The Secret Target

by Dean Atwood

  “I bought us some time with the NSA. I asked my boss to inform them that you’re in hiding until we’re certain it’s safe for you to return. He’s requesting that they stop their search for you and let the FBI do its job leading the investigation.”

  “That’s all fine and good, but it won’t help if somebody in the NSA or one of the other intelligence agencies is part of the plot to kill Jeremy and me.”

  “I don’t see where we have a lot of choices, unless you want to come back to the JUIAF. I can send a team to pick you up or drive there myself right now to personally escort you. Is that what you want?”

  Blaire went quiet on the phone while she thought about it.

  “BS, are you there?”

  “I’m here.”

  “Do you have an alternative to Wintergreen to propose as a temporary hiding place?”

  “I have a key to a house owned by Jeremy Glover and I don’t think anybody else knows about it,” she said.

  “You have a key to his house? I thought you told me there was nothing going on between the two of you.”

  “No, you don’t understand. I’ve never been there.”

  “So, he gave you a key to his house that you planned to use for a romantic rendezvous, but he was shot before you went through with it?”

  “No, you’re twisting everything around,” she said in her vulnerable female voice, throwing in a sniffle or two for good measure.

  “Please, explain it to me in a way I can understand.”

  “I took the key out of Jeremy’s pocket while he was lying dead in the parking lot. He’d told me about the house … and yes, I admit he flirted with me and tried to get me to go there with him, but I never did, and I didn’t plan to ever go there.”

  “I don’t know what to believe about you and Jeremy … What makes you think nobody knows about the house? Wouldn’t the FBI or the task force have it listed as his Charlottesville address?”

  “No, his local address is the OMNI hotel. The FBI was putting him up there while he was on the task force.”

  “Couldn’t somebody easily trace the house to him and go there to search it?”

  “Maybe, but Jeremy told me the title isn’t in his name.”

  “What name is listed under?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense. What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Have you talked with Special Agent Warren, yet?”

  “No, but I plan to do it today.”

  “It would be better if he told you the details, but I guess you’ll find out sooner or later. As I told you before, I was on special assignment to gather evidence of corruption against Jeremy Glover. While we were working together on the task force, it was my job to confirm suspicions by the DIA that he was conducting illegal activity. In order to do that, I had to establish a rapport with him, so he’d trust me.”

  “Is that what you call it — establishing rapport.”

  “If you’re going to be sarcastic, I’m not going to discuss it with you.”

  “I’m sorry, but when I saw the two of you together, your relationship seemed way too personal to be an act. Putting that aside, is somebody in the FBI aware of the DIA investigation?”

  “No, Warren said they weren’t sure whether others in the FBI were involved, so they didn’t want to inform them about it until there was more evidence. But somehow, the DIA obtained access to an offshore bank account owned by Jeremy. The records showed large sums of money deposited. I didn’t see an actual bank statement, but that’s what Special Agent Warren told me when he asked me to spy on Jeremy.”

  “I see. If what you’re telling me is true, it’s possible that the shooting had something to do with Agent Glover’s activities rather than directly with the task force’s mission. Maybe you’re just collateral damage because somebody wasn’t sure how much you knew about Jeremy’s business.”

  “What do you mean, if what I’m saying is true? Are you calling me a liar?”

  “No, of course not. That’s not what I meant. It’s the DIA’s motive that I’m questioning. It’s totally outside standard protocols to assign a cyber analyst like you to spy on somebody within the intelligence community. I’ll have to figure out how to broach the subject with Special Agent Warren without revealing that you told me about it.”

  “I’d appreciate that. I’m in enough trouble as it is.”

  “Getting back to the subject of a safehouse, what do you want to do? I’ll meet you at Wintergreen within a couple of hours, if you think you’ll be safe until then. I’d really like to talk with Special Agent Warren and one of the other task force members before I leave.”

  Blaire sighed. “I’m not sure what the best thing for me to do is. Give me some time to think about it. I’ll call you if I decide to go to Jeremy’s; otherwise, I’ll wait for you here.”

  After hanging up the phone, Blaire sat on the edge of the bed with her face cradled in her hands, deciding what to do next. What a mess. Life was simple a few weeks ago. She loved her job, and her relationship with QT was going great. Now she was on the run from a hired assassin, her job was in jeopardy, and her future with QT was uncertain.

  Life can take a turn for the worse in a hurry. You can either accept it and let fate take its course or you can fight to change things for the better. Blaire Saunders wasn’t the type to wait around and do nothing.

  Chapter 19

  S carlatino couldn’t remember a single time he’d gone on a real vacation. When his job had demanded it, he’d spent time at resorts to case targets or make hits, but that was work. When he had lulls between jobs, he spent his free time alone in a modest abode, not at an exotic vacation venue.

  He had no family or friends, which was exactly the way he liked it. Occasionally, he’d go to a local bar to have a few drinks, but he always sat alone and avoided talking to anybody. He had no interest in personal relationships with women or men. If he was in the mood for sex, he’d find a hooker — no emotional connection desired.

  He’d been contracted to remove female targets before, but none as sexy as Blaire Saunders. The thought crossed his mind that he didn’t have to eliminate her right away. He could do whatever he wanted to do with her before ending her life. Of course, it would be riskier to capture her alive and then kill her later, but not impossible for a man with his skills. The thought of taking her was stimulating, but fleeting. He’d been around long enough to know that mixing business with pleasure is a bad idea — never get personally involved with targets.

  As he drove into the Wintergreen Resort, he subconsciously shook his head in disgust at the distasteful thought of vacationers mulling around. He remembered as a child, going with his mother while she cleaned hotel rooms. Her subservient behavior toward condescending and often rude hotel guests had sickened him.

  He slowly circled the parking lot, searching for Blaire Saunders’ BMW, but didn’t see it. It was unlikely she’d changed cars. In the final analysis, it didn’t really matter where her car was located because he wasn’t going to give her a chance to reach it unscathed this time. But, he had a routine that he always followed, and part of the routine was to assess in advance any potential escape routes. So, he went through the motions, circling the parking lot.

  Unable to find the BMW after going around three times, he pulled into a parking spot, facing the building where he assumed Blaire’s room was located. His new Chevy was partially hidden by a Cadillac Escalade that was parked next to it, but he could still see if anyone went into or came out of the building. After watching for a half hour without seeing any activity nearby, he picked up his mobile phone and dialed.

  “Wintergreen Resort Hotel,” the perky voice answered. “How may I help you?”

  “Has Blaire checked into her room yet?”

  “What’s Blaire’s last name?”

  “The room is in the name of Quinton Target.”

  “Is this Mr. Target?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “If you don
’t mind me saying so, she’ll be happy to hear from you. Do you want me to connect you to the room?”

  “No, that won’t be necessary. I’d like to surprise her.”

  “Women like surprises, but you’ll need the room number, and I can’t give that out over the phone. You’ll have to talk to her to get it.”

  “Thanks for your help. I’ll find her.”

  “OK, if you’re sure.”

  Scarlatino screwed the silencer onto his pistol, inserted the gun into his pants pocket, and put a baseball cap onto his head before exiting his car. As he walked to her room, he checked to make sure there were no security cameras aimed in his direction or any hotel guests or service staff in close proximity. Satisfied that the path was clear, he moved quickly to the second floor, searching for the room number, which had been provided by the obnoxious client he’d talked with on the phone.

  When he arrived at her room, he knocked on the door, but there was no answer. Scarlatino didn’t expect Blaire to be a threat to him. He knew that her background was primarily as a computer analyst, not a field agent. But, when a prey is backed into a corner, it sometimes fights back viciously. If she happened to have a gun, she could fire a lucky shot and hit him. He wouldn’t underestimate her.

  He rapped on the door again and said, “This is custodial services. I’m here to replace faulty lightbulbs. It’ll only take a few minutes.” While waiting for a response, he pulled his gun from his pocket and rested it by his side. If he saw any movement in the door’s peephole, he would fire a bullet into it.

  Since she hadn’t answered him, and he couldn’t hear her talking on the phone, he assumed she was huddled in a corner or had locked herself in the bathroom. Most hotel doors are metal and sturdy, but the Wintergreen Resort building had ornate wooden doors, which were designed more for appearance than security. One strategically placed front kick burst the door open. He stood to one side of the open door to avoid any bullets the girl might fire while panicked. After a few seconds with no gunfire or utterance coming from the room, Scarlatino spun into the doorway with his pistol raised and ready to shoot. No sign of her in the bedroom, closet, or bathroom. Cautiously, he lifted the bedspread, which was touching the floor. He could see that the bedframe was too low to allow a person to slide beneath it.

  There were no suitcases, no clothes in the dresser drawers, and no personal items visible. Blaire Saunders was gone.

  Chapter 20

  L ike most people living in the information age, Blaire had become accustomed to using GPS to guide her travel to new destinations. Unfortunately, activating her iPhone to use Google Maps wasn’t an option because it would reveal her location. Normally, she would’ve used her BMW GPS to take her to Jeremy’s house, but she couldn’t risk that either. Prior to her departure from Wintergreen, she’d disconnected her car’s GPS tracking. The law required a warrant to be obtained by an agency to trace a vehicle through its GPS, but she doubted that the people looking for her would be worried about breaking the law. She had deliberately avoided checking out of the Wintergreen Resort. If somebody contacted the hotel to inquire whether she’d checked in, it was to her advantage to have them think she was still there. It would be even better if they used the misinformation to waste their time by going to Wintergreen to look for her. The hotel had QT’s credit card number. They’d get paid whether she spent the night or not.

  She found her way to Jeremy’s house the old-fashioned way, by driving to the road identified on the keychain address tag and checking the numbers written on mailboxes. It took her an hour to drive from Wintergreen and find the place. It was situated on the side of a mountain. The winding driveway that led to it was at least a half mile long. Because of the length of the driveway and the heavy forestation in the area, she was comfortable that her vehicle wouldn’t be visible from the road. She parked next to the three-car garage, retrieved her overnight bag from the backseat, and walked to the front door. Her eyes darted around as she scanned the surrounding area to reassure herself that the house was unoccupied and not being watched. She inserted the key and as she turned it, the lock clicked. It occurred to her that opening the door may activate a burglar alarm that required a code to be entered to prevent the police from being dispatched. She considered potential passcodes Jeremy would have used, but nothing obvious came to mind. With trepidation, she opened the door. She relaxed a little when no bells or sirens sounded.

  The first thing that struck her upon entering was the bright sunlight coming from the windows. After setting her bag on the hall floor, she moved toward the light. Sliding glass doors opened to a deck that ran along the entire backside of the house. She walked to the edge of the deck and placed her hands on the railing while she surveyed the scenic view, which included a couple of vineyards in the valley below. She’d recognized the front of the house from a picture Jeremy had shown her, but the photo hadn’t revealed the magnificent view from the deck or captured the luxurious home interior. There was no way he could afford this place on an FBI Agent’s salary, nor could he afford the beach house in another picture he’d shown her. From what he’d told her, he’d grown up in a lower middleclass neighborhood and worked his way through college. He hadn’t inherited any money, and as far as she knew, he hadn’t won a lottery jackpot. Everything pointed to obtaining his wealth by illegal means. What kind of illicit activity was he performing to justify payments large enough to buy two ostentatious houses?

  Blaire took in a deep breath of mountain air before returning to the inside of the home. She moved from room to room, looking for any clues that might shed some light on Jeremy’s activities. The place was clean and organized, but there were no signs that Jeremy or anyone else had stayed there recently. The furnishings were sparse, but the basics were there. The kitchen was stocked with silverware, tableware, and a pantry with snacks and canned goods. The potato chips reminded her she was hungry. She opened a bag and munched on them as she looked around. In a hall closet, there was a set of golf clubs. It was odd that Jeremy had never mentioned he was a golfer.

  Her eyes lit up when she entered the study and saw a personal computer resting on a desk. She sat down in the office chair and pressed the PC’s power button. Her fingers lightly caressed the keys without pushing them down far enough for them to register. Much to her surprise, after the computer booted up, it went straight to the home screen without prompting for a user id or password.

  Blaire got up from the chair and retrieved her overnight bag from the hall floor. She set it on the desk and removed a black carrying case from it, which contained her hacking devices. First, she plugged in a USB drive which contained code she called John the Baptist. It scanned the computer and removed all malware that was installed, including keyloggers and self-destruct programs. Once it completed, and she was satisfied the PC had been successfully cleansed, she installed software that would prevent anyone from determining her physical location while she was using the computer.

  Before initiating an Internet Browser, she searched the computer’s file directories. Pictures are always a good place to start a search. They say a picture is worth a thousand words and based on Blaire’s experiences at the NSA, she whole-heartedly supported this axiom. There were three subfolders under the Pictures file folder: Amanda, Amanda Replacement, and All Other. She opened the folder named Amanda, which revealed at least fifty JPEGs of a dark-haired woman in her early forties. Most of them were taken on an ocean beach where the center of attention was on the brunette dressed in bikinis of varying colors and scantiness. Although she didn’t have the ideal bikini body — folds of fat covered her bellybutton and her bathing suit bottom wasn’t nearly large enough to cover her butt cheeks — she unabashedly exposed herself. A couple of the beach photos included Jeremy, wearing bathing trunks, with his arm wrapped around her waist and a phony smile pasted on his face.

  Not all the photos were set on the beach. Some were taken near a large office complex. The buildings looked familiar to Blaire, but she couldn’t quite
place them. In those shots, she was dressed appropriately for an office environment. It was obvious that Amanda was unaware she was being photographed. In one of the pictures, she was handing an envelope to a man whose face was turned away from the camera.

  After gleaning what she could from the Amanda folder, Blaire turned her attention to the Amanda Replacement folder. She clicked open the first photograph and her jaw dropped. Staring back at her was a picture of herself. She clicked on the other pics in the folder rapidly, barely taking time to look at one before opening the next. Unlike Amanda’s, none of the pics of Blaire were in bikinis or in other ways provocative, but she still felt violated. There were images of her entering and leaving the JUIAF, in front of her townhouse, at the downtown mall with QT, and near the houses that she had bugged with Jeremy as part of project Typhon. The thing that disturbed her most was the name of the file folder. Was Jeremy trying to seduce her as part of a plan to recruit her as a replacement for Amanda? It was a blow to her pride to know that Jeremy actually thought he could seduce and manipulate her. In her mind, she was the one doing the seducing to get him to reveal his illegal activities. Putting aside the affront to her pride, she turned her thoughts back to Amanda. Who was she and why did she need to be replaced? It was obvious Jeremy and she were in a relationship, but why did he have reconnaissance photos of her?

  Moving on, Blaire opened the All Other picture folder. It contained multiple images of Jeremy’s recent acquisitions. These included photos of the mountain house and the beach house. Some of the pics only included the buildings or surrounding views from the property while others included Jeremy next to the houses. In addition, there were pictures of a silver Bugatti Chiron. Blaire wasn’t an expert on automobiles, but she’d seen a list of the top ten most expensive sports cars on the internet recently and she seemed to recall that the Bugatti Chiron was worth about $2.5 million. Blaire shook her head. Being an FBI agent, she’d have thought that Jeremy would’ve been more cautious about making outrageous purchases while he was still on the FBI payroll. His arrogance was mindboggling. Of course, he may have thought that the rich and powerful people who were paying him could quash any suspicions that arose.