Rogue Operator (14 page)

Percy
shook his head.

“There’s
no fuckin’ way I’m leaving a murder scene like this.”

Kane
looked at Percy.

“I don’t
think you get it. When that clean-up crew arrives, there will be no murder
scene. It will be scrubbed clean, as if it never happened. And depending upon
how tight they want to keep a lid on it, anybody here that shouldn’t be here,
will be scrubbed along with it. So I suggest you and I get out of here, and
leave our friend here, who had nothing to do with the murder of your partner,
to deal with his handlers.”

Kane
began to walk from the room, holstering his weapon. He could hear the shuffling
of feet as the detective tried to decide what to do, then a growl as he
apparently made a decision against his better judgment. Kane held the door open
for the angry detective, then closed it behind them.

“You
know, somebody probably reported the shots.”

“Perhaps,
but unlikely. This time of day, this part of town? The motel’s almost empty,
and we’re next to a highway with nothing but a gas station and a trucking
company within earshot. My guess is if anyone heard anything, they decided to
just not get involved.”

Detective
Percy growled again.

Kane
climbed in his SUV and rolled down the window.

“We need
to talk. Meet me where you were parked earlier.”

Percy
frowned, then nodded, climbing into his car as Kane started the Expedition. He
pulled out and drove to the gas station, parking near a tree where a set of
dumpsters would protect him from view of any arriving cleanup crew. A moment
later the detective pulled up beside him and climbed out of his vehicle.

“Join me
in here, Detective, I’m thinking it’s a little more comfortable.”

Kane
closed his window before the detective could protest, and a few seconds later
the passenger seat was occupied.

Percy
looked at him.

“You’re
no insurance investigator.”

“No, I’m
not.”

“What
are you? FBI?”

“Try
three different letters.”

“CIA?”
Percy’s voice sounded almost incredulous.

“I can’t
confirm that,” said Kane, directly looking into the detective’s eyes, hoping
he’d catch the meaning of the stare.

Percy
frowned, and nodded. “I see.”

Message
received.

“So
what’s going on?” asked the detective, turning his body slightly and relaxing
against the door.

“I wish
I knew. All I know is that a group of scientists, working on something very top
secret, were presumed dead. The same day, the families of the only two
scientists that had families, were kidnapped, and their lab was cleared out.
That part I got from you, so it has been buried so deep, even my sources don’t
have access to the information.”

“But why
is the CIA involved?”

Kane
shrugged his shoulders. “I’m on vacation, doing a favor for a trusted friend.
All I know is one of these supposedly dead scientists called his mom yesterday,
saying they were alright. And to not look for them.”

“Sounds
almost like they went into Witness Protection.”

“It
does, doesn’t it? But the US Marshals wouldn’t have been so sloppy about it.
This operation looks to me like it was done by a team or teams who didn’t care
if there were witnesses, because they knew they’d be untraceable.”

“Why
kill my partner?”

“Evidence
that something happened is one thing, being arrested by police is another. And
if BlackTide is involved, I’m willing to bet that’s who opened fire on you, and
that’s who you killed. I can’t see a CIA sanctioned team killing police
officers on our own soil, especially when we’re not even allowed to operate
here officially unless there’s a terrorist threat.”

“Sounds
like BlackTide needs to be taken down.”

“That’ll
never happen. They’re too well connected.” Kane looked at the cop and put his
hand on the back of the passenger seat, leaning in slightly. “Look, don’t get
any ideas. They
will
kill you. Without hesitation. They’ll just bring in
somebody from outside the country to do it, and it will never trace back to
them.”

“There’s
no way I can let my partner’s death go without those responsible going to
jail.”

“You
killed those responsible.”

“No, I
killed the shooters, not those who gave the orders.” Detective Percy looked
away, his voice lowering. “I want them to pay.”

Kane
knew exactly how the detective felt. He’d lost partners on missions before, and
the pit it left in your stomach never really went away. But killing those
responsible always seemed to help a little.

Sometimes
a lot.

“Tell me
everything you know, and I promise you, they will.”

The
detective looked at him, then began to spill. About the Peterson kidnapping,
the abandoned truck and SUVs, the helicopter that presumably took them away,
the kidnapping of the Shephard family and the black SUVs reported at the scene,
the near-miss with the military transport plane, the presumed pickup of the
hostages, and the shootout on the way back from the landing strip, the theft of
the bodies, and the emptying out of the scientists’ lab.

A full
report, but nothing useful.

“Did you
go to the landing strip?”

Percy
nodded. “The next day. Something big had landed there alright.”

“Anything
on the helicopter?”

“Nothing.”

“They
probably brought it in special. If this were my op, and I didn’t care about
witnesses, I’d take the Peterson family, evac them by helicopter, leaving all
the vehicles witnesses saw, behind. There were two SUV’s involved. I’m thinking
two four man teams. Two driving the semi, two in the back, two in each SUV. The
helicopter and two more SUVs, the ones you saw them in later, and the ones used
in the Shephard kidnapping, are prepositioned. They arrive with their hostages,
one team evacs them to the landing strip, the other team picks up the Shephards
and drives them out to the strip. The C130 comes in for a pickup of the
hostages, leaving the two full teams behind. Their job is over.

“My
guess is you’ll never find the chopper. It was either brought in special and
taken away, or it was borrowed and put back. You could try canvassing local
heliports to see if anybody rented something, but I doubt you’ll find anything
that will connect back to anything.

“Then as
to the scientists, another team takes them on their fishing trip, fakes their
deaths, and before anyone’s the wiser, they’re off to parts unknown, probably
with their families.”

Percy
frowned. “You don’t think they’re in on it, do you?”

“Who,
the scientists? I doubt it. This isn’t somebody running away from some gambling
debts. This involved CIA personnel, military assets, and three scientists, not
one. They’ve either been kidnapped by our own government or a foreign
government, or they’re all defecting, which if they were, why kidnap the
families? Why not just have everyone go on vacation, and disappear?”

“If only
we knew what they were working on,” said Percy. “That might at least give us an
idea as to what’s going on, at least.”

Kane
nodded. “I
do
know what they’re working on, and my money’s on a foreign
government kidnapping them.”

“Can
you—”

Kane
raised a hand. “No, I can’t tell you what it is. Let’s just say it’s dangerous
if used for the wrong thing, a Pandora’s Box sort of thing.”

“Fuck
me,” muttered Percy. “What is it with scientists?”

Kane
shrugged his shoulders then nodded out the windshield.

“Fifteen
minutes. That means this is a high priority mission for the agency.”

“What do
you mean?”

“You
don’t preposition a cleanup crew on US soil unless you think there’s a high
likelihood you’re going to need them.”

“So what
does that mean?”

“It
means they expected somebody to die. Probably me.”

“So what
are you going to do now?”

“Visit
an old friend.”

Entyse, Wine Bar & Lounge, Tysons Boulevard, McLean, Virginia

Chris Leroux eyed the steak and garlic mashed potatoes sitting on
the plate, then across the table at Sherrie’s garden salad with seasoned
chicken breast, a raspberry vinaigrette on the side.

Garlic
mashed potatoes? Garlic! What were you thinking?

“Can I
get a light Caesar dressing instead?” she asked the waiter, who nodded then
walked away. Sherrie looked at him. “We both better have garlic breath tonight,
or this evening isn’t going anywhere.”

Chris
laughed nervously, and was certain he turned several shades closer to the
lobster at the next table.

Sherrie
winked at him and reached across the table, taking his hand and squeezing it.

“I’m
just joking with you, I could tell by the way you were eying the potatoes you
were regretting your choice.”

Chris
shook his head and laughed.

“You
know me so well, it’s uncanny.”

“Hey,
I’m CIA, remember?”

She
laughed and so did he, both stifling the laughter when the waiter returned with
her new dressing. He politely waited for her to take her first bite, then dug
in himself, his nerves for the moment forgotten, the ease he felt with Sherrie
unlike anything he had ever felt.

And the
feeling he was being played returned.

“So,
where are you originally from?” she asked.

No
harm in answering that.

“Allentown,
Pennsylvania.”

“Pennsylvania?
Never been there. Pretty?”

Chris
nodded as he swallowed some of the potatoes.
Good!

“It’s
quiet, that’s for sure.”

“Where’d
you go to college?”

“Berkeley.”

“Good
school.”

He
nodded.

“You?
Where’d you grow up?”

She put
her fork down and gently dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin.

“If my
mother were alive, she’d probably say I never did grow up!” laughed Sherrie.
“Born and raised in Houston. Folks were both killed in a car accident when I
was sixteen.”

“Sorry
to hear that.”

She
shrugged. “It was tough at first, especially having to live with my
grandparents for two years, but as soon as I could, I got out, went to college,
and applied to the Agency. Been slaving away ever since.”

“Same.
The Agency was my first job too, recruited right out of school. One of my
professors had me take some aptitude test, and a few weeks later I was in a
room with a couple of suits, asking me questions, then two more weeks I had a
job offer.”

“Did you
have to think about it?” asked Sherrie. “I mean, you don’t strike me as the
cloak and dagger type.” She paused, then added, “No offense.”

Chris
smiled. “None taken. Yeah, I had to think about it. A lot. But then I realized
it was a chance to serve my country, make a decent stable income, and perhaps
do some good.”

His
thoughts drifted to the Brass Monkey incident, and how it had been him that had
put together the pieces.
If it weren’t for me, the world might be a very
different place today.

“For me
I knew as soon as I watched Alias on TV what I wanted to be,” said Sherrie as
she stabbed a cherry tomato, the juices spurting out slightly. She dabbed it in
the dressing. “Travel, kick some ass, save the world.” She shrugged her
shoulders. “What’s not to like?” She popped the tomato into her mouth.

“Desk
work isn’t exactly exciting,” said Chris, swirling his fork in his potatoes.
“I’d love to be an agent, but I just don’t think I’d have the, you know,
courage
for it. I know an agent. Him, I see him as agent material all the way. But me?
Special Operations Group would laugh me out of the building.”

Sherrie
swallowed a piece of broccoli. “You really shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.”
She jabbed her fork in the air without looking up, instead examining her salad.
“This agent you mentioned, how’d you meet him?”

“Kane?
I—”

Chris
caught himself, but too late. The name was out. He wasn’t sure what to say. All
he knew is that he had publicly said the name of an agent. A top secret special
agent in the Special Activities Division of the Special Operations Group.

“What
was the name?”

“Forget
it. I shouldn’t have said it.”

Sherrie
nodded. “Best you don’t repeat it, certainly not here.” She paused and speared
a cucumber. “Let’s call him ‘Jim’. Where’d you meet Jim?”

Chris
felt his stomach churn. He knew it was forbidden to talk about agents and
assets. Even in code, unless there was an operational necessity. And trying to get
past first base on a first date was not an operational necessity, no matter how
horny he was and how long it had been since he had been with a woman.

The
exact date and time flashed in his mind and it was embarrassingly long ago for
a man in the prime of his life. He felt himself weaken momentarily, then saved
himself by taking a bite of his steak, making a motion with his hand that he
couldn’t talk until he swallowed. This only bought him a few seconds, but it
forced her to pick up the conversation.

“I’d
love to meet an agent, swap stories. Or I guess, listen to stories. As soon as
I’m eligible I’m applying. I’ve been taking Karate for years now and just got
my second degree black belt.”

Swallow.

“So you
can kick pretty much anybody’s ass then,” said Chris, happy for a way to change
the conversation. “I’ve always wanted to take a class, but never really got
around to it. My hours are so scattered that I just can’t make the commitment.”

“It’s
definitely a commitment,” said Sherrie as she battled with a rather large piece
of lettuce. “If you’re not willing to put in the time, you might as well just
take a kickboxing class for the cardio.”