The Echo of Violence

by Jordan Dane

  “I’ve got something that operates like a fake cell tower,” Harper began. “Cell phones in a specific grid are tricked into transmitting hardware serial numbers, phone numbers, and other information to law enforcement. In this case, it’ll be me. The user won’t know it’s happening. And the program works long-range and off satellites.”

  “That’s Triggerfish? It’s nothing new,” one of her team argued. “And I’d question how long-range it is.”

  “Plus you need a court order to use it with the phone companies. The Patriot Act requires one,” Simon Bechtel, one of her senior shift supervisors, weighed in on the subject.

  Tanya knew the Patriot Act had its share of controversy when it came to surveillance. The act was passed into law with overwhelming support from Congress as a counterterrorism measure to broaden law enforcement’s authority to use wiretaps and other similar measures. And the debate on certain provisions raged on. Yet she had an appreciation for fighting terrorism by whatever means possible, even if it meant bending the law to do it. That’s what her employer, the Sentinels, were all about—a vigilante group of international protectors who weren’t hampered by laws when it came to dispensing justice.

  She was interested to see how Seth Harper would handle the pushback from her team and the intimidating Simon Bechtel. Bechtel had an arrogant way of talking down to people, especially when he thought he had the upper hand, like now.

  “You’re right. Triggerfish is old news, but that’s not what I’m talking about. And yes, the Patriot Act does require a court order when accessing phone records. You’re right, sir, but hear me out.” Harper fielded their questions with patience. “I’ll be targeting a tight grid around Haiti to pick up the initial activity and follow it to southeast Cuba. At the risk of making a bad first impression, I’m not really a court-order-type guy. Back doors and sneaky shit are my specialty. And in the interest of full disclosure, I’ll admit that I once ran with scissors.”

  Harper didn’t wait for a response. “Not everyone plays by the rules. Shocker, I know. In this post-9/11 world, U.S. government officials in very high places have ordered eavesdropping on private calls and justify their actions in the name of national security. I’m not naming names, but certain enhancements were made to the Triggerfish concept to get around legal technicalities. And this new program has created a loophole in the law.”

  “My, you don’t say. What loophole?” Bechtel turned toward her and rolled his eyes with a smirk. He had already dismissed the kid.

  “If I can bypass the phone company altogether, technically I’m not breaking the law.”

  Her shift supervisor furrowed his brow and stared at Seth as if he had spoken in tongues. Jessie’s friend really had a way of seeing things out of the box. And Tanya liked his unconventional approach—as long as he was working for them.

  “No,” the older man protested. “You can’t do that.”

  “I didn’t. Some other brilliant fringe dweller did.” Harper leaned forward and rested his hands on his knees. “The Patriot Act became law in 2001. Sections of it deal with safeguarding civil liberties when it comes to ‘Big Brother’ accessing phone-company records, but prior to that, there was no law that covered location-tracking technology at all. A court order wasn’t even needed before 2001 even though the technology existed. Ironic, huh? The Patriot Act gave us worthless protection against obsolete technology.” Harper shrugged with a smile. “Some pretty big government types are operating under the same assumption I laid out. That’s why this new program was created…or so I’ve heard.”

  “Where’s the program? You didn’t come in with anything except an overnight bag of your personal effects. You were searched at security.” Bechtel turned to her again to make his case. “If he uses a program like that here, and it’s traced back to us, it could prove to be a liability.”

  “I don’t see that happening, but the call is up to you, of course. This is your house, and I’m technically on vacation.” Harper stretched his long legs in front of him and slouched in his chair with arms crossed.

  “I can confirm everything I’ve told you so we don’t waste any more time,” Bechtel argued. “This kid doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Let me make one phone call.”

  “Impressive.” Seth shrugged. “The only thing I can get with one phone call is a pizza.”

  Tanya nearly lost it. “Where do you keep this program, Seth?”

  “I store my programs online in multiple spots I like to call my ‘cache.’ That way I don’t have anything in my possession. I’ve got them loaded all over. Some places might even surprise you.” He crooked his lip into a smile. “My online activity runs through foreign ISPs and pings off other users, so it’s hard to trace.”

  “Yet not impossible,” Bechtel pointed a finger.

  “No, I’d never make that claim, but I’ve got fail-safes in place to warn me if I’ve been compromised. And I figure you guys have an appreciation for tight security, too. Like I said, it’s your call.”

  Tanya sat back in her chair and found it hard to stifle a grin. She had no idea if Harper had developed this software himself since he was cagey enough not to admit it. At a minimum, he had powerful connections that intrigued her.

  “Do it, Seth. And, Jessie, call my extension when you two get something.” Tanya stood and headed for the door. Although Bechtel would need his ego stroked, it had been worth it to see a young guy like Harper hold his own with the seasoned veteran. When her team left the room, Tanya stayed behind and winked at Seth. “I like the way you think, sugar.”

  Harper waited until the door was shut and locked behind Tanya Spencer before he turned toward Jessie, and said, “She called me sugar. Did you hear?”

  “Yeah, you’re a damned chick magnet.” She grinned. “Work your magic, genius.”

  Jessie walked over to his desk and leaned down to kiss him on the cheek. “And thanks for helping Alexa, Seth.”

  “I haven’t helped her yet.”

  “Yeah, but my money is on you, smart guy. Always.”

  His cheeks burned red, and he teetered between flashing a grin and avoiding her gaze with a shy blush. Eventually, he got to work.

  Jessie loved watching him. The muscles of his long lean back moved under his shirt. After seeing him in the shower, she knew what he looked like under those clothes. She watched his hands as his fingers moved over the keyboard with confident, aggressive strokes. His intent expression never wavered from the computer monitor once he got started.

  Jess knew it would be a long night. She called the in-house cafeteria and ordered plenty of coffee and munchies, the kind that would fuel Harper through the night.

  She had a feeling he’d need it.

  Southeast Cuba

  Sierra Maestra Mountain Range

  Alexa ordered her team to pack up and move out after dawn. They had no communication with Garrett for the moment. She hoped that would change soon. Her team was headed for the last known spot they’d seen the tracks from the hostages, the footprints Kinkaid had identified. He’d done his part. Now it was her turn.

  Outside the cave, the air was thick with humidity after the storm. The excessive rain and high winds had ravaged the mountainside. Broken tree limbs had fallen onto the trail, and the lush vegetation had been flattened. Her scouts would have to find another way to track the movement of the terrorists.

  They’d have their work cut out for them. And the clock was ticking for the hostages.

  A steel gray sky cast a dull glow across the mountains and shed a glimmer of light on the damage left behind from the fierce storm. And a still, eerie calm put her on alert. There were no birds, and the normal sounds from the jungle were absent. She hoisted the pack onto her back and listened to the squish of mud under her boots as she navigated the slick ground.

  Two of her men led the team out, and she looked over her shoulder one last time, thinking of Jackson Kinkaid lying unconscious in the cave.

  Her doing.

  “You did th
e right thing,” Hank Lewis whispered, and patted her on the shoulder as he walked by her. “Don’t beat yourself up.”

  She acknowledged him with a nod. It was too early for talking, and she wasn’t in the mood. Alexa knew she’d burned a bridge with Kinkaid after what she’d done. The liberal dose of pain meds she’d given him would wear off soon.

  He’d be alone in the cave with MRE food rations, first aid, water, and the tracking beacon she’d stowed in his gear to mark his position. She would extract him by helicopter after they’d rescued the hostages. Ironic that only hours before, she’d wanted his trust. Now she only hoped that after this mission he’d be royally pissed at her.

  Pissed meant he’d be still alive, and that worked for her.

  Alexa justified the decision she’d made. She only returned the favor after he’d kept the truth from her about his gunshot and jeopardized the mission. If she hadn’t given him the extra pills, he’d try to join them, and she couldn’t risk it. And who knows how far he would have gone to stay with her team. She owed it to her men to do what was right. And she didn’t want a debate or a fight with one of the good guys in this business. Knocking Kinkaid out seemed logical under the circumstances.

  Alexa kept in step with her men and shifted her attention back to the mission. See you on the flip side, Kinkaid. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.

  In the dark bowels of the cave, Jackson Kinkaid opened his eyes and stared at rock crevasses over his aching head. Pitted stone faded in and out of blackness, spinning and shifting out of focus until he could see straight. The campfire was the only light in the cavernous space, with the entrance to the cave too far to make a difference. He forced himself to stay awake and winced as he sat up. His arms felt heavy and lethargic. And although his mind was foggy, he knew what he had to do.

  He worked his tongue—a sluggish tedious process—to spit out the pills he had stuck to the inside of his cheek.

  The meds had started to dissolve and take effect. That was unavoidable. He rolled and got to his knees before he made the effort to stand. When he got upright, he wanted to puke. He felt light-headed and weak, but he was banking on his brain clearing once he got moving. He had to catch up with Alexa and her team before they got too far ahead.

  One foot in front of the other, Kinkaid. Keep moving.

  He packed his gear and kicked dirt on the fire to put it out. Time to go. When he hoisted his rucksack onto his back, he clinched his teeth to fight the pain. In his mind he pictured Kate, the only motivation he’d need. He headed for the entrance to the cave and squinted as he hit the muted light of an overcast sky.

  When he looked down, he saw what he expected to see.

  Unlike the hostages—whose trail had been washed out—Alexa’s team would be easier to follow in the mud. He knew they would parallel the trail and that their footprints would be clear enough to track. And they wouldn’t be expecting him. He’d keep his distance and watch, waiting for his opportunity to play the “fly in their ointment.” He’d pick his spot so they wouldn’t have a choice in taking him back. Or better yet, he’d hang back and let Alexa’s trackers do all the hard work. Once they found the terrorists, he’d decide what to do next.

  Being a team player wasn’t high on his list of priorities.

  He took one last gulp of water and looked across the horizon as he stood near the entrance to the cave. Thinking back to what Alexa had done to him, if she were hell-bent to get rid of him, he wouldn’t have changed her mind. He saw her packing and suspected that she’d leave him behind when she hadn’t bothered to wake him, except to dose him full of meds. And he saw no need to convince her at that point. Better for her to think she’d been clever to dope him.

  In the back of his mind, he understood that she’d done it for the good of the team and the success of the mission—but it was hard to acknowledge her side when he felt so betrayed. He chose to ignore his abuse of the trust factor in not telling Alexa about his wound. The gravity of her transgression far outweighed his. If he had any doubts about whether he could trust her, she’d given him an answer and failed a very big test. Alexa could have confronted him and talked it out, but she hadn’t.

  Instead, she drugged him. The last time they’d talked, she even had the nerve to demand trust. What a fuckin’ joke!

  “You gotta earn trust, Marlowe. And you failed on all counts.” His voice echoed into the dank cave as he left it behind and took off after Alexa and her men.

  No one under Garrett Wheeler’s command would have his back. No one. Alexa and her team could pull up stakes if Garrett ordered them to stand down and abort. Kinkaid knew that Kate deserved better than his one-man show, but right now he was the only one who really gave a damn.

  And when he caught up to Alexa, he’d make sure she regretted leaving him behind.

  CHAPTER 13

  Southeast Cuba

  Sierra Maestra Mountain Range

  Noon

  The mountain trail traversed a ridge with a valley on one side and sheer rocky cliffs on the other. The view gave Alexa a panorama of the devastation from the storm. The wider path led higher into the mountains and looked worn, but a narrower trail split and diverted toward the valley in a pattern of switchbacks. It wasn’t clear which way her team should go, not after the ravaging storm had done its damage.

  As Alexa had promised Kinkaid, they had picked up the trail that morning, using other means than the footprints that had been washed out. Her scouts had found a vague track of fresh machete cuts in the vegetation and other subtle signs. Although she knew they were on the trail again, finding the markers was hit or miss, and at times they had to retrace their steps. She ordered her men to stop at the fork and found a small clearing with good cover below the ridgeline to rest and wait until her trackers returned with news.

  At this elevation, the thin air made it harder for Alexa to breathe, especially with the exertion of carrying a heavy field pack. Sweat and grime covered her skin, a fact she did her best to ignore. The bugs were drawn to her perspiration and would not to be denied, even near the summit. Tenacious flies as big as her thumb and a cloud of mosquitoes buzzed her, despite her wearing bug juice. Alexa swatted them as she rested on one knee next to Hank Lewis. She sucked warm water from the tube connected to her hydration pack and pulled out her binoculars.

  “You smell the smoke?” she asked, keeping her voice low. “Someone burning wood.”

  “Yeah.” He nodded and hunched next to her. “A few shanties across the valley. We’re downwind.” He pointed through the trees, and she caught a glimpse of the dwellings and the faint wisps of smoke hanging over the tree line.

  Alexa tipped back her camo-colored boonie hat to use her binoculars. She peered down the gorge and checked for movement. Although the vegetation was too dense to see much, as the morning progressed, birds and other animals became more active and visible. And she saw no significant disruption—like birds being flushed from the trees in flight—to indicate that a group of men were moving hostages through the valley. She and her team were at a high spot, where noise would travel. They should see or hear hostages in the canyon.

  But they had nothing. Nothing.

  “Even though it’s quiet below, that vegetation covers plenty,” she whispered to Lewis.

  “We’ve stayed clear of the locals…” he said, “…but with these bastards moving men, women, and children, they’ve got to have help. No one hauls warm bodies without stirring up the locals unless they’ve got allies. And with these mountains crawling in terrorist training camps, we’d be the odd men out if they knew we were here.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been thinking the same,” she agreed. “When we shed these trees, let’s make contact with home base.”

  Their SAT phone worked off low-orbiting satellites with minimal conversation delays. It was the only network that had coverage across the world, including the oceans, and the setup worked best with a clear line of sight to the sky. They’d have to find that.

  Hank nodded at he
r order, looked over his shoulder and punched her arm. “Looks like Manny and Izzy are back.”

  Manny Rodriguez and Izzy Walker had been tracking since dawn, alternating between flanker and tracker duties to keep their eyes fresh. Manny was the real deal, but he’d been training his flankers, Booker and Walker, in the field.

  “We found a few upturned rocks on the high road,” her tracker whispered. “The dark side was up and hadn’t dried yet. And the indentations in the soil were clean and fresh. Someone has been through here…and recently. I saw boot prints in the mud, with bent grass heading in that direction.” He pointed a hand up the ridge. “But I didn’t see the tracks Kinkaid identified the other day, up or down. Nada.”

  “You see anything else up there?”

  “I found machete marks. Frayed and old. Nothing new.”

  Alexa listened to Manny as she kept her eyes alert, looking for any signs of movement in the brush around them. A creeping sensation had triggered her instincts. Nothing she could put a finger on, but she’d learned to pay attention to her gut. She wiped her palms down her BDU pant legs and rested a hand on her assault rifle, an edgy habit.

  “What did you find on the low road?” she whispered. Her team huddled around Manny and listened. She cast a glance toward Hank, who caught the look and narrowed his eyes. He got her message that something else was on her mind.

  “Not much,” Manny said. “Terrain is rough going down, and there’s high water below. They’d have trouble. We pulled a 360-degree sweep looking for tracks. Flooding was bad. No fresh signs.”

  “Give me the bottom line, Manny. Up or down?” She leaned toward him. “Your gut.”

  She could tell by his expression that the man carefully considered his answer. He’d make his best guess based on instinct, and she’d have to trust him unless she had a better idea.

  “I’d take the high road and stick with the ridge. I definitely saw early-morning activity.” He waved a hand toward the peak behind her. “Going up is rockier and harder to track, another reason they’d climb. It would be tougher for anyone to follow them and easier on the women and kids.”