“We’ll leave you one of the transport vehicles. I didn’t want to do this if I could help it, but leaving this man behind is something I would later regret; I know this for a fact. I’m afraid we have to kill them both. Wait fifteen minutes after we leave so we have time to get to the pawn shop and then meet us there after your duty is completed.”
The man, with Sarah in tow, left with the others following close behind.
The remaining mercenary raised his hood and looked at the unconscious Collins and then over at Alice. He raised the noise-suppressed handgun and smiled at her.
She returned the smile with one of her own.
Outside of the house the men entered three Chevy Tahoes and then left heading south on Flamingo Road.
CIA HEADQUARTERS
LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
Lynn Simpson walked past the assistant sitting at his desk and strode straight into Hiram Vickers’s office. She immediately saw the man wasn’t in. She slapped the file holding the report on Jack twice into her left hand and then turned to face the assistant as he came up behind her.
“He’s not in,” the smallish man said looking at Lynn.
“Did he go home?” She took a menacing step toward the man and he retreated.
“Uh, he checked out, that’s all I know.”
“Then I guess my next stop is the director of operations,” she said squeezing past the assistant. “I’m sure I can get the information I need from his immediate boss.”
The man swallowed and watched as Lynn quickly made her way to the hallway and the elevator beyond. Then he pulled his cell phone out of his coat pocket and selected the correct number. “Sir, the North American Desk was just here, and it looked like she had the Cassini tracking report with her. She said she was on her way to the ADO’s office. Yes, sir, let me see,” the man said and then crossed over to his desk and the rolodex there. He quickly spun the reel and hit on the name Vickers wanted. “Yes, sir, I have her cell phone number right here.”
* * *
Lynn was almost to the third floor when her cell phone chimed. She reached for the phone and saw that it was a private number. She shook her head and came close to not answering. She thought about Jack and Sarah and decided it may be one of them.
“Hello,” she said as the doors slid open on the third floor. She stepped out and waited.
“Ms. Simpson? Hiram Vickers, I understand you were looking for me?”
“Yes, we have some things to discuss, or rather you, me, the director of operations, and possibly the director himself. Does the ADO know that you are tracking a possible confidential military asset?”
“Military asset? Why no, we just picked a person at random, or rather Cassini did.”
“Mr. Vickers, if you think I’m going to buy that, you don’t know me very well or the duties of my desk.”
“Okay, I better come clean. Go to the director of operations and tell him what you found and he will explain everything. He’s new to the job, but he has been briefed on this tracking operation. Then we’ll sit down and discuss the test subject. How’s that sound to you?”
Lynn said nothing as she closed the cell phone and continued across the expensively decorated foyer. She saw the door to her own boss’s office, the director of intelligence, but his assistant wasn’t there and the area looked closed down for the night. She started to walk to the right side of the large office area and saw that the director of operation’s assistant was still on duty.
“Ms. Simpson, the director of operations is expecting you. Please go right in.”
Lynn looked at the woman and knew she had never seen her before. She and her boss were both new to the job. She was an older-looking lady whose smile never reached anywhere else on her face other than her lips. As Lynn walked past, she quickly lost her smile and then raised her right, well-groomed brow.
Lynn stepped into the office and a man of about fifty-five or so stood from behind a large desk. His hair was gray and he wore half-rimmed bifocal glasses, which he removed as he stepped forward. Lynn and everyone else at Langley had heard about Samuel Peachtree’s appointment from the Overseas Desk in London. And the placement of the man had infuriated not only CIA Director Harlan Easterbrook, but the president of the United States as well. The man’s appointment had been pushed through by the Senate Oversight Committee on Intelligence, led by Senator Giles Camden, one of the president’s staunchest enemies.
“Well, we finally get to meet,” Peachtree said as he came around the desk with his hand held out. Lynn saw the expensive suit, the harmless-looking bowtie, and the way the man stepped gingerly, as if he were walking on a cloud. Nonetheless she held out her hand. “I apologize for this thing getting past you, but being new to the job and all that—”
Lynn shook the man’s hand and felt uncomfortable when he placed his other hand over her own as his left hand shook hers. She didn’t like the feel of it.
“There are protocols that cannot be overlooked, sir. My desk has to be informed, no matter how trivial your section thinks it is, about anything coming or going from North American soil.” She released his hand and looked at the man’s crooked smile, disliking that even more than his handshake. “And this could be far more serious than you realize. The trace test was on an American military officer of some stature inside of government circles. I have to inform Director Easterbrook about this.”
“Well, of course you do, and I would have it no other way. As I said, I’m learning as I go; there was never any offense intended,” he said as he again smiled, returned to his chair, and started writing something on his letterhead. “But before you do, I want you to be able to go to the director with all the information I have available, and the only man that can fill you in properly is my assistant director, none other than Hiram Vickers. He’s at this address, and he’s expecting you,” he said as he folded the letterhead and then slid it across his desk toward Lynn. “He’s going to come clean, where I cannot because Mr. Vickers knows the details far better than I. He’s currently debriefing one of our people at that location. The homeowner is Mr. Dylan Weeks and he allows us to use his Georgetown brownstone from time to time for expedience sake.”
Lynn hesitated in picking the note up. She looked the man over once more and as he continued to smile at her, she saw the vein running just beneath his temple throbbing. She returned the smile only halfheartedly and reached for the address.
“I’ll listen to the why of it, but afterword I have to bring this matter straight to both the director of intelligence and, if she deems it necessary, the director himself.”
“I insist. I want everything to be aboveboard on this. If not, I’ll hold Hiram Vickers for you and let you kick him in the knee.”
Lynn nodded her head and turned to leave.
“Have a nice evening, Ms. Simpson,” Peachtree said. This time there was no smile.
* * *
It took Lynn twenty minutes to travel the distance to Georgetown where the address was located. She checked out at Langley at 1:00 a.m. and left the address and name of the man, Mr. Dylan Weeks, where she could be reached by cell.
As she pulled into the drive of the beautiful brownstone, Lynn saw most of the bottom-floor lights on. She saw one of Langley’s vehicles parked in the drive and she parked behind it. As a precaution, she looked into her bag and checked to make sure her nine-millimeter Beretta was handy. She opened the car door with the Cassini file in hand, walked up the winding steps to the front door, and rang the bell. She rang again when no one answered. Then as she started to turn away, Hiram Vickers was suddenly standing in the now-open doorway. He smiled and stepped aside.
“Boy, you made good time,” he said as he gestured for her to come in. “I’m glad we can get this taken care of so you can at least explain to the director our innocent intent.”
Lynn came inside the very-well-appointed brownstone. The house was immaculate.
“Come this way, our man said we can use his study for our talk.”
Lynn
followed Vickers to a large double door. He opened one side of it and then stepped through. The room was dark and her instincts kicked in, but her internal warnings made it to the surface of her brain a bit late. As the lights came on she felt a hand grab her wrist as she reached into her bag. She dropped the file she was carrying as the nine millimeter was twisted from her grasp. She swung around to strike Vickers, but his fist beat her to the punch. She was struck on the jaw and went down.
“I guess this will be a lesson you won’t forget soon.” Vickers stood over Lynn and looked at her as she shook her head, trying to clear it.
He reached down, grabbed her by the blouse top, and pulled her to her feet, ripping the blouse material as he did so. Then he pushed her onto a large couch and she flew back until she struck something that kept her from falling onto the floor. She shook her head again and turned to see what was behind her. Her breath caught as she recognized the young girl from Imaging. She was lying half on and half off the couch. As she studied the young girl, she couldn’t see any rise or fall of her chest.
“You son of a bitch,” she said as she pushed herself away from the recently murdered girl. “You killed her because she did her job?” she asked angrily as she finally gained her feet, only to see that Vickers had replaced her gun with one of his own. This one had a noise suppressor attached, and it was aimed at her head.
“Curiosity killed the kitten as they say.” Vickers looked from Lynn to the young Imaging and Tracking technician from the basement at Langley. “Mr. Peachtree said that she was expendable. Sad I know, but securing the country sometimes has its drawbacks.”
“No matter what you do to me, they’ll find out,” Lynn said. “There are those that won’t rest until they know the truth.”
“I’m sure. Even though your kind can never understand it, there are elements involved here that stretch far beyond anything you know. You see, that’s our real job silly woman, one that your bosses at Langley would never understand. It’s the lengths we have to go to protect the American people. Everyone is expendable, Ms. Simpson, everyone.”
Lynn closed her eyes and waited. Her last thoughts were of Jack and her mother. She wanted Jack to save her, but knew he wouldn’t be there this time.
“Jack—” she started to say, hoping his name would calm her.
The shot caught her in the exact center of her chest. Lynn Simpson-Collins fell back onto the couch with her big brother Jack’s name still on her lips.
8
LAS VEGAS, NEVADA
Alice Hamilton never took her eyes off the intruder as he stood watch over them. She saw him glance at the watch on his wrist every few minutes. Jack started to move on the floor near the man’s booted feet. Alice planned to try for the gun in the kitchen drawer when the man made the move she expected was coming. The mercenary had no idea how spry a woman she was at age eighty-seven. She could outrun most women half her age. Besides, if it was her time, it was her time, and she would gladly sacrifice herself to give Jack a fighting chance.
The man kept looking from his watch to the chair where Alice sat. “I don’t know why you’re smiling lady. If you think you’re making me nervous, you’re out of your gray-colored head.” The man reached over and pulled the Velcro straps from the front of his body armor, loosening it so his body could get some much needed air. Then he thought a moment about the threat the unconscious man at his feet posed, along with the old woman, shook his head, and removed the body armor completely.
Alice continued her smiling ways. She tried to keep her eyes focused on the man when she heard the noise. It was the most subtle of squeaks she could ever remember hearing. She cleared her throat, hoping that her and Jack’s intended killer didn’t hear the same thing.
The man looked at his watch and shrugged. He looked down at Collins as the colonel was trying to raise himself up from the floor.
“Well, it’s been wild,” the man said as he aimed his silenced weapon at the back of Jack’s head. “Sorry I have to do this, but orders are … well … you know?”
As the flash of movement caught her eye, Alice only hoped the gun wouldn’t discharge. There was a quick-sounding thud and then the man froze for the briefest of moments as his eyes lowered to the two steel prongs sticking through his chest just to the center of where his body armor would have protected him. His eyes widened just as Jack came fully to and staggered to his feet. He reached for the back of his head just as he saw the man look up and into his own eyes. Collins saw the two three-foot-long steel prongs protruding from the man’s chest. Jack quickly reached out and shakily pushed the assailant’s gun hand down and then removed it completely from his grip.
Alice, with her mouth firmly set, stood and rushed to the stricken and speared man and then slammed her fist into his face, sending him over onto his left side.
Jack’s eyes went from the sudden movement of Alice’s attack to the spot where the man had been standing. His eyes widened when he saw none other than his own mother standing there with a shocked look on her face. She was dressed in slacks and had a new blouse on. Her blue eyes moved from Jack to the man she had just killed. Collins was amazed to see one of the pink plastic flamingos from the front yard pushed all the way through the man’s back. Its black plastic eyes were once more looking at Jack, but this time he didn’t mind the look.
“I … I … I have to sit down,” Cally Collins said as she reached for a chair.
Alice shook her hand in the air, knowing she had broken at least one knuckle and maybe two on the man’s face when she had struck him. She also knew she wouldn’t trade the pain for anything in world. She then helped assist Jack’s mother into a chair, stepping easily over the dead man.
Jack looked around with blood still running from the top of his head and over his left sideburn. He was still feeling woozy and knew he had better join his mother and Alice at the table.
“I … I … had a hard … time … finding your house,” Cally said as she tried to look up at Alice.
“Well, thank God you did, Mrs. Collins, or Jack and I wouldn’t have been here to greet you.”
“Ma, what made you think of the flamingo?” Jack asked as he wiped blood from the side of his face.
“Don’t you remember when you were a boy and you were scared to death of those things? You had nightmares about them … I’m not really making any sense am I?”
Jack reached out after placing the gun on the table and took both his mother’s and Alice’s hands in his own.
“Thank God for pink plastic flamingos,” he said.
“I just wanted to be here to meet your girl. Where is she?” Cally asked worriedly.
Jack looked up and released both of the women’s hands. He stood on shaky feet and then collapsed onto the table’s top.
“Oh!” Alice said as she ran to get the phone. She lifted the receiver and dialed while Cally tended to Jack.
The United States government offices you are trying to reach are temporarily experiencing technical problems with their phone lines. Please try your call again at a later time.
“Damn it!” Alice cursed as she looked from the phone in her hand to Cally and then to Jack. She made a quick decision and dialed a special number she knew by heart after so many years at the Event Group.
Cally looked up in confusion as she ran a hand over Jack’s face. She heard the words coming from Alice’s mouth, but couldn’t believe it.
“This is code 5656-01, Hamilton, Alice D. I need to speak to the president of the United States immediately.”
EVENT GROUP COMPLEX
NELLIS AFB, NEVADA
Gloria Bannister watched as the spectrograph started printing out the known substances that were used in the synthesized production of Lawrence Ambrose’s chemical formula. As she read the printout she checked off the substances that had already been verified by the supercomputer Europa. She shook her head as she tore the printout away from the machine and then handed the report to her father. Those from the CDC crowded around the list of
names, matching them perfectly with what Europa had already told them. Colonel Bannister also shook his head.
“I’ve got to get me one of those computers,” he said as he looked up at the others dressed as he was. They all wore the same environmental chemical suit with hoods that attached but hung down the back, giving them a little breathing space. The chemical-genetic agent was placed behind two separate panes of sealed glass, and that was behind a steel wall that completely closed the clean room off from the laboratory on the seventeenth level of the complex. “I wonder if they sell this Europa thingamajig at Best Buy.”
The seven biologists from Atlanta laughed as they surrounded the colonel.
“Can you imagine the advanced science this Ambrose used? I mean, splicing poppies together as if he were doing nothing more than breeding roses? This was impossible science for that time period,” said Dr. Emil Harris, a brilliant man who headed the Viral section in Georgia. “The chemical properties alone would have made this man a giant in the field of chemical engineering.”
“Yes, but what in the hell was his goal? What was this genius after?” Gloria asked as she relieved her father of the chemical analysis report and started going over it again. Something at the bottom of the page that the spectrograph picked up caught her attention: agent 00012—unknown. “What do you suppose this could be, and this, an organic substance that is unidentifiable?”
Colonel Bannister looked over her shoulder. “Maybe some sort of binding agent perhaps. Something to keep the chemicals mixed—who knows? This other, the matrix of the substance, looks familiar. Almost like a DNA strand. But that would be impossible.”
“It’s something,” Gloria said, surprised her father wasn’t more concerned about it. As she looked over the printout, she walked to the far corner and sat down while the others started talking about the properties inherent in heroin and PCP. They all knew that the two poppy species alone produced high-grade hallucinogens, but when spliced together what chemical properties did they produce?
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