Dead Water

30

Starr had no problem picking up Rijah Ellhad, noticing as he pulled in behind him that he had an attractive woman accompanying him. Starr drifted back approximately half a mile, where he could still keep the vehicle in sight.

Ten minutes later, Ellhad pulled into an RV rental site. The woman stayed in the truck while Ellhad went inside the office.

Starr decided now was his chance. He pulled up his silver sedan over near another rental RV unit. He got out and looked it over. Then with a GPS transmitter in his hand, he walked toward the office. He approached the rear of Ellhad's rental unit from the driver's side. He easily planted the tracker up under the wheel well of the rented RV unit and then walked on toward the office. He opened the door, and seeing the staff member busy with Ellhad, he excused himself and said he would return.

Ten minutes later, Ellhad reemerged and returned to his truck. After a short discussion with his companion, Ellhad pulled his truck over next to a larger GMC dually truck, already hooked to a nice tow-behind RV. They got out, and Ellhad unlocked the dually. Returning to his truck, he started to transfer his gear from one truck to the other. Several suitcases, three large duffel bags, and a couple of boxes were taken directly into the RV. Finally, Starr, who had parked across the street, saw Ellhad lock his own truck, climb into the cab of the dually, and pull back out onto the road. Starr again fell in behind him. He knew that he would be harder to spot with Ellhad towing the large camper.

Ellhad turned to Sahleea and said, "We are on our way to Lake Mead. It was a surprise that Ryyaki Ali let us go alone."

"Yes, I am surprised, as well, but I'm not complaining."

She took Ellhad's hand and placed it on her leg, high under her skirt, giving him a playful smile. "Do you know what I am thinking?"

"Yes, but you must continue to think. We have to get to Lake Mead before dark."

Pouting, she said, "You always seem to be in a hurry."

He glanced over at her. "Not when I am with you."

"No, not then. That makes me happy. How long will it take for us to get there?"

"To where we are going, maybe ten hours," he lied.

"That is a long ride, Rijah."

"You will get a longer ride once we arrive."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Phillips walked into the office of Ryyaki Ali to find him bound to a chair. She noticed a large red welt in the middle of his forehead. She paid little attention to the two bodies on the couch.

She approached Styles, who was sitting on the edge of Ali's desk.

"We ready to go?" he asked.

"Yeah. Let me plug this into his computer." She inserted a flash drive and portable hard drive. Without a word, she withdrew and opened a small leather case. Inside were four vials and a syringe.

Styles leaned down close to Ali and stared him right in his eyes. "I'm going to ask you some questions, and you're going to answer them. If this goes smoothly, you will only die. If it doesn't, I'll castrate your worthless ass, and you won't have any fun with your virgins. Understand?" Without waiting for a reply, he nodded at Phillips.

She took two of the vials from the case and put equal amounts of each into the syringe. Without a word, she raised the sleeve of Ali's long robe, found a vein, and inserted the needle. Within seconds, Ali's eyes began to glaze slightly. "Give him a few more seconds."

"Where is the bioagent you tested in Alaska?" Styles asked. He received only a mumble in return. Styles slapped his cheeks firmly. "Think. Where is that bioagent? Where are you going to release it?"

Once again, only a mumble emerged from Ali.

"Hold up a second," said Phillips. She retrieved the same two vials and added a smaller portion to the syringe. Then she pulled a third from the bag. "This is Adrenalin. It'll wake him up, whether he wants to or not." For the second time, she inserted the needle into Ali's vein. Ali's eyes immediately changed. The glazed look was gone and was replaced by a look of fearful confusion. "He should be more cooperative now."

"Where is the toxin? Where are you going to place it?"

Fighting, Ali answered, "Ell… Ellhad." He was fighting hard against the drugs.

Styles slapped him again. "Where are you placing that bioagent? I won't ask you again." Styles allowed Ali to focus on the knife he was holding in front of his eyes.

As hard as he tried, Ali could not stop from answering. "Meeaad. La Meeed."

"Lake Mead!" Phillips exclaimed.

Styles continued, "Were you responsible for the killing of the president?"

Ali visibly squirmed, fighting even harder against the drugs.

Styles pressed harder. "Did you kill the president?"

"Al-Hadid. Nazir al-Hadid," Ali stammered.

"Is he Ami al-Hadid's brother?"

Ali only barely nodded.

Purely on instinct, Styles whirled the man around in his chair and furiously drove the blade of his knife into the left eye of Ryyaki Ali, twisting it upward. He did it forgetting Phillips was only five feet away. "Rot in hell, you son of a bitch!" Styles snarled at the man. He turned and saw Phillips looking at him. "Sorry you saw that."

"Why?" she answered. "I only wish I did it. The brother of the man we killed murdered our president."

Styles noticed she'd said we.

Phillips walked up to Styles and stated, "This is a war, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is." He clicked his comm set. "Target is Lake Mead; we don't know exactly where. Starr, you still got him?"

"Sure do."

"Do not lose him. He's definitely got the agent."

"Don't worry. He's not getting away."

Five figures, dressed in black, assembled just behind the tree line at the center of the small complex of cabins. They carefully observed their targets with binoculars for two minutes.

Locker whispered to the team leader, Randall, "I only see two guards on the roof," receiving a nod in return. Without being told, he screwed a retrofitted silencer on the end of his AK-47 and began making his way inside the tree line to a point where he had a clear shot at both guards. Two barely audible sounds were heard, and Randall saw both guards slump.

Within two minutes, his team converged on the cabins from each end. It took little time to ascertain all occupants were dead. The squad convened in the front of the small complex.

"Boss, everybody's dead," Locker informed Randall.

"I can fucking see that. So who the hell killed them? We're the only team here."

"Apparently not." Locker regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. The look he received from Randall scared him. "Sorry."

"Let's get to the main house. Double-time at the tree line." Randall led his team at a fast pace toward the house, the rear man constantly keeping watch to the rear. All five were armed with Russian AK-47 full assault rifles, taken off the Taliban, which fired the distinctive 7.62×39-millimeter round. This was Randall's strategy whenever he operated within the boundaries of the United States. Any brass casings that might be found at a scene of a firefight would draw suspicion toward radical Islamists, he reasoned. They also carried Glock nine-millimeter semiautomatic pistols strapped to their sides, which were becoming widely accepted around the world.

Phillips was just about to step out the office door when she whistled for Styles.

"We've got company coming up from the cabins. My guess would be the CIA response team." She watched her electronic notebook that was receiving the security camera signals Styles had placed.

"How far out?"

"Two minutes, three at the most. I need ninety seconds for his computer to download on my portable hard drive. I need that flash drive left in place."

"I'll get it. Get to your observation point. Now."

Phillips took off at a run without even looking at him.

Styles whirled back to Ali's desk and waited for the red light to turn green. It seemed to take forever. The instant the color changed, the portable hard drive was his, and he was sprinting back from the lower level to the second floor and crawling out onto a balcony. He stayed low. He didn't want to have to fire on the CIA team if it could be avoided. He knew the basic CIA clearing technique would leave one man outside, figuring he would have two minutes, maybe three, before his own position would become precarious. The idea was to get away without being detected, which was not going to be easy. Depending on where the one agent set up outside, he was hoping to swing down and take the man out without killing him. After all, he'd already killed three, and though he had little use for them, he really wasn't trying to start a war with the CIA. The time the response team would take in clearing the remaining parts of the house should allow Phillips and him to get away. That was the plan, anyway. He clicked his comm set. "J. C., get your ass in the air to the extraction point. We've got company."

"On-site in twelve minutes."

"Roger."

Twenty-five seconds later, peering through a potted plant, Styles saw four figures approach. They know what they're doing. He saw that the first man was extremely large and immediately knew who it would be. Silently, the men approached the house, and he heard the front door open. He heard his comm set click, and then Phillips's voice came over quietly. "Minus one at the house."

Styles thought for a second. He clicked back at Phillips and said low, "Watch your six." So much for that idea. He was in a dilemma, and he knew it. Phillips came first. He clicked her again. "Climb a tree and stay rock steady, but be ready for anything." Receiving a double click in return meant she'd understood. Styles secured his AR-15 firmly against his back and got ready. This was not going to be fancy. Silently, he eased out and looked below. Sure enough, there was the agent four feet to his right. Styles eased over the top railing and lowered himself by grabbing the bottom rail, now hanging well over the edge of the massive porch, moving three feet to his left hand over hand, and then dropping the six feet to the ground, striking the agent at the base of his neck and rendering him unconscious. So far, so good. He rolled and quickly stood, unslinging his rifle in the process.

The noise of the front door opening sounded like a cannon shot in Styles's ears, and after dropping his AR, he was instantly moving toward it. Robert Randall walked through, coming face-to-face with Styles. His expression was of shock seeing his own agent on the ground and a man dressed in full camo moving in a blur toward him. Randall had shouldered his assault rifle, not expecting to find trouble in the yard, a mistake caused by arrogance.

"What the—" was all he managed to get out before what felt like a wrecking ball explode into his chest as Styles launched a vicious attack. Randall was kicked so hard that he bounced back off the wall next to the door and right back toward Styles. Most men would have collapsed under the assault, but Randall managed to stay on his feet. He was hurt, but not down. He immediately tried to circle Styles. His ego would not allow him to go for his weapons, a critical mistake. Randall took a step toward Styles and promptly received a brutal kick to the side of his knee. Styles, inwardly, couldn't help but be impressed. Randall threw a monster haymaker at Styles's head, which Styles narrowly avoided. A second punch by Randall, a body shot, was blocked by Styles, who then turned into his man and drove his elbow squarely into Randall's face, breaking his nose and the orbital bone in his left eye socket. This seemed to only enrage him more. He swung wildly at Styles's head, catching him in the shoulder enough to send Styles sideways two steps.

Strong.

Randall paused for a second to catch his breath, and that's when Styles moved to finish the fight. He started with another kick to the already injured knee and then instantly sprang into a front jump kick, catching Randall full under the jaw and causing him to bite his own tongue in half. Howling with rage, Randall still did not go down.

Fucking guy's a bull. Styles then drove two brutal punches into the man's broken nose, blinding him with his own tears. Finally, after a crushing punch to the bridge of the man's nose, he crumpled to the ground. Styles turned to dash across the road only to see a figure in black leveling an assault rifle at him. Just as he started to hurl himself to the ground in a desperate attempt to avoid the bullets he knew were about to spit at him, he saw the man's knee explode, bone shards and blood tearing out of his pants as the man fell to the ground screaming in agony. In three seconds, Styles, after grabbing his AR, was across the road and into the trees. Fifteen feet past the tree line, he could hear all hell breaking loose behind him. Six strides later, Phillips was at his side. He could see the grim look on her face. He only nodded at her as they both disappeared into the woods, bullets whistling about them.

President Lamar told Irving Vickers, "I want to split the responsibility of finding this toxin and the assassins into two groups. I'm convinced that everybody right now is trying to do too much. What are your thoughts?"

Vickers paused before answering, "I agree, but we need to have the right bunch on the right topic."

"I agree. Bring Laura Green in, and have her help you decide. She would have a better feel for whose strengths would better fit where than we probably do, and she wants to help."

"I would have suggested that myself, sir. I'll call her immediately."

As Vickers left the Oval Office, President Lamar was concerned. He couldn't help but feel that somehow the two issues at hand were connected, though no one had yet been able to connect any dots. He called A. J., his secretary. "Get me Coverley Merritt on the phone," he said. Two minutes later, his phone rang. "Merritt? Have you heard of any possible connection between the assassination of President Williams and this toxic agent?"

"Nothing solid, sir, but there are rumblings among some that there very well could be. Personally, I find it too coincidental."

"I feel likewise. Get with the directors, and be sure that they understand the importance that any correlation between the two must be found."

"I'm sure they already know that, sir, but I will remind them."

"Good."

President Lamar sat at his desk feeling a bit overwhelmed. He knew he had to make a televised address to the nation, but he wasn't sure exactly what to say. Everything he kept thinking sounded redundant. He also couldn't even hint at the bio issue. He called Irving Vickers.

"Get a speech prepared to address the nation on President Williams for me. I want to see a draft in four hours."

"Already been working on it, sir."

"Irving, what would I do without you?"

J. C. Christman was hurtling his rented helicopter to the designated landing spot as fast as it would go. He knew that thirty seconds could make the difference between a successful extraction of Styles and Phillips or a disaster. He keyed his comm. "One minute out."

"Roger that," came Styles's reply.

Fifty seconds later, the bird flared in for an emergency landing, with the skids just touching the ground, when the door flew open with Phillips and Styles bursting through.

"Go!" yelled Styles.

Christman had the copter back in the air before the shock absorbers in the landing gear had even rebounded. He was flying ten feet above the treetops with the throttle to the stop.

Phillips had made her way to the rear seat and was buckling in while Styles was strapping into the copilot's seat.

"Where to?" hollered Christman.

"Find Starr." Looking back at Phillips, Styles wasn't the least bit surprised to see she already had two laptops open.

She looked up at Styles. "Ali's security footage is uploading into this second laptop. It wasn't wired into his hard drive that we downloaded."

"How long will it take?"

"Depends on how much info we upload. I'm trying to get all I can. Could be ten minutes; could be an hour."

"Any chance that CIA team could screw that up?"

"No. They'll bring in an FBI tech forensics team, and that'll take a bit. Besides, if they try to remove that flash drive I stuck in, it will self-destruct and take out the computer's hard drive. When the upload is complete, it's all going to be history, anyway. We don't need the CIA getting in our way."

Styles nodded. "Where was the second computer for the security system? I didn't see it."

"On a shelf. You were busy interrogating Ali. I figured that's what it was, so I stuck an upload stick in it. Saved me the time of having to hack it."

"You mean that flash drive-looking thing?"

"Yeah."

Bernard Backersley was in his office glued to his large flat-screen monitor. He was watching events unfold in real time via a helmet cam of the raid on Ryyaki Ali's compound. Myra Banks, head of his cyber unit, was with him. They didn't speak once the assault began. When the suspected terrorists had been found dead, words were finally exchanged.

"What the hell is going on?" Backersley snapped to Banks and the agent wearing the helmet cam.

"We're not sure, sir. We're clearing the area."

"Looks like somebody beat us there," observed Banks, which drew a hard look from Backersley.

"Could Sanderson have sent in a team?" he asked, referencing the director of the FBI.

"Doubtful. I would have heard about it."

"You sure?"

"Absolutely. We've been monitoring all FBI communications," assured Myra Banks. "No mention of any tactical advance."

"Then who the hell killed those guys?"

"Bernie, I don't know any more than you."

Backersley hit his desk in frustration. "I don't like anybody interfering in something we've got our hands on."

Realizing his mood, she did not remind him of the fact that their action was completely illegal.

"Director," a voice was heard over the speaker. "We're coming up on the main house. So far, all hostiles found are down."

"Any idea of who's been there?"

"No, sir. I'll not be in vocal contact while we clear the house."

"Understood."

Not taking his eyes off the flat screen, Backersley asked, "Have you found out any more on Darlene Phillips?"

"No. We've confirmed she spends a lot of time away from home, as you already know, but I can't establish where. I've investigated the DPO inside out. I can dig so far, and then it's like hitting a wall."

Backersley turned and looked at her. "What do you mean?"

"Like I told you, by all appearances, it's strictly an intelligence-gathering operation, but as I've said before, I think there is more to it."

"What have you learned from Merritt?"

"Not a damned thing. Bernie, if there is another aspect of the DPO, I'm not sure that even he's aware of it. I've hacked his e-mail, his in-house communiqués, phone calls, and absolutely nothing comes up. I mean nothing."

"How could something be going on in his own agency and he not know of it?"

"You tell me. You're the king of working around the rules."

"And your point is?"

"There isn't one. President Williams set that up. It's possible, and quite highly probable, that if there is a tactical or operational aspect within the DPO, President Williams might have been running that himself. To me, that would make perfect sense."

Backersley nodded. "I see what you mean. Good catch."

Banks nodded at the screen, and they both began paying close attention as the main house of Ali's compound came into view.