A Conspiracy of Ravens

by Terrence McCauley

  “Just wanted to voice my concern. I’ll make sure you’re notified as soon as OMNI finishes the search on the two dead men, but don’t get your hopes up. You know OMNI’s reach gets weaker the further east we go, so if they’re Russian, we may not get positive identifications.”

  Hicks didn’t need a computer to tell him what his gut already knew.

  The dead men had been working for the Vanguard. And the University would need all the help it could get.

  “I’ll be in the car for the next few hours. Let me know if you find anything. And keep an eye on how the deputy is doing. Give me updates as you get them.”

  Hicks killed the connection and continued driving south.

  Traffic was flowing easily again and no one seemed to be following him. He kept checking his mirrors for flashing lights, but didn’t see any.

  He wondered how many of the other drivers on the road beside him remembered the scene they had witnessed only a few miles ago. He figured most of them had probably already forgotten it and had gone back to listening to the radio or thinking over their own problems as they rolled along to wherever they were going. Their world extended as far as the headlights of their respective vehicles and no further.

  Hicks wished he had the luxury of ignorance, of complacency. He wished the woman he loved had loved him back. He wished he knew for certain if she was actually carrying his baby.

  He wished he had the same concerns as his fellow drivers about taxes and which party to go to and whether they were going to get a house down the shore that summer. He wished he had to worry about little Billy’s braces and about the boys teasing Mary for being taller than them.

  In a few hours, he would have a meeting that wouldn’t just decide the future of the University. It was a meeting he might not walk away from.

  Since he couldn’t do anything to stop it, there was no reason to delay it.

  He hit the gas and sped toward D.C.

  Washington D.C.

  HICKS HAD always hated meeting in public areas. His run-in on I-95 earlier that morning hadn’t made him like them any better.

  Meridian Hill Park in Washington, D.C. was as public as it got.

  It was the first real day of spring and lived up to the billing. The sun was warm, the birds were singing, and the sky was postcard-perfect blue. Green shoots of flowers had begun to break through the soil after a long winter’s slumber, eager to bask in the growing warmth of the sun. Another sweltering summer was soon to follow, but days like this almost made up for it.

  Hicks might have enjoyed the scenery if he wasn’t so worried about being captured or killed. Not just by the Vanguard, but by the CIA.

  The perfect weather seemed to have drawn half of Washington to this green oasis among the concrete landscape of the nation’s capital. The paved pathways of the park were jammed with parents and toddlers, and nannies with strollers. Serious joggers and amateur jigglers in various states of fitness moved along at varying paces, both attempting to rid themselves of winter flab before beach weather arrived. Couples of all ages strolled through the park, too, along with office workers who seemed to have decided their lunch hour would last a little longer that day.

  Hicks knew most of them were completely innocent, or at least as innocent as anyone who lived in Washington could be.

  He also knew any one of them could have been sent to watch him. The crowded conditions in the park made it easy for government operatives to pose as civilians. Outdoor meetings such as this were particularly dangerous, as the Agency could just as easily observe them from the next bench or from a satellite parked miles above the earth.

  Hicks reminded himself that he hadn’t been given a choice in selecting the venue, a fact that bothered him most of all.

  He glanced at the elegant older woman seated next to him one bench over. She was close enough to be within earshot, but not close enough for anyone to think they were together. That was the point. They looked as if they were from two different worlds, which was by design.

  Hicks hadn’t shaved in days and couldn’t remember the last time he’d combed his hair. He’d changed his clothes since the drive down to D.C. and now wore faded jeans and a hooded gray sweatshirt over a Kevlar vest. The Ruger .454 tucked in the pouch of his bulky sweatshirt was his only other protection. He looked so close to homelessness that none of the park patrons looked at him for very long. No one wanted to be put in the awkward position of denying his request for a handout. Anonymity had always been one of Hicks’s greatest assets.

  In contrast, the older woman on the next bench wore a tailored blue suit cut to match her thin frame. Her silver hair was cut fashionably short and her pearl necklace made her look more like a wealthy donor to the Smithsonian than what she really was—a spy, just like him.

  Hicks made sure no one was within earshot before asking, “You sure love meeting in parks, don’t you, Ma?”

  The woman he knew only as the Trustee didn’t break cover. She continued thumbing through the magazine on her lap. “At least I don’t have anyone aiming a high-powered rifle at your chest like I did in Savannah. A decision I’m likely to regret if you continue to call me Ma or Mom, or any of the other colorful nicknames you’ve invented for me. I may not be as young as some of the chippies trotting around here in Spandex tops and yoga bottoms, but I’m not old enough to be your mother.”

  Hicks thought about that as he watched two young women in tank tops and shorts jog past them at a good clip.

  He knew almost nothing about the Trustee except that she had once been the Dean of the University and was now his liaison to the University’s Board of Directors. During their last meeting in a public square in Savannah, she had threatened to have him shot if he disobeyed the demands of her fellow Trustees. He didn’t even know her real name or how old she was. But Hicks had never allowed his own ignorance to get in the way of a good dig. “You won’t tell me your real name, so…”

  “My name is of no importance and has no bearing on today’s meeting. You should be more concerned about how you’ll handle Carl when he gets here instead of superfluous details like my name.”

  Hicks knew Carl was Charles Demerest, head of Clandestine Services at the CIA. He was rumored to be in line for the recently-vacated position of Director of National Intelligence, a spot that could either help or hurt the University…depending on how the meeting went.

  Hicks had already planned how he’d approach Carl when he got there. He had more pressing issues to discuss. “You got the report on what happened to me on the ride down here?”

  “I did,” she admitted, “but don’t mention it to Carl right now. We need to ease him into our confidence slowly. Approach him from a position of cooperation and strength. Informing him of your run-in with a couple of thugs who may have been working for the Vanguard might alarm him, so let’s keep that to ourselves until we know more, shall we?”

  Hicks didn’t have enough information to alarm anyone. OMNI had run the prints and faces of the men he had killed through virtually every database in the western hemisphere and didn’t get a single match. Jason had broadened the search to include Russian and Middle Eastern databases, but systems in that part of the world were fractured and inefficient, making it difficult to access the right information. He might not be able to prove the men were with the Vanguard, but he knew it.

  “If it’s any comfort,” the Trustee said, “I think you handled the entire situation perfectly. I understand the deputy will pull through, due in no small part to your quick action.”

  Hicks wasn’t so sure. Maybe if he had gotten there earlier, he could have stopped it. Maybe he should have handled it entirely himself and kept the deputy out of it. But it was too late to second-guess himself now. “The cop got lucky. So did we. I dodged a couple of bullets last night. I hope I’m not walking into one now.”

  “Ye of little faith.” She thumbed through her magazine. “I’m not a rookie, you know. I’ve known Carl for years and he’s a man of his word. He told me that h
e’s prepared to allow us to make our case and, things being what they are, we have no choice but to believe him. Remember, his organization is as besieged as our own.”

  Hicks knew that was true. The entire American intelligence community had been bogged down in oversight committee hearings since news of their black site in New Jersey broke. News that Hicks had made sure broke at just the right time to get them off his back as he hunted down leads on Jabbar and, ultimately, the Vanguard.

  He looked around the park as he waited for Carl Demerest to show up. Old people, young people, toddlers, and teens. Any or none of them could have been a threat. That’s what the Barnyard did best. That’s what worried him most.

  The Trustee cleared her throat. “Stop looking so pensive, James. You’re supposed to be enjoying a beautiful day in the park, remember?”

  “Guess I’m just not used to giving my enemies a free shot at me.”

  “Stop calling them the enemy, damn you. Carl and his group are an important part of our operation against the Vanguard and…” She clenched her jaw as she let a long breath escape through her nose. She composed herself as she appeared to refocus on her magazine. “I wish your predecessor had warned me about your insolence when he recommended you for Dean.”

  Hicks eyed a young couple strolling toward them. They were arm in arm and checking their iPhones as they walked, oblivious to the beautiful day. Modern lovers in the technological age, or agents scouting out the area in advance of Carl’s arrival? They didn’t look like CIA operatives, but the best ones never did.

  He waited until they passed out of earshot. “What you call insolence some might call prudence.”

  “You’re only a couple of months into your tenure,” she pointed out, “though I’ll admit you’re off to an impressive start. The idea of seeing the evidence you secured from Jabbar is the main reason Carl agreed to meet with us at all. He’s showing a considerable amount of trust in us. The least you could do is reciprocate.”

  “Sorry, Ma, but I have trouble trusting anyone after they try to kill me, and Carl’s buddies tried pretty damned hard. Twice.”

  “Carl wasn’t involved in that nonsense and you know it. Besides, Jabbar’s evidence will help take some of the heat off the agency just when they need it most. The fact that it will help Carl’s career is a bonus for the University. I think you’ll find him and his colleagues much more receptive now. Mutual vulnerability can be a unifying concept.”

  “Maybe,” Hicks allowed, “but I haven’t lived this long by believing in ‘mutual vulnerability.’”

  Hicks took his handheld device from his pocket and tapped the icon for Mark Stephens’s phone. “Cosmo, you reading me?”

  The Trustee’s head snapped toward him. “Who the hell are you talking to? We were supposed to come alone. That was part of the agreement.”

  Hicks ignored her as Mark’s voice came over the tiny Bluetooth device in his ear. “I told you to knock off that Cosmo shit, man. I hate that nickname.”

  Hicks loved making the University’s newest Faculty Member uncomfortable. Stephens had been part of the joint taskforce that had tried to kill him a few weeks before. But after the black site story hit the media, Stephens and his taskforce quickly became liabilities. The fact that Hicks had made it look as though Stephens had leaked the information made his revenge that much sweeter. Being able to recruit the disgraced Stephens to the University had been a trifecta for Hicks’s ego.

  “I need a situation report,” Hicks told him, “not a heart-to-heart about your call sign preferences.”

  “All is status quo, amigo,” Stephens replied. “Varsity Squad throughout the park report nothing out of the ordinary. No suspicious vehicles or obvious listening posts. Just normal foot traffic in and out. No one’s queuing up or mustering anywhere near you except for Frisbee games and picnics. No one’s paying attention to your location from anywhere in the park. If your new friend brought any playmates with him, they’re split up and good at blending in.”

  Hicks knew if the CIA had sent in an advance team, they would be better than good. They’d be almost impossible to spot. He felt better knowing he had his own people in the vicinity watching his back. “What does our eye in the sky tell us?”

  Stephens said, “OMNI’s satellite scans confirm there’s nothing out of the ordinary. No non-commercial comm signals, nobody lurking in any bushes or on rooftops around the perimeter of the park. Shit, if I knew you people had this kind of technology when I was hunting you, I would’ve just shot you instead.”

  “You tried, remember? Didn’t turn out so well for you. I’ll be maintaining radio silence from here on out, but my earpiece will remain active. If you see anything, don’t be shy about letting me know.”

  Hicks slipped the handheld back into his sweatshirt pocket. He tried to avoid the Trustee’s glare. He didn’t have to look at her to feel her anger.

  And it didn’t take long for her to express it. “You’ve positioned a Varsity Squad in the park against my orders?”

  “You’re a Trustee, but I’m the Dean. You give advice. I give orders. If this meeting goes sideways, I want our people on-site to handle it.”

  Her slender fingers gripped the magazine until it crinkled. “How many do you have?”

  “Twelve.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Quite a number. I assume they’re armed.”

  “What do you think?”

  The Trustee’s narrow jaw tightened again as she looked back down at her magazine. “I had to call in a hell of a lot of favors to get Carl to even consider this meeting, much less agree to attend. If he spots your teams, he’ll walk away and we’ll be in a worse position than we already are.”

  “Don’t worry.” He nodded toward a man making his way toward them through a group of slower walkers at the edge of the park. “Looks like our date is here.”

  HICKS HAD never heard of Charles “Carl” Demerest until the Trustee had emailed his file two days before. His official employee photo had been a standard Agency shot of a fleshy, balding man in his sixties, wearing a blue suit next to an American flag. The blue tie was equally bland.

  But on this day, Hicks saw the man as a whole. He was just above medium height and build, though he was soft around the middle. He didn’t look like a man who was about to be named his country’s chief spy, but that’s who he was. His faded red windbreaker and khakis hadn’t seen a washing machine in a long time. His shoes were from a camping catalogue and had seen too many miles to belong to a fat man.

  Hicks noted the thin sheen of sweat on Demerest’s bald head, showing he had walked some distance in the warm spring weather. It was a good sign that he had come alone and entered from the north entrance of the park as per their agreement.

  Yet, despite the warm day, Demerest had kept the windbreaker on, probably to conceal a gun or a Kevlar vest. Hicks couldn’t blame the man for being careful.

  After all, he had twelve of his own men stationed throughout the park.

  The Trustee closed her magazine and rose to kiss Demerest on the cheek. “Carl, you made it.” She sounded as if they were old friends. Hicks wondered if they were. “How long has it been?”

  “At least ten years, though you wouldn’t know it by looking at you,” he replied. “You haven’t aged a second since we last met, Sarah. What’s your secret?”

  Hicks caught the name. Sarah.

  She nudged the Agency man with her shoulder. “You always were a horrible liar. I only wish we were meeting under more pleasant circumstances.”

  Demerest sat beside her. “We only meet when things are dire, don’t we?”

  “It wasn’t always that way.” She shrugged. “But, alas, here we are.”

  Hicks didn’t know what history these two had, but whatever it had been was enough to get a shrug out of Sarah. He’d barely seen her smile unless she was threatening to kill him.

  Demerest leaned forward just enough to look past her at Hicks. “I take it this is the rookie you’ve been telling me abou
t?”

  Hicks casually looked around to see if anyone had followed Demerest into the park. No one had. “That’s right, Ace. The same rookie you assholes failed to kill twice in the same week. The same rookie who also burned your black site in New Jersey and got your agency dragged before two congressional hearings.” Hicks winked at the older man. “Not too bad for a rookie.”

  “My people didn’t try to kill you, son. Two rogue agents from the Defense Intelligence Agency ran an unauthorized mission on their own. Got themselves drummed out of the service for their trouble. If anyone from my shop wanted you dead, Sarah and I would be chatting at your gravesite right now.” Demerest smiled. “We don’t miss what we aim at.”

  “That’s catchy,” Hicks said. “You should put that on a t-shirt in the gift shop at Langley. Might help you raise some money now that your funding is coming under fire. How are those hearings going anyway? What is it the press is calling it? Black Site-gate? Heard your director is getting the shit kicked out of him by the Senate Intelligence Committee as we speak.”

  Demerest’s smile didn’t fade. “A bump in the road. We’ve been through this sort of thing before, and we’ll be around long after two-bit stringers like you are dead and forgotten.”

  Sarah leaned forward just enough to break the men’s view of each other. “I’m so happy that I’m biologically unequipped to participate in this dick measuring contest. And since I’m afraid I left my measuring tape in my other handbag, let’s call this one a tie and get down to the reason we’re here today, shall we?”

  Hicks had to hand it to her. She knew how to handle the male ego. He imagined she had gotten plenty of practice back when she had been the Dean of the University.