Hellfire- The Series, Volumes 1-3

by Leigh Barker

  “But why kill Carter?” Dryer said.

  “More distraction. You have to remember Gill is an expert military tactician, highly skilled at misdirect and diversion.”

  Dryer drummed his fingers on his desktop, his eyes shining with excitement as his suspicions were articulated by his analyst.

  “Those two have had us… had me and the rest of the FBI running around in circles while they quietly, and maybe not so quietly, set about eliminating all of SecNav’s opposition.”

  “I’m not convinced,” Dryer said, but his expression said otherwise. “Not yet anyway.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Teddy said, already knowing the answer.

  “Bring them in here, and we’ll ask them some tough questions.”

  “And if they refuse?” Teddy stood up. “They’ll know we’ve put it together and are likely to run or make a fight of it.”

  “Take Mancini and Philips and pick them up.” He was silent for a moment, then picked up some papers he didn’t need to read. He looked up. “We’ve lost enough agents. Do you understand me?”

  Teddy nodded once.

  For a moment Ethan thought Ed was going to hug him or do something equally embarrassing, but the moment passed and the kid just settled for thanking him at a hundred miles an hour.

  “They put me in a cell,” Ed said to Kelsey, as if she cared. “And all I could think about was going to jail.” He looked over at Ethan standing behind the chair in front of the computer, waiting. “And Bubba.” His voice was shaking. “Is there really somebody called Bubba in every prison?”

  Ethan nodded slowly and tapped the back of the chair. “But if you keep your nose clean and stay away from the siren song of temptation, then you’ll never meet him.” He pointed at the monitor. “Now do your thing for me, will you?”

  “Yes, sir, I will.” Ed almost ran across the small room to his seat. “What do you want me to do?”

  Ethan caught Kelsey’s look and shrugged.

  “I want you to hack into the FBI’s system.” He smiled and ignored the look of horror on the kid’s face. “If you can.”

  Ed’s mouth was moving but silent again, until he finally was able to utter one word. “Bubba.”

  “Not going to happen,” Ethan said, and wished he believed it. “This is national security business, and when it’s done, you’re likely to get a medal.”

  And to meet Bubba for an extended friendship. But he left that unsaid, no point upsetting the kid when he’d work to do.

  Ed turned back to his screen, put his hands on the keyboard, and a transformation took place. He was in his place in the universe and everything else faded to black. His fingers started to work.

  “How long will this take?” Ethan asked.

  Ed mumbled something and leaned closer to the monitor.

  “What did he say?” Ethan said.

  “Don’t know.”

  “How long—”

  “No,” Kelsey said, “that’s what he said, don’t know.”

  “I didn’t get coffee at that two-hundred-dollar restaurant,” Ethan said, and pointed at the stack of used mugs.

  “I’ve got a better idea,” Kelsey said.

  They sat at the table at the side of the break room and poured coffee from a stainless jug. It was hot, and it had been for hours, maybe days.

  Ethan sipped it. It reminded him of old times. He saw Kelsey’s jacket hooked up on the butt of her Glock 26. “You ever use that in anger?”

  She pulled her jacket back over the weapon. “You mean have I shot somebody who asks stupid questions?” She squinted at him. “Not yet.”

  He grinned.

  “Day ain’t over yet.”

  “Curly, right?” Ethan said, and poured thick coffee into his plastic cup. “City Slickers. Still the one movie to make me laugh.”

  “I’d have thought Reservoir Dogs would be more your style.”

  “Not as funny as Billy Crystal and his coffee grinder.” He looked past her. “The cattle are going away! Saw that in a bar in Columbia. I laughed so much I almost bought a round.”

  “You really think Dryer’s behind all this mess?” she asked, stamping all over his moment.

  He topped up his coffee while he thought about it. “It’s a stretch, but it’s possible.”

  “What kind of man would kill people just to grab a bit more power?”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  She pushed the coffee away to let it set solid in the cup. “Yeah, I guess so. I can’t help thinking how hard Davy and Morgan worked to get where they were, only to be murdered by the very people they were protecting.”

  “What about Senator Wakeman? Don’t you feel sorry for him?”

  “He was a politician.”

  He waited, but that was all.

  “Let’s get back to the lab and check on the geek,” he said.

  Kelsey watched him finish off his coffee. “You can drink that stuff?”

  He looked at the empty plastic cup and frowned. “Good coffee, well brewed.”

  “It’s been in that jug since I was at school.”

  Ethan scrunched up the cup and threw it towards the bin. “Don’t be silly, they hadn’t invented coffee when you were at school.” He strode away. Quickly.

  Ed was leaning back in his chair and looking very pleased with himself.

  “You find a new porn site?” Ethan asked, just to piss on his campfire.

  “No, well, yes, but that’s not it.”

  That cleared that up.

  Kelsey stepped up behind Ed and almost touched his chair before her sense of self-preservation kicked in and she snatched her hand away. “That’s the FBI logo. You’re in?”

  “Was there ever any doubt?” Ed said, checking his nails, what was left of them.

  “Knew you could do it,” Kelsey said, and meant it.

  “So what do you want to see?” Ed asked, half turning in his chair to look at Ethan.

  “I want to know if there’s any off-the-books cash stashed someplace.”

  Ed’s eyes opened wider. “Why would they want unaudited cash? It’s illegal.”

  “So they can pay to have people killed who ask dumb questions,” Ethan said, and waved at the screen.

  “It’s impossible. The definition of off-the-books means it’s not going to be listed in the here is all the cash folder.”

  “What about if you narrow it down?” Ethan said.

  “Maybe. Doubt it though.”

  “I know you’ve got skills. Do it for me,” Kelsey said, and pushed her breasts against her tight white shirt.

  Ethan gave her a long look, then shifted up to her eyes and winked.

  “Okay. Here goes nothing.” Ed tapped the keyboard for a minute then stopped. “Jesus.”

  “Not somebody you’re ever likely to meet,” Ethan said. “Not with all your cyber debauchery.”

  “That’s not a sin,” Ed said, almost without thinking.

  “What you got?” Ethan said, deciding to leave it there while he still had his sanity.

  “Special Agent Dryer put all his access codes and passwords in a Word doc.” Ed looked back and shook his head. “Who does that? Sniffer, trojans, spyware, anything can find them.” He nodded sagely. “Old people.”

  “It comes to us all,” Ethan said. “Have you found the cash?”

  “That’s what I’m saying. I got access to everything this guy ever uses.”

  “Don’t want to know when he’s got a dental appointment, I just want to know if he has a black budget.”

  “Which one?”

  “He has more than one?” Kelsey said.

  “Well, yeah.” Ed tapped the screen.

  They saw a list of numbers and mixed text that could’ve been passwords or just a monkey’s attempt at Shakespeare.

  “This one,” Ed said, pointing again. “That’s an operational budget. Kosher. But these three, they don’t have an ID tag.”

  “And that’s bad?” Ethan said, leaning over Ed’s
shoulder.

  “No, that’s good,” Ed said. “Because it’s what you’re looking for.”

  “Which one has the most cash?” Ethan said.

  “How the hell do I know? These are just the access creds.”

  “Then access,” Ethan said.

  Ed took his hands off the keyboard. “I do that I’ll set off all sort of system alarms and they’ll backtrace the IP right to me.”

  Ethan frowned at Kelsey. “Is he a Martian?”

  Kelsey smiled. “He means seeing the door isn’t the same as opening it. They’ll have triggers to sound an alarm if anything is tampered with.”

  That was much clearer.

  “So we can’t get to the secret cash?” Ethan said.

  “No,” Ed and Kelsey said.

  “I need to know how much is in the budget so I can determine if it’s funding this black op.”

  “Why didn’t you say?” Ed said.

  “I thought I did.”

  “This page has a link to a spreadsheet.” He clicked a link and a spreadsheet opened with a list of transactions.

  Ethan leaned closer, scanned the list and tapped the screen. “There, there and there.”

  Kelsey put her hands on the back of the chair and leaned forward. Ed snuggled up to her left breast.

  “I’ve got a gun,” she said quietly.

  Ed snatched his face away from her shirt.

  “What do you see?” she said.

  “Those payments,” Ethan said, pointing again. “They were made right after each assassination.”

  “But Wakeman was killed by Carter’s man. There wouldn’t be a payment.”

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Ethan stood up. “Kid, can you copy that onto a floppy?”

  “A what?” Ed’s brow furrowed.

  “He means a thumb drive,” Kelsey said.

  “Right. Had me worried there for a moment.” A few seconds later he handed Ethan a memory stick.

  Ethan looked at it, turned it over, then dropped it in his jacket pocket as though he knew what it was.

  “You did good, kid,” he said, and started for the door.

  “Ed. My name’s Ed.”

  Ethan stopped and looked back. “Right. You did good… Ed.” He continued to the door and held it open for Kelsey, then smiled at Ed. “No hacking for personal profit. Or… you’re gonna meet Bubba.”

  He closed the door and left Ed with his mouth open, and nightmares to come.

  “You shouldn’t torment the gee—the analyst,” Kelsey said as they headed for the exit, before the director spotted them and asked for an update.

  “An ounce of prevention,” he said.

  “Meaning?”

  “You see his reaction when I mentioned hacking bank accounts?”

  “No.”

  “Guilty as sin. And now he’s all straightened out. I feel a warm glow.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be sainted after your death. Which won’t be long now.”

  She strode ahead and held open the fire door for him, and got a bow as thanks.

  “So Dryer has a black budget,” she said, following. “Doesn’t mean he’s funding Faraj or whatever his name is.”

  “No,” Ethan said, “but it lights up his corner.”

  “You think there’s going to be another assassination?” Kelsey said.

  “Yes, bound to be. Ratchet up the fear on the Hill and loosen their purse strings.”

  “With the demon getting closer to their door, they’re going to be crapping themselves,” she said as they stepped out into the cool early evening. “The question is, who’s next? Military or politician?”

  “I’ve got a better question,” Ethan said, and turned around. “Where are the three missing Hellfires?”

  “Shit!” Kelsey said. “And you think he’s got a target in mind for them?”

  “I do,” Ethan said. “There’s a man who bridges both the military and political camps.”

  “The President?”

  “That’s where I’d put my money.”

  “But a missile, even a Hellfire, wouldn’t get anywhere close to the White House. They have the best anti-missile defenses outside the military.”

  “The missile doesn’t have to hit to create a hell of a diversion.”

  She waited until they were back in the SUV to ask the question.

  “The President isn’t always in the White House,” Ethan said as he took his usual place in the passenger seat. “If it was me, I’d wait for him to board Marine One; then when it lifts off from the lawn, I’d launch a Hellfire at the White House.” He glanced at her and saw he had her attention. “The chopper’ll get the hell out of there. And then I’d launch the second missile. And before anybody could react…” He shrugged. “Job done.”

  “And you think that’s his game plan?”

  He settled back into his seat. “Like I said, it’s what I’d do, and okay, he’s a terrorist, but he’s also a hell of a strategic thinker.”

  “So he’ll see that play.” She started the SUV. “We have to warn Secret Service.”

  Ethan sniffed and she turned to face him.

  “Except that Dryer thought of that too,” Ethan said. “He set me up to put eyes on the President, knowing Gunny would get busted. If I go back to them now…”

  “Cry wolf.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Then what are you… we going to do?”

  “Drive us back to Dryer.” He smiled. “If you like. We’ll have a chat and we might just spook him when I mention the cash.”

  For a change Ethan didn’t sleep as Kelsey pushed the SUV through the evening traffic and headed for the J. Edgar Hoover building, he just closed his eyes and let his mind do its thing with the information he’d dumped on it.

  Dryer was behind the whole thing. He should’ve seen that. Okay, but he hadn’t looked, no reason to. Yeah, tell yourself that if it makes it easier. It didn’t. He should’ve gone where the evidence led, like a trained investigator, but Dryer and the FBI were the law. Still didn’t make it acceptable.

  And now he was going to try to assassinate the President of the United States, just for money. No, not for money, for power.

  Except something didn’t feel right.

  Kelsey took a sharp right, and he opened his eyes and saw the two black Suburbans join them on Pennsylvania Avenue.

  “We’ve got company,” he said.

  Kelsey looked in the rear-view. “They’re FBI or I’m an ice-skating gorilla.”

  “Your secret is safe with me.”

  “What’s their game?”

  Ethan pushed himself upright and looked back. “If I was a betting man, I’d give you odds that Dryer has set them on us to shut us up.”

  Kelsey increased speed a little just to check they were following. They were. “How could he know we worked it out?”

  “He’s an agent in charge. He knows. Can you lose them?”

  “Please. This is a Ford Expedition.” As if he’d know the significance of that.

  “And that’s good?”

  “Those guys are driving Suburbans.” Same result. “This is a real sports utility vehicle… you know what one of those is, right?”

  “Sure.” He patted the dash. “So can you lose them?”

  “They’ve got a better top speed, but this is all about acceleration.” She switched the transmission into sports and floored the pedal. The tires screeched as they bit onto the asphalt and the SUV took off.

  The tailing vehicles came after them, maybe counting on the traffic to slow them down. And there was every chance it would have, had anybody else been driving, anybody with an iota of consideration for the good people of the capital. Except Kelsey was driving.

  She went through the intersection with Twelfth Street on red, swerved through the veering traffic, straightened up and punched it.

  The Suburbans weaved carefully through the stalled traffic, either because they were federal agents tasked with the safety of the people, or because sh
e’d left cars, trucks and buses slewed all across the intersection.

  She turned right onto Tenth Street without slowing and tore down the tree-lined street, weaving around the side of a Metro bus as it signaled to pull in to let the good folks off for a stroll. The driver stood on the brakes as she cut back in front of him. The good folks fell in the aisles, but it would be something to tell the kids when they got home, a bit of excitement in an otherwise humdrum day. Or that was what she told herself in the microsecond she thought about it before she encountered the next potential obstacle. The old lady on the crossing froze and just stared at the approaching SUV; then she raised her stick, intending to swat it.

  Ethan stretched, took out his cell and leaned back in his seat. “We lost them yet?” he said, and dialed a number.

  “Working on it.” She threw him a quick look. “Who you calling? The police?”

  “No need,” he said, and pointed back over the seat.

  She took a moment to look in the rear-view at the white Ford Interceptor coming around the bus with its blues flashing. Then she had to concentrate to miss the mad old woman and her weapon. The Ford was on loan and the motor pool wouldn’t thank her for bringing it back with a walking-stick-shaped dent in it.

  She’d lost the Suburbans way back at the intersection with Pennsylvania Avenue, but now there was the Interceptor, and fast as the Expedition was, it was no match for the cop’s naught to sixty in a shade over five seconds. Except in the city that was theoretical.

  At the end of Tenth Street she cut across the traffic turning right and scattered them like stock cars on the first bend. The Interceptor had to break hard to avoid being a participant in the wreck that followed Kelsey’s exit.

  “Where you heading?” Ethan said, glancing back at the insurance nightmare all over the road. “Nice.”

  “I-395.”

  “Because?”

  She smiled. “There’s a club in Arlington I’d like you to be refused entry to.”

  “The cemetery?” He shrugged. “Okay, got nothing better to do and I’m going to be a resident there soon enough.” He glanced at her. “Me being a wanted felon.”

  “Who says you’re a felon?” she said as she swerved around a tourist bus slowing to check out the Smithsonian Museum.