by Steve Hadden
Forrest caught her watching him and she waved him over. He stepped into the office and stood firm, looking at her.
“We good?” he asked.
“Yeah. I think so.”
“Good. It was a good move reengaging the first client.”
Artemis knew at the heart of the argument was Forrest’s patriotism. It seemed odd that the most lethal operator she’d known was a patriot. Even one hundred million dollars couldn’t buy it. When he said he’d walk if she sold to the Chinese, Artemis became unglued. But as always, he helped her put that demon back in its bottle and they reached a compromise. The original client would get a chance to match the Chinese offer. If he didn’t, she’d have to choose between Forrest and the loneliness that drove her hunger for killing.
“We’ll see,” Forrest said. “If he does, we’ll have to deal with the MSS.”
She ignored her instinct to attack Forrest and turned and pointed to the mind map she’d constructed on the wall. She had to believe Covington had survived the night. Otherwise, they were screwed. “Have a look at this.”
Mind mapping was a technique she’d learned from her first handler at the CIA. While it had been presented as a visual information-management tool, Artemis saw it as the fastest way to a kill. The map started with a central idea or goal. That idea was at the center of her map.
Capture Kayla Covington.
Artemis wished capture had been replaced with kill. But in her experience, one eventually led to the other. Artemis slipped that idea into her mind as if storing a savory treat for later.
Reaching out from that center was a series of curved branches. Each was a different color, its trunk labeled.
Facilities
Friends
Family
Information
Authorities
Jobs
Limbs were drawn along the branches, representing Artemis’s brainstormed ideas of every option Kayla might think was an avenue to her survival. The limbs on the Facilities branch represented the six facilities that could rapidly re-create the technology with the aid of Covington’s knowledge. The Friends branch was the shortest and had only one name: Harrison Clarke. The Information branch was the longest and looked like a craggy tree. There were many limbs, but most of them had been taken care of through the attack at the lab and the hack of the data.
But there was a Hard Copy limb that branched out into all the people and locations where Covington might send any hard copy or memory devices. It also included news outlets, and that node fanned out into many options. The other branches were much shorter and had been quickly populated by the limited options available to Covington. For a fugitive, those options carried great risk.
Forrest leaned against the desk and admired her work. “You’ve been busy this morning.”
Artemis nodded and stepped to the scroll of paper taped to the wall. “It looks like she has lots of options, but many of them lead to the same place.” She traced the information branch. “If you follow this branch it leads to Hard Copy, to Safekeeping, here, then to Safe-Deposit Box, Friends and Family. But the Friends branch is limited to Clarke. So it’s out. And the Family branch has only three options: Father, Daughter and Ex-husband. The ex is unlikely, so that leaves the daughter and father. But the daughter, Emily, is a molecular biologist, just like dear old Mom. She’s cut her mother off … but look at the Facilities branch over here.” Artemis pointed to the Joshua Lab in Seattle. “Guess who works here.”
“Little Emily?”
“Checkmate.” Artemis stepped to the other side of the long paper. “But like I said, she’s estranged. And that would be tricky. Named the lab after her brother who some claim her mother killed. That brings us to here.” Artemis traced the news outlets branch to the San Diego Union-Tribune. “And then to here.” Artemis’s finger stopped on a name, written in red. Sienna Fuller. “She has the inside track, and from what I’ve read, she could be sympathetic.” Artemis stepped away from the wall.
“So two leads,” Forrest said. “Either Emily or Fuller? Which one do we secure?”
Artemis folded her arms and locked eyes with Forrest. “Both. The team up north can handle Emily. You get me everything on Fuller and her family. Start with her location. Check credit cards, ATM withdrawals, FasTrak tolls—the works. We need to know where she is and where she’s headed.”
CHAPTER 39
Agent Reed eyed the new luxury homes towering above him on the beachside cliff and wondered if one of them harbored his fugitive. The call had come in around 9 a.m. Debris from a pleasure craft had washed up on Dana Strands Beach. He watched the ERT techs comb the beach as they cataloged every piece of debris and any footprint emerging from the heavy surf.
Reed turned when he thought he heard the helicopter over the constant growl of the breakers. As the winter wind cut through his coat and stung his cheeks with its sand-laden gust, he pulled his collar up and spotted the aircraft offshore. While he was far away from the comfort of the Joint Operations Center, he knew he had to be here. They were closing in on Covington and he wanted to be the first to capture and interrogate her. His list of questions was growing as the evidence and information rolled in.
The Sea Ray cushion at his feet matched the boat missing from the Donnelly Marine dock, and the two trails emerging from the surf had narrowed his focus. The on-site footprint analysis concluded that the shoe sizes approximated those of Covington and Clarke. He and Agent Connelly agreed: anyone coming out of that surf would not be in any condition to get very far. Above them, a door-to-door search was underway.
Earlier, Reed had attended the briefing from the Joint Terrorist Task Force. They’d identified the explosive used at the lab and had traced it to C4 discovered missing from Pendleton. All biometric evidence still pointed to Covington. The Cyber Action Team had narrowed the source of the hack to a warehouse in Miramar that had been scrubbed clean.
Reed had known Covington’s treatment was called RGR. It allowed for rapid genetic reversal of the effects of aging at the cellular level and provided the platform to treat a myriad of diseases, including the multiple sclerosis stealing his older brother’s life. It could be injected directly into the human body. But the treatment required two injections, one to start the process and one to stop it. If Covington had injected herself, she’d need the second injection within five days or risk death. But the process would make her younger in the meantime, and Reed had immediately ordered that age-adjusted images of Covington be generated and circulated. Those were now in the hands of the agents going door to door.
Reed saw Connelly talking with the supervisory special agent leading the ERT. Connelly caught Reed’s stare and immediately ran up the beach to him.
“Just got information from the boat shop,” Connelly said, still catching his breath. “They found multiple slugs from multiple weapons. Most likely Glocks and MP5s.”
“A firefight?”
“Looks that way.” Connelly’s eyes widened. “Someone is after them.”
Reed absorbed the information and forced his mind to shift to inductive thinking. Evidence from Clarke’s townhome and the boat shop fit the same pattern of attack. Covington had fled from someone in each case. That meant she was being pursued. His seed of doubt about Covington’s guilt sprouted.
“A double cross or an interloper?” Reed asked.
Connelly shrugged. “Could be either.”
“If it’s a double cross, Covington would have taken something her partners wanted. All those laptops and computer drives aren’t easily moved. The syringes and serums have to be stored in refrigerators. She’d have to stash all of that. That separates the technology from the perpetrator. Doesn’t make sense.”
Connelly looked off into the distance. “Maybe they’re after her. What she knows?”
“Her knowledge is more valuable than the few prefilled injectors she made. Someone is after Covington to steal the technology that way. That means it’s more likely she did escape and is on the run.”
Reed could feel a riot boiling up in his gut. He didn’t want to admit it. But it was a possibility. If Covington didn’t do any of the things she was suspected of doing, they were chasing the wrong person. “That would mean that she’s being hunted by the killers. Killing her makes the market value of what they have go up.”
“It could fit,” Connelly said.
“You sound like Fuller.” As soon as the words crossed his lips, an urgent need to speak with Sienna Fuller hit him. Reed pulled out his phone and called her cell phone, immediately going to her voicemail. “Miss Fuller, Special Agent in Charge Reed here. Please call me right away. It’s urgent.” Reed ended the call and then gave the number to Connelly. “Find her.”
“What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking she’s hiding something from us.”
Connelly’s phone rang and he answered it. His expression said it was good news. He ended the call. “We’ve got a hit.” Connelly nodded toward the cliff. “Neighbor four blocks off the beach said his dog went crazy around 3 a.m. Checked his doorbell camera. Someone entered the rental unit across the street. Wife said she saw another man enter around nine. Looked like a drowned rat.”
Reed spun and headed for the stairs that climbed up the cliff face. “Tell the agents to wait for us,” he said over his shoulder.
CHAPTER 40
Reed stood in the living room of the home of the witness who’d reported seeing the suspects across the street. He parted the curtains and drew a deep breath to steady the scope in his hands. He carefully examined the beige stucco home. Based on the interviews of the entire neighborhood, no one had been seen leaving the rental. Covington and Clarke were pinned down.
As he focused on Covington’s location, a dark vengeance swept over him, and a knot of corrosive energy formed in his chest. Based on his newfound doubt about her guilt, that was a problem now. The naval clinical psychologist had uncovered the root of this pattern after the Afghanistan debacle. The anger felt better than the guilt over losing someone under his command. That rage had nearly destroyed him, and letting that go felt good back then. But now Ashley’s ashen face was ever-present in his mind.
The two-bedroom ranch sat four blocks from the beach on the southeast corner of Benton Bay Avenue and Peach Street in a neighborhood built in the early seventies. The front door faced Reed, Connelly and the SWAT team, who’d taken up position inside the house across the street. He couldn’t see the garage. It was around the corner to the right and faced the line of trees intended to be a barrier between the neighborhood and the Pacific Coast Highway. Twilight had set in and Reed could hear the Saturday evening traffic just beyond the trees.
He checked the timer on his watch. In two minutes, he expected the other agents evacuating the block would give the all clear. He handed the scope back to the SWAT team leader. “Once the other dwellings are cleared, we’ll breach. Your team needs to be careful. Things tend to explode and burn when Covington is around.”
“Copy that.”
Reed reconsidered his comment. “We need Covington and Clarke alive. While the evidence points to her, there is new information that puts that in doubt.”
“Another suspect?”
“Another possibility. We are working on that theory to develop another suspect.”
“We’ll do what we can, sir.”
“I know you will. I know I don’t have to say this, but your team can defend themselves if necessary. We don’t want to lose anyone else.”
Reed heard Connelly’s radio chirp.
“We’re a go,” Connelly said.
“Let’s go.” Reed said as he led the team leader toward the front door and collected the SWAT members waiting in the hallway. He stopped at the door and pulled his Glock from his hip. He opened the door and the SWAT team formed a protective formation in front of him, leading with their bulletproof shields. They quickly crossed the road and took cover behind a car parked just left of the driveway.
Reed eyed the team leader, who listened on his earpiece, then looked at Reed. “Ready, sir. The other team is in the backyard ready to go.”
Reed’s pulse quickened. He nodded and the SWAT team formed up outside the front door. Connelly and Reed followed. The breacher stepped in front of the door and swung the battering ram, shattering the jamb. Flashbangs erupted, mixed with shouts from the unit. Reed didn’t hear any gunfire. He rushed into the house, gun drawn, but immediately heard the all clear response from the team leader. Standing in the small living room, he could see through the smoke into the kitchen and down the hall to the bedrooms. Each doorway was occupied by a SWAT member giving a thumbs-up. Covington and Clarke were gone.
“Shit.” Reed holstered his gun. He went down the hallway and spotted a lump of wet clothes on top of the washer. When he leaned down he could smell the salt water. Both bedrooms were empty with one of the beds unmade. Clothing hung in the closets with empty hangers spaced between. One bedroom closet contained men’s clothing and the other women’s. He made his way back to the kitchen and stepped past the SWAT team member standing inside the doorway. The garage was empty.
He turned back to Connelly. “They’re gone. Get ERT in here and get a cell tower dump for the last eighteen hours from the nearest towers. Run those against all the numbers associated with anyone involved with this case. Note any rental car businesses, hotels and any other form of transportation.”
“On it,” Connelly said as he pulled his phone out and headed back out the door.
Reed stepped outside and scanned the street. He’d evacuated the neighboring homes for nothing. The news crews would be here in minutes and they would fuel the growing frenzy that the media was building into a national crisis. He’d call Deputy Director Howe and Director Welch, give them a heads-up and take his beating—again.
CHAPTER 41
Kayla drove north on I-5 into L.A.’s perpetual traffic jam. The low glow of the sprawling metroplex lurked in the distance on either side. More people meant more contact, and with her face on every news outlet in the world, anyone seeing her could notify the authorities and end her chances of survival. Her ball cap and hoodie were the extent of her disguise. She divided her attention between the road ahead, the rearview mirror and the dashboard to monitor the surrounding traffic and blend in. One minor mistake could draw unwanted attention.
She glanced at Harrison, asleep in the passenger seat of the Chevy Trailblazer. His normally tan skin had faded and bags sagged below his eyes. Helping her had nearly killed him and her guilt stuck in her throat. But there was solace in the fact that he had helped her. And after this morning, she was certain that their bond was still strong enough for her to reverse one of her deepest regrets. Smiling, she reveled in the momentary weightlessness in her heart, then returned her attention to the interstate.
His exhaustion contrasted with her current condition: she was alert and felt as if she could drive all night as she did in her thirties. Her instincts as a researcher implored her to pull over and document her improving condition. But her need to survive trumped her scientific curiosity and she kept driving.
She was happy to be out of the rental. Moving the Trailblazer from the garage to the street two blocks over had paid off. Twitter had lit up with reports of an FBI raid in the neighborhood less than an hour after they’d climbed the fence in the backyard and made their way down the narrow alley to the SUV. They’d destroyed the burner and SIM card they’d used to contact Fuller. Still, somehow the FBI had found their location.
An eighteen-wheeler rumbled past on Kayla’s left and Harrison woke up and stretched.
“You feeling better?” Kayla asked.
“Much better,” Harrison said as he combed his hair with his fingers.
“We’re just south of downtown. We’ll be there in a little under four hours.”
Harrison sat up and rubbed the sleep from his face. He stayed silent and stared at the traffic ahead. Then he turned to Kayla. She could feel his gaze sweeping over her. “Christ, Kayla, you look y
ounger than when we first met.”
“I know. I feel it, too.”
“Well, there’s no denying the technology works.”
“For now.”
Harrison kept staring at Kayla. She glanced over and saw the concern growing on his face. He’d apparently remembered that the same remarkable technology coursing through her body and making her younger would kill her. He forced a smile, reached across, and gently caressed her arm. “But when that reporter gets a look at you, she’ll have to believe you.”
While she appreciated his attempt to cheer her up, it didn’t work. She still needed the second treatment to stop the process.
“You thought about what you’ll say to her?” he asked.
“I’ll tell her the truth. All of it. From the attack on the lab, the guys with the FBI jackets shooting at me and that assassin still trying to kill us.”
Harrison’s attention drifted away as it always did when he was analyzing something. She knew he could go deep inside himself and ignore anything or anyone. It was another one of the traits they shared, and neither took any offense to the other’s apparent aloofness. “I want to know who the hell is behind this. It’s cost me my best friend.” His tone was hard and pointed. “That assassin isn’t working on their own.”
Harrison had every right to be angry. She kept her attention on the road but nodded. “I agree. She’s clearly a professional. Hired by someone.”
“Someone who wants to destroy your work. Or steal it.”
“Maybe and steal it.”
“A foreign government?” he said.
She didn’t want to speak the next words and give the thought credence, but she did anyway. “Or an individual who wanted to stop this treatment from advancing.”
“That opens up the list of suspects to half the country,” Harrison said.
