Desh considered. “Agreed,” he said. “We have an understanding.”
Desh directed Smith to turn right. “I’ll expect you to send me an e-mail message with the locations of all bugs and homing devices you’ve planted anywhere near me or anyone I’m working with.”
Smith nodded.
“Oh, and check the list twice, will you,” added Desh pointedly. “I wouldn’t want you to accidentally forget any.”
21
David Desh stood in the parking lot of Griffin’s apartment and waited for Smith to drive out of sight. Satisfied, he returned to where he had parked his Suburban and removed a sleek leather case from the passenger seat, which contained state-of-the-art bug detection equipment and an inch-thick sheaf of hundred-dollar bills, compressed tightly by a money clip. Connelly had provided a ridiculously large advance and Desh had withdrawn far more than just Griffin’s retainer from the bank the previous morning. Case in hand, he quickly made his way back to Apartment 14 D. He had walked down this same hallway, and into an ambush, only the night before; yet it seemed like ages ago.
Griffin’s apartment was unlocked and the giant was sprawled out on the floor right where he had been left, although he was now breathing more deeply and Desh guessed he could be awakened at any time. He carefully cut the plasticuff bracelet from around Griffin’s wrist and tossed it into the kitchen trash along with the link Kira had removed the night before.
He removed the bug-detection equipment from the leather case and began a careful sweep of the apartment. Proficiency at detecting and removing listening devices was critical in the executive protection business. Fleming had the most advanced equipment made, which was out of the price range of all but the wealthiest private citizens. Desh found two wireless bugs and placed them in a soundproof container he pulled from the case. Smith had assured Desh he would kill all bugs immediately. Desh didn’t believe him for an instant.
Desh changed into his own pants, pulled his cell phone from the pocket where it had spent the night, checked it for messages, and rearmed himself. He retrieved his windbreaker and zipped it over the gray sweatshirt to hide his shoulder holster. His shirt and undershirt had been cut from his body the night before and were ruined. He gathered them up, along with the sweatpants, and piled them nearby for later disposal.
This completed, Desh gently shook Griffin until he began to stir.
Griffin opened his eyes and appeared to be in a fog, struggling to make sense of the man standing before him. Finally, a name and a context must have swum into place to match the face. “David Desh?” he mumbled drunkenly in disbelief.
“Yeah. It’s me. Time to wake up.”
“Why am I on the floor?” he asked, confused.
“How do you feel?”
Griffin’s brain hadn’t quite finished rebooting and his responses were slow. “Great,” he said at last, almost in surprise. “Never felt better.”
Desh nodded. Kira Miller had assured him this would be the case and in this, at least, she hadn’t lied.
While Griffin roused himself and finally got up, Desh made a pot of coffee. Several minutes later Griffin joined Desh at his kitchen table, sipping the coffee gratefully.
“You had a visitor last night,” began Desh. “Do you remember anything about it?”
Griffin searched his mind but finally shook his head in frustration. “Not a thing.”
“It was Kira Miller.”
“Kira Miller!” repeated Griffin in alarm.
“Don’t worry. She just knocked you out and left. She used a benign drug. You’ll be fine. And she won’t trouble you again, I guarantee it.”
“What did she want?”
“Me.”
Griffin looked at Desh as if seeing him for the first time. “You really look like hell, you know that?”
Desh smiled weakly. Given that he was sleep deprived, unshaven, uncombed, and had spent part of the night inside the trunk of a car, he didn’t doubt it. “Thanks. I feel like hell too.”
“What happened to you? And what are you doing here now?” Griffin scratched his head. “For that matter, if she was after you, why knock me out?”
“I’d love to answer all of your questions, Matt, but I really can’t.” He held out his hands helplessly.
“Look, David, this secrecy crap has to go. My apartment was broken into and I was knocked out. I’m up to my ass in this. I need to know what’s going on.”
Desh sighed. “You make a good point,” he said. “Maybe at some point I’ll tell you everything, but not right now. There’s too much going on and I don’t know who to trust. It’s better for both of us if you don’t know any more than you do already.”
“Then find yourself another hacker,” snapped Griffin.
“I don’t blame you for being angry,” said Desh sympathetically. “A known psychopath and murderer has attacked you, and you want to know what you’ve gotten yourself into. But I’m asking you to trust me. Eventually, I’ll tell you everything.” He paused. “And I’ll throw in a fifty percent bonus as hazard pay for what you’ve already gone through.”
“You can’t spend money when you’re dead,” noted Griffin, unimpressed.
“I’ll see to your safety,” Desh assured him. “This was a one time thing. It won’t happen again.”
Griffin eyed him skeptically but finally nodded. “Okay—for now at least,” he added cautiously.
“Good. Now that that’s settled,” said Desh, changing the subject rapidly so Griffin wouldn’t have time to reconsider, “I want you to find everything there is to know about Kira Miller. If it’s accessible by computer, I want it. School records, guidance counselor notes, scholarly articles, books she buys online—hell for that matter anything she buys online, from perfume to paperclips. I told you about the two teachers from Middlebrook, her high school alma matter. One was murdered and the other went missing about sixteen years or so ago. Find anything you can about this. Newspaper articles, police reports; everything. I want to build as complete a profile of her as is humanly possible.”
Griffin studied him carefully. “All right,” he said reluctantly. “As long as we’re still trying to find a mass murderer, I’m willing to take some personal risk. But this had better not veer off into questionable territory,” he warned. He pointed to the plaque on his desk. “Remember, I use my skills for good only.”
“And that’s what I like about you, Matt,” said Desh smoothly. He sighed. “While you’re working on this assignment, do you mind if I crash on your couch? I’m exhausted. The prospect of driving home right now without any sleep is looking pretty bleak.”
“Mi sofa es su sofa,” responded Griffin, his amiable self once again.
“Thanks,” said Desh gratefully. He laid down on the couch and closed his eyes.
Desh re-opened his eyes with a start to find the massive figure of Matt Griffin standing over him, shaking him roughly with an anxious but irate expression. Desh glanced at his watch. He had been sleeping for almost two hours! Incredible. He had closed his eyes just an instant before. He was still tired, but this period of concentrated sleep would be enough to allow him to operate at a high level for the rest of the day, if necessary.
“What?” mumbled Desh worriedly as the rage on Griffin’s face began to register.
Griffin thrust a scrap of paper in front of his eyes. ARE WE BEING BUGGED?
“No,” said Desh aloud, shaking his head “We were, but I cleared them. Why? What’s going on?”
Griffin handed him a piece of paper. “You got an e-mail from Kira Miller,” he snapped.
Desh bolted upright, now fully awake.
“Read it and tell me what the hell is going on!” barked Griffin angrily.
Desh’s heart pounded furiously as he turned to the message.
From: xc86vzi
To: Matt Griffin
Re: Urgent! For David Desh
Matt Griffin:
David probably removed any bugs from your apartment, but remain silent about t
his message and assume you’re being bugged until he indicates otherwise. Please give this message to David immediately.
David Desh:
I bugged the sweatpants I provided to you as a precautionary measure. Once again, I’m sorry about the invasion of privacy. I modified the bug to make it undetectable by your equipment (Impossible—I know). I just finished listening to the record of your conversations with Connelly and Smith that were forwarded to my computer.
Desh stifled a curse and clenched his teeth in fury. She was always one step ahead of him! She had correctly named the two people he had spoken with during the night, which meant she wasn’t bluffing. He was being outsmarted at every turn. He retrieved the sweatpants he had worn the night before, opened the door, and threw them as far down the hallway as he could manage. Griffin watched him angrily, not saying a word.
Desh was furious with himself, but forced his focus back to the e-mail message, knowing that self-recrimination would have to wait. He continued reading:
We need to finish our discussion. I have precious little time now to provide details (I was planning to last night) but a batch of the gellcaps I told you about were stolen years ago. There is another enhanced human at large (or “golden goose” to use Smith’s terminology). He is the one who is ruthless and has powerful people in his pocket, not me. He is also the one behind the effort to find me. It is critical that he be stopped.
Smith is lying to you: the rival who stole my treatment is behind the Ebola plot, not me.
I know you don’t trust me, but trust this: Jim Connelly won’t live out the day if you don’t act. You need to warn him and then bring him fully up to speed. You called him and raised his suspicions and he’s in a powerful position to pry and make life uncomfortable for the true psychopaths here. Like you, he is a man who can’t be bought, so they will kill him to prevent him from learning the truth. Don’t trust me, but please err on the side of caution. Stakes this high bring out the aberrant personality types we spoke of like moths to a flame.
They will kill you as soon as they come to believe you won’t lead them to me. They will clean up behind you as well, which means killing Matt Griffin the first chance they get.
Good luck
Kira Miller
Desh looked up from the message in alarm and immediately was met by Griffin’s icy stare. “Can you tell me what the hell I’ve gotten myself into!” he demanded. “Ebola plot! What the hell does that mean? She says some group out there plans to kill you and me both. You said I’d be safe. It sure doesn’t sound that way!” he spat.
“Okay, Matt, no more secrets,” said Desh, his voice calm. “You’re far more involved than I ever expected you to be, and for that I am truly sorry. You deserve the truth. But I need to think through the implications of this e-mail first. How securely was it sent? Could it have been intercepted?”
“No way. She’s as good as it gets and my computer is a fortress.”
Desh nodded, not surprised. As usual, she was careful and smart. But was the message simply another of her manipulations? Desh was getting awfully tired of being a pawn in a game for which he didn’t know either the rules or the players.
He made a snap decision. Whether Kira had her own nemesis or not was something he could consider at a later time. But her logic was sound and his gut told him to take her warning about Connelly very seriously. Jim Connelly was a good man and Desh agreed that he couldn’t be bought. But the jury was still out on Smith.
Desh was annoyed with himself that even in his current paranoid mindset he had failed to at least consider the possibility that Connelly’s digging would make him a target. If Desh was going to survive this mess he would have to do better.
“Do you have a car?” asked Desh.
“Why does that question make me nervous?” answered Griffin guardedly.
“Connelly could be in someone’s crosshairs even as we speak. We need to get him in motion immediately and set up a meeting with him so I can bring him up to speed. We can’t risk taking my SUV. I’ll tell you everything I know on the way.”
“This woman is a psychopathic killer. Why would you even consider following her advice?”
“If she’s wrong, we’ll have wasted time and inconvenienced the colonel. But if she’s right, we’ll have saved his life.” Desh paused. “I assume you have a car, correct?” he persisted.
Griffin looked ill but finally nodded unhappily. “What if I’d prefer to stay here and let you meet with this Connelly by yourself?”
Desh shrugged. “Suit yourself. But in that case I won’t be able to tell you what you’re up against until I see you again. And you have to ask yourself if you feel safer on your own right now—or with me.”
Griffin frowned. “I’ll go,” he mumbled unhappily.
“Good. Can you jump on the computer and find the midway point by car between here and Fort Bragg, North Carolina?”
Griffin sat at his computer and seconds later a satellite map appeared on the large plasma screen. The image of the East Coast of the United States was almost uniformly green and not a single sign of human habitation, including the largest cities, could be detected. The Atlantic Ocean appeared as a much deeper and more vibrant shade of blue than when viewed from the beach. Griffin overlaid the satellite imagery with a driving map that highlighted the route between the two locations, spotting a promising town almost immediately. His hands flew over the keys.
“Emporia Virginia,” he announced. “It’s 172 miles from D.C. and 155 miles from Bragg.”
“Good,” said Desh. “Any State Parks? Woods? That sort of thing.”
Griffin worked the mouse to display a helicopter’s-eye view of Emporia and its vicinity and began to fly this virtual helicopter slowly forward. He called up further information on the town and displayed it on one of the smaller monitors. “There’s a hydropower dam in Emporia on the Meherrin River. The river flows northwesterly from the dam.”
“Find a two-lane road that parallels the river and woods and follow it northwest,” instructed Desh. He had decided to borrow from Kira’s playbook. Her choice of motels had been tactically ideal. “Try to locate a quarter-mile to a half-mile chunk of woods flanked by roads on either side. Easily accessible but fairly isolated.”
Griffin swooped down to the Meherrin River dam and found a nearby road that fit Desh’s requirements. He followed the road as instructed, zooming closer when he found a candidate location and back out again when he needed a more panoramic view. Whatever satellite database he had hacked into allowed him to get clearer pictures and zoom in more closely than he would have been able to do using the satellite imagery available to the general public.
“I think I’ve got it,” said Griffin.
Desh studied the screen. Sure enough, about twenty miles from Emporia another road appeared on the right flank, sandwiching the woods between it and the road Griffin had been following. The roads ran parallel on either side of the woods for several miles.
“Continue to follow your original road, but slower and from a lower altitude,” said Desh.
Griffin swooped in closer and did as instructed. Desh pursed his lips in concentration and studied the rapidly changing landscape. “Stop,” he barked. “Back up just a little.”
Desh pointed to an area of road that abutted a section of the tree line that had a break in it. A car could pull off at this point and circle back around without hindrance to a pocket-shaped clearing, about fifty yards away, that couldn’t be seen from the road. He only hoped that enough of the trees had retained their leaves to provide adequate cover. Since the satellite data was somewhat dated, it was impossible from the imagery to know for sure.
“Get the GPS coordinates for this break in the tree line and write them down for me while I make a call,” said Desh.
Desh lifted the receiver of Griffin’s phone. It was cordless but still a landline, which was what he needed. Cell phone traffic was far too easy to intercept. He had checked the phone carefully for listening devices pr
eviously and it was clean. He dialed Connelly’s scrambled line at his office at USASOC, praying he would be in.
It was picked up on the fist ring. “David?”
“That’s right.”
“I’m glad you called. And on my secure line at that,” added Connelly approvingly. “I’ve begun looking into this Kira Miller case more carefully and I’m hitting roadblocks that shouldn’t be there for someone with my clearance. I think you’re right. There’s a lot more going on here than meets the eye.”
“Colonel, I’ve learned more since we last spoke. Not enough to complete the picture, but enough to suspect you may have just kicked a hornet’s nest. I think you could be in danger. I recommend you leave your office immediately. Write this down,” he said. Desh gestured to Griffin who handed him the newly scribed GPS coordinates. Desh read them carefully to Connelly. “The coordinates I just gave you are to a short break in the tree line that parallels the road you’ll be on. Otherwise the tree line is unbroken for many miles. If you go off road there you’ll find a pocket in the woods, hidden from the road. Meet me there in as close to three hours from now as you can manage. First check your clothing and car for bugs and assume you’re being followed.”
“Roger that,” said Connelly, trusting Desh enough to follow his instructions without asking any questions.
“I’ll be with a friend: about six-five, 300 pounds, bushy beard. I’ll explain everything when I see you.” Desh paused. “Before we sign off,” he added, “has Smith contacted you yet today to explain what last night was all about?”
“Smith?”
“It’s an obvious alias. I’m talking about the person you asked me to call in when I found Kira Miller. Black Ops officer; short, wiry. Scar under his ear.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, David,” said Connelly in alarm. “Black Ops? I was told that number is to the private cell phone of my boss at MacDill: Brigadier General Evan Gordon.”
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