by Elaine Nolan
“Sounds like his parenting. He was a good dad, but I’d do everything I could to stay inside the lines, not that I had to try very hard,” she admitted.
“You? Stay inside the lines? Are you using a different colouring book to the rest of us?”
She laughed, a hearty one that made her eyes shine.
“Yes,” she answered. “I have the deluxe deviant version.”
“I doubt your old man would’ve approved.” She sobered up, but he noted the mischievous glint in her eye.
“You’d be surprised what he’d have approved of.”
“Not that fucked up kinky shit?”
She gave him a quizzical shrug that raised more questions than it answered. He shook his head to dislodge inappropriate images and got back on course.
“Are you proposing we work together?” he asked.
“We’re already working together, I think the two threads are about to become inextricably entangled.”
“You even have a name for this person of interest?”
“I only found it once, otherwise I may have found his codename, which would explain why it flagged on Huntington’s files before I realised it.”
“How did you escape?”
“Encoder Grenade.”
“Seriously Harte, you’re inducted into the army for all of two seconds and your coding turns into something from Call of Duty.”
Her cyber escape was far from a simple dodge, embarrassed to admit at almost getting caught. She’d made the near fatal mistake of assuming she knew all of Huntington’s secrets and defences. Now she knew she’d only scratched at the top-most layers. If what she’d stumbled upon was any indication, there were greater depths, bigger secrets in its dark history. And it involved Lee. How? She’d no idea. She’d followed that thread when she was detected. If she’d questioned Walters’ change in attitude and ineffectiveness before now, Leigh reckoned she’d stumbled into the reasons for that abrupt change, and it made her question the real reason they had sent her on this mission. It all came back to her father again, and while he’d always seemed a meticulous and careful man, she wondered how many messes he’d left behind? How many would ensnare her?
Tom’s deliberate throat clearing pulled her back.
“The name I found was Kellen McGregor.”
“What kind of a fucking name is Kellen? These Americans love their obscure and bizarre names.”
“It’s Irish,” she corrected him. “I looked it up.”
“Of course you did.”
“It’s ancient Irish for warrior. From whatever else I could find, he’s one of those reclusive investor financial types who likes to stay out of the spotlight and public eye.”
“Which in this day and socially media driven age, raises alarm bells straight off the bat.”
“That’s not the reason he’s of interest.”
“So what is it?”
“His codename. He’s the Coral Packet.”
CHAPTER 38
Jake was giving up hope of hearing from her again. His texts and calls went unreturned for several days, and it worried him. He’d sat in on Swayne’s interview with the people the Irish army descended on the Diplomatic Centre with, took notes for the Senator and wondered when she’d downgraded him to personal assistant to her, running errands and general office duties. His ego took a further bruising when she assigned an external agency to investigate what had gone wrong on the exercise, and he suspected she considered him compromised, especially with Leigh involved.
He reread the transcript of the recorded interview Swayne and the investigators had with Clay Roberts, the spokesperson for the first group. When word got out what had happened and that the Senator was now prepared to listen, several similar stories from different locations dotted around the city filtered in. As Jake read the Roberts’ interview, he couldn’t be prouder of Leigh and her actions, but it only confirmed his original assessment of her; that she’d put herself in ever-increasing danger.
This heroic deed with the kid and the grenade was a level of altruism and sacrifice for a team that he wouldn’t have associated with her. Had her military training been that effective, he wondered. Did they break through where her training at Huntington hadn’t? Had it given her the one thing she’d always craved, but refused to acknowledge or even admit she needed, wanted; to belong, somewhere, anywhere.
The intelligence community belied the name community. It was a collection of individuals, all with similar agendas; to infiltrate, to gather intel or spread misinformation. It was a lonely existence at its core, and one he’d come to terms with a long time ago. Or so he thought. Leigh disrupted that blissful ignorant lifestyle, and it was true what he’d told her; it was too painful to stick around and watch her either implode, or befall some other fatal harm. That it hurt his calls were unanswered and unreturned only proved how much she’d gotten under his skin, of how much he’d let her in.
He read his own notes again, startled when his phone vibrated on the table top, and he snatched it up on seeing her name, unable to keep a relieved, warm smile from his face.
“Hey,” he answered, in as sultry a tone as he could manage. He could hear her smile on the other end.
“Hey you,” she answered, matching his tone, and let a silence linger a moment longer.
“I’m guessing you’ve been busy,” he broke it, wanting to hear her again.
“Yeah. Busy’s one word for it.”
“But you can’t talk about it,” he stated, as much for her benefit as for anyone listening in on their conversation. If her assessment he was the one under surveillance was true, then they sure as hell were tapping his phone. “I heard what you did,” he added, and heard a sigh on the other end, unsure how to interpret it until she spoke.
“It was a fucking stupid thing to do, but I never saw the device until I reached the kid.”
“You still saved him.”
“Anyone would’ve done the same.”
“Not the bastards who put a kid’s life in danger.”
“Any idea how he’s doing?” she asked, and he smirked at her typical deflection routine.
“Swayne found a family to take him in, but he keeps asking for you.” He heard her chuckle.
“Seems I’ve got a fan,”
“More than one,” he told her. “From what I can gather, rumours of your little heroics has spread far and wide. Most of your neighbours on Massachusetts Avenue are abuzz.” He heard her sigh again, visualised her rubbing her forehead in annoyance and frustration. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and pressed the phone to his ear.
“I want to see you, I… need to see you,” he admitted.
“Me too,” she answered, to his relief. “But…” she added and he understood.
“I know,” he confirmed what she was thinking; if he was being watched, they were likely to be caught in compromising positions again, only adding to the ever-looming danger of allegations of collusion, of spying, or worse, allegations of treason, especially after the disastrous outcome involving many foreign nations. Neither of them wanted that, but he hit upon a solution.
“You found the safe house where I helped him,” he said.
“Did I?” she replied, knowing he referred to Karl, but wondered how he knew she’d been there.
“Because I saw you leave,” he told her, imagining her reaction on the other end, not surprised by the silence.
“Wow. I can’t believe I missed that,” she admitted.
“You might be good, Harte, but I’m still better.” She harrumphed on cue, and he laughed softly at her reaction.
“It’s as good a place as any,” she said.
“Can you get away?” he asked.
“Get away? They’re practically kicking me out of here to go home,” she told him, but he heard the tiredness creeping into her voice, the same tone as when she’d worked on a client‘s project for days on end, so consumed by it that sleep and food became inconveniences.
“So, soon?” h
e asked
“Yeah, pretty soon.”
“I’ll see you there.”
CHAPTER 39
She let him disconnect the call, then threw her phone on the desk and glanced to Tom and Donal as they removed their headsets.
“Harte, I sincerely hope you never learn to play poker,” Tom said, with no hint it was a joke.
“Is that place in Georgetown?” Donal asked, and she nodded, scrubbing her tired eyes, sickened by what she did.
“I’m not getting you a khachapuri either.”
Tom handed her a comms unit.
“Radio contact every step of the way, is that understood?”
She nodded again, taking the hardware, slipping the earpiece in.
“How are you planning on getting there?” Donal asked.
“Well, I’ve no car here, and I’m guessing I’m not getting a loan of one either.”
“We only have diplomatic ones, so good guess. And one of us dropping you off will set off alarm bells. Besides, we want to get these people out in the open so we can identify them. They’ll know Jake will take whatever precautions he can, so we’re pinning our hopes on them watching you.”
“Nice to know I’m a useful decoy,” she answered, heavy with sarcasm. “It’s been a while since I went for a run, I could do with the fresh air,” she said, but Tom shook his head.
“Too risky, you’re too exposed.”
“And a taxi will not get us what we need either,” she countered. “So a run it is. I’ll do counter-surveillance and evasion manoeuvres, and if I get into trouble, I’ll just holler.”
“Can you holler with a bullet in your head?”
“No, but then Donal won’t have to worry I’m a double agent and playing everyone, will he?” Her waspish retort wasn’t lost on them.
“That is true,” Donal answered. “But I’d hate to lose you, now you’ve proven your worth.”
She left to change, refusing to dignify him with an answer, however sharp.
She left by the main door, baseball cap covering her hair and pulled low over her face, and dressed in three-quarter length running leggings, grey non-descript but fitted fleecy running jacket. Within minutes of leaving the Embassy she spotted her first tail, and then the support van, different in make and colour to the ones Jake and his team used.
She changed direction, confident the GPS adapted fitness tracker she wore on her wrist relayed real-time information back to Tom. They left Adam out of this operation, he’d pull rank and object to her putting herself in danger again. As she changed direction once more, a fleeting thought crossed her mind, something Jake once said about developing a taste for this kind of risk. She didn’t think it was true, but it sickened her to use him this way, to flush out whoever was behind everything; the cyber-attack on the Defence network, the shambles of that military project. Then there were the pictures sent to Swayne of her and Jake. Her assigned apartment here was too secure. The Irish Government owned the apartment building that housed most of the other army and Gardaí personnel assigned to Washington. Upgraded and retrofitted, it protected the residents from standard surveillance techniques, like being photographed in compromising situations.
Using Jake was the only logical solution. That he was the target, subjected to surveillance spoke volumes; whoever was behind this considered him the weakest link. Giving the pictures to Swayne wasn’t designed to undermine Leigh, until Swayne sent them on to Donal. Instead, by sending them to the Senator, it proved Jake was the one compromised. While it made sense, it still left her puzzled what anyone had to gain by removing Jake from the playing field. He was of no strategic value that any of them could see.
“Location check, Harte,” Tom’s voice resounded in her ear, and she looked for the street sign. She updated him, adding in details of who and how many were following her, including the van she’d spotted. Tom, acting as the central control, relayed it to the team backing her up, and let her know they’d spotted the van she’d identified.
As she jogged, snaking with purpose through the city, she questioned her sanity in doing this. It had all the signs of ending in disaster, and such effort for very little return on their investment. Her senses were on high alert, adrenaline coursed through her, setting her nerves on edge, enough to make her jumpy, so that when another van screeched to a halt in front of her, she was ready to bolt. She didn’t need to, the driver thought he’d make the light if he gunned it. He didn’t make it in time, this time. She crossed at the crosswalk, having learned drivers here didn’t give a shit about pedestrians, and cops took this jaywalking thing a little too seriously.
She stopped to get her bearings, not wanting to venture near the parkways. She might take a risk doing this, but she didn’t want to be stupid either, and the parks offered no protection, leaving her exposed with no backup if Donal’s worst case scenario came to pass. She veered back onto P Street, and picked up her pace. As a residential area, it offered little in the way of cover or protection, but it made anyone following her easier to spot, and ensured her backup could get to her quickly. She updated Tom, who confirmed her position on his PC screen as it tracked her, and updated the support team. She needed to get to Wisconsin Ave then turn north. If nothing happened, then she had an evening with Jake to enjoy. Donal promised her that much. She slowed to a walk as she approached the junction, and caught her breath, wary of any vehicles passing by.
“Remind me again why we’re doing this,” she asked Tom.
“To save the world, Harte. Or, at least secure Ireland as the new world power.”
“Why would we do that? We’re doing so well, spreading far and wide, and keeping under the radar.”
“True, but the time has come to rise up and take our rightful place in the world.” This level of joviality contradicted his deep concern for her.
“Did you just finish a Game of Thrones marathon? Or have you been playing Call of Duty again?” He chuckled again in her ear.
“Heads up, Harte. There’s an SUV circling back to you,” the serious, no nonsense Tom was back.
“Black, tinted rear windows?” she asked. “It passed me going in the opposite direction a few minutes ago. Driver was paying too much attention as he passed me.”
“Well, it’s headed back your way. Team is one minute behind.”
“Confirmed.”
“And you’re doing this because you want to punch the head off whoever almost got past your firewall.”
“This is one of those times I hope it’s the stereotypical nerdy type, you know, the skinny feckers who don’t know how to throw a punch.”
“You mean, like you?” he teased her.
“Ha fucking ha,” she answered him but her tone changed. “Tom, I’ve another SUV approaching from the south.”
“Get across the road, now.”
She didn’t need telling twice, and she didn’t wait for traffic to stop at the crossing. Judging the speeds of the cars, she sprinted to the other side of the street as the second SUV passed her, and again she caught the driver watching her intently. She halted.
“Tom, I’m fucked. These guys were security at that Ball, and they weren’t some mickey mouse operation either.”
“You sure.”
“Deadly sure. They were pros.”
“I’m getting the team to pick you up. This is getting too dangerous.”
“I couldn’t agree more. Original SUV has just passed now,” she updated him. “Where’s the team?”
“A fucking bus stopped at the junction for the pedestrian crossing,” he told her, and heard her swearing in return.
“Lead SUV has just u-turned, heading my …” She didn’t get the change to finish, they tackled her from behind, and she fell to the ground, knocking the wind from her, and banging her head against the pavement. But her military training kicked in and she rolled over, kicking her assailant in the face, and knocking him off her. He wasn’t alone, and she scrambled backwards, shouting for Tom. Her first attacker recovered, confirming her
guess he’d been in the military.
They grabbed an arm each and yanked her up to her feet but crowded her, pinning her arms behind her back, restricting her movements, rendering her defenceless. It didn’t stop her from struggling. The hand gripping her throat however dampened her fight. Brakes screeched nearby and hoped it was help and not one of the mysterious SUVs to bundle her away.
The grip around her throat loosened and she could breathe again. One arm freed and she spun around, breaking from the second grasp, and threw a punch at the second assailant. To her horror, he just rolled with it and only grunted as he righted himself. Her next memory was one of the pavement where she found herself, but blood flowed from her nose, and the side of her face hurt like hell. She heard shouting before darkness overtook her.
CHAPTER 40
Jake waited over an hour. Her starting point was less than two miles from the apartment in Georgetown. Even delayed leaving, taking a leisurely stroll, she should’ve arrived here by now, and it wasn’t like her not to contact if she wouldn’t make it. So he called her. A man answered her phone.
“Mr Jake Mann?” he asked, even though Jake’s name appeared on the screen.
“Who’s asking?”
“This is Garda Tom Lawlor, of An Garda Síochána.”
“What’s an Irish cop doing in Washington?”
“I’m attached to the Irish Embassy, you figure it out, Mr Mann.”
“Where’s Leigh?” Jake grew more concerned by the second.
“She was attacked on her way to see you. A doctor in the Emergency Room is patching her up right now.”
“What?” it came out as a breathless gasp.
“Wherever you are, Mr Mann, I suggest you get your arse in gear and get somewhere safe. Do you hear what I’m telling you?” Tom said.
“Yes,” he confirmed. “Is she all right?”
“A few scrapes and bruises,” Tom downplayed it. “She’s tougher than she looks.”
