The Siren Project (9 page)

“No idea. The security covering it is off
the scale.” Prescott completed his second pass of the Washington Monument, and
headed off for a third circuit. “I know who, but not what it was. There were
about a dozen NSA people transferred to Secondment 721, all long time
associates of McNamara. All of them left the NSA within a month of each other. Either
Secondment 721 is so stressful, it brings on early retirement-”

“Or a bunch of high class spooks went into
business for themselves.”

“Each of them retired ill health, so they
went out with full benefits. Each of their retirement packages were signed off
by one Herbert Norton, then a very senior NSA officer. Way too senior to sign
off on these guy’s retirement plans.”

“So whatever these guys were doing, they
did it with Norton’s approval. Is he still with the NSA?”

“Nope. The strain of snooping on the world
was too much for him. He ran his car off a cliff about a week after the last of
the Secondment 721 guys left.” Prescott looked puzzled. “If it was a fix,
they’d have left immediately after he died, with paperwork approved by him just
before he died. That would make the approvals obvious forgeries. But this guy
dies
after
the Secondment 721 boys are long gone, so
if it was a scam, he would have had time to say so.”

Mitch flipped to the last of the four
photographs, a picture of the tall well built man with gaunt features. “And
this guy?”

“His name is Bradick, ex-navy SEAL. He's
done some crazy stuff, sneaking into places no sane man would go. Not someone
you want to mess with. When he got out of the military, he went downhill fast. He
was in and out of trouble with the LA and SF PD’s. He was the prime suspect on
a couple of armed robberies, but nothing stuck. Witnesses against him have a
habit of disappearing. For the last few years, he’s been quiet, not even a parking
ticket.”

“I doubt he found God,” Mitch muttered,
then noticed another smaller envelope behind the last of the four photographs. He
opened it and quickly thumbed through another ten pages of notes and several
photographs.

“Don’t say you don’t get value for money
from me, bud. Those are most of the other Secondment 721 guys, all top people
by the looks of them. All worked for McNamara on previous operations, a real
cozy little club.”

“If I told you these guys are on the West
Coast, would that help track them down?”

“I’m the Secret Service, Mitch, not the
FBI. I’ll see what I can do, but I can’t promise anything.”

“What about Siren? Any luck there?”

“Nope. Nothing. It’s like it doesn’t exist.”

“Keep digging, but keep your head down.”

“Always.” Prescott said as he pulled the
car to a stop in front of Mitch’s hotel.

“Good job.” Mitch climbed out of the car
and went back upstairs. He stopped at Christa’s door and knocked.

She answered the door already dressed. “I
thought we were meeting for breakfast at nine?”

Mitch stepped inside and closed the door. “We
are, but I wanted to ask you something.” Mitch noticed she was in new clothes,
and there was a new suitcase sitting on a stand in the corner. “Where’d you get
the clothes from?”

“Downstairs, from the hotel shops, last
night. Charged to your room.”

“At least you won’t be wearing my clothes anymore.”

“So what did you want to ask me?”

Mitch began to summarize what Prescott had
just told him, but before he could finish, the phone rang.

“You expecting a call?” Mitch asked.

“No.”

Mitch picked up the telephone beside her
bed. “Hello?”

There was a short silence, then a man spoke
with a hint of a central European accent. “There is supposed to be a woman in
this room.”

“Who is this?”

There was a longer silence, then the accented
voice spoke again. “Are you John Mitchell?”

“Never heard of him. Who are you?”

“They are in your room, waiting for you. They
will be coming for the woman next. Get out of there, now!”

“Who is this?”

“They traced the call Lawrence Rayborne
made to you thirty hours, twenty one minutes ago. They have been investigating
you, before moving against you.”

“How do you know this?”

“This line is bugged.” The man hung up.

“Shit!” Mitch slammed the telephone down,
pulled out his cell phone, and dialed quickly. “Christa, we’re leaving!”

She glanced at her new suitcase, full of
newly bought clothes, in dismay. “But I just convinced you to buy me this
stuff!”

“No time for that. They know we’re here.”

Christa cursed under her breath, then
picked up her purse and the pistol lying beside it. “I think you arranged this
just so I’d have to leave this stuff here.” She checked the weapon’s ammunition
and switched off the safety.

“Yeah right, Princess, everything is about
you.” Mitch said as he waited for the phone to make the connection. “Mouse, you
there?”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“I need an escape route, right now. We’re
in Christa’s room, hostiles in my room.”

In Mitch’s California beach house, Mouse
clicked a program that he'd carefully prepared before they’d flown to
Washington. In seconds, he had control of every system in the hotel.

Mitch drew his gun and listened at the door
for any sound of someone approaching, while Christa stood back from the door as
if listening, that far away look in her eyes.

“There’s no one in the hall,” she said with
certainty. “But, there are four men in your room.”

Mitch threw her a curious look, but before
he could ask how she knew, Mouse’s voice sounded from the cell phone.

“Okay, I’m up.” On the array of screens set
up in front of him, he had live video feeds from the hotel’s security cameras
on Mitch’s floor. “The hall is clear!”

Mitch glanced at Christa again, this time
with the knowledge that Mouse had proven her right. She gave him an 'I told you
so' look, then he stepped back from the door and nodded. She pulled the door
open for Mitch, who stepped through, gun in one hand, cell phone in the other. He
checked left and right, finding it clear both ways, as Christa closed the door behind
them.

“Lock my hotel room door, and Christa's. Keep
them locked.”

Mouse sent the command immediately. “Done.”

Mitch headed toward the elevator, while
Christa followed at a slower pace, the unfocused look in her eyes.

“Give me an elevator, send the rest to the
roof,” he whispered into the cell phone.

“Nearest elevator is two floors away. It's
on its way, the rest are going north.”

“There are two more men on the ground
floor, covering the elevators,” Christa said calmly. “There could be more, but .
. . they’re too far away.”

Mitch gave her a dubious look, then spoke
into the cell phone. “Christa says there are two more on the ground floor
covering the elevators, and four in my room. Maybe others.”

Mouse checked the lobby camera. “I see
them! Dark suits, whispering into their sleeves.”

A small explosion thundered through the
hall, as the door to Mitch’s hotel room exploded.

Geez, these guys came
prepared!
Mitch
thought.

“No time to wait. Give me the nearest exit!”

Mouse called up the floor plan, ran his
finger quickly across the screen. “There’s a fire exit to your left ten feet,
then turn right.” Mouse leaned forward to study the security camera feed. “Was
that an explosion?”

“Damn straight,” Mitch said as he started
towards the fire exit, followed by Christa. “Probably a shaped charge.”

Behind them, the remains of his hotel room
door were kicked aside and four men stepped into the hall. Mitch recognized two
of them, McNamara and Bradick, from his photos. McNamara locked eyes with Mitch
for only a second, then started toward them, raising his wrist to speak rapidly
into the radio transmitter sewn into his sleeve.

Mitch pulled Christa into the fire exit,
forcing the heavy steel door shut behind them. “We’re in the fire escape. Lock
the door.”

Mouse executed the instruction, then hooked
his headset into the telephone so he could operate hands free. “There's an
elevator waiting for you on the fifth floor.”

They ran down the stairs as their pursuers
tried to force open the fire escape door. Suddenly, the banging on the door
stopped abruptly. Mitch started counting silently, then the stairwell thundered
with the sound of the fire door being blown open. It had taken them only
seconds to set and detonate the shaped charge.

That was fast!
he thought, with a sinking feeling.

“Man, these guys are the Borg!” Mouse
exclaimed, watching the second explosion on his camera feed. “The elevator
doors are open, waiting for you.”

They ran out of the fire exit and headed
for the elevator. Mouse watched them on the security camera screen, locking the
fire escape door behind them, then the elevator control system on his screen
flickered and went blank. The elevator door closed just before they reached it.

Mitch yelled into the cell phone, “Open the
door, we’re not in yet!”

“I’ve lost the elevator system,” Mouse reported,
confused. “The bastards have booted me.” Mouse started typing fast, trying to
find another way in. “How the hell did they do that?” He was as impressed as he
was worried. “Mitch, there’s a freight elevator at the end of the hall. It’s on
a different system. I’ll get it heading your way, ASAP.”

Mitch turned and started toward it. “This
way!”

They were halfway down the hall when
another explosion reverberated through the corridor behind them, signaling the
end of the fifth floor fire escape door.

“How much of that stuff are those guys
carrying?” Mitch wondered aloud.

They reached the wide freight elevator,
just a few feet from a picture window. “It’s not here!”

Christa took a breath, steadying herself,
using the time to regain her focus.

“It’s coming.” Mouse said as he watched the
square blip, marking the freight elevator's position in the shaft, crawl toward
them. “Man, this thing is slow.”

“Mitch,” Christa whispered, trying to speak
without losing concentration.

“What?” Mitch demanded as he fired a shot at
the first of their pursuers, who appeared at the end of the hall. He caught the
man in the shoulder, knocking him back.

“Incoming,” Christa warned.

“I know! I just shot one.”

“No,” Christa said, turning towards the
window. “Out there!”

“What?” Mitch said confused, following her
gaze.

A helicopter dropped down outside the hotel
window, it's side door open revealing black curtains, flanked by blacked out
windows. Inside the chopper, two men pulled the curtains apart revealing a
black machine, which began to emit a brilliant red orange point of light. Christa
groaned, as if struck full in the face by an unseen force. She staggered back, her
legs giving way beneath her as she crumpled to the floor, barely conscious. Instantly,
Mitch’s cell phone exploded in electrical sparks, burning his hand as tiny
flames licked out, forcing him to drop it.

“What the hell?” He glanced at his sparking
phone on the floor, confused, then raised his gun and fired a volley of shots through
the window, at the helicopter. The window shattered as bullets sparked off the
chopper hull. A moment later, a white electrical flash inside the chopper
revealed two men serving a machine, then the red orange point of light faded
out. The chopper banked away sharply, just as the freight elevator door opened.

Mitch fired a poorly aimed shot down the
hall toward their pursuers to keep their heads down, then hooked his hand under
Christa’s arm and dragged her into the elevator. Without touching the buttons,
the metal door clanked slowly shut and the elevator began a rumbling descent.

Christa moaned, blinking. She rubbed her
forehead with her hands, swallowing, then inhaled deeply, trying to clear her
head. She looked up at Mitch with dilated unfocused eyes, as if she had just
been knocked out. “Sorry,” she whispered, fighting the blistering pain in her
head.

“What was that?”

“I don’t know. Something new, something we
haven’t seen before.”

“How come it didn’t affect me?”

She smiled. “I guess Neanderthals are
immune.”

“Nice,” Mitch said sourly. “Whatever it
was, it fried my damn phone.”

She noticed the burn on his hand. “They
knew you were talking to Mouse. They wanted to cut us off.”

“Yeah, well they did a good job. Can you
walk?”

Christa nodded weakly, as he pulled her to
her feet. She closed her eyes, forcing away the spots flashing before her. After
a moment, she touched the back of her head feeling for something.