The Carolina Coup: Another Rwandan Genocide? (The Jeannine Ryan Series Book 4) (2 page)

In room 310, Hugh Byrd went directly to the safe.  He rotated the knob and pulled the door open.

Empty!

That was no surprise.  When he had seen Hamm’s name on the list of late workers, Hugh had guessed what happened. Somehow Hamm had found that damned decrypted memo.

Hugh went to the desk and pushed a button.  The surveillance video from the covert camera revealed the shadowy figure of a man standing at the safe.

A knock interrupted the viewing.  He opened the door to his aide, Tom Holder.  Tom looked at the video.

“Not enough light.  Too bad you can’t make out his face.”

“No matter, I know who it is.”

Tom saw that the safe was empty.

“Damn!  You mean he took everything?  We’re screwed.”

Hugh nodded.  Tom’s eyes ranged from one side of the room to the other, as if expecting a third presence.

“Tom, calm down.  There’s no way the documents have left the building.  And without them the guy has nothing.  Besides, he’s still here.  Where’s your Glock?”

Tom produced the weapon from under his jacket.

“Good, chamber a round but keep your weapon out of sight.  Follow me.  We’re going to visit ‘Mr. Hamm.’  His office is on this floor.”

Hugh locked the door.

Tom, Glock ready, followed him down the hallway.

But “Mr. Hamm” was not in his office.  Hugh dialed the guard at the gate.

“This is Byrd, did William Hamm, ID #A17-1663, leave the grounds.”

“Yes Sir, a half hour ago.”

“Driving?”

“No Sir, he said his car wouldn’t start.  He was walking, went in the direction of the 7-Eleven down the road.  We’re searching all cars like you said.  Maybe he saw how long it takes.  Anyway his car is still in the lot.  I can see it from here.”

“Did he have anything with him.  A package, a briefcase, anything?”

“No Sir, I patted him down myself.
 
I have my orders.  But he had a Beretta, and a permit.  That’s about it.”

“All right.  Put a guard on his car.  We’ll take it apart if we have to.  I’ll come down to meet you in five minutes.”

Hugh turned to Tom Holder.

“If he hid those documents in his office, find them.  Trash the place if you have to, but find them.  They must be on the grounds.  I’m going downstairs to search Hamm’s car.”

The dumpster truck arrived on time at the 7-Eleven where the driver habitually took a morning coffee. William Hamm was waiting.

He spoke to the driver.  His price was high, one hundred dollars, but after a few minutes, Hamm had the canvas briefcase in his hand.  Included in the price was a ride in the truck as far as Prince William Hospital in Manassas.

At the hospital, Hamm tipped the driver another twenty, stepped down from the cab and went through the hospital doors.

As soon as the driver left, Hamm stepped back out and crossed the street.  He walked down the road to a car rental agency.  There he presented the clerk with a drivers license with his photograph and the name “Walter Harmon.”  Then he selected a Honda Accord, paid cash, and left.

His next stop was the Manassas Post Office.

There he rented an oversized postal box into which he squeezed the supple briefcase.  Then he took an envelope, placed the key inside along with a note, and mailed it to a “Dr. Jeannine Ryan.”

That done, he drove to nearby Gainesville, Virginia.  There he took a room in the Hampton Inn. He needed to rest and plan his next move.

Bill Hamm was a formerly covert CIA agent who knew how to disappear with the Agency’s assistance, but now he was on his own.  The authorities would be looking for him.

He would be hunted by good and bad alike.

Hugh Byrd was frustrated.  The searches of Hamm’s car and office had yielded nothing.

His cell phone vibrated.  He picked up.  It was “the woman,” Denise Guerry.  He feared this call.

She spoke with a French accent.

“Is it true?  Are the contents of the safe missing?  Tell me you have found them, that they are secure.”

Hugh grimaced and stayed silent.

Who on his staff had informed her?  Bob? Damn him!

She interpreted his silence correctly.

“So Hamm has them.  Idiot!  Find out everything you can about him, his assignments before Austria and the Torbee, everything.  And locate his women.  Get back our papers and those security tokens!  You and Holder will do nothing else.  Find Hamm and get them back.”

She lowered her voice and spoke, barely above a whisper.

“Have you forgotten our clients?  These Africans have no patience.  If they see any danger of failure, they will make sure that you and I never existed.”

“Don’t disappoint me, Byrd.  My uncle said I could trust you.”

“Click.”

Whatever his faults, Hugh Byrd was an experienced operative.  He took the elevator down to the security center.  Bob was no longer on duty.  The head of the day-shift greeted him.

“What can I do for you chief?”

“Get me Hamm’s phone records, recent calls.”

“I’ll pull them up.”

Hugh studied the computer screen.  Two numbers were more frequent than the others.

“Whose numbers are these?”

“One is a small company in Bethesda, Maryland, Ryan Associates.  The other is a woman, Jeannine Ryan.  Looks like it’s the same Ryan, both numbers have the same address.”

“Google her.”

A newspaper article appeared.  It featured a photo with a woman.  She was incredibly attractive.  Hugh Byrd studied her features.

Nice!  No wonder Hamm keeps calling you.  You will lead me to him!

Hugh called Tom Holder.

“Tom, there’s a Dr. Jeannine Ryan in Bethesda.  I want you to fix her phones for me.  It’s one location, one visit.  Her business and personal phones are in the same house.  This woman may be our key to Hamm.  Get on it!”

But Hugh Byrd was not satisfied.  Although the Ryan woman was a good lead, there had to be more.

Hamm was gone.  Hugh was convinced that the papers too were gone.  But how?  How had he gotten the documents through security?  They had not been on his person.

Hugh left his room, walked to the window at the end the hall, and stared out.  Since his arrival, a light rain had coated the pane with droplets.

Rain from that hurricane in the Gulf?

As if in answer to these thoughts, lightning lit the sky and wind-driven drops splattered the glass.  In only seconds, a torrential downpour sent water swirling down the glass in rippling waves.

Hugh watched in silence.  The storm matched his mood.

He stood frozen for minutes.  Then the downpour changed to a drizzle and the sky lightened as dark clouds moved to the East.  The watery film settled to the base of the pane.

Hugh started. At the base of the window, water had seeped in and around the bolts.

The damn bolts are loose.

Wait!
 
Maybe Hamm?

He stooped to remove the bolts and lifted the dripping pane onto the floor.  He leaned out.

Bingo!

Suspended dripping on a branch below was a dark cloth, a ski mask.

He leaned further and saw a bare space where a dumpster usually sat.  The dumpster was gone!

Only yesterday it had been full of debris.  Landscaping had cleaned and cleared the grounds this week.

That’s it!  Damn you Hamm
.

Hugh returned to his room.  Within five minutes he had the name of the driver who had picked up the dumpster.

He called Tom Holder.

“Have you left for Bethesda yet?   Good, you can fix Ryan’s phones later.  Meet me at my car.  You and I are going to see a driver about a dumpster.”

The driver of the dumpster truck, induced this time by a couple of hundred dollar bills, was more than willing to cooperate with his new benefactors.  He described the ride with the stranger to Prince William Hospital and told them the exact spot where their “friend” had left the truck and entered the hospital.

Fifteen minutes later, Hugh Byrd stood in front of the hospital, in the very spot where Hamm had gotten out.

Hamm you weren’t going to the hospital, why here?

Hugh trusted his hunches. He paused to survey the scene

Then he saw.  Several blocks away there was a sign for a car rental agency.  Of course.

Hamm was afoot!

He turned to Tom Holder and pointed to the car rental sign.

“That’s where Hamm went.  I know it.  Come on, let’s go.”

Tom drove.

At the car agency, Hugh Byrd, flashed his government credentials.  In only minutes a cooperative clerk verified that a man matching Hamm’s description had rented a blue Honda Accord three hours earlier.

Hugh was elated.  He now knew Hamm was driving a blue Accord, and more importantly he knew the Accord’s license plate.

He congratulated himself. 
Damn. I’m good at this!

As he turned to leave, the clerk called to him.

“Sir, one more thing.  The gentleman who rented the Accord asked me if we had an office in Gainesville.  I told him we did.  He might plan to return our car there.”

Hugh’s grin widened.

“Thanks, you’ve been a big help.”

He strode to the car where Tom Holder waited.

“A home run, Tom.  I hit it out the park!”

Several hours later, William Hamm sat in his room at the Hampton Inn in Gainesville, Virginia.  The room was comfortably furnished, but he could not relax.

Eighteen hours ago he had stolen government secrets in order to expose Byrd and his co-conspirators.  They had to be stopped.

He had to risk their wrath, but they would not be the only ones after him.  The FBI and other federal agencies would be anxious to bring him in.  Purveyors of stolen official secrets were not popular in these days of jihadists and international terrorism.

He had not wanted to involve Jeannine Ryan, but he could trust no one else.  His enclosed note instructed her to use the key only if he did not appear within four days to retrieve it.  If he was still free by that time, he would pick up the key himself.

He opened a beer and took several swallows.  He settled in a comfortable chair and leaned his head back.  He clicked on the TV.  It had been a long day.

He needed distraction.

Tom Holder drove into the parking lot of the Hampton Inn in Gainesville, Virginia.  This was the third area motel he and Hugh Byrd had visited since learning about the rental of the blue Accord.  Tom spoke.

“It’s been two hours.  There’s no Accord here, what are we going to do?”

“We’re close, I feel it.  Drive to the end of the lot, near those stores.  If Hamm were here, he would park away from the Inn.”

The car veered left.  Hugh jumped in his seat.

“That’s it.  There’s a blue Accord and that’s Hamm’s license plate.”

Tom Holder stopped behind the Accord.  Hugh Byrd spoke.

“Hamm’s clever.  He has a lot of years in covert ops for the CIA.  It’s not just Hamm we want.  We need the papers or you and I are cooked.  These clients don’t accept failure.”

He thought for a moment.

“Maybe the papers are in the Accord.  We’ll check it first.  Can you get in without breaking anything?”

“Not a problem.”

Tom produced a flexible steel shaft from the trunk.  In a few seconds he was inside the Accord.

Ten minutes passed.  The Accord’s hood was up.  Floor mats from the front and back seats as well as carpet from the trunk were strewed on the parking surface.

Tom looked at Hugh and shook his head, “No.”

Then he lay on the ground and checked under the car.  After several minutes he rose and came back to Hugh.

“Hugh, I’ve checked it all.  Hamm didn’t have time to hide anything in the car body and the door panels haven’t been tampered with. The damn docs are not in that car.”

“All right, put the stuff back in, and lock it up.”

Hugh Byrd sat a moment in thought.

His own freedom was at stake.  He had wanted to recover the documents, and then let the FBI apprehend Hamm.  After that, Hugh would furnish the Feds with selected papers that ensured Hamm’s guilt.  Then Hugh and his cohorts could continue their activities free from suspicion.

But the documents were not in Hamm’s Accord. 
Damn!

“Tom, we have no choice.  The documents are in Hamm’s room.  We have to go through him to get them.”