Nemesis: A Jordan Quest FBI Thriller

by Gary Winston Brown

  Spencer shook his head. “Today was a light day. As a rule, we prefer incendiary devices and surface-to-air missile launchers. Occasionally we’ll throw in a MQ-9 Reaper drone and a couple of Barrett M82 sniper rifles for good measure.”

  A smirk broke the colonel’s face. “Sounds like you know a little more about military weaponry than you should, Mr. Coltraine.”

  “I was a Boy Scout,” Spencer replied. “You know their motto: Be Prepared.”

  “You’re prepared all right. And then some.”

  From up the road, Vecchio watched the two men talk. Intuitively, he knew he and his men were the topic of conversation. He leaned back against the Navigator, smiled, and waved.

  Spencer waved back.

  “I think that was meant for me,” Hallier said.

  Spencer smiled. “Yeah, it was.”

  The colonel continued. “I’m thinking that if I were to detain your family and run background checks on each of them, I’d probably find out a lot more than I’d want to know.”

  Spencer nodded. “Sounds about right.”

  “And that since no shots were fired and their only intention was to back us up if we needed it, I should probably forget that they were even here.”

  Spencer grinned, looked around. “I don’t see anybody. Do you?”

  Hallier shook his head. “I’m going to walk down to the ambulance now to check on Jordan and your wife. When I turn around, I expect them to be gone.”

  “Thank you, Colonel,” Spencer said.

  “You’re welcome, Mr. Coltraine.” He paused. “Surface-to-air missiles, huh?”

  Spencer laughed. “Just kidding, sir.”

  Hallier broke a smile. “I’m not so sure about that.”

  On his way to the ambulance, Hallier placed a call. “Send backup to my location forthwith,” he said. “Code Blue.”

  “Copy that, Colonel,” came the reply. “On the way.”

  52

  AT SAN PEDRO Bay’s Port of Los Angeles, Chang and his fellow MSS operative presented their false longshoreman identification at the main security station and entered the container terminal area. Working the docks had been their cover while in the United States and provided them with unfettered access to all berths, a requirement which was critical to the successful completion of their mission. Of the two hundred and twenty berths available to incoming vessels, the twelve-hundred-foot container ship CHINA STAR was moored in Berth 89, engines thrumming and ready for departure per Chang’s previous command.

  Captain Wu met the men at the top of the gangway, then followed Chang and his aide to the bridge. “All eighteen thousand containers are on board, sir,” he said. “We’re ready to depart.” He looked out the window to the dock below. “What about your team and the target?” he asked.

  “Change of plans,” Chang answered. “Inform the port pilot we’re leaving now.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Captain Wu radioed his staff. Seconds later, the massive vessel began to inch away from the dock.

  This was not how Chang had expected the assignment would end. The woman was to have been locked in a specially equipped container, loaded onto the ship with the rest of the cargo, held prisoner until they reached the midway point of their voyage, then transferred to a submarine whose mission it was to take her to her new lab on a secret island in the South China Sea. He had counted on Qin and Zhang to kidnap Dr. Coltraine and get her to the container yard. They had assured him they were on their way, that the mission was a go. Instead, they had failed miserably. Which meant so too had he. He dared not think about the repercussions to follow from the Ministry of State Security. Right now, his only priority was reaching international waters.

  Cautiously, the China Star pulled away from her berth. Within minutes, she had departed the Los Angeles Outer Harbor. When the ship passed San Clemente Island, Chang breathed a sigh of relief. They had made good their escape.

  DARPA’s CODE BLUE team arrived on the scene in the business complex and were directed to the auto wrecking yard and Qin’s body.

  “Scan her,” Hallier ordered the Evidence Recovery technician. “I want to know everything you can tell me about this woman.”

  “Copy that, sir,” Agent Wong replied. He lifted Qin’s hand, placed her palm against the screen of the portable biometric scanner, then waited for the device to deliver the results. Seconds later, Qin’s headshot appeared on the screen, along with all pertinent information about her currently on file with Homeland Security and U.S. Customs and Border Protection.

  Wong read the results. “Name is Yangxing Qin. Chinese national. Currently residing in Sherman Oaks. Occupation is vice-president, Wing Dong Noodle Importers. Spouse is Jun Zhang, same address.” The man looked up, shook his head. “That’s all we have, sir. She’s clean as a whistle.”

  “Bullshit,” Hallier replied. “She has to be MSS. She nearly murdered an FBI agent tonight as efficiently as any of our people could have done. Sherman Oaks, you said?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Hallier placed a call. “This is Tamblyn.”

  “Do you have any idea how badly you fucked up tonight?” Hallier asked curtly.

  The DARPA agent paused. “Yes, Colonel.”

  “I’m giving you two one last chance to redeem yourselves.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Hallier grabbed the scanner out of Wong’s hand, read the address on screen. “3638 Embarcadero Place, Sherman Oaks. I want it raided and tossed now. Detain anyone on the premises and hold them for questioning. Tell them it’s a matter of national security and the details will be explained to them later. Think you and your partner can handle that, or should I send Mr. Coltraine instead?”

  The insult stung. “Yes, sir,” Agent Tamblyn replied. “We can handle it. We’re fifteen minutes out.”

  “Be there in ten.”

  “Copy that, Colonel. On our way.”

  Hallier ended the call. He stared down at the dead woman. “Who the hell are you and what did you want with Dr. Coltraine?” he said aloud.

  Agents Tamblyn and Anderson arrived at the address Hallier had provided in Sherman Oaks to find several neighbors gathered on the front lawn of the home and the front door ajar. The exhaust fumes from the vehicle idling in the garage had drifted throughout the house, setting off the ceiling mounted carbon monoxide detectors. Their blaring sirens warned of the invisible gas that had risen to dangerously high levels within the home. Anderson held back the curious onlookers as Tamblyn covered his mouth, drew his weapon, and made his way through the fume-filled house to the garage access door, pushed the opener button mounted on the wall, then waited for the door to rise. He felt his way around the vehicle to the driver’s door of the exhaust filled Mercedes, pulled it open, then stepped back and waited for the incoming rush of outside air to vent the fumes from the cabin of the car. He reached past the corpse behind the wheel, killed the engine, then ran out of the garage to the safety of the fresh air. After taking a moment to recover from the fumes, he collected himself and reentered the garage.

  The dead man had fallen forward over the steering wheel. The agent pushed the body back, examined the scene, noted the distance between his zip-cuffed hands. They were placed a foot apart and tightly secured to the wheel, too far apart for him to have immobilized himself. This was no suicide. Someone else had placed the garden hose into the tailpipe to deliver the deadly gas into the car then placed him in the vehicle, bound his wrists to the wheel, started the car, sealed the gap in the rear window with duct tape and left him to die. Tamblyn searched the man’s body but found no identification. What he did find was an empty cross-draw holster hidden beneath his jacket and a knife sheath strapped to his leg. He called Hallier, explained the condition of the man he had found.

  “Anderson is searching the house now, sir,” he said. “Let me check with… hold on… what’s this?”

  “What is it?” Hallier asked.

  Tamblyn unbuckled the dead man’s belt, pulled it through the pant l
oops, removed and examined it. “He’s wearing a money belt, sir.” The agent pulled back the long zipper and removed its contents. “I think I found something.”

  “What?”

  “A slip of paper.”

  “What does it say?”

  “I don’t know. It’s written in Chinese characters.”

  “Send it to me right now.”

  “Copy that.”

  Tamblyn took out his phone, snapped the picture, texted it to Hallier.

  “Got it,” Hallier said. “Call in a team. I want that house ripped apart.”

  “One more thing, sir.”

  “Yes?”

  “He was strapped. A gun and a knife. Both are missing.”

  Dr. Coltraine… the gun. Agent Hanover had recovered it when he’d ordered her to throw it to the ground. Everything was falling into place.

  Hallier turned to Agent Wong. “The gun you took into evidence. What model is it?”

  The tech retrieved the evidence bag, removed the weapon, clicked on his flashlight, examined it. “QSZ-92. Semi-automatic. Chinese.”

  “Standard issue firearm for MSS agents.”

  Wong nodded. “Yes, sir. I believe it is.”

  “Sonofabitch,” Hallier said. He returned to his call with Agent Tamblyn. “Stay on the house,” he said, then hung up. “Wong,” he asked, “Do you speak Chinese?”

  “Fluently, sir.”

  “Can you read it as well?”

  “Mandarin, yes.”

  Hallier opened his phone, showed the ER technician the picture Tamblyn had just sent him. “This note. Can you read what it says?”

  Wong studied the image, nodded. “China Star. POLA B89. 8:30 P.M. It’s dated today.”

  “POLA? B89?”

  “I think it’s an acronym.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I’m guessing the China Star is a ship. POLA probably stands for Port of Los Angeles. B89 could be a berth. If I’m right, this note refers to a ship called the China Star berthed in the Port of Los Angeles at B89 and leaving at 8:30 tonight.”

  Hallier checked his watch. “That was fifteen minutes ago.”

  “Then she’s already put out, sir.”

  “I need to stop that ship,” Hallier said. He recalled a number on his phone, placed a call.

  “Tactical Support, Commander Kenner.”

  “Commander Kenner, this is Colonel Quentin Hallier. I need your help and I need it now. Listen carefully.”

  Hallier informed the commander of the gravity of the situation and his theory that the China Star was possibly escaping U.S. coastal waters with foreign spies aboard. “I need that ship stopped and its crew detained by any means necessary before it reaches international waters, Commander.”

  Kenner noted the information. “Lima Charlie, Colonel. We’re in the air.”

  Chang left the bridge of the China Star. He needed a moment to clear his head. The night sky was crystal clear, perfect for a stroll on the deck. He stared across the glittering Pacific Ocean. Behind him, on land, the lights of Southern California sparkled and twinkled in the vessel’s wake. Regardless of how greatly he despised the country, he couldn’t help but appreciate the scenic beauty of its West Coast.

  The solitude of the night was suddenly broken by a deep thrum. Chang walked to the stern of the ship, looked across the water, then froze.

  Four military Black Hawk helicopters were closing in on the vessel. Within seconds, they had it surrounded. The thunderous sound of the air-to-ground hailing system reverberated across the deck of the ship. The lead airship hovered and faced the bridge. Its pilot issued an ultimatum:

  “ATTENTION CHINA STAR… ATTENTION CHINA STAR. THIS IS THE UNITED STATES MILITARY. STOP YOUR ENGINES AND PREPARE TO BE BOARDED. IF YOU FAIL TO COMPLY YOU WILL BE FIRED UPON. RAISE YOUR LIGHTS TO CONFIRM YOUR COMPLIANCE. DO IT NOW.”

  Chang felt the mighty container ship begin to drag in the water as the captain issued the all stop order. The vessel soon slowed to a crawl, then coasted to a stop. The ship turned on all its lights.

  As the lead Black Hawk maintained its threatening position and stared down the bridge, its sister airships moved in and descended. Chang watched as long ropes fell from the open cavity of the choppers. Teams of soldiers fast-roped down to the deck then fanned out, weapons raised as they carried out their orders.

  Chang knew any attempt to escape would be futile. Looking down the business end of an M14 carbine assault rifle, he interlaced his fingers behind his head and dropped to his knees.

  Inside the vessel, gunshots erupted as MSS agents chose death over capture.

  Hallier’s phone rang. “Yes?”

  “Colonel, this is Commander Kenner. I’m calling to inform you we’ve taken control of the China Star. We have twenty-two in custody.”

  “Any casualties?”

  “Eighteen, sir.”

  “Any of them ours?”

  “Not one, Colonel.”

  He paused. “Good work, Commander.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  53

  MIDNIGHT

  U.S. DEPARTMENT OF DEFENSE

  JOINT REGIONAL CORRECTIONAL FACILITY SOUTHWEST

  MARINE CORPS AIR STATION MIRAMAR

  REGIONAL CONFINEMENT FACILITY NAVCONBRIG

  (NAVAL CONSOLIDATED BRIG)

  MIRAMAR, SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA

  Hallier awaited the prisoner’s arrival.

  Moments later, Chang shuffled into the interview room, hands and feet shackled. He plopped down into the fixed steel chair across from the DARPA colonel, let out a heavy sigh. “Let me guess,” he said. “You’re the one responsible for ruining my night.”

  Unfazed, Hallier picked up the leather satchels from the floor, dropped them on the table, opened them. “These were found in your room aboard the China Star,” he said.

  Chang stared at the bags, said nothing.

  Hallier smiled. “I’ll take your lack of response as confirmation that you recognize them.”

  “I’ve never seen them before in my life.”

  “Interesting. You see, I know that’s a lie. Want to know how I know that?”

  “Indulge me.”

  “Well, the first thing you need to know is that my people are very thorough. The second is that there are seventy-six high-resolution cameras mounted aboard the China Star which cover every possible angle, both exterior and interior. It’s an insurance thing. Several of those cameras cover the ship’s entrance, which includes the main gangway. Guess who we saw boarding the ship with these bags in his hands?”

  Chang shrugged.

  “You, my friend. That’s who. And here’s the cherry on top. The man accompanying you up the gangway is already asking for a deal. One of our demands for considering said deal was that he identifies you and tells us what your mission is about. He’s been very cooperative so far, Commander Chang.”

  Chang chuffed. “He knows better than to talk.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” the colonel replied. “You see, you’re not the first person I’ve shown these bags to.” He removed the passport, placed it on the metal table, opened it to the picture. “He told us about Mr. Zhang, or should I say Agent Zhang, and how the two of you went to his home, bound him to his car’s steering wheel and gassed him to death. He also told us about his partner, Agent Qin, who I’m sorry to have to tell you is dead, and how the two of them were tasked with delivering Dr. Madelaine Coltraine to the container dock tonight, which as you know didn’t work out so well.” Hallier chuckled. “Just imagine how this is going to play out when word gets back to your MSS handlers that the agents under your command couldn’t even manage to kidnap a civilian.”

  Chang slid down in his chair. “You want to know everything?” he said. “Then I’m the one who gets the deal. I know about Project Overlord and a whole lot more.”

  Hallier stood, walked to the detention room door, pressed the call buzzer on the wall. The armed soldier stepped into the room, stood at ease.
>
  “Senior Officer Perry,” Hallier said. “Will you please do me a favor?”

  “Yes, Colonel.”

  Hallier stared into Chang’s eyes. “Get this piece of shit out of my sight.”

  “Yes, sir,” Perry replied. He dragged Chang to his feet.

  “What about my deal?” Chang yelled as Hallier exited the room.

  The colonel looked back, smiled. “What deal?”

  54

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING

  ANGEL OF MERCY HOSPITAL

  DOWNTOWN LOS ANGELES

  Spencer sat in the guest chair, watching his wife as she slept. The emergency surgery performed the previous evening to address the gunshot wounds to her shoulder and leg had gone well. The bullet had been removed. A plastic pill container on Maddy’s nightstand contained the spent slug, a reminder of her brush with death.

  Jordan and Chris had arrived an hour earlier. Jordan sat in a chair on the opposite side of the bed, sipping the coffee she had purchased from a vendor in the lobby. Chris stood beside her.

  Spencer sat with his arms on the chair, fingers steepled under his chin. He appeared to be deep in thought.

  “You okay, Spencer?” Jordan asked.

  Spencer rubbed his face, wiped away the tension. “I guess so.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He sighed. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what happened last night and everything Maddy went through. Alone.”

  Jordan nodded. “It was quite an ordeal.”

  “I should have done more.”

  Jordan shook her head. “There was nothing you could do, Spencer. It was out of your hands.”

  Spencer shook his head. “No, Jordan. She’s my wife. It’s my job to protect her, to keep her safe.”