Kill Decision (24 page)

She stared at them. “They claimed my weaver ant software model was being used to power autonomous combat drones.”

“Ah. That’s right. You do mention that the terror bombings are unmanned drone attacks.”

“I have no idea whether that’s true or not, but that’s what they told me. For all I know these people are the ones behind the attacks.”

“You mean the terror bombings? I thought you said these were government people who kidnapped you?”

“Possibly. I don’t know. I never saw any proof that they were government people, and even if they were military, it might still be an illegal military operation. It wouldn’t be the first time the U.S. military was involved in something illegal.”

Tierney glared at her, then started flipping through the folder. “Let’s talk about your antiwar activity. . . .”

“Oh, for godsakes! This has nothing to do with—”

“Let’s just go through it. Who do you think was to blame for 9/11, Professor McKinney? Do you think the U.S. government was behind 9/11?”

“I can’t believe you’re asking me that.”

“Because they obviously were?”

“No!”

Tierney spread his hands. “Can you give us any details about this supposed top-secret government operation, then? Where are they located?”

“I said I’m not certain it’s a government operation.”

“Okay, fine—this nefarious plot, then. Can you tell us where their secret lair is?”

“Yes, I know where they are.”

“Then why didn’t you put that in your statement? We could already have checked it out.”

McKinney grimaced. “Because it might actually be a government operation. They said they were trying to prevent these drone attacks.” She cast an uncertain look at them. “Do you gentlemen have . . . I guess . . . top-secret clearances?”

They groaned and shook their heads. Tierney leaned onto the table in front of her. “Professor. We get the-government’s-out-to-get-me and I’ll-tell-secrets-if-you-let-me-go crap on a daily basis. Look at it from our point of view. In fact, you’re a scientist; look at it from a scientific point of view. Which do you think is more likely: a) that you were kidnapped in Africa by the CIA—”

“I never said it was the CIA.”

“Or whoever, then, and brought here to work on a secret drone project—or b) you got in legal trouble in Africa, possibly narcotics-related, faked your death, and snuck back into the U.S., say, through Mexico, high on drugs, and stole a truck?”

She took a deep breath and tried to control her temper. In truth, she had to admit that Occam’s razor would favor his hypothesis.

“Do you still take drugs, Professor?”

“No! I was a sophomore in college. Give me a drug test if you don’t believe me.”

“Oh, we will. You do realize you’re in serious legal trouble?”

“I’m starting to realize that, yes. I’d like to call a lawyer.”

“Well, you waived your right to have an attorney present during questioning.”

“No, I didn’t—when did I do that?”

“When you were brought in, you kept insisting that you immediately speak with an agent, and you didn’t listen to what was being said to you while you were being processed.” He pointed to her signature on one of the documents in the folder.

McKinney realized what a serious turn things had just taken.

Tierney continued, reading from the folder now, “You crashed a stolen federal vehicle, made false statements to federal officers—”

“I’m telling you the truth. I can prove it.”

“So prove it, then.”

There was a knock on the door, and then it opened slightly. Agent Harrison hurried over to it, putting his nose in the open space, conversing with someone. He turned, and the door opened, revealing a couple of men in nicer suits, putting their credentials away.

Harrison motioned for Agent Tierney to follow him. “Matt. C’mon. The SAIC says Homeland Security’s got this.”

Tierney looked back and suddenly straightened up. “Sir. How can we help you?”

“By leaving this room.” The senior FBI agent held the door open for them while the Homeland Security agent stepped inside. He had a kinder face—a fatherly look, with a full head of gray, neatly groomed hair.

“Oh. Of course.” Tierney glanced back at McKinney and headed for the door.

The Homeland Security agent grabbed the folder from him. “Speak no more of this with anyone. Your SAIC will debrief you.”

“Yes, sir.”

The agents headed out along with the local agent in charge, and the door closed behind them, leaving McKinney alone with the recent arrival.

He nodded and sat down across from her. “How you holding up, Linda?”

She studied him warily. “Not well. Who are you?”

“Agent Blake, Homeland Security.” He produced his credentials again, handing them to her so she could inspect them closely. The gold shield and ID were enclosed in a quality black leather sleeve. “I flew here from Chicago once your report was flagged in the system.”

After examining his credentials she handed them back. “From Chicago? Because of me?”

He nodded.

She dropped her head onto her hands. “Oh, thank God.” She lifted her head up again. “Please tell me you believe me.”

“Something in your written statement intrigues me—your theory about the terrorist bombings. You mention that they’re actually drone strikes. Who told you this?”

“That’s what the man commanding the operation told me. He goes by a—a call sign. ‘Odin.’”

“Odin.” It was unclear whether it was a declaration or a question.

“I don’t know whether it’s true or not.” She studied his expression. “Is it?”

He took out a black leather-bound pad, from which he drew an expensive-looking silver pen. “I have no idea, but if there’s a special military unit here in Kansas City, I should know about it. And I don’t.”

“If they’re a legitimate defense operation, that’s one thing, but . . . I’m a scientist. I needed corroboration before I—”

He patted her hand. “You did the right thing. We need to get this sorted out. You’re lucky you got away—if what you’re saying is true, they’re very dangerous people. Can you tell me where their operation is headquartered?”

She sighed in relief and nodded vigorously. “Yes. They’re in a place called SubTropolis—on the north bank of the Missouri River.”

He nodded. “I know it. Homeland Security and the FBI use it for archival data storage.”

“Then they might be legitimate?”

He jotted notes. “Let’s stick with what we know.”

“They said they chose it so that drone missiles couldn’t hit them.”

“Clever.”

“You’re with the government—can you call someone and find out if this is legitimate?”

“The federal government is a complex organism, Professor. Sometimes pieces of it become . . . cancerous. Dangerous. As a scientist, I’m sure you understand.”

McKinney didn’t know what to feel.

He squeezed her hand again. “I’m sure this has all been very stressful, but what’s important is that you’re safe now.”

McKinney nodded. “What happens next?”

“I need to make arrangements. In the meantime, let’s get you to a safe house. Someplace where no one with access to government systems can find out where you are.”

She gave him a sideways look.

He smiled reassuringly. “I was thinking a downtown hotel under an assumed name. Room service, cable TV. I’ll assign agents to guard you.”

“You believe my story.”

“Let’s just—”

“Then what they told me about the drone attacks must be true. It’s why you came down here so fast, isn’t it?”

He stared at her, unreadable.

“I’d like to phone my father.”

“I don’t mean to alarm you, but if this is a rogue government agency we’re dealing with, your life is in danger. And we’ll need to get your family under protection as well. We need to get you into hiding, and I need to get you out of here as quietly as possible.”

*   *   *

M
cKinney fidgeted
in the back of an unmarked government sedan, Agent Blake at the wheel. The car moved through late-night traffic near downtown Kansas City, Christmas decorations on the light poles. Blake had asked her to assume the posture of a suspect being transferred to Homeland Security custody, and accordingly they out-processed her and put her in a vehicle with a metal grille partition that separated her from the driver. Even worse, they’d handcuffed her like they would any other prisoner. She even had her hands chained to her waist, wearing a tan prisoner jumpsuit and booties. With each passing day her life just kept getting stranger.

“Now that we’re away from the FBI office, can you please take these chains off me, Agent Blake?”

He shook his head. “We need to get well clear and make sure we’re not being tailed first.”

McKinney slumped and tried as best she could to get comfortable on the hard plastic seat. As they drove through downtown, she leaned her head against the window, watching the shop and office façades passing by. Normal life. There wasn’t much foot traffic. It looked like the type of downtown that cleared out after dark—after the office workers left.

McKinney wondered if the Feds would raid the secret base. Was it still there? Perhaps Odin’s whole team had picked up or destroyed the evidence and fled. A sudden fear gripped her that she’d been wrong or that the Feds would get involved in a shoot-out with the military team because of her—a miscommunication or misunderstanding that might wind up subverting America’s defenses. Guilt nagged at her as she recalled the dead, burned bodies in those bombing photos. The face of one dead little girl in particular bothered her.

But what other choice had there been? She was a scientist. You don’t just take people’s word for things—you find out. She needed to corroborate their story, and they were unreasonable to expect that she’d do what they asked without official sanction that the operation was legitimate and legal. If the Feds raided the place and it turned out to be an illegal operation—or worse yet, that they were behind the drone attacks—or bombings, or whatever they were—then she would actually have helped stop a serious crime. Wouldn’t she?

McKinney didn’t feel any better. She realized that this was probably what intelligence work was like: no idea what the big picture was, and no clear best course.

She’d been lost in her own thoughts for a while when she suddenly noticed they were moving through a large, empty parking lot. Cones of bright light from towering lamp poles stabbed down at regular intervals. She could see passenger jets taking off in the distance. A car rental lot was visible several hundred yards away, as were illuminated billboards that only occur in the nether regions around airports—shuttle bus and mileage program ads, breakfast buffets. The usual corporate chain hotel logos glowed on towers not far off. Apparently Blake was bringing her to a hotel near the airport. Not a bad idea to remain anonymous.

The sedan slowed in the middle of the parking lot. Blake circled, looking warily in all directions.

McKinney leaned forward. “What are we doing?”

Blake ignored her.

“Agent Blake, what’s going on?”

Without answering Blake stopped the car in the center of the lot, ignoring the parking lines. He got out.

“Hey!” McKinney leaned over to watch him walk out to the edge of the cone of light in his full-length greatcoat, scanning the horizon. “Hey, what’s going on?” Her shouts were magnified in the plastic confines of the sedan’s backseat. She tugged against the chain binding her handcuffed wrists to her waist. “Agent Blake!”

He continued to act as if she didn’t exist.

McKinney glanced around. There were no other cars within two hundred yards of them. It was a vast, empty place beneath floodlights. The winter cold was already creeping into the car—her breath stabbing out vapor. She could hear the engine parts clicking as they cooled.

Agent Blake was now acting as if she were a nonperson, and a terrible realization began to sink in: that she had fallen in with dangerous people. That much was increasingly clear.

She lay back against the seat and tried to remember what normal life was like. Instead all she could remember was how instantaneous the blast wave had been on those attack videos—bodies disintegrated by industrial weaponry, as though they were made of paper.

Would anyone ever discover what happened to her, or would she just become another one of the disappeared in the world? The researcher who disappeared somewhere in Africa. That’s Africa for you, people would say. She thought again of her father.

Just then something dark alighted on the trunk of the car.

McKinney recoiled in alarm but then turned to see a large raven marching around the trunk lid just beyond the rear window glass. It wore a small headset and what she now knew was a tiny video camera. Huginn or Muninn—she could never tell them apart. She didn’t know whether she was happy to see him or frightened.

Blake was still scanning the horizon and hadn’t noticed the bird. It flew off again unseen.

A moment later a vehicle’s headlights approached and entered on the far side of the vast lot. It was an unmarked blue utility van.

Blake opened his coat, holding his hands up where they could be seen. Before long the van coasted to a stop behind Blake’s car. She recognized a grim-faced Odin behind the wheel with his long black beard. He ignored her, instead scanning the area, keeping a wary eye on Blake.

Satisfied, he got out—the dome light not turning on—and he cautiously approached Blake’s car. Odin wore some sort of insulated orange jumpsuit with a reflective vest and ID badge. It looked like an airport technician’s outfit.

Blake moved to intercept him.

McKinney watched the men approach one another, keeping their hands visible. They converged next to the car, close enough for her to hear them through the glass.

Blake spoke first. “David Shaw. I’d ask what rock you crawled out from under, but the professor was kind enough to tell us.”

Odin glanced at McKinney.

She couldn’t help but feel ashamed.

Odin turned forward again. “I’m surprised she’s still alive.”

“Would you have shown yourself if she wasn’t?”