Plot counterplot, p.16
Plot/Counterplot, page 16
Instinctively, he reached out and put his hand on her shoulder. This woman had strength of a caliber he had rarely seen in over twenty years of intelligence work. “Ms. Kahale, I’m going to find that man. For both our sakes. Before he can hurt anyone else. I’ll start now and I won’t quit until the job is done. That’s a promise.”
He started toward the door. “I’ll check in with you whenever I can, and—”
“Like hell.”
“Uh—what?”
Seamus pivoted around. To his astonishment, Leilani tore the bandage from her wrist and, with a single stroke, jerked the IV needle out of her arm. “Those sons-of-bitches hurt me. They...played with me. And they took the man I love.”
“I know, but—”
“You said you couldn’t do it alone.”
“But I meant—”
She swung her legs around and pushed herself onto her feet. “If you’re going after those bastards, I’m coming with you.”
Chapter 31
Dylan checked all around him for scrutinizing eyes. He thought he was alone, as he left the barracks where he slept and headed for the conference room in the main building. But it was impossible to be certain. He would simply have to take a risk. And hope for the best. He was no coward.
But he wasn’t stupid, either.
Mr. X and Xavier waited for him in the main conference room. She liked the morning briefing to start at nine o’clock sharp. Dylan’s personal guards remained at his office. Others would attach themselves when he entered the building. He was still potentially observable, even as he crossed the short space between the two structures, but over the past several weeks he’d located the surveillance cameras and knew how to avoid them. He couldn’t escape. But he could gather information.
If he was careful.
A few days ago, he’d spotted a patch of camouflage green peeking out behind a warped sideboard. There was nothing he could do about it then. Too many eyes were on him.
He approached the side of the building.
He bent the plywood siding back so far it snapped. Clumsy. He hadn’t intended that. He didn’t want to leave any traces of tampering.
But the broken piece revealed another layer beneath the siding. That wasn’t just camouflage green he spotted—it was military green. The original wall of this building had been stamped with a distinctive logo. The logo of the US Navy. But not the current one. Dylan knew this emblem had been phased out shortly after World War Two. He’d seen it in some of his father’s scrapbooks.
Had the terrorists taken over an abandoned military post? If so, that limited the number of places he could be. If he could figure out where he was, he’d be one step closer to figuring out how to escape.
He heard a shuffling noise from the main building. Someone was heading his way.
He pressed the broken piece back against the wall and it held, at least for now.
He scurried toward the back door just in time to meet Xavier.
“You late.”
“Sorry. Wool-gathering. We creative types do that.”
Xavier squinted. He peered into Dylan’s eyes with more than the usual degree of suspicion. Or was Dylan imagining it?
“Shouldn’t we be getting to the meeting?”
Xavier stared a few more moments, then abruptly turned on his heel. “Hurry. We have surprise for you.”
* * *
Leilani peered over Seamus’s shoulder at the large plasma screen computer monitor.
“No, his face was wider. And older.”
Seamus punched a few more keys. The computer moved sluggishly, but that was because he was remote-accessing the facial reconstruction software in the FBI’s database. The NCTC’s budget was too puny to afford their own.
Having spent most of his career in the field, Seamus was better with guns and fists than high-tech gizmos. But he’d learned that this program was invaluable. Made the days of sketch artists seem downright primitive.
Leilani insisted they start by recreating the face of the man she called Pock-Face, because she had a much more vivid recollection of his appearance. They spent almost three hours on that one—and when they submitted it to the law enforcement databases, they got no hits. Apparently Pock-Face had never been in trouble with the law or tagged as a “person of interest” by anyone in the intelligence community. So they turned their attention to Xavier.
“You’ve got his hair too long. Shorten it.”
Seamus complied by clicking the proper icons.
“He had almost no hair at all on the sides. And it needs to be lighter. Don’t forget the birthmark on his neck.”
“Right, right.”
“Make his chin squarer.”
“I know. Dick TraCy.”
“Pump up the muscles. All over his body.”
The panel on the right side of the computer screen gave Seamus a choice of facial features in each category. It also provided a template for almost every imaginable physical trait. He could enhance image accuracy by choosing among different hair tones, facial markings, hats, headwear, and eyeglasses.
“That’s it. Except he isn’t mean enough. Can you make him meaner?”
Seamus turned the corners of his mouth slightly downward and added a frown line between the eyebrows.
“That’s it! That’s him!”
Yes, it was him, all right. The man he had known as Dmitri Yevtushenko, of the Russian mafia, but that probably wasn’t his birth name any more than Xavier was.
“Do you know who he is?”
“I think so. Let’s submit this portrait and see what happens.”
Seamus saved the file, transmitted it to all the available law enforcement databases, and waited for a match. This lovely program did more than create a sketch. It automatically generated a Biometric Alphanumeric Code for every facial characteristic. The 56-digits in the BAC represented specific facial features. He’d sent that digital fingerprint to every database he knew—DHS, Secret Service, FBI, CIA, Interpol, and a host of others. Even though Seamus thought he knew who this Xavier was, he had no photograph in his files.
“It’s out in Cyberspace,” he told Leilani. “We’ll give it a few moments and—”
A ping from the CPU’s internal speaker told him he had a hit.
“We got mail,” Leilani said, leaning forward.
“I’ll bet it was Interpol or—”
He stopped short. Long ago he had learned how to multi-task, an essential field-combat asset.
The match had not come from Interpol, or the CIA, or anywhere else he might’ve expected. It came from a military database. The US Navy.
“Can you blow it up larger?” Leilani asked.
He double-clicked on the photo.
“It’s him,” Leilani said. “I’d swear to it. How many people could be that large? But—what’s he doing with the Navy?”
Seamus shrugged. “Maybe they have him under surveillance.”
“I don’t think so. Look.” She pointed at the bottom of the photo, his shoulders. Distinctive stripes. A Navy uniform. “How can that be?”
“Says he served as some kind of consultant. No longer active.” There was a name attached, another obvious pseudonym.
Seamus fell back into his chair, massaging his neck. “But here’s the primary point of interest, Leilani. He’s not in their database because they think he’s a threat. He’s in their database because he used to be one of them. Maybe he still is.”
Chapter 32
“I don’t understand,” Leilani replied. “How can a guy go from the Russian mafia to the US Navy? Why would our government want someone like that?”
“If you have the right skill set, our government will overlook a great deal.”
“Is this the guy you thought it would be?”
Seamus pursed his lips. “It’s the right guy. Just the wrong name. Grew up in an orphanage at the foot of the Ural Mountains. But the orphanage was actually a soldier factory for the Red Army. They experimented with children. Pumped them full of steroids and other chemical enhancements. Tried to create an elite military force composed of perfect warriors. What they ultimately created were monsters.”
“That’s a good description for him.”
Seamus nodded grimly. “He went to military school, then had a long career in government service doing Soviet dirty work. Started out in the Interior Ministry forces. Participated in the initial invasion of Afghanistan. Then he moved to GRU. Military intelligence. Then to the KGB, the civil police force. Became a commissar. Worked in Nagorno-Karabakh, back when Azerbaijan and Armenia were fighting over it. Taught at the KGB Military Counterintelligence School in Novosibirsk. After the Wall fell, he was with the Russian mafia. Did a stint in Iraq before and during their war with the US. That’s when I bumped heads with him.”
“What happened?”
Seamus paused for a moment, contemplating just how much he could tell this civilian. He was willing to give her some superficial information, because he needed her help. But she didn’t need to know all the details. Especially the ones that pertained to Ingrid.
“It was in the early years of the second Iraq war. Just after Bush declared ‘Mission Accomplished’ and just before he made the disastrous decision to dismantle the Iraqi army. Chaos reigned supreme in Baghdad and the surrounding areas. Most of the country, really. Your Xavier was doing a work-for-hire gig for Islamic extremists. I was with the CIA, rooting out threats to the security of our troops.”
“Like him.”
“Exactly. We had...an encounter. A conflict of interests, you might say.”
“Who won?”
“Oh, I defeated him. I had the military might of the US on my side, and he had employers who didn’t like to show their faces.” Seamus paused. “When I took him down, I didn’t get just him. My superior ordered a military strike. I thought it was overkill, but it wasn’t my call. The strike took out this man’s home in Sabaa. Blew it to smithereens.”
Leilani followed him to the window. She still limped, but given what she’d been through, Seamus was amazed she was walking at all. “Bet that pissed him off.”
“Yeah,” Seamus said quietly, glancing down at his desk. “Especially since his wife and infant son were still in it.”
Leilani’s lips parted.
Seamus fingered a few loose papers on the desk. “A very ugly bit of business. Had to be done. But it left him with a serious bad-on for the good ol’ U.S. of A. It would be more convenient to hate him. But unfortunately, I know too much about him. Once you know how the monster came to be, it’s hard to feel anything but pity.”
“I felt much more than that when I saw him. I felt fear.”
“Yes. No matter what happened in the past, today he’s a ruthless and brutal killer. One of the most dangerous men I’ve ever known.”
“Why would he be consulting with the Navy? And why would he kidnap Dylan?”
“I don’t know. But I know he hates the United States. Hates it with a passion. It wouldn’t take much to recruit him into a plot against us. He might even do it for nothing, just for personal satisfaction.” Seamus looked up at her, his eyes crinkling. “And with him on the team, there’s a damn good chance their plan will be executed. With success.”
* * *
“Wow,” Dylan said, gazing down at the conference table. “When you said you had a surprise for me, I never imagined anything this spectacular. Samsonite luggage. Am I getting a lovely parting gift from the Hollywood Squares?”
Mr. X smiled. This was the first time Dylan had seen her since the surgery. He was amazed at the transformation. Her face was so changed that, but for the red hair, he would never have recognized her as the woman who once crushed his gonads. Her face was not healed, but there were no traces of the hideous scars. Her face was soft and smooth and feminine, with delicate features and even a pleasing smile.
“Just open it.”
Dylan flipped open the latches on each side. “I normally prefer to pack my own—Gahhh!”
Dylan leaped backward as something sprung out of the suitcase. Correction: As someone sprang out of the suitcase. An impossibly small bundle of flesh unfolded itself midair and turned into a person wearing a tight black unitard. A very small person, but a person, just the same. He did a half-somersault and landed squarely on his feet.
The little man grinned. “What’s the matter? Never seen anyone jump out of a suitcase before?”
“Maybe in a circus,” Dylan said, recovering his sangfroid. “But I’m pretty sure those clowns were coming through a trap door.”
“Amateurs.” He was extremely muscular, despite his size, perhaps four foot eleven and, by Dylan’s estimation, no more than a hundred pounds. He was brown-haired with strong features—just smaller than everyone else’s.
“I’ll say this,” Dylan said. “You know how to make an entrance.”
“Show business is in my blood.”
“Dylan,” Xavier said, “meet Tolga Sarica. Turkish by birth. Spent past five years performing at Tivoli Gardens.”
Dylan cautiously took Tolga’s hand.
“Also moonlighted as operative for Copenhagen mafia.”
“There’s a Copenhagen mafia?”
“Run by an American used-books dealer. Big secret.”
Felix jumped in, as always talking while simultaneously clicking his laptop keyboard at the speed of sound. “What Xavier is trying to say, Dylan, is that Tolga is the contortionist you requested...and a professional thief.”
“I’m looking forward to working with you,” Tolga said. He had an accent, but it was slight and hard to trace. He spoke English well. “Xavier gave me some of your books to read on the plane. Very entertaining.”
“I’m glad you—”
“If totally unrealistic. That scene in The Daedalus Dilemma where Fargo Cody escapes the fire through a natural gas pipeline? No way. I tried to get through a pipeline in Morocco once. Didn’t make it. And if I couldn’t do it, your guy wouldn’t have a chance.”
“Fargo is very resourceful.”
“Fargo is six-foot-two and two-hundred-and-twenty pounds. I doubt he could get his head through that pipeline.”
“Well, there’s a big difference between fiction and real life.” A lesson Dylan was learning incrementally every day.
“Could we return our attention to the matter at hand?” Mr. X asked. “I assume you’ll be ready to go on PFD, Dylan?”
“I’ve done everything required. Is the set ready?”
“Completely.”
“The doctor? The drugs?”
“Also ready.”
“The makeup artist?”
Xavier jumped in. “Will persuade him tonight.”
Dylan tried not to contemplate what that meant. “I have concerns about the blonde encryption expert I see your men dragging to breakfast every morning. How can I trust her in the field?”
“She’s stubborn,” Mr. X explained, “but she’ll do as she’s told. The consequences of noncompliance would be extreme. And she knows it.”
Dylan wondered what they were holding over her. Did they torture her lover? Shoot her grandmother? He knew he would have to make sacrifices if he were to have any hope of stopping these people. But she didn’t. He was choosing her sacrifices for her.
“I’d like to talk to her personally.”
“I don’t think that’s wise.”
“I’m not taking her into the field until I’m certain I can rely upon her. You know as well as I do how fragile this illusion we’re creating will be. There’s no margin for error.”
Mr. X frowned, spoiling her pretty new face. “Very well. I’ll tell her keepers you’re allowed to communicate with her.” She took a deep breath—and caught her reflection in the glass pane. Dylan could see her studying herself, the new line of her face, the smooth skin.
“What do you see when you look at your reflection now?”
Her reply was surprisingly gentle. “Someone I haven’t seen for quite a long time.”
“I’m sorry.”
She whipped her head around. “Don’t be.”
“I can see I struck a nerve.”
“You haven’t even tickled one.”
“You’ve lost someone.”
“Bollocks.”
“Or maybe...” He thought another moment, then looked deeply into her eyes. “You’re afraid you’re going to lose someone.”
“I’m not afraid of anything. Except, perhaps, that your infantile efforts at psychoanalysis will derail our plan. So stop it, immediately, or I’ll let your girlfriend stop another bullet.”
“Is this the part where you indulge your fondness for groping genitalia?’
“No. This is where I remind you that although we could have done so, we have not as yet killed every single person you love. But I can guarantee you this, Dylan. You screw this mission up, and we will.” She turned on her heel and stomped out of the conference room.
He’d pushed her to the limit. And there would probably be consequences. But Dylan could accept that. Because, despite her best efforts, he’d obtained his first useful bit of intelligence about her.
Chapter 33
Seamus returned to his office and found Leilani hard at work.
“I brought some more files and photos I’d like you to review.” He was still hoping for an ID on Pock-Face or the other man Xavier had working for him. “If you will—”
He paused. Leilani’s head was down. She wasn’t paying attention.
“Did you hear me?”
She looked up abruptly. “Sorry. I was engrossed in this report.”
He glanced at the file open on the table. CARTWRIGHT. “I didn’t give you that.”
“I found it in your desk.”
“You were going through my desk?”
“You told me to be thorough, didn’t you?”
“This is a high-security office. We’re in the intelligence gathering—”
“We’re looking for Dylan. And I’m not going to overlook anything that might help find him.”
