Rogue (An American Ghost Thriller Book 1)

by J. B. Turner

  “My business, Murray. Got it? Now get over it.”

  Murray said nothing.

  “There’s something else.”

  “What?”

  “She’s here. She brought the flash drive all the way to Scotland after receiving it from Patterson’s lawyers. So now she’s handled and accessed classified material.”

  “Oh shit, that doesn’t look good either.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I don’t know . . . perhaps this relationship seems a bit overfamiliar for my taste. You’re married for Chrissakes, Brad. You messing around with this girl doesn’t sit right with me. What about your wife and family? You considered that? I don’t like it. She’s a kid, let me remind you.”

  “Oh cut the bull, Murray.”

  “Your wife is a good person. A great mother. A great wife. And you’re carrying on like some douchebag.”

  “OK, enough. Let’s forget the insults.”

  “Fine.”

  “Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that I access the documents on the flash drive. What then?”

  “Depends what’s on it. Tell me, the guy, the blogger, what did he say to you?”

  “He contacted Jessica. And then he got my number and spoke to me. He said I was on a list. And then he winds up dead.”

  “Yeah, I got that. But what exactly did he say?”

  “He mentioned the names of two people, libertarians, who’d wound up dead. Said there was a list. Said I was at risk.”

  “And then you’re saying he wound up dead too?”

  “Yup.”

  “Oh fuck.”

  “I told him to take whatever he had to the FBI.”

  “That was the right thing to do. Absolutely the right thing to do.”

  “But he never made it to them.”

  Murray said nothing.

  “One final thing. I got a visit from someone. A pretty creepy visit.”

  “A visit? What kind of visit?”

  “Brigadier Sands, military attaché, based at the consulate in Edinburgh. He was asking if the blogger had passed me any documents.”

  “You spoke to him in person?”

  “He rolled up in a car.”

  “Christ.”

  “That’s not good, is it?”

  “I don’t like this.”

  “No kidding.”

  “When’re you back?”

  Brad sighed. “It’s late here. Tomorrow we have a free day. Sightseeing. Whatever. But I think I need to clear my head.”

  “That’s understandable.”

  “The day after, there’s an afternoon session, a formal dinner, and then we fly home. So I should be back in DC the day after tomorrow, late.”

  “Good. When you get home, we’re going to talk. Do you understand? And we’re going to sort this out.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate that.”

  “Hey, you all right?”

  “Yeah. Just tired, I guess.”

  “Get some sleep. And play some golf.”

  Crichton smiled. “Maybe another time. I need to get out of here for the day and clear my head. Some good hiking in the mountains should hopefully do the trick.”

  “Let me work on this. As for you, take it easy. Love you.”

  “Night, Murray.”

  Crichton hung up. It was late. He stared out of the window over the floodlit grounds, security patrolling with dogs, feeling a long way from home.

  Thirty-Four

  Zero hour

  Nathan Stone was floating in darkness. A black ocean washing over him. Inky dark sky, pale moon. He saw a spectral figure in the distance walking toward him. He squinted. Blurred. It looked like a ghostly woman wearing white.

  He felt himself sinking, but still the figure got closer. The sound of the waves crashing off a distant shoreline.

  The woman was walking on the water.

  He was paralyzed with fear. Blood was dripping from the woman’s fingers. She smiled a toothless smile.

  The sound of ringing snapped him out of his nightmare as he struggled to get his bearings for a moment.

  Stone fumbled for the phone in his jacket pocket. “Yeah.”

  “We’re on the move.”

  “Already?”

  “Yeah, thought he’d be making a move after breakfast. Apparently, he was up early to get a jump on the day.”

  “So where’s he headed?”

  “GPS has details already. All you have to do is follow.”

  Stone rubbed his eyes. “When exactly did they leave?”

  “Two minutes ago, a rental car was dropped off. Pale-blue Mercedes SUV.”

  Stone sighed. “So what’s the general direction?”

  “North. That’s all we know.”

  “Is this a go?”

  “Green light, Nathan. Time to play.”

  That’s all he needed to hear.

  Stone pulled on his clothes and was out the door of the cottage and in the car, remotely tracking Crichton and his mistress.

  Thirty-Five

  It wasn’t even 5:00 a.m. and the first pale rays of a new dawn washed over the dark mountains.

  Crichton pressed his foot on the gas pedal of the high-powered SUV. Sitting in the passenger seat wearing dark glasses was his aide Jessica Friel. “Driving on the goddamn left. Whose idea was that?”

  “It’s a British thing, I guess.”

  An oncoming truck swerved tightly as it overtook them on a tight bend. “Jeez. Man, what is it with these drivers?”

  Jessica grabbed her coffee out of the cup holder and gulped down some much-needed caffeine. It was strong, just the way she liked it. “Take it easy, Brad. We aren’t in a hurry.”

  “We’ve got a three-hour drive ahead of us. I want to get into the hills and walk. My head’s swimming.”

  “I know, honey.”

  “It’ll do us both a world of good. I’m looking forward to some space to think and breathe.”

  “Who suggested we head northwest?”

  “British diplomat I met in Washington a few months back. I told him about my Scottish trip. Mentioned in passing that I loved the outdoors. Said if we want some serious hiking and absolute peace and tranquility, he knew just the spot.”

  Jessica looked out the window. “It’s really pretty.”

  “It is. And really wild. By all accounts, this place is nuts in the winter.”

  Friel sighed. “So . . .”

  “So?” he said, interrupting her languid delivery.

  “So . . . I meant to say, have you looked at what was on the flash drive?”

  Crichton said nothing.

  “Brad, did you hear me?”

  “I heard you.”

  “And?”

  Crichton turned and glared at her. “I shouldn’t be discussing this topic.”

  “I see. But I’d appreciate if you didn’t bite my head off, thank you very much.”

  “Look, if you must know, no, I haven’t seen what’s on it . . . yet.”

  “What do you mean, yet?”

  Crichton sighed. “This is a difficult situation. I need to be very careful.”

  “I understand that.”

  “I need to be one hundred percent certain that I can access the information, first of all. As it stands, I’ve gotten two conflicting pieces of advice.”

  “I see.”

  Crichton felt bad he was shutting her out on this. She’d crossed the goddamn Atlantic to bring him the flash drive.

  The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to see for himself what the hell it contained. It was gnawing at him.

  The miles flashed past as shards of light glistened off telephone lines and huge steel transmission towers. As they drove higher into the hills, bathed in light, a lush, verdant scene greeted them. The smell of grass and pine trees drifted through the open windows.

  They drove in companionable silence for nearly half an hour until they stopped for breakfast at a café beside a gas station. Crichton opted for two baco
n sandwiches, while Jessica had scrambled eggs on rye. Both washed down with a mug of strong black coffee.

  Crichton wiped his mouth with a napkin. “That was good.”

  Jessica was still eating and smiled.

  “Look, I’m sorry I was a bit short with you last night.”

  “And today.”

  Crichton smiled. “Point taken.” He reached across and touched the back of her hand. “I’m glad you’re here. And I think what you did was remarkable. And very smart.”

  Jessica flushed. “Thank you.” She finished up her food and took a sip of her hot coffee. “I just wanted to do the right thing. I think in hindsight I might’ve handled it differently. I shouldn’t have opened the file. I get that now.”

  Crichton sighed. “We are where we are. Don’t dwell on it. It’s a beautiful day. We’re going to get some good hiking in. Eat lunch on the hills. They’ve made some great sandwiches. There’s a cottage I’ve booked, so that’ll be our base camp tonight. And we’ll be back in time for lunch tomorrow.”

  Jessica said, “Brad, I’m scared.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I just have a bad feeling about all this . . . ever since I heard about Patterson’s death.”

  “It’s going to be fine. I think, for what it’s worth, that the contents of that flash drive might be confidential intelligence, and Patterson just conflated the contents with some scenario he’d dreamed up. I think it’s a security breach, and this poor blogger’s death is only a horrible coincidence.”

  Jessica didn’t look so sure.

  Crichton wasn’t either. But he didn’t want to unduly alarm her.

  “Brad, before we get on the road again, there’s one thing, about the flash drive.”

  “I thought I’d made it clear that I can’t talk about that.”

  “You have. I just have one concern.”

  “A concern?”

  “The flash drive . . . I’m worried about it being in the safe in your room.”

  Crichton leaned close and whispered, “Don’t worry your pretty head. It’s all in hand.”

  Jessica looked skeptical.

  Crichton opened the second top button of his shirt and showed her the flash drive on a conference lanyard around his neck. “This isn’t going anywhere.”

  Thirty-Six

  Brigadier Jack Sands stood in the command room in the facility, watching the huge multiscreens showing a map of the Scottish Highlands and several red dots all headed north. Four operatives were scanning MacBook Pros, monitoring the SUV being driven by Crichton. As well as the car driven by Nathan Stone. But they were also keeping an eye on the position of the car being driven by the two operatives Sands had greeted in the early hours.

  He could see the big picture.

  Nathan Stone’s GPS tracking device was highlighted on the big screens four miles behind Crichton. He was doing a steady sixty. Perfect.

  Sands felt a mixture of excitement and trepidation, knowing what lay ahead. The assassination of Crichton and Friel by Nathan Stone. But also the extra dimension. The neutralization by the operatives of the man once known as Nathan Stone.

  The final part of the jigsaw would be making sure the two operatives made a clean getaway.

  Sands’s cell phone rang, snapping him out of his train of thought. He picked up the phone. The caller ID showed it was from one of Clayton Wilson’s encrypted cell phones. He was up early.

  “Morning, sir.”

  “OK, so, are we finally under way?”

  “That’s affirmative, sir. The targets are en route to a location believed to be in the far northwest of Scotland. Perfect from our point of view. We knew about his plans to take a hiking trip to this specific location on this day. But we didn’t expect the company of Ms. Friel. Still, it’s all under control. Playing out nicely.”

  “Our operative nearby?”

  “Four miles back, well out of sight.”

  “And our shadows?”

  Sands cleared his throat as he looked at the tracking map. He could see they had taken the minor road to the predetermined location, a disused cottage three miles from the base of the mountains. “The shadows are headed along a parallel B road, a more scenic route, as we speak.”

  “I like it. Rule number one: cover all bases as near as can be.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Jack, I just got off the phone with our IT guy for the operation.”

  Sands nodded. He’d known Colonel Jenkins for years.

  “As you know, he’s monitoring not only all the electronic chatter from our facility but that within it.”

  Sands sighed, annoyed by the intrusion. “Yes, sir, I’m well aware of that.”

  “Not so fast. I’m being told a message was sent from an iPhone owned by consultant psychologist Mark Berenger, MD.”

  Sands wondered what Wilson was getting at. “That’s impossible.”

  “Sadly not.”

  “Mark is one of us.”

  “I know he is.”

  “Are you saying . . . ?”

  “I suggest we check all our footage over the last week.”

  “Shit.”

  “Get your head of security to check it out.”

  “This is not what I need right now.”

  “I want it looked into. This is a security breach.”

  “Mark has the highest clearance of any medical professional within the government. The very highest. And that includes National Security Council advisory roles.”

  “Jack, Mark has a cell phone. A specially modified cell phone that can only send or receive messages. No cellular calls are allowed in the facility, right? Those are the rules.”

  “That is correct.”

  “Check the footage. And get back to me.”

  Sands was worried as he headed to the security office. He scanned the banks of monitors and informed the director of security, Adrian Carson, of what he’d been told.

  “Gimme half an hour,” he said, “and I’ll get back to you.”

  Sands went back to the command post, tracking the operation as Carson scoured the footage. He knew Berenger was a first-class doctor and a committed CIA operative. But he knew what he needed to do. The time dragged as Sands mulled the potential security breach. It didn’t resonate with what he knew of Berenger. Just over half an hour later, Carson called Sands into his office.

  “Jack, I’ve spliced two forty-five-second segments together,” he said. “Check this out. This is real interesting.”

  Sands stared at the screen as the first segment unfolded. It showed Nathan Stone leaning over to crush out his cigarette in an ashtray and knocking over a mug of coffee all over the papers strewn across Berenger’s desk.

  “Watch Stone.”

  Sands watched as Stone apologized profusely and lifted up papers dripping with coffee, trying to get the excess moisture off the documents. At the same time Berenger dashed out of the room for a couple of seconds. Then Stone, seeing he was alone, crouched down behind the desk.

  Carson froze the clip. It showed Stone behind the desk. “What exactly he’s doing is out of the camera’s view, no matter which angle we pull up.”

  “Cute move,” Sands said.

  “But we don’t have any more than that. He’s out of the camera’s view. But I’ll let it play on.”

  Sands stared at the screen. He watched as Berenger returned with loads of paper towels and they both mopped up the mess. “At this stage, I don’t see any evidence that Nathan has the phone.”

  Carson nodded as the first clip finished and the second one started. “This is eight minutes later. Stone gets up and heads to the adjacent bathroom. The message is sent two minutes later, presumably from the bathroom. Then he returns to the room and the discussions continue for another couple of minutes.” Eventually, Berenger leaves the room for the bathroom. “Now.”

  Sands looked closely. He saw Stone get up and stretch his arms before he paced the room. He stood behind Berenger’s desk and bent down as if to
tie his shoe. He placed the phone in a bottom drawer, then sat back down in his seat before Berenger returned.

  Sands shook his head. “How the hell did we miss this?”

  “Frankly, unless you have someone watching every second of every session, it’s going to be missed.”

  “Fuck.”

  Carson stared at Sands dead-eyed. “Very clever.”

  Sands nodded, left the room, and called Wilson with the news. “Conclusively,” he said, “Nathan Stone created that opportunity, got the phone, went to the bathroom, and then replaced it when Berenger left the room for a minute.”

  Wilson sighed. “That’s settled. Stone has to be neutralized after he carries out the mission. No matter what.”

  Sands closed his eyes for a moment. He felt a chasm begin to open up deep down in his guts. An unbearable darkness washed over him. Down into his soul. Burning him. He flashed back to the grainy photos of the boy on the streets of the Lower East Side. The emptiness in his eyes. The suffering he had endured. He had thought of himself all these years as Stone’s wingman. The father figure he never had. A man to look up to. Sands could have stood up to Wilson. He could’ve fought for Nathan to live. But he hadn’t. He had said nothing. Now he was powerless to stop Nathan from being deleted even if he wanted to.

  Thirty-Seven

  Nathan Stone was closing in. He felt exhilarated as he moved to within three miles of the senator’s car as he headed northwest. The scenery was getting wilder, the peaks higher, snow topping the highest ones. He glanced at the GPS, which showed Crichton’s vehicle had stopped off at another café en route. He slowed down and pulled over at an adjacent truck stop until the senator’s car moved again.

  He drove on. Mile after mile of deep glens, meandering trickles of water from high up in the hills and mountains, past deep lakes, woodland . . . and all the time the huge, huge sky. The glare of the light this far north, after having been confined to artificial light for so long, was something he was still adjusting to.

  A deer ran across the road and he braked hard, screeching to a halt. “Goddamn fucking animal!”

  Stone took a few moments to compose himself as he watched the deer disappear into the glade. He drove on and noticed the senator’s car was putting some distance between them. He was five miles behind. His Bluetooth headset buzzed into life.