O’Hare stared at Cromarty. He did not look at the general. “I believe we can use Midway as bait. Schmidt will have to rescue him, or at least make the attempt. We can catch him in the act. We’ll have both Midway and Schmidt, snap.”
“So that’s your plan? This is how the NSA operates?”
“No, General Grovers, it’s not how we operate. I’m not going to disclose aspects of our operations to either of you. Take my word. We have more than one black site at Gitmo. This new one is under my control. As I said, Midway’s our first guest. I’ve an expert there, who is looking forward to taking care of him. Schmidt will be our second guest. We caught Midway and now his location is untraceable. We’ll catch Schmidt, be assured.”
Cromarty raised his hand. “Very well. It’s done. I didn’t approve your actions and won’t. For the record, O’Hare, I don’t agree with what you are doing.”
“In that case, I need to get back to New York. My pilot’s expecting to lift in ten minutes.”
“If you don’t wish to stay for dinner? No? Let me see you out. Stay here, Jamie. I won’t be long.”
Cromarty led the way out of the room and O’Hare followed. The NSA AD did not acknowledge Grover’s half-hearted farewell.
The two men were silent as they walked across the atrium towards an outside door. O’Hare looked back to make sure he couldn’t be overheard. He said, “You’re a good actor, Ross.”
“You think so? I simply pretended I was angry with one of my poorly performing CEOs.”
“It worked.”
“Now, you’re certain there are links that can be disclosed, if need be, showing our general was the key person in yesterday’s activities?”
“Oh yes, he’s well involved. There’s enough evidence to make a prima facie case against him. We have him, now.”
“Do you intend to process—question—Midway while you have him at Gitmo?”
“Of course. It’s an opportunity I don’t want to lose. He caused some good agents to go down. Their friends want revenge.”
“Let me have copies of any DNA-related information you obtain. When will you lure Schmidt?”
“Of course. I want my people to spend at least a week or so with Midway, to get what we can from him. When we’re ready, we’ll let Schmidt know where Midway’s being held. It’ll be entertaining to see how he reacts.”
“Don’t underestimate the man. That’s happened before, and people, smart people, have gone down.”
“We’re safe, Ross. We’ll be insulated from any heat. Schmidt will get an anonymous tip-off.”
“Good. Okay, safe trip back. We should plan on meeting next week. I’d like you to keep me informed regarding Midway and anything you discover.”
“Will do.”
Cromarty watched as O’Hare boarded the helicopter. He returned to his other guest.
Chapter 10
Schmidt stepped out of the elevator and pushed through the security door into the foyer of his Cerberus office. The building was located on Pennsylvania Avenue, near the International Monetary Fund (IMF) headquarters. His pass worked, the security guards knew him, and he was eager to get to work. He headed to the smaller of the two conference rooms, the one he favored because of its more personal setting. Office staff had not yet arrived; he would have to wait for coffee.
First he contacted Major Helen Chouan; she commanded the 145th and had direct management of its MP resources, particularly Bravo Company. Of course, they were all Cerberus.
“Helen, it’s me, Schmidt.”
“You’re on duty early. Is everything okay?”
“Yes and no. I’m back, that’s the good part. The bad part—someone has kidnapped Mark. They also killed members of his security escort and may have killed a police officer on Mark’s property. This happened yesterday in New Hampshire. I want fifteen of your best heavies and a team of five investigators to be ready to move when I say. Actually, seven or eight of the heavies and the investigators should leave in the next half hour, for Redmont. They’ll also spend time in Boston. Use one of your choppers. I want them there as soon as you can get it done. You need to be there. Maeve, Linda, or I, will forward briefing papers. Keep men in reserve, ready to move out on the instant. Understood?”
“Yes, sir. Good to have you back, Archimedes.”
Schmidt disconnected and decided he needed coffee. He encountered three early starters and they took pity on his caffeine-deprived condition. Ten minutes later, a steaming pot of coffee was delivered to the conference room. In the meantime he had managed to follow the user instructions to connect up the video system so he could meet with members of his analysis team.
“Linda, I need your support.”
“Schmidt—you’re back!”
“Yes, it’s me, in full formal dress. As Maeve told you, we want a briefing session at 10:00 a.m. She’ll call Winter at 10:30. I want to know what happened in New Hampshire and Boston—feed me details as soon as you have them. An additional item: a Redmont police officer was shot and killed late yesterday afternoon. He was on Mark’s property waiting for their crime team. Another two, civilians, were found dead on the property. That’s still vague, but one seems to have killed the other, after which he committed suicide. No identification. A girl, twelve or so, was also shot. Fortunately she survived. I’m heading to Redmont after our conference to speak with her or her parents. I’ve arranged for a copy of the police logs and their report, as much as they have, to be here for the briefing. There’s something else—oh yes, I’ve arranged for Helen to send an investigative team and some heavyweight support to Redmont. When you talk with Maeve, ask her to give me a call as soon as she can, please.”
“Yes, sir. Welcome back.”
He disconnected the video and poured another coffee. Schmidt frowned; he hoped people stopped saying that before the morning progressed too far. He was back; somehow, something, overnight had lifted whatever had been inflicting him and now he felt fitter and sharper than ever. He emailed a long list of people to let them know he had resumed duty. The formal clearance by Army pill pushers would have to wait; he had things to do.
There were three people he dreaded contacting. Maeve had spent twenty minutes on the phone with Anna and the two children last night, and he was planning to do the same this morning. He reached for the phone as the conference room door was opened, interrupting his call attempt.
“Sir, General Schmidt?”
“Yes, Rosalie?”
“There’s people to see you. It’s Anna, Gabriel, and Niland. They said they’re here to help find Mark.”
All of Cerberus, he realized, would know by now that Mark had been kidnapped. Their support would be total, he was certain. “Show them in. I’ll see if they need anything, make sure they’ve had breakfast, and let you know.”
“Yes, sir. And wel—”
“Don’t say it.”
“No, sir. Yes, sir.” The Cerberus PA backed out of the room and, shortly afterwards, Anna and the two children entered.
“I was planning to call you—I was about to pick up my cell phone.”
“We know. Niland said you would.”
Schmidt hugged Anna and the two children.
“How did you know I’d be here?”
“That was me,” said Gabrielle. “I knew this would break through the barriers.”
“We agreed.”
“It was my idea.”
“Whoa.” Anna halted the flow.
“You’re all welcome here, of course. But why did you come?”
“You need to be north of here, perhaps Boston. We’ll take you back with us,” Niland replied. “There’s something—” He stopped, unable to define their reasoning.
Schmidt smiled. “It’s early. You’ve all had breakfast?”
“Yes, thank you. It was a nice hotel buffet—all you could eat,” said Niland.
Anna explained, “We caught a late flight last night and stayed at a hotel. The children wanted to surprise you this morning.”
&nb
sp; “You certainly did that. I haven’t had my breakfast. I’ll order something from our kitchen. You’ll have to watch me eat.”
“In that case—” The children spoke in unison.
“I’ll order four breakfasts. The chef should be in by now.” He headed out the door to find Rosalie and gave his breakfast order. At his direction, she added extras for his visitors.
“I have an update. No, we don’t know yet where Mark was taken. Late yesterday, when the Redmont Police Crime Team arrived, they discovered a body in the shed behind the house.” He relayed all the details he’d received in an early morning call. “We don’t know who the girl is.”
Gabrielle looked pensive. “She’s Cerberus. No evidence. Only my intuition. She was shot by the man who killed the policeman. She made the shooter kill his companion, and she forced him to shoot himself.”
Schmidt stilled for a moment, considering. He looked at Gabrielle. “You know, there’s a certain logic in what you said that I find attractive. I’m not sure we’ll be able to explain it to the local police, though. We’ll check and confirm, and if she’s Cerberus, we’ll protect her, of course. I’m going to Redmont once I finish up here. I have MPs from the 145th on the way. I’ll manage investigations from there. You all want to come with me?”
There were no dissensions. Gabrielle rushed out to get Rosalie and another PA, and Schmidt provided instructions for travel.
“Anna, you’d better go and pack, if you three are coming with me.”
Niland laughed. “We packed and checked out. We brought our backpacks. We’re ready to go.”
The general sat back in his chair. “I think I’ve been out-Schmidted,” he mused.
Maeve and Linda joined the video meeting at 10:00 a.m., and Schmidt, Anna, and the two children sat around the small conference table to hear the details.
Maeve said, “Linda’s team is doing their usual outstanding work. They cracked the Highway Patrol’s call recording system and have copies of the communications between their people and Mark. Linda, can you play a portion of the tape from where they were stopped on the highway.”
“Sure. Give me a moment. We think Mark had suspicions about this chase. He dropped his—or Drew’s—cell phone on the seat of the vehicle. He spoke loud and clear. He also left the side window open. He knew we’d be able to get to this. Winter also has video, so we’ll be able to verify it all.”
The tape began with Mark speaking. “We’ve got trouble. We have five patrol cars blocking the road, they’re all Highway Patrol. Troopers are standing next to their vehicles, with weapons pointing at us. The guys following us are very confident. Maybe there’s some collusion—let’s get out and see what this is all about.”
Linda continued, “We’re enhancing the tape from here on to get clarity. People were speaking outside the vehicle and some of the voices are muffled and difficult to hear. The call was disconnected after three minutes or so. The following points are critical. It may have been a governmental action; the people following Mark used software to disable and remotely control his vehicle, a Volkswagen SUV. That software is not generally available. At least, we haven’t seen any criminal use of it. Accents—where we have clarity—are American. The police mention an FBI BOLO alert and that they were helping the FBI. However, the driver with Mark was shot and killed without cause. There are eyewitness statements stating Mark was transported out by helicopter.”
Maeve added her perspective, “The FBI comment is important. We suspect the Highway Patrol was misled. We’re looking for the drivers and crews of the five Patrol vehicles; we’ll determine who was involved and why. I’ve already arranged DoJ warrants, full search and seizure, and I’ve arranged for an FBI team to be in New Hampshire by early afternoon, under one of their top special agents—someone I know. Half the FBI team will be Cerberus, and no, Fisher doesn’t know about them.”
“Excellent. I’ve already arranged for a team from the 145th to get there. I’ll lead the meeting with the Highway Patrol,” Schmidt said. “They are going to think their building has collapsed on them.”
“We’re currently checking aircraft flight plans—the pilot must have lodged some indication of its flight,” Linda added.
“A good start. Keep me posted while we’re in New Hampshire. I want transcripts, results of your search for a flight plan, anything else discovered by our teams. We’re leaving shortly. I’ve arranged a helicopter to pick us up in”—he checked his watch—“fifteen minutes. I won’t wait for your call with Brian. You can update me, if necessary, while we’re in transit. Oh, Maeve, tell Brian he’s welcome to join us in New Hampshire.”
“Schmidt—I have one thing to add—welcome—”
“Don’t say it, don’t say it!”
Chapter 11
“Tell me your earliest memories.” The voice was insistent, imperative.
The young boy watched from afar as village children boarded their school bus, their joyous shouts pealing across the countryside. It was early morning and spring had not yet arrived. The tree under which he sheltered was winter-dormant and three brown leaves clung hopelessly to an upper branch; they would soon be replaced by spring buds. His hand tightened on a low branch. He subconsciously understood he would never be allowed to join in the fun enjoyed by children in groups, small or large. As he watched, the bus roared into life, its lights swinging across the village green as it headed towards the road out of the village.
His reverie was interrupted by an angry shout. The housekeeper had noticed his absence. He pulled the worn, oversized coat around his shoulders and turned towards the decrepit farm building where smoke now drifted from the kitchen chimney. The boy shouted back and walked across the frozen mud to the kitchen door.
“Lazy child,” said the old woman who was setting a frying pan onto the stove. “Your task is to light the fire and make sure it’s burning. Next time you leave it you’ll get a thrashing.” She spoke English with an execrable accent.
He ignored the threat. He had been thrashed before. It hurt only for a while. He moved nearer to the stove to warm himself and then sat at the table after the old woman dished out half-cooked porridge. He knew it was the best she could prepare. He ate heartily. He always had an appetite and would not reject food even if it was represented by badly prepared meals.
“When you finish, go and wake that lazy tutor of yours. Tutor, huh.” She sniffed.
He knew the man who was supposed to be his tutor was not so much lazy as wine-soaked. His tutoring ability was suspect even to him, young as he was. He learned more from reading the books the man had brought with him than from his teaching. As usual he struggled to waken the sleeping man. Each day it was becoming more and more difficult to penetrate his alcohol-fueled fugue. Eventually he succeeded and left the tutor to his morning affairs.
“No, that isn’t what I want.” The voice sounded disappointed.
He wondered why.
He twisted and turned. His neck burned. His head ached. The back of his hand was on fire. His hands were strapped to a metal frame. He tried to move his legs and discovered they, too, were strapped down. He tried to sit up. A strap across his upper body held him down. He was able to lift his head, barely an inch or so. He built up the energy required to open his eyes. His eyelids were glued together. He struggled and at last managed to open both eyes. They were full of grit, aggravated, painful.
There was nothing to see—the room was pitch black; there was no light, anywhere. He could hear faint, distant noises, so presumably it was daytime. He tried to recollect what had happened. The car chase, Drew shot and killed. The injection in his neck. Presumably he’d fallen unconscious after the injection had taken hold. He’d probably recovered faster than expected, because of his genetic enhancements—possibly his captors would not be aware of those. It might be early—very early—morning.
His nose itched. He couldn’t scratch it. His knee itched. He couldn’t reach that, either. His neck, where his captor had applied the injection, burned.
The back of his hand stung; it felt like a wasp was drilling into his veins. He could move his head. That didn’t help. He blinked. His eyes felt less gritty. He realized he was wired, he could feel pads on his body—perhaps he was being monitored.
The flow of electricity into his body and the sharp agony that accompanied the shocking voltage negated that thought. The pain seared. There were electric connections all around his limbs and torso, some in places he didn’t want to think about. This, he realized, was going to be a challenge. The torture technique likely consisted of sensory deprivation followed by electric shocks at unpredictable times. A second rush of electricity spasmed his body. How much respite would he get, he wondered, until the next shock? The voltage, he assumed, would be increased, perhaps to a level that would render him unconscious.
There must be something—his body spasmed again. Someone, he thought, after the electric flow stopped, was enjoying this. He hoped they realized he would provide their last opportunity to enjoy anything. If he could escape, it would be a welcome duty—and if he didn’t escape or wasn’t rescued, Schmidt and hundreds—no, thousands—of Cerberus members would take up the task. He was confident, one way or another, his captors faced certain death. He gritted his teeth against the next flow—it spiked at a far higher voltage than the prior shocks. He spat blood; he had bitten the side of his tongue.
He focused his thoughts. Perhaps he could use the nanites in his body. He must be able to direct them to mute the agony and help heal damage that he was suffering. However, there was more. Each conductive pad required a direct contact with his body. If he could somehow persuade the nanites to gather at each point of contact and build an insulating layer, enough to act as a barrier—that would protect him. His nose itched again. He hadn’t heard of any Cerberus person attempting what he was planning. He could experiment on one of the pads. He knew which one; it was stuck to his scrotum. He would wait a while before commencing his experiment. First he wanted to see what other torture techniques his captors planned.
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