Breach of Power (3 page)

Regan searched down the mountain and located Connors, a tiny speck trudging up the slope. She figured another twenty to thirty minutes before Sam could reach the glacier.

Plenty of time to take a look inside.

Regan stuck her hiking poles into the ground next to the opening forming an X-shaped cross, a signal to Sam that she’d gone inside. She bent over, and crept into the ice cave. At first she wasn’t sure how far inside she could go as the blue-green ice walls narrowed around her. At one point the passage constricted until she could go no further without removing her backpack, which she did, pulling it along behind her. She sidestepped through the confining divide, her chest and back both pressing against the ice walls. A large ice room opened in front of her. The temperature had been dropping the deeper she traveled into the cavern but once she entered the chamber, the temperature seemed to plunge. She pulled off her sunglasses and squinted at the glare from the ice. Her eyes soon adjusted and she pushed forward.

She reached the end of the rocky, earthen floor about fifty feet inside the ice cave. Her next steps would be on the ice. She grabbed her crampons from the side of her pack and attached them to her boots.

Ice crunched beneath her boots as she stepped across the solid ice. Ahead another twenty feet, she came to a blockage where the sides of the ice cave had collapsed, almost completely obstructing the path ahead. She considered turning back but her curious nature pushed her forward. She peered through a two-foot diameter hole and saw that the cave continued on as far as she could see. She stared at her watch and counted. She’d been inside seven minutes, which meant Sam was still at least fifteen minutes down the mountain. Five more minutes of exploring then back out with plenty of time to meet Sam at the base of the glacier.

Regan pushed her backpack through the small opening then squeezed through and into the next chamber. She walked forward another two and half minutes, crouching for the last two, when she spotted something sticking out of the ice wall twenty feet ahead. She shivered. Regan knew she needed to leave now to meet Sam but curiosity pushed her toward the brown object sticking out of the ice.

Her inquisitive nature had landed her in hot water on several occasions, both as a child and as an adult. Maybe it was her rebellious nature or her anti-authority attitude, it seemed she was never one to do the right thing and always the first to get in trouble.

Ten feet away she stopped. She rubbed her eyes in disbelief.

A human body.

She’d heard the stories of bodies from ancient times being unearthed by glaciers in this part of the world, but the closer she got the more she realized, this body wasn’t that old. Decades, maybe a century, but no older. The clothing was too modern. She could tell the body was a man; the ice had preserved him well with his face still buried behind three inches of ice. He appeared to be sitting when he froze, knees tucked toward his chin, left arm dangling by his side. His right hand was clutching his chest, maybe a heart attack she thought. He was half in, half out of the ice wall. Legs and chest almost completely exposed.

Curiosity, not fear, fueled her excitement and pushed her forward. “What are you doing here?” Ashley said aloud…as if expecting a reply from the frozen man.

She looked at her watch. Sam would have to wait.

“The bigger question is.” She said aloud again. “Who are you?”

She reached out and touched his chest. The fabric on the coat was stiff and unyielding and she could see his hand was clutching something underneath his coat. By the crease formed in the coat, she guessed it was a small box or book of some kind.

She pulled on his hand. “May I take a look?”

The ragged glove tore loose from his hand exposing his freeze-dried skin. She tugged again on his hand and it moved slightly away from the coat. She grabbed the top of his coat and tried to unbutton it. The fabric and the button were still frozen together, but pliable.

Most people she knew couldn’t stand the thought of touching a dead body. Certainly Sam wouldn’t have touched it, just gone in search of help and let someone else handle the situation. But she wasn’t like Sam. She was fearless, open to adventure, and full of curiosity. Always in search of a thrill. Always pushing the limits and challenging boundaries. And mischief found her at every juncture. It was her way.

As a child, she was a tomboy and played with frogs, lizards, rat snakes, and garter snakes. To her mother’s dismay, she would catch two small green lizards in her backyard in Charleston and let them bite her ear lobes and hang there. It didn’t hurt, just pressure, and as long as she kept moving the lizards wouldn’t let go. She’d run in the house and yell to her mother to come look at her new earrings. Her mother fell for it every time…or at least pretended to.

She worked the frozen fabric back and forth until she was able to free the top button. She started working on the second button when she heard a distant noise coming from the entrance to the ice cave.

“Ashley? Are you in there?” Sam's voice echoed through the cave.

Regan picked up her pace. She couldn’t let Sam know what she was doing without having to listen to another morality lecture on doing the right thing.

“I’ll be right out.” Regan yelled back. The reverberations of her voice inside the small enclosure made her uncomfortable as small chips of ice fell around her. She wondered if this man crawled up in here and made some sort of noise only to cause the walls of the cave to crash down around him.

She feverishly worked the second button free. “Let’s see what you have there.” She reached her arm inside his coat. It was cold and damp and for the first time she realized she was touching death…or at least something dead. She let her fingers feel around, deeper inside his coat until they found the item. She felt the edges. Leather, cold and wet. It was a book. She grasped the top and tugged but it wouldn’t budge.

“Come on, come on. Let go.” She hit the man’s chest and felt embarrassed.

Clutching the top of the book, she rocked it from side to side, slowly freeing it from the icy grip of the coat. With an upward pull, the book started moving. Rocking and pulling until she caught the first glimpse of her prize as a corner of the book exposed through the opened buttons near the collar.

“Ashley? What are you doing in here?” Sam Connors was getting closer.

Regan worked it carelessly upward through the coat until she could get a two-handed grip. She grasped each corner of the book and pulled upward with all her might. The book let loose and Regan tumbled backwards onto the ice—book in hand.

“Ashley.”

“Dammit, Sam. I’m coming.” She eagerly wanted to look inside the book but had no time. Connors would want her to put it back and then let the authorities have it. She found it, it was hers now. She unzipped her backpack, stuffed the book inside, and zipped her pack secure. Then she returned to button up the man’s coat.

“Oh my God.” Sam’s voice was close. “What have you found?”

Ashley turned and saw Sam peering through the opening. “A frozen dead man.”

“What are you doing to the body?” Sam Connors pointed to the body. "We should get out of here."

“I was checking for identification, but he’s too frozen.” She lied. She'd done it so many times. Sam was always trusting and gullible. Ashley gave Sam an impish smile, another trick she learned that always worked. “We’ll report it when we get to the summit."

“Let's get out of here." The worry in Sam’s tone wasn’t lost on Regan. "This place is creepy. I can't believe you found a dead body."

Regan found it hard to contain her excitement, but she knew Sam would complain that the book didn't belong to them. Ashley didn't want to hear it. Finders—keepers. Sam would try to reason with her, say the book was evidence, perhaps it was, but Regan instinctively knew the book had an intriguing story behind it. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but her meddlesome nature would never allow her to give it up.

Regan slipped her backpack over her shoulder. "Lead the way."

Connors turned and walked back toward the mouth of the cave.

Ashley Regan smiled. The book's existence would remain her secret.

P
ointe-à-Pitre
, Guadeloupe

A
bigail Love had been following
Martin and Teresa Kingsley through the streets of Pointe-à-Pitre all morning. The wealthy New Hampshire couple arrived at their Pointe-à-Pitre condominium, one of the many homes they owned around the world, yesterday afternoon after a long layover at the San Juan Airport in Puerto Rico. Love knew because she was on the same flight. The couple, both in their mid-fifties, were here on business. Which is exactly why she was here.

Love was hired by the Kingsleys' competition, a successful businessman who didn't want outsiders taking his hard earned business away from him. Martin Kingsley and a local man from the nearby town of Morne Rouge had formed a partnership and planned to open a rum factory on Guadeloupe. Kingsley had recently sold a recording studio and planned to invest that capital into this new venture. Love was hired to ensure that never happened.

She found her appearance made it easy for her to get close to her targets, often to the point of befriending and socializing with them prior to the hit. She was attractive, physically fit, tanned, and heartless.
Lure them into my web like a spider and then attack
was her mantra. That's one reason she rented a condominium in the same complex as the Kingsleys.

The waterfront streets of Pointe-à-Pitre were lively early in the morning and the outdoor market crowded. A small cruise ship had deposited a few hundred visitors in town, which created a traffic jam in the narrow streets.

Love already knew the Kingsleys' schedule, Martin Kingsley's anyway, courtesy of her employer. He'd provided a package complete with all the details of the Kingsleys' itinerary. That's how she knew which flight they were on, which condominium they owned, and where Martin would be at any given time. Her employer had created a spreadsheet meticulously detailing her target's information. If only all her hits could be this easy. Many of her contacts left out vital information, which on occasion had put her in harm's way. She'd been tempted to pay those employers an unwelcome visit but the money was too good to jeopardize her reputation.

Her career was born out of violence. When she was twenty-two and in her final year of college, she began an affair with an older man. Although she didn't know it at the time, he turned out to be a drug dealer who had doubled crossed one buyer too many. One night, her jealous lover accused her of flirting with a young waiter. The quarrel turned into a shouting match until he hit her—a backhanded blow to her jaw that knocked her to the floor.

She touched her face and felt the warm blood spilling from her mouth. She stood and screamed. "You bastard!"

"Shut up, bitch." His next blow knocked her against the kitchen counter.

She felt her eye starting to swell. Blood trickled from her brow.

He walked up behind her, grabbed a handful of hair, and pulled her upright.

His hot breath next to her ear, "pack your shit, bitch, and get the Hell out of my house."

She spotted a meat cleaver on top of a carving board in front of her. She grabbed the handle, spun around, and slammed the blade into the side of his neck. A fountain of blood sprayed the kitchen as the man fell to the floor in disbelief. Blood gushed across the tile floor. Within a minute he grew still. The blood flow slowed. His face turned ashen. Another minute later, he was dead.

While serving two years in prison on a plea bargained Involuntary Manslaughter charge, she met another abused woman and a friendship evolved. Along with their friendship, an idea emerged for a new line of work. Now, almost seventeen years later, she owned her own business—all women. All trained to kill.
Love's Desperate Desire
. She called them
escorts
.

At 9:00 a.m., Kingsley answered his cell phone. Five minutes later a car pulled to the curb. Kingsley kissed his wife on the cheek and folded his six-foot three-inch frame into the compact car. Love knew Kingsley and his partner were driving to look at the property they planned to buy for their rum factory. She also knew they had plans to attend dinner parties tonight and tomorrow night and were scheduled to close the real estate deal the following day. A date he would never make.

Love followed Teresa Kingsley the short few blocks back to the condominium complex. Twin eight-story buildings standing only four feet apart. She was in the East Tower and the Kingsleys were in the West. A six-foot concrete wall surrounded the complex with security guards at the main entrance to the complex and again at the entrances to each building. Security cameras monitored the lobbies of each building as well as the front gate. Security was state of the art at this upscale complex. Although violent crime wasn't a problem in Pointe-à-Pitre, burglary and vandalism were. Peace of mind for the owners outweighed the added cost of good security.

Love stood behind Teresa Kingsley at the complex's main entrance and waited while Kingsley looked for her identification and room key to show to the guard.

Kingsley turned to Love with an embarrassed look on her face. "I'm sorry. My husband has my passport. This might take a while. Why don't you go ahead?"

Love smiled. "That's quite alright. I don't mind waiting. I'm just going to the pool anyway." One large pool with a bar and a grill served the twin towers. Her employer had provided her with a detailed layout of the complex.

"Ma'am." The guard motioned for Love to walk around Kingsley.

Love did as instructed, showed her identification and key, and was cleared into the complex.

"I'm so sorry." Kingsley said as Love walked around her.

"Good luck." Love nodded at the guard and walked to her building.

The typical assassin's creed was to strike your target and vanish without a trace. Abigail Love didn't see it that way. It was much more than just a job. She enjoyed playing with her unsuspecting prey. Luring her victims into a false sense of security. Luring them to their doom. All of this felt thrilling. Tantalizing. It made the kill almost orgasmic. Little did Teresa Kingsley know, she had less than two days left to live. Just the thought made Abigail Love shiver.

B
elle Haven Country Club

Alexandria, Virginia

J
ake had never worked
with the carrot-topped man but the warning Francesca had given him was right; his cocky demeanor was annoying. The tall thin engineer, known to him only as Matt, had worked for Elmore Wiley going on two years and had only one job function, pilot Wiley's miniature spy drones.

Last year's drone was Wiley's electronic wasp equipped with an infrared video camera, microphone, and operated on three tiny watch batteries. Obsolete in comparison to Wiley's latest invention, which Matt called Skeeter, a spy drone the size and shape of a mosquito, also equipped with a video camera and microphone. The nanotechnology Wiley used allowed the mosquito replica to operate on a miniaturized single cell battery, which also served as the drone's torso. Although Skeeter didn't have infrared capability, it did have a needle capable of drawing a DNA sample, delivering a toxin, or injecting a micro RFID under the skin of its intended victim. The radio frequency identification device would allow the target to be tracked within a two-foot tolerance. Just like a real mosquito, Skeeter was propelled by flapping its silicone wings allowing it to hover, climb and descend, and travel at a speed of eight miles per hour in no-wind situations.

Matt opened his case and pulled out a small box similar in size and appearance to that found in a jewelry store. He opened it and held it out for Jake to see. "Pretty cool, huh?" Matt snapped it closed.

Earlier Jake had parked the black van belonging to Commonwealth Consultants in the back parking lot of the Hampton Inn on Richmond Highway just north of the Belle Haven Country Club fence.

"Boden's tee time is in ten minutes, can you make it?"

"Just let me do the flying, Navy boy, and we'll be fine. Now hold out your palm."

Jake's initial urge was to punch the arrogant man in the face but he suppressed the feeling, knowing it would not sit well with Wiley. He held out his hand, palm up. Matt placed Skeeter on Jake's palm and turned to his command console.

Matt flipped three buttons and wrapped his hands around two joysticks. "Now watch and learn."

Skeeter's wings vibrated and the tiny drone lifted off Jake's palm. "Here we go," Matt said. The drone darted out the van's open side door.

Jake stared at Matt's monitor and watched the ground pass underneath. The video was clear but somewhat grainy, certainly good enough to qualify for the task at hand. The drone flew over a small tributary then lifted over a row of trees and across the expanse of fairways at the golf course. Within seconds, the clubhouse came into view in the distance. It surprised Jake that his aging target could even swing a golf club without falling over. But it was a routine the man only missed when the weather was inclement or he was out of town.

"Does this thing have a zoom?" Jake asked.

"I wish. I'll have to fly it up close and personal for positive identification. That's why you're here. If I pop the wrong target, then you're to blame." Matt laughed.

Francesca was right. Matt was a prick.

Jake held his tongue and continued to watch. The view on the screen showed the clubhouse getting closer, a row of golf carts lined up at the tee box. "Guess you'll have to check each one. Start with one closest to the tee." Jake instructed.

"Yeah, I think I got that much figured out."

Matt piloted the mosquito drone past the first two golf carts. Nothing but a bunch of old men he didn't recognize. As the drone passed in front of the third cart, Jake saw something. "There." He pointed to the screen. "Fourth cart. The man with a cane, check him out."

"Roger that," Matt replied.

Jake watched Matt maneuver the drone around the third golf cart and sweep in front of the fourth. "Can you give me a close up of the man in the passenger seat?"

"Of course." Matt's hands expertly tilted the joysticks from side to side as the view on the screen seemed to finesse the man's face into a full face image.

"That's him," Jake said. "Now what?"

"Now comes the tricky part." Matt explained. "I'll land Skeeter on his back collar for a moment." The view on the screen showed the camera sweeping around the target's head and when it was lined up with the back of the man's head, it landed on the back of a pale blue collar. "One limitation of Skeeter's camera is the inability to sweep. We can only see straight ahead. And unfortunately Skeeter weighs a little more than a real mosquito, so when I come off his collar and land on his neck, he'll feel something and try to swat it. I have to land, pull a sample, and get out of there before Skeeter gets squashed."

"Has that ever happened?"

"Once," Matt admitted. "Knocked Skeeter to the ground. I was able to locate him later though and retrieve the sample."

"What's next? Land on his neck?"

"No. That's how I got caught. I've found the best place to land is behind the earlobe."

"Behind the ear?" Jake asked. "Won't he hear it?"

"Possibly, but he won't hit himself in the ear. The tendency is to just wave a hand by the ear and then pull it away. When he pulls his hand away, I'll fly Skeeter out of there."

"Do it," Jake said.

"Extending the needle…and here we go." The monitor showed movement toward the man's right ear. The bottom of the ear lobe came into view then filled the screen. "Extracting a sample…retracting the needle, now wait. One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three. Now, let's get him out of there."

As the image pulled away, the target's hand was seen waving in front of the drone's camera. Then the image cleared the golf cart.

"Piece of cake," Matt said.

"Let me see his face again."

The image on the monitor rotated around and the target's face came into view as Matt maneuvered Skeeter in front of the golf cart.

Senator Richard Boden.

"Nicely done, Matt. Now get Skeeter out of there."

A
bigail Love lay
on a beach towel by the pool, her mind running through her mental checklist of things she had to do to prepare for the hit on Martin and Teresa Kingsley. She was staying in a room on the fourth floor of the East Tower and Kingsley and his wife were on the seventh floor of the West Tower. Guests were only allowed access to the building they were staying in unless accompanied by an owner or guest of the adjacent tower. The only common areas were by the pool and at the grill. Logistically an issue, but one for which she had accounted.

She wore big tortoise shell sunglasses with UV lenses to protect her eyes from the harsh Caribbean sun. She studied the rooftops and balconies; they might be her only choice.

A shadow blocked the sun from her face and she turned her head to see who it was.

"Well, hello again," Teresa Kingsley said.

"I see they let you inside." Love pulled her glasses on top of her head and squinted at the bright sun. Kingsley was tall and thin. She wore a sheer white tunic revealing a black bikini underneath. Her long dark hair and brown eyes accentuated her good looks. For a woman of fifty-four, Love thought Teresa Kingsley looked spectacular.

"Yes. I had the guard call the manager, he vouched for me." She pointed at the chair next to Love. "Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all." Love smiled. "My pleasure."

"Thank you." Kingsley extended her hand. "Teresa Kingsley."

"Abigail Love." She grabbed Kingsley's hand. "My friends call me Abby."

"Abby, nice to meet you." Kingsley pulled her tunic over her head and spread the towel across the chair. Without the tunic, Teresa Kingsley looked even more spectacular than Love originally thought. Her French-cut bikini bottom accentuated her already long, tan legs.

Kingsley pulled a bottle of tanning oil out of her bag and squirted some on her legs and started rubbing it in. "How long have you owned here?"