Plot counterplot, p.21
Plot/Counterplot, page 21
Red hair. Bright red hair. Almost orange.
Seamus felt a tingling at the base of his spine. Could this be her? And if so, what were those two doing together?
He couldn’t get much detail in the facial features. But one fact was clear. This woman’s face was disfigured.
Seamus knew why. And unless she’d gotten over it, which he doubted, she would be just as twisted and bitter as ever.
He would run the image through the FBI’s face-match computer, just to be sure.
He rubbed his hand against his forehead. Every time he learned something new about this case, it got worse. From dangerous to deadly.
But knowledge was power. Now that he knew who he was after and he had an idea how he might find her. And she would lead him to Xavier. And then there would be a final reckoning. All accounts balanced, once and for all.
The door opened. Leilani entered.
“Find anything?” she asked.
“Nothing useful, no.” It wasn’t a lie. Knowing McKenna was involved was not immediately useful. Didn’t tell him where Dylan was. Just told him Dylan was in even more danger than he’d realized. Leilani didn’t need to know that. “I spotted some CCTV images of Xavier in Hawaii. Nothing of interest.”
“I’ve been doing the same thing on the other monitor, looking for Pock-Face. No luck.”
“He’s an underling,” Seamus said. “And given what you’ve told me, probably a relatively new one, inexperienced. Drunk on the power trip. Riddled with perverse sexual obsessions, indicating that he hasn’t come to grips with his own sexual identity. People like that don’t last long in terrorist organizations. They’re redshirts, basically.”
“I hope someone puts him on the front line. When I’m on the other side.”
“How’s your leg?”
“Fine. No problems at all.”
Liar. But he wasn’t going to call her on it. “Ready for a new assignment?”
“You know I am.”
He handed her a scrap of paper. “Here’s the tag on the Hummer Xavier drove the night he invaded Dylan’s condo.”
“You want me to call DMV?’
“I guarantee it’s either unregistered, fake, or stolen. But find out what you can. Use the phone and computer in my office. I’ve put your name on the NCTC rolls as a consultant.”
“I’ll get right on it.”
“If you get an owner, collect anything you can about him or her from the conventional sources. Legal records, FBI database, Interpol...” He waved his hand in the air. “You’ll figure it out. I’m already logged into all the databases.” He grabbed his coat.
“What will you be doing?”
He pulled his jacket on and headed toward the door. “I’m going to pay a visit to an old friend.”
Chapter 43
Dylan watched his team assemble in the conference room. They looked ready. Yesterday’s dress rehearsal had gone down without a flaw. Which said nothing about what might happen during the actual mission—no simulation could fully reproduce the unpredictability of being out in the field. But he was encouraged. When he’d first presented his proposal, some of them wondered if he was joking. And now they were all lined up, ready to bring this plan to life.
The plan as they understood it, anyway.
As he walked the length of the conference table, he felt like a drill sergeant surveying his platoon. Xavier, Mr. X, Felix, Tolga,Mikala, Dr. Giep, the set design and construction guys, and the new kid, the makeup artist. Bakersfield. They looked slick, professional, fit, and ready. They had all the gear they needed, all the equipment, drugs, everything. Despite the manner in which he and most of the others had been recruited, they seemed of one mind and ready to execute the mission.
Marco entered and stood besideMikala. Dylan felt his gorge rise in his throat.
“What’s he doing here?” Dylan asked.
“We need backup security,” Mr. X explained. “He’ll remain in the van and will only emerge if an emergenCy arises.”
“I don’t want him involved in this op,” Dylan said.
“You’ll probably never see him.”
Marco grinned. “Whatsa matter, writer-boy? Still holding a grudge?”
If this had come at any other time, Dylan would’ve put needles through the man’s eyeballs. But for now he had to remain calm. He didn’t want to blow everything, not when he was this close to setting his plan into motion.
“I want this man gone,” Dylan said in a steady voice. “I will not work with him.”
Mr. X’s lids lowered. Her lovely new face was not sufficient to make him forget what lay behind the beauty. “You are the planner, Dylan, but not the leader. You do not have the authority to choose my security personnel.”
“I don’t see the problem,” Marco said, grinning. “Your girl ain’t here.” He glanced atMikala. “And you might need someone to keep this one in line.”
“I’m not undermining your authority, X,” Dylan said. “But I will not work with this disgusting excuse for a human being. I will not—”
He felt smooth gun metal pressed against his right temple, stopping him in mid-sentence.
“I think you will,” Xavier said, his bad breath wafting into Dylan’s personal space. “I think you will shut up and do as told, or will be my pleasure to kill you. We have your plan. Why do we need you?”
* * *
Seamus knocked twice, but no one opened the door. He was not surprised.
“I’m not going to bother shouting,” he said to the door, “because I feel confident that you’re standing on the other side waiting to see if I’ll go away. I did see the fiber optic camera hidden in the porch light, so I know you know who’s knocking. Let me tell you why I’m here. I want information. That’s all. But if you don’t open the door, I will obtain a warrant and subpoena. The house is surrounded by six other agents so no one inside will have a chance to leave, not even the ones who are not legally in this country or in possession of items the law says they should not have.” He paused. “Decide, Karen. Do we chat? Or do you want to see what a team of federal investigators armed with search-and-seizure powers can turn up?”
Once upon a time, a place like this would’ve been hidden in the rural parts of Oahu, close to the beach perhaps but not the city. These days, pushers seemed to favor the suburbs. Was it because no one would expect anything naughty in this three-bedroom Beaver Cleaver house? Or was it because no one in the suburbs paid attention to anything outside the perimeter of their own neatly trimmed lawns?
Either way, he was not surprised when he heard the door open, or when he saw an anorexically-thin woman in her mid-twenties emerge sporting a nose piercing, a tongue stud, and a barbed wire tattoo around her biceps.
“What the fuck do you want?”
Seamus loved what an Irish brogue did to swear words. Somehow, “foock” didn’t seem nearly so harsh. Almost like baby talk. “Karen, is that any way to talk to the man who kept you out of prison?”
Her eyes flared. “You held me prisoner for three days without food or water. Till I gave up my friends.”
“But did I let them kill you afterward? No.”
“You’re a bastard.”
“I’m a federal agent, and we tend to look dimly on foreign nationals with links to Al-Qaeda.”
“We weren’t hurting anyone. We—”
“You were smuggling supplies to people planning to detonate a fertilizer bomb at an American embassy. The only reason you’re not behind bars is that you talked.”
“Screw you, anyway.”
“Do I need a subpoena? Or are you going to let me in?”
“I guess.” She glanced over her shoulder. He knew what that meant. Company.
Seamus stepped inside and saw two looming muscle-bound figures, both with shaved heads and wearing white t-shirts, only a few steps behind her. The immediate image that came to mind was Mr. Clean, but Seamus supposed that was a sad sign of his increasing age.
“Who’re Wynken and Blynken?”
“They’re friends,” the woman said, closing the door. “So don’t try any rough stuff.”
“I wasn’t planning to. I just want information.”
“About what? I’m out of the game.”
“Or have you shifted to another game?”
She peered at him with squinted eyes.
“Switching from terrorist flunky to drug mule isn’t exactly an upwardly mobile career move.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You seem very well protected today,” Seamus said, glancing at the muscle hovering behind her. “Are you expecting a shipment?”
“I said, I don’t know what you’re talking about, asshole.”
And he didn’t much care. Chasing drug runners was a losing game that fell well outside his jurisdiction. The bodyguards were getting antsy, bouncing up and down on their toes. Time to move along.
“I hope that’s true. I need the skinny on one of your old galpals. Fiona McKenna.”
When she stood sideways, she was almost invisible. “Fi? Haven’t seen her in years. Not since her accident.”
“Heck of a coincidence. Both of you being in Hawaii.”
“Is she in Hawaii? I had no idea.”
Seamus didn’t need years of experience to see that she was lying. She had so many tells she was a poker shark’s dream. “You knew. I’ll bet you know she’s been hanging with Dmitri Yevtushenko, too.”
He received a blank response.
“Or do you know him better as Xavier?”
The twitch in her eye told him what he needed to know.
“You probably have some notions of misplaced loyalty, Karen. And that’s admirable, in a twisted sort of way. But you need to understand that these are very bad people. Very bad people planning very bad things. To be blunt, they are further out of your league than Reggie Jackson is from T-ball. You don’t want to protect them. You don’t want anything to do with them.”
“I don’t have anything to do with them.”
“We’re not talking about throwing bricks through windows or helping Saudi Arabians get fake passports. We’re talking about real terrorism. These people may be zealots, but I don’t think this is your cause, is it? Terrorism against the United States? Is that something you believe in?”
“And what exactly is it you believe in?’
For that, Seamus had no answer. “Fi plans to strike at the heart of the United States. That’s treason. Which in case you didn’t know, is punishable by death.”
“There’s no death penalty in Hawaii.”
“Treason is in the Constitution. Federal law. If you don’t start talking, you’re gonna fry.”
“I’m telling you, I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“I know better, Karen. It will go much better for you if you tell me what Fi’s up to.”
“Leave me alone!”
Seamus took a step forward and squared himself in front of her. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“Your spoiled brat act won’t get you anywhere. I want to know the truth. And if I have to get insistent, I will.” He grabbed her arms and shook her.
“Don’t touch her!” An instant later, the Mr. Clean on the left stepped forward and shoved Seamus away. Before he could respond, the muscle hoisted him up and threw him backward. He lost his footing and tumbled to the ground.
The man reached inside Seamus’s jacket, grabbed his gun, and tossed it away. He grabbed Seamus’s tie and twisted it sideways, choking him.
“Leave now, you pathetic old man. Or I’m gonna be wearing your face for a Halloween mask.”
Chapter 44
The gun barrel pressed against Dylan’s face did not increase his confidence, but he held firm. “I guess this is a decision for you, Mr. X. Do you think you still need me? Or do you think Conan the Barbarian here, who pulls a gun at the slightest provocation and blew up an entire building last time you unleashed him, can get you the files you need?”
Xavier was furious. “I can get intel. Anytime!”
“Yeah, but if he brings down the whole university, I’m pretty sure the military will know something’s up.”
“I want you to come,” Mr. X said. “But I also have to make sure we have sufficient security.”
Dylan watched her eyes as she spoke. They both knew perfectly well she had enough backup without Marco. This was about power. Control. She was the boss and she didn’t like to be questioned.
“This isn’t about security,” Dylan said. “This is another of your mind games.”
“I’m the one ultimately responsible for the success of this mission—”
“I thought that was the Supervisor.”
She took a deep breath. “The Supervisor is counting on me to make sure—”
“And you don’t want to disappoint the Supervisor. You would do anything to avoid disappointing the Supervisor. Why is that?”
“How would you know? You have no idea who the Supervisor is.”
“Maybe I do.”
“That’s not possible.”
“Because I’ve never met him?”
“I didn’t—” She stopped short, as if horrified by her outburst. She pressed her hand against her forehead, visibly collecting herself.
She chuckled, but it was filled more with bitterness than amusement. “Well played, Dylan. Well played. You’re good at this.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“And you accuse me of playing mind games. All right then. Have it your way.” She made a gesture to someone outside the door. “Get Kalifa. He can take Marco’s place.”
Marco sputtered. “But—”
“Oh, shut up. And in the future, keep your revolting tongue in your mouth.”
The switch was made. Dylan had won a battle. A tiny thing. But it was a start.
Xavier cleared his throat. “Everyone understand rules governing op?”
“I’m sure we do,” Dylan said, “but why don’t you review them, just so we’re clear?”
“Dylan is in charge. You take directions from him. But I am overseer. I will be watching at all times. If there are problems”—he gave Dylan a stern, lingering look—"there is possibility that I assume command. If I do, you take orders from me and me only. Got it?”
Everyone nodded their heads, except Dylan. “What circumstances would require you to take command?”
“Why discuss? Hope won’t happen.”
“I’d just like to know.”
“Gross incompetence. Unexpected developments.” His voice slowed. “Deviation from plan. And of course, any attempt to escape or contact outside world. That would provoke immediate intervention and extreme consequences.”
“Got it.”
“One last thing.” Xavier held what looked like a small asthma inhaler toMikala’s face. “Take deep breath.” Before she could respond, he squeezed the inhaler. She breathed the gas before she could stop herself. “Sorry. Supervisor says we keep headquarters location secret. Suggest you sit before fall down.”
Lani complied. Five seconds later, she was unconscious.
“What the hell was that?” Dylan asked.
“Chloroform compound. Induce sweet sleep. But also contains smart dust.”
“You’re joking.”
“You know smart dust?”
“I know it’s been hypothesized. But it doesn’t actually exist.”
“You need to update research,” Xavier said. “This compound laced with wireless network of tiny microelectromechanical sensors. Each mote has self-contained signal. We use to track you. Wherever you go.” His voice lowered. “So you better be where supposed to be.”
“Why not just plant another little radio inside our heads?”
Xavier chuckled. “This has greater tracking range. And you wear mic inside mouth. Just want to make sure we know where you are and what you’re doing at all times. Especially you, Dylan.”
Xavier proceeded to spray the inhaler on all the other members of the team. He saved Dylan for last.
“One last word before we embark. Just to make sure you understand situation.”
“I said I’d help you. And I did.”
“You came up with plan. You had no choice. But you are smart man. Always thinking.”
“I’m not going to screw this up, Xavier. This is my story now. I never leave dangling plot threads.” He meant it. He’d put hundreds of man hours into this plan, and even though he knew their ultimate objection was vile, a part of him couldn’t help hoping the plan was a success. A part that wanted to know he was just as good as Fargo Cody.
“I hope that is true. But know this.” Xavier walked around Dylan, circling him, never taking his eyes away. “While you were unconscious, after leaving Oahu, our medic—same one who patched up your bitch—also planted something in your head.”
Dylan felt an iCy hand grip the base of his spine. “Another homing device?”
“Much more. Implanted through ear. Radio-activated nanites, powered with nanobatteries. Like smart dust, only more powerful. Capable of emitting heat, if activated. Think of them as tiny lasers implanted in cerebral cortex. Where leetle heat can do big damage.”
“Like what?”
Xavier shrugged. “Hard to say. One burst will burn off part of brain. Might disable motor functions. Might lose use of leg or arm. Might lose sight. Or all of above. Hard to predict what you lose.” His eyes locked with Dylan’s. “But you will lose.”
“And who can activate these nanites?”
“I have remote controller. I can hurt you from inside your head, anytime I want.” He paused. “Do not make me mad.”
“I won’t,” Dylan lied. “All right then. Let’s roll.”
Chapter 45
The muscle-bound creep in the white t-shirt hovered so close Seamus was afraid the man would drool on him.
“You understand what I’m saying, old-timer? If you don’t get the hell out of here, I’m gonna pound you like mashed potatoes, pour gravy down your throat, and serve you for dinner.” He gave Seamus a shove for good measure.
