Dead Water

24

President Herbert Lamar was meeting with his chief of staff, Irving Vickers, who was disagreeing with his boss about Bernard Backersley.

"Sir, we have two monumental issues at hand. I don't know if the two are directly related, but we can be sure that in one form or another it will track back to the jihadists. We are at war, sir, and I think we need to give the CIA some wiggle room on their mandate, as long as they can keep their operations behind a curtain."

An exasperated President Lamar responded, "Irving, I don't entirely disagree with you, but if we knowingly allow Backersley free rein, and it's discovered, they will crucify us up on the Hill."

"What is the worst of two evils, sir? Getting heat from some senators or saving this country? Because that is what it comes down to. We have a biological agent that by all accounts will be released shortly, with everyone agreeing the Labor Day weekend would be the prime time. Sir, that's in three days. We need to do everything in our power to stop this, and right now, the question of legality isn't at the top of our concerns."

President Lamar was silent, but in his mind, he knew Vickers was right. "Get Backersley, Sanderson, Ragar, Rockford, Clayton, and Merritt here immediately."

Vickers was out of the Oval Office like a shot.

Herbert Lamar was born and raised in the Bible Belt. He was a God-fearing man, considered by most ultraconservative, and had been placed on the ticket for the Far Right's vote. He had not gotten along with his former president because of some fundamental differences in ideology. For the good of the party, they had kept those differences in check, at least from the public eye. Privately, they had downright disliked each other. Lamar now found himself in a position he never imagined. Confident in his ability, he strongly wished he was working with people of his own choosing. Right now, that was simply not possible. He had to play the hand he was dealt. He was coming to grips that he was going to have to make concessions, but that didn't mean he had to like it. This is going to be a very long weekend. God, help me get through this.

Styles quickly climbed into the back of the four-door Jeep Wrangler. The Jeep, with Christman driving, was moving before the door had closed. Quickly, he relayed what had happened.

Starr, sitting next to him, asked, "What made you decide to kill him?"

"No choice. He's trained. He would have given an accurate description of me. I remember what the Man told us: no innocents. He was CIA, illegally operating within our own borders. That is expressly against the law. For what it's worth, I didn't like it." He leaned up to Phillips riding in the front passenger seat. "Here," he said, placing three items in her hand — a recordable DVD and what he thought were two flash drives. "I took these from the security recording unit."

She looked at them closely. "This is a wireless connector. That means that the recording unit was integrated with the computer, which means that all the images from the security cameras will be stored in its hard drive, as well. This might be to our advantage. J. C., find someplace to park, quick."

Christman pulled into a strip mall.

She turned back to Starr and handed him one of her laptops. "Open it. On the desktop, you'll see 'cabin.' Left click that. When it opens, you will see a split screen, each with a transcript. On the left is Ellhad's cabin; on the right is the woman's. Read through it, and see if there is anything mentioning when he might be leaving. I need to concentrate here."

No one spoke.

Styles and Christman watched in amazement at the speed of Phillips's fingers flying back and forth between two open laptops, one sat in her lap, the other precariously perched on the Jeep's center console. Christman cautiously reached over and held it steady.

"Thanks," said Phillips. Six minutes went by, and no one spoke a word. Unconsciously, everyone was even breathing quietly. "There," she said triumphantly.

"What did you do?" asked Styles.

Phillips wiped her brow, as she was actually sweating. "First I hacked their computer and confirmed that no one had seen any of the footage. Then I transplanted Styles's face with one of a known terrorist. Then I had to match the skin tone of Styles's hands to match his new face. Now when they go back through the video, they'll think it was a terrorist who killed that CIA agent."

"What?" exclaimed Starr, looking up from the laptop Phillips had given him.

"Don't make me explain it again. Just read."

"There she goes, getting all bossy again."

"Wouldn't have to if you did as you were told."

"Like I said," he remarked, bringing a chuckle from everyone.

"We need to talk," pronounced Styles. "J. C. and I think that the CIA somehow traced the plane to DPO, and that's why they were sitting on you two," he explained, referencing Starr and Phillips.

"You're half-right," interjected Phillips. "It's me. They caught my photograph leaving it. That was the next thing I was going to bring up. The CIA is here because they are right behind us on Ryyaki Ali's ass. Protocol would be for them to photograph or video anyone arriving on public and private aircraft. I'm sure I came up on facial recognition. I was probably followed from the airport. It was only a matter of time. The CIA does have some talent, and they are relentless, particularly Backersley. He won't play by the rules. He'll tell Lamar whatever he thinks he wants to hear. I'm sure at some point he'll have to play with the FBI and Homeland, but until his ass is against a wall, he'll act on his own."

Starr asked, "Do you think he's put it together about this team?"

Phillips was quiet and then replied, "He probably has suspicions. He's the CIA. It's what they do, so that will probably be his first guess."

"So what do we do?" continued Starr.

"If we want to continue this, we have no choice. We have to go dark. I mean completely dark. I know you guys know what that means."

The three men nodded.

Styles spoke up. "I think this is a conversation for a later time. We need to stick to business at hand."

Styles turned and looked at Starr. "You're gonna love this. We need you to take a little trip."

"What do you mean?"

"Gotta figure the CIA has eyes on the plane. I have to have J. C. with me. Phillips needs to be on standby with her computers. So that leaves you."

"So what is it I need to do?"

"Fly the jet to Albuquerque."

"What? By myself?"

"You can do that. It's an easy flight," urged Christman.

"I don't have the license yet."

"Who gives a shit?" snapped Styles. "We need you to get the CIA's attention diverted, if only a little, and that's the best way."

"So what do I do when I get to Albuquerque?"

"Get out, rent a car, drive around, stop in a restaurant, go to the men's room, go back to the airport, and fly back here. We need you gone at least eight hours."

Starr looked at Christman. "You really think I'm ready for this?"

"If I didn't, I damn sure wouldn't tell you otherwise. You can do this, Starr."

"Okay. I'll give it a shot."

"Fuck you'll give it a shot. You'll do it and get your ass back here. By the time you get back, we're going to be ready to get the hell outta Dodge," barked Styles.

"Okay, okay, calm down. Christ, it just caught me by surprise, big-time."

"One more thing," said Styles.

Starr audibly groaned.

Styles continued, "We're leaving the vehicles that J. C. and Phillips drove at the motel. Cops will find them easy enough. The CIA damn sure took down all the plate numbers. I know they're rented under one of our dummy companies, but—shit!"

"What's wrong?" Phillips and J. C. asked together.

"Fingerprints!"

"Relax. We wore gloves," assured J. C.

"Both of you?"

Phillips nodded in agreement and added, "We purposely didn't wipe them down so they'll have fun running who knows how many sets of prints through their system."

"Good thinking, guys. Seriously, I didn't think of that."

"Well, somebody has to be the brains of the outfit," cracked J. C.

"Heaven help us," muttered Styles with just a hint of a grin in his expression. "We'll need to pick up two more vehicles."

"Get them at the airport, since we're going there, anyway," said Starr. "Phillips—"

"On it."

Looking back at Starr in the rearview mirror of the Jeep, Christman stated, "You're fine on fuel. Just remember that when you are in contact with the control towers, keep it short. We've spent enough time on the automatic pilot, so once you're up, just punch the On button. I'll set it up for you. Look, you're going to be fine. You're actually past due to solo that bird. If you have any questions, I'm a phone call away, but I know that you're good to go. You know how it flies; just remember what you've learned."

"Yeah."

"Phillips," said Styles.

"Yeah? I'm just finishing up with the cars."

"Good. Is there any way you can intercept communication between these teams and whoever is directing them?"

"Probably, but it'll take a while. I'll have to discern who Backersley is directing out here. He's hands-on everything over there. He designates, but no decisions are made that aren't his."

"What about the assistant director?"

"In name only. He's just one of many managers. Myra Banks is his most trusted adviser, besides being the head of his cyber department."

"Give me your take on Banks again."

"She's good. Strongest part of her game is organization. Weakest is she won't think outside the box."

"What would be your best guess on what Backersley is doing?"

"I don't like guessing, but here's what I think. Backersley's downfall is his ego. No question. He's going to be a dog on a steak with the three things that are forefront in his mind right now."

"And those three things are?"

"First, the toxin; second, the assassination of President Williams; and third, us, or at least the DPO. I strongly believe he is beginning to think there's more to the DPO than what he's been told. Backersley is extremely smart. His IQ is off the charts. It is difficult, next to impossible, to try to get anything past him."

"So right now he'd be concentrating on the agent?"

"He's giving all three equal time. Make no mistake about it. This man is a very strong adversary."

"Anything you can do to slow him down or even get him off track?"

"There's always something I can do," she replied with a gleam in her eyes.

Starr spoke up. "Looks like Rijah Ellhad is leaving tomorrow morning on a camping trip. He's talking to this woman — looks like her name is Sahleea. He's picking up a rental tow-behind RV today."

"That's it, then. He'll pick that up, go back, and get the rest of his gear along with that weapon. Starr, you need to get back straight away, as we'll need you in the morning. I'll be watching and let you know what he's driving. I need you to plant a tracker on his truck. I hope he has to stop and gas up, because that'll make it easier for you, but no matter, whatever you have to do, get a tracker on that truck. J. C. and I are going to swap vehicles for the time being. I want to go back past the Quality Suites, and the Jeep has been seen driving in the area. When we get to the airport, Starr and J. C. will go in and pick up the keys. That should keep Phillips away from the cameras. We'll meet you guys over at the hangar."

"Got it," answered Starr.

When Starr and Christman got out, Phillips jumped behind the steering wheel, as Styles relayed he would walk to the hangar. She pulled up, got out, and walked through the large retractable doors. The DPO jet was set to be pulled outside.

She had decided to retrieve a couple of blank flash drives and was fifteen feet inside the hangar, walking toward the jet, when a voice shot out from off to her right, in the shadows. Two men came walking toward her.

"Hold it right there, miss."

Phillips turned and looked at the two men, saying nothing.

"Are you Darlene Phillips?" asked the larger of the two.

She said nothing and was glad she'd left her purse and computer bags in the vehicle.

"Yeah, that's her," replied the first man's companion, looking at a photograph.

"You'll need to come with us."

Phillips flashed her DPO identification at them. "I'm with the DPO, on official government business, and I'm not going anywhere with you."

The second man put the photograph back in his pocket as both men advanced toward her.

A black Chevrolet Suburban came screeching to a stop ten feet outside of the large doors. It sat there idling.

"That ID goes nowhere with us. Now walk toward the Suburban or we'll carry you."

Very casually, Phillips slipped out of her shoes.

"Go open the rear door. I can handle her," ordered the larger man.

The second man immediately turned to follow directions.

In a flash, Phillips had tied her long black hair into a ponytail. She was dressed in her usual black jeans, with a long-sleeve, very dark gray T-shirt-style top. She had put away her ID and now stood facing the man at a slight angle.

"Not that it matters, but who are you? Do you have any official identification, or is this just some half-assed attempt to kidnap me?"

"Lady, you can make this easy, or you can make this hard; your choice."

"I choose hard."

He stopped eight feet in front of her to evaluate his opponent. He saw no fear in her eyes, just determination. Suddenly, he just rushed her, intending to grab her arms. He never really saw the back of her foot as it connected solidly with the side of his head, sending him sprawling.

Upon seeing this, the second man joined in. He advanced much more cautiously as the first man was picking himself off the ground.

Phillips had backed up close to the fuselage of the jet, eliminating any chance of either of the men getting behind her.

The two men flanked her and approached much more slowly.

"Why don't we just Tase her ass?" the smaller man asked.

"I owe her one," was the response.

Phillips balanced slightly on the balls of both feet. Both men lunged at once.

Phillips executed a perfect side kick to the solar plexus of the smaller man and delivered an elbow to the forehead of the larger man just as he was able to grab her around her left shoulder and under her right arm. He was dazed but still maintained the grip. She spun hard to her left, bringing her left hand up, over the man's arm, into a knuckle strike perfectly into his nose. The blood immediately started pouring as he yelled in rage.

She saw a third figure appear in the open doorway who was instantly moving toward her. Suddenly, that man, whom she now recognized as Styles, was on the ground in convulsions. A woman was behind him holding the Taser that she had fired into his back.

Shit…

The woman was walking toward her, reloading her Taser.

Phillips had no intention of being Tased; she'd had enough of that earlier.

The big man tried wiping the blood streaming down his face and approached her again, fury in his eyes.

The smaller man was just now getting his breath back, and he warily approached.

"You two morons just get the hell out of my way," the woman ordered.

Luckily for Phillips, the larger man's ego wouldn't allow that.

"You don't learn very well, do you?" Phillips egged him on.

The man's indignation had gotten the best of him. He approached Phillips again, this time receiving a kick under his jaw and two quick punches to his face. Phillips then pushed him toward the woman and ducked low. The man reared up like an enraged bear and caught two darts between his shoulder blades for his trouble. He instantly went to the concrete floor, writhing in pain. He had intercepted the Taser contacts intended for Phillips. The second man was now scrambling to intercept Phillips while the woman reloaded her Taser again.

Suddenly, Styles appeared beside the woman, a redhead in her early thirties, and kicked the Taser unit out of her hand so hard that it flew halfway across the hangar and skidded to a stop on the floor. Then he pushed her toward Phillips. "You take her!"

"Glad to."

Styles approached the second man like a coiled snake as he was scrambling to procure his own Taser. He was just clearing the unit's holster when Styles launched a vicious side kick and caught the man right on the bridge of his nose that drove him backward. Following him, he drove two brutal punches in the center of his forehead, knocking him unconscious. He turned just in time to see Phillips squaring off against the woman he'd just kicked the Taser from.

"Any chance this might be just the two of us?" asked "Red."

"Wouldn't have it any other way," declared Phillips.

The two women circled, eyeing each other up. Suddenly, the redhead threw a hard, fast kick to the side of Phillips's head, which Phillips barely blocked. It caught Phillips's attention. The woman in gray then launched a straightforward attack — three punches that caught only Phillips's arms that that she used to block with, a kick that missed, and an attempt at a flying knee.

Styles watched with concern.

The woman then tried a spinning back kick to Phillips's head that missed badly, providing the opening Phillips had been waiting for.

Ducking under the kick, Phillips pivoted and side kicked the woman square in her stomach, connecting hard. Her opponent groaned but recovered. Phillips feigned a punch to the forehead but closed with a knee to the woman's chest that connected with authority. The redhead had been hurt, but she kept her arms and guard up. Phillips executed a spinning back kick, but rather than go high, she went low, right at the woman's knee, which knocked her off her feet. Phillips backed up and motioned for her to get up and continue the fight.

Back on her feet, the woman advanced cautiously, too cautiously. Her guard was a little too far apart, allowing Phillips to connect with a perfect front-jump snap kick that rocked the woman hard. Phillips jumped in close and fired off three hard punches to her opponent's sternum, followed by two more to the bridge of her nose and her forehead. The redhead fell to the ground, the fight knocked out of her. She lay on the ground staring up at both of them, hatred pouring from her eyes.

Styles walked back to the man he'd knocked out and grabbed the Taser from him. He walked back to the woman, stood over her, and snarled, "Just want to make sure you know how this feels," and started to shoot her in the chest.

Phillips said, "Hold up." She walked over and took the Taser from Styles. "I don't want anyone to accuse you of being sexist."

"If she wants to dish it out, she needs to be able to take it," snapped Styles.

"True, but allow me."

Styles relented.

"Here, bitch," Phillips said as she fired the electrical darts directly into the woman's chest.

She started convulsing. After eight seconds, she stopped and was barely conscious.

"You okay?" he asked Phillips.

"No, I was just getting started."

Right then, Christman and Starr drove up, got out, and immediately came running over.

"What the hell happened here?" Starr growled.

"Three guesses," Phillips answered.

Styles was still so mad about getting Tased that he was pacing back and forth like a hungry lion. "Damn, that hurts."

"Yes, it does," Phillips retorted, giving him a sweet smile. "Remember that elevator?" She did not receive a reply, only a nod.

Christman went over and dug through the smaller man's pockets, producing CIA credentials. "Well, what do you know! CIA."

Styles was finally starting to calm down, just barely, and directed, "Phillips, get us one more car from Enterprise. One with a big trunk, and make sure it's a credit card we've never used before."

She just nodded, walked back to the Tahoe she'd driven over, sat in the backseat, and then made the reservation.

"J. C., drive me back over there, since you two were just in there. Starr, grab some wire ties, and tie these three up good. We'll be right back."

In eight minutes, two vehicles parked close to the door, one being a new Ford Taurus.

Styles got out of the Taurus and spoke. "Line these three up alongside each other on the floor. Put their CIA IDs on their chests and take some photos. Then hold the IDs up against a recognizable background; no doubt where the photo is being taken. Be sure the photos are time and date stamped. J. C., will you back that Taurus in here?"

"Sure."

After the photos were taken, Styles popped the trunk. He looked it over. "We can get two of them in here."

"What about air?" Phillips asked.

Styles walked around and came back with a lug wrench rather sharply wedged on one end. Gripping it tightly, he used it as a large punch, quickly producing four holes in the side of the vehicle. "There, that should let them breathe. We'll toss the woman onto the floor of the backseat."

Styles walked over to the three CIA agents trussed up on the ground. All three were conscious. He knelt down beside them.

"This should be pretty easy to understand. Normally, I'd just kill the three of you, but as we are basically on the same side, I'd rather not if it can be helped. So here's the deal. We've got your IDs, photographed both on you and against a recognizable backdrop. They are time and date stamped. What you tell your boss is your problem. If you say anything to describe us, then it becomes my problem. The first thing that will be done is those photographs will be leaked to the press; CIA operating illegally in this country. That will cause your director problems. Then I will come after all three of you, and I will finish this — permanently. You three will be tossed into that car. You have my word that we'll let the proper people know of your whereabouts within thirty-six hours, possibly sooner. You're not going to like that, but it beats being dead. You two guys go in the trunk; the woman goes on the floor in the backseat. I'm going to have to tie you so you can't kick. Sorry, but it has to be that way."

Styles got up and, grabbing the long wire ties, walked over to the Taurus. "Starr, you and J. C. bring those guys over here."

J. C. and Starr walked over to the smaller man, hoisted him up, dragged him to the trunk of the Taurus, picked him up, and tossed him inside. Styles rolled him over onto his stomach, bent his legs backward at the knees, and hog-tied his feet toward his hands. He then doubled up all the wire ties to ensure the man could not escape. He turned and said, "Next."

After J. C. and Starr brought the larger man over, he repeated the process. He then used duct tape to gag both men, cutting a slight slit between their lips to aid their ability to breathe, and then double-checked to be sure there would be no way they could pound on the vehicle; satisfied, he closed the trunk.

"Okay, bring that woman over here."

She wanted no part of going into that car and tried to resist. Phillips walked up to her and slapped her hard in the face. "Listen, I know what he said; I don't have a problem in killing you right here and now. So either get in the damn car alive, or get in dead. Your choice."

She settled down somewhat, and Starr and Christman got her onto the floor in the backseat, on her stomach.

Styles proceeded to tie her in the same manner. Looking at Phillips, he said, "Follow me; I'm going to park this in the last row in that rental lot." Glancing at J. C., he directed, "You get him up and running, and then she will go back to his room. You stay with her until you hear from me." Looking at J.C., he said, "Let me have your car keys. Mine will be on top of the tailpipe. You ride back with her." Looking back at Starr, he said, "You'll have your ride when you get back. Everybody set? Let's go."