Targeting the Telomeres, A Thriller
Page 19
Do I have to do this? I really don't want to.
Elizabeth responds during normal business hours the next morning to avoid arousing suspicion.
I can understand your hesitancy, and I realize this is a difficult subject for you. However, the Child and Family Services Act requires that I conduct this survey with you. Are you available later this morning?
Okay, 11:30, where in the building are we meeting?
On the first floor there are some square tables in the lobby inside the front door. I'll meet you there. I'm about 5-7, shoulder-length brown hair. I’ll be wearing reading glasses and a nametag.
Elizabeth adjusts the prop glasses on her nose and clips her fictitious ID badge to her tan blazer as she settles in at a table to wait for Natalie.
This takes me back to my high school drama club days, she thinks. I always enjoyed pretending to be someone else. Hopefully no real Ministry employees will notice me before I get the information I need from her.
Around 11:25 Elizabeth looks out the window of the government building and sees a thin young woman in a loose-fitting tweed coat using her shoe to put out a cigarette perhaps 20 feet from the entrance. Elizabeth knows it’s Natalie based on several photos she was given, and carefully notes the spot where the butt is situated. The girl enters through the double doors and begins scanning the tables. Elizabeth stands up and waves to get her attention. As Natalie cautiously approaches, Elizabeth gives her a warm smile.
"Ms. Gardner?"
"Yes, but please, call me Elizabeth. I appreciate you coming in for our survey. Take a seat.”
Natalie can’t be more than 110 pounds, perhaps five-foot three, including her shoes with a bit of a heel. She avoids eye contact and fidgets, visibly uncomfortable with the situation.
Elizabeth goes through a list of general questions before she asks the ones that will help her determine whether or not Natalie Michele was in on some kind of scam, giving up her son for a considerable sum of money paid by the people the FBI and CIA want to find.
"What was the primary reason you decided to give up your son for adoption?"
Natalie squirms, and her eyes dart around while several seconds tick by. "Look, I was working in the Odyssey Club. Do you know about it?"
"I've heard of it.”
"It's one of the best nightclubs around here. The same locals come in night after night, and I was, uh, doing some things I shouldn't a’ been. Please, I don't wanna get in trouble."
Elizabeth looks at her compassionately. "Drugs?"
"I…I felt like my life was spiraling out of control. I was in the middle of the pregnancy when I realized I was such a train wreck I couldn’t give him the home he deserved. One of the cocktail waitresses at Odyssey had a friend who gave up a baby for adoption and she's the one who suggested it. I contacted CAS, and they did the rest."
"Was it CAS that recommended the hospital in Tillsonburg?"
"Yeah, I think it was them."
“How long were you there?"
"Well, it was my first child. I went in the night my water broke, and I was there a little over a day, I believe."
"The records reflect it was a natural childbirth?"
"Correct."
"Were you satisfied with the labor and delivery process?"
"What's that got to do with anything?"
"Service satisfaction is part of our survey. We ask all adoptive mothers about it."
"They were fine I guess, but I was very conflicted about giving up the baby. So that kind of clouded up everything for me."
"Who came to the hospital to support you during your labor and delivery?"
"My parents came, but not the father, I didn’t want him there. We only went out a few weeks, and he ended up being a drug dealer, which is where I got my…Anyway once I decided to give up the baby, there was no reason to involve him.” Natalie’s voice catches on the last few words.
"I see. All right —"
"Look, this is why I didn't want to do this. It just opens wounds for me. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think about what would have happened if I had kept him.”
"Well, I can assure you your son is in good hands, and his parents are taking great care of him." Elizabeth delivers this line smoothly, while recognizing that there is a decent chance that Ron Michaels has been unwittingly raising her son.
"Can you tell me who they are?"
"Not in this type of adoption, I'm afraid. But we screen all adopters thoroughly and our file indicates no adverse information on them whatsoever."
"Oh, okay. So are we done?"
Elizabeth pretends to be reviewing her notes and deciding if she has other questions. After a minute or two, she looks up sympathetically at Natalie. "Yes, I think we’re done for today. If we need anything else, we’ll contact you. Best of luck to you, Natalie.”
"Thanks."
With that, the young woman rises, heads toward the doors and exits without looking back.
Elizabeth waits a few minutes before also exiting the building. Using a latex glove, she stoops to pick up the cigarette butt, placing it in the small ziplock bag, then continuing back to the inn. Once she’s in her room, she sends an encrypted message to Solarez, advising that she probably has a good DNA sample.
I would not consider Natalie Michele a suspect. Based on her appearance, I don't believe she was paid, and she has no idea where her baby ended up.
Solarez responds, That’s consistent with our financial analysis of her. There’s no money in any of her accounts and she's been overdrawn twice in the last six months.
Within two days, Solarez has one burning question answered: Natalie Michele’s DNA is a familial match for the DNA obtained from Ron Michaels son at Sherwood.
Chapter 68
Cross-train
Amanda locates the slip of paper with Solarez’ number on it and texts him.
Don't freak. I'm going to see my ex‑boyfriend again and I don't want your agents following me.
Yes, it's a lie, and she knows they're monitoring her for her own good, but they can’t know where she’s going or who she’s meeting. She walks into the kitchen in the back of the farmhouse, opposite of where the agent is most likely asleep in his car in the drive. She hits the send button on her phone, waits five seconds, turns it off, and leaves it on the counter. She softly opens and closes the door and runs through the woods toward Route 50. It's a beautiful morning, the sun is barely up. Not two minutes later, a black Ford pickup truck pulls up slowly on the shoulder of the road.
"How’d I know you’d be driving a pickup?" Amanda asks Ryan sarcastically as she hops into the truck.
"Morning. Let's get rolling." He shifts into drive and lifts his coffee from the console to take a sip.
"Solarez is going to have his minions searching for me as soon as he gets my text. You know that, don't you? I feel like he’s my surrogate dad, always concerned about where I’m going and what I’m up to."
“I’ll watch for a tail. We're going to the Golden Eagle indoor range because they’ve got a self-defense academy with training rooms too. I have all the weapons we need."
"You think I'm some kind of powder puff, that I don't know what I’m doing, and you're out to prove it today, right?"
"You said it, not me…"
"They weren't training us to be wusses the two weeks I was there."
"Yeah, but you weren't qualifying for anything. Solarez pulled strings to get you into the training."
"So what's your point?"
“I’m pretty sure I just made my it. My main goal is to keep you alive. Well, both of us actually. I’m friends with one of the owners, so he’s getting us in early."
"What kind of weapons did you bring?"
"Glock, sniper rifle, and KA‑BAR knives."
As they drive the two-lane highway, both of them occasionally check the side-view mirrors, but they don’t see anyone following them.
A guy stands behind the check-in counter, with a Remington logo T-shirt when they
walk into the training facility. Ryan knows him.
"You got a visitor with you, huh? What’re you gonna need this morning?" The guy is asking Ryan the questions but looking at Amanda curiously.
"I've got eyes and ears. How about a box of 50 rounds, 9 mm. We’ll start on a couple 25-yard lanes before we move to 50."
The clerk hands Ryan the ammo and he carries it, along with two bags—one short and one long—over to the 25-yard ranges. Ryan lifts a case out of the smaller bag and gently places it on the countertop in one lane. After opening it, he lifts one Glock out and puts it on the counter, pointing down the range, with a magazine and ammo, then does the same in the second lane. He positions a target in each lane and finally steps back several feet.
"Okay, why don't you go ahead and show me your stuff."
Amanda is annoyed by his chauvinistic, condescending attitude as she approaches the gun, but she doesn't say anything. She realizes he may have her back one day soon, or vice versa. She opens the box of ammo and places five rounds into the magazine. Watching her every move, Ryan can tell she isn’t a complete beginner when she places her index finger along the upper shaft instead of on the trigger. He wonders why she only placed five rounds in the magazine since it holds fifteen, but decides not to press the issue. Amanda places the pistol down on the counter and toggles the target out as far as it will go.
"Now what, just fire?"
"Sure, aim for the head."
Amanda lifts the Glock, points down range toward the target, slides the safety, places her index finger on the trigger, and fires. Within a number of seconds she exhausts the five rounds with the brass casings skittering to the right of her on the floor. She reels the target back in after placing the pistol back down on the counter. Four of the rounds are within the perimeter of the head, one is wide.
"Not bad. Why'd you only load five rounds?"
"My instructor at Quantico said to do it that way because it's easier to keep track of what's in the magazine. He said it's fine to load the whole magazine in tactical settings but to stick with five on the range."
No longer feeling the need to test her, Ryan walks over to his lane and begins firing as she reloads and sets up a new target.
Several minutes later they move to the 50-yard range with his rifles. He watches her technique again before he starts shooting, not giving any indication of how he thinks she’s doing. When they finish, he asks the clerk to watch his shooting gear.
"Let's go over to the self-defense academy." He slings another small bag over his shoulder and they head to a room with a large padded mat on the floor. "You were trained in martial arts and defensive maneuvers, right?"
"Is this another test?"
"Look, if I’m going to manage this crazy-ass mission, I need to know who I've got as my wingman, or should I say, wing person." Ryan smirks.
"I haven't trained since my time at the academy, but let’s go.”
Ryan rummages through the bag, turns away from her, and inserts a protective cup into the front of his pants. He looks in the bag again and takes out two sets of headgear, one of which he tosses to Amanda, and they put them on and strap the chin guards in place.
"Let's do some defensive hand-to-hand combat. When I approach you, see what you can do to repel me."
He moves toward her on the center of the mat, she thrusts her left arm forward and tries to trip him by wrapping his body over her thigh. He counters her maneuver with a quick stroke of his arm that takes both of her legs out from under her, landing her flat on the mat.
"Okay, you got me that time. Let's go again.”
On the second approach, she rapidly kicks toward his head and he moves back a split second before contact. As she retracts, Ryan grabs her raised leg and turns it, making her lose her balance, then releases it, having made his point. Amanda grimaces with frustration.
"Did they teach you Krav Maga, jujitsu, or Yugo?" he asks her.
"I don't remember the names of everything, I just know the maneuvers."
"This time, as I come in, I want you to knee me in the groin like you're going to flatten my nuts into pancakes. I have a cup on, so don't hold back."
Ryan approaches her and attempts a backhand chop towards her torso. Amanda repels that maneuver and brings her leg up swiftly, smashing it into his crotch. Ryan winces.
“Damn, that's what I’m talking about. That's your best move."
They walk off the mat and into an adjacent room, where Ryan slides back a mirrored closet door. He brings out a base-mounted foam rubber dummy wearing ripped clothing and pushes it to the center of the room.
Amanda warily eyes the dummy. “We didn’t have knife training.”
“Didn’t have it during SEAL training either. I learned it while I was with a contractor after I left the military.”
He heads over to his small bag and brings out two long KA‑BAR knives. He hands one of the knives to her by the handle and keeps one for himself.
"Let me guess, you want me to try to kill you by stabbing you in the torso?"
"You can try, but you won’t get very far since they’re rubber.”
Ryan hands her a lower leg holster that she puts on after watching him strap his around his calf.
“First I want you to work on grabbing the knife from the holster, then we’ll use the dummy to practice thrusting."
Ryan demonstrates how to remove the knife rapidly from its position on his lower leg and thrust it into the torso of the dummy. He repeats the motion three times, each time taking only a second. Amanda tries to emulate his technique and manages to improve a little each time, but can't quite match his speed.
"Keep trying. Every second counts," he tells her.
Next, he teaches her how to throw the knife into the dummy from several feet. She’s able to cover the distance, but the knife drops to the ground instead of sticking into the dummy about half the time, so he re-positions her hands on the weapon and has her flick it differently. As she gets the hang of it, the knife sinks into the dummy three out of four times.
Then he explains the importance of stealth. "Let's say you’re feigning injury, you’re coiled on the ground, and the hostile doesn’t know your knife is strapped to your leg. When he moves toward you, thrust your knife as deep as you can, pull it out, and thrust it again.”
He instructs her to curl up on the ground and he approaches her. She thrusts at his torso twice and he retreats and approaches her again several times.
"Your chances of using hand-to-hand combat or your knife are higher than using a pistol or rifle, at least on a mission like the one we’re planning," Ryan tells her.
After another half-hour of knife practice, Ryan loads the equipment into the back of the pickup and they head back toward Crossroads Farm. As he drives, Amanda peppers him with questions.
“Have you talked to your Chinese contacts? Any confirmation that Justin’s in Beijing? What about my dad?”
“Nothing on your dad. My contact is working on tracking down Justin, and some other plans I’ve devised.”
“You’ve devised? What’s that mean?”
“I don’t have enough intel to discuss it yet.” Ryan explains some of the logistics of getting out of the U.S. and getting into China. “I’m working on our fake passports and visas. We’ll also have letters of introduction in case we get stopped and are pressed for details about our business in China.”
“What will our business there be?”
“Dunno yet. But our back story will be we’re meeting with Beijing business contacts on behalf of our company. I’m meeting with a buddy in logistics soon to iron out the details. Right now we’re stopping at the shop of another one of my buds so he can take some measurements.”
“Measurements of what?”
“You’ll see.”
“How many of your buddies will be involved by the time this is all over?”
“Enough to give us a fighting chance to survive.”
Chapter 69
Pure Genius
“That guy is pure genius,” Ryan tells her once they’re back in his truck on the road. “No telling how many unbelievable disguises he has created. The CIA is his biggest client.”
“He doesn’t know anything about our plan, right?”
“Only that we needed some disguises, off the books. I did mention I wanted Chinese ones, so he may guess we’re headed to China, but it could be Taiwan, Japan, he won’t know. He’s also lining up some surveillance equipment for us. Oh, and before I forget, I need your sizes—underwear, bra, shirt, pants. I know it’s kinda personal, but you’re gonna need clothes to complete the different looks. Jot ‘em down on that notepad.”
He motions toward a pad of sticky notes and a pen in the center console before continuing. “I think we’re going to pose as Canadians first. They sound pretty much like us, so we won’t have to worry much about accents. And we’ll be from the part of the country that doesn’t speak fluent French so that doesn’t become an issue.”
“Sounds like you’ve been busy planning.” She writes down her sizes. “Are we getting cool secret agent toys too? Fountain pens that fire bullets—”
“Nothing that high-tech. Lightweight kevlar vests and caps. We’ll have weapons, a small drone with a night-vision video camera and joystick controls, not much more advanced than the off-the-shelf ones. I’ll also need some remote-detonating explosives, a few small aerosol spray containers, and some blow darts.”