Line of Fire

by R. J. Patterson

  Black called Shields to see if she’d made any breakthroughs in the wee hours of the morning.

  “It’s dangerous calling me before nine,” she said. “There’s always a good chance that I haven’t consumed my coffee yet.”

  “What can I say,” Black said, putting the call on speaker and setting the phone back in its cradle. “You know me. I always rush in when I shouldn’t. Storming into a kill box surrounded by six hostiles or calling you before you’ve had your daily caffeine jolt—it’s all the same to me.”

  “In that case, you’ll be happy to know that you won’t even attract friendly fire from me today,” she said. “I just polished off the first of two lattes I plan on drinking before lunch.”

  “Did that mug of caffeine translate into you figuring out what the hell is going on?”

  “No,” she said with a sigh. “Still coming up empty on his whereabouts. And Blunt keeps getting reports that this guy is a model agent. It’s like we’re trying to pin a crime on a saint to make heads or tails of Vogle’s actions.”

  “I’ve been thinking about this a lot this morning. Seems like that Wellington angle is dead.”

  “Coincidences don’t always pan out the way we want them to,” she said. “Sometimes, a coincidence is just a coincidence.”

  “But then Vogle waltzed into the scene and skewed the notion that Wellington was behind it all,” Black said.

  “I think in some twisted way, we wanted him to be involved. We could thwart his plan, stick it to him even after he’s in the grave.”

  “Speak for yourself. I’d prefer never to utter the man’s name again. And on that note, I suggest we move on and focus our efforts on catching Vogle and forcing him to give us some straight answers.”

  “I’m on board with that,” Shields said. “Good luck with that today, too. Hopefully Miriam will spill her guts and it’ll help us catch this bastard.”

  “Fingers crossed.” He was about to hang up before another thought occurred. “Shields?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How’s your shooting?”

  “I’m going text you a picture of my target from last night’s session.”

  “You went to the gun range last night?”

  “Uh-huh. Gotta let off a little steam every now and then.”

  Black’s phone buzzed.

  “I just texted you a picture of last night’s trip to the shooting range,” she said.

  As the image came up on his screen, he glanced at the evidence of her shooting prowess. “Geez, Shields. You don’t cut anyone any slack, do you?”

  “I never have time to waste on hostiles. Still want to come shoot with me?”

  “Is that an open invitation?” he asked.

  “Sorry, one-time offer,” she said. “Tonight only.”

  “But I’m—”

  “What? Working? What a sorry excuse. Maybe one day I’ll let you come out with me and embarrass yourself. Until then, just find Miriam Parsons and update me when you get a chance.”

  She hung up, leaving Black with a frightening thought: His hopes of discovering motivation and an end game rested with Miriam Parsons.

  * * *

  A FEW MINUTES before 3:30 p.m., Black pulled into the parking lot of Surf ’N Fly Water Shop located just off the main strip of state Highway 12 in Buxton, North Carolina. He skimmed the personnel file he had on Miriam Parsons before he got out of his car and entered the building.

  An early twenty-something blonde wearing a tank top greeted him from behind the counter. “You returning a rental?”

  “No, I was wondering if Miriam Parsons is around,” he said.

  “She should still be in her office. Let me check and see if she’s available.”

  Black browsed the only two aisles in the store. A fenced-off area adjacent to the building was packed with different rental options. Surfboards, kite boards, kites, and foil boards made up the majority of the store’s inventory outside. But inside, wetsuits, scuba gear, and snorkeling equipment comprised the offerings along with the store’s branded logo on t-shirts and sweatshirts.

  As Black scanned all the products, a screeching sound from the corner of the room startled him. He spun to see a caged parrot squawking at him.

  “Surf or die, surf or die,” the bird repeated.

  Black chuckled as he studied the animal, which was swinging on a perch.

  “Bluebeard is one of my best salesmen,” said a woman from across the room.

  Black turned to see a woman with glasses parked on top of her sandy-blonde hair and a pencil tucked behind her ear.

  “Bluebeard almost has me sold,” Black said.

  “Unfortunately, you’ll have to come back tomorrow,” the woman said. “We don’t issue any rentals after three o’clock.”

  “You must be Miriam Parsons,” Black said as he walked over to her and offered his hand.

  She shook it and nodded. “And you are?”

  “Titus Black,” he said as he glanced over to notice the clerk returning to her post. “I was wondering if I could have a minute of your time.”

  Miriam threw her hands out. “I guess now is as good as any. What do you need?”

  “Privately,” he said, nodding in the direction of the hallway leading into the back of the building.

  She squinted and cocked her head to one side. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that, Mr. Black. Can you tell me what this is regarding?”

  “I wanted to ask you a few questions about Preston Vogle.”

  She scowled. “Preston Vogle? What do you want to know about him? I haven’t spoken with him in years.”

  “Whether it was yesterday or today, I was hoping you might be able to help shed some light on who he really is?”

  “I don’t know that I could do that for you. It’s been a long time since I spoke with him. People change a lot in ten years.”

  Black eyed her closely. “It’s important.”

  “Yeah, I don’t know what to tell you. We were close at one point, but I haven’t spoken to him in quite a while. Is he in some kind of trouble?”

  “I’m looking into some of his past associates.”

  “Are you with the agency?”

  Black shook his head. “Nope, I’m in the private sector—we handle security needs for high-end clients. And I’m doing a routine background check on Mr. Vogle.”

  “Look, he’s a great guy,” she said. “Very loyal and a fierce patriot. If you’re looking for someone who can handle the rigors of private security, he’s your guy.”

  “And there aren’t any skeletons in the closet my employer should be worried about?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m aware that you had a relationship with him. Is there anything I need to know about him from your time together?”

  She leaned in close and spoke in a hushed tone. “I don’t want my employees knowing all my business.”

  “I understand. If you don’t want to say anything—”

  “I think I’ve said plenty. Hire him. He’ll be great for your company. And what was that company again?”

  “Southbrook Services,” he said. “Are you familiar them?”

  She shook her head. “Can’t say that I am. But I left that world a long time ago, trading it in for parrots and surfboards.”

  “You made a good choice, Ms. Parsons.”

  She smiled and nodded. “I think so. Thanks for stopping by. And if you’re ever in the area again and have an inkling to get out on the water, come see us.”

  “Of course,” Black said. “Have a nice rest of your afternoon.”

  Black got into his car and drove around the block. He parked across the street at a taco stand and waited for Parsons to leave for the day.

  An hour later, she exited her shop, her hair whipping in the breeze as she traded her reading glasses for a pair of oversized sunglasses. He discreetly followed her to a seafood restaurant. After a few minutes, she exited with a plastic bag bulging with several styrofoam food cont
ainers.

  His phone rang. “This is Black,” he said.

  “Find anything useful?” Shields asked.

  “I spoke with Miriam at her shop and she stonewalled me, but I just followed her to a restaurant, where she’s leaving with more than one meal.”

  “Maybe it’s for her boyfriend or a roommate,” Shields suggested.

  “It’s possible. But I’m going to find out for sure before I leave this place.”

  “Roger that. Keep me posted.”

  Black hung up and eased back onto Highway 12, maintaining a safe distance from Parsons. He parked his car about a hundred yards down the street from her house and waited for half an hour before approaching her front door.

  He knocked on the door and clasped his hands behind his back while waiting for Parsons.

  “I’ll get it,” she said, her heavy footsteps pounding the floor.

  Who’s she talking to?

  As soon as Parsons flung the door open, Black could see deep into the house. He glossed over the former CIA agent and locked eyes with a man standing in the kitchen. Black rushed inside, shimmying against the wall to get past Parsons.

  “What are you doing?” she said.

  Black ignored her, his full attention on Preston Vogle, who had already broken into a full sprint after darting out the back door. With Black in pursuit, Vogle raced toward the dock in the canal behind Parson’s house. He slipped the rope over the cleat and pushed off a small boat. By the time Black reached the edge of the water, Vogle opened up the throttle and was speeding through the no wake zone.

  Black growled in frustration before turning around to see Parsons standing behind him.

  “Haven’t seen him ten years, huh?” Black asked.

  “It’s just that—”

  “Save your excuses for someone who cares. I need a boat. Anyone you can explain the situation to so they won’t be too upset when I steal their boat?”

  She shrugged.

  “I’m going to just take one if you don’t hurry up and say something,” Black said as he narrowed his eyes.

  “Okay, okay. Take Mr. Tyson’s right there. He’ll be understanding.”

  “You better be right.”

  Black hustled down Mr. Tyson’s dock and discovered the key in the glove compartment. As the engine warmed up, he slipped off the ties and pushed off into the canal.

  He glanced at the “No Wake” sign on one side of the canal before opening up the engine.

  Black could still see Vogle and wasn’t about to let him get away that easily.

  CHAPTER 12

  Washington, D.C.

  SHIELDS HUFFED AS she threw her bag over her shoulder and trudged out of the Firestorm headquarters. Without any way of picking up Vogle’s trail again, she felt stuck. Black was her best hope of regaining the trail before it went cold again. And if it did, she shuddered when she considered the potential fallout. As the investigation stood, Vogle had exited Langley with a treasure trove of secrets and there wasn’t any way she could stop him.

  On her way home, she stopped at a nearby pharmacy to grab a handful of essential items. She considered picking up something to eat and taking it with her, but decided eating out might help her psyche. Even if she was practically invisible, she figured she could at least put the heaviness from the investigation out of her mind for a few minutes while she ate in a public place.

  After she gave the waiter her order, she leaned back in her seat and took in the bustling scene of young people in their twenties and thirties enjoying a night out. If truth be told, Shields longed for that same type of normalcy. She didn’t want to be thinking about how she could stop a terrorist every waking minute of her day. But no matter what she did, she couldn’t escape her relentless mind, one singularly focused on keeping Americans safe.

  Shields was still lost in thought when her gaze was broken by a man sitting down across from her in her booth.

  “So, Christina, what do you recommend here?” he asked.

  “Joe,” she said, forcing a smile as she eyed the man carefully. “Long time, no see. What’s it been? Like twenty-five, twenty-six hours?”

  “Seems much longer to me.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’ve only tried the fried shrimp and filleted trout,” she said.

  “Can’t go wrong with fried shrimp and hush puppies,” he said.

  “I have a hard time with hush puppies north of the Mason-Dixon line. They always add way too much sugar once you travel north of southern Virginia.”

  The waiter placed a drink in front of her. “Here’s your sweet tea, ma’am.” He glanced at Dunn. “Would you like to see a menu, sir?”

  Dunn waved dismissively and shook his head. He turned toward Shields and chuckled. “You judge hush puppies as too sweet with the toss of your hair, yet you’re gulping down sweet tea like there’s no tomorrow.”

  Shields smacked her lips after finishing a large gulp. “Ahhh. The nectar of the gods. Now, Joe, is there something you wanted, or do I need to ask that kind host over there to escort you away from my table?”

  Dunn interlocked his fingers, resting them on the table in front of him. “I just came by to check on you and see if you’d made up your mind yet or not about joining my boss’s campaign.”

  “It’s still a hard pass from me, Joe,” she said. “I want to help you, if anything because you’re the kind of person I like to help—completely helpless, totally clueless, seriously inept in every way.”

  Dunn sighed. “Why am I not taking that as a compliment?”

  “Because it’s not. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to eat my meal in peace.”

  Dunn didn’t move. “Christina, would you mind telling me what led to your dismissal from the CIA? I still don’t understand why you’re not working there anymore.”

  “It’s a long story, and it requires the kind of time that I simply don’t have right now.”

  “Humor me,” Dunn said, resting his chin on his hands. “I’m paid by the job, not the hour.”

  “Unfortunately, I don’t have the time or patience to tell it to you either,” she said. “So, I’d really appreciate it if you’d just run along and let me eat my meal in peace.”

  He sighed. “You’re going to regret this when the news about President Michaels comes out.”

  “What are you talking about?” she asked.

  “What if I told you the president has some dark secrets?”

  She shrugged. “Don’t we all?”

  “Not like his.”

  Shields took a sip of her water. “As I recall, the very reason you’re trying to recruit me is to bury some of your boss’s secrets, whoever he is.”

  “Your point?”

  “I’m just saying nobody has any moral high ground in the political arena. Everyone makes mistakes, and it’s those mistakes—not someone’s political ideology—that determines whether or not we should vote for them. If we deem one candidate’s mistakes are less egregious than another’s, that’s who we choose. It’s a terrible way to pick who should represent us, if you ask me.”

  “I just know my boss is better suited for the Oval Office than the man currently sitting there.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. That’s not for me to decide. And it’s certainly not something I want to influence one way or the other. Tell your boss to campaign well and whatever skeletons are threatening to jump out and dissuade voters from choosing him won’t matter.”

  “If you knew what President Michaels did, you might not be so inclined to dismiss me so quickly.”

  “Look, Joe, we’re dealing in your opinions right now, not facts. You won’t even tell me who your boss is, so for the umpteenth time, I’m not interested in helping you.”

  “Just wait.”

  “Wait on what?” she asked.

  “You’ll see.”

  He stood, holding Shields’s gaze, tapping his fingers on the table. Without uttering another word, he turned and left the restaurant.

  I thought I’d never get ri
d of him.

  Shields wasn’t sure what she detested more—Dunn’s self-righteous attitude about his boss or the fact that Dunn was following her around. And both actions made her uncomfortable when she was near him.

  While waiting for her food to arrive, she pulled out her phone and did some research on Joe Dunn. She had been merely annoyed the first time he approached her, but now she’d become curious. With some deft internet sleuthing, she figured out who he was working for—John Kingman. She quickly scanned an article providing background on Kingman, a wealthy entrepreneur from Chicago who apparently had presidential aspirations. Then she dove into any harmful articles about him, looking for criticism and complaints. At first, she didn’t find much of anything. Then after five minutes, she stumbled across a few statements he made at a fundraising gala that were disparaging toward women. Shields had heard far worse from others she’d encountered over the years, choosing to use the comments as motivation as opposed to taking up an offense. And while she didn’t care for what Kingman had said, she doubted it would make much difference to voters.

  Maybe there’s something I’m missing.

  Her food finally arrived, so she moved her phone aside to dig into her meal. However, she hadn’t taken two bites before the cell vibrated on the table, rattling until she answered.

  “I just sent something to your email,” Dunn said.

  “Can’t you leave me alone and let me eat in peace?” she asked with a sigh.

  “Just read it and then get back with me.”

  He hung up, and Shields returned to eating her salad. Once she finished, her curiosity got the best of her and she decided to look at the document he sent her. She opened up the first one and started reading.

  Before she reached the second page, her eyes widened.

  This isn’t good.

  CHAPTER 13