Black List

CHAPTER 41

VIRGINIA

Carlton squinted at the cheap motel alarm clock before picking up the vibrating cell phone beside his bed. He’d given the number to just one person, and it was to be used only in a life-or-death emergency. Flipping it open and raising it to his ear, he said, “Go ahead.”

It was Banks, and he spoke in code. “It looks like someone has figured out you’re up and around and has ordered you one of those fancy Western neckties.”

A Be-On-The-Lookout, or BOLO, was out for him. Whoever these people were, they were now using law enforcement to help cast a wider net. “How long ago?”

“Around midnight.” Banks replied. “I just learned about it.”

“What’s in it?”

Banks gave him the breakdown. They had a recent picture and his physical stats, but they didn’t have a description of his vehicle or a plate number. Small consolation; they’d have them soon enough. Their focus would begin inside Virginia and spread out from there. As local law enforcement made the rounds of different hotels and motels, eventually they’d pinpoint where he’d been. Then it would be only a matter of time until they came up with his Jeep. He’d have to get rid of it.

“Anything else?” Carlton asked. He was already out of bed and shoving his few belongings into a small duffel. As soon as the call was over, he would disassemble the phone and scatter the pieces. It was no longer safe to use.

“I’m close on something. Just waiting for confirmation. When I have it, I’ll drop it in the box.”

“Understood.”

“In the meantime, watch your ass,” said Banks. “There’s a whole bunch more eyeballs in the game now.”

“You too,” replied Carlton. “And as soon as we hang up, nuke whatever phone you used to call me on.”

“I’m way ahead of you. Don’t worry.” With that, he disconnected the call.

Carlton removed the battery from the phone, pulled out the SIM card, and snapped the device in two at the hinges. After a careful sweep of his room, he turned out the lights and approached the window. Peering from behind the drapes, he looked out onto the parking lot. There was no sign of movement.

Tucking his 1911 into his waistband, he slipped on his coat, zipped up his bag, and gave the parking lot one last check before stepping outside.

The only way he was going to get a new vehicle that couldn’t be traced to him was to steal one, and he ran the limited options through his mind as he unlocked the Jeep and climbed in. He powered up his laptop and set it on the passenger seat. McDonald’s offered free WiFi, and there was one about two miles up the road. He backed out of the motel parking lot and headed in its direction.

Carlton had been taught early in his career that the most important factor in stealing a car was to steal one nobody was going to notice was gone, or at least not right away. For decades, spooks had been fond of haunting long-term parking lots. All you had to do was wait until someone showed up, parked, and got on the shuttle bus. As soon as the bus pulled away, you went to work. But that was then.

While some in the business still favored this method, Carlton disliked it for several reasons. With the surge in technology, most cars had sophisticated electrical systems that made them all but immune to hotwiring unless you had very specific tools, which Carlton didn’t. That meant he needed an older vehicle. There was no telling how long he’d have to sit in a remote lot before the right car showed up. The longer he waited, the greater the temptation was to settle for a vehicle that had already been parked for an indeterminate amount of time. Giving in meant you could end up snatching a vehicle whose owner might be returning from their trip at any minute.

The biggest strike against stealing a car from a long-term lot, though, was the security. Spies weren’t the only ones who liked the pickings in these lots; so did professional car thieves, so operators of long-term lots took great pains to deter thefts. In short, it just wasn’t worth it; especially when there was a much better option available.

Pulling into a lot across the street from the McDonald’s, Carlton logged onto their WiFi network, opened his browser, and plugged in his search terms. In less than a second, the results came back, along with a map studded with five digital pins. He browsed the website for each facility and then conducted cyber surveillance using the map’s street view feature. Of the five, only one met all the criteria on his list. After computing his route, he turned off the computer and got back on the road.

Since his last meeting with Banks, he had all but resigned himself to the fact that he wouldn’t be able to sort out the conspiracy he was embroiled in with brainpower alone. It was just too vast, and there were too many empty spaces, too many question marks. Whoever had set their sights on him and his people had incredible pull at an extremely high level. He still had no idea what the stakes were, or what they were planning, but he knew it had to be something big. That meant that the people involved would be excruciatingly careful.

It also meant that they likely had operational experience in this area. Banks had agreed with him on that. To create and execute a lie of this magnitude and to weave it with multiple murders, its architects had to be intimately familiar with Washington. They had to know its ins and outs. They had to know every card in the deck, how each was played, and how they could slip their own card in without anyone being the wiser. That meant one thing—these people were, or at one point had been, true insiders.

They would need firsthand knowledge of and connections within the intelligence community and the three branches of government. Then there was the military component.

Only highly trained, highly specialized personnel could have taken out his operators. These weren’t simply contract killers. It wouldn’t be impossible to put together a list, and Carlton had begun to do so. They could have come from only a handful of elite units around the world—the British, maybe Russians, possibly the Australians. To pull it all off with such precision meant that they were highly disciplined, which was yet another reason he leaned toward the killers having military experience.

He also had to consider that American Special Operations Forces had been used—that was harder to swallow, though. The SOF community was small and very tightly knit. Unless the kill teams were comprised of morally bankrupt men who had washed out of the Special Forces community, he couldn’t envision American operators turning on their fellows. It just didn’t make sense. Nevertheless, he couldn’t rule anything out.

The questions kept spinning in his mind as he drove. The scope of the entire thing was so vast that he couldn’t help but wonder if he was looking at a coup of some sort. It was the only framework upon which he could hang the few pieces he’d gathered and not have them fall apart. Why else take such an ultimate risk? Why lay everything on the line like this?

Carlton had seen enough to know that such plots existed. His own group had been instrumental in stopping one of the most sophisticated coups he’d ever encountered. Was this plot somehow connected? Was it simply another prong of an attack that they had failed to uncover?

He was suddenly consumed by the feeling that he might not be that far off base. A tuning fork had been struck somewhere inside his brain and the note was now resonating outward.

Here they had been striking at every snake that slithered out of the darkness, but what if those snakes weren’t random? What if they were actually part of a many-headed Hydra?

Had Carlton and his team been so successful at chopping off the heads that the monster had no choice but to turn its attention on them and attack? The more he thought about it, the more the idea solidified in his mind. If he was right, then he was left with only two options. Either he forced the monster out into the daylight, or he tracked it into the darkness and fought it there. Whatever path he chose, he had little doubt that it would be one of the most dangerous assignments he had ever gone after.

He spent the rest of the drive obsessed with the Hydra image, trying to interlace all the snakes his people had killed and looking for a common denominator.

When he arrived at the retirement community on the outskirts of Richmond, his focus changed. It was a semirural area with a forest preserve about a mile away. Driving past his target, he pulled into the lot for the forest preserve and parked.

From the toolbox in the back of the Cherokee he removed a hammer, two screwdrivers, wire cutters, rubber gloves, a slim jim, and a thin roll of electrical tape. He placed the items in a small pack and then struck off through the woods for the retirement community.

It was a sprawling facility on several acres that incorporated a variety of buildings. This wasn’t some shady nursing home where ungrateful children dumped their aging parents. With its manicured grounds and stylish architecture, it looked more like a high-end resort.

The community offered options from villas and condos all the way to assisted living and hospice care. All told, there were more than two hundred units. Carlton felt confident he’d find what he was looking for here. Less than ten minutes into his search, he did.

From the day people become old enough to drive, till the day they die, a car represented freedom and independence. Which was one of the reasons many aging drivers found it so difficult to give up their cars. Many, out of sentimentality or the refusal to admit they had grown too old, held on to their vehicles long after they stopped driving. As long as he chose correctly, it could be months, if ever, before the car’s owner noticed it was missing and alerted authorities.

Making his way down the rows of vehicles in the open carport behind the facility, he spotted an aging Cadillac with slightly tinted windows. Based on the dust alone, he could tell it hadn’t been driven in some time. He gave it a quick once-over. Not only was the tire pressure passable, the license plates were still valid. The only concern that remained was whether the battery still carried a charge.

He slid the slim jim inside the rubber seal of the driver’s door and popped up the lock. As he opened the door, he was greeted by the dome light coming on, which meant the battery did in fact have juice. Climbing inside, he turned the light off, closed the door, and removed a small penlight from his pocket. He looked through the car to see if its owner had left a spare key, but there was none to be found.

Placing the penlight in his mouth and slipping the flathead screwdriver into the ignition, Carlton gave it a strong tap with the hammer and attempted to turn it like a key. While it would ruin the ignition cylinder, it was often all that was necessary to get many older cars started. In this case, though, it didn’t work, so he pulled the flathead out and went to plan B.

Using the Phillips head, he removed the screws that attached the plastic panels together around the steering column and pried them away to expose the ignition cylinder and the wires running into it.

Ducking down, he identified the set of wires running to the battery, as well as those going to the starter. Slipping on the rubber dishwashing gloves, he picked up the wire cutters and clipped the power wires running to the cylinder.

He stripped the ends and twisted them together to begin the flow of power. Next he cut the starter wires, stripped the ends, and made sure not to touch them with his hands, lest he get a healthy shock.

Holding an exposed starter wire in each hand, he took a breath and brought them together. The Cadillac groaned, but seconds later, its large engine roared to life.

Carlton separated the starter wires from each other, tore off two pieces of electrical tape, and wrapped each exposed end.

After quickly replacing the panels around the steering column, he stashed his tools in the glove compartment, put the car in drive, and quietly drove out of the retirement community.

Back at the forest preserve, he transferred his gear from the Cherokee into the trunk of the Cadillac and then drove the Jeep down a long fire road.

In the bouncing beam of his headlights, he spotted a narrow break in the trees and took it. He drove as far as he could and then turned off the ignition. In case anyone should stumble across it, he left a quickly scrawled note: Hiking, be back soon.

He walked back out through the trees and up the fire road to the Cadillac. As he pulled out of the forest, his mind returned to the image of the Hydra, and he began to plan what he needed to do next.