh bandage roughly the size of a postcard.

  “It’s good to see you again, Tom,” Cahill said.

  Tom replied that it was good to see him, too.

  He looked over Cahill’s shoulder. The Colonel had exited the sedan, his armed man shadowing him as he moved.

  Tom glanced once more at the vehicle from Raveis’s detail, then at the two men standing with their backs to it and facing the road like sentries.

  Guarding the SUV—or rather, guarding who or what it contained.

  “What’s with the war footing, Charlie? What the hell is going on?”

  Cahill said, “We have a traitor among us. The list of people we can trust right now has suddenly grown very short.”

  The Colonel had rounded the rear of the Mercedes and was crossing the dirt lot.

  Cahill glanced over his shoulder at him, then looked back at Tom. “He wants to talk to the both of us. Then you and I will talk alone. There’s a lot you need to be brought up to speed on, but we’ll do our best to get you back home before Stella’s done with her workout.”

  Tom wondered how Cahill knew about that, but he said nothing.

  It was time for him to listen.

  More than that, Tom’s list of those he could implicitly trust—with his life and Stella’s—was always short.

  If any of those men had decided to betray Tom, well, there wasn’t much he could do to stop them.

  The only thing within his power was what he would do after that.

  The Colonel reached them, and he and Tom shook hands.

  Pull-ups from a door frame, not to mention months of carpentry and plumbing, made for strong hands. Yet despite Tom’s recent increases in strength, the Colonel’s grip was still among the most powerful he had ever felt.

  Tom had never made an effort to learn the identity of the man or to determine the details of his background—in which branch of service he had risen to the rank of colonel, or which of the half dozen government intelligence agencies his organization was allied with now.

  But Tom had the overall impression that the Col
onel had been a combat officer before retiring.

  Barrel chested, bull shouldered, six feet tall, and with salt-and-pepper hair buzzed close to the scalp, he was a man who was vital in every way possible, even now that he was well into his sixties.

  Releasing Tom’s hand, the Colonel smiled.

  There was a look of fondness in his eyes, just as there had been the first and only other time Tom had stood face-to-face with him.

  At the Cahill family compound on New York’s Shelter Island.

  It had been just hours after that meeting that Tom and Stella had slipped away and disappeared.

  Over the past two years, Tom had wondered at times about the way the man had looked at him that night, as if they were somehow old friends.

  Maybe it was just the appreciation that a onetime commander had for all men who have fought, and almost died, for their country.

  That same look of fondness was in his eyes tonight.

  “Sorry about coming at you like this, son,” the Colonel said. “I hope Raveis wasn’t too much of an asshole.”

  “No, he was fine,” Tom replied.

  The Colonel smiled again. “Let’s not have your first words to me in two years be an outright lie. That’s no way to start things off.”

  Tom nodded. “What can I do for you, sir?”

  The Colonel glanced at Grunn before gesturing toward the shore. “Let’s take a walk together down there.”

  Tom, the Colonel, and Cahill made their way to the water’s edge and faced each other.

  Beside that secluded lake, with the stillness of a Vermont night surrounding them, the Colonel began to speak.

  Nineteen

  “There was an attack last night,” he said. “An orchestrated attack resulting in one death. We don’t know yet who the target of the attack was, because a few hours prior there was an attack that failed, and we can’t rule out the possibility that the first attack was merely a diversion intended to draw out the true target. We also don’t know for certain, but we suspect that the second attack was an attempted abduction.”