Rogue (An American Ghost Thriller Book 1)

by J. B. Turner

  “With that in mind, you care to cut to the chase?”

  Schultz sighed. “Brad, how long have we known each other?”

  “A decade? A long time.”

  “Just over. Eleven years. I’ve known you since you arrived in DC. You served in the Marines. You served your country overseas. And I don’t doubt for a minute that you’ve served all those you represent with distinction.”

  “Jack, you wanna tell me what’s in the file? Jessica said I’m on a kill list.”

  There was a long silence. Eventually Schultz spoke. “Brad, I can’t divulge what it says.”

  “You can’t divulge it? Are you kidding me, Jack?”

  “Brad, hear me out. My first duty is to serve the interests of the committee. The information on this file has been stolen from a CIA computer. And it contains details that I can’t share with you.”

  “I can’t fucking believe what I’m hearing!”

  “Jack, as I said, we go back a long time. My advice to you? Get a good lawyer.”

  Crichton took a few moments to compose himself. “Get a good lawyer? Let me get this straight. I can’t know what’s on the file? Why the hell not? I don’t get it.”

  “Brad, not only is this highly classified, it’s . . .”

  Crichton sensed Schultz wanted to tell him more. “Come on, Jack, it’s . . . ?”

  “You’re correct. You’re on a list.”

  Crichton’s blood ran cold. “Patterson said as much. He even suggested it was a list of people, Americans, who were going to be neutralized. Some of whom already have been. Is that what it says?”

  Schultz said nothing.

  “Jack, listen to me. I have no idea what’s on that file. If you say I’m on a list, I trust you. But I’ve got a right to know, don’t I?”

  “No, you don’t. Under law, your obligations are to uphold the Constitution and the security of the United States of America.”

  Crichton closed his eyes for a moment as he tried to come to terms with the information. “You’re cutting me loose?”

  “Jack, do you still have the flash drive?”

  “Yes, I do. It’s in my room safe.”

  “As the counsel for the committee, I’m obliged to serve their interests first and foremost. And I have to ask you not to access the flash drive, in the interests of national security.”

  Crichton took a few moments to allow the words to sink in. “What do you want me to do with it?”

  “Do not share it. Or lose it.”

  “Yeah, I get that. But what do you want me to do with it?”

  “Nothing. I’m going to collect it in person.”

  Crichton closed his eyes for a moment as he reflected on that. It didn’t make sense. “In person?”

  “That’s right. Also, do not make a copy.”

  “You want to collect this in person? That’s highly irregular.”

  Schultz said nothing.

  “Are you saying I can’t see what the hell it says? Despite my aide accessing the information?”

  “That’s precisely what I’m saying.”

  “Jesus H. Christ, Jack, this doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Brad, this Jeff Patterson, he’s either stolen or been passed stolen CIA material.”

  “With my goddamn name on it.”

  “I can’t comment any further on it. I’ve said enough. I’ll be there in twenty-four hours.”

  “What the hell?”

  “Brad, I’ve known you a long time. I like you. A lot. And trust me, this is for the best.”

  Thirty-Two

  One day out

  It was the dead of night and Nathan Stone was wide awake. He was lying in the dark on the wooden floor of the cottage living room, smoking a cigarette. He couldn’t sleep. He took a long drag on the Winston, feeling faintly annoyed by the pale-orange glow it emitted. He closed his eyes as the smoke filled his lungs.

  He felt himself begin to fall into a dark cavern. Falling. Deeper and deeper he fell. He loved the sensation of not being in control. He was exhilarated. High.

  His stomach fluttered as he came to a stop.

  Stone opened his eyes and adjusted to the near-total darkness. A feeling of calm washed over him.

  His mind flashed back to the sessions with the facility psychologist. He knew he was being observed. His body language. His speech patterns. His eye contact. His demeanor. He was being judged. But he was also being retrained. Reprogrammed. Subtly.

  Planting trigger words in his brain. He knew what they were doing. And he liked it. But there was so much more.

  Stone’s personality had been broken down years before. And in its place a new personality had emerged.

  It had taken years.

  The repetitive messages. The trigger words. The phrases. Reordering his thoughts. Before, there had just been emptiness. Now there was a pulsating array of terrifying emotions ripping through him. He liked it. And had grown to love it.

  He could function in the real world. As long as he was kept apart.

  The drugs kept him on edge. Steroids laced with amphetamine, he’d been told. He could go for days without sleep. He didn’t know hunger. At times, though, he felt like he was going to be consumed by rage.

  He would stare at himself in the mirror.

  Staring back at him were his father’s dead eyes. Uncaring. Blank. Terrifying. He had replaced his father. Supplanted him. And become him.

  The more he thought about it, the more he felt the rage growing again.

  They knew what they were doing.

  Stone knew he would be returning to the familiar world of assassination. He dragged hard on his cigarette and leaned over to crush it out in the ashtray. His thoughts turned to his sister. Stuck in a mental hospital. Probably getting tucked into bed the way she used to tuck him in when he was a boy. He imagined her humming a tune. A tune he could never remember the name of. It had echoed in his mind through the years. The same one she had hummed to him when he was scared. He thought he heard a door creaking. But it was only in his head.

  Then in his mind’s eye he was staring at his father again. Cold black eyes looking down at him.

  His cell phone vibrated on the wooden floor. The caller ID lit up in a cold blue light. He picked it up and saw it was his handler.

  “Nathan, we’ve got a problem.”

  Stone’s senses switched on. “What kinda problem?”

  “Motion sensors have picked up movement to the rear of your property. Infrared sensors show a young woman two hundred yards away. She’s crossed some fields.”

  Stone sat bolt upright. “What? Now? Who?”

  “Fuck knows who she is. I don’t like it. The nearest road is a minor road, and it’s miles from here. You’re in the middle of nowhere.”

  “You don’t know who she is?”

  “No idea.”

  “So she’s lost?”

  “Maybe.”

  Stone sighed and got to his feet. “What do you want me to do?”

  “I don’t know. We’re still working on a response. This is a real curveball.”

  Stone sighed. “It’s the middle of the goddamn night.”

  “Tell me about it. Could you ignore her?”

  “Not likely. Bedside lamp is on upstairs.”

  “Shit.”

  “You think she might compromise things?”

  “Shit happens. We need to roll with it.”

  Stone said nothing as he headed through to the rear kitchen. He peered out the window and saw the silhouetted woman, raincoat over her head, flashlight in hand. “I see her. Less than one hundred yards.”

  “So she knows you’re there. Or that someone is. And you don’t want her peeking in.”

  “Make the call.”

  A long sigh down the line. “If she knocks, you answer.”

  “What then?”

  “I’ll stay on the line. Just put your cell phone on the kitchen table. Say you’re on the phone with your brother in the States.”

  “And
then what?”

  “Just do it. Then, if she wants in, you pick up the phone.”

  Stone placed the phone on the table. His heart was beating. Time dragged. The seconds swallowed up.

  Suddenly, sharp knocking at the door. Five . . . six. Rat-tat-tat.

  “Anyone home? My car’s broken down! I need to make a call!”

  Stone stayed still in a darkened alcove.

  “Anyone in? Hello! Please, I’ve broken down!” She began to tap at the window.

  Stone didn’t move.

  “I said I’ve broken down! Can someone help me?” Her shouting was getting louder, more urgent.

  Stone stepped forward, turned the key, and opened the door. The woman had tears in her eyes.

  “So sorry to wake you,” the woman said. Her accent was educated, Scottish. “My car battery’s dead. And I’ve forgotten my bloody phone. Could you help me?”

  Stone cocked his head for her to come inside. “Don’t worry. Get yourself out of the cold.”

  “You’re American?” She stepped into the kitchen.

  Stone shut the door behind her. “Yup. One hundred percent American. I’m actually on a call to my brother in the States just now.” He handed her a dishcloth from the stove. “Here, dry yourself.”

  “Thanks,” she said, drying her hair. “Look, I’m so sorry, but can I use your house phone to get a breakdown truck?”

  “Sorry, no landline.”

  “What about your mobile? Can you use that to call out?”

  Stone was thinking on his feet. “Sorry, only incoming calls.”

  “Shit. Damn. Sorry, I don’t mean to sound so ungrateful.”

  “Can I just take this call, and maybe we can sort it out and get you back to civilization?”

  “That would be great, thanks.”

  Stone picked up the cell phone as he smiled at the young woman. “Harry, sorry about that. Just a young lady’s car broken down.”

  “Nathan, now listen,” his handler whispered, “that was smart thinking about the phone. But it still leaves you trying to explain the truck out front and why you can’t use it.”

  “Yeah, good point. How’s the weather?”

  His handler sighed. “Options are limited.”

  “Indeed they are.” Stone smiled and shrugged at the woman.

  “I got it,” his handler said.

  “What?”

  “Say you’ll contact a local cab company by email. Then I’ll send over one of our guys. Say the company has a car in the area. Five minutes.”

  “And then what?”

  “He’ll pick her up and . . . you know what I’m saying?”

  Stone nodded. “Excellent. Speak soon.” He ended the call and smiled at the woman. “I got an idea.”

  The woman shrugged.

  “I could email a cab company. I’ve got their details on my laptop upstairs.”

  “If you don’t mind, that would be great. Thank you so much.”

  “Not a problem. Glad to help.”

  Stone headed upstairs for a couple of minutes. He paced around the room and waited for a short while. Then he headed downstairs. “You’re in luck. They have a car a mile away. Be here in five minutes.”

  “Five minutes? That’s fantastic. Thanks.”

  Stone nodded. “You live far?”

  “Ten miles from here. Work at the local hospital. Finished just after two. Nightmare end to my day.”

  A few minutes later, the lights of a car swept the inside of the house. A quick toot of the horn.

  “Wow,” she said, “that was super quick.”

  “You got lucky. But glad I could help.”

  Stone opened the front door and waved at the driver, who nodded back as the woman got into the back of the car. They drove off into the night.

  He shut and locked the front door, went through to the kitchen, and picked up the cell phone. “She’s gone.”

  “That was a close one.”

  Brigadier Jack Sands ended the call with Stone. Out his office window in the facility, he saw the lights of a chopper in the distance. He stared transfixed as it came in to land. Two men got out and were escorted by the copilot into the facility. After being briefed and fed, then showering, they were shown into a conference room with Sands.

  Sands knew both men well. He picked up a remote control and switched on the big-screen TV. It showed images of Nathan Stone. For the next fifteen minutes, they watched in silence.

  Sands froze the final image of Stone, taken a few hours before he left. “This is the target. He’s already on the mainland.”

  The first man to speak was Connors, who said, “Tell me more about him.”

  “National security risk.” Sands was a master at compartmentalizing. “We believe an opportunity has arisen to neutralize him. We believe he’ll be hill walking tomorrow.”

  The second man, Stevens, said, “Nationality?”

  “European,” Sands lied. “That’s all I can say.”

  Connors sighed. “How do you want this done?”

  “We’re working on that. We’re figuring out the best course of action.”

  Sands handed them each a cell phone. “You speak to me and me alone. Do you understand?”

  Both men nodded.

  Connors said, “How long till we’re on the move?”

  “Chopper’ll be taking you to the mainland in exactly one hour.” He pointed to the image of Stone frozen on the screen. “This man must die.”

  Thirty-Three

  That evening, Senator Brad Crichton was pacing his room, cell phone pressed to his ear, waiting for his brother to pick up at his Dallas home. It had been ringing for a couple of minutes and didn’t divert to voice mail. Just when he was about to hang up, his brother answered.

  “Brad, how the hell are you?”

  “You got a couple minutes, Murray?”

  “Sure. What’s on your mind?”

  Crichton sat down and outlined the advice from the legal counsel to the intelligence committee.

  “OK . . . I see why you’re concerned. But I’m going to need some details.”

  “That’s just the thing. According to Schultz, I’m not at liberty to know anything else.”

  “That’s a crock of shit.”

  “Are you sure? Jack Schultz is highly regarded.”

  “Jack Schultz is wrong. I’m telling you, not just brother to brother but as your lawyer, that is crap. You, as chair of the intelligence committee, have a right to see materials that are marked specifically for your attention.”

  Crichton ran his hand through his hair. He felt exhausted. “I don’t know, I’m really conflicted about this.”

  “I get that. But his advice is wrong. Pure and simple.”

  “So what do you advise?”

  “I can’t advise you what to do. I can advise you what I believe is either legal or potentially illegal.”

  Crichton sighed long and hard and sat down at the desk. “Murray, there’s a guy . . .”

  “A guy?”

  “Yeah, a guy tried to contact me.”

  “What guy?”

  “A blogger. Journalist. I thought he was a conspiracy nut. Said I was on some sort of hit list. Thing is, now he’s dead.”

  A beat. “I saw that on Fox. But they were saying it was drugs or something.”

  “I don’t know. What I do know is that this guy said my life was at risk. He wanted to pass on some details he said he was in possession of.”

  “The same details you are now in possession of?”

  “Indeed.”

  “Let’s get back on track with this whole thing. I need to know what that girl knows.”

  Crichton took a few moments to compose himself. He hated the way his brother spoke about Jessica. “That girl is called Jessica. Christ.”

  “Sorry, yeah, Jessica. Whatever. She hasn’t accessed the information, I’m assuming.”

  “You assume wrong. She has. At least she says she has.”

  “Fuck. Why did she do
that?”

  “The blogger contacted her saying I was on a fucking kill list or something. And she says she opened the file on a USB drive. That’s what she says.”

  “Jesus Christ.” A beat. “What do you want to do?”

  “I want to find out what’s on the flash drive. I’m hearing secondhand what it contains. That my name is on a list. But I want to see for myself.”

  “Curiosity?”

  “Naturally. Murray, there’s something else that needs to be considered. Schultz wants to collect the flash drive in person.”

  “Whoa . . . Hang on, bro, are you kidding me?”

  “I’m not kidding. He says not to make a copy or access it, and he’ll collect it in person. He’s flying over within the next twenty-four hours.”

  There was a heavy silence between them for what seemed to Brad like an age. His brother was notorious for imponderable silences while he mulled things in minute detail. “Now, why the hell would he want to do that?”

  “That’s a good question.”

  “Why the hell is Jack Schultz going to such extraordinary lengths? Why not ask a diplomatic attaché in Scotland to pick it up and transport it in a diplomatic bag back to DC?”

  “Perhaps it’s part of his job.”

  “But why not just send someone to pick it up? Perhaps he doesn’t want you to see the contents. He’s already seen what it contains. That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Shit.”

  “Indeed.”

  “OK, so what’s my next move?”

  “My advice? As long as you don’t share the information with anyone else and you connect the flash drive to a computer that isn’t hooked up to the Internet, and you use your highly encrypted and modified laptop, I can’t see any problem.”

  “You think Schultz is trying to shut things down so we don’t embarrass his pals at the Pentagon?”

  “That’s a possibility. But maybe it’s the nature of the material he’s concerned about.”

  “As the chair of the intelligence committee, I need to know any areas that are compromised or weak points or whatever. I need to know.”

  “I have to say—and this is just between us—I wish to God you’d kept this girl out of your life. And I’m speaking as your older brother.”