Volcano

by Gabby Grant

  Now Mark wondered if his other analysts had also been experiencing tensions not so unlike his own at home. And it hadn’t only been Mark’s division. Havoc seemed to be imploding all over the DIPAC these days. Workers had been slack, uncharacteristically lax in their duties. It was as if everybody’s mind had been elsewhere.

  No better time, Mark thought, with a shake of his head. If the state of affairs at the DIPAC was any indication, there was no better time for a strike against the intelligence community than now. Now, when every goddamned analyst was so internally focused that the last thing he or she could handle was subversion from the outside.

  Mark squeezed shut his eyes and did what he rarely did anymore. He prayed to God there was a solution. All Mark needed was one more chance, one more chance not to blow things all to hell and back.

  Then, he was certain, he’d prove to Ana, once and for all, how he really felt. And never let her out of his sight again.

  ***

  Ana looked down into the barrel of Joe McFadden’s pistol in sheer horror and disbelief.

  “One word-” There was a sharp metal click. “One fucking word,” Joe said, his voice as cold as steel, “and you’re sleeping with the angels.”

  Sun-tzu bellowed a laugh from inside the car, as Hay Long dragged Ana in Joe’s direction.

  A million pictures raced through Ana’s mind, none of them involving Joe McFadden pressing a pistol to her head.

  “That’s right,” Joe said, his weapon fixed just above her temple. “Nice and easy. Come to papa and nobody gets hurt.”

  Hay Long gave McFadden a smirk. “You have your orders?”

  “Absolutely.” Joe bared his teeth in an ungodly smile. “All one of them.”

  Behind her, Ana felt a presence retreat, and then soon heard the slamming of car doors.

  “J--” Ana began, her voice rattling.

  “Shut the fuck up!” The pistol pressed deeper, as he looped his arm through hers and pulled her into the alley.

  And then, while the engine of the black car idled at the curb, Joe angled his pistol and fired.

  CHAPTER 8

  Albert Kane threw back the door to his office, where Mark sat hunched over in his chair, his hands around a stale cup of coffee.

  “Any word?” Albert asked, crossing into the room and dropping his briefcase onto the sofa.

  Mark sighed and pushed his coffee aside. “Negative on the vehicle trace. Negative on involving the police. The DOS wants this kept internal.”

  Albert walked over and laid a hand on Mark’s shoulder. “Son, if you don’t mind my saying so, you look like hell.”

  “Yes sir,” Mark said, looking up. “And, this time, looks aren’t deceiving.”

  “We’ll find her,” Albert said. “I know there are complications-”

  “Complications?” Mark pushed back from Albert’s desk, the wheels of his chair skittering noisily across the floor. “Complications?”

  My God, Mark wanted to know just how more complicated things could get! Four days before Christmas, with a significant portion of the work force on leave and now this! An analyst scare with who-knew-what sort of ramifications. A bad time of year to have the Defense Department running scared. The worst time of year...and somebody knew it.

  Somebody who also might have been responsible for taking Ana. The link between the analyst incidents, including their home system invasions, and some sort of infiltration of the security structure of the DOS seemed all too neatly tied together to be mere coincidence.

  Albert slid his briefcase over on the sofa and sat. “Mark,” he said, slowly removing his glasses and tucking them into his pocket. “I know how-”

  “No, sir, you don’t.”

  Albert flagged a patient hand in Mark’s direction. “I know, Mark. I know. How in the hell can you think I don’t?!”

  Mark didn’t know what he thought anymore. All he knew was he was crazy with worry about Ana and damned concerned about the threat that was snow-balling elsewhere. While Washingtonians throughout the city were Santa shopping, somewhere a mother-fucking grinch was stealing Christmas. But these were no petty hoods, Mark thought with a frown. Their plan was certain to be quite deadly.

  Albert let out a long breath, then tightened his jaw. “How’s Isabel?”

  “Fine. She and Maria are just fine. Major Walker’s looking after them at the DIPAC.”

  “Well, at least that’s something.” Albert sighed. “But you and I need to keep our shit together.”

  Mark looked up, hit by the impact of those words. What had gotten into him? Was he falling apart? Had Albert seen it?

  “Oh hell, Mark. You and the rest of the boys- all of you- are so damn well ready to put me out to pasture.”

  Mark stood abruptly, feeling the fury spike to his limbs. He may very well be the torn-apart husband, but Mark was also a god damned professional. And it was his professional side that held the greatest chance for bringing Ana back.

  “No, sir. Wasn’t thinking that at all.” Mark walked to the back of the office and thumped the window glass. “Somewhere out there some putrid son of a bitch is holding my wife, your daughter. And you’re right, sir. Absolutely right. All you and I have got to do is get our shit together. We’re professionals, you and I, with years of training. Decades, combined. And if anybody can get Ana back...

  Something akin to faith alighted in Albert’s eyes. He stood and joined Mark at the window. “Where do we begin?”

  “We begin by going through the files, all two hundred and nine of them that we’ve gotten in so far. Major Walker can fax anything you don’t have here from the DIPAC.

  “We check for the commonalities, the trends.”

  “We search for the motive,” Albert said solemnly, his gaze fixed on the Capitol dome.

  “And,” Mark said, following Albert’s line of vision, “we look for a group powerful enough to infiltrate the US intelligence community and scare it senseless.”

  Albert met Mark’s eyes and Mark knew instantly they were both thinking the same thing.

  Scaring was only the first part, the precursor to something much more explosive.

  CHAPTER 9

  Al Fahd glowered at McFadden. “Those were not your orders, Mr. Smith, and you know it.”

  McFadden shrugged and clunked his pistol down on the Arab’s desk. “The gal got feisty, Al Hakeem, what can I say?”

  Al Fahd narrowed his ebony eyes into slits. “You can say you’ve accomplished your mission, Mr. Smith. This does not bode well for future involvement. Not well at all.”

  Joe slowly shook his head, then leveled his fearless gaze on Al Fahd’s. “You wanted her dead, one way or--”

  “On our time table, Mr. Smith. Not some cocky American’s.” Al Fahd paused to study his gritty fingernails.

  “Where is the body?” he asked finally.

  “Where it will never be found.”

  Al Fahd sprung to his feet and leapt around the desk. “Fool!” he said, stringing his gnarly fingers around McFadden’s throat. “I want to see her, see her here! Do you understand?”

  McFadden brought his hands to the Arab’s choke hold, until Al Fahd slowly, slowly released his grip.

  “I can do it, Al Hakeem. But it’s going to take some fishing...”

  Al Fahd checked the dial on his gold watch. “You have forty-eight hours, Mr. Smith. Forty-eight hours exactly.”

  “Al Hakeem, I’m certain you know that the flight alone--”

  “Not a minute more. Or you will wind up fish bait,” Al Fahd said, loudly cracking his knuckles. “I’ll see to it with my own hands.”

  ***

  Ana pushed through the gnarl of branches and kept running. She’d been running for she-didn’t-know-how-many miles now. In and out of pine forests, across towering corn fields, through the damp heat of an unseasonable afternoon and now beneath the bitter chill of the December moon.

  It had all happened so fast, too fast to calculate. Too fast to make any sense of as he’d thru
st her through the alley’s slight opening with bruising force.

  “Run!” he’d told her, snapping something from his wrist. “Take this and run like hell! Now go!”

  But instead of fleeing, Ana had remained glued there in her narrow passage of escape, her feet anchored to the ground by some invisible chord. A steel wool wire that sliced right through her and sent her reeling at the thought of what was happening.

  Joe had been sent here to kill her! And now he was pressing his wristwatch into her hand and commanding her to run?

  “Damn it, Ana, for the love of- Isabel...”

  Her eyes flashed at the mention of her child, at the notion Joe knew anything about her. And her heart constricted to the point she felt the very life was being squeezed out of her.

  “Go!” Joe urged again, pointing his pistol toward the sky and dislodging a second earsplitting shot.

  Ana turned and started to run as car doors popped open and footsteps sounded on the pavement.

  “Wait,” Joe said, catching up and grabbing her by the coat collar. “Your coat!”

  Ana looked at him in incomprehension, in disbelief, as he clamped onto a coat sleeve and rudely tugged the fabric from her limb.

  Ana unbuttoned her jacket and thrust the rest of it in his direction, then turned to look at him, stopping in her tracks. He was the same auburn-haired Joe, ruggedly handsome, but with the fear of Satan in his eyes.

  “Thank you,” she mouthed, as her vision blurred and Joe sent her packing with a sterling shove.

  And then he was gone and there was nothing behind her for miles and miles- but the echoing sound of her own panicked footsteps racing through the darkness.

  CHAPTER 10

  Joe McFadden stared out the window as the big jet glided toward the runway lights of Dulles International Airport. Bustling cabin noises swirled into his recollection of the rippling Rapidan River back in Central Virginia a couple of days earlier. Luck had been with him when he’d stumbled across the Shifflet and Sons hog-farming slaughterhouse just at the break of dawn. He’d told Ana to run, run like the wind, and Joe had had to believe she’d taken flight. Then, there’d been work to do with her jacket. A job with a bucket of fresh blood and entrails that would hopefully look authentic.

  After soiling the coat, Joe had carried it dripping to the river’s edge. From all appearances, whoever had been wearing it had been butchered senseless.

  Joe had shivered in the threading sunlight as he’d raised a hand to his head and torn a hank of auburn hair from his scalp. Wedging it deeply in the pocket of Ana’s coat, he’d secured the button. Rushing river or no, this telling piece of evidence was going to stay put. It was a ruse that would buy him time. Time and assistance, if Joe were to get Uncle Sam’s money’s worth out of DNA analysis.

  And if Neal was half the intelligence bastard Neal thought he was, he was going to damn well figure out these two pieces of the puzzle. Why the falsely bloodied coat and why McFadden’s hair? The faux slaughter would clearly indicate Ana herself was still alright, though certain players would be encouraged to think otherwise. And, of course, the hair, as it would match up with Joe’s DNA records back at CIA headquarters, would demonstrate that Ana’d been with McFadden. That, in itself, would prove the link between Joe’s secret mission in the Middle East- to which someone senior at the DOS was bound to be privy- and the men who’d abducted Ana. With the entire DOS intelligence force behind him, Joe was certain Mark could find a way to see the bigger picture Joe was missing from his up close perspective. There was much more to this than Joe could make out from his hidden post within the operation. Some sort of sinister plan had evolved between the Arabs and the Chinese that involved national, if not world-wide, ramifications. But with Joe about to go AWOL from his operation- in an attempt to save his own hide and Ana’s, solving that larger problem had become Mark’s responsibility.

  Joe’s only mission now lay in tracking Ana down and finding a way to ensure her safety until this whole storm blew over.

  Joe glanced down at his bare wrist, praying Ana’d hung onto that watch. It’s hidden transmitter was Joe’s only hope of catching up with her in the thick of the Central Virginia woods. Of course, it’s signal would equally assist the Chinese in their pursuit of Ana, the moment they suspected she was still alive. Joe hoped Al Fahd had bought his story, and hadn’t already alerted the Orientals to that possibility. All Joe needed was another couple of hours. He’d rent a car the moment they landed and drive like a bat out of hell until her found her. For Ana, it was a matter of life or death. Joe impatiently thumped his armrests as the plane smacked the tarmac and roared into Dulles International Airport. And time- for Ana Kane- was running out.

  ***

  Ana stepped back from the railroad tracks and pressed her back to the concrete bolster supporting the overpass. She checked the illuminated numbers on the watch she’d strapped to her wrist. What was it with men and watches? Ana wondered, thinking back to her father and an earlier time...

  This one meant something critical. So critical that- even in the heat of a panicked moment- Joe had foisted it upon her, and insisted she take it and run.

  Ana adjusted the elastic watchband another notch so it’d stay in place, and considered her options.

  Just above, traffic whizzed by at record speed. She’d heard the sound of trailing cars and the heavy drone of semis from several miles away. It had been a simple task to acclimate herself to the noise and set her course in that direction. Where there were highways, there was bound to be civilization. And where there was civilization, there was, she hoped, a greater chance for survival. An opportunity to finally contact Mark and let him know she was alright.

  Just how, precisely, Ana would finagle that last part, she wasn’t certain. Clearly, Ana had been a target for quite some time now. All those odd occurrences in her home over these past few weeks had not been her imagination at all. Someone had been after her, either out to gaslight her or put the fear of God in her until...

  Until what?

  None of this made sense. If abduction was the end, then why use such contorted means? Why not just lurk in wait at her home and grab her while she was unattended?

  And Joe...

  A man she hadn’t seen for over two years. Two and a half probably, counting that time she and Mark had seen him at the Irish Pub on Capitol Hill.

  Ana shuddered back against the icy column as a semi whizzed by above, splattering murk and mud. No, Joe was one of the good guys. He’d just proven that yet again. But then, what was Joe’s connection to the Chinese men who’d nabbed her? An undercover operation? But, of course, what else could it be?

  Ana had been damned lucky Joe McFadden had been sent as her assassin rather than some murderous stranger. Or did luck really have anything to do with it?

  Ana traced a thumb over the square watch face, knowing this gadget housed more than routine mechanisms. A microchip? Something pivotal regarding Joe’s undercover mission that Ana was meant to take back to Mark at the DOS? Whatever the reason, Joe McFadden was not the sort of man to act rashly without cause.

  Another splattering truck provoked a new chill that sent her bones rattling. Two days on the run. Ana had to find someplace to get inside. Someplace with a hot shower and a telephone.

  Ana’s belly clenched at the thought of Isabel, at the realization of the danger her baby girl now faced. But no, Ana told herself, remembering Mark. Mark never in a million years had been slipshod. The moment Ana’d disappeared- as soon as he’d realized the danger- Mark would have seen to it that the rest of their family was safe. He’d have taken extra precautions with Isabel, perhaps even with Maria, as well.

  Ana tried to think of whom to call but knew the DOS was a bad bet. The fact that her Oriental abductors had been able to snatch her right out from under DOS security meant that something was deadly wrong with their security system. And if that had been invaded, even telephone communications would be unsafe- particularly those made on unsecured lines. Of cou
rse, if she placed a call just as a warning, a quick notice to her father or Mark that she was still alive...

  Ana’s heart sunk at the realization that even the briefest communique, if intercepted, would implicate Joe. Joe who had put his own life on the line to save her- twice now, counting years earlier in Spain.

  Another burst of wind and Ana shoved her frigid hands into the pockets of her nubby cardigan, knowing there must be a solution.

  All she had to do was find it.

  Instead, her grasp settled on the fine plastic edge of a credit card. Thank God, she thought, pulling it from her sweater and angling it toward the light. Perhaps she could rent a car.

  But when she titled the fine slip of plastic toward the glower of passing headlights, Ana saw it was only her library card.

  Damn.

  She stepped out from under the bridge momentarily to study the far end of the highway.

  The sign on the billboard hung like a beacon: Rueger’s Hotel.

  Ana looked down at the card in her hand remembering the time the kitchen door had accidentally swung shut on her while she was carrying in groceries, leaving baby Isabel trapped alone inside. It had taken less than thirty seconds, she recalled, lifting the pale beige card into the filtering moonlight. Less than thirty seconds to shimmy the narrow plastic plane between the knob lock and the doorframe and pop the door open wide.

  Ana tucked the card back in a pocket, her confidence renewed.

  Literacy was about to become a life-saving experience.

  ***

  Mark and Albert Kane sat around the oval conference table with several other people. Among them, Colonel Roberts from Computer Operations and Bill Rush from DOS Building Security sat at attention. It had been a long day, getting longer still on a night meant for making merry as the dawn of Christmas Eve approached.