Agent Decker stepped forward to shake Warden’s hand, but instead was greeted by an awkward wave as Warden quickly turned around and started walking.
“Come on! Let’s not waste any time!” Warden said leading them to her work area.
Baxter shrugged apologetically as Decker looked at him in confusion. They did their best to keep up. Despite her short stature, she was relatively quick, leading them through the hallways and corridors lined with secure rooms and vaults.
As they reached Warden’s Sensitive Compartmented Information Facility (SCIF), she paused momentarily before swiping her access badge.
“You guys don’t have any cell phones, pagers, thumb drives, PDAs, or other personal media, right?”
“We locked up our phones in the lobby. My pager’s there too, so I guess the crack deals will have to wait,” Baxter said with a wink.
Warden rolled her eyes and swiped her badge. “I had to ask,” she said as she typed in her PIN.
The magnetic lock clicked open and they were led into another door where she went through a similar procedure. A few moments later, they were walking into the relatively dark room filled with analysts steadily working in their cubicles. A large screen on the wall showed a map of what Baxter guessed to be all of the current operations in their area of responsibility. There were multicolored dots scattered around South America, Cuba, and Central America.
“You can close the door behind you,” Warden said as she scurried into her office and sat down at her desk.
“That’s a lot of monitors,” Decker said, pointing to the four monitors that surrounded Warden’s desk as they took their seats across from her desk.
“Being the boss has its perks. Besides, I have a lot of networks to keep track of at varying classification levels. Don’t want to risk ‘crossing the streams,’” she replied with air quotes.
Baxter pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to her.
“What kind of imagery can you get for us with these coordinates?” he asked as Warden reviewed the handwritten coordinates.
“Cuba?” she asked. Baxter wasn’t surprised that she recognized the coordinates. He wasn’t sure what projects she was actually assigned to, but he knew her from his short time at the Joint Terrorism Task Force. She was considered an expert in satellite intelligence. Baxter had been amazed several times at how much information she could gather about suspects coming out of South America from a few high-resolution satellite images. He hoped her expertise would pay off again.
“Yes, it’s very important to our investigation,” Decker interjected.
Baxter had only explained that he needed help with a high-level investigation on the phone. He gave Warden the rundown from the information they had gained from Aalee’s man and the investigation into Moss’ disappearance and their theory about where she might be.
“Exciting stuff,” she said as she typed away at her keyboard. “Unfortunately, at the time you gave me, the SBIRS-2 wasn’t overhead, and with the cloud cover, the SPYGLASS-4 won’t give you much.”
“English, please,” Baxter pleaded.
“The SBIRS-2 is a low Earth orbit Space Based Infrared Satellite. Officially, it’s designed to detect infrared signatures for missile launches. Unofficially, well, let’s just say that if it has a temperature delta, I can watch it. On the flip side of that, the SPYGLASS-4 is a high-resolution imagery satellite. Google Maps is advertised as one-meter resolution. The SG4 is measured in inches and if the environmentals are right, even better,” she explained.
“When was the SBIRS last overhead?” Decker asked.
“The SBIRS-2 is in a geosynchronous orbit for this region, so once every twenty-three hours, fifty-six minutes, and four seconds,” she said as she clicked through the screens on her computer. “And it looks like the last time was early this morning. Looks like 05:32:26 local time.”
Warden turned her monitor to face Decker and Baxter. It was a monochrome infrared image of the airfield runway and hangars.
“Can you zoom in?” Baxter asked, pointing to the main hangar.
“Since the satellite wasn’t tasked, I can’t get you the really high-level stuff, but let me see what I can do,” she said, busily typing away through a series of LINUX command prompts.
The on screen image shifted and rotated as Warden zoomed in. Soon the bird’s eye view of the airfield was narrowed down to a single hangar with numerous white-hot dots scattered in and around it.
“Jesus, that’s pretty impressive,” said Decker. “I had no idea.”
“That’s Junior Varsity level for Danielle,” Baxter said with a wink. “She can almost tell you what they had for breakfast.”
“Stop it, you’re making me blush,” Warden replied. “But yeah, this is not that great. A little notice would have been nice.”
As Warden continued to work, the image became clearer. “Ok, it looks like you have four to five individuals in the building itself, and seven individuals around the perimeter.”
“Are there any isolated? As if being held captive?” Baxter asked.
“If we had tasked the satellite with its primary sensor, I could tell you. This is the secondary that’s always on. You’re lucky you even have this. The hangar appears to be two stories, so it’s impossible to break it out like this,” she explained.
“What about the other satellite you mentioned? When was it last overhead? Does it have the same limitations?” Decker asked.
“I can check, and no, the SG4 is always online,” she replied.
“Wait! Before you close this, can you print that out for me?” Baxter asked.
“You realize this is Top Secret, right?” Warden replied incredulously.
“I am authorized as a TS courier, relax,” Baxter replied with a sheepish grin.
Warden hit print, and the laser printer behind her whirred to life. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” she said with a wry smile.
Baxter walked to the printer and grabbed the image. Warden handed him a folder marked TOP SECRET to put it in and went back to typing.
“The SG4 is a semi-synchronous satellite, so it’s overhead every eleven hours and fifty-eight minutes,” she said, bringing up another image of the airfield on her monitor. This time it was in color. Like the first, it was a bird’s eye view, but the resolution was much sharper.
“Looks like it was overhead about two hours ago,” she said as she zoomed in.
As the image resolved, she scrolled to the hangar bay. It was a huge hangar, seemingly capable of housing large aircraft. Baxter remembered the base’s initial intent as a strategic bomber base for a looming second Cold War and figured that it must have been built to support bombers. The hangar doors were partially open, with men standing guard out front.
“Wait can you zoom in on that hangar door?” Baxter said, pointing to the partially open door on the monitor.
Without saying a word, Warden rotated the image and zoomed in on the hangar door. Baxter strained to pick out the detail. He could see a shadow on the hangar floor.
“Any chance you could tilt it and see what’s inside?” Baxter asked as he sat on the edge of his chair trying to make out the contents of the hangar.
Warden frowned. “No, but I can advance the image. If the angle is right, we may be able to see what’s inside.”
With a few more keystrokes, the frames advanced and the image updated. Soon the shadow was replaced by something gray with a white panel open.
“Can you zoom in on that? Right there?” Baxter asked, pointing to the white panel.
Decker and Baxter both leaned forward in their chairs straining to see what it was.
“That’s definitely a light of some sort,” Decker said, pointing to the left of the open panel. “But that could be any kind of airplane.”
“No, look!” Baxter said, pointing excitedly to the white panel. “That’s the squadron patch for the Gators!”
“What? How can you tell?” Decker asked, straining to make it out.
&n
bsp; “See that right there? It says ‘World’ and that’s a Gator,” he said pointing to the door. “This is a squadron sticker someone put in the access panel. ‘World Famous Gators.’”
“I guess you want me to print this out too?” Warden asked as she hit print.
“Yes, please. You’ve been a great help! Thank you so much! I owe you,” Baxter said as he picked up the image off the printer and shoved it into the folder with the other picture.
“Yes, you do. And don’t think I won’t collect,” Warden replied.
Baxter gave her a big hug and Decker thanked her as Warden escorted them back out to the lobby.
“Let me know if you need anything else,” Warden said.
Baxter thanked her again and they walked out into the lobby. It was completely dark as they walked out into the parking lot after retrieving their phones and turning in their badges.
Baxter stopped as they reached the car. “Hey, it’s been a long day. Wanna grab dinner?”
Decker laughed at the awkward attempt to ask her out. “Why not? I’m sure Outback has a nice SCIF you can store that in while we eat.” She chuckled as she pointed to the envelope containing the Top Secret folder in his hand.
“Oh, right,” Baxter replied. “I almost forgot.”
Decker laughed as she got in the car and he handed her the document to hold.
“Besides, I don’t date agents,” she said with a wink. “But that analyst seemed to have a thing for you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Cutler Bay, FL
Spectre had three missed calls on his phone when he reached his truck after dinner at the marina. He recognized the number from the first two calls immediately. It was the number Agent Baxter had called him from previously. The second number, however, was foreign to him.
Spectre played back the first voicemail. It was Agent Baxter. He simply asked if Spectre could call him as soon as possible. He had a distinct sense of urgency in his voice. The second voicemail was along the same lines and advised that Spectre could call back at any time as Baxter was planning on staying at the office late and urgently needed to speak with him.
Putting the truck in gear, Spectre pulled out of the marina parking lot toward home as he dialed Agent Baxter’s number through his truck’s Bluetooth connection. It rang once before being picked up.
“This is Special Agent Baxter,” the voice through his truck’s speakers said abruptly.
“Agent Baxter, this is Cal Martin, I’m just returning your call. Sorry it’s so late,” Spectre said apologetically as he drove down the narrow road past the sugar cane fields. It was nearing 9 PM and there were no other cars around him.
“Mr. Martin! I’m glad you called. Listen, I know it’s late, but is there any chance you can meet me at my office tonight? It’s very urgent.”
Spectre considered the request. He was still angry with the levels of incompetence he had just witnessed hours earlier from his government and military leaders. Helping them after the way he had been treated didn’t seem very appealing, especially with the work he now had to do.
“Can it wait until tomorrow? It’s very late,” Spectre finally replied.
“I understand that, Mr. Martin, and I’m sorry for what happened today, but I promise you, it will be well worth your time,” Baxter pleaded.
Spectre let the request hang in the air as he continued driving. He liked Baxter. The guy seemed like a straight shooter and had been fair with him throughout it all. But Baxter was part of a bigger system that had failed him on numerous occasions. Whatever the man wanted could wait. Spectre had more important things to worry about than helping him with an investigation that none of the higher echelons even cared to hear about.
“I’m sorry, but if you’d like to set up an appointment tomorrow, I can see you then,” Spectre finally said flatly. “I really have to go, please call me tomorrow at a reasonable hour.”
The vehicle’s Bluetooth announced “Call Ended” as Spectre hung up the phone without waiting for a response. Minutes later the phone rang again, this time it was the number he hadn’t recognized.
“Hello,” Spectre snapped.
“Mr. Martin?” the female voice asked. “It’s Special Agent Decker, I’m so sorry to bother you.”
Spectre was initially disarmed by her voice. Her tone had a calming influence, but he soon shook it aside.
“I already told Baxter I am done this evening,” Spectre replied tersely.
“I don’t blame you,” she replied. “But we’ve made a huge breakthrough in the case that I think you’re going to want to see, before you do anything else.”
Spectre took note of the emphasis she placed on “doing anything else.” She couldn’t possibly know what they were planning, but it was the second time she had warned him not to do anything. How could she possibly know?
“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” Spectre finally said.
Spectre’s mind raced as he considered the possibilities of their discoveries. If they had proof of Chloe’s capture, he was sure they wouldn’t be consulting him. They wouldn’t need to. They could easily take the information up to the SECDEF and Secretary of State and use official assets to recover Chloe. Decker’s tone was pretty somber. She seemed to know that he was planning something and sounded intent on keeping him from making what she thought to be a huge mistake.
Spectre decided that he was thinking too far into it. He would just see what they had to say first. If it were another waste of his time, he would simply walk out. If they genuinely wanted his help, he would consider it.
Spectre pulled his truck into the OSI parking lot on the base and backed into a space. The lot was empty except for a BMW and another SUV. Spectre walked in and buzzed the doorbell. Moments later, the door opened and Agent Decker appeared. She looked tired, but beautiful as ever. Spectre caught himself wondering if there was something going on between Baxter and Decker to be hanging out together so late at night.
“Thanks for coming out on such short notice, we really appreciate it,” she said, pushing a strand of blonde hair out of her face. “Agent Baxter is in the vault. We’d like your opinion on something.”
Spectre nodded and followed Agent Decker down the hallway to the vault door. She entered a code and the magnetic steel door clicked open. Agent Baxter was sitting at a computer with files scattered about. He looked stressed.
“Mr. Martin, glad you changed your mind,” Baxter said, rising to shake Spectre’s hand.
“Try not to waste my time again,” Spectre replied harshly.
Baxter handed Spectre a photo marked TOP SECRET. It was grainy, but Spectre immediately recognized it.
“Do you know what that is, Mr. Martin?” Baxter asked.
“Looks like the inlet and nav light on an F-16. That’s the crew chief access panel.”
“Do you recognize the logo?” Decker prodded.
“World Famous Gators,” Spectre replied. “Holy shit, is this what I think it is?”
Spectre turned and leaned against a nearby desk. The realization hit him that this was Chloe’s F-16. Until seeing the photo, it had all been speculation, theory, and conjecture. Now it was real. Staring him in the face was proof that he had been right. She didn’t crash. She was in Cuba and in extreme danger. His resolve to act grew stronger.
“This is a high-resolution photo of a hangar on the air base you pointed us to,” Baxter explained. “I was pretty sure what it was, but you just confirmed it.”
“What do you mean I confirmed it? Why do you need a civilian to confirm it? How is this not being worked by DOD?” Spectre demanded.
Decker put her hand on Spectre’s shoulder. “We forwarded this directly to Secretary Johnson’s staff and had a fairly lengthy secure teleconference with his Chief of Staff. They consider it to be inconclusive.”
“What the fuck do you mean, inconclusive?” Spectre snapped, standing back up and holding the photo up. “This is pretty goddamned obvious. An F-16 just happens to be in the hangar we
thought it might be in, and they think it’s inconclusive?”
Baxter sighed. “Believe me, I made the same argument, but their stance is that there’s no proof of life or even that it’s an American F-16, despite the sticker.”
Spectre was beside himself. He wondered how the government ever managed to get anything done.
“Last I checked, the Cubans don’t have F-16s, and – wait for it- we just lost one of ours!” Spectre’s face was red and his eyes full of rage.
“They said it could be Venezuelan, and without any demands from anyone so far, if she is there, she’s a defector,” Baxter explained. “They’re going to let the State Department make a formal inquiry.”
“What about her family? That terrorist asshole Aalee?” Spectre asked.
“They said it was an unfortunate coincidence,” Decker interjected.
“Copy, well thanks for nothing, I’ve got shit to do,” Spectre said as he turned to walk out.
“Wait!” Baxter said fishing through his files. “There’s one more thing.”
Spectre turned around in disgust. If he had any doubts before, he didn’t anymore. The only way to save Chloe would be to do it himself.
Baxter handed him another photo.
“I count twelve total, including your girlfriend,” Baxter said, pointing at the white dots on the black and white picture.
“That’s a pretty small force,” Spectre said, looking at the infrared image.
“It would be for an intelligence operation,” replied Baxter.
“Why are you showing me this?” Spectre asked.
“Because whatever it is you’re planning, we’re here to help,” Baxter replied.
“What makes you think I’m planning anything?” Spectre asked suspiciously.
“Your eyes gave it away,” Decker replied. “And we want to help in any way we can. Unofficially, of course.”
CHAPTER FORTY
Redlands, FL
The South Florida night air was thick and muggy. Even at three in the morning, it was still hot. Spectre guessed it was nearly 80 degrees without even the slightest breeze. The weather patterns in South Florida never seemed to change, regardless of the time of year.
Spectre Rising Page 21
