Shadow Shepherd (Sam Callahan Book 2)

by Chad Zunker

  “He doesn’t know I’m alive?”

  “No. The last thing I sent him before bolting my apartment was the phone recording that implied you were dead.”

  “Can you contact him?”

  Tommy shook his head. “I just tried a few seconds ago. No answer.”

  Natalie cursed. “None of this makes sense. Not when you put what you just told me together with what I found out a short while ago about the CIA.”

  “CIA?” Tommy asked.

  She nodded. “The guys who grabbed me in the parking garage and held me in the warehouse overnight were CIA agents.”

  Tommy cursed. “Shadow Shepherd,” he said, out of the blue.

  “Shadow what?”

  “I think we’ve been played from the very beginning on this, Natalie. Someone was in my system before Sam ever even contacted me yesterday. I don’t know how they did it. It was someone incredibly skilled—even better than me, I’ll admit. I’m convinced they’ve been controlling and manipulating all of my information. Everything I’ve been feeding Sam to try to help him. I don’t really know what’s up or down anymore. I’m just now beginning to sort it all out now that I’m free and clear from them.”

  “What do you mean, Shadow Shepherd?” Natalie asked.

  “Something I just now found online, somehow connected to Sam, with a direct thread to what looks like some kind of covert CIA operation.”

  “What kind of operation?”

  “I have no idea. I got blocked right after finding it. That’s what I’ve been working on right now, trying to find another passageway inside, but nothing is working so far.”

  “You think the CIA has been manipulating your system?”

  He shook his head. “I can’t say for sure.”

  Natalie ran her hands through her hair, exhaled. “What do we do? We’ve got to find Sam. Do we go to New Orleans?”

  Tommy heard a beep come from his laptop. He stared down at it, cursed again—although it seemed to her like a happy curse.

  “What?” she asked.

  Tommy smiled wide. “We don’t have to go to New Orleans. Sam’s coming to us.”

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  Sam slept hard on the plane. Once the flight lifted off the ground, he sank low into his window seat in the very back. His mind was flooded with so many overwhelming emotions—Natalie, Tommy, his real father—that it basically shut completely down on him. He didn’t want to think about it anymore. He’d also downed a handful of painkillers at the airport bar earlier to help dull the throbbing ache in his arm. The pills seemed to be working. His head was bobbing within minutes.

  He closed his eyes, sank away, and barely stirred the entire flight.

  His dreams were vivid. The last time he was with Natalie, the night before his trip to Mexico City, and their parting kiss. Suddenly, she was wearing a simple white dress, barefoot, and standing on the beach beside him, the waves pushing up onto shore just a few feet away. He wore a loose-fitting white button-down, untucked, with cream-colored slacks. Pastor Isaiah was there, too, standing before them, a Bible in his hands, and Sam realized they were getting married. Before he could say “I do,” Natalie suddenly turned, let go of his hand, and started walking out into the ocean waves. She kept looking back over her shoulder, like Sam should somehow stop her, but he couldn’t move. His legs felt stuck. The waves were up to her waist now, as she continued to wade out even deeper. Sam began to panic. Yet he still couldn’t do anything. The water rose to her neck. Natalie gave him one last longing look, her eyes full of tears, her face terrified. He begged her to stop, but she didn’t. He was screaming her name at the top of his lungs when the water overtook her.

  Sam woke with a start, his breath short, covered in sweat.

  “Sorry to wake you, sir,” the female flight attendant said. “But we’ve arrived in DC.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  He quickly got to his feet, wiped the sweat from his face, tried to catch his breath. He looked up ahead and noticed almost everyone else was already off the plane. He hustled forward into the back of the line near the cockpit, and then exited the plane into the gate tunnel. Once again, he felt the nerves creep in as he considered the possibility that imposing men would be standing at the foot of the gate, waiting to grab him.

  Stepping out into the clearing of the terminal, his eyes carefully bouncing in every direction, he didn’t notice anyone staring back at him. He walked briskly down the concourse, intent to grab a cab and get out of the airport as soon as possible. When he turned a corner, someone slipped in right beside him, almost shoulder to shoulder, startling him. Black hoodie pulled up over his head, sunglasses, reeking of cigarettes. Tommy!

  “Don’t look at me, Sam,” Tommy urgently whispered, eyes straight ahead. “Just keep walking. Follow me outside.”

  Feeling a wave of incredible relief push through him, Sam wanted to grab his friend and give him a huge hug, but he resisted the urge and did as he was told. Tommy surely had a reason for his instructions. Sam wondered if others were around them that Tommy somehow knew about. Without another word, he followed Tommy as they pushed through glass doors to the outside, crossed a walkway, and then entered one of the attached parking garages. Halfway down one row of cars, they came upon Tommy’s small black Kia Soul hatchback. Sam glanced behind them, made sure no one was following.

  He finally turned to Tommy, grabbed him by the shoulders. “You’re okay!”

  “I am,” Tommy replied, grinning ear to ear. “So is someone else.”

  Sam turned around. The back door of the Kia suddenly flew open, and Natalie was standing there in front of him, like a vision. Was he still dreaming? He scooped her up in his arms, ignoring the sharp pain exploding in his arm, pulling her in so close to him he thought he might actually crush her. She squeezed him tightly in return, kissed him on the lips. He held her face tenderly in his hands, tears already dripping down their cheeks.

  “You’re alive,” he exclaimed, out of breath.

  “So are you. Thank God.”

  “All right, all right, enough of the mush,” Tommy interjected, pulling open the driver’s door. “If we all want to stay alive, we’ve got to go right now.”

  FIFTY-NINE

  Tommy booked a room at an airport hotel under an alias. Sam knew the guy probably had twenty different sets of names and IDs at his disposal. They huddled inside a room on the sixth floor that overlooked the Potomac. Sam moved to the window, pulled the curtains back. The sun was setting on the most powerful city in the world. He could see the Capitol Building over the water in the distance. He could hardly believe he’d somehow made it back to DC—after everything he’d been through the past two days—and he already had Natalie right beside him. They could hardly stop embracing long enough to even talk. Still, Sam knew this wasn’t finished yet. They had to figure out what to do from here.

  He still had to find Rich Hebbard.

  They quickly ordered burgers from room service. Tommy sat at the desk with his face stuck in his laptop, his fingers moving at warp speed. Pacing the room, Natalie shared every detail she knew about her abduction and escape. She talked about meeting with her FBI source a few hours ago, who informed her that her captors were actually CIA agents. Sam was impressed with her survival skills and street instincts. He wasn’t the only one who could find his way out of a real mess.

  The food arrived. Sam finished his in five bites and took his turn to fill them in on everything that had happened to him since his last communication with Tommy. The only thing Sam didn’t mention was the possibility that Hebbard might be his real father. He still couldn’t say those words out loud. They felt stuck in his throat. He needed final confirmation—something still felt off about it. Until Sam could put his finger on it, he just wanted to keep the information to himself. He hated lying to Natalie—especially after everything they’d been through—but he rationalized it as his way of protecting their relationship from further emotional pain.

  Had they not been through en
ough already?

  When he finished, Sam could tell Natalie had switched into reporter mode. She snagged a notepad off the hotel desk and was scribbling furiously.

  She turned to Tommy. “So who sent you the message to warn Sam in Jackson Square?”

  Tommy didn’t take his eyes off the screen. “I don’t know. I can’t find any angle or connection. Because I had to wipe my system clean, I can’t even go back and try to retrace the path to me. Even if I could, I don’t think I’d find anything.”

  Sam again walked to the window. It was now 8:30 p.m. and dark outside.

  “You sure no one ever mentioned Shadow Shepherd?” Tommy asked Sam for the second time in the past few minutes. His friend had told Sam about finding the name and what looked like a direct connection to Sam through what he called a rogue CIA network.

  “Nothing,” Sam repeated. “I’ve never heard of Shadow Shepherd.”

  Natalie walked up to him, gently touching his wounded arm. “You really should go to the hospital and get this looked at.”

  He gave her a quick smile. “I’m fine, I promise. It can wait.”

  She didn’t look pleased. “You have to stop getting shot already. Twice in one year is more than enough for me.”

  “I’ll try my best.”

  A cell phone on the table buzzed—a burner phone Tommy had picked up earlier for Natalie. She raced over to it, stared at the message.

  “It’s her,” Natalie confirmed. “She can meet me in twenty minutes.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Sam said.

  “No, you stay here,” Natalie countered. “Work with Tommy. I’ll be back in under an hour. She won’t talk to me if you’re there, anyway.”

  “I’m not letting you out of my sight again, Natalie.”

  “I’ll be fine,” she insisted, taking his hand in hers. “I can take care of myself. Did you not hear how I climbed out of a bathroom ceiling, stole a car, and got away from two CIA agents? You’re not the only badass here, babe. Plus, this is a friend—not someone trying to kill me. Believe me, your time is much better spent here than playing bodyguard for me.”

  SIXTY

  Sam stared down at the Potomac below. Across the way, DC was lit up in marvelous lights. The Capitol Building glowed the brightest, which Sam considered ironic with the level of corruption among many of the elected men and women who worked there. People they were all supposed to trust. He thought about Senator Mark Liddell, the man who had supposedly helped to coordinate the shady back-room oil deal between Lex Hester and Francisco Zapata—a crooked deal that had somehow eroded and pushed both Hawkins and Hebbard to seek government asylum. An act that had put Natalie in jeopardy, almost killed Tommy, and sent Sam on a desperate run. He shook his head. Once again, this great city had smacked him directly in the face with a nefarious act of power and greed.

  They weren’t out of the woods yet.

  He checked the time again. Natalie had been gone only twenty minutes, but he was already anxious. He knew it was an important meeting where they hoped to get some answers, but it was difficult letting her out of his sight.

  He turned to Tommy. “Sorry they wrecked your apartment, buddy.”

  Tommy glanced up from his laptop, shrugged. “No worries. Probably time for me to move on, anyway—set up a new shop somewhere else. I was already thinking I should become more mobile. My world is getting more complex and dangerous every day. I shouldn’t stay in one place too long anymore. Governments are catching up. Hell, they should be since they’re now pouring billions into hacking and antihacking efforts. The CIA even paid one of the boys I used to work with a million dollars to join their team. That traitor sold out and took the money.”

  “You ever think of taking the money?” Sam asked.

  Tommy frowned. “What am I going to do with a million dollars, Duke? Nah, you won’t ever see me make that turn.”

  It was actually comforting to hear Tommy say that. “Any luck yet with Shadow Shepherd?”

  Tommy shook his head in frustration. “No, man, they’ve got so many roadblocks and redirects around this thing. Whatever info is behind that wall is very valuable to them. And whoever is hiding it knows their way around the block.” Something popped up on Tommy’s screen and grabbed his attention. “Sam, come check this out.”

  Sam moved in behind Tommy, stared at the laptop screen. They’d been monitoring Hebbard’s personal e-mail that Sam had discovered while at the swamp cabin earlier that day. Two hours ago, Hebbard had sent a new e-mail within the same strand to the address they thought belonged to Liddell: I’m here. Waiting for instructions.

  A reply had just arrived.

  LiddellM77: Phoenix Park Hotel. The Congressional Suite. 15 Minutes.

  There was an immediate reply from Hebbard.

  Swampman52: Headed that way.

  Sam read it twice. He’d have both Hebbard and Liddell together in the same room. If he left now, he could be there around the same time that Hebbard arrived.

  Tommy looked up at him. “What’re you going to do?”

  Sam considered it for only a second.

  Was Rich Hebbard really his father?

  It was time to go get the damn truth—on all fronts—once and for all.

  “I’m going to join their little party.”

  SIXTY-ONE

  “Where is he?” Lloyd asked Krieger.

  “Phoenix Park Hotel. Next to Union Station.”

  “We got his room?”

  “No, sir. But we got men in the lobby.”

  “How many men?”

  “Two. Nelson and Ford.”

  Lloyd cursed, pivoted to Epps. “Get twenty more men over there in a hurry.”

  “Yes sir,” Epps replied, pulling out his phone.

  The FBI jet had landed just a few minutes ago. A couple of agents whisked him and Epps away in a hurry inside the back of a black Tahoe. Agent Krieger was waiting on them in the backseat of the vehicle. There was a clear sense of urgency within the group. A private jet had flown out of New Orleans before them—a Gulfstream G450 that could hold sixteen passengers—and yet only one passenger was listed on the manifest. A passenger with a name and paperwork that didn’t register as a real person in any of their systems, but someone who matched one of the descriptions of Alger Gerlach. It was a late discovery, and Lloyd already felt behind on it, but it was a potential break nonetheless. They believed the Gray Wolf was also back in DC.

  “We know who booked the private plane?” Lloyd asked Krieger.

  “A group called Grafton. That’s all I can find, sir. No other details.”

  “You can’t find anything else?” Lloyd asked, surprised.

  Krieger sighed, shook his head, looking defeated. “It’s a cover, boss. That’s for damn sure.”

  “CIA?” Lloyd asked Krieger directly.

  Krieger gave him a stunned look. “I don’t . . . I don’t know. The Agency is quite capable.” His forehead wrinkled up. “You think the CIA is flying Alger Gerlach around?”

  “I’m open to anything at this point.”

  Lloyd had finally talked with Agent Markson, his insider source at the CIA, although it took several frustrating hours to coordinate the call. Markson made sure that Lloyd jumped through a half dozen irritating hoops until he was certain Lloyd was on a secure phone. Even once they were on the line, Markson was still overtly paranoid about their conversation. However, he owed Lloyd, and Lloyd was looking to cash in that full check. Markson said he wasn’t sure what was really going on—everything was way underground. Markson admitted that a covert operation might be ongoing involving Sam Callahan and Natalie Foster. He couldn’t pinpoint what department was running lead or any of the agents involved. Markson didn’t know anything about the Gray Wolf, other than what had come across the news. And he wasn’t going to travel any lengths to find out—he didn’t owe Lloyd that much.

  Before hanging up, Markson added one last thing, in a dramatic whisper. “Listen, Spencer, this is way above my pay grade. And certai
nly above yours, too, so be careful. Don’t go around asking too many questions, if you know what’s good for you.”

  The Tahoe sped through traffic into DC proper.

  SIXTY-TWO

  Natalie entered Café Berlin, two blocks from the Hart Senate Office Building, a German café that was on the ground floor of several joined-together townhomes. She grabbed a table in the back corner, away from the busy sidewalk patio, where she could have her back to the wall and watch every face that entered the room. Candace Velasco had been Senator Liddell’s chief of staff for the past three years. She was tough and didn’t take crap from anyone in DC. She’d been a good source when Natalie had been working on a story last year involving an opposing senator. They’d hit it off and had met for coffee a couple of times in the past year. Although Natalie was unsure how Candace would respond when her own boss was the target of her questions. She’d have to carefully walk the line.

  A tall redhead of forty with fierce gray eyes, Candace arrived on time as usual, making her way toward Natalie in the back corner. She wore a dark suit, heels, and moved like she was eager to get on to the next meeting. They shared a quick hug, sat opposite each other.

  “You want a drink?” Natalie asked.

  “Don’t have time, hon. I’ve got to get back.”

  “I appreciate you coming last minute.”

  “You said it was an emergency. What’re you cooking up?”

  Natalie nodded. “You know a guy named Rich Hebbard?”

  She decided to just come right out with it. Candace always appreciated her being direct. Natalie knew there was no reason to beat around the bush. Candace was savvy. She understood the necessary relationship between reporters and politicians in the DC game.

  Candace shook her head. “No, who is he?”

  Natalie was surprised. “An oil attorney out of New Orleans.”

  “Never heard of him,” Candace said, eyes firm. “Why’re you asking me?”