Hellfire- The Series, Volumes 1-3

by Leigh Barker

  She shrugged. “I was waiting to see if I can trust you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said with a smile. “First impressions aren’t great, you know?”

  He knew.

  “There’s a two-man terrorist team that fits the profile for this.” She waited for him to react. He didn’t. “Naser Alzesh and Mahmoud Faraj arrived in this country five weeks ago from Pakistan and then dropped off the grid. Alzesh is a person of interest in the assassination of a high-ranking Pakistani politician. Faraj ambushed an Afghan-led patrol in Helmand and killed a dozen Afghanis and four marines.”

  “And they walked in through JFK?” Ethan’s tone showed he was not impressed.

  “The FBI let them in,” said SecNav, a little embarrassed but without reason. “They believed they could manage them and they would lead them to bigger fish.”

  “They were wrong,” said Ethan.

  “Evidently,” said SecNav, a little testily.

  “Okay, it’s done,” said Ethan. “Have we any idea where they are or what they’re up to?”

  SecNav shifted uncomfortably. “Homeland Security believe they’re here to avenge Bin Laden’s death.”

  “Oh, great.” Ethan let it go. “I’ll reach out to my contacts in Afghanistan and see if there’s anything buzzing about these two or a whisper about a revenge attack.” He crossed to the door, stopped and turned. “If you hear anything,” he said to Kelsey, “you let me know. It doesn’t matter how unimportant it might seem. Okay?”

  “I’ve done this sort of work before.” Her cheeks reddened just a little.

  “Sorry,” said Ethan. “I’m used to dealing with numb-nut… with marines.”

  “I’ll keep you in the loop,” she said, satisfied. “When there’s a loop to keep you in.”

  “Okay, do that,” said Ethan and left.

  He collected his Sig from the security desk and smiled at the scowling security guard. It costs nothing to be nice.

  Back on the steps, he stopped and looked up at the dark December sky that pretty much reflected how he felt. So, the first order of business was to get some food, get a hotel, and get some damned sleep before he smacked somebody for just looking at him.

  Like so many great ideas, it came to him while he was sleeping. Give up this stupid mission and retire to Florida. He sat up in bed and leaned against the padded headboard. If only.

  He was back in the marines. He’d accepted SecNav’s offer, and even if it wasn’t on paper, it was his word. So, no Florida.

  He thought about calling room service for some coffee, but decided he’d head out and find a diner for lunch, or dinner, or whatever the hell meal time it was right then. And he’d get a haircut and some new clothes. Question was, would his cash stretch? He remembered the credit card that was tucked into the back of his wallet, unused. Maybe it was still valid, but it had been a while. Credit cards leave a paper trail, and seven years in Special Ops teaches a man to minimize his footprint.

  He showered, shaved, and dressed in his shabby suit before leaving the hotel. It was late afternoon, and the city was busy with people heading out, or heading in. Whatever. First stop, coffee. A man can die from lack of coffee.

  When he returned to his hotel two hours later, he was a different man. He’d bought a new dark grey suit that actually fitted him and a pale blue polo shirt and white vest. He’d been tempted by desert sand Nike Air Force sneakers—because he liked the irony—but went with sensible polished black lace-ups. With his hair clippered back to high and tight, he finally felt he was back in the world.

  When he’d left the marines, he’d decided to see the country he’d been fighting for so took his ’98 Chevy Tahoe and headed out of Camp Lejeune for the last time. West through Tennessee and the Mississippi Delta, the cradle of the Civil War. It was an amazing feeling to have nowhere to go, nobody expecting anything, and nobody to save. That was two years ago. And the novelty had worn off.

  Twenty-three months ago. Trouble had found him quicker than a grizzly finds a beehive. He ran afoul of the New Orleans Police Department within a day of arriving. Some kid-cop resented him stepping in to stop him beating an old black guy with his baton. And to prove no good deed goes unpunished, it got him a night in the cells, and some bruises. The old black guy had said thanks, though. So that was okay. He didn’t blame the NOPD, because some cops are just like that. Some people are just like that. And cops are people. Strange how many times something like that had happened in the last couple of years, though. Maybe he was just unlucky. Except he knew it was because he wouldn’t just walk by and let something bad go down. What is it they say about all it takes for evil to triumph? He didn’t see himself as a Good Man, but he wouldn’t just stand by and do nothing; it wasn’t in his nature. So he got into trouble. And that was in his nature.

  He ate at a little Italian restaurant down the block from the hotel, because who eats in a hotel when they don’t have to? The small, round tables were shoulder to shoulder, but at six o’clock, there were only two other people in the place. He ordered tomato and basil bruschetta, followed by spaghetti carbonara, cooked with just pancetta, garlic, olive oil, and Parmigiano cheese. He was a bit suspicious of the frugality of the meal, which lacked the usual mushrooms, chicken, onion, zucchini, and Canadian bacon that was a true American pasta dish. It was truly delicious, and he ate it hungrily. The waiter brought him an espresso coffee to finish, and that, by contrast, was truly gross. He remembered why he hated the thick, black stuff as soon as he sipped it and it strangled his taste buds.

  He was about to order a real coffee in a mug when his cell phone intruded. He fished it out and raised a hand to cancel the signal to the waiter.

  “We can see the car,” Kelsey said. “But it has to be tonight. Now. Can you do that?”

  He caught the waiter’s eye and mimicked writing on his palm. With the bill on its way, he put the phone back to his ear. “Can you pick me up at my hotel in say—” He looked at his watch. “Twenty minutes?”

  “Yes,” she said, but sounded a little reticent. “Are you still wearing that suit?”

  He smiled. “No, I bought a nice new one.”

  “Thank god for that or we’d be arrested at the FBI’s door.”

  “We’ll be fine. They’ll love the electric blue jacket and burgundy pants.” As he ended the call, he just caught the sound of Kelsey’s gasp. And smiled.

  She was ten minutes late. The cross-town traffic had been murder. He saw her black SUV pull up in front of the hotel, but stayed inside for a minute, just to worry her about being late, and his suit. He stepped out of the automatic doors and saw her look of relief by the dim interior light.

  “You think that was funny, don’t you?” she scolded as he climbed into the passenger seat. She looked at his smart suit. “Couldn’t stretch to a tie, I see.”

  He straightened the polo shirt collar. “Don’t want to overdo it.”

  She risked looking down at his feet and sighed in relief at the sight of the brogues.

  He smiled at the thought of the Nike sneakers. Still, it was a pity because they were cool. And everybody knows khaki and blue go together stylishly. He looked ahead at the unchanging road. “Shouldn’t we be moving? If we’re going someplace.”

  She jumped a little and snapped out of whatever was in her head. “We’re going. I was just waiting for you to put your seat belt on.”

  That was a lie, but he let it go and snapped the seat belt buckle with a flourish. “So, where is the car?”

  “Well, it isn’t here,” she said with a flick of her head. “FBI lab on Pennsylvania Avenue.”

  “Hey, that’s where the White House is. Cool, I’ve never seen it.” He sounded like a kid on a school trip. “Is it far? I could do with a nap.”

  “Go ahead,” she said, pushing into traffic. “It’ll take us fifteen, twenty minutes.”

  “Thanks.” He leaned on the side window.

  She glanced at him and shook her head. “I
was kidding, you know that?”

  She was talking to herself; he’d gone to sleep instantly, even though he’d slept most of the day. It was a soldier thing to sleep when you can. She stared ahead into the traffic and smiled. He was okay, which surprised her, as she’d met a few ex-military men and mostly they were posturing bullies with an inflated idea of their own ability, both in life and in combat. She wondered if that was being a bit harsh, as the samples she’d met had come from Special Ops, and arrogance was pretty much a prerequisite for that role. She glanced at Ethan sleeping quietly. Maybe he’d revert when he settled in. She hoped not.

  He woke up the moment she pulled into the visitors’ parking and switched off the ignition. He stretched and flexed his shoulders as if he’d been sleeping for hours. “This it?”

  She glanced at him. “No, I thought we’d stop off for a Big Mac en route. Keep the FBI waiting.”

  “You go ahead,” he said with a suppressed smile. “I’ve eaten.”

  She sighed heavily, got out of the car, and slammed the door in a display of annoyance she didn’t feel. She led the way out of the parking garage, down 9th Street and into the J. Edgar Hoover Building through the unimpressive revolving doors. They passed through the ubiquitous metal detector and handed over their weapons, as usual. Then they waited for the special agent in charge. And waited.

  He let them sit for twenty minutes, to show how important he was. And how they weren’t. The prick.

  Ethan read a magazine and drank coffee from a plastic cup. After sitting in a hole in the Afghan desert, this was nothing. And it gave him time to think things through, now that he was no longer sleep-deprived.

  Something didn’t gel, but he couldn’t get it to the surface, so decided to let it rise at its own speed. Something he’d done many times before. Push all the puzzles into his subconscious and let it work them out while he got on with his day job.

  The special agent in charge arrived. Ethan could tell it was him because he spent time talking bullshit to the security guards. His opinion of the man hadn’t changed. He finished his nonsense and strode over. His white shirt was immaculate. His tie was perfect. His shoes were shiny enough to be military. Yes, this would be the special agent in charge.

  Kelsey stood. Ethan stayed seated and finished his coffee while the man glared at him. He folded the magazine and put it back on the table between the seats, stood up, and brushed down his suit. When he was ready, he looked at the agent and smiled.

  “You must be the agent in charge?” he said, extending his hand.

  The agent looked at the hand, then at Ethan, and back at the hand before taking it and shaking it once. “I am Special Agent Timothy Dryer. And yes, I am the agent in charge.”

  Well, good for you, Spanky, thought Ethan, but kept it to himself.

  “This is Master Sergeant Ethan Gill,” said Kelsey quickly, just in case. “And I am—”

  “Yes,” said Dryer sharply. “I know who you are. Follow me.” He turned and strode off along the corridor.

  Ethan looked at Kelsey, smiled and raised his eyebrows. He waved her ahead with a low swing of his hand. She sighed heavily and followed Dryer, who was holding open a security door and waiting, impatiently.

  Ethan followed them into the elevator and then down another corridor and through several fire doors. He was just beginning to think the agent in charge was walking them round the building just to piss them off when he stopped and pushed open a door into a room with enough electronics to keep a geek happy for a lifetime.

  “Lisa will show you what you need,” said Dryer, ushering them into the room. “I’m late for a meeting.” He left without a backward glance.

  Lisa watched the door swing shut and shook her head sadly. “Dryer can be a…” She caught herself. “Now, you’re here to see the analysis results from the general’s assassination.”

  Ethan frowned. “No,” he said. “We’re here to see the car.”

  “Oh,” said Lisa, and looked around as if she expected to see the car in the lab.

  Kelsey picked it up without a pause. “That’s okay, Lisa. You lead the way, and we’ll follow.”

  They could see she was uncomfortable exceeding her orders but that she was thinking of doing it anyway.

  Ethan opened the door and smiled nicely. “Ground floor, is it?” As if a car would be anywhere else—the roof maybe.

  “Yes,” said Lisa.

  The grey Lincoln MKZ sedan was in the basement garage, as it should be. Lisa was over her indecision and led the way across the empty parking bays to the side of the vehicle. “The shooter fired between the seats.”

  “He would,” said Ethan, leaning into the vehicle’s nearside rear door. “Less risk of the weapon being seen from outside.” He ignored the blood on the leatherwork and leaned forward to examine the two holes in the seat back. “Did you recover the bullets?”

  Lisa shook her head, realised he couldn’t see her, and spoke to Kelsey. “No. They passed straight through the victim and exited through the trunk, missing the real driver’s body.”

  “The general’s driver was in the trunk?” Kelsey said and walked round to the rear.

  “Yes. Shot once in the heart. Looks like the same weapon.”

  Ethan pushed himself out of the car and joined Kelsey. He opened the trunk. “Did you find that slug?”

  “No. It appears to be a through and through.”

  “Has Agent in Charge Dryer ordered a search?” he asked.

  She looked a little uncomfortable again. Maybe because she didn’t want to talk out of school. Though he suspected it was embarrassment. He was right.

  “Special Agent Dryer said there’s no way we’re ever going to find the bullets, as the shooting could have occurred anywhere between the Pentagon and Dulles Airport.”

  Ethan and Kelsey exchanged looks but said nothing.

  Ethan put his finger over the hole made by one of the bullets leaving the vehicle’s trunk. “Nine mil.”

  Kelsey looked surprised. “A nine mil? It passed through the victim’s body, the seat back, and the metal trunk. I don’t think a nine mil would do that.”

  Ethan smiled and headed for the garage exit but stopped when the others stayed where they were. “Lisa is going to show us the results of her analysis. Right?”

  Lisa gave a little start and walked towards the door. “Yes, of course. That was what Dryer—Special Agent Dryer asked me to do.”

  “Then let’s do that,” said Ethan, holding open the door for them to pass.

  The analysis was thin. Powder burns on the sides of the sedan’s front seats showed that the handgun had been fired from there. Two holes in the general and the seat specified the number of shots. And… and that was about it. No fingerprints, no DNA, no wallet accidentally dropped by the shooter. Nothing.

  Lisa walked them back to the foyer, and they thanked her and crossed to the desk to hand in their ID badges.

  “Have you got a metal detector among all that electronics?” Ethan called after her as she began to return to her bat-cave.

  She stopped and looked back, frowning. “I think so, yes. Why?”

  Ethan smiled. “Do yourself a favor and check the batteries,” he said and headed for the revolving door, with Kelsey racing to catch up.

  They walked back to the garage parking without speaking, as Kelsey thought through what they had seen. She waited until she pulled the car back onto the street before she asked the question.

  Ethan glanced at her, and tried not to look at her body, but it was tough. He changed the subject in his head. “Can we go back to the Pentagon?”

  She looked back, and tried not to look at his body, but it was tough. She didn’t ask the question, because he would tell her when he was good and ready.

  Back at the Pentagon, they went down to the security office and asked to see the surveillance tapes for the day. The security officer was polite and helpful, so was probably new, retiring soon, or sick. He did look past Ethan at Kelsey and mouthed the word,
“Tapes?”

  “Master Sergeant Gill hasn’t caught up with the digital age, Tony,” said Kelsey.

  Ethan ignored the slight and pointed at the wall of monitors. “Can you rewind to the time General Davy left for the last time?”

  “Yes,” said Tony, sitting back at one of his keyboards. “Nine fifteen.” Two seconds later, and no whirring tape reels, he froze the image. “There it is.”

  Ethan leaned towards the monitor and the image of the Lincoln waiting at the roadside. “Can you zoom in on the driver’s window?”

  “Can open it for you, if you like,” said Tony, and the sedan’s side window filled the monitor. “Tinted glass.”

  “Yes, I noticed back at the garage,” said Ethan. “Just hoped he’d left it open. But that would have been too sloppy, even for this guy.”

  Kelsey caught the implication. “You think he was sloppy?”

  Ethan pointed at the monitor and made winding movements with his hand. “Fast forward, but slowly,” he asked.

  Tony glanced at him, but decided a technical explanation of the CCTV system would be like teaching a monkey to type. He stepped the image forward frame by frame.

  After a few seconds, Ethan saw what he needed. “Hold it there.”

  Tony looked back over his shoulder. “See something?”

  Kelsey leaned forward towards the monitor and squinted, but could see only the sedan, stationary a little short of the road. “What is it?”

  Ethan avoided the line from the Airplane movie and spoke to Tony. “Wind back a little and let it run at normal speed.”

  Tony did as he was asked, and the Lincoln ran backwards, stopped, and moved forward. Then it stopped. Ethan took a long breath, and Kelsey and Tony looked over their shoulders from the monitor. What?

  The Lincoln moved off again at normal speed.

  “Okay, wind it back to when it was stopped,” said Ethan.

  The sedan ran backwards and stopped.

  “Make it bigger,” said Ethan, leaning his hands on the back of Tony’s chair. “There. Enlarge that.” He pointed at the car’s trunk.