Moore nodded. “Yes, sir. We traced his IP and came up with an address in Langdon. He was one hell of a cocky son-of-a-bitch. He didn’t attempt anything at all to cover his tracks.”
He gave the orders to prepare, had his men pack for the occasion, decked out in Kevlar with rifles and handguns at the ready. He wasn’t about to let this fucker go. He wanted to have a one on one with the bastard. He had no patience when it came to those who endangered the country he loved so dearly.
Twenty minutes later, he was standing in the almost empty warehouse looking down at a recently deceased man. He had already called for the city medical examiner and was now waiting on the older man to make his way across town to join him. His men were surrounding him, collecting evidence and securing the area. The warehouse had been abandoned except for one lone table, a computer placed upon it. He could smell the faint scent of acid and burned electronics in the air, knowing they were too late. Whatever secrets the computer could’ve revealed were now destroyed. Even he knew they would be hard pressed to retrieve any data from the hard drive.
Acid worked quickly and it worked well, destroying everything in its path. The perpetrator was long gone and wouldn’t be back, by the looks of the computer and the body on the floor. He was still in the process of getting the name on the warehouse’s lease, but it proved difficult. The last report he’d received from the tech guys back at the Pentagon was that the name of the company was a fake, nothing more than a front.
He watched as Captain Moore went down on one knee, his back straight as a board, years of military training ingrained into every fiber of his being so that every movement he made was unconscious. Both he and Moore had signed up during the same month, went on to complete their training together, and learned to trust the other completely with their lives. When he had been promoted to Secretary of Defense, Moore had been his first and only choice as second in command. The man knew his job and did it well, always keeping up with his fitness regime—even after leaving the military life—running three miles in the morning before doing one hundred push-ups and another hundred sit-ups.
Moore methodically searched the dead man’s pockets, allowing for no mistakes or missing any key piece of evidence. He brought out a wallet and maroon passport and handed them to him. Walter immediately flipped the passport open to the particulars page and looked down at the photo and name.
This just keeps getting better and better.
“Ivan Mikhailovich Anisimov,” he read out loud. He shook his head. A fucking Russian citizen—the last thing he needed. There was nothing worse than having an international crisis on their hands. Things were precarious between the States and the Russian Federation, and this situation wouldn’t improve matters. He turned around and waved his hand in the air, signaling to his men to wrap up. He had calls to make, the first being to the White House to report the incident. The second would be to the Russian Consulate. They all needed to agree to a course of action now before the situation had a chance to escalate. A lot of lives hung in the balance of their decisions.
He exited the warehouse, happy to be away from the scent of death. He watched as the medical examiner stepped out of his van and started over. Walter had no idea how the man could be around dead bodies all the time. He’d seen his fair share during his tours overseas. He just never liked being reminded that life was precious and death lurked around every corner.
Chapter 8
Lucas Gates raised his right arm. He held his weapon steady as he shot off all the rounds in his clip. Focused, his mind clear as he aimed at the paper target at the end of the firing range. He felt his cell phone vibrate against his hip where it was attached to his belt. He released the empty magazine and holstered his weapon, then stepped out of the firing booth, unsnapped his cell, and viewed the caller ID.
‘Fitzgibbon.’
James Fitzgibbon was his boss, the man who’d taken on the rough D.C. cop Lucas had once been, and made him the agent and man he was today. He owed a lot to Jim and refused any promotion that came his way that took him from under Special Agent in Charge Fitzgibbon. Not only did he owe Jim, he revered the older agent who had become a living legend. Jim was also the only one who would put up with his shit, as he often skated over the line in pursuit of justice which had gotten him into trouble more times than he could count.
Once he was out of the firing range where the sound of gunshots were muffled through the drywall, he returned the call. Fitzgibbon was short and to the point when he answered, “Get your ass to my office now.”
Ten minutes later, Lucas opened the door to SAC Fitzgibbon’s office. The space was bland even by government standards and his boss hadn’t done anything to add life to the place in which he spent most of his time. The cream walls were bare and matched the filing cabinet, and the dark grey carpet was clean but worn in places. The furnishings were minimal yet suited the man he knew didn’t give a fig about interior design. He stepped further into the office, the faint drone of the air conditioner filling the silence as it pumped out semi-cool air.
Jim sat behind his desk, a sour look on his face. Lucas wondered briefly as to what he’d done wrong. There wasn’t anything recent that he could think of. But then again, the look could also be attributed to the ulcers burning a hole through his stomach lining. Jim’s sweet wife Maggie continually nagged him to go see a doctor. Lucas had always thought Maggie was too good for the old bastard. She put up with a hell of a lot being his wife—the long nights, the secrets. Not many women would stay married to a man whose life remained somewhat a mystery.
“What’s up, Jim?”
Fitzgibbon glared at him, his brow pinched into a frown. “Nothing you’re going to like, I guarantee it.”
Lucas took one of the two visitor chairs opposite Fitzgibbon and waited.
“I just got a call from DoD,” Jim continued once Lucas had settled down. “It seems they have a problem. They were hacked earlier this morning and when they went to the location, they found a DB. They sent me photos of the crime scene.”
Fitzgibbon clicked his mouse a few times before adjusting his computer monitor to allow Lucas to see. The photos were of a warehouse in a blue collar neighborhood. He thought he recognized the structure as one of the many in Langdon. Inside the warehouse was a lone computer, the system expensive. Something a professional high class hacker would use and apparently managed to infiltrate the Pentagon’s mainframe with. He took in the shots of the dismantled computer as the DoD’s tech people tried to save the data. The dead body shot appeared next. One shot to the chest. No defensive wounds and no visible signs of torture. As far as he could see from the pictures, it was a clean, professional kill.
“If he was the hacker, he wasn’t working alone,” Jim said.
Lucas nodded. Whoever the man had been working with, the partnership hadn’t end well.
“Do we know who he was?” Lucas asked, leaning forward to get a better look at the victim.
This was not CIA warranted—NSA maybe, FBI most surely. He waited, calm.
“Passport was in his left pocket. Belonged to an Ivan Mikhailovich Anisimov. The medical examiner identified the dead body as Anisimov at the scene. He arrived in the country late last night.”
Lucas looked at Fitzgibbon, still waiting. Dread built inside him. He could see the truth plain as day on his face. He wanted to deny it with his last breath. Lucas closed his eyes and silently prayed.
Please be a Ukrainian or Latvian anything but Russian. His wishes were ignored.
“Anisimov was a Russian citizen.”
Lucas nodded, expecting it. By the look on Fitzgibbon’s face, he’d known what Lucas’s reaction to the news would be. He also got the sense that wasn’t all.
“I have his flight manifest here, faxed over by DoD.” He handed him the fax. “Check out who Anisimov was sitting beside.”
Lucas’s stomach clenched, automatically preparing for bad news. He looked down at the piece of paper in his hands of Rossiya Airlines Flight A256. He f
ound Ivan Anisimov’s name easily enough. He had sat in seat J21. J22 however held a name he was well familiar with—Dmitry Ivanov. He prayed it was a different man. The name Dmitry Ivanov was as common in Russia as John Smith was in America.
He looked at Fitzgibbon, who shook his head. “Sorry, Lucas, checked it out already with immigration. They sent over his passport information. He’s one and the same.”
Shit. What the hell have you gotten yourself into, Dmitry?
The man was his friend, and Lucas knew he never would have voluntarily tried to infiltrate the Pentagon, not without a damn good reason.
Elena wouldn’t like this. The thought of her warmed his blood. It had been eighteen months since he had last seen her, and in that time, he’d hoped she would have learned to love him.
He and Elena had struggled with their newly developing feelings while fighting to stay alive, trying to find the killer of her late husband, and he had told her he would wait until she was ready. He was still waiting.
Her brother Dmitry worked in the private sector, but was never known to actively infiltrate government bodies, particularly foreign governments. It just wasn’t like him. He used his genius to create security programs, not to steal or create terror by crashing sites and causing mischief. Dmitry well understood the power he had, and was always cautious.
“That could mean just about anything,” Lucas said, rushing to his friend’s defense. “Just because they sat next to each other doesn’t necessarily mean they were traveling together.”
Hell of a coincidence, though, considering Ivan Anisimov had been found where someone hacked into the Pentagon—a task Dmitry could have done with ease.
“I checked that as well. Wanted to be sure before I involved you. Both tickets were purchased together. We’re still looking into finding out the source of the buyer. It wasn’t bought or paid for under either Anisimov or Ivanov’s names.”
Lucas considered Dmitry’s burn alias, his fake persona. It was an identity even the Russian Government couldn’t trace, and Lucas began to wonder why he would need such a thing. Something didn’t feel right.
“I don’t believe this to be the work of Dmitry. I’ve seen the man work. If he wanted to get in and out without being detected, he could have,” Lucas said. “If he did infiltrate the system, he set the alarms off on purpose because he wanted to be found.”
Chapter 9
Opening the external door to his kitchen, Lucas immediately sensed he wasn’t alone. The air inside the room smelled different. He removed his weapon from his belt holster and held it out, away from his body, ready to fire if or when needed. He controlled his breathing, bringing it to a steady inhale and exhale so he could listen for other noises as he silently moved toward the door separating the kitchen from the rest of the house.
A tall figure, cloaked in shadow, approached the doorway. Lucas kept his gun at the ready, his index finger barely touching the trigger. His stare remained fixed on the man before him while his mind assessed the situation. Early morning daylight spilled through the window, the curtain drawn, and streaked across the face of his intruder as he stepped into the beam.
“Jesus Christ, Dmitry,” he scolded. “I could have damn near shot you.”
Dmitry leaned a heavy hip against the entryway into the kitchen, as if he no longer had the strength to keep standing. He let out a deep sigh, one that told Lucas he’d tried to think of other ways of dealing with his problem without having to involve him. “Sorry, Lucas, but I need your help.”
“No shit.” The Department of Defense had brought in the best cyber team to create an all new security system, the tech geeks working overnight so the firewall could go live that morning. They had yet to hear from the Pentagon in regards to what exactly had been stolen, but he knew it had to be big—like 9/11 big. Of course Dmitry needed his help.
He, along with the every law enforcement officer available, had been out all night trying to track Dmitry down, though his involvement was for a different purpose. He never thought of looking in his own home.
The man glanced about the room quickly before his gaze, showing vulnerability, turned back to Lucas. When he spoke, his voice came out childlike and uncertain. “You did say if Elena or I ever needed anything, we should come to you?”
He nodded, feeling like a bastard. He’d been in a similar situation and knew how lonely and scared he had been, hunted and all alone in a foreign city. Only difference was, he had Elena. Now, Dmitry had him. “Yes, I did. But I was expecting a knock on my door or a call first. You could have a least announced yourself with a light on or something.”
Dmitry looked pained and relieved at the same time. “I didn’t want anyone to know I was here. I’m in big trouble, Lucas.”
“I know. They found Ivan.”
Dmitry’s already fair skin paled. He looked like he was about to drop any second. He ran a hand through his thick, dark hair and Lucas could see the fine mist collecting in his eyes. He pretended not to notice.
“He was my friend,” Dmitry said. “I saw him murdered. It wasn’t my idea. It was supposed to be a normal business meeting. I didn’t come to Washington to hack the DoD.”
He spoke imploringly, as if frightened Lucas would think he was the guilty party, or at least a willing participant.
Lucas held up his hands. “Relax, Dmitry. I believe you. That’s not the problem. Getting my country to believe you is another matter. At the moment, they’re a little trigger happy.”
He noticed the way Dmitry held his arm tight against his chest, clearly not wanting to jar it, and listened as a gasp passed through his tightened lips. The look of pain etched on his ashen face was clear.
“You all right, man?”
Dmitry stepped into the light, and for the first time he saw the blood and torn shirt. He was surprised Dmitry was still on his feet. Whatever drove him had begun to run low, as he watched Dmitry try to stand straight. It was like watching a spinning top, wobbling side to side. It amazed him what the human body could withstand when pushed beyond the limit.
“Shit, Dmitry. Sit down. We’ll have to clean you up or Elena’s going to kill me.”
Dmitry smiled as he sat, or rather collapsed, at the IKEA standard package kitchen table.
The reminder of Elena had been enough to give him superhuman strength just so he could make it home to her. Lucas remembered how he’d pushed himself all those months ago when he’d been so close to drowning, his water logged winter coat pulling him down into the dark, freezing water of the river Neva in St Petersburg. He’d felt like he was being stabbed repeatedly, but he’d wanted to ensure she was safe and had surfaced to find her, frantically calling to him. She was his light. A wonderful, caring woman with a heart of gold and looks to match.
“She will, don’t you worry,” Dmitry croaked. “She’s always been a big old mama bear, that one.”
Lucas got busy and moved about the kitchen, collecting his first aid kit and a bowl of warm water and a clean cloth. By the time he was done, Dmitry had his shirt off. Lucas squinted at the bloody wound.
Not too bad.
He began cleaning around the edges. Luckily, it was a through and through, otherwise he’d be getting out his little tweezers to dig into Dmitry’s flesh and remove the bullet. In this case, Dmitry must have someone high up looking out for him today. No torn muscles or tendons, no veins or damaged ligature. He’ll be sore for a few days but when he healed he’d have a nice scar to show the ladies, and told Dmitry so.
After a moment of silence, he asked, “Have you spoken with Elena yet?”
Dmitry shook his head so fast Lucas thought it might fly off. He knew the reason he felt reluctant. Lucas understood, but he knew if he kept this from Elena he might as well kiss any relationship he might have with her goodbye. The angel of a woman could have a bitch of a temper if so inclined.
“I don’t want to worry her,” Dmitry admitted.
Lucas knew the last thing Dmitry wanted to do was to call Elena and tell her he
fucked up big time. She would be on the first plane bound for Washington and he wouldn’t want that. He would want to stand on his own two feet, as impossible as it sounded in his current predicament. As much as Dmitry wouldn’t want his big sister coming to his rescue, the truth was he could use all the help he could get, including Elena’s sway as an SVR agent. This was serious, and she would never forgive him if he left her out of this.
“I know, Dmitry, and I agree. But we both know Elena will not see it that way and she’ll more than likely castrate the both of us. You know she’ll give you hell if she finds out from someone else. She needs to know. You’re in big trouble and she can help.”
Dmitry’s jaw clenched. He clearly didn’t like the idea, but went along with it. Lucas picked up his phone from the newly renovated granite kitchen counter, and dialed the number from memory. He had slowly been renovating his house, hoping to make it a place a woman would love to visit. He’d thought of her while redoing the bedroom and master bath. It all came down to Elena, he knew that. Everything he’d done in the last eighteen months had been because of her. He’d done quite a bit of re-evaluating of his life since his time in Moscow, and he didn’t want to give Elena any reason to say no to him.
She picked up within three rings. Her voice was full of enthusiasm as she greeted him in Russian. “Privyet.”
He ignored the slight flutter in his chest that always happened when he talked to her. “Elena.”
He could hear the smile in her voice as she spoke, her tone friendly. “Lucas, I haven’t heard from you in a while. It’s a lovely surprise.”
His body began to warm as he pictured her. She did things to him that no other woman ever had, and that was only with her voice. He didn’t dare to imagine the things she could do to him if she was in the same room with him. Especially not with her brother nearby.
“Yes, it is.” He cleared his throat. “Actually, the reason I’m calling is that there’s someone here who wants to have a word with you.”
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