Intruders (A Jordan Quest FBI Thriller Book 1)

by Gary Winston Brown

  “Nice touch,” Jordan said.

  “It would have been,” Chris Hanover said, “except the card and the wine wasn’t left by the Director. Someone else did that. We printed the bottle. It came back clean, but the contents didn’t.”

  “What did you find?”

  “Trace amounts of Rohipnol.”

  “The date rape drug.”

  The agent nodded.

  “Any signs of a struggle?

  Hanover shook his head. “No forced entry to the building or the apartment. We’re going over their phone records, talking to friends, acquaintances... trying to connect the dots.”

  “Does the Director know of anyone who would want to harm his family?”

  “No.”

  “What about Zoe or Shannon? Could one of them been targeted?”

  “We’re looking into that. Director Dunn adopted Zoe. Mitch Dawson, her adoptive father, was his best friend. He retired from the Bureau eight years ago, died six months thereafter. Cancer.”

  “What did Agent Dawson do when he was with the FBI?”

  “Executive Assistant Director, National Security Branch, Counterterrorism Division.”

  Jordan stared at the pictures. “Both fathers are high profile. Do you think Shannon and Zoe’s disappearance might be related to a case?”

  “We’re not ruling anything out at this stage. Director Dunn is working with the investigative lead on the case. He also happens to be someone close to you. Special Agent Grant Carnevale, your godfather.”

  Jordan smiled. “My father has known Agent Carnevale for decades. They’re best friends. He should have been my dad’s business partner, you know.”

  Hanover nodded. “Grant never stops talking about it. More accurately, he never lets us forget it.”

  Jordan laughed. “I’m not surprised. My dad’s been trying to recruit him away from the Bureau for the last twenty years.”

  “It’s my understanding they studied together at MIT,” the agent said.

  Jordan nodded. “That’s right. The theories on computerized machine intelligence my father developed there became the foundation for his company, Farrow Industries.”

  Agent Hanover smiled. “Grant calls being recruited by the Bureau right out of MIT and not going into business with your dad his ‘billion-dollar mistake.’”

  “Yes,” Jordan said, “My father has done very well for himself. There aren’t too many companies in the world today that are bigger than Farrow Industries.”

  Hanover removed a small envelope from his jacket pocket. “You should know when Special Agent Carnevale heard about Shannon and Zoe’s disappearance he reached out to the Director personally. He feels no one is better suited to assist with this investigation than you.”

  Jordan smiled. “I appreciate that. But I must admit I’m a little surprised that the Bureau would even entertain the use of a psychic in this or any case.”

  “Under normal circumstances, that would be true. But it turns out Director Dunn’s late wife, Caitlin, was a fan of yours. She’d read all your books and followed your career. She’d told the Director about your reputation for helping to solve missing persons cases and that the FBI should enlist your services to help with cold-case investigations.” Hanover handed Jordan the envelope. “Director Dunn’s wanted you to have this. He thought it might help you locate his daughters.”

  Jordan tore open the envelope. It contained two items, a gold herringbone necklace and silver charm bracelet.

  “The necklace belongs to Shannon,” Hanover said. “The bracelet is Zoe’s.”

  Jordan held the objects in her hand. The images were powerful, intense, and frightening. She hid her reaction from the agent.

  “I can speak to the Director tonight,” Jordan said. “I have another speaking engagement to attend tomorrow, in Hawaii. My parents will be vacationing there for the next few months. My husband and I are catching a lift on the company jet. We fly out tonight.” Jordan jotted down her cellphone number. “Ask Director Dunn to call me after 7:00 P.M. We should be in the air by then. I’ll have time to talk.”

  Special Agent Hanover stood. “I’ll relay the message. Thank you for your help, Ms. Quest.”

  “My pleasure.” Jordan said. She stood, shook hands with the FBI agent, and returned to the conference hall. The impromptu meeting had put her behind schedule. Her fans, books in hand, stood in line to meet her.

  Jordan sat behind the table, greeted her first fan, signed her book and smiled for a picture. But her mind was no longer on the conference.

  It was on the vision the necklace and bracelet revealed. The damp, dark place where Shannon and Zoe were being held. And the shackles that bound them.

  CHAPTER 4

  JENNIFER BLEEKER, Jordan’s publicist, leaned over her shoulder and whispered in her ear. “Limo’s arrived, Jordan. Time to wrap up.”

  Jordan smiled for a photo. Three remaining fans waited to meet her. “Give me ten minutes, Jenny,” she replied.

  “Your driver wants you to know traffic’s heavy,” Jennifer replied. “Says you’ll need at least an hour to get to the airport.”

  “Remind him it’s my father’s jet,” Jordan teased. “I’m sure they won’t take off without me.”

  “Point taken,” Jennifer conceded. “For the record, the guy is gorgeous. Looks like he stepped right off the cover of a romance novel. Do you need me to carry your bags to the car? Better yet, I could warm up the back seat for you.”

  Jordan laughed. “You’re bad.”

  Jennifer winked. “You have no idea.”

  “Thanks for offering, Jen,” Jordan said. “I think I’ve got it covered.”

  Jennifer smiled. “Trust me, it’s no trouble. I’ll be happy to take one for the team.”

  Jordan shook her head. “I’m sure you would. Tell him I’ll be along shortly.”

  The publicist sighed. “If I must.” She picked up Jordan’s overnight bag and checked her watch. “You now have exactly eight minutes.”

  “I’ll be there soon,” Jordan said. “Why don’t you go keep Rock company?”

  “Rock?” Jennifer asked. “His name is Rock?”

  Jordan smiled and rolled her eyes. “Dionne. His name is Rock Dionne. He’s French-Canadian.”

  “Mrs. Rock Dionne…” Jennifer mused. “I could get used to that.”

  “He’s married.”

  “Of course he is,” Jennifer said. “Thanks for ruining a perfectly good fantasy. You’re killing me, Jordan.”

  Jordan laughed. “Get out of here. Now I’m down to… what? Six minutes?”

  “Five and counting.”

  Jordan saw her last fan in line was getting impatient. “Go!” she said. “I’ll be right there.”

  “Okay.” Jennifer called back as she left the room. “Rock and I will be waiting.”

  Jordan laughed, then apologized to the man. “I’m very sorry to have kept you waiting.” She opened his copy of her book to the title page and uncapped her Sharpie marker. “What’s your name?”

  The man wore an open grey windbreaker, herringbone flat cap, yellow-lens sunglasses, and black leather driving gloves. He was not wearing a convention badge.

  “Marsden,” he said.

  “Nice name,” Jordan said. Something about the man seemed strange. Jordan couldn’t put her finger on it. “First or last?” she asked.

  “It was my fathers,” the man said, failing to answer her question directly. “And his fathers before that. Been that way for five generations.”

  Jordan looked up. “Amusing answer,” she replied.

  “Is it?” the man asked. He placed a hand behind his back. “I don’t know why. You asked me, so I told you.”

  Jordan had a bad feeling.

  Because of her family’s immense wealth and the potential for kidnapping or personal harm that came with it, Jordan’s father employed round-the-clock shadow security. The teams job was to keep his family safe whenever they were in public. The highly-skilled operatives were experts a
t maintaining a covert overwatch, blending into crowds and remaining inconspicuous, yet they were never far away. The members of the Farrow family - Jordan, her husband Keith, and her parents - had each been given a special word, a panic word they were to call out if they suspected they were in danger. Jordan’s word was Shortcake; the playful nickname her father had given to her when she was a child. Growing up, she had been warned of the consequences of using it, and that it was only to be used in an emergency. If she yelled the word right now members of her security team would surround her within seconds and escort her to safety. The threat would be dealt with accordingly.

  The strained conversation and odd behavior of the stranger made her uncomfortable.

  She had never used her panic word before. She found it on her lips.

  A man and woman emerged from the crowd, casualty positioning themselves on either side of the odd man.

  Marsden removed his hand from his waist and placed it in his jacket pocket.

  The man moved in behind him to his left, the woman to his right. She brushed past him and skimmed her hand across his waist. She smiled at Marsden, apologized for bumping into him, then looked at her partner.

  No weapon detected.

  Jordan realized the man and woman were members of her shadow detail. Perhaps additional operatives were circulating in the crowd or standing at the adjoining tables. Until their services were needed she would remain unaware of their presence. All that was important right now was that she was safe.

  “What police department are you with?” Jordan asked. She signed the man’s book and handed it back to him.

  Marsden tucked the book under his arm. “I’m not.”

  The operative on Marsden’s left moved closer. The woman walked to the side of the signing table, opening a direct path between herself and Jordan.

  “I knew your father, Michael Farrow. Sonofabitch took everything I had.”

  Jordan stood up. “Excuse me? Who are you? How the hell did you get in here?”

  Marsden removed a pen from his pocket, pointed it at her, then threw it on the table.

  “You’ll be hearing from me.” Marsden glanced at the operatives beside him. “Count on it.”

  The woman looked at her partner. She shook her head as if to say, ‘don’t engage.’

  “Get out!” Jordan yelled.

  Marsden touched the brim of his cap and smiled. “Good day, Ms. Quest.”

  Jennifer Bleeker returned to the conference room as Marsden was walking out. She looked at Jordan, then glanced back at the man. Something felt wrong.

  “Everything okay, Jordan?”

  “It’s nothing, Jenn. Is the car ready?”

  “Whenever you are.”

  “Good. Let’s get out of here.”

  Jordan looked at the pen laying on the table. The Farrow Industries logo was printed on the barrel.

  She threw it in her purse.

  CHAPTER 5

  JENNIFER WAVED goodbye as the limousine pulled out of the parking circle at the front entrance of the convention center.

  Rock Dionne glanced in his rearview mirror. “How did it go?” he asked.

  “Huh?” Jorden replied.

  “The conference. How was it?”

  “Oh, that,” Jordan said. “Great.”

  “Good thing you’re a psychic,” Rock joked. “You’d make a pathetic salesperson.”

  Jordan was preoccupied with Marsden’s threat. You’ll see me again. Count on it. She removed the pen from her purse.

  “Sorry, Rock.” Jordan said. “I had a rather weird encounter before I left.”

  Rock was affable, friendly. Jordan liked and trusted him. “What do you mean, weird?”

  Jordan rolled the pen between her fingers. “Rock, how long have you been part of my dad’s protection detail?” she asked.

  “Three years,” Rock replied. “Why?”

  “Do you ever recall my father mentioning a guy by the name of Marsden?”

  Dionne shook his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “Seems he had some kind of falling out with my father.”

  Dionne looked concerned. “Anything serious?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What happened back there, Jordan? This Marsden guy threaten you?”

  Jordan hesitated. “Let’s say whatever problem he has with my father was motivation enough for him to crash the conference to tell me about it.”

  “What did he say?”

  “That I'd be seeing him again.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You think he could be a problem?”

  “Maybe, maybe not.”

  Dionne sounded worried. “That’s cause enough for concern. Your father needs to know about this. So does his detail.”

  “I’m a big girl, Rock. I can take care of myself. Besides, when I was in practice I received dozens of threats. Nothing ever came from them. The guy’s harmless.”

  “In my line of work everyone is harmless until they’re not,” Dionne said. “That was different. You were a criminal prosecutor back then. This sounds personal.” He picked up his cell phone.

  “Who are you calling?”

  “Nick Parsons. Maybe he knows what this is about.”

  “Thanks, Rock,” Jordan said.

  Rock smiled. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll take care of it.” He checked his watch. “We should be at the gate in forty-five minutes. Grab some shut eye. I’ll wake you when we arrive.”

  Jordan settled into the deep leather seat and closed her eyes. “Sounds good.”

  Nick Parsons commanded Farrow Industries security team. Several years ago, at his suggestion, Michael Farrow had begun providing him with transcripts of his telephone calls and business meetings, all of which had been recorded. The transcripts were retained in order to serve as proof of any threats made against him. Farrow knew that on his way to building a computer technology empire he was bound to run into his fair share of tough competitors, and probably make a few enemies along the way. Perhaps Marsden was one of them.

  Jordan tried to rest but couldn’t. She held the pen in her hand and concentrated. Although Marsden wore gloves she could read the latent energy signature off the writing instrument from when he had last handled it.

  The images came in rapid succession: Marsden using the pen to sketch out the layout of a building. A meeting with a man; black, muscular, intimidating. He hands the man a document… plans… along with several photographs, the first of a steel cabinet stocked with an assortment of items; brass couplings, push-on hoses, rubber O-rings of various sizes. The second photo was the inside of a building. A wall-mounted chemical spill clean-up kit and plastic goggles hung on the wall. Machines and equipment of various types, their purposes unknown to her, were located about the room. The vision also revealed the smell of paint so noxious it forced Jordan to cover her nose to quell the assault of the phantom odor on her senses. The structure was massive. Jordan moved within it and inspected the facility to which the pen had transported her. A tool lay at her feet. As she knelt to pick it up a brilliant white light formed at the end of the structure. Jordan shielded her eyes as the strange light grew brighter, wider, and soon it had become all-encompassing, blinding her, filling the vision. When the sensorial overload finally proved to be too strong Jordan broke the connection.

  She dropped the pen. The vision vanished.

  Jordan held her hands to her head. The effect of the psychic journey had been short-lived, minor in comparison to past object readings.

  Her senses returned to normal. The foul smell was gone. No head pain remained.

  “You okay, Jordan?” Rock asked.

  Jordan apologized. “I’m fine, Rock. Thanks.”

  “Another vision?”

  “Yes.”

  “Looks like it was a bad one.”

  “More unsettling than anything else.”

  Rock checked his mirrors, executed a lane change. “Mind if I ask you a person
al question, Jordan?” he said.

  “Sure.”

  “This gift of yours… to be able to see and feel things the rest of us can’t. You can control it, right?”

  “Most of the time, yes.”

  “Do you ever wish you could just turn it off?”

  Jordan flashed back to her childhood. Lying at the bottom of the pool. The coldness of the surrounding water. The rising whine of the ambulance defibrillator as it recharged. The shock of the paddles that threw her small body up off the gurney with each electrical jolt. The flurry of activity in the emergency room to save her life.

  This was how The Gift had been delivered to her. Not kindly or gently, but violently, and nearly at the cost of her life.

  She answered Rock. “No. It’s part of me now. Not to accept it would be wrong. It was given to me for a reason. I have a responsibility to pursue the visions wherever they lead me.”

  Rock smiled. “I’m glad the Man upstairs gave you a second chance. I can’t think of anyone more deserving, even if you do freak me out a little.”

  Jordan laughed. “Try being my husband.”

  “Keith’s a brave man.” Rock answered his cellphone, spoke with the caller, hung up. “Jet’s on the tarmac ready to go. Keith and your parents just arrived.”

  “Are you coming with us?”

  Rock glanced in his rearview mirror at Jordan. “Do I look to you like a guy who would turn down a working vacation in Maui? Damn straight I’m going.”

  Jordan laughed. “Will you be at my event?”

  Rock shook his head. “An operations team is already at the convention center prepping for your appearance. I’ll catch up with you again when I return from Hawaii.”

  “Sounds good,” Jordan said. She looked outside. Through the tinted window of the limousine the sunny sky took on a foreboding, ominous appearance. Her thoughts returned to Marsden. The smile fell from her face.

  Rock picked up on the sudden change in Jordan’s disposition. “Stop thinking about it,” he said.

  “About what?”

  “Whatever happened back there. Don’t give that joker another thought. We’ll check him out. Okay?”