The Captain pursed his lips. ‘You could say that Admiral.’
‘No need for rank in here Jim. Jack will do.’
‘Jack it is then’, agreed the Captain. ‘I have heard about you.’
‘Not all bad, I hope?’ asked McIver.
‘No - one of our more senior ranks on-board, a Lieutenant commander Wilson, was on a tour with you a couple of years back. He told me there’s some scuttlebutt about possible promotion to a White House posting.’
‘Is that right?’ murmured McIver and swallowed a mouthful of the Bourbon. ‘If he hears any more, I’d be grateful if you would give me advance warning.’
Armstrong grinned as he poured a drink for himself. ‘Well Jack, you know what it’s like. Anyway, you must be in a hurry...’
McIver studied the remains of his drink. ‘It may be a wild goose chase Jim, but the top brass are having a combined hissy fit over this one. I’ve never seen them so... worried.’
‘What can you tell me?’ asked the Captain.
McIver took another sip. ‘Practically nothing Jim, because I know next to nothing.’
McIver sat back in his chair. The warmth of the cabin and the heat from the bourbon made him feel exhausted and the weariness nearly overwhelmed him. ‘You were sent into the southern Atlantic to find an experimental sub.’
‘I was given a rough area to search, but nothing appeared on the radar.’
‘There’s a possibility it has turned north. It might even be on its way to New York.’
Armstrong sucked his teeth. ‘Is everyone serious about this, or is there a chance that this might all blow over before morning?’ asked Armstrong finally.
‘It’s possible’, conceded McIver. ‘But I wouldn’t count on it. Apparently this thing is out of control, so I can’t see it suddenly reverting to its original orders for no reason. I think we are going to have to find it.’
‘We didn’t find it in the southern ocean, so what chance will we have of finding in the north?’
‘True’ replied McIver. But this ASW group is my secret weapon. My instinct tells me the sub is likely to have a pop at anything, so you are my magnet that will help me find the needle.’
‘And then what?’ Armstrong asked. ‘If this rogue sub is as powerful as they say and my group finds itself under attack, it might sink us all.’
McIver finished his drink in one long swallow. ‘If it finds us first, we need to be prepared. That’s why I’m beefing up the task force – another group are joining us in the next 24 hours.’
McIver eyed up the man in front of him. ‘If it finds us first, I’m depending on you Jim.’
‘Looks like Jack Langham set his web cam up just before he went away.’ DD spoke while tapping on his laptop.
Sean and Lomax looked over his shoulder. The picture was so dark it wasn’t possible to make out anything. Then a light flared. It was the desk light, illuminating the desk and the area around it. A dark shape moved slowly at the periphery of the picture.
‘That’s you Sean, creeping about the room just like a regular burglar!’ chortled DD. ‘I’ll wipe this and disable the web cam drivers. That way it’ll look like a computer glitch.’
‘Go back before then, DD’ said Sean. ‘If you leave any pictures on the computer, Jack might work out that they stop around the same time as the call from the patrol officer.’
‘Sure thing.’ DD turned around to face his audience.
‘I’ve managed to hack into SeaTek Research’s network using the Jack’s USB key and the passwords I found earlier. ‘I’ve had a good look around, especially at Ben’s home area and I found a root kit containing a key logger.’
DD guessed that would need some explanation. ‘This is a program that’s hidden on Ben’s computer. A root kit is very, very difficult to find. How it got there, I don’t know - or who put it there in the first place. The root kit contains a key logger – which means exactly what it says. It logs every keystroke made. The program is designed to report everything that happens on his computer. All the emails that are received, all the legitimate programs that are used, all the data input into the programs, every keystroke that a person types is recorded and all the information is sent on.’
‘Where to ?’ Lomax asked.
‘That’s the most interesting part in all this. I haven’t been able to discover its ultimate destination. I can tell you how all the info is being slipped out overnight. It’s disguised as ordinary Internet traffic, so it goes out through the firewall without being stopped or examined.’
‘Could London help?’ Lomax pressed.
‘I’ve been in touch and sent a lot of detail over. It has them foxed too.’
‘Tell me what you do know then’.
‘Well it’s all very cleverly done. The info is sent to a website. I know which one and I know a little bit about it - for instance, I know the server is located in Russia.’
‘Russia!’
‘Don’t get too excited’, replied DD. ‘Chances are it’s not a Russian operation. It could be leased by anyone, located anywhere else in the world. Remember, the Internet is a global operation.’
DD stopped to collect his thoughts. ‘London discovered that the company that owns the server is Italian. But when they ran a company search on who is renting the space they couldn’t find any trace of it. We know the company’s bankers are in the Cayman Islands and it has numbered Swiss bank accounts. Its lawyers are Belgian, yet they cannot tell me any more than what I know already. The lawyers are instructed via emails and you know how easy it is to fake the sender’s address of an email.’
‘Is there nothing more you can do?’ asked Lomax.
DD sounded frustrated. ‘I’ve done everything I can think of doing. There are still a lot of details to follow up on, but it could be days before I make a breakthrough. Even then, it’s possible I’ll hit another stone wall. The person that set this up has done a master job on hiding the real identity of the owner.’
‘OK, let’s look at it from another angle. Can you track down all the calls Langham made? There might be a connection there.’
‘Yes boss, I’ll get right on to it.’ DD didn’t move.
‘Well, what is it?’ asked Lomax impatiently.
‘While I was on the SeaTek network, I took a look around. You know, accounts, payroll, that kind of thing.’ DD grabbed a notebook and flipped through some pages.
‘I checked out the HR database. There is a facility to attach encrypted private notes against staff records. I only found notes against one person – Natasha Moore.’
‘And what do they say?’ asked Lomax.
‘She is the liaison person for SeaTek – with the National Security Agency.’
Schaeffer pulled the net curtain aside and looked down across the main road to the chapel opposite. He was in a rented third floor office within clear sight of the chapel and its grounds.
Taking out a range finder, he determined the distance to the door of the chapel was 215 metres, well within the operational range of the rifle. He observed the trees behind the wall around the chapel. They would partially obscure the funeral party. On the other hand, he could clearly see the leaves waving in the breeze. This would be a useful telltale, giving him first hand information about wind speed and direction. Even though the distance was relatively short, it would still be important when fine tuning the telescopic sight.
Schaeffer bent down to unpack the rifle from its custom built briefcase. It was a VSS ‘Vintorez’, made in Russia for their special forces. Short and stubby with a wooden stock, it looked more like a cross between a rifle and a shotgun. But Schaeffer liked it for its gas-operated sound suppression system. That meant the rifle was accurate and almost silent in operation.
For the next five minutes Schaeffer assembled the rifle and set about finding the best firing position from the window. When he was comfortable he began to load the magazine with 10 sub-sonic rounds. Although the ammunition was not high-velocity, the rounds were tipped with har
dened steel and could penetrate body armour – not that Schaeffer expected anyone to be wearing any.
He settled down to wait.
Sean drove into the parking area. No-one had tailed him on the way here. Before stepping out of the car, he looked around carefully. There were several people outside a low modern brick building across the road, but from this distance he couldn’t say how many.
After a few minutes he got out and walked over the footbridge to the building which had a small sign indicating the chapel and crematorium. It was very bright and as Sean walked towards the mourners he could feel the warm wind buffeting his face. There were several small groups clustered around the entrance. Sean saw Natasha and headed over to her. She was listening to a man offering sympathy, judging by the way he touched her arm.
‘Good Morning’, Sean said politely.
Natasha turned and introduced him to the group. ‘This is Sean Quinlan, an old friend of Ben’s from England.’ Natasha introduced her work colleagues Bozena Stanislawski, Bill Hayes, Cary Thorn, Jill White and John Castillo the Systems Manager.
Sean saw the hearse draw up and the conversation stopped. Sombrely dressed pall bearers removed the coffin, placed it on a silver trolley and began to walk slowly with it into the crematorium. Before following them inside, Sean checked the parked cars. One caught his attention. It was a compact with tinted windows, parked under a tree which offered some shade. From this angle he could just make out a single occupant in the driver’s position. The car had been there when he arrived and the driver had not moved since.
The pall bearers stopped to allow the mourners form a line behind them. Natasha indicated that Sean should accompany her behind the coffin. Sean caught the faint sound of a car engine revving a great distance away.
The minister came out of the building, together with two altar boys in cassocks. He said a prayer then turned around to lead the procession into the chapel. Sean looked around for the last time. The air was still. A puff of brick dust sprayed the mourners.
Sean leapt into action.
Chapter 14
There was no warning. Natasha collapsed as Sean literally brought her to the ground. She was too surprised to cry out. From that moment on the picture became confused. She saw the procession scatter and the pall bearers quickly abandon the coffin. A bystander fell to the ground, apparently hit. She felt Sean take her under his arms, pick her up and run with her to the cover of some trees.
A moment later he stuck his head above the stone wall scanning the buildings opposite. He stayed there a full minute before leaning over her.
‘Stay put’ he said quickly before sprinting to the car park.
Natasha had a good view of Sean as he ran, crouching low to shield himself amongst the cars. He approached one car in particular and dragged the man out of the driver’s seat. He was so fast the man didn’t have time to respond. She saw Sean dip into the man’s jacket pocket and pull out his wallet. She could she him flipping it over before giving it back. He appeared to give the man instructions, pointing across the street.
The man set off across the road at a run, pulling a gun from inside his jacket. Meanwhile Sean ran to the fallen pall bearer, picking him up and taking him to the cover of the trees. He felt for a pulse and then began to examine the man’s body for signs of gunshot wounds. It appeared that the man had been shot in the ankle and Sean improvised a bandage around the man’s calf. Raising the leg up he placed a rock from the flower border underneath.
For a brief moment there was absolute silence then Natasha heard groans coming from the mourners on the ground. Cautiously Sean began to assist them to the cover of the wall.
Natasha realised that she was breathing rapidly, as though she had run a hundred metres at the Olympics. She was too terrified to move. She could hear a police car siren and a few minutes later Sean was back. Natasha felt his warm hand gently brush her cheek.
‘We should go’ he said quietly.
As Sean drove, he glanced quickly at Natasha. She looked frightened. Her face was pale and Sean detected a tremor in her hands. He found a tissue and she used it to wipe her face.
‘Have you any idea why this happened?’
Natasha shook her head. Sean pulled up outside the apartment and Natasha blew into another tissue. She seemed to arrive at a decision and straightened herself up.
‘This wasn’t the first attack. I had a bad scare two nights ago.’ Natasha drew a shaky breath and related the story. As she relived the experience she caught her breath, trying to suppress the fear she felt. Sean hesitated, then reached out and drew her to him.
Eventually she sat back up. ‘The policeman said they would keep an eye on the apartment for me. I thought that would be enough to keep them away. I thought I would never see them again. This morning was like a bad nightmare.’
Sean rubbed her shoulder. ‘Come on, let’s go in.’
As Sean got out he saw a car parked further down the street. He could make out a figure in the driver seat, reading a paper. Maybe another watcher from the FBI, or possibly the local police fulfilling their earlier promise?
They went in and Sean busied himself making some tea for Natasha and coffee for himself. When he came back into the sitting room he found Natasha on the sofa. He gave her the mug of tea.
‘Get your chops outside of this.’
‘Pardon?’
‘It’s just a saying we have in England. It means drink up, or get this inside you.’
Natasha smiled briefly and warmed her hands around the mug. Sean sat down on the chair opposite.
‘I know it must be difficult for you to talk about it, especially now, so soon after the cremation. But I don’t have much longer in America and I’m curious. Do you mind me asking if you and Ben were seeing each other?’
Natasha sighed. ‘Yes, recently we started to going out more often. I miss him.’
‘I am sorry, Natasha. Did he ever tell you about problems he might be having?’
She stopped to think about it. ‘He never said anything. He preferred not to talk about work.’
‘Do you know if anything had happened to him before? Perhaps his house was burgled like yours?’
Natasha frowned. ‘No, he would have mentioned something like that.’
‘You told me before that recently he was tired. You thought it might have been to do with the hours he was working.’
‘In the last month or so he was working all hours, but he wouldn’t tell me if there was anything bothering him.’ Natasha reflected. ‘I think that’s about all I know.’
‘OK, I’ll stop asking questions now and let you get some rest.’ Sean got up to go.
‘Well’ said Natasha, recovering her composure. ‘I might have a few questions of my own’ she said with a sad smile.
‘In which case I’ll do my best to answer them.’ Sean sat down again.
‘Tell me about yourself. What do you do in England?’
‘I’m surprised Ben didn’t mention that’ replied Sean guardedly. ‘I work for the government - mainly a trouble-shooter for the Navy, but I get loaned out to various departments.’
‘I see. What sort of work is that?’
‘Anything that comes my way. One time I helped find a gang stealing Navy stores from the docks. A lot of my time is spent writing reports, for example on the amount of stock missing from our bonded warehouses. Mostly it’s really boring.’ Sean gave her a tired smile.
The example he gave Natasha had actually happened. In the very early days Sean had been tasked to investigate an organised gang stealing from the Navy on a grand scale. Under the guise of a Navy auditor he was able to observe some members of the gang at the dockyard. But before he had enough evidence to bring them in, one of the gang grew suspicious and Sean was the recipient of a bad beating. The scars still ached on cold winter days.
‘Tell me about it’ asked Natasha.
Sean opened his hands. ‘I’m afraid I can’t. Look, you’re not allowed to talk about your work in detai
l to anyone. Well, I’m bound in the same way.’
‘I see’ said Natasha. ‘So you work for the British government? You’re not like James Bond, are you?’
Sean laughed. ‘You mean the girls, the excitement, the double oh licence to kill?’
Sean noticed Natasha was looking at him carefully.
He shook his head. ‘No, it’s nothing like that. First, I’m not a spy. It’s true I’ve been involved in the odd rough and tumble, but I don’t carry a gun. I don’t have a licence to kill, let alone thrill!’
Natasha put her mug down on the table.
‘Natasha, I’m worried about you. Is there somewhere else you could stay?’ he asked.
‘Why would I want to do that?’
‘Your boyfriend was murdered. You were chased through the streets and this morning there was another attempt on your life. They obviously know where you live and they might be back.’
Natasha dismissed his fears with a wave. ‘It’s OK. The police are on the case. They said they would send a squad car to watch over the apartment. I’m sure I’ll be OK.’
Sean was about to speak again when Natasha intervened. ‘I know’, she interjected. ‘Thanks for the your interest in my welfare, but I will be OK.’
‘I am sure you will.’ Sean replied firmly. ‘But right now you’re in shock. You are understandably emotional - who wouldn’t be after what happened this morning?’
‘You may be right’ responded Natasha testily. ‘But I draw the line at a baby sitter.’
‘OK, well at least I tried.’ Sean looked at his watch. ‘I had better be going. Are you sure there is nothing more I can do for you?’
‘No thank you’ she replied dryly. ‘I think you’ve done enough already.’
As Sean drove away he noticed the unmarked car had been replaced by a different model. The new car pulled out into the road and starting to follow him from a distance of two blocks. So much for the police promise to protect Natasha’s apartment, he thought.
Silent Warpath (Sean Quinlan Book 1) Page 12
