by Colin Weldon
“She agreed to have half her body removed and replaced with robotic implants?” Eddie said.
“Yes,” Abigail responded, “it was my job to get her mentally stable and fit for duty after the surgeries. You know the world we live in Eddie. The threats we face. Christ, half the world wants to nuke us back to the Stone Age. We can’t just declare war on lunatic leaders. She’s a soldier Eddie, like you. Believe it or not, I believe in bringing soldiers home. Imagine what you could have done with her abilities. You think you would have lost your team if she had have been with you in Syria?”
Eddie’s blood began to boil.
“That isn’t fair,” he said almost whispering.
Abigail raised her hands.
“That’s not what I meant Eddie, I’m trying to tell you that some people want this. They want to be able to take the fight to the enemy and not have that responsibility. The burden of watching others die. They want to be the lone wolf. That’s what she is. And she was really good at it,” Abigail said.
“And now she’s gone nuts, whatever you put in her head has broken and you think you can fix it?” Eddie said.
“Something like that yes,” Abigail replied.
Eddie took a deep breath. Felt the pain in his arm.
“You got any painkillers?” he said.
“I didn’t want to pump you full of drugs,” Abigail said.
Eddie glared at her.
“I can give you something,” she said making her way to the door.
Eddie stared out the window trying to imagine what choice a lost soul would have to make to give up their bodies to that. Abigail arrived back with a syringe.
“What is that?” Eddie said.
“Low dose of morphine,” she said
Eddie thought about it for a moment.
“Fuck it, no morphine, I’ll live. I need my head clear,” he said moving past her and back to the room where Hiran was still working away. He tried to compartmentalise the pain in his arm. Maybe later he thought.
“There are to be no unauthorised communications with Jaguar unless I am incapacitated or dead,” he said. Hiran nodded. He looked back at Abigail, who followed suit.
“She is monitoring us somehow. She knew we would be at the safe house,” Eddie said.
“I’ve got the link up,” said Hiran.
“Show me,” said Eddie.
Hiran tapped in some commands as an overhead view of the structures flashed up on screen. He zoomed in.
“This is the moment of the attack,” Hiran said.
Eddie leaned against the armrest of the chair and observed the scene closely. It was dark. Hiran initiated the playback sequence. Small flashes of light indicated where Nora Stone was firing her weapon at the bedroom. It was less than fifty metres out.
“Can you enhance?” Eddie said.
Hiran enhanced the image and zoomed in. A dark figure stood with what looked like a semi automatic unloading rounds of ammunition in the direction of the shack. It was too dark to make out any detail.
“Switch to infrared,” Eddie said.
Hiran obeyed and the image changed to indicate the heat signature. Eddie watched as the figure suddenly looked up.
“Freeze that!” Eddie said standing up and leaning forwards the laptop.
She was looking up directly at the satellite and it was unmistakable. He could make out small features on her face. She was smiling.
“That’s not necessary sir,” said Eddie into his cell phone.
The call with Julian Miller was not going well.
“Your team is not equipped for this, I told Wise I wanted to pull you out but he insisted on leaving you in there. Look Conrad, you should have done a drone sweep of the area before you went into the building,” said Miller with an angry tone.
Eddie gritted his teeth, no shit, asshole, he thought.
“What’s your current assessment?” continued Miller.
“We’ve got birds in the air and we’re looking over the scene now sir, I’ll check in, in twenty-four hours,” said Eddie trying his best not to call the man every name under the sun.
“You’ll report in in twelve,” Miller replied.
“Yes sir,” replied Eddie hanging up.
He turned to Hiran.
“You got the rendering up yet?” he asked
Hiran nodded. Eddie moved over to the laptop. A perfect 3D representation of the shack flickered to life on the seventeen-inch screen. Hiran began moving his hand over the track pad, changing the viewing angle. Eddie saw something sitting next to the laptop. A yellow ball with what looked like a smiley face on it. It looked worn.
“What the hell is that?” he asked Hiran.
Hiran‘s face went flush.
“Eh…that? That’s a stress ball, I have high blood pressure. My doctor told me that that…”
“Never mind,” Eddie said putting his hands up, “I don’t want to know.”
“Well you brought it up,” Hiran said grumbling and looking back at the laptop, “What do you want to look at first?”
“I don’t know, step aside,” Eddie said shuffling his body onto the seat and moving Hiran out of the way. He was a little more forceful than he had intended to be.
“Sorry,” he said to Hiran.
Hiran put his hands up.
“Not at all, fire ahead,” he replied taking his yellow ball in his hand and squeezing it.
Eddie cleared his throat and began moving his hand over the track pad. Abigail was standing over his shoulder. She had been quiet for the last few minutes. There was something on her mind. Eddie didn’t have to be a psych major to know that. He focused on the bloody scene, letting the view rest on the floor. He pinched his fingers together to zoom in on the broken floorboards. Moving across the outline of the where the tac team corpses had been positioned, he paused over a broken nail and zoomed in on the object. It was just a bog standard rusty nail. He continued this pattern for several minutes before turning his attention to the walls where the hearts had been pinned. They had been removed, but the little blobs of blood where they had been attached to the wall were very much visible.
“I still don’t get it. She mutilates the bodies yet lets you live?” Hiran said.
“Almost,” Eddie said looking at his arm
“Sorry,” Hiran said clearing his throat.
Eddie turned his attention to the wall and zoomed in on one of the blood patches. Again, other than the gruesome reminder of what Nora Stone had done to the bodies, there didn’t seem to be anything unusual about the stain. He was about to pull out again when something caught his eye. He leaned in towards the screen.
“What the hell is that?” he whispered to himself
“What is it?” Abigail said from behind him.
He zoomed in closer. It looked like something was written in the centre of the blood stain. He could not be sure but it looked like tiny numbers.
“Can you get me an enhancement of that area?” Eddie said turning to Hiran.
“Sure thing boss,” Hiran said taking the laptop from him and typing in some commands.
The image turned black and white as Hiran tried to isolate the figures written inside the blood. The computer rendered an outline of the numbers and began enhancing them. Eddie had been right. It was not just a single row of numbers. There were several. The computer began isolating the digits and virtually pulling them off the wall into another diagnostic program that Hiran had running in the background. Four sets of numbers began appearing on a black background:
38.8977 77.0365
38.8719 77.0563
48.8738 2.2950
37.245265 115.803418
Eddie looked at the numbers.
“What the hell does that mean?” Abigail said.
Eddie didn’t answer. He looked at Hiran.
; “What about the others?” he said.
Hiran flicked back to the image of the wall. He zoomed in on the second blood stain. There was another set of numbers.
“There’s more,” he replied.
He checked the remaining blood stains and programmed the computer to pull off any other numbers that were visible on the wall.
37.3875 122.0575
38.7965 76.8836
53.5356 27.3316
38.8860 76.9995
Eddie looked on at the numbers.
“They’re coordinates,” said Abigail suddenly catching on.
Eddie and Hiran looked back at her, surprised that she had figured it out.
“Nice,” Hiran said to her.
She shrugged and frowned at him.
“I am not completely ignorant,” she said.
Hiran turned back to the computer.
“Sorry I did not mean to imply…” he started to say
“You’re right that’s exactly what they are. Question is, why would she write down coordinates in blood” Eddie said.
“Targets?” Hiran said.
“Ok, well giving us targets written on a wall is one thing an assassin is not supposed to do,” Abigail said.
“I tend to agree,” Eddie said looking at the numbers, “Hiran, punch those into he computer and lets see what we’re looking at.”
“Ok,” Hiran replied putting the coordinates into a search engine.
A list of locations sprang up. Eddie leaned back in the chair and looked at the results.
The White House
The Pentagon
The Arc de Triomphe in Paris
The Nevada desert
Silicon Valley
Andrews Air force base
KGB headquarters in Minsk
Capitol Hill in Washington.
“What the hell is this?” said Hiran.
Eddie shook his head. He turned to Abigail who gave him a questioning look.
“Bring up the satellite feed after she entered the shack,” said Eddie.
Hiran complied. The overhead view of the shack returned to the screen. He watched as the other residents of the building came running out of their homes.
“That’s us re-entering,” said Abigail pointing to two figures emerging from a car.
Eddie waited, looking at the rear of the shack. A few seconds later, the figure of Nora Stone smashing through the window caught his attention. He watched her dive into the water and disappear.
“Shit,” Eddie said.
“We can’t pick up her signature if she went into the river,” Hiran said.
“She knew that, clever girl,” Eddie said leaning back in his chair.
“Now what?” Abigail said.
Eddie sighed and rubbed the back of his head. It was still aching.
“Now we go back to basics. We know she was still in Jakarta as of two hours ago. I want facial recognition up and running on all airports, train stations, street cams, the works,” He said to Hiran, “I also want you to track anything that comes out of that river five miles in each direction.”
Hiran nodded.
“On it,” Hiran replied.
“Two hours,” Eddie said shaking his head, “might as well be a fucking year.
CHAPTER FIVE
Main Residence
The White House
Washington
07:15
“Good morning Mr. President,” said Todd Holt, head of his protection detail. He was standing in the hallway outside his bedroom door. Holt was forty-three and six two. He exuded authority merely by the way he stood. His large physical presence was matched by an almost laser guided glare that saw everything. He had a strong jaw and tightly cropped dark hair. His shoes were always shined and his black suits, always neatly pressed. He was a quiet predator, guarding his pack.
President Harold Royo smiled at him and tipped his wire frame glasses. He slapped a newspaper into Holt’s chest. Holt took the paper and opened it, reading the sports pages that the President had left open.
“Good morning Todd; they needed you at that Raven’s game last night – it was a bloodbath,” said Royo walking past him.
“Line backers ain’t got no game sir,” Holt replied briefly looking at the report.
The pair walked out of a glass door and along the exterior walkway that led from the main residence to the Oval Office.
“That quarter back needs to be quicker off the snap, he’s going to get himself hurt,” Royo said, toying with him.
He could see Holt gritting his teeth at the taunt and smiling.
“Yes sir,” Holt replied, “I’d like to add sir, that I got fifty bucks in my pocket says they make the playoffs.”
Royo smiled.
“I’ll take that action. If you want to throw your money away, then that, my friend, is your prerogative. Football is about quick snappy choices, not like running a country,” Royo said looking out across the White House lawn.
“Respectfully sir, but how many games have the Packers won this season?” Holt asked.
Royo smiled to himself. The Green Bay Packers were having the worst season in twelve years.
“Football, like life, is all about the comeback,” Royo said continuing past the large windows as they approached the oval office.
“Yes sir, that it is,” Holt replied placing his hand to his ear and whispering into it.
The two marines standing guard saluted the president as he approached them. One of them opened the door to the rear of the Oval Office and he stepped inside. Holt followed behind. Royo walked over to the Resolute desk, pulled back the large leather chair and took a seat. The sun was sending a beam of crisp light through the window behind Royo, warming the back of his neck. He looked down at the pile of files that he had left the previous night. The senate appropriations budget was proving to be a sticking point of late and he had been wrangling all week with senators.
“Sir, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to go over some of the security details for the Paris trip,” Holt said.
Royo sighed and glanced at Holt, indicating that now was not the best time.
“It can wait sir; I’ll be by a little later on,” Holt said, taking the hint.
With that, Holt took his leave of the President and exited the Oval Office. Royo sat back in his large leather chair and surveyed the picture of himself and his wife on vacation in Bermuda. They looked happy.
“Happy birthday Ginny. I’d like to remind you that this is still your fault. I would have been happy curing skinned knees but no, you wanted me to be President. Well, I hope you’re happy.” A light cough grabbed his attention. His chief of staff, Wilbert Kroch, was standing in the doorway. At thirty-nine, he was on the young side for the position but what he lacked in age he made up for in political prowess. He was a handsome man with broad shoulders and thick black hair parted neatly on one side. He was a favourite of more than a few of the female staffers in the West Wing.
“Come in Bill. I didn’t see you there,” said Royo waving the young man in.
“My apologies Mr President. I didn’t mean to walk in unannounced,” Kroch said.
Royo nodded and looked back at the photo.
“It’s her birthday today,” Royo replied.
Kroch approached the desk and stood in front smiling. He handed Royo a card addressed to his late wife.
“Yes sir, I know,” he said.
Royo opened it. It was a simple card with a photo of Mount Rushmore on it. He smiled as he opened the card. It read: Happy Birthday Ginny. We all miss you, Wilbert.
“She never knew how they carved it all out,” Royo said. “Thank you.”
Kroch nodded and handed the President a folder.
“We need to go over a few things before wheels up on Air Force One,” said Kroch, gettin
g back to business.
Royo sat back in his chair motioning Kroch to take a seat.
“The speaker of the house is being a real ball buster on this appropriations bill,” Royo said looking at the pile of pages on his desk.
“Don’t worry about it sir, I’ve got Mitchell heading over this morning to work on Royce and Campbell on the farming subsidies. He’s been itching for a fight with those guys since we took office and he was practically scratching at my door this morning begging to take a shot at them,” Kroch said.
Royo grinned. Mitchell was nicknamed the pit bull in Washington. He had joked once that if he had fallen from a plane with no parachute he could negotiate his way out of death.
“Good, tell him to bring back a souvenir,” Royo said.
Kroch’s lips curled.
“President Adelise wants to move up the anti-terrorism talks to the early morning which will bump trade to the following afternoon,” Kroch said.
“Something’s on her mind,” Royo said.
“Something’s always on her mind,” Kroch replied. “She wants disclosure on the military hardware being placed in orbit.”
Royo rubbed his chin.
“What’s General Hammond’s take on it?” he said.
“Guess,” Kroch replied
Royo forced a sarcastic laugh.
“He’ll be here in a half hour to tell you himself,” Kroch said.
“I’m surprised he’s not here already,” Royo spun in his chair to face the window as a flash of sunlight pierced a cloud.
Kroch nodded in agreement. Hammond was old-school, five generations of a high-ranking officer family had honed the man into a military machine. As head Chairman of the joint Chiefs, he ran a tight ship. A highly decorated and honourable man, his intentions were always in the best interests of the country, but he was a little headstrong and believed in the ultimate use of force as the main proponent of democracy. He needed controlling.
“There’s something else,” Kroch said. “I had a phone call from Director Wise this morning. He’s on his way over here too.”
That piqued Royo’s interest. Wise almost never came to the White House.
