Counterblow (A Rogan Bricks Thriller Book 2)

by Steve Richer

  The car was turning into a furnace and she needed this heat to thaw her out of retirement. She was getting her game face on as she turned onto Route 56.

  The senator wasn’t in Washington this week. He had some speaking arrangements in his home state and, more importantly, fundraising opportunities. Shiloh wasn’t quite sure what she would do now. She was unarmed but at least she was on equal footing as Senator Stoll who didn’t rate a protection detail.

  One thing was certain though, she would do anything for the man of her life.

  Chapter 23

  The drizzle had picked up when Rogan came out of the condominium complex. It had turned cold as well. Removing the latex gloves and white booties, he popped up the collar of his coat and walked down the steps toward the man the local cop was pointing out in the distance.

  The guy was in his 40s, his thinning hair disheveled. He was dressed in a cheap gray suit under an equally unappealing gray raincoat. He held a black umbrella over his head.

  Rogan thanked the police officer and dashed through the rain. When he was close enough, the stranger moved the umbrella so that both of them were under it.

  “Appreciate it.”

  “Special Agent Rogan Bricks?”

  “That’s right. And you are?”

  “You can call me Cooley.”

  “Well that’s a cool name. Get it? Cooley?” The man didn’t even crack a smile. “You’re gonna be fun to be around. What do you want? What’s this about life and death?”

  “Come with me.”

  “I’ve had several nightmares that started this way,” Rogan said. “How about you tell me where is it you want me to go?”

  “That’s my car over there. I don’t like the rain too much.”

  The blue SUV was parked within sight of the cops so Rogan didn’t see the harm in following him. The man took place behind the wheel and Rogan got in the passenger seat.

  “And now you’ll tell me what you want?”

  “I need you to stop this investigation right away, Special Agent Bricks.”

  Rogan sighed and even chuckled at how insane a request that was.

  “Listen up, buddy. There are three people who can ask me to drop an investigation: my immediate superior, the FBI Director, and my girl because I’ll do anything for her. So unless you magically turn out to be Carol Brill, the new Director of the FBI, I’m gonna have to emphatically deny your request.”

  “It wasn’t a request, it’s an order.”

  Rogan turned sideways on the seat. He flexed his fingers and the idea of grabbing his weapon was appealing. The last time he had been ordered to drop an investigation it had resulted in three assassins coming after him during a flight.

  “I’m not in the mood to give lessons in the fine intricacies of the chain of command, Cooley. Who the hell are you?”

  “I’m part of a federal task force which would prefer if you stopped looking into Calix Hargrove and the Crystal Goose incident.”

  “A federal task force?” Rogan narrowed his eyes. “Are you talking about the kind of federal task force that has headquarters in Langley, Virginia?”

  The man didn’t reply but his gaze shifted ever so slightly. Rogan laughed heartily.

  “I knew it, I fucking knew it! Central Intelligence. Now it’s getting good.”

  “And it’s getting time for you to drop this investigation.”

  “Oh hell no! It’s time for you to tell me what’s going on.”

  “Can’t do that, it’s impossible.”

  “You better make it possible, Coolio. I’ve had to prizefight two very big dudes yesterday in order to stay alive because of this. I want an explanation.”

  “Tough luck, you’re not getting one. I was counting on good common courtesy but if it’s necessary I’ll go to your superiors and have them call you off.”

  “Fine by me, make it official. I miss my dog and my girlfriend and home cooking. Still, I really want to know why people tried to kill Hargrove and me yesterday.”

  “I told you, I can’t…”

  “Oh shit,” Rogan interrupted.

  “What?”

  “Shit.” The FBI man looked into the distance and shook his head. He placed his hands on the dashboard and groaned. “I got it, all makes sense now.”

  “Special Agent Bricks, you don’t know anything. I’ll have my superiors call yours and hopefully you’ll be back in Anchorage in time for dinner.”

  Rogan shook his head, no way he was letting this go. “I didn’t kill a random garden variety South African mercenary yesterday. I killed one of your people.”

  “Please drop it.”

  “South Karoo Global Solutions was hired by Meranga Imports, registered in Luxembourg. It’s a front company for British intelligence. They were doing a favor for the CIA which explains why a boat usually reserved for the Navy SEALs was loaned for the operation.”

  “Bricks…”

  “The CIA – the US fucking government! – arranged a hit on an American fishing boat in the middle of the Bering Sea. This also explains how they found Hargrove in the hospital so fast. The FBI doesn’t have a mole, it was you guys all along pointing the mercs in the right direction so they could finish the job.”

  “That’s enough!”

  “Why? You’re gonna blackball me? You gonna do one of your convenient extraordinary renditions so I can get disappeared to some black site in Bulgaria?”

  “Don’t make this difficult for anyone, Bricks. Please.”

  Rogan took a deep breath and wiped his sweaty palms on his pants. “Look, I’m sure you checked me out before coming here, right? You know my record, you know what I’ve done. I don’t fuck shit up for the sake of fucking shit up. Tell me there was a good reason to do what you did.”

  Cooley shook his head while looking down at the steering wheel. “You can’t tell any of this to anyone.”

  “Spill.”

  “A certain lab in the area was working on a project funded by DARPA and USAMRIID. A sample of the working prototype was stolen by an employee. We have credible intel that a sale was arranged with some parties in Europe. This gets to Russia and it gets everywhere. China, North Korea, Al Qaeda, ISIS, whatever terrorist organization is trending these days. We couldn’t let that happen.”

  Rogan swallowed audibly. DARPA was the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency. USAMRIID was the United States Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases. He remembered what he’d seen on the laptop before. He understood the implications.

  “It’s a virus. You guys are making a biological weapon.”

  “I didn’t make anything. I’m a worker bee, just like you. But a certain military prototype is going to be sold to our enemies. It’s my job to make sure that doesn’t happen. Do you understand how important it is to contain this?”

  “By killing crab fishermen?”

  “By taking any measures necessary to avoid a global catastrophe.”

  “And this was worth involving the British, having them hire mercenaries for you? It was worth arranging for them to use a Navy SEALs boat?”

  “Yes.”

  “Jesus…” Rogan said, running a hand through his hair.

  “So please end this investigation, make up any excuse you want. Keep on your manhunt for Hargrove. And when you catch him you turn him over to us.”

  Cooley handed a business card to Rogan. It only held a phone number.

  Turning Hargrove over to the CIA could only mean one thing. They wouldn’t rendition him or put him on trial. They would torture and assassination him.

  Chapter 24

  Shiloh drove to three different Walmart and Target stores feeling as if she had completely surveyed San Diego County. But it was necessary, she had to spread her purchases around because she didn’t want some investigator easily piecing the whole thing together afterwards.

  She bought nylon rope, latex gloves, sunglasses, wigs, two hats, and a hunting knife. She bought multiple outfits. She was traveling on two identiti
es but she had now everything on hand to become five different personalities.

  Before that, she had driven around Patrick Stoll’s neighborhood. Carmel Valley was one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in the entire state of California but it still wasn’t as high end as Rancho Santa Fe or Torrey Pines which were filled with sprawling estates.

  The senator’s house was sitting on a one-acre lot and there was a gate blocking the entrance. Nevertheless, Shiloh had pulled to the curb and spied on the area. Preparation was key for any operation. You could go in guns blazing with an entire battalion but if you didn’t know the lay of the land you were doomed to fail.

  The gate was mechanically operated and there was a keypad to gain access. She’d also noticed a sensor which meant she could technically find a way to enter using a remote control. Of course, her first instinct was to bypass this, to jump over the fence, but there were security cameras and what she guessed were laser motion detectors.

  So if there was a camera at the gate, there were probably more cameras in and around the house. She’d made note of this. Another thing to consider. Stoll wasn’t protected by the Secret Service or the Capitol Police but he didn’t take his security lightly.

  She had heard that ever since Congresswoman Gabrielle Gifford had been the victim of an assassination attempt in 2011, a growing number of politicians were carrying concealed firearms. She hoped the senator wasn’t.

  Most of the things she’d bought from Walmart and Target were purchased with cash but she was running low. She parked behind a fast food place and decided to look into her current financial situation. She rolled down the windows and pulled out her smartphone.

  Mainly, she had to deal with the $100,000 she had in bitcoins.

  She already had an account with the website Coinbase under one of her fake identities so all she had to do was redeem the private keys in her envelope, essentially a series of 32 alphanumerical characters.

  This operated like a stock exchange. She put her bitcoins up for sale on the website and it was automatically matched with a buyer who snatched them up. Given the current value this afternoon, something that fluctuated wildly, and minus the website’s commission, Shiloh wound up with $106,824.

  From there, she moved the money around various bank accounts for easy handling. With her fake paperwork, cash was irrelevant.

  The money issue handled, she started researching the senator. She started with the official biography from his website and she didn’t learn anything shocking. Law school, executive at a real estate conglomerate, local politics followed by a stint in the state legislature. He was 51 years old.

  He’d been married to the same woman for 25 years, they had three children together, all still in their teens and currently attending a boarding school in New Hampshire.

  Next she looked into his voting record. Shiloh knew a little something about politicians and there were two kinds. The first was the ideological type. They always voted according to their principles, no matter how misguided. The second type was the opportunist. They voted according to their best interests.

  Patrick Stoll was definitely an opportunist.

  One day he lobbied for banking reform, the next he voted against it. He was pro-gun-control five years out of six but come election time he was the NRA poster boy. It was Shiloh’s favorite kind of politician. They were easily manipulated by money.

  This would be a great way to lure him but she still hadn’t decided how to take him down. For all his faults, the senator didn’t appear to be a philanderer so she doubted she could arrange to catch him in a compromising position.

  Fabricating a story about him being a pedophile would be more believable – it often caught their close ones by surprise – but there wasn’t enough time to get the pieces together for this.

  The same was true with flying him out of the country. In a perfect scenario, Shiloh wouldn’t just kill him. She would make sure he disappeared forever, leaving no trace behind. If he vanished, the media attention would be deflected from whatever Stoll was working on and it would be focused on him personally.

  Shiloh swore at this thing being so short notice.

  As a plan began to form, she called his office in Washington. It wasn’t quite five o’clock over there and she spoke to a receptionist before being transferred to an assistant.

  “Yeah, hi!” Shiloh began with a perfect midwestern accent, slightly toned down to pass off as a Californian. “My name is Denise Staples and I’m a regional director for the Southwest Long-Haul Truckers Association.”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, I was calling to know if Senator Stoll would be available to speak at our annual conference tomorrow night.”

  “I’m sorry, the senator is in San Diego all week and is not available for public engagements.”

  “I know this is last-minute but our meeting is being held at the Grand Hyatt. It’s a beautiful spot, directly overlooking San Diego Bay. We were very lucky to score this venue. I think Senator Stoll would be welcomed warmly by our members. His stance on interstate commerce truly resonates with us, we would support the upcoming bill publicly. We’re eager to do it, in fact!”

  “It’s a really nice to hear, Ms. Staples, but like I said, the senator isn’t available this week.”

  Shiloh said, “It doesn’t have to be a big speech. Our keynote speaker was Congressman Russell but he had to cancel at the last minute, family emergency.”

  “Miss…”

  “It pays $7,000. A campaign contribution, obviously. It would really help us and we would be so happy to hear from Senator Stoll.”

  At long last, there was a pause on the other end of the line. Shiloh knew she had her.

  “I see. I can’t promise anything but I’ll get in touch immediately with the senator and get back to you as soon as possible.”

  “This is amazing, I don’t know how to thank you! Let me give you my coordinates…”

  She gave her an e-mail address because the phone she was using didn’t have a California area code. The staffer would realize immediately that something was off.

  After hanging up, Shiloh couldn’t help thinking about her own family. What would they think if they knew she was about to kill a family man?

  Contrary to Rogan who was an orphan, Shiloh still had both her parents, as well as two brothers and a sister, all living in England. She called them regularly but visited them about once a year, usually around a holiday or another.

  They knew little about her professional life. She had told them about government work and then later joining the private sector in the field of corporate security. They didn’t need to know any more. They certainly didn’t need to know that in the course of her duties she had killed people.

  And she was about to do it again.

  Chapter 25

  Rogan did his best to stop thinking about Cooley and the CIA wanting to muzzle him. He drove back to the field office as rush hour began in earnest. It wasn’t helped by the rain which was coming down much harder now.

  He eventually got to headquarters, parked, and went up, going directly to the command center which was just as busy and animated as before. Castro rose from his station, grabbed a folder, and went to Rogan who was removing his coat.

  “Hey, Andy. What do you have for me?”

  “This is a list of all the biotech companies in the area, from Seattle to Tacoma, and even further south in fact.”

  “You’ve been a busy boy. And here I thought I would have to scold you.” When Rogan saw that the Colombian didn’t understand the joke he said, “Never mind. Talk to me, Goose.”

  “Oh, Top Gun!”

  “Happy that you got that one, buddy. What have you found?”

  Both men returned to Castro’s station and Rogan sat down, slouching.

  “We have called each of these companies and not one has admitted missing material. No one claims they were the victims of breakins or thefts.”

  “You didn’t just talk to receptionists, did you?”

/>   “Of course not. We were transferred to senior personnel, we stressed how important to national security this is, and yet we found nothing.”

  Rogan exhaled loudly and stretched his arms. “All right, spread out the search. Look into the rest of the state, Oregon, Idaho, and Montana too if necessary. Enlist some minions to help you.”

  Castro nodded and walked to a cluster of agents, probably the people he’d been working with all afternoon.

  Rogan looked at them for a moment, actually admiring their drive. Then again, they didn’t know what he did, that this investigation was futile. He didn’t have the nerve to tell them to stop.

  That’s what he should do, he told himself. There was no use continuing to investigate. Any result would be shot down by Cooley and his jolly spy friends. Not seeing an alternative, he decided to put the decision in someone else’s hands.

  He turned to the desk and picked up the secure telephone unit. He called Assistant Director Vanstedum in DC.

  “Bricks,” he said after he finally got on the secure line. “Any developments?”

  “Yeah, a big one. I’m talking huge, much bigger than my, you know.”

  “Damn it, stop messing around.”

  “It’s the CIA. They’re behind everything.”

  “What?”

  “The short version? They had British intelligence hire mercenaries to kill the fishermen in order to stop some stolen virus from reaching Russia.”

  “Jesus… Are you screwing with me?”

  “I wish I was. You know how much I enjoy screwing with you.”

  And then he explained everything he had learned and how Cooley had ordered him to shut down the investigation.

  “Jesus,” Vanstedum whispered again.

  “So what should I do, sir? I don’t like you but I like this spook even less. Most of all, I hate being ordered around by someone who has no authority over me. So again, what should I do?”

  There was a pause as the senior FBI man considered the options. Then he spoke. “Continue working on this until tomorrow.”

  “You’re serious?”