*****
Frankie had lucked out and found a barrel with a lid next to a garage not far from his lake house. The only thing in the barrel was some scrap two by fours that Frankie threw on the ground. The lid rested against the garage wall and still had its steel locking band. It was perfect.
Frankie rolled the barrel to a rest at his opened trunk and tipped it in. There was just enough room for the lid to fit, too. Now his knees were starting to hurt. It had been a pretty busy night. It reminded him of his younger years. Except for his knees, he was actually enjoying himself.
He pulled into his driveway and stared. Where the hell was the body? Butch’s car was still parked on the shoulder at the street. Frankie walked all around his house and all through the inside. No Butch. He rolled the burn barrel next to the hole Lenny had dug and glanced down into the hole. He didn’t remember putting Butch in there, but lately there were a lot of things he didn’t remember. Butch was not in the hole.
Frankie sat the barrel and lid next to his driveway, slammed the trunk lid, and backed out of the driveway to head back to Chicago. For a brief moment he questioned if the shooting had really happened. There had to be an explanation. Had another of Dominick’s men been there too and removed Butch’s body? That must be it. Dead men don’t walk away. There were two of them and one had hidden. Why didn’t they take the car? No matter, at least he didn’t have to get rid of the body and tomorrow there would be no Dominick. If the car was still there later, Frankie would have it towed away. End of problem.
Frankie put his special night vision glasses on and checked his reflection in the rearview mirror. Maybe he would start getting out at night more often.
Chapter Twelve
Tuesday, 1:00 a.m., CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia
The Executive Director of the CIA had decided to stay close to the control room in case there was a break in the DIANA investigation. He had less than a two hour nap on his office sofa when he received the alert that a commercial airliner had been shot down over the Ukraine. He knew from experience that either some group would make a statement claiming responsibility or someone on the jet’s manifest had been targeted. With Directorate Benson Anders in the hospital, he felt as if someone had cut off his right arm. Thank God it hadn’t been something more serious wrong with him.
The Director stepped into his office bathroom to freshen up and thought about the innocent passengers on that jet. A second alert buzzed his office intercom. A bombing at the train center in Geneva had just occurred. His first thought was that there was a United Nations Building a few blocks from the train center. He already had people in Geneva looking for Kyser’s team of scientists and the underground lab. A second, more likely thought, crossed his mind; was this bombing a diversion to their DIANA investigation?
He splashed water on his face as he recalled the Senate committee chewing he had taken last week for CIA failures to deliver timely intelligence to the President. The following day he faced a different Senate committee that questioned the CIA’s need for the newest of their surveillance programs. There was no way he was going to sit through another Senate committee and explain that the DIANA security breach, the jet shot down over the Ukraine, and now the Geneva train station bombing were all surprises to the CIA.
He was already feeling pressure from the White House regarding the sequestered jet they had reported missing. News media were relentlessly demanding more information. The costs of the fake search were mounting. Those passengers were being kept sedated until a decision could be made. A U.S. military hospital in Pakistan had received the passengers upon landing. The aircraft was hidden. The medical staff reported that there was only a 48 hour window remaining if the passengers’ health was to be a consideration.
With Dr. Kyser’s death from the Serum 7 and his new Russian citizenship, the politically favored decision was to declare that the jet crashed with no survivors. His gut wrenched knowing that the fate of those people depended on what his team could accomplish in the next 48 hours. The last thing he needed was two more priority alerts.
The Director took the elevator down one floor and walked through the amphitheater door, down the long staircase to the floor of the control center, and studied the collage of monitors that lined the 18 feet tall walls.
The technology used in this room surpassed anything else in the world. It didn’t matter that it was 1:00 a.m., every workstation was bustling with staff. The Control Manager stood staring at the wall of monitors and talking into his headset. The Director took his seat in the viewing section and pushed the button that signaled his presence.
The Control Manager turned and joined him, and pointed to the wall. “Top right monitor is the jet crash in the Ukraine. That fireball is the jet. International ground personnel are not being allowed access. This particular area is currently a war zone and off limits. President Putin released a press statement five minutes ago stating that he believes the United States staged this attack to weaken Russia’s NATO position.”
The Director sighed. “What intel have we gotten from our satellite on this?”
The Control Manager pointed to the monitor just under the fire ball. “Our weapon sensors identified the missile used and the launch source based on the heat trail and direct satellite visual. It’s Russian. Our NSA communication history is being searched now for any communications prior to the attack from this location.” He pulled up a second monitor focused on an aerial view of a small farm on the eastern border of Ukraine and Russia. “That’s our suspect barn.”
“What do we know about the bombing in Geneva?”
“Nothing, sir.” He pointed to the far left. “The top monitor is a real time street scene. Our people have just arrived at the scene and should be reporting shortly.”
The Director noticed a monitor tracking satellite locations on the far left wall. “What’s that?”
The Control Manager answered, “Those four satellites broke their orbit and began aligning to each other earlier today. We haven’t been able to penetrate their communication band. There appears to be an electromagnetic shield forming around them based on the test beams sent from our satellite. We believe they piggybacked our codes to avoid detection until they were ready to initiate whatever maneuvers they are performing. We have verified that they each have weapons capability, but we cannot verify any weapons. We do know that they are not strictly communication. Based on our analysis of their structure, they appear capable of housing electromagnetic boosters. Directorate Anders ordered a full algorithm canary to be initiated for both the Lead and Malaysia DIANA codes. He believes this satellite activity is tied to DIANA and the security breach.”
“What is an algorithm canary?”
The Control Manager answered, “Not unlike when miners would send a canary into a mine first to test the quality of the air. An algorithm canary will go into code and look for anomalies. The canaries died. Directorate Anders predicted we would find the problem in the Malaysian DIANA code. He was right. Our code techs are working on this now and have confirmed that one set of code anomalies were purposed for initiating a preprogrammed instruction set to those four satellites. Our people are working on breaking that code. These satellites are now communicating with each other. Monitor 114 shows us their communication history.”
The Director watched as the Control Manager enlarged Monitor 114 to cover half of the wall. A line graph went from a long flat line straight up and to the top of the chart, where it was holding.
The Director asked, “What does this tell us?”
“Not enough. We know the satellites went from zero activity to intense communication with each other. We are assuming they are performing the preauthorized code orders received when they were initialized.”
“Can we break their communication shields?”
“Possibly, once we identify their source.”
“Can’t we lock on them and follow the communication back to the source?”
“That has been done, sir. We have l
ocked a tracker band on their coordinates and are waiting.”
“Waiting for what?”
“Their next communication from Earth.”
The Director signaled he was receiving a message in his earpiece. After a moment he looked at the Control Manager and said, “Directorate Anders will be here tomorrow morning about 8:00 a.m., Dr. Elliott Nobel of the Lead DIANA project will arrive at approximately the same time.”
The Control Manager was noticeably surprised. “Wasn’t Dr. Elliott a passenger on the sequestered jet, sir?”
The Director glanced back at the wall of monitors without answering. “Keep me posted.”
He left the amphitheater and took the elevator to his office. He decided to send a generic ‘we’re working on it’ report to the President’s office. He sat heavily in his office chair and exhaled. He was counting on Benson’s intuition. He realized that he trusted Benson’s gut more than all of the technology available to him.
*****
Nick listened to Joe Small snoring in the recliner and motioned for Dalton to follow him outside. Nick and Dalton stood far enough away in the lawn not to be heard and yet close enough to watch the door for Joe.
Nick asked Dalton, “I saw you messing with Joe’s phone. What have your guys found out?”
Dalton answered, “J.T. and Global Security work off the radar. They are using a unique communications satellite. So far, our guys have not been able to penetrate it. That number Joe gave you for his boss might be our only key to getting in. I sent it to Directorate Ander’s office. We’re working on it.”
Nick glanced around and said, “J.T. should be in Chicago by now. Do you have people at the airports?”
“I do.”
Nick waited a moment. “Well? Did they spot him?”
“It seems he spotted them first.”
“So, we’ve got nothing.”
“Well, not nothing. His rental has GPS and we’re tracking him, he’s heading this way. We don’t have anything on him yet, remember?” Dalton checked his phone again for messages and said, “Both of us can’t be tied up babysitting much longer. At some point you’re going to have to trust me with Chris.”
“Do you know where Elliott is?”
Dalton looked offended. “I know what you know. His friggin’ jet is missing.”
Nick glanced down the street once again. “Elliott is worried about the CIA and warned Chris. Global Security was hired to get Chris and his team out of circulation for a few days, not to kill them, just to keep them out of the way. Something is going down. Do you know what Chris and his team are working on?”
Dalton shrugged. “They do climate engineering research.”
“Why do you think the CIA treats it so special? Haven’t you ever wondered?”
Dalton shook his head. “No, I don’t waste time wondering. They wouldn’t tell me the truth if I asked.”
Nick smiled, “There you go. You don’t trust them either. As long as Elliott is missing and Chris is in danger, I can’t afford to trust the CIA. And you, my friend, are CIA.”
Joe Small opened the front door, his pistol drawn. “What the hell is going on? Why are you both out here? J.T. just called and wants to meet me at the corner in ten minutes.” He walked over to stand within three feet of them.
Nick said, “You were sleeping and we wanted to talk. Relax, Joe. I was just coming back in. Dalton’s going home.”
Dalton smiled at Nick. “Yeah, I was just heading home.”
Dalton looked at Joe. “I don’t need to meet this guy. My wife’s going to give me hell already.” Dalton turned to walk away and yelled behind him, “See you tomorrow.”
Joe looked at Nick. “You aren’t worried about him leaving?”
Nick smiled, “You and I are doing fine. Besides, you’re going to have enough trouble explaining me to J.T., aren’t you?”
Joe and Nick watched Dalton’s car pull from the curb and drive down the dark, tree lined street. Dalton’s lights disappeared in the darkness and Joe turned to walk toward the corner. “You stay here and watch Dr. Larson.”
Joe was halfway down the block and Nick received a call from Dalton.
Dalton whispered, “Get Chris out of here. J.T. brought back up. I’ll hold them off as long as I can.”
Nick started running toward the corner; Joe heard him coming up behind him and turned. Nick grabbed Joe’s pistol and slammed it against his temple. Joe fell and Nick kept running. Nick got within a hundred yards and saw Dalton’s car parked at the curb in the center of the opposite block. The car was empty; Dalton was on foot.
Nick pushed speed dial for Dalton.
Dalton whispered, “What?”
“Where are you? I’m walking towards their cars now. I’m hoping they’ll think I’m Joe.”
“You fool! There are five of them in two cars. I’m working my way south on the west side of the street.”
“Got it. Don’t shoot me.”
Nick increased his walking speed and walked straight for the black sedan that had rental plates. He got within six feet of the car when two men exited with pistols pointed at him. Nick put his hands up. The driver’s door opened and a tall man with a muscular build walked slowly around the front of the car and stopped directly in front of Nick.
J.T. held up his cell phone and showed Nick a picture of Joe. “You’re not Joe. Who are you?”
“Nick Stryker. Joe’s back at the house watching our friend.”
J.T. nodded his head slowly. “Nick Stryker. I’ve heard that name. Tell me about yourself.”
Nick glanced at the two men holding guns on him. They had both moved to within five feet of where he and J.T. stood.
Nick said, “I’d prefer a private conversation.”
J.T. said, “I feel better having them around.”
Nick spun to his left and quickly disarmed the man closest to him, struck him with the butt of the pistol, and kicked him into the second man. The second man regained his balance quickly and twisted to lunge at Nick. Nick landed a palm chop on the second man’s throat, disarmed him and brought a powerful elbow jab to the first man’s nose. Both men fell to the street and attempted to stand. Nick took turns giving each of them a solid kick to the head. They were out cold. The entire exchange happened in seconds. Nick stuck one of pistols in his waist band and kicked the other gun further out into the street. He turned to face J.T., who was leaning against the car frowning.
Nick said, “I feel better having them gone.”
Suddenly the headlights of the second car came on and J.T. raised his palm. “We’re still not alone, Mr. Stryker. Now, maybe you’ll tell me about yourself.”
“I’m a cop.”
J.T. tried to remain expressionless, but Nick noticed a slight tick to his left eye and J.T.’s chin momentarily jutted forward.
Nick continued, “I suppose, technically, I’m an ex-cop after today. Mason hired me to help your boy Joe, kidnap Dr. Larson.” Nick smiled, “I assume that makes you my new boss?”
J.T. was in a bad spot. If he admitted his role in the kidnapping to a cop, his career could end very quickly. If he didn’t confirm that Dr. Chris Larson was properly detained, he would lose everything he had worked for and Mason would try to have him killed. He needed to buy some time.
J.T. turned and waved the second car to drive on. He turned to Nick and said, “I believe a mistake has been made, Mr. Stryker. I don’t know anything about a kidnapping. I was merely hoping to touch base with an old friend.”
Nick pointed to the men lying in the street. “Quite a reunion you had planned.” Nick saw Dalton quickly making his way toward them behind J.T.’s back.
Nick said, “Why don’t we talk about this back at the house?”
J.T. started stepping backwards around the car toward the driver’s door. Dalton moved in quickly and placed his pistol against J.T.’s neck. “You don’t want to be rude, do you? The man invited you to his house.”
J.T. was fairly confident he could take on both Stryk
er and the other man, but he decided to cooperate at least until he learned how much Stryker really knew.
Nick looked at Dalton. “You got a cleanup crew nearby? Joe’s down the block and we’ve got these two.”
Dalton pushed a button on his phone, never removing the gun from J.T.’s neck. “Move in.”
Three SUV’s squealed around the corner and slammed to a stop at J.T.’s car. The two men in the street were cuffed and moved into one of the vehicles and two men ran down the street to retrieve Joe.
J.T. twisted his head ever so slightly and asked Dalton. “Who are you?”
“CIA. Now let’s go have that chat.”
Chapter Thirteen
Travis lowered the truck window to remove the stink of Lenny’s mint spray and beer. This whole day had been an extempore trip to hell. Travis glanced at the corner of the blue tarp dancing in the back of the truck and prayed it didn’t blow off. All he could think of was getting back into the protective custody of the FBI. If he could press them to hurry his new identity papers, he could leave the country and this nightmare would end.
Lenny opened his eyes and spoke. “Hey, I’ve been thinkin’.”
Travis caught a whiff of Lenny’s bad breath and tossed the mint spray to him. “You’ve been sleeping, not thinking.”
Lenny tapped his temple with his index finger. “More thinkin’ going on up here than most people realize.” Lenny squirted the spray into his mouth and sat up straighter. “We gotta do something with this body while it’s still dark outside. There ain’t gonna be anywhere to pull over once we get back on 94.”
Travis moaned when he realized they had been on I-94 for some time and they were nearly to Chicago. “It’s a little late to think of that now. We’re almost to Gary.” Travis glared at Lenny, “Don’t even suggest we dump this guy in Gary. Hell, this time of night we’d get shot ourselves before we got back on the highway.”
Lenny put his palms up. “I’m not wantin’ to stop in Gary! That’s suicide. Should we turn around and look for an old farm?”
Zero Margin: Nick Stryker, Book Three The Shallow End Gals (Nick Stryker Series 3) Page 11
