Authors: Douglas E. Richards
26
Jenna Morrison awoke and wiped
the sleep from her eyes. She seemed to be in an oversized conference room, with
a large center table and a few couches and chairs thrown in for good measure at
points along the perimeter. In fact, she realized that she was lying on one of
these couches, with a white blanket covering her.
Plants, tables, and upbeat
framed posters decorated the room. She continued taking it all in as her eyes
came into clearer focus. At the far end of the table, as far away from her as
the room would allow, Aaron Blake and Dan Walsh were engaged in a whispered
conversation.
She rubbed her eyes again and then
removed her hands, expecting the room to disappear and for her to return to
reality. Remarkably, the same scene greeted her eyes.
She pulled herself up from the
couch and noticed that both men had caught her movement from across the room
and were now watching her. “Guys,” she called out. “Uh . . . where, exactly,
are we? And how did we get here?”
Blake laughed as she walked over
to them along the ridiculously long table and sat at an empty chair.
“Welcome to the party,” said
Blake, moving a large nylon duffel bag on the floor beside him so she would
have more leg room. “It’s just after eight Tuesday morning. Dan and I have been
up for over an hour, but we didn’t want to wake you.”
“
Thank you
,” said Jenna in sincere appreciation. She had never
needed an extended slumber this desperately.
“To answer your questions,”
continued Blake, “we are now in my apartment complex’s community center.” He
waved a hand to encompass the large room. “Not bad, huh? Residents can sign up
to use it from eleven in the morning until nine at night for kids’ parties,
adult parties, wine tasting, pot lucks, arts and crafts fests, whatever. It’s a
board room slash party hall.”
He grinned. “When you live in an
apartment complex as swanky as this you can expect top-of-the-line amenities.
There is a pool and Jacuzzi just outside of the door, and a weight room about
twenty yards the other way.”
“And, what, you just happened to
have a key?” asked Jenna.
Blake smiled crookedly. “More or
less. Let’s just say that disabling alarms and breaking and entering are some
of the things a good private investigator needs to master. As to how we got
here, I carried you.”
Jenna shook her head. “I have
absolutely no memory of that.”
“Yeah, you were out pretty cold,”
said Walsh.
Her eyes widened. “Was there
trouble?” she asked in alarm. “Why did we need to relocate?”
“No trouble,” said Blake, but a
second later he added, “at least not yet. After you passed out, it occurred to
me that the guy named Rourk saw me clearly on Palomar Mountain. Once he got the
flash drive, I’m confident we fell off their priority list. But still, it never
hurts to err on the safe side. I think we would have been okay last night in my
apartment, but why take the chance? And we’ll be back on the radar very soon,
no matter what.”
“Right,” said Jenna. “When they break through
the password and discover it’s a decoy.”
“Exactly. When this happens,
they are
not
going to be happy. May
have happened already, but whenever it does, Rourk will be examining the photos
of every PI in California and beyond looking for me.”
“I think changing locations was
a wise move,” said Jenna. “From here on out, I don’t think sleeping soundly in
your apartment will be great for anyone’s health.”
“Agreed,” said Blake. “Turns out
this was a perfect place to relocate. No windows to the outside, with several
buildings between us and my unit. We’re so tantalizingly close to where we were,
yet so far away. If they did breach my apartment last night and discovered we
had left, I’d bet my life they’d never think we relocated here.”
Walsh grimaced uncomfortably.
“You pretty much did bet your life,” he observed.
Blake smiled but didn’t reply.
“I took down Aaron’s website,”
said Walsh, “and did my best to remove all traces of his image from the
Internet. This should buy us some more time, but not forever. Information once
on the Internet is stubbornly difficult to remove for good. Like a bad penny,
it keeps resurfacing.”
“I checked the cameras in my
apartment and outside of my door remotely when I awoke this morning,” said Blake.
“And I reconned the entire complex on foot. With great care. In my practiced
opinion, no one came calling last night, and no one is staking out my apartment
now. But we’ll have to be careful when we leave in case this changes.”
He lifted a small cardboard box
from an empty chair beside him and extended it toward Jenna. “Granola bar?” he
offered. “You can have as many as you’d like, but since we had these for lunch
yesterday, I don’t want you getting spoiled. I can’t let you have these gems
every
meal.”
Jenna laughed and removed one of
the bars. “I understand. And after this, I’m prepared to forgo these for the
rest of my life if it will help our cause,” she added wryly.
A wave of guilt passed over her
for allowing herself to laugh, to be momentarily happy in the wake of Nathan’s
death. She had made great efforts to push this event from her mind, pretend it
hadn’t happened, so she could have the best chance to survive and exact revenge.
But had she been too successful
at this?
After another moment of
consideration, she decided that she had not been. If she continued to ping-pong
between feelings of crushing remorse and feelings of guilt for temporarily
not
feeling remorse, she would lose her
mind.
She took a deep, cleansing
breath. The need for sleep could be a terrible burden, but she was glad sleep
existed. If it didn’t, one would never get any real downtime. This way, no
matter what happened the night before, you could wake up and feel like you had
a new lease on life, a clean slate, that a chapter had ended and a new one had
begun.
“So this is what it feels like
to be almost human,” she said with contentment.
“Glad you finally managed some
real shut-eye,” said Blake. “But just so you know, you faked being human really
well, even under duress and sleep-deprived.”
“Thanks,” she replied.
Walsh nodded his agreement. “Aaron
and I discussed it while you were still sleeping. We both saw you yawning and
nodding off occasionally while I was walking through a very complex subject,
and yet you’d miraculously pop up with a relevant observation or insight, or a
great question. We decided you’re impressive even when you’re half zombie.”
“Probably the strangest
compliment I’ve ever received,” she said. “But, thanks. I’ll take it.”
She bit off a big chunk of
granola bar and began chewing. After she swallowed she gestured to the nylon
duffel bag on the ground beside Aaron Blake. “So what’s in there?” she asked.
“Weapons, ammunition, a bug
detector, night vision equipment, a set of lock picks, bolt cutters.” Blake
shrugged in mock innocence. “You know . . . the usual.”
“Right,” said Jenna with a
smile. “So what now?” she asked. “A visit to your friend Greg?”
Blake nodded. “Exactly. He
should have Nathan’s file accessible by now, and also set up in the cloud with
a trigger we can use to release it if we decide to.”
“I’ll review Nathan’s work as
quickly as I can,” said Walsh. “With luck I’ll be able to grasp it sufficiently
to understand its full implications. If not, I’ll be able to determine which
academics would be able to help
.
My
vote would be to visit one of these people immediately. The faster we know why
this is so important to the people who killed Nathan, the better, in my
opinion.”
“I agree,” said Blake. “So let’s
get moving.” He turned toward Jenna. “In addition to breaking in here, I broke
into the pool locker rooms, men’s and women’s. Dan and I have already showered,
but we can wait for you if you want to take a quick one. I brought a few new toothbrushes
and some toiletries with me from my apartment as well.”
“You just happened to have unopened
toothbrushes just lying around?”
“Absolutely.”
“I have no idea what to even
think about that,” said Jenna playfully.
“I see,” said Blake with a
smile. “You can understand complex physics and mind-bending time-travel logic,
but a man with a stash of new toothbrushes has you totally stumped.”
Jenna laughed.
Blake let her enjoy this bit of
levity for several more seconds and then said, “As much as I hate to spoil the
mood, we really do need to get a move on. I haven’t even discussed this with
Dan, but we can’t take my car, which will cause a further delay in getting to Greg.”
Jenna nodded. “Of course.
Because if they identify you, they identify your car.”
“Right.”
“We can take mine,” offered Walsh
helpfully.
“Thanks, but I’m afraid we
can’t,” said Blake. “They have to be wondering where you disappeared to last
night. Your car is a hot potato, also.”
“Rental car?” said Walsh.
“No. That’s traceable.”
“I see,” said Walsh, nodding
sagely. “We physicists don’t know much about cloak and dagger, but I get it
now. You’re suggesting that we’ll have to steal a car.”
Blake laughed. “
No!
” he said emphatically. “If you want
to stay off the radar screen,
stealing
a car is a really bad move.” He nodded toward Jenna with a grin still on his
face. “Besides, we already have
one
stolen car.”
Before she could misinterpret
these words as a criticism rather than an attempt at humor, he hastened to add,
“Not that Jenna had any other choice. She did the exact right thing. But in
this case, we
do
have a choice.”
“Okay,” said Walsh. “I give up.
What’s our other choice? Public transportation?”
“Really?” said Blake. “A full
professor of theoretical physics at UCLA, and you can’t get this one?”
Walsh continued to blink at him
stupidly.
Blake shook his head in
amusement. “We
buy
a car,” he said. “I
guarantee I can find dozens listed online that are being sold by their owners
within five miles of here. I’ll find one for a few grand, take a cab to the
bank so I can pay cash, and then take a cab to the car. We’ll be on our way to
visit my friend in no time.”
Walsh looked disappointed. “Right. Buy a car.
I guess I’ve watched too many movies. I have to admit, I was looking forward to
seeing how you would go about stealing one.”
“Uh-huh,” said Blake playfully. “One
adventure through a maze of steam tunnels and you’re ready to go over to the
dark side. Maybe that sign we saw in the tunnels had it right—maybe we
did
travel through Hell.”
Walsh laughed, but Jenna’s
expression remained grim. Because she had little doubt that her own journey
through Hell was far from over.
27
R. Sylvia Tagert wasn’t a
morning person. She needed to get herself going, get the blood flowing. She
could stay out all night without feeling the least bit tired, but when she
first awoke she felt like a slug.
And that was when she had gotten
the duration of sleep she expected.
On this morning she had been
rudely awakened earlier than usual, and barely had enough time to brush her
teeth and throw on a white terrycloth bathrobe.
The doorbell rang, right on
schedule. It was a little before seven and she had yet to take the first sip of
her first cup of coffee, which explained why she was in the mood to kill
someone, preferably the man she saw on a small plasma screen waiting
impatiently at her door.
“Hold up your ID to the red
camera indicator light,” she shouted through the closed door.
She relished the annoyed look on
his face. “Didn’t your superior just contact you and tell you I was coming?” he
shouted back.
“He told me someone with proper
ID was coming, yes.”
The man all but snarled as he
pulled out his wallet, opened it, and held it steadily in front of the camera.
The ID showed he belonged to a government agency that she was sure didn’t
exist, and that his name was Nathanial Lubbers, which she doubted was true,
either.
She unlatched the door and swung
it open. “Make this quick,” she said. She gestured to her robe. “And thanks for
the short notice.”
Sylvia knew she was being less
than hospitable, that this could well be very important, and that this man was
just trying to do his job. But dammit, she couldn’t help being wired the way
she was wired. Early mornings and lack of coffee made her grumpy. She was
normally pleasant, cheerful, and well liked, but even her closest friends knew
better than to wake her early.
The man entered her small home
and shoved his wallet back into his back pocket. “Sorry about the lack of
notice,” said Joe Allen, trying to be friendly. “And this should be very
quick.”
She sat on a chair in her family
room and gestured for him to take a seat across from her on a small black
leather sofa. “So what can I do for my friends in Black Ops?” she asked when he
had seated himself.
“You pulled some footage Monday
morning of a residential neighborhood in San Diego. In La Jolla to be precise.
I just want to know who you sent this to.”
She wasn’t sure what to expect,
but this wasn’t it. Aaron Blake had told her he needed this footage for a new
case he was on, but couldn’t tell her the details. She had been happy for him,
since at least it wasn’t another divorce case, and no one deserved success more
than Blake.
“What?” she said, feigning
confusion. “Why would you possibly ask that?”
“Not to put too fine a point on
it, but your superior did tell you to give me your full cooperation, correct? So
let me worry about my motivations, and you can worry about answering my
questions.”
Sylvia’s agile mind had come
awake in a hurry. She needed to come up with a strategy, and quickly. She had
experienced any number of tricky situations, and one didn’t get far in the CIA
without being able to think their way out of a box.
But what was
in
this box? What had Blake gotten
himself into?
Whatever it was, she knew only
one thing: Aaron Blake was a good man. Whatever he was involved with, he was the
guy wearing the white hat. But that didn’t automatically make the man across
from her the bad guy. She decided she needed to test the situation further
before she would give him anything. See how he reacted.
“I didn’t send it to anyone,”
she replied as innocently as she could. “It was for a project I’m working on,
by myself. What made you think it was for someone else?”
“And what project would that
be?” said Allen dubiously.
“Classified. You have
your
secret projects and I have mine.
Until I’m told to read you in, I’m afraid I can’t comment.”
“Look,” said Allen, “I know
you’re lying to me. I
know
it. Which
means you must be trying to protect someone. But here is the thing. Whoever
you’re protecting isn’t in any trouble. I just need to speak to him or her. Ask
some questions. This person is just a stepping stone in what is an
investigation vital to the security of this country. When a nuke goes off in
Chicago because you wanted to play games, how are you going to feel then?”
Sylvia considered. If she
refused to cooperate after being given a direct order, this would not go well for
her. And she thought it likely he was telling the truth. Because why would they
want Blake? So maybe delaying this guy
would
lead to the type of disaster he had described.
But just in case it was all
bullshit and they
were
after Blake,
she could warn him the moment this man left. Let her friend know someone was
coming.
Aaron Blake could be taken if he
was surprised. But if he knew you were coming, she liked his chances against
anyone. Or any group. She had seen him in action. He had a rare talent for
survival. Survive a few ops that go south when other men don’t, maybe you’re
lucky. But when a man like Blake keeps beating the odds, time after time, you
have to chalk it up to skill.
“Okay,” said Sylvia. “You’re
right. The man you’re looking for is named Aaron Blake. I worked with him
pretty extensively when I was stationed in Yemen. He was spec-ops
counter-terrorism. Ballsy, brilliant, and heroic. And very tenacious. Very
popular with everyone, inside and outside of the service. But also
self-reflective. Did a lot of soul-searching. The sort who never stopped
worrying about turning into a monster, becoming
too
good at killing.”
Allen nodded as if her
description of Blake’s skills and background didn’t surprise him in the least.
He raised his eyebrows. “What’s he doing now? Is he still in the service?”
“No, he left. Recently. He runs
a private detective agency in LA. He said he needed the video footage for a
case he was working on.”
“Interesting. And that’s all he
told you?”
“That’s everything.”
Sylvia paused and stared
intently at the man across from her. “Just know this, if you were bullshitting
me, and Aaron Blake
is
in your
cross-hairs for whatever reason, you’ve got it wrong. He’s a good man. And he
is fully on our side. His loyalty is absolute. So whatever intel you think you
have, if it suggests he’s working at cross-purposes to the interests of the
United States, the intel is shit.”
Allen rose from the sofa. “Thank
you for your help. And also for giving us this perspective.”
“Just don’t forget what I told
you about him,” said Sylvia bluntly.
But as she finished this
sentence she found herself staring into the barrel of an automatic pistol,
pointed at her chest.
Sylvia’s heart accelerated
madly. “I told you the truth,” she insisted desperately. “You can check on it
and you’ll see. There is no reason to threaten me.”
“Sorry about the gun,” said
Allen politely. “But I can’t help but worry you might contact Aaron Blake the
moment I leave. You know, warn him that I was here and wanted to talk to him. I
can’t risk him going to ground. This is too important.”
Her eyes widened in horror. “So
you’re going to kill me?” she said.
R. Sylvia Tagert had been in any
number of dangerous situations, but she never thought she would die in her own
home, in a white terrycloth bathrobe. A part of her mind, unbidden, came up
with a stray thought that if she had to die, being killed at seven in the
morning before she had any coffee was the best time for it.
But her visitor shook his head.
“Of course I’m not going to kill you,” he said. “I really am grateful for your
help. And what would your boss say if he helped a fellow organization and they
returned the favor by killing one of his best people?”
He removed two small yellow
capsules from his shirt pocket. “Swallow these,” he said. “They will put you
out for about eight hours. That way I can be sure you won’t issue any warnings.
And you’ll be fine. I’ve tried these on flights, and while I’m giving you a
stronger dose than you need, I always wake up feeling like a million bucks.”
Sylvia took the offered pills,
put them in her mouth, and swallowed. She knew she didn’t have a choice, and
they could still be on the same side. She couldn’t blame him for not wanting to
take any chances with Blake, a critical lead.
“Open your mouth and lift your
tongue,” said Allen pleasantly.
She did as she was asked and within
minutes already felt a pleasant drift toward sleep, although the man in her
house wasn’t about to leave until he was certain she was sleeping like the
dead.
On the other hand, this was infinitely
better than
being
dead. And her
visitor had robbed her of sleep, after all. Maybe this was just his way of
returning what he had taken, with interest.
*
* *
Joe Allen left a sleeping Sylvia
Tagert and returned to his car. After half an hour of pulling strings and
scanning through Blake’s file, he felt he was prepared enough to call Lee
Cargill and answer whatever questions he might have.
Cargill answered the audio-only call
on the first ring. “Good timing, Joe. The president is over two hours late for
our meeting,” he said, his words dripping with barely contained rage. “But I’ve
just been given the five-minute warning, so you’ll need to make it quick.”
“I had no trouble with our CIA
agent,” said Allen. “She pulled the street video for an ex-special operator named
Aaron Blake, who has seen enough action for ten men.”
“No surprise there,” noted
Cargill.
“And get this, at the moment this
Blake really is a PI, working and living out of LA. He left the service to try
to make a go of it as a gumshoe. I’ve had his file pulled and I’ve sent it to
your computer. He’s as formidable as we expected. I have his address, know what
car he drives, and have people working to learn where he is right now.”
“Well done,” said Cargill. There
was a long pause. “The team we spoke about on the plane is standing by. But
let’s not be too hasty. Jenna Morrison and her PI aren’t the goal, after all.
We need to find out if the flash drive exists, and then find it. Nothing else
matters. So I want to know where this guy is now, but just as importantly, I
want to know everywhere he’s
been
since Sunday night, and I want deep background on anyone he’s spoken with. If
he went to a gas station to buy a candy bar, I want to know when this happened
and the life story of the gas station attendant.”
“Understood. I’ll pull street
camera and satellite footage of his past travels right away.”
“While you’re setting the wheels in motion,
get your ass to San Diego, to Camp Pendleton, so you can lead the team I have
waiting there when we decide to act. Report in as soon as you’ve gathered the
information I’ve asked for.”
“Roger that,” said Joe Allen.
“I have to run. Time to meet
with President Janney,” said Cargill, with all the distaste most men reserved
for a visit to the proctologist.