“Dan Morgan.”
“That means nothing to me.”
“Jim asked for my help.”
“Funny way to make an introduction,” she said, but he could see she was stalling.
Morgan frowned. “You don’t know.”
“Know what?”
“He was taken into police custody last night.”
“No shit.” She seemed, somehow, not surprised.
“Did you know he was in trouble?”
Instead of answering, she said, “Why you? Why me?”
“He sent me. He told me that Margolis is setting him up, and planning to have you take the fall with him. If we don’t stop him.”
“What do you mean ‘we’?”
“Okay,” he said. “If you won’t help, I’ll do it anyway.” He pinioned her with a stare. “But that’s not the way Jim wanted it.”
“Excuse me if I don’t believe you. Who really sent you?”
Morgan finally got it. He finally understood why Schmitt was being so furtive. “You weren’t really worried about burglars in the park, were you?” he asked. “Who’s after you?”
“You don’t get to ask,” she maintained, the gun rising to his heart level.
“Hey,” he complained, “I approached you unarmed.”
“Maybe you wanted information,” she said.
“I definitely want information. General Collins told me you had enough of it to clear him.”
Her eyes began to waver. He saw she was waging some sort of internal battle. The stress on her, maybe since just hearing of Collins’s arrest, must have been enormous and was building.
“I don’t know you from Adam,” she finally said. “My trust is not so easily earned, not even by mentioning the general.”
“He told me to ask you about Virginia.”
Her countenance changed. Surprise. Anger. “What did you say?”
“You heard me,” Morgan said. He had succeeded in bringing her up short, which was a good thing when someone was threatening you with a gun. It was a step up from her wanting to kill him.
“What else did he say?”
“Exact words: ‘If she doesn’t believe you, ask her about Virginia. Tell her I told you to say that.’ That’s it. He said you’d know what it meant. He suggested you’d trust me if I said it.”
She holstered her gun.
“He was wrong. Today, that buys your life. Don’t try a second time. And if you follow me now, I will shoot you down.”
He watched as she jogged away, disappearing around a bend in the path.
Chapter Fourteen
“He’s gone dark.”
Lincoln Shepard was working two of his laptops, side by side, his gray eyes flicking from comm apps to trackers as his fingers flew like a mad pianist’s. The War Room tabletop was greasy with half-eaten pizzas and sloshed-over Styrofoam cups, and the fake blue sky above streamed shafts of sunlight onto the gleaming wood through wisps of phony clouds.
“What do you mean ‘dark’?” Paul Kirby was incredulous, his flabby lips turned down more than usual.
“I mean like in nighttime, black, silent, impenetrable,” Shepard said as his fingertips stabbed at the keys. “You know, like you can’t see shit.”
Diana Bloch paced behind her command chair. She was wearing a gray pantsuit, pink blouse, and a string of modest pearls. She rarely paced over anything or anyone, but they’d been trying to raise Morgan since the start of business, which at Zeta headquarters meant 0700, sharp. She slapped a manicured hand on the leather.
“I told him to stand down. You all heard it.”
“Yes, we heard it, Diana.” Kirby dropped his heavy glasses on the table, where they bounced once and clattered. “And we recorded the debriefing.” He rubbed his wispy eyebrows. “Mr. Smith may not be pleased,” he concluded.
Bloch stopped pacing, looking at her subordinate as if he had invoked Bigfoot or the Yeti. “Excuse me?”
Kirby glanced at her sideways. “He already knows. I had to tell him. You know I did.” When Bloch said nothing, simply stared at him as if trying to see where his brain stem met his spine, Kirby continued, seemingly trying not to babble. “Standard operating procedure, Diana. You made those regulations yourself. If an agent fails to respond for more than two hours, he’s either dead or something else.”
“Something else such as what?” Her voice sounded like a scalpel cutting flesh.
“Gone rogue.” Kirby leaned back and puffed up his chest.
“Nonsense.” She flicked her wrist and a bracelet jangled.
“Really? We’ve been trying to raise him since breakfast.”
Bloch looked at him, rolled her chair aside, pressed her hips to the table edge, and leaned on her palms. “Yes, AZ43-I, I made the regulations concerning agents missing for more than a hundred twenty minutes. But I know of no standard operating procedure where the chain of command is superseded to report concerns to the head of recruitment...”
Kirby knew he was in trouble. Bloch only used official internal designations when she was one step from decapitation. “You know he’s more than...”
“The...head...of...recruitment,” Bloch repeated in a tone so far beyond stern that even Kirby snapped his jaw shut.
Bloch’s eyes blazed, but then she turned sharply away and started barking orders. Within minutes, the faces remaining from Lukacs’s extraction team were looking down from the wide, curving screen that encircled half the table. It was Conley, Bishop, Spartan, and Diesel—each in a different location—reporting in as ordered. Both Dan and Alex Morgan were notable by their absence.
“Good afternoon, people.” Bloch sat down in her chair. “Cobra has been AWOL for half a day.”
“We’re working on that,” Kirby interjected. “I’m thinking that perhaps he’s...”
Bloch cut him off like a hangnail. “The situation requires actualities, not suppositions,” she snapped before twisting her head toward Shepard. “Well?”
Shepard’s cheeks flushed crimson. “Um, I’ve tried everything I could. Apparently he’s done something with his earpiece and stripped the battery out of his cell.”
“What about his car?” Kirby prodded Shepard.
“That’s why he drives that old muscle car,” Shepard said. “Anything with a computer chip I can crack, but that thing’s about as trackable as a bicycle.”
Bloch leaned forward. She already knew about the untraceability of the muscle car. “People, this behavior is clearly indicative of something other than Cobra wishing for a bit of respite while he engages in a morning tryst. If you recall, we are in the midst of a critical operation. The bodies of US servicemen and women are arriving at Dover this very afternoon, and I believe we still have an issue of missing ordnance of the most troubling type. Now, none of us apparently knows what Cobra is up to. However, should he interfere with the other strains of your operational activities, there will be hell to pay. Do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal clear, ma’am,” Conley answered for the team.
“Good. Now, I, with significant urging”—she nodded at Kirby—“am placing Zeta on full alert.” She swung her steely gaze on the team. “Gentlemen, madam?”
“Yes?” Spartan replied to the latter designation.
“Reel in our snake,” Bloch ordered. “At your earliest convenience.” Her meaning was not lost on any of them. Their only assignment for the foreseeable future was to find, and bring in, Dan Morgan, with all the help of Zeta’s considerable reach.
With a flick of a switchblade-like fingernail, Bloch punched the button that rendered the screen blank. Shepard exhaled a slow hiss of relief from his lungs. Bloch noted that Kirby was barely concealing a satisfied smirk, yet she controlled her steam.
“Paul, make the rounds to all the departments, brief them, and get them up on Alert Status Alpha.”
<
br /> Kirby frowned. “I can do that from my office on intercom.”
“Do it on foot, as of now.”
He pushed himself up from his chair, made a show of finishing up a cup of cold coffee, and went out. Bloch turned to Shepard.
“Where’s Alex?”
He leaned into a laptop and punched up the operative schedules. “Day off.”
“Cancel it and bring her in.”
“Will do.”
Bloch picked up her leather briefcase and her cell phone and made for the door. Then she turned. “And Shepard, the utility and storage closets are meant for just that. If you and Ms. O’Neal desperately need some private time, ask me, and I’ll send you to lunch. Whether you eat or not is up to you.”
She walked out as Shepard’s blush returned full force. He’d forgotten somehow that the whole place was wired and that Bloch could listen into to any Zeta conversation, or whatever else, anywhere, anytime. But what made him shake his head and feel really idiotic was that he’d designed that whole bug job himself.
Mentally kicking himself, Shepard set about finding, and calling in, Alex. But as he did it, he couldn’t help wondering what was that all about. If he didn’t know better, he’d guess that there was some sort of trouble in paradise.
Although the computer whiz was used to Dan Morgan ignoring protocol to do what he thought best, he had never witnessed such a near confrontation like that in the War Room before. Even so, experience told him it was best not to get involved. Biting his lip, he looked at the door Bloch had just left from.
“Weasel bites you; then you bite me. Just like corporate.”
* * * *
Diana walked into her office, tossed her briefcase on the desk, took off her suit jacket, and slumped in her chair. She rolled her pearls in her fingers and thought about Dan Morgan. He’d gone rogue all right, disobeying orders and trying to clear General Collins despite his instructions to stand down.
Morgan was a top-notch operative, but he was also like some rebellious elementary schoolkid she always had to keep her eye on. Tell him not to play with matches, then leave him alone, and the next thing you know the house is on fire.
She sat back, and slowly, a smile grew on her lips.
Perfect.
Chapter Fifteen
Jenny Morgan drove her crimson Toyota Camry in a fit of frustration, running a few stop signs as she gunned it through Andover.
She didn’t exactly know where she was going, but she had to get out of the damn house and go somewhere. Dan was gone again, leaving her for probably the five hundredth time, tight-lipped and secretive and sharing nothing. It was always like that and had been forever. She was the stay-at-home mom waiting and worrying, and then he’d show up and charm her and ravage her, and she’d forget all about how painful it was until that damn cell of his buzzed and he’d do it all over again.
Honk!
She slammed on the brakes at the middle school intersection. A blue pickup full of rakes and leaf blowers crossed right to left, the baseball-capped driver shaking his fist out the window. She stuck out her tongue and shot him the bird, something she never, ever, did on the streets—too many road-rage crazies out there. He laughed and shot her the finger right back. It felt good, but she rolled forward again, more carefully.
And now it was all so much worse, she reminded herself. Alex, who’d grown up despising her father’s secrecy and emotional distance, had gone right ahead and joined him in his “national security” misadventures. That was the last thing on earth she’d seen coming, and now all her fears about someday losing Dan were doubled.
Oh God, she fumed inwardly as the tears glistened at the corners of her eyes. I could wind up at both of their graves, side-by-side, while some government asshole gives me two folded flags instead of just one!
She tried to focus on driving again and coasted up carefully to a stop light. The Camry went quiet and just idled with barely a whine. She fumed some more. Dan roared around in his hotshot Shelby, Alex rode her stupid motorcycle like some Mad Max movie stunt girl, and she was stuck with the prissy hybrid. Typical.
She took a right and drove south on Main Street, past the majestic old Memorial Library and the rows of quaint and cozy stores—thinking about how all her fellow New Englanders bustled happily along without a clue or a care about what was really going on in the world. She made a quick, illegal U-turn in front of the post office, parked in front of Kabloom, got out, and slammed the door.
She looked down and frowned as she realized she was dressed to please Dan: pointy pumps, tight jeans, that cowboy belt he’d bought her somewhere, and a frothy cream sweater. She knew she looked good and still turned heads for a woman her age, but she wished she’d dressed in an ugly frock.
As she headed into Starbucks, a good-looking young blond man coming the other way smiled at her.
“Miss, could you tell me what time it is?”
“Yeah,” Jenny snapped. “Time for you to get a watch.”
He jerked his head back and gave her a wide berth.
The place was packed as usual, with college kids and young execs hunched over the tables and pecking away at their laptops. She should have gone over to Dunkin’ Donuts; nobody was ever in there. The girl behind the counter smiled when she ordered an Americano and asked, “Grande?”
“Just small, thank you,” Jenny mumbled and paid.
She found a seat at a table the size of a bathroom scale, sipped the bitter brew, and stared out the front window. I’m changing this arrangement. I’m not going to be the third wheel in my own darned house!
“You mind, hon?”
Jenny looked up. A woman was standing in front of her, one hand on the facing free chair. She looked sort of like that country-western singer, Reba what’s-her-name, with glossy red hair and smiling green eyes. And she had that accent.
“Sure,” Jenny said, although the last thing she needed was company. The woman smiled and sat. She was wearing an open-necked green blouse and a dungaree jacket with some shiny studs. She took a sip of her latte.
“Thanks. Sorta crazy ’round here today.”
“Always is,” Jenny said, “which I never understand because the coffee’s so bad.”
“I know!” The woman chuckled. “Not my cup of tea either, so to speak.”
Jenny smiled. “You’re not from around here.”
“Atlanta. Came up to visit my sister. My husband’s gone half the time so I gotta keep myself busy.”
“Oh?” Jenny sat back in her chair. Her shoulders were tight, and she rubbed the back of her neck.
“Yep. Army man.” The woman rolled her eyes. “Shoulda known better.”
“Boy, do I get that.” Jenny sighed. “Mine’s a government guy.”
The woman put her elbows on the table and leaned in. “Are we gals stupid, or what?’
Jenny laughed. “I guess you don’t see it coming when you’re young.”
“Don’t see it comin’, and it hits you like an eighteen-wheeler, right? Everything’s a gosh-darn crisis. Everything’s a big top secret. And if you ever put up a fuss and want some attention, you’re a regular communist traitor or something!”
Jenny slapped the table with her fingers. “That’s exactly how I feel, all the time.”
“I know it, Hon.” The woman opened a purse, took out a lipstick and touched up using the screen of her cell phone. “We girls oughta start some government widows’ revenge club. Next time Jim’s comin’ back from wherever, I’m gonna leave him a blowup doll in our bed, a wilted rose, and a ‘see y’all’ note.”
Jenny laughed again. Just by chance, this encounter was exactly what she’d needed today.
The woman looked around, leaned in again, and whispered.
“Know what I finally did?”
Jenny leaned in too.
“No. What?”
&n
bsp; “I snooped.” The woman nodded. “That’s right. I figured his business is my business. Not playin’ that game anymore. Now, whenever he goes, I know where to find his orders, where he’s goin’, what he’s doin’. First time I did that he Skyped me and I said to him, ‘James, you sure as heck better be in Kabul!’ Thought he was gonna have a bird, but he knows not to mess with me now.”
“Wow,” Jenny said. “You’re something else.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Jenny.”
“Melissa.” They shook.
“So, how’d you do it, Melissa?”
“Oh, come on, girl!” Melissa flicked her fingers in the air. “They’re men! They can’t find the milk in the fridge when it’s starin’ them right in the face. Think they can actually hide something?”
Jenny sighed. “My husband doesn’t tell me a thing.”
“That’s a dang male power trip, hon. Gotta take back the power. Girl power!” She looked at her watch and downed the rest of her coffee. “I better scoot. Sis is picking me up, and we’re gonna spend some of Jim’s money.” She reached out and squeezed Jenny’s wrist. “Now you show Mr. Secrets who’s boss.”
Jenny grinned. “I think I will, Melissa. And thanks.”
“You betcha.” Melissa got up, turned to go, then stopped beside her chair, and twisted around. She was wearing tight jeans like Jenny’s, and she pointed one pink fingernail at her cheek.
“See this?” she said. “This is the power!” and she grinned and was gone.
Jenny sat there for a while, stunned by this strange woman’s wisdom that seemed to have dropped out of heaven. But she was totally right. Why should she let Dan play his silly secret games while he kept her in the dark all the time and let her worry herself gray? She remembered some old army phrase he loved using whenever he felt like his superiors were screwing with him. “Yeah, treat me like a friggin’ mushroom. Keep me in the dark and feed me bullshit.” Well, she was no longer going to be his mushroom. If he wanted her to be his partner at home and in bed, then he’d have to accept her as his partner everywhere.
She got up, tossed the empty cup in the wastebasket, went to her car, and burned rubber, heading for home.
Rogue Commander Page 8
