Unleashed (Blake Brier Thrillers Book 2)

by L. T. Ryan

  “You were right,” Roberts said. “Maybe she is dangerous.”

  Sebastian Roberts had been so quiet, Levi almost forgot he was still in the room. It was becoming a theme.

  “I’m going to Las Vegas, Sebastian. This is something I’ll have to do myself. There’s too much on the line to leave it to these bumbling idiots.”

  “Levi, I wanted to tell you I talked to Ben, and he was not helpful.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Levi said. “I don’t need his help. I’ll find her. I’ll take care of it.”

  “But maybe Ben’s right,” Roberts reasoned. “Maybe it’s not a good idea. I mean, Ben says he needs her. That his research isn’t complete. We both know Haeli. She was a solid employee, a solid person. Maybe we can salvage her. Ben wanted me to ask you to talk to him before you did anything. I told him it wasn’t likely but—”

  “Fine.” Levi said. “I’ll speak with him. I’ll hear him out. Okay? I would prefer to avoid this ugliness if I can. You know that.”

  “Thank you.” Roberts stood up to leave. “You know, when I came in here, I thought it was a little early for scotch. Boy, was I wrong!”

  Levi gave a contrived chuckle and raised his glass to the feeble attempt at levity. He watched Roberts leave and close the door behind him before picking up the phone and dialing three digits.

  “Gas up the chopper and be ready to go in twenty. We’re going to Las Vegas.”

  18

  “Cream and sugar.” Griff handed one of the two mugs to Haeli. “And black for the gentleman. Served in an exclusive, limited edition Venetian Hotel collector's mug.”

  Blake accepted the mug in the way an actor would accept an Oscar and took a generous swig. An action he regretted after losing a layer of skin off the roof of his mouth. He rubbed the result with his tongue.

  “Thanks, Griff,” Blake said. He directed his attention to Haeli. “How’d you sleep?”

  Blake was sure he knew the answer. Glowing skin replaced the previous night’s mottled look. Her eyes no longer red but clear and focused. Her natural appearance was a sign that, while her mind may not have been rejuvenated, her body was.

  “I managed,” she said.

  “Well,” Griff said, “Mick and I went through some of this stuff in more depth. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “No, that’s fine.” Haeli waved her hand to dismiss any concern. “But can I ask you something? Why do you call him Mick?” She turned to Blake. “Why does he call you Mick?”

  Griff laughed. “What else do you call a dirty Irishman?”

  Haeli burst into laughter. “Of course. Mick. I should have guessed that.”

  Blake shook his head. “Please don’t encourage him. Someone’s going to overhear him one day and kick his ass.”

  “Sorry,” Haeli said over Griff’s thunderous laughter. Her own laugh trailed into a sigh and then a grunt as she cleared her throat.

  “Griff calls me Mick because our buddies call me Mick. And they call me Mick because, well, what else do you call a handsome, strapping young Irish lad?”

  “Okay, Mick. I’ll buy that.” Haeli put her hand on his knee and squeezed.

  “Want to know what we found out?” Griff sat and took a sip of his own coffee.

  “You found out I’m the Israeli government’s secret weapon?”

  “Well, sort of,” Blake said. “They intended for you to be a secret weapon for the United States Government. The U.S. funded the Eclipse project in the early 80s, hoping to build the perfect soldier. It seems the Department of Defense expected more dramatic results, as your father had indicated, because they pulled funding about fifteen years later. Techyon saw the benefit and kept you in-house.”

  “It is really amazing what your father pulled off in the early eighties,” Griff said. “The program was well ahead of its time. Some of the genetic technology is just now becoming mainstream.”

  “And there’s something else.” Now Blake put his hand on her knee. She shot him a crooked smile. “There were others. A bunch of them. But none of them developed the aptitude and capability that you did. You were, for lack of a better term, the winning formula. It’s no wonder they weren’t willing to let you leave.”

  “I don’t know. There are a lot of capable guys who work for Techyon. In operations, at least. Former special forces folks. The best of the best, really. I’m no more useful than any of them.”

  Griff steered the conversation back on track. “But that’s not what we really wanted to share with you. We found something useful.”

  Blake realized his hand was still resting on Haeli’s thigh. It didn’t feel uncomfortable, but it should have. He pulled back his hand and followed up by scooting his body several inches backward.

  “Which is?” Haeli asked.

  “We took another look at the satellite image,” Griff said.

  “And,” Blake added, “we pulled up all the archived Google map images from the past few years. It turns out one was cataloged about eleven months ago. Show her.”

  Blake stared at Griff while pointing at the laptop tucked in a chair between its cushion and plush arm. Griff excavated it and flipped it open.

  A satellite image filled the screen. The same desert valley they had viewed the night before. Only this image was different. The valley appeared even more homogeneous than before. Griff zoomed in tight.

  “It’s blurry,” Haeli said.

  “It’s pixilated. Scrambled,” Griff said. “On purpose. You realize what that means? Someone went through some trouble to make sure they obscured this area. Someone with connections.”

  Blake stepped in. “If Techyon was building a facility here, it would be impossible to hide it from the air while it was under construction. Even if there wasn’t a giant hole, there would be vehicles, equipment. We checked with the FAA, they designated this area as restricted airspace a year and a half ago. But they released the restriction a few months back.”

  “Couldn’t that mean it’s something the U.S. government was building or is operating?” Haeli asked.

  “Not likely,” Blake replied. “The federal government owns 84.9 percent of the land in Nevada. This area isn’t part of it. In fact, this land is owned by LTF Holdings out of the Bahamas. Which looks to be your typical shell company.”

  “Okay, so if there is something there not visible from above, we can still drive in.” Haeli’s back straightened. Her pitch ticked up a notch. The news had encouraged her. “We can grab a Jeep or something and do a little recon.”

  “We could,” Blake said. “Or we could hike in on foot. Either way, I doubt we’d be able to get close.”

  “What we need is a helicopter,” Griff said.

  “And someone to fly it,” Haeli shot back.

  Haeli must have noticed the instant silence because her eyebrows pushed up toward her hairline as she looked at Blake. Blake smiled, lifted his arm, and extended his index finger. Haeli’s eyes followed the finger to its target.

  “You fly?” she asked.

  “Is that hard to believe?” Griff said.

  “No, no. I just didn’t know. Where do you fly? I mean, what do you fly?”

  “Right now? Greater D.C. Rotor Club. On the weekends. But before that I flew for the Navy.”

  “Wow.” Haeli added a singsong inflection to the praise that peaked in the middle.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Griff stood up and tucked the laptop into the gap of the cushion. He collected the coffee cups from the table and carried them off to the attached kitchen. “I was a career aviator before I left to join the Agency. Could have kept flying, too.”

  Haeli shifted her right knee, so it bumped against Blake’s left. She mouthed the words, “Agency. I knew it.”

  Blake smiled and shook his head.

  She doesn’t miss a trick.

  “So, we need a helicopter.” It seemed reasonable coming from Haeli’s mouth.

  “Well…” Griff’s bravado waned. “It’s not that easy.”

  Blake interrupted,
“One of Fezz and Khat’s buddies—he left the team before I joined—opened a sightseeing business out here. Helicopter tours. Let’s give Fezz or Khat a call and see if they can give us an introduction.”

  “I know who you’re talking about,” Griff said. “I can’t remember what they said his name was.”

  “Get Fezz on the line,” Blake said.

  Griff pulled his phone from his pocket and leaned against the kitchen counter.

  Haeli crowded in toward Blake. “Listen, there’s something you should know. I’m not a huge fan of heights.”

  “Neither am I,” Blake said. “Don’t worry, if we can pull off commandeering a helicopter, I’ll be going with Griff.”

  “I didn’t say I wouldn’t go,” Haeli clarified, “I’m just letting you know I have a bit of a thing.”

  “I’m saying you won’t go,” Blake countered. “If we can find a way to do this, we’ll be flying to a desolate area with no idea what to expect. Let’s say we find Techyon. Let’s say we’re caught. Well, then we would have brought you right to them. Plus, it would be easier to claim ignorance if it’s just us. A couple of guys they’ve never heard of who took a wrong turn while on a sightseeing trip.”

  “Here,” Griff said, “Fezz is on speaker.” Griff placed the phone down on the table between them.

  The phone rattled the glass tabletop as Fezz’s voice distorted the tiny speaker. “Blake, Griff says you’re already in some craziness. I knew you’d have a good time in Vegas.”

  “Yeah,” Blake said toward the device. “Very relaxing. We wanted to ask you, does your buddy still have that helicopter tour business out here?”

  “Peter Grant,” Fezz said. “And yes, I believe business is going well. He’s expanded from what I understand. Based out of Henderson Executive Airport. Nice place. You remember about two years ago, Khat and I went to his bachelor party? They lent you out that week. Kiev, I think.”

  “Yeah, I remember,” Blake said. “The Kiev part, that is.”

  “Well, while we were out there, Peter took us up over the canyon. Great guy.”

  “What are the chances he’d be willing to lend us a helicopter?” Blake asked.

  “Pretty good if it’s coming from me. Especially if I let him know the great and powerful Apollo’s gonna fly it.” Fezz laughed. The resonance caused the phone to rattle itself around a quarter turn.

  Blake made a mental note to explain the joke to Haeli later. Apollo had been Griff’s pilot callsign in the Navy. According to Griff, fellow pilots bestowed him with the moniker because he had let his hair grow an extra eighth of an inch during flight school, causing an onslaught of ribbing that he was trying to look like Apollo Creed. The color of Griff’s skin was the only apparent attribute he had in common with Carl Weathers, which made the name funnier. Griff was proud of it, though. According to Fezz, Griff spent the first six months with the Agency trying to get Fezz and Khat to call him Apollo, all but ensuring they never would unless it was to goof on him.

  “I’ll call him right now and I’ll get back to you,” Fezz said.

  The phone’s display returned to the home screen, signifying that Fezz had disconnected.

  “He’ll get it,” Griff said.

  “I know he will,” Blake said.

  Haeli lifted her hands in front of her with her palms facing out. “I just have to say, you are some good people to know.”

  19

  Levi stood in the ten-by-ten lobby. He meandered around as if it were the Guggenheim where he could absorb all the sights the space offered. He scanned the walls as he moved, with no particular interest in what he was perusing. Several plaques, issued in appreciation by the Special Olympics, a crime stoppers tip-line advertisement, a shadow box holding an original Las Vegas Metropolitan Police uniform from 1973. He tried to come up with a word for it.

  Prosaic.

  There were two doors. One leading from the outside and one leading further in. He checked the handle of the interior door. Still locked.

  He had made four passes around the lobby already. Each trip ended at the thick glass window to a grimy reception office area. The same window through which he had informed the attending officer that he was there to see Lieutenant Jackson. It had been ten minutes since the pudgy officer disappeared through the door at the back of his cramped little terrarium.

  Levi knew the layout of the Las Vegas Metro Police Department Digital Intelligence and Surveillance Unit, or DISU. He had been there before under similar circumstances. And he was always welcome as long as Lieutenant Lenny Jackson was in command.

  The building itself had once been the offices of the Parking Authority. Although repurposed and outfitted with a myriad of advanced technology, it didn’t appear to have been cleaned since his last visit. Along with his familiarity with the restricted area of the building, he was also familiar with the thirty-second walk to Jackson’s office.

  How then did the worthless pissant get lost on the way?

  Patience was not Levi’s strong suit. The same was true about empathy, humility, generosity, or any other redeeming quality. Levi had no delusions. He knew full well he didn’t have the qualities that garnered people’s affection, trust, or admiration. But he had something better. The ability to fake all of them.

  The interior door flew open and the handle crashed against a plastic stopper affixed to the wall. Lenny Jackson, along with the pudgy officer, appeared.

  “I’m so sorry, Levi. Didn’t know you were waiting,” Jackson said. His eyes narrowed and burned a hole through his subordinate’s face.

  The officer mounted his defense. “I had to go to the bathroom quick.”

  “Next time,” Jackson said, “when someone says they’re here for me, you get me immediately. And if you ever see this man again, you just let him in.”

  The officer nodded and retreated.

  “It’s not a problem, Lenny,” Levi said. “It’s good to see you.”

  “You, too.”

  The men shared a handshake and walked back through the door, letting it close behind them.

  Levi got down to business. “I’ve got a high-profile issue. I need someone found immediately. For the safety and security of the fine people of Las Vegas, of course. I brought several reference images. Multiple angles, high resolution. Should be easy.”

  They pushed through the door at the end of the hall to the main floor of the unit. The color temperature of the ambient light was a mixture of the fluorescent fixtures and the dozens of flat panel monitors, mounted in tight rows along almost every wall. Each screen displayed a different feed from cameras mounted throughout the downtown area of the city.

  Levi knew that the angles displayed were a mere subsection of what was available. They covered almost every corner of the strip. But that wasn’t all. The DISU piped in the internal feeds from every casino and club, police cruisers, taxis, social media posts, and a host of other sources.

  Artificial Intelligence had made it possible to monitor the unwieldy number of images streaming through the unit every second. They had shown many of the capabilities to Levi during his last visit, including the Shot Tracker system which could detect and analyze the position, type, and duration of any shots fired within the city. Used in connection with the surveillance systems, Las Vegas Metro Major Crimes had increased solvability of firearms-related crimes eight-fold.

  The software Levi was most interested in, the reason he stood in that room at all, was facial recognition. He knew from experience the power of the software. Given reference images, the system could locate, in archives or in real time, any individual. Not only locate, but stitch together a video that included all appearances of the person throughout all sources in chronological order.

  A breathtaking yet disturbing video montage. A day-in-the-life production featuring a main character who would be oblivious to their role.

  “We’ll use this bay.” Jackson pulled up a chair to one of the twenty cubicles filling the center of the room. “What do you have?”


  Levi pulled a thumb drive from his pocket and tossed it to Jackson. He inserted it, pulled up the contents, and flipped through the images of Haeli.

  “These will do,” Jackson said. “Not your typical bad guy, though, is she?”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  Jackson didn’t probe further, relieving Levi. He’d rather forgo making up a story to satisfy his old friend.

  Jackson dragged the images to the software window and used the mouse to select parameters.

  “Two days,” Levi said, before Jackson could ask.

  “Two days it is.” Jackson clicked the bright green button labelled Start. “And we’re off.”

  Images flashed on the screen. Single video frames culled from matching clips. Some images depicted hundreds of people on street corners and flashed by so fast, Levi couldn’t tell if Haeli was in the crowd. But the computer could. The amazing artificial intelligence driven software found a match and plucked her from the obscurity of the masses.

  “How’s business?” Jackson asked.

  And now the small talk.

  “It’s going well, how about you?” Levi deflected.

  “You know, we always have job security around here.” Jackson snickered.

  “Tell me,” Levi said, “can we watch this video while it’s working?”

  “Sure, we can watch from the beginning. It’ll just take a few minutes to churn through the rest. Once it’s done compiling, it will automatically add transitions between the clips and output an MP4 video. I’ll put it back on your drive if there’s enough space.”

  “That would be great. Do you mind if I…” Levi took hold of the mouse and clicked the play button. High resolution video filled the screen. Levi smiled at the sight of Haeli’s face. She briskly walked along the sidewalk to the front entrance of the motel. Levi let it play. The feed switched at the instance Haeli walked through the glass doors and into the lobby of the motel. A lesser quality video picked her up inside as she approached the reception desk.

  “Gotta love technology,” Levi said.