Course of action, p.5
Course of Action, page 5
As Noah stepped through the doorway, the deputy marshal called out. “You’re going to get your suit dirty.”
He waved his hand in acknowledgment and stepped through the door. The interior was destroyed by water on the lower level, and crews had torn large holes in the wall to check for lingering hot spots. Most of the living room ceiling had collapsed. The investigators had cleared a path.
Despite the fire and the thirty-six hours, a distinct scent hit Noah when he climbed the stairs to the second floor.
When he was in the military, explosives were used on many UXOs (unexploded ordinances) at the range and in Afghanistan. A faint hint of sulfur mixed with tar clung to the surface for days after use, and it wasn’t an odor he would forget.
The home's second floor took the brunt of the explosion, including a hole in the ceiling the size of a king bed. Noah could see where the blast originated in the second-floor laundry room despite his lack of training. A blind man would have spotted it.
The investigators had placed temporary flooring down so they wouldn’t fall through to the living room, but there was no need for Noah to go farther. Either Leslie tried to cover her tracks or she set a trap. The other option was someone had made an attempt on her life, and it failed.
That would explain the coverup.
“Hey, rookie. You done?”
“Ya, coming down.” Noah took one last look and willingly left. There wouldn’t be anything to find in the rubble. Hutchings stood in the doorway as he came down the stairs into the living room. The couch and recliner were littered with drywall and still wet from the water. On the middle couch cushion, a handle from a purse stuck in the air. Noah shifted a chunk of drywall and lifted the bag.
Empty.
Hutchings looked over his shoulder. “I’ll block. Hurry.”
Noah didn’t waste time and flipped debris until he found the scattered contents. Wedged between the cushions was a woman’s wallet, burgundy with a gold clasp and a long zipper along the back. There were other items, but he didn’t have time to go through them. Hutchings was talking with the deputy marshal right outside the front door.
He tucked the wallet inside the suit jacket, and once outside, he brushed imaginary dirt from his clothes.
It isn’t much, but it may help.
A YOUNG MAN SAT ON a bench across the street at the dog park and flipped through a tablet while reading. White earbuds were hidden by long brown hair. Dressed in jeans and a collared shirt, he looked comfortable with legs crossed and his jacket on the seat beside him.
The short beard and sunglasses hid his features, but he never looked around. His eyes were glued to the tablet’s screen.
Underneath the jacket, a Sigma 150-600m lens had a clear view of the home and the new visitors. Thick fingers tapped the screen, and several dozen closeup pictures were captured. The older man with white hair and suit shook the investigator's hand while the younger man started the SUV.
The man shifted his right hand on the jacket, and the front of the Suburban came into focus. There were a few more taps on the screen, and the plate number was recorded.
Seconds later, the images were uploaded, and it didn’t take the facial recognition software long to find a match.
Chapter 10
“Are you sure this is going to work?”
Noah had parked in the Walmart parking lot, next to a Wendy’s restaurant. They had a full view of the Sunoco gas station at the end of the strip plaza, one hundred and twenty feet away. The parking spaces around them began to fill up by mid-afternoon as people stopped by on their way home to grab some groceries or fast food. The gas station had a steady stream of customers coming and going.
Leslie Taylor’s wallet contained everything a modern human needed to survive in the industrial world—a library card, credit and debit cards, and a driver’s license. Anything that was personal and could be used to identify or trace her whereabouts was left behind.
Before they had parked, Hutchings had gone to the station and left the debit card on top of pump six. It had a tap to pay under a certain amount and didn’t require a PIN.
“We’re about to find out.” Hutchings took the large cowboy hat and threw it in the backseat. The wide brim kept his face from being recorded by the overhead cameras. A minivan pulled in for gas. The driver, an older woman, was not tall enough to see on top of the pump, and after filling up, she drove off.
They didn’t have to wait long for another customer. A gray Hyundai SUV now occupied the same spot, and a teenager got out and opened the filler cap. When he picked up the debit card, he looked around the station for the owner, but no one ran forward. With a smile on his face, the card tapped against the reader and filled the tank.
“Bingo.” Hutchings grinned. “It’s a nice neighborhood, but in the end, people are all the same.”
“Some people. Not all.”
“True enough.”
Noah glanced at the time. Four-thirty in the afternoon. “Best guess for a response time?”
Hutchings shrugged and leaned back in the seat. “I would say between fifteen to twenty minutes? Even if someone is monitoring, they have to send the call, and a team is deployed.”
They didn’t have that long to wait. Only two minutes after the card was tapped, things started happening. The concussive thump of rotor-wash was almost felt as the UH-60M tactical helicopter flew in low, barely over the buildings, and hovered twenty feet over the gas station. In the distance, the wail of sirens drew close.
Noah’s jaw dropped, and he glanced at Hutchings. “You have to be kidding me.”
The side door of the helicopter swung open, and a figure dressed in green combat fatigues leaned out with the butt of an H&K MP5 jammed into his shoulder. The muzzle swept the crowd for a target. Many had stepped out of the restaurant and stood in the parking lot as the drama unfolded like an action movie before their eyes. Cell phones appeared and recorded the scene from dozens of angles.
Virginia Avenue traffic came to a standstill at the three-minute mark as two unmarked SUVs screeched through the intersection and blocked access to the parking lot. Strobe lights flashed behind tinted windows as men in suits got out and sprinted toward the gas station.
“I’ve heard of a Quick Reaction Force, but this is ridiculous.” Noah shook his head. “Are they even allowed to fly here?”
The White House was within fifteen miles, and the area was a well-known no-fly zone.
Hutchings jerked a thumb toward a series of people that didn’t want to stick around and watch the show. Many had forgone their cars and made their way on foot. The parking lot was quickly emptying. “We got our answer. Fairly sure we don’t want to get caught here, rookie.”
All the customers at the gas station, including the young woman who worked inside, were face down on the ground as more suits arrived. Everyone was being detained, and they would sort it out later.
The helicopter slowly circled the area, and Noah could feel the unease in his stomach. “This is several pay grades above us, Hutch.”
For the first time, Noah noticed his old partner looked nervous as they shook their heads at the confusion they had created.
“You can say that again.”
“I’m thinking we rely on good old-fashioned police work. You up for it?”
The staff sergeant nodded and kept his gaze fixed on the side mirror as they exited the parking lot from the east exit. Noah couldn’t help but wonder how badly they kicked the hornet’s nest.
Chapter 11
When Noah raised his eyebrows, the woman nodded again. “Honest, I told the other officers everything I knew.”
Carol worked at the Sentinel Storage offices, and a series of law enforcement officials from various departments had questioned her all yesterday and early this morning at her home. The woman was in her mid-forties and had platinum hair tied to the side, with large, hooped earrings. Her makeup was applied heavily with dark eyeshadow and bright red lipstick. She wore a denim shirt with the company logo on the breast pocket, a stylized white “S” over a dark padlock.
Hutchings stood to the side and looked through the display case's rent rates and unit sizes.
“You’ve never met the person that rented the unit?”
She shook her head, and the earrings clinked like miniature wind chimes. “The unit was rented out several years ago, long before I started working here. I’ve never seen her before.”
Noah pulled out a notebook and pen from inside his suit pocket and took brief notes.
Hutchings tapped the Plexiglas over the unit rates. “How far in advance was that storage unit paid?”
Carol turned to the computer to call up the answer. “It was a fifteen-year contract. Due to rate changes, there were only four years left.”
Noah thought through various scenarios. “What was the method of payment?”
Her nails clicked on the keyboard once more. “It wasn’t recorded, so I’m guessing someone paid cash at the time.”
After some scribbling on the paper, Noah did the math. “She would have paid over five thousand dollars in cash?”
“I’m not sure if it was rented to a he or she. As I told the other officers, it was rented long-term to a corporation. Only a nine-digit business code.”
30995818-5
Noah copied it down and thanked her. “Hopefully, there are no more questions from other agencies. There isn’t much communication between various officers, so we all have to follow up.”
Carol grinned. “That’s okay. You can visit any time.”
Noah ignored the muffled chuckle from his partner and took a business card off the counter. “If I have any more questions, I’ll give you a call.”
Hutchings held the door for him as they made their way back to the Suburban.
Noah only took a few steps before they both halted. “Shit.”
Noah’s stomach dropped when he saw a black Tahoe parked next to their rental.
There were three large men in dark blue suits, sunglasses, and a coiled earpiece standing by the driver’s door. Noah noted the bulge in the jackets and the holstered pistols at their hips.
“We knew it was coming. Ready, rookie?”
He was about to reply when one of the men opened the SUV's rear door, and an older man stepped out dressed in dark pants and a green golf shirt. His short white hair and bearing reminded Noah of a military officer.
Someone used to authority.
“Ah, Noah Hunter and Steven Hutchings. I figured it’s time we talked.”
Chapter 12
Miriam Davis closed the briefing notes on the conference table as President Monroe rose and shook hands with the Canadian ambassador. That was the signal everyone waited for, and the remainder also stood. The afternoon briefing with Homeland Security and the Canadian Security Intelligence Service (CSIS) filled the JFK conference room, along with a team of photographers. The annual Joint Border Threat and Risk Assessment meeting was mostly posturing for the media, but the Quebec border's increased security would be welcome.
She slid her glasses back up her nose and shook the hand of her counterpart, Patrick LeBlanc, the CSIS deputy director. “Nice to meet you, Mr. LeBlanc.”
“Call me Patrick. You as well.”
They posed for the typical photos, and she stood off to the side, out of the limelight. The disaster prevention and management director within Homeland Security kept her in the spotlight more than she cared. Director Johnson was overseas coordinating with the US counterparts on operational security measures and information sharing. He usually dealt with high-profile meetings.
After nearly two decades in the Office of Special Operations, she was well prepared for whatever Homeland Security could throw at her. The transfer from the CIA was natural and a stepping stone. She had risen through the ranks for the last eighteen years soon after HLS was formed from the ashes of 9/11.
As everyone made their way out of the conference room, her cell vibrated. Miriam braced both hands on the table to hold herself up when the codes flashed on the screen.
Her blood pressure spiked, and the pounding in her ears drowned out the dull roar of the dozen conversations in the room. Before she left the meeting, she fired off a quick text. It took several deep breaths to calm down as a shaking hand slid the phone into her briefcase. When she straightened out the dress suit and adjusted her glasses once again, only her flushed cheeks and darting glances gave away the inner turmoil.
Several minutes later, her driver navigated the staff car south to the Homeland Security building on 7th Street. During the ten-minute commute, she calmed enough to start thinking properly again. Miriam turned off her phone and removed the battery as she watched the sunset across the Washington Canal.
As they arrived in front of the offices, she changed her mind. “It’s been a long day. Can you just drop me off at home, Juan?”
The driver glanced in the rearview mirror and smiled. “No problem, ma’am.”
Miriam was about to correct him yet again when she saw the twinkle in his eyes. She had tried to get him to call her Miriam for the past eight years, but he’d never done so.
A few miles west of Arlington National Cemetery was a small subdivision called Virginia Square. She had bought a two-story Victorian home in dire need of repairs many years ago. Slowly, the renovations had restored the house to its natural beauty, and it was one treasure she cherished. She had sat on the front porch swing many evenings and watched the neighborhood kids play baseball in Quincy Park across the street. It was her calming island in a sea of turmoil.
Miriam never married and had no children. There had been several short-term relationships during her career, but her first love was the job.
When Juan pulled into her driveway, she caught his eye in the mirror. “Take the rest of the evening and all of tomorrow off. You'll not be needed.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Once inside, she threw her case into the office before darting upstairs to change. A glance out the second-floor window showed the sun would set in a few minutes.
“Hurry up, old lady.”
From the back of her closet, she dug out a silver-gray tracksuit and sweater that had never been worn.
“It’s never too late to start working out.” She paused in the mirror and added, “As well as, start talking to yourself.”
She couldn’t help but let out a nervous chuckle as she dressed in several layers. Miriam also ignored the shaking in her hands as she sat behind the desk and fired up the computer. The alert codes from earlier had started a chain reaction out of her control, which was more than unusual. What was about to happen couldn’t be stopped, but it could be guided like a missile strike.
A flurry of emails were sent, and transactions finished before her watch chimed.
9:30 p.m.
After she stood and closed everything down, Miriam glanced around at her beautiful home one last time and let out a sigh. She was never one to shirk from duty.
The antique walnut desk top drawer tended to stick, but with a squeak, it opened.
A large black box filled the drawer with a single button on top. Once pressed, the LED screen lit up, and she placed her thumb on the reader. When the single beep filled the office, Miriam removed her glasses and left them on the desk.
Her blood pressure spiked once again, and the pounding in her ears matched the rhythm in her chest as she unlocked the front door.
The lights across the street from the baseball diamond were off, and only a few distant streetlamps pushed back the shadows. She knew it wouldn’t matter.
Miriam left the lights on, the door unlocked behind her, and crossed the road to the park.
By the time her watch sounded a single chime, she stood on second base and stared out into the darkness.
“Just get this over with before I die of old age!” Her shout carried across the outfield and park. A lone dog barked in response.
When the single flash of rifle fire caught her eye three hundred yards out, she wasn’t surprised. Miriam had no time to react. Her feet left the ground as she was hurtled backward from the force of the impact.
The residents of Virginia Square never heard the shot, let alone the sound of a body collapsing into the dirt.
When the sun came up the next morning, there was only a small disturbance on the ground.
Chapter 13
“Keys.” The taller man, who opened the rear door, held out a hand, palm up.
Noah had a quick look at the others. They were ready to handle any situation he could create. He wasn’t armed, having left his Glock in Wyoming. Even if he was, this wasn’t the time or place to start a scene.
It isn’t worth it—time to see who’s pulling strings.
He pulled out the rental keys and passed them over without a word.
The man gave him a brief nod of acceptance while the man in the golf shirt gestured to the rear seat of the Tahoe. “Gentlemen, after you.”
The bench was suddenly crowded with Noah against the passenger door and one guard squeezed in tight. Hutchings was pressed against the driver’s side door after being slammed closed.
The man in the golf shirt got in the front seat while the last suit monkey got behind the wheel. The older man in front turned toward them while he talked.
“First, I applaud your efforts. Well, done. Second, both of you are jeopardizing a national security situation by making it worse.”
“I don’t mean to be rude. But who the hell are you?” Noah shifted to free his right hand and rested it on his lap. Ready to open the door if required. However, they were now on the interstate and going too fast to bail.
The man chuckled. “I’m the one who has to piece together this whole operation while trying to contain it.”
