Breach of Power (16 page)

J
ake hated
riding the bull
. That's what they called being hit by a Taser at The Farm, the CIA's tradecraft training facility. A mandatory part of every agent's training. Thank goodness Wiley didn't require it of his emissaries. There was nothing fun about it.

His solitary cell was small, eight feet by eight feet, three windowless concrete walls and the fourth all bars with a door. Fluorescent lights outside the bars droned a continuous hum. He hadn't been questioned, just tossed in the cell, and told to wait. He guessed he'd been in there thirty minutes but he didn't know for sure. They stripped him of all his personal belongings, his belt, and his shoes.

The Charleston police never let him talk. And when he tried to offer an explanation, he got a truncheon to the ribs. His repeated demands for a phone call landed on deaf ears. The longer he was stuck in this cell, the further ahead Ashley Regan got. And perhaps, closer to danger. He needed to call Wiley and let the old man do what he does best, pull some strings to get him the hell out of there.

He heard a metal door clang and footsteps walking down the hall. Two linebacker-sized uniforms stood at the door to his cell, one holding a Taser, the other a pair of handcuffs.

"Turn around, hands behind your back." The man holding the handcuffs said.

Jake did as the man said. No sense in making things worse. Cooperation was likely the quickest way out of jail.

"Now back up to the bars."

Jake stepped backwards and felt the handcuffs clamp around his wrists.

"Forward five steps." The man ordered.

Jake did as instructed and the cell door opened. Each linebacker grabbed an arm and escorted him to a room he knew to be an interrogation room. Finally, he thought, he was making progress. He was pushed into a chair and cuffed to the table. Leg cuffs were clamped around his ankles and secured to anchors in the floor. The uniforms stood by his sides, batons in hand.
Who the hell did they think he was?

The answer came when a man appeared in a coat and tie. He was a tall man who looked to be in his mid-fifties with a full head of salt and pepper hair. The man placed Jake's pistol, screw-on sound suppressor, pocketknife, and iPhone on the table in front of him. From his pocket he pulled Jake's wallet and flipped it open.

"Are you Jake Pendleton?" The man asked.

"You're looking at my driver's license, you can read." Jake realized his mistake as the words crossed his lips.

"Special Agent Donald Corbin, FBI." He pulled out a badge and ID from his jacket pocket, showed it to Jake, then put it back.

"FBI?" Jake asked. "Were you watching the house? Is that why I got picked up?"

"No. Until today the FBI had no interest in that house or Ashley Regan. You got picked up," Corbin put extra emphasis on his last word, "because a concerned citizen saw you kick in the front door and enter with a gun in your hand. They were concerned about Ms Regan's welfare and called 9-1-1."

"That doesn't explain you. Why the FBI and not a detective?"

Corbin picked up the sound suppressor and held it in front of Jake. "Suppressor, illegal. Glock 37 Gen4 .45 caliber special military issue." He slid the gun across the table then he picked up Jake's knife and phone. "Benchmade spring-assisted knife, and this," Corbin put the knife down and pointed to Jake's phone, "this is like nothing like I've ever seen before. What kind of iPhone is this anyway?"

"Custom made."

"Mr. Pendleton, who do you work for and what do you do?"

"Commonwealth Consultants, Fairfax, Virginia." Jake looked Corbin in the eyes. "Check it out."

Corbin stared back at Jake, raised his hand, and snapped his fingers. "Check it out." He sat back in his chair.

"I can straighten this out with one phone call, I'm entitled to that."

"Are you aware that under the Patriot Act I can hold you for a very long time without allowing you to make a phone call or retain legal counsel?"

"So, you think I'm a terrorist?"

Corbin waved his hand across the table. "Look at this stuff. These aren't your typical private investigator accessories, more like mercenary gear. On this table I have enough cause to hold you indefinitely, so I'll ask you again. What do you do?"

"Special Agent Corbin?" A voice from an overhead speaker. "Can you come in here, please?"

Corbin stood and smiled at Jake. "Don't go anywhere."

Jake turned his wrists up and pulled the cuffs against the restraints. "Funny."

Corbin left the room only to return five minutes later. He looked at the guards. "Unshackle him and leave us." He turned to the mirror behind him. "Video and audio off. Someone go get the rest of Mr. Pendleton's belongings."

Corbin sat down. "CIA? NSA?"

"Neither."

"Mr. Pendleton, what happened in that house?"

"I don't know. That's what I was trying to find out. When I walked by the window, I saw the house had been ransacked so I kicked in the door. I made a quick sweep of the house to make sure no one was inside and then the cops showed up." Jake leaned over the table. "And if someone had given me a chance to speak, this never would have gotten this far."

"The house belongs to Ashley Regan. She has a roommate named Samantha Connors." Corbin said. "What do you know about them?"

"Nothing."

"You're lying."

"Nope. Not lying."

"Mr. Pendleton, you're not leaving until I know what you were doing in that house. We've tried contacting both women with no luck. Ms. Connors works from her home and Ms. Regan is taking personal days from the accounting firm where she works. Who was it you came to see?"

This had gone far enough. Jake needed to get out of here and get the FBI off his back. "How about that phone call?"

"I'm not letting you make a phone call until I get some answers." Corbin said.

Jake stood. Corbin followed suit. "I don't want to make a phone call." Jake said. "You want answers, you make the phone call."

"I beg your pardon?" Corbin sounded surprised.

"You to make the call."

Corbin stared at Jake for several seconds without speaking. "Alright. But my patience has worn thin." Corbin pulled out his phone. "What's the number?"

Jake recited the number from memory then sat back down and listened to the one-sided conversation.

Corbin's eyes widened and he looked at Jake. "Special Agent Donald Corbin, FBI…yes ma'am…yes ma'am" Corbin wrote something in his notepad. "Yes ma'am, I'll do that right away, ma'am."

Corbin hung up the phone and looked at Jake. "Is this some kind of joke?"

"Call your field office, give them that authorization code, and see what they have to say." Jake said.

Corbin placed the call. His face looked like he'd seen a ghost. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"Because, Special Agent Corbin, I'm not at liberty to discuss this with anyone…and that includes the FBI." Jake stood. "Now if you'll have Charleston's finest bring my stuff, I'll be on my way."

J
ake checked
his watch as he walked down the front steps of the Charleston Police Department. It had been over three hours since the taxi dropped him off in front of Ashley Regan's house. He pulled out his iPhone, punched in the special 24-digit password, scanned his left thumb, and unlocked the phone. Five missed calls from George Fontaine.

Jake stepped to the curb and hailed a taxi instructing the driver where to take him at the airport. He called George Fontaine.

"Jake. What the hell happened?"

"They hauled my ass off to jail, that's what happened. But not until after some young hotshot popped me with a Taser."

"How'd you enjoy riding the bull?"

"I didn't."

"Is it as bad as they say?" Fontaine asked.

"I still have a headache if that tells you anything. If I ever come back to Charleston, remind me to track down that officer and shoot him in the balls with one of Wiley's Tasers." Jake paused. "Got something for me?"

"Yeah, got your iPad with you?"

"No, it's on the plane. I'm headed that way now."

"When you get there, read what I sent. You'll find it more than a little interesting. Tell your pilots to take you to Tri Cities Airport in Tennessee. I've arranged a rental for a few days. You're on your own for lodging."

"What can you tell me now?"

"Jake, I ran facial recognition on the cemetery infrared photo and nothing turned up. So I hacked into Ashley Regan's facebook account and ran a facial comparison with all her photos and I found our mystery woman. Her name is Christa Barnett and she and Regan grew up a few houses apart. Best friends since childhood. According to their high school records, the two of them were in trouble on more than one occasion. Mostly harmless pranks but it got them suspended on the third incident. I'm running a background check on her now."

"What about Adams? Did you find anything there?" Jake asked.

"We got lucky again. The Army has moved into the digital world by progressively scanning and cataloging war casualty records. Adams shipped remains to several towns in Tennessee. Memphis, Nashville, Knoxville, and Butler."

"Butler? Never heard of it." Jake prided himself on knowing his way around the southern Appalachian Mountains, but this one was new to him.

"I'm almost a hundred percent sure Regan is going to hit Butler. Everything you need to know is in the file I sent. After you read it, call me back so we can discuss it."

"Sure thing, George. We're pulling up to the airport now."

"And Jake?"

"What?"

"Wiley was here a few minutes ago asking about all the details. Seems he got a phone call from President Rudd about your run-in with some FBI agent."

"Was he pissed?"

"Didn't seem that way. Concerned mostly. He told Rudd where you're headed."

"How'd he know that? You tell him?"

"I did. Hope you don't mind."

"Nope. Saves me the trouble of making the call myself." Jake paused. "I've got a hunch Ashley Regan and Samantha Connors aren't the only missing pieces in this puzzle."

J
ake climbed
into the cabin of the Citation 750 and gave the pilots his new destination. He grabbed a sandwich and two miniature cans of Mountain Dew from the galley and sat down in his usual spot. He needed food and a good caffeine jolt. He devoured the sandwich and guzzled the first can of soda while the jet taxied. Better already. Low blood sugar always made him grumpy. His morning had gotten off to a rotten start and he despised playing catch-up. He felt a twinge of déjà vu as he readied himself to track down Ashley Regan. It had been nearly a year since his hound dog pursuit of a terrorist who threatened to blow up a museum in New York City. And as with that search, Jake always seemed to be one step behind.

With the surge of the jet's engine as the aircraft accelerated down the runway, he instinctively checked his seatbelt. After wheels up, he retrieved his iPad from his backpack, unlocked the tablet computer, retrieved his messages, and downloaded the encrypted files Fontaine sent him. Some of the information was a repeat from the phone call. Fontaine had sent volumes of data; enough to keep him busy at least an hour reading through all the detailed reports. Then he still had to analyze the data and formulate a new course of action.

Jake was a top analyst when he was with Naval Intelligence; to such a degree he was assigned to work directly with the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. He'd proven his worth on numerous occasions during his brief stint with the CIA. But regardless of how good his analytical intuition was, he wouldn't be nearly as effective if it weren't for Fontaine's IT skills. A perfect complement for his tradecraft.

The three hundred mile flight from rainy Charleston to the sunshine of Northeastern Tennessee was estimated to take forty-five minutes so Jake scanned through the documents and reports as quickly as he could, trying to absorb only the important details. As he soon realized, it was all-important. With fifteen minutes of flight time remaining, he logged in to the Commonwealth server with his encrypted iPad.

Fontaine's face appeared on the new enhanced screen. In fact, his face filled the screen. Top to bottom, left to right. Always smiling, head full of silver hair, and his crooked nose shifted to one side. Fontaine's left, Jake's right. A feature he thought fit the jovial man's demeanor. "Hi, Jake. We’re burning daylight, ready to start?"

"Ready, George. Let's do this."

"As you're aware from the history on Butler—"

"I didn't really read that file, just a quick glance. Something about TVA and a flooded town. I figured I'd get to it later."

"You'll need to read it to get a good understanding of what's about to transpire. And more than likely you'll come to the same conclusion I have." Fontaine said.

"And you're not going to tell me right away, are you?" Jake knew Fontaine's style was to fill him full of facts and then disclose the remaining piece of the puzzle at the last minute. A flare for sensationalism. It was a game Fontaine played, a test of sorts, to see if Jake could figure out the puzzle without the final piece. Most times he could.

Fontaine shook his head.

"Go ahead then."

"At first I figured the women would just see what had happened in Butler and keep on going but it looks like they're sticking around, which is good news for us because it will take them a couple of days to get what they came for."

"Not a simple smash and run this time, huh?"

"As you'll read, Adams shipped the remains to Butler in January of 1946, one month before he disappeared. Much has changed in Butler since then and Regan and Barnett will be in for quite a surprise when they get there."

"What makes you think they're going to stick around?" Jake had asked Fontaine to track Regan's cell phone before he left Charleston. "New developments?"

"Oh yeah. I pinpointed four stops with Regan's phone. First, the Butler Museum. Which was strange because according to the website the museum was closed. From there, she stopped at a bait shop in Butler for about fifteen minutes and then drove to two different scuba diving shops. One in Kingsport and the other in Johnson City. Which tells me Butler is definitely the target."

"Where is she now?" Jake asked.

"Let's see." Jake could hear Fontaine typing on his computer. The familiar sound of fingertips striking a keyboard. "Right now she's back in Butler. Looks like at one of the marinas on the lake."

"What about Adams? Anything new?"

"Nothing specifically on Adams but I did come across something I think you'll find enlightening."

"I'm listening."

"I decided to track Ashley Regan's passport and you'll never believe what popped up."

"To use your words, enlighten me." Jake saw Fontaine smile.

"In August, Ashley Regan and Samantha Connors made a hiking trip to Germany. Third year in a row, same time period. Each year they hiked from the base to the summit of Zugspitze. Same mountain Adams disappeared on in 1946."

"That is interesting," Jake said, "but how does that relate to now?"

"Patience, young Jedi." Fontaine, a Star Wars geek had used that line on him on more than one occasion. "As it turns out, this year Regan found the frozen remains of a body inside an ice cave in the Höllentalferner glacier, which is on the north face of Zugspitze."

"No kidding," Jake said, "was it Adams?"

"Don't know," Fontaine explained. "The remains have yet to be identified. All I could find out is that it was a man and the time period is about the same. To this day there are still an awful lot of missing and unaccounted for soldiers from the World War II era."

Jake was silent. His brain cells went into overdrive as he rolled through the possible alternatives. Too coincidental for the body in the glacier to be anyone but Adams.

"Jake? You still with me?" Fontaine asked.

"She's not vandalizing caskets," Jake said. "She's robbing graves. She must have found something on the frozen body and kept it. That had to be Adams' body. I'll bet he'd been shipping something to the States in those caskets and had it all written down in something, maybe a journal or ledger of some sort. And Ashley Regan found it and kept it for herself. Which means whoever ransacked Ashley Regan's home, was looking for it too."

"And she solicited her best friend to help her out." Fontaine injected. "Who also took four semesters of German in college
and
is a certified scuba diver."

"Interesting." Jake smiled. "I need to find Regan and Barnett and get my hands on that book."

"I already gave Wiley my suspicions, you want me to brief Rudd as well?"

"Not yet, George," Jake said. "Not until I have something definitive. Even though we know the truth, it's only conjecture. We need proof. We need the book."

"No personal items have been taken from the caskets, so what do you think is hidden inside?"

"I have a pretty good idea," Jake said. "George, here's what I need you to find out."

Jake gave Fontaine specific instructions and logged out. He thought about everything he'd just learned and smiled. He needed to personally give President Rebecca Rudd an update after all.

A
bigail Love plugged Butler
, Tennessee into the in-dash GPS unit in her black BMW. Three hundred fifty miles. Six hours.

That was one hour ago.

While she was waiting for the man to come out of the Charleston police station, she had received a text message from Evan Makley in reply to the photos she took of the man earlier. It simply stated:

S
he took an exit in Spartanburg
, South Carolina for the triple purposes of refueling the BMW, getting something to eat, and going to the bathroom. Seventy-five dollars and fifteen minutes later she pulled back onto Interstate 26 with a full tank of gas, a bag of fast food, and an empty bladder. She rummaged around in her food bag and pulled out some French fries. Why did something so bad for you, smell so enticing and taste so good?

Her cell phone rang, Evan Makley, she recognized the number on caller-id.

"Hello, Evan."

"The woman has a book. A journal of some sort. That man you saw arrested in Charleston is working for Rudd. He could be a problem. Whatever is in that book is no doubt what she's using to blackmail me…and the President. Abigail, I need that book. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Evan. I'm not an idiot." Now she remembered what she didn't like about Evan Makley from before. It was his condescending tone whenever he was upset or nervous. "I'll take care of the woman."

"There are two of them."

"Two of them, what? Women?"

"Yes. Two women. Ashley Regan and Christa Barnett. Get the book and kill them both."

"What about the man? What if he interferes?"

"His name is Jake Pendleton. If he gets in the way, kill him too."

F
rancesca Catanzaro turned
off the recorder when Evan Makley disconnected his call with Abigail Love. Her palms became clammy as the feeling of anxious apprehension grew inside. The Chief of Staff just ordered a known assassin to kill two women and Jake Pendleton.

The President's suspicions about Makley had been correct. He was in over his head. Whatever he was trying to do, for whatever reason, was illegal and now Jake's life was at stake. Jake was her partner. There was no way she would sit idly by and let Evan Makley get away with ordering a hit on him. The Chief of Staff just made a critical mistake. A fatal mistake.

She thought about her options for a moment and realized that Chief of Staff Evan Makley was a bigger liability to President Rebecca Rudd's administration than Senator Richard Boden had been. When Wiley split Jake and her up, he tasked her only to observe and gather intelligence on Makley but that time had now passed. Now was the time to take action.

Swift and decisive action.

She picked up the phone and dialed Elmore Wiley.