They had not been followed. They hadn't expected to be, but being creatures of habit, the precautions were a normal part of their lives.
"Have you been here before?" she asked him.
He assessed his surroundings, his mind working furiously. "No."
Shirin walked briskly to the elevators leading up to the retail entrance. "Glorietta Shopping Plaza is large, spread out, provides endless escape routes, and is always busy. I have a corporate suite on the top floor. First, we need new clothes. Lose everything," she said, motioning to his scuffed jeans and dirty boots. "Then we'll grab some coffees to go. We have a lot of work to do."
11:37:19
Director Zelig dialed his assistant's direct line. Sitting in the back of the government-issued BMW, the privacy screen that separated him from the front compartment had been engaged since he entered the vehicle. That was the way he liked it.
"April," he said sternly into the phone once she answered. "I need you to start the paperwork on a national alert for Shirin Reyes. But I want you to use the name Marisol Keplor on all official paperwork."
"Yes, sir."
"Provide a variety of photos and descriptions. Label her status as 'armed and dangerous'. Make the alert in relation to the hit and run this morning involving the taxi. I'm sending you a text message with the particulars. Have the paperwork ready for me to sign when I arrive. I'm eight minutes out."
"Yes, sir."
"Also, attach a warrant for Trent Barratt, listing him as a known associate of Marisol Keplor, etc., etc."
"Of course, sir. I'll have it ready when you arrive."
Zelig disconnected the call. He held the phone to his chin in contemplation. It would be a lot harder for her to hide with federal and local law enforcement officially looking for her. He'd just have to get to her before any other agency could question her.
How and why she was involved still hung over his consciousness like a heavy, wet cloud threatening to water-board him at any moment. Could she somehow be involved in Operation Sandstone? The thought troubled him.
He looked at his watch. In just over 10 hours, the world would be forever changed, and he would be untouchable. Then, if she was still alive, he would hunt her and that prick Barratt down and watch them die an agonizing death.
11:58:33
Dressed in new black jeans, a tailored, loose-fitting shirt, and dark brown boots, Shirin looked like a different person. Her dark hair was held back in a simple ponytail, and a pair of steel frame non-prescription glasses perched comfortably on the bridge of her nose. Barratt still wondered how the slightest changes could have such a dramatic effect on her appearance.
Trading his jeans and boots for trousers and a pair of joggers, Barratt thought he looked slightly uncomfortable but still the same.
They walked toward the offices of Centre Management. Barratt carried a tray of four coffees while Shirin held a newly purchased sports bag, the weapons seized from earlier in the day stashed away within its pockets.
A door marked "Authorized Personnel" was clearly visible beside the office door of Centre Management. Shirin punched the security code into the manual keypad, there was a click, and she pushed open the door.
A long corridor lit up as the sensor lights flickered into action. At the end, a single elevator stood, illuminated in the dim lighting.
Neither of them spoke a word.
Inside the elevator, Shirin swiped her fingers over the electronic keypad, entered the authorization code, then waited while the security system verified her code. The keypad beeped back. "Discovery Suite" in bold green letters flashed at them.
Barratt stood observing. He looked at her, smiled, and raised one eyebrow.
"Impressive," he said. "How many office suites on this floor?"
"Three."
"All secure?"
"As much as they can be."
"Which one is yours?"
"All three."
"Last time you were here?"
"Two days ago," she replied, opening the gym bag. She withdrew a silenced Glock from the bag and handed it to Barratt. "Feel better now?"
"Much." He released the magazine, felt its weight, noted the bullets inside, replaced it, pulled back the slide, and chambered a cartridge. Secreting the ready gun in the small of his back, he looked noticeably more at ease.
The elevator came to a halt with a ding. The doors hissed open. Shirin walked out quickly. She passed the first door on her left and stopped outside the second door. All three doors looked alike, except for the numbering.
Barratt followed closely, looking up and down the corridor. He noted the security cameras positioned at the far end and over the elevator entrance.
Shirin punched in the access code to door number two.
Once inside the office suite, Shirin turned on the lights, bolted the door, and walked briskly through to the back copy room.
It was small and cramped, yet looked completely functional.
She slipped her hands behind a large filing cabinet and pulled it away from the wall. Hinged on one corner, it obeyed her demand without effort. Behind it, a small internal door stood, a compact, manual combination key-panel over the handle. She pressed in four digits, turned the handle, opened the door, and walked through.
Barratt followed her into the next room, crouching down through the smaller door. Once inside, she leaned past him, pulled the filing cabinet back hard, and then locked the door.
They were in the adjoining office, number three. Unlike the other office, this was a large, open space. No separate rooms, except for what he assumed was the bathroom on the far side of the layout.
As he came deeper into the suite, he gazed around the room in amazement. Along bench decked with tightly fitted monitors sat against the adjacent wall. Looking more closely, he saw they were video images from security cameras throughout the Plaza beneath them.
"Every security feed in this complex is patched through to here. "She motioned toward the bay of monitors. "It's a little archaic at the moment, but I have facial recognition software running on a background directive 24/7 using the security feeds as source material. I don't have access to Interpol or several other federal databases yet. But I'm working on it."
Barratt continued to explore the space around him. The extravagance and scale of the setup surprised him.
At that moment, he saw the front door of the office suite. Fitted above the doorframe, a modified shotgun was attached to the wall over the threshold—pointing downward. A rectangle of painted plasterboard concealed it from view underneath. If any intruding force managed to slip a fiber optic camera under the door, all they would see was ceiling. But from this angle, the full mechanism, trigger wire, and rigging, was clearly visible.
Shirin caught him staring at the booby-trap. "If anyone comes looking for us, that should slow them down."
To have such elaborate and deadly security measures, he had to think Shirin was either mixed up in something greater in scope than he could understand, or she was just plain paranoid to the point of crazy.
"What's all this about, Shirin? I don't understand…"
"You will. "She directed him to a large table littered with printouts and surveillance photographs.
12:02:16
"I think you should sit down."
Barratt looked over the table. He didn't sit. He found it impossible to stay still. The energy, the confusion, the turn of events started beating a drum in his head only action could cure. He wanted to shoot someone, hit someone. It was what he did, what he knew.
"Let's get to the point, Shirin. If Zelig, if the Director of Covert Operations is after you, and now after me, we don't have time to sit around here talking. I say we pick him up, strap him to a chair, find out what's going on, and then put a bullet in his head."
"Sorting this mess out with Zelig is important, Trent. Believe me, we'll be 'talking' with him soon. But this," she motioned to the table of documents, "this, is what it is all about! This is where it all started. Th
is is what led me to Bill Civic, the reason you were hired to kill me. This is why we are here!" She slammed her fist on the table. She took a deep, calming breath and continued.
"Six years ago, I was recruited to work for a small team reporting directly to Zelig. He was a team leader then, a rising star, but still feeling his way around the Agency. The first mission I was tasked with was to retrieve data from a government official whom we suspected of selling federal Intel."
"Operation Kismet. I know the story."
"Yes. But what you probably didn't know was that none of it was real. At least, that's what I suspected. At the time, I didn't pay it much attention. I had a mission to complete, I completed it, and then moved on to the next one. "Shirin's' words became more tense as she spoke. "Two years later, Zelig had been promoted twice, and the government official was quietly retired."
"Anthony Williams…" Barratt nodded impatiently. "I was the agent who retired him."
"And I was given my first wet-work assignment," she said, ignoring Barratt's admission. She leaned in closer."Do you remember how we met?"
"You almost killed me."
Shirin nodded but said nothing, the implication clear.
"What? You're saying that Zelig sent you to kill me that day to cover up that I was ordered to kill Anthony Williams?" Barratt felt the pieces fit together as the words left his mouth.
"I don't think it was a coincidence that two days after you removed Williams, I was given the time and location of where you would be, and instructed to kill you."
Barratt rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands, then his fingers kneaded away the beginnings of a headache.
"So what has all that got to do with what is happening now? With this?"He motioned to the paperwork in front of them.
Shirin fell back into her chair. She looked suddenly tired. "I'm not sure," she said. "But I do know it's all connected. I didn't start putting it all together until after Harry's funeral."
They both fell silent. Saying Harry's name, hearing his name, was still a fresh wound for both of them. Harry was the only man Shirin had loved, the only husband she would know; he was the foster brother Barratt had protected, had loved. His death continued to torture them both.
"This, “she pointed to the paperwork in front of them, "is everything I have on Harry's death."
Barratt's eyes grew wide, and he started leafing through the material as Shirin continued.
"I was there when he died. I saw them. Their faces, they're burned into my memory. These men killed him! It wasn't a mission gone wrong. Ignore the official story. They were after Harry!"
"And why didn't you tell me?" he demanded.
"Because. They tried to kill me that day, too. And a few more times after. If I told you, they would have come after you as well. Besides, I didn't have anything concrete. That's when I decided to disappear for a while. That's when I started searching for the men who killed him. I found two of them. From there I tracked down their handler, their supplier, a few middlemen, and finally Bill Civic."
Barratt held one of the documents up at an angle to better catch the light. He focused on it."This," he motioned, showing Shirin.
"Is the account the hitmen were paid from," she said, confirming his thoughts.
"The 'handler.' I want to talk with him!"
"You can't," she shuffled the documents around on the table, looking down at them.
"The hell I can't!" he yelled.
"Trent," she said calmly, "I met with him five months ago. He did not survive."
"And the hitmen?"
"Will never be found." The icy glare returned to her eyes. They were haunted, cold, deadly.
The pressure in Barratt's' head grew, threatening to explode in a fury of rage. Every muscle in his body tensed, fighting the urge to smash everything in sight. He had never felt this helpless.
"I had been watching Civic for a while. He's a money launderer." Shirin paced as she spoke. "After a spider web of contacts and middle men, the trail led to Civic. I convinced one of the contacts to put into question the accuracy of the accounting on the transfer that eventually funded Harry's killing. After months of surveillance, I found where he hid it, and last night I got copies." She leaned forward over the tabletop, palmed the pile of documents and said, "This is going to show us where to go next."
"And how much do you think Civic knows about all of this?" Barratt's mind was already working on different ways to get at the people pulling the strings.
"Nothing. He's just a numbers guy. I'm sure that right now Zelig's men are doing a job on him anyway."
"Zelig's stink is all over this! I don't know how, or why, but he's mixed up in it for sure."He continued to look through the documents and surveillance photos."Is there anything here that connects to him?"
"Not that I have found. The papers from Civic are convoluted, way over my head. We'd need a forensic accountant to get through that labyrinth, but anything that well protected must be hiding someone important."
"Do you know a forensic accountant?"
"I know a guy who knows a guy."
Shirin walked to the gym bag, emptied out the weapons, selected a Browning 9mm, checked the magazine, then collected a USB drive from the table. Barratt was still engrossed in the surveillance photos. There were many.
"I'm off to follow the money trail." She picked up two brand new burner phones, handed one to Barratt, and pocketed the other. "These are clean; the number is programmed in. If you find any other way to track these pricks, call me. I'll be back soon."
Without waiting for a reply, she was gone.
12:11:59
Smith entered the large gymnasium unnoticed. The baseball cap pulled low over his forehead concealed his face from several security cameras positioned throughout the complex.
His heavy boots thudded deeply into the synthetic waterproof floor as he walked, the vibration of each step echoing behind him like a wake of pure energy. As though repelled by some invisible reverse-magnetic force, people were pushed out of his path unaware, powerless.
The cool air of the gymnasium changed noticeably as he entered the pool and spa wing of the large facility. The humidity clung to his shirt, making it stick to his hard body.
He continued forward, moving purposefully past the indoor pool, past the spa, and into the rear locker room. He thumbed the dials of the combination padlock securing his locker as he glanced left, then right. His meetings here had increased noticeably over the past weeks.
Although he couldn't see them, he knew the security detail attached to the man he was about to meet was watching him closely. Officially, there were no cameras in this part of the large building, but Smith knew intimately how the old man worked.
He assumed that in addition to men strategically positioned throughout this wing of the gymnasium, there would be several high definition cameras hidden throughout the change room and showers; nothing would go unnoticed.
Smith felt neither self-conscious nor exposed as he disrobed and took his time carefully folding and placing each item of clothing into the locker. He replaced the padlock and walked naked into the open shower stalls.
12:12:41
Barratt impatiently collected all the surveillance photos Shirin had taken, flicked through them quickly, compiled them according to their date and time stamps, and then began the process of analyzing them one by one.
He scanned through the numerous documents and notes and endless data, spreading them out across the large table in as close to chronological order as possible. He tried to get an idea of the big picture in his mind but felt overwhelmed with too many details, names, numbers, and inferences.
With a growing frustration, he decided to go through the hundreds of surveillance photos instead. He brewed a fresh pot of coffee, poured a large portion into a mug, and gulped several mouthfuls before focusing on every detail of each photo. He took his time to assess the principle of each photo, and then worked his way around them, scanning and mentally cataloguing any
other visible faces, features, or vehicles.
It was a slow process. An exhausting process. But several patterns emerged, and the adrenaline of each discovery fueled him to continue.
Looking at the date stamps on each photo, he found an interesting trend. They appeared to come in clusters, with a high volume of surveillance photos for a week or two, then months of nothing. He imagined the challenges Shirin encountered in finding these targets and tracking them before watching them, interrogating them, and ultimately killing them.
She was an amazing woman. If Harry hadn't married her first, he would have. Attractive, intelligent. Dangerous. Just his type of woman.
He and Harry were brothers. Not by blood, but perhaps closer. As two unwanted children, they had grown up together; they had watched each other's backs for as long as he could remember. While Harry had used his brains, Barratt had used his brawn, and together they were unbeatable and inseparable throughout school, college and later, in the military.
While Harry rose quickly in rank and later joined the Federal Police, Barratt languished at the bottom of the military totem pole, recognized as a skillful soldier but remembered for his short temper and quick fists. He was never jealous of Harry, never envied his success.
After the military, while Harry forged a strong career with the Federal Police, Barratt traveled abroad, working for several high-profile corporations in a security capacity. The contact between them had stretched out, but their bond remained unchanged.
He remembered fondly when Harry had told him he had met a woman, how he had become so animated, so full of energy just talking about her. Harry had confided in him that she was also an agent but with a sister agency, and that they had to keep it quiet, but that he would introduce her to him soon.
It was only by chance that Harry had inadvertently saved his life. By chance that Shirin had not pulled the trigger and released the bullet that was meant for him. If he and Harry had not shared the same tattoo insignia on their forearms, and if Shirin had not seen it, Barratt knew he would be dead now.
Against the Clock Page 5
