OMEGA

Chapter 37

Jackson couldn’t hear what the doctor was saying through the closed French doors, but the young physician treating Karl Berg had behaved justifiably nervous upon first meeting his patient. Berg’s wounds, while superficial, were extensive. Dozens of shallow cuts, evenly spaced and methodically applied to the front of his torso and legs, could not be explained away by a simple accident, or a complicated one. It was obvious that the wounds were intentionally inflicted, and Jackson would be skeptical too about the purpose of the private medical care he’d been summoned to provide.

The doctor stood up from the chair next to the brown leather couch and shook Berg’s hand, sharing a few more words. Probably asking for the tenth time if Berg wanted him to call the police. The physician feigned a smile and made his way to the doors. Jackson got up from the chair he’d dragged into the hallway outside of the study.

“So what’s the verdict?” he asked.

The physician glanced nervously around the spacious home.

“The man you just treated saved my life a number of years ago. I owe him everything. On top of that, he’s my best friend. I know this doesn’t look good, but trust me when I say that my friend is now in good hands. A few hours ago, that obviously wasn’t the case.”

“I don’t want to know any of the details,” said the doctor.

“All the better,” said Jackson. “What are we looking at?”

“The patient needs rest, obviously. You need to keep him well hydrated and nutritionally satisfied.”

“Yeah, yeah. That sounds like advice for a nursing home resident. Move on to the important stuff.”

The doctor frowned. “Well, unfortunately, you’re going to need to treat him like a nursing home resident for a week or two, maybe longer. Most of the cuts will heal on their own, with constant supervision. You’ll need to clean them a few times per day, replace the gauze and tape. Watch for signs of infection. I left a bottle with some strong antibiotics that he should start taking immediately. Follow the instructions. I stitched a few of the deeper wounds. Same rules apply. The big thing here is that he needs to remain completely immobile until the shallow cuts scab over. I counted seventy-six separate wounds. I suspect a few of the deeper ones that I stitched could count twice, since there’s evidence of repetitive injury.”

“What does that mean?” said Jackson, pretty sure he had a good idea.

“I’d rather not speculate out loud,” said the doctor. “Bottom line, he needs to stay still unless you want me to stitch up the remaining seventy wounds.”

“I think we’d rather avoid that,” said Jackson. “He’s been through enough.”

“That’s an understatement. You have my secure email address. I’d prefer you use that if you have additional questions or concerns. Call this number,” he said, producing a card with nothing but a phone number, “if you need me to visit before our next scheduled appointment.”

“When do you need to come back?”

“I’d like to check on him in two days.”

“Same time?”

“I’ll be here. Email if there’s a change to that plan,” said the doctor.

“Thank you. I appreciate your timely response and discreet service.”

The doctor smiled politely and walked to the front door. Jackson followed him onto the wide, wraparound porch, catching a glimpse of Melendez near the property’s inner gate. The primary gate stood a quarter of a mile away, concealed by the thick woods surrounding the estate. Melendez opened the gate manually for the doctor’s convertible Mercedes, securing it after him. Jackson waved, drawing a nod from the operative, who disappeared into the foliage with his sniper rifle. Back inside the spacious home he found Munoz in the entrance hallway.

“Berg was concerned about someone named Audra Bauer. She works at Langley, so I told him she’s safe for now,” said Munoz, checking his watch. “It’s getting close to four o’clock. If she’s somehow linked to Berg in all of this, she’ll be next.”

Jackson saw Berg motioning for him. “Speak of the devil.”

“How are you feeling, my friend?” asked Jackson, approaching the couch.

“Like I have a thousand paper cuts,” said Berg, through swollen lips.

“Seventy-six to be precise,” said Jackson, eliciting a short laugh that looked like it hurt Berg more than helped. “Sorry, man. What can I get you? The place is stocked.”

“I’ll take that bottle of Barolo if it’s still around,” said Berg, causing himself to laugh and wince.

“Maybe we should knock off the jokes,” Jackson suggested.

“I concur,” said Berg, looking past Jackson to Munoz. “We need to warn Audra Bauer, a deputy director with the CIA. She was instrumental to stopping Reznikov in 2007, so she’s one of us. She has to be in danger, especially now. Where are we?”

“We’re safe,” said Munoz. “This is one of a dozen or more properties in the D.C. area owned by Ernesto Galenden through his various international corporations. Sanderson called in a favor.”

“Why do you think the Russians are after Bauer?” asked Jackson.

“Russians? Who said this was the Russians?” said Berg, trying to sit up.

“The doctor said you need to lie still, as in perfectly still, or you’ll start leaking like a sieve again,” said Jackson. “Did you hear what happened with the Petroviches?”

“Jesus,” said Berg. “I knew something was off with that. I’m the one that asked Sanderson to keep an eye on them.”

“That turned out to be a good call, possibly one that saved your life too. Srecko Hadzic came close to kidnapping Jessica in the hospital. Munoz and a small team managed to turn the tables on that. Hadzic is dead.”

“Hadzic?” said Berg, looking utterly perplexed. “That’s not poss — shit. How is that possible?”

“It’s not, really. Unless you have some serious backing,” said Munoz. “That’s why Sanderson thinks this is a Russian job.”

“The guys that took me weren’t Russian,” said Berg. “Military contractors, if I had to guess.”

“There’s some pretty sketchy groups out there. Could be a team hired out by the Russians through a proxy,” said Jackson.

“To kidnap and torture a CIA officer?” said Berg. “How far down have some of these paramilitary contractor companies fallen?”

He ignored the obvious implication about Brown River. They’d been the first serious security contractor company to win major Department of Defense and State Department contracts, growing at a nearly unstoppable pace after 9/11. By the time other former military and security entrepreneurs jumped on the bandwagon and started to form similar companies, most of the available talent was taken. The rest of the companies fell between decent and crappy on the quality spectrum. Even Brown River had its quality inconsistencies from time to time.

“I don’t mean to sound insensitive, Karl, but—”

“When has that ever stopped you?”

“It hasn’t,” said Jackson, deciding not to sugarcoat his question. “What the fuck did they want from you?”

“They wanted the name of my source in Moscow.”

“Sounds like the Russians,” said Munoz.

“They’ve had two years to pull this off,” said Berg. “Now, all of a sudden, barely a few days after I’m passed new information from my informant, Moscow decides this is important? And they wanted to know everything I knew about Reznikov? I smell a rat, and it’s not a Russian one.”

“How do the Petroviches figure into this?” asked Munoz. “It looks like Jessica’s mother was poisoned. Something that takes months to kill, like dimethylmercury.”

“I don’t know,” said Berg, closing his eyes. They shot open a second later. “When did she get put into hospice?”

“Four days ago,” Munoz replied.

“Right. And a local reporter decides out of the blue that it’s big news and creates a whole story around her dad’s sordid past. It felt contrived enough for me to warn Sanderson. Now it feels calculated, like everything else going on.”

“You sound like the general,” said Munoz. “Except he’s convinced this is the Russians cleaning up loose ends related to Vektor.”

“Somebody’s cleaning up loose ends. I’m just not convinced it’s the Russians. Our current administration also has a vested interest in permanently erasing any link to Reznikov.”

“It sounds like we need to secure Bauer until this can be sorted,” said Munoz. “Does she have family?”

“A husband that works in Tyson’s Corner at a government think tank. Grown kids on the West Coast.”

“Daniel is bringing Jessica back here. Maybe we should divert him to pick up Bauer’s husband, so we can take that leverage out of the immediate equation.”

Berg nodded. “I know David Bauer well enough. I’ll give him a call. You have my phone?”

“Our tech team downloaded your contact list, call history, all that shit, well before we made our way here. I have a satellite phone for you and a tablet with all that information,” said Jackson. “Your friends here don’t take any chances.”

“That’s why I had you contact them,” said Berg. “Nobody else could have pulled this off.”

Munoz looked puzzled. “Why not have Ms. Bauer call her own husband?”

“Because I want to test a theory. If I’m wrong, this is the Russians, and we can all rest easy.”

“Rest easy?” Jackson echoed.

“Yeah,” said Berg. “Because if I’m right, we are most truly fucked.”

Chapter 38

Audra Bauer drove southwest on Lee Highway, approaching the Interstate 66 overpass. She’d left significantly later than usual from The George Bush Center for Intelligence, per Karl Berg’s instructions. Late enough to take advantage of the fading sunlight on the way to their rendezvous if she detected she had picked up a tail. The other benefit was the traffic. While the roads in and around this area were always busy, they wouldn’t be constrictive. Berg had insisted that this was important, once again, in case she needed to take evasive action.

She didn’t know what to think of Karl’s late afternoon call, heavy on wild conspiracy theories about the Russians and light on any verifiable facts or evidence. She’d almost hung up on him and called the Protective Services Division to arrange a Surveillance and Intervention team escort for herself. But Karl had used a long ago established code word toward the end of their conversation that meant her life was in immediate danger. He might have sounded unhinged, single-mindedly focused on the Russians again, but she didn’t believe he’d play that card for any reason other than its intended purpose.

Now she was on the way to meet him at her favorite coffee shop in Falls Church, though she suspected he had different plans for the final location of their rendezvous. He’d told her to park in back and enter through the rear entrance. Bauer figured he’d intercept her in the parking lot and drive her somewhere else, in case she’d picked up a tail. She still wasn’t one hundred percent convinced she’d go with him. It would all depend on how he looked and acted. She carried a stun gun and pepper spray in her coat pockets just in case he didn’t take no for an answer.

Traffic on Lee Highway, a local two-lane state route, lightened significantly after the Interstate 66 exchange, the beltway artery grabbing late commuters headed to distant western D.C. suburbs. Glancing in her rearview mirror, she noted a few pairs of headlights following her into the heart of Falls Church.

Bauer intended to turn on East Columbia Street, a few blocks up, and drive around the neighborhoods, just to be certain she hadn’t been followed. East Columbia Street was at the next stoplight, which she could see was green and had been green for a short while. She’d try to time her approach to run the light just as it transitioned from yellow to red.

As her car neared the intersection, it looked like the timing would work out. The light turned yellow just before she reached the point on the road where it opened into a left-turn-only lane. When the light immediately went from yellow to red, she pounded her fist on the wheel. The lights in the downtown area were erratic at best. It didn’t matter. She’d still take a little trip through the neighborhoods, emerging on Broad Street.

Bauer triggered her car’s turn signal and eased into the turn lane, rolling to a stop at the intersection. A black Town Car sedan with tinted windows pulled up to the light next to her two lanes over, next to the curb. Not an unusual sight at all in the D.C. area. She stared at the dark sedan for a few seconds, then returned her attention to the intersection. Catching her eye for a moment, a late model, oversized SUV started to turn onto North Washington Street from the direction she intended to take. She glanced up at the light, then back at the SUV, noticing that it had stopped right next to her car. Her right hand shot into her coat pocket. The rear passenger door was open; two men wearing ski masks were rushing her car.

Chapter 39

Melendez watched the intersection through the second-floor corner window of the vacant, unleased building next to North Washington Street, on the opposite side of the westbound lanes. His earpiece crackled.

“This is echo one. Bauer is pulling up to Columbia. I need to cut the light short.”

“Oscar One ready,” said Melendez.

“Oscar Two on the way.”

Oscar Two was composed of Sayar and Petrovich, who had parked in the far north reaches of an expansive parking lot across North Washington Street. They’d start moving through the lot, ready to run street-level interference if a threat emerged that Melendez couldn’t handle. They had no idea if Bauer had been followed.

“Alpha One pulling into position.”

Munoz was in charge of Alpha One, the team that would grab Bauer from her car. With Mazurov driving, Daly would assist with the transfer. It wouldn’t take much to unravel this op. They were stretched precariously thin. A silver, four-door BMV sedan approached the intersection, slowing for the red light initiated by Graves and Gupta.

“Alpha One moving.”

Melendez rapidly scanned the thin westbound traffic, focusing his attention on the black Town Car that pulled up to the light, two lanes over. A white SUV entered his field of view, screeching to a halt next to Bauer’s sedan. He settled into the suppressed M110’s fixed stock and pressed his right eye into the 4X ACOG sight, centering the green reticle on the Town Car’s rear driver’s side door, which sprang open moments later.

A single 7.62mm armor-piercing round struck the man that started to emerge from the car, knocking him back inside. Melendez methodically and rapidly fired tightly spaced groupings of bullets at the vehicle’s most likely points of occupancy. The driver’s window shattered last, the most obvious and immobile occupant taking the last rounds in the magazine. He reloaded, never taking his eyes off the Town Car. Sounds of a pitched struggle between Audra Bauer and Alpha One reached the second-story window.

Tires screeched to the east, momentarily pulling his attention away from the bullet-riddled sedan. An SUV lurched onto North Washington Street, pointing in Alpha One’s direction.

“This is Alpha One. Engaging SUV headed toward the transfer point. Alpha Two, confirm black Town Car at intersection is neutralized,” said Melendez, swinging his rifle in the direction of the new threat.

Melendez centered the reticle on the driver’s side of the windshield and pressed the trigger three times as flashes of gunfire erupted from multiple points along the incoming SUV.

Shit.

He canted the rifle forty-five degrees and acquired the vehicle with the side-mounted unmagnified reflex sight, intent on suppressing the gunfire. Keeping the sight’s red dot centered on the racing SUV, he repeatedly pressed the trigger until his thirty-round magazine ran dry.

Chapter 40

Munoz’s body locked in pain, the familiar static discharge sound of a stun gun filling the air. Bauer didn’t waste the moment, pivoting under him and judo flipping his stunned body to the street. He landed hard, a sharp kick to the side launching him into the BMW’s rear tire. The stun gun sounded again and he flinched, anticipating another dose of high-voltage agony. When it didn’t come, he sprang upward, fully expecting to rescue Daly from a similar beat down.

Instead, Daly had managed to turn the tables on the stun-gun ninja. The SEAL had her arm bent in an awkward angle over her shoulder, the stun gun zapping her own collarbone area, but she still resisted. Her feet pushed back against the side of the SUV, preventing Daly from pushing her inside, despite the high-voltage snap, crackle, and pop.

Munoz quickly closed the gap, hell-bent on knocking one of her legs loose so they could stuff her inside. They didn’t have time to explain this to her. Another threat was inbound. Gunfire exploded from the approaching SUV, drowning out the steady, suppressed fire from Melendez’s rifle above them. Bullets snapped through the air and thunked into the adjacent vehicles. They really needed to get off the street.

A bullet shattered the window next to Daly and Bauer, miraculously missing their entangled mass. Bauer dropped her legs in response, and Munoz barreled forward, knocking her into the SUV. He sat on her until Daly opened the door on the opposite side a few seconds later and hauled her the rest of the way in. He closed the door and tapped Mazurov on the shoulder, yelling for him to get moving.

With Bauer still struggling in both of their grips, the SUV raced east on North Washington Street, sailing past the inbound threat without taking any fire. Warm spring air rushed through the empty window next to him. Melendez had done his job well. He always did.

“Get off me!” screamed Bauer, squirming underneath them.

“Any time now, David!” Munoz yelled.

A terrified face appeared between the front seats. “Audra! It’s me.”

She stopped struggling for a moment, resuming with even more ferocity. “You fucking animals!” she screeched. “He has nothing to do with this!”

“Audra! Everything is fine! Karl Berg sent me,” said David Bauer. “He told me to tell you that he’s sorry he couldn’t meet you for your favorite hazelnut-flavored latte.”

“Get off me,” said Audra Bauer. “How dare you involve my husband!”

“He demanded to be here,” said Munoz. “Are we good?”

“We’re far from good,” she said, still struggling.

“Honey, they’re on our side. I’ve been with them for a few hours in a safe location,” said her husband.

“Where the fuck is Karl?”

“Karl can’t move right now,” David answered. “He was severely beaten and tortured.”

“Jesus,” she muttered, all of the resistance melting away.

“Can I get off you now?” asked Munoz. “Without getting a straight arm across the face, that is?”

“We’re good.”

Munoz and Daly let her up, buckling her in between them. She started to talk, but he silenced her with a curt shake of his head.

“Echo One, how are we looking?” asked Munoz.

“No police units between your position and the interstate. Alpha units need to hustle. First responding unit is like twenty seconds out from the intersection,” Graves responded.

“Oscar One moving. I don’t think a pickup is advisable,” said Melendez.

“Oscar Two concurs. We’re almost back at the car, but I’d rather be moving away from the intersection when the police arrive,” said Daniel. “We didn’t open fire, so our cover is still intact. We can circle back around to a busier street in the downtown area and grab Alpha One on our way to grab Alpha Three.”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Munoz. “Echo One, help them out.”

“My pleasure.”

“Where are we headed?” Bauer asked.

“Safe house owned by a trusted friend,” said Munoz. “A nice, secluded spot. Karl’s waiting for us.”

“Why didn’t Karl give me a heads-up about your plan?” said Bauer. “That could have gone really badly for you if I had a knife with me. And who exactly are you?”

“Jeffrey Munoz. At your service,” he said, smiling at her.

“No shit,” she said, shaking her head. “Sanderson’s people?”

“Recognize me?” said the driver, turning his face toward her for a moment.

“You gotta be kidding me!” she said. “Mazurov?”

“I go by Eric Freeman these days,” he said.

“And you? You don’t look like one of the original members,” she said, nodding at Daly.

“I led the raid on Sanderson’s compound in Argentina two years ago. Scott Daly.”

“Who else is involved?” she asked.

“The Petroviches and a few others,” said Munoz.

“And you all happened to be in the country at the same time when this Russian plot unfolded?”

“Not exactly,” said Munoz, checking the street behind them.

“What does that mean?”

“I think it’s better if Karl explains it,” said Munoz. “Whatever happened here may not be the Russians.”

Chapter 41

Jessica Petrovich crouched behind a minivan, waiting for the signal from Graves. She’d arrived at the lot a few hours earlier in a car she’d stolen from the Tyson’s Corner Galleria Mall parking garage. She’d parked in the middle of the lot and walked through the back door of the Freaky Bird Coffee Roasters.

Cappuccino and scone in hand, she walked around the quaint downtown area, ducking into shops and killing time. An hour before the never-to-happen rendezvous between Karl Berg and Audra Bauer, she strolled past the lot along West Maple Street, casually scanning the cars for any obvious signs of surveillance, taking a mental note of the empty spaces. Nothing appeared off.

Berg had asked Audra to park behind the coffee shop so she could slip into the place unobserved from the street. From an espionage field-craft perspective, the request made little sense, which was why he had suggested it. The shop had wide, floor-to-ceiling windows facing Broad Street, so it was ridiculous to suggest that they might remain unseen.

Their possible eavesdroppers would make the same observation, deducting that the parking lot request was a ruse to intercept Bauer and move her to a safe location. They’d station at least one team, if not two, in the immediate vicinity. Jessica predicted one team inside the parking lot and another inside the coffee shop to block that avenue of escape. A third team nearby on West Maple Street or the bank parking lot across the street was not out of the question.

Not detecting anything an hour before showtime, she walked to the next cross street and took a left on Park Avenue, finding a bench near the Falls Church municipal center. She waited about thirty minutes before heading back down Park Avenue and slipping between two businesses connected to the lot. From her new vantage point behind a full trash dumpster, she had scanned for newcomers, starting with the spaces that had been empty. After five minutes passed and nothing grabbed her attention, Jessica started to wonder if she’d made a bad assumption.

She was moments from leaving her position when the team sent to grab Bauer made a small mistake. A head poked up from the rear compartment of one of the SUVs. She barely caught it through the tinted windows, but a light across the street provided enough background illumination to see it. She’d low-crawled across the pavement to reach her current position, where she could accomplish her mission right now if she wanted.

All she had to do was attach a GPS tracking unit to the SUV, preferably somewhere hidden, though it wasn’t required. Graves said she could throw the damn thing at the vehicle as it was pulling away if the situation required. Powerful magnets would do the rest.

She had a better idea. Infinitely more risky, but exponentially more rewarding, a combination Jessica couldn’t resist. Daniel would not be happy with the revised plan. Not in the least.

“Alpha Three, Alpha One is moving to the transfer point. Get the GPS unit in place and get out of there,” said Graves.

“Alpha Three copies.”

Jessica waited, finally hearing a commotion in the SUV next to her. She slid behind the minivan and planted the GPS under the bumper, continuing to the driver’s side of the vehicle in a low crouch. She paused, peeking around the corner. The rear driver’s door slammed shut and revealed a man already pulling the driver’s door open. He got in the driver’s seat, too focused on the task at hand to see her moving down the side of the SUV.

She opened the rear driver’s side door and methodically fired into the cabin, starting with the guy in the cargo compartment and finishing with a single shot into the back of the driver’s neck after dispatching the man across from her. Jessica backed out and shut the door, headed for the back entrance to the coffee shop. She detected hurried movement through the clear glass door to the coffee shop and slowed her pace — to time everything perfectly.

The door flew open, and two men barreled in her direction. The first one barked orders into a handheld radio. She pretended to talk animatedly into a phone with her left hand, keeping the pistol hidden behind her right thigh. Neither of them noticed that the object in her hand clearly wasn’t a phone.

Jessica let the first man soft-shoulder her aside, bringing the business end of the suppressed pistol under the second man’s chin and firing. The leader abruptly stopped in his tracks. She flicked open the serrated blade in her left hand and stabbed him firmly, but not deeply in the upper left back. When his body automatically folded to the left in response to the pain, she slipped the arm over his lowered shoulder and placed the blade against his throat. The pistol went into the middle of his back.

“Drop the radio and keep walking,” she said.

He dropped the handheld and took a few choppy steps forward, faltering.

“You have no idea how quick I am with this knife,” she hissed in his ear. “I’ll have your carotid slashed and a bullet in your lower spine before you realize you made a mistake. You’ll bleed out in this parking lot, clawing your way across the pavement toward the coffee shop. You won’t make it.”

“What do you want?” he grunted.

“I want you to keep walking,” she said, pressing the pistol into his back again.

He moved stiffly but steadily past the bloodstained windshield of his SUV.

“Don’t look. Keep moving. We’re headed toward that dumpster over there,” she said.

Distant gunfire echoed off the buildings.

“Keep going. Don’t make me carry you,” she said.

They retraced the route she’d taken to arrive surreptitiously in the lot, stopping behind a two-story building on Park Street. Blue and red lights flashed off the building, the police officers both on and off duty at the Falls Church municipal center racing in their cars toward the reports of gunfire. She waited until the sirens faded and the street went quiet, prodding him forward onto Park Street.

“Alpha Three, I have a good signal on the tracker, but it hasn’t moved. What are you seeing?”

She tightened her grip on the knife and stuffed the pistol behind the small of her back, activating her radio. “I made an adjustment to the plan,” she said. “Will advise shortly. Tracker in place.”

“Who are you talking to?” asked the man in front of her.

“Friends. Keep walking,” she said, returning the pistol to his back.

“Copy that, Alpha Three.”

“We’re headed toward the police station,” he noted.

“They’ll be too busy cleaning up your friends to notice,” she said. “See that park bench over there?”

“I see it. You’re fucking crazy, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told.”

Jessica stopped him directly in front of the far right side of the bench. With the knife fixed firmly to his throat, she turned his body left and pulled him into a seated position, sliding past the edge of the bench into the bushes behind. She rested comfortably on both knees, adjusting the knife so it wasn’t so visible from the street. It took a few seconds to find the opening at the bottom of the bench’s back and reestablish contact with the man’s body, just to reinforce the obvious. She had two ways to kill him quickly if he tried to escape or draw attention.

“Now what?” he asked.

“We wait for my friends to finish their business.”

“You’re pretty confident in your friends’ abilities.”

“They’ve thwarted all of your little operations,” said Jessica.

“Is that so?” he said, not sounding convinced.

“You don’t know who I am, do you?”

“No idea,” he said. “Enlighten me.”

“Nicole Erak.”

“Never heard of you,” he said.

“Aka Jessica Petrovich.”

The man stiffened. It wasn’t the most obvious reaction, but she felt it. A dark cloud of dread settled over her. This man shouldn’t know either of those names. She hadn’t expected a reaction. In fact, she’d been hoping for zero response. This changed everything.

“My friends will be here shortly,” she said. “And yes, I’m confident in that assessment.”

Chapter 42

Audra Bauer peered between the vehicle’s front seats at the well-lit European-style villa that materialized beyond the thick trees. She knew a few well-connected and wealthy people living in the D.C.’s Virginia suburbs, but she’d never seen something like this behind the private gates separating the Beltway elite from the government-subsidized hoi polloi that saturated the area.

The SUV pulled even with a wide wrought-iron gate set in the middle of a vine-covered half-wall that defined the front entrance courtyard. A long clay-tile-covered porch wrapped around each side of the house. Her husband turned his head in the front seat and met her gaze, a look of deep concern evident on his face. She could read his mind.

“Who owns this place?” she said.

“Ernesto Galenden,” said Munoz. “He apparently owns several of these in the area.”

“Must be nice,” said Bauer, nodding imperceptibly at her husband.

“We’re safe here,” said Munoz.

“For how long?” said Bauer.

“The answer to that question is under constant reevaluation,” said Munoz.

“Great,” said her husband. “How many people do you have out here?”

“Right now, four inside,” said Munoz. “The rest are in this SUV or en route.”

“You don’t have anybody walking the perimeter?” said David Bauer.

“This place is untraceable,” said Munoz.

“Let’s hope so,” said David.

“Now I have your husband breaking my balls,” said Munoz. “This deal keeps getting better.”

“My husband spent eight years with the 75th Ranger Regiment. Got out in ninety-eight,” said Bauer.

“And you didn’t think to mention that earlier?” said Munoz.

“Must have slipped my mind,” said David Bauer before opening the door and getting out of the vehicle.

“We had a shooter in the front seat the whole time and didn’t even know it,” said Daly, shaking his head.

“He’s riding a desk now, so don’t get any ideas,” said Bauer.

“I heard that,” yelled her husband while walking around the front of the SUV.

“Seriously. He’s off-limits,” said Bauer.

“Got it,” said Munoz, hopping down from the SUV to let her out.

She walked with her husband to the arched mahogany entry doors and waited for Daly and Munoz to catch up. The SUV disappeared from sight behind a wide one-story stucco structure to the right of the house, which she assumed to be a garage. Munoz pressed the illuminated doorbell and stood with his hands behind his back.

“Seriously?” said Bauer.

“The door is locked,” said Munoz before winking. “Best we can do without perimeter guards.”

She shook her head. Staying here sounded less and less appealing by the moment. The door opened after a short delay, and an Indian-looking guy in his twenties appeared in the doorway.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” he said. “Anish Gupta at your service, ma’am.”

“What?” said Audra, turning to Munoz. “Is he part of the team?”

“Hell yeah. I work the electronic magic. I was out there on the streets when all of this went down. We just got back.”

“That’s right,” she said. “I remember the name from before.”

“You thought I was the help?” said Gupta, making air quotes with his fingers.

“No,” said Audra. “I really didn’t. I’m a little out of it right now. Sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t make me feel better about my brown skin,” said Gupta.

“I’m really—” started Bauer.

“Hey, just fucking with you! Seriously. Welcome to the sickest house you’ll ever see,” he said, gesturing for them to enter. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Likewise,” said Audra, utterly confused.

“You’ll have to excuse Gupta,” said Munoz. “He wasn’t held as a child.”

“What the fuck, man?” said Gupta, with a hurt look. “I was in foster care my whole childhood. Some of us didn’t have loving parents.”

Munoz raised both hands. “Sorry, Anish. I really didn’t know that.”

“Gupta! Are you gonna make them stand out there all day?” said Graves, appearing behind Gupta.

The second man looked at least twice Gupta’s age, with a balding head.

“What? No,” said Gupta, stepping out of the way.

“Timothy Graves,” said the man. “Welcome to our temporary humble abode. And by the way, Anish was raised in a very comfortable and loving home in a rich suburb on the north side of Indianapolis.”

“Come on, dude! You’re ruining my street cred,” said Gupta.

“Trust me. You cashed in the last of your street cred when you graduated summa cum laude from MIT.”

“Damn. You’re a regular gangster,” said Audra Bauer.

“Hey, that’s not—” started Gupta.

“Just fucking with you, Anish,” she said. “Thank you for working your magic today.”

“Any time,” said Gupta.

“Foster care,” said Munoz. “Should have known better.”

“Dude, that was the first time I’ve ever seen you look sorry. Classic.”

Audra took in the grand two-story hallway, which ended at the back of the house, with a floor-to-ceiling bank of windows. “Very humble.”

“It’s kind of crazy,” said Graves. “And the place is fully stocked for us. Whatever you need, it’s here.”

“Right now, I need to see Karl Berg,” said Audra. “Try to make sense of this insanity.”

“He’ll be relieved to see you,” said Graves. “He’s been monitoring the situation very closely, against doctor’s orders.”

“I can’t believe this happened,” said Audra. “How is he doing?”

Darryl Jackson appeared from the shadows of the closest doorway in the two-story entry hallway.

“He’ll survive,” said Jackson. “But he’s in bad fucking shape.”

She detected resentment in Jackson’s voice. “How bad?”

“Bad enough,” said Jackson. “This shit got out of hand — real quick.”

“Not by my choice,” Audra said defensively.

“Nobody’s blaming anybody, but he ain’t good,” said Jackson. “He wanted to see you right away.”

Audra squeezed her husband’s hand. “I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll fix us something to eat,” said David Bauer, kissing her cheek and letting go of her hand.

Her husband headed toward the back of the grand hallway with Munoz and Daly while she made her way toward Jackson.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” she said, offering her hand.

He glanced at her hand skeptically before shaking it. “Wish it was under different circumstances,” said Jackson before guiding her through a dim hallway to a series of rooms that occupied the right half of the house.

“So do I,” she said. “How did you know they’d come after me?”

“Karl pieced it together,” said Jackson. “They grabbed him right out from under me last night. We’d just finished dinner.”

“He was really looking forward to having dinner with you,” said Bauer.

“Karl mentioned it?” said Jackson.

She nodded. “The day before. He stopped by with something.”

“He came by your office?” said Jackson.

“He did,” she said.

“Then all of this goes down,” said Jackson. “Sounds like somebody over at the CIA didn’t like this little something the two of you discussed.”

“Apparently not.”

Jackson stopped at a closed door, gripping the doorknob. “You sure you’re ready to see this?” he said. “He’s in bad shape.”

“Yes.”

He opened the door and nodded for her to enter. “I’ll let the two of you catch up.”

“Thank you, Darryl,” she said, patting his shoulder. “For everything.”

Jackson’s cautious look softened. “I’d do anything for that fool, and he knows it.”

“Then we have that in common. He can be persuasive.”

“Audra?” said Berg.

“See you in a few,” said Jackson before leaving.

She stepped into the massive room, immediately locating her friend. Berg lay on a patio lounger in front of the king bed, with a handheld radio gripped in his left hand. Even from the opposite side of the room, she could see that his face was badly bruised.

“Everyone got sick of you already?” she said, keeping the conversation humorous.

“Funny. I’m supposed to be resting. Out of the action,” said Berg. “Welcome to the recovery wing of Galenden’s villa.”

She approached the lounger, noting the small scattered red stains on the white sheet pulled up to his neck. He caught her staring at the spotted sheet.

“Seventy-six cuts,” said Berg. “They didn’t know what they were doing.”

“Jesus. I’m sorry, Karl,” she said. “Who did this to you? What did they want?”

“It’s complicated,” he said.

“How complicated?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean?” said Bauer.

“I mean I truly don’t know,” said Berg. “Nothing makes sense, which is why we need to spend some time sorting through the facts — as a group. A lot has gone on over the past twenty-four hours.”

“When do you want to start?” she said.

“As soon as they can wheel me into the main room,” said Berg. “We can’t afford to lose any time.”

Bauer nodded, taking his hand. “Thank you, Karl. I have no idea what they had planned for me, but judging by this—”

“I don’t think they had plans to kidnap you, Audra,” said Berg. “They were looking to close the loop on this.”

“On what?”

“All things Reznikov,” said Berg.

“The gift that keeps on giving,” she said. “I’ll get everyone together.”

Chapter 43

Berg felt somewhat embarrassed by his predicament. He lay in an admittedly plush lounge chair from the back patio, situated in the center of the home’s two-story-ceilinged great room. Not a bad place to convalesce under normal circumstances, but nothing was normal about the current situation. He’d been transferred to the lounge chair from a bed and carted here like royalty so they didn’t have to squeeze everyone into the bedroom to include him in the meeting.

On top of that, they needed quick access to Graves and Gupta’s suite of electronics. It made far more sense to bring him to the party instead of the other way around despite the fact that he looked ridiculous and largely out of place among them. At least he wasn’t in a hospital bed. That would have been the icing on the cake.

He caught Jackson shaking his head, trying to stifle a laugh. His friend glanced at him and looked away just as quickly, putting his head down to laugh into his hand.

“What?” said Berg.

“Nothing,” said Jackson, breaking into more silent laughter.

“Seriously. What?”

“I’m sorry, man. You look like… I don’t know what you look like.”

“Like the mummy,” said Melendez, pushing Jackson into a full laugh.

“Sorry, Karl,” said Jackson. “I’m fucking slaphappy at this point, and you do look a little out of place lying where the coffee table used to be.”

A few more laughs followed; then everyone settled down for the serious business at hand.

“First, this is not how I envisioned my next vacation. Just in case any of you were curious,” said Berg, getting the last of the laughter out of their systems.

“I think we can all agree that none of what has happened over the past twenty-four hours is a jumble of coincidences. This is all connected somehow, and I’m still not fully convinced it’s the Russians.”

“Sanderson is pretty convinced,” said Munoz.

“I want to go over what we know and expand our theory base if warranted,” said Berg. “I’d like Audra Bauer to take over at this point, because she does this kind of thing for a living, and as the newest addition to the island of misfit operatives and intelligence officers, I think she’s the least biased. Audra?”

Audra Bauer rose from the couch next to Berg and moved toward Graves and Gupta, who sat at a long Shaker-style table that supported all of their electronics gear. The table had been moved from the dining room and placed flush against a long bank of windows overlooking the pool and forested backyard. She stopped a few feet away from them and nodded at the group.

“Most of you don’t know me personally, though our paths have crossed. I don’t think it’s any secret that I work at the CIA. I was deputy director of the National Clandestine Service when those paths crossed, so I know about the background events potentially contributing to this sudden outbreak of kidnapping events. I’ve always been both impressed by and thankful for your work, even if I cringed every time I heard Sanderson’s name.”

“You’re not the only one,” said Daniel.

“I’ll second that shit,” said Jackson, and the group shared an uneasy laugh.

“Seriously, I just want to set the record straight. I believe in Sanderson’s work. Your work,” said Bauer. “The fact that any of you are here is a testament to the program.”

“Sanderson can be persuasive,” said Daniel.

“He’s a smart guy, with a solid knack for seeing the bigger picture,” said Bauer, pointing at Berg. “Same with this guy.”

“So how do we do this?” asked Jackson.

“Right now, we need to share what we know and piece things together. Here’s how I’d like to do it,” said Audra. “I ask directed, big-picture questions and get brief answers. If anyone disagrees they speak up. I’ll gradually narrow the questions until we get as close to a consensus as possible. Sound good?”

Everyone nodded or mumbled agreement. Berg had made the right choice putting her in charge. Audra facilitated decisions faster and more accurately than any high-level CIA officer he’d ever worked for during his thirty-plus-year career. Until True America stepped into the White House, he was convinced she’d sit behind the director’s desk one day.

“Let’s start in Chicago, with the attempted Petrovich abduction-murder. What do we know about the attack’s motivations?”

“Well justified in Srecko Hadzic’s mind. No question about that,” said Berg, glancing at Daniel, who nodded in agreement.

Jessica was missing from the group, which Berg still found to be highly unusual. She’d felt dizzy after planting the GPS tracker, according to Daniel. He didn’t press for a better answer. Daniel looked pretty short on patience, and he’d given up trying to figure out the Petroviches. He barely had the mental energy to focus on the problem at hand.

“What stands out as odd?” said Audra. “Big picture.”

Munoz answered, ostensibly as Sanderson. “Hadzic had been confirmed as killed in a botched attempt to rescue him from the United Nations Detention Unit at The Hague. There’s no way this could be covered—”

“Hold on,” said Bauer. “The shorter your answers, the better. Let’s get to the heart of the matter. Did Hadzic have the money and contacts necessary to make this happen?”

“Unlikely,” said Munoz.

“But not impossible,” Berg countered. “He still had several million dollars floating around and a devoted group of followers.”

“So we really can’t move beyond theories regarding Chicago,” said Bauer.

“I suppose not,” said Daniel, clearly not happy with the assessment.

“Let’s move on to Karl’s abduction,” said Audra. “What was different?”

“The team that kidnapped me was American. Military-style contractors, if I had to guess,” said Berg, instantly realizing she’d correct him.

“Let’s not guess,” said Audra. “Mr. Graves?”

The flat-screen TV mounted above the fireplace mantel activated, displaying a face with a red hole in the center of its forehead.

“Jesus,” said Audra’s husband.

Audra nodded curtly. “Sanderson’s people know how to shoot.”

“Bottom of the stairs,” said Munoz.

“Sorry. I would have done this in private, but there hasn’t been a spare minute since I got back,” said Audra. “Darryl, we’ll go through these quickly, on the off chance you recognize one of them. Mr. Jackson works in this industry and has extensive contacts throughout.”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Jackson.

The grotesque slide show proceeded until the fifth image.

“Hold up,” said Jackson.

Berg recognized the face. The man with two bullet holes in the upper forehead had been his chief torturer in the farmhouse cellar.

“You know him?” asked Berg.

“I don’t know for sure,” said Jackson, “but I swear I’ve seen him at Brown River. He’s not a member of the Special Operations Division. I know that much.”

“What do we know about this guy, Graves?”

“FRD identifies him as Samuel Harper. Staff sergeant in Force Recon, back when that was still a thing.”

“FRD?” Jackson queried.

“Facial Recognition Database,” said Graves. “Kind of like the federal fingerprint database, but for faces.”

“I didn’t know they had that kind of shit,” said Jackson.

“It’s part of the Next Gen Identification program. DNA, facial recognition, voice recognition, fingerprints. Big Brother stuff,” said Graves.

“Back to Harper, please,” Bauer prompted.

“Yep. Sorry. Harper got out of the Marine Corps in 2004 and worked for KBR in Iraq.”

“We provided security for the vast majority of KBR installations and convoys in Iraq. Still do. That’s it?” said Jackson.

“The trail stops with KBR, aside from a P.O. box in Fredericksburg, Virginia,” stated Graves.

Berg met Jackson’s eyes. This wasn’t good news.

“Brown River is based in Fredericksburg,” said Jackson. “What about the rest of the team?”

“All ex-military special forces, with P.O. boxes in—”

“Let me guess,” Jackson cut in. “Fredericksburg, Virginia.”

“We have possible employees of Brown River involved in Berg’s kidnapping.”

“Possible?” interrupted Graves.

“We’ll get to that,” said Bauer, cutting off Graves. “Karl, what did they want from you, beyond what we already discussed?”

Berg swallowed hard, thankful for her discretion. She understood the risks involved for his contact in Moscow.

“They wanted to know everything I knew about Reznikov’s current whereabouts, which is nothing.”

“So they sought very specific information to Reznikov?”

“Yes. A few days after I brought information about Reznikov to your attention.”

“Noted,” she said. “To recap, Berg’s abduction has no apparent direct tie to Jessica Petrovich’s, though the timing is suspicious. Berg’s captors were extremely interested in Reznikov’s current whereabouts, in addition to something I can’t share with you.”

Grumbling erupted from the group, which Berg expected. Secrets never sat well when people’s lives were on the line.

“I know what she’s referring to,” said Munoz. “This is the kind of secret you take to your grave. Trust me on this.”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” said Berg. “Did I really tell you?”

“And Jackson,” said Munoz. “I think the painkillers were talking.”

“Anything else related to Berg’s abduction?” said Bauer, steering them back on course.

“We’re still analyzing phone data,” said Graves.

Bauer nodded. “From what I’m told, you’ll find something if it’s there.”

“Damn skippy,” said Gupta. “Sorry. I felt like I needed to say something.”

“Don’t,” said Graves. “Please.”

“That brings us to tonight,” said Bauer. “Darryl, would you take over for me? I can’t answer my own questions objectively.”

“If you insist,” said Jackson, standing up. “Not sure I can match your style, but I’ll sure as shit try. First question is for Karl. How the fuck did you know they were all over her?”

Berg was thrown off by the question and the gruff tone. “Uhhhh… I didn’t. It was a theory. If it didn’t pan out, no harm, no foul.”

“Aside from one very pissed-off Audra Bauer and her husband,” said Jackson.

“Stick to questions,” said Bauer. “Big picture. Actually, there’s only one question you need to ask.”

“That sounds like a challenge,” said Jackson, appearing to think carefully. “All right. What was different about tonight?”

“Multiple vehicles following Bauer. A team set to grab her in the coffee shop parking lot. Itchy trigger fingers,” said Melendez.

Jackson shook his head. “Wrong question.”

“How did they know where Karl and Audra planned to meet?” Jackson probed.

Bauer nodded her approval while Berg refrained from answering. He needed the conclusion to be drawn from someone who hadn’t initially resisted the Russian theory. Abraham Sayar gave the answer he was looking for.

“Bauer’s phone is tapped.”

Jackson knew where to go with the answer. “Karl, what phone did you use to pass the meeting location and time to Audra?”

“Can I answer?” said Gupta.

“Go ahead,” said Jackson.

“On the most encrypted, secure-ass motherfucking satellite phone there is.”

“Thanks for the colorful description,” said Jackson. “Audra? How did you take Karl’s call?”

“On the encrypted phone in my office.”

“Karl, did you involve or inform anyone outside of this group about tonight’s plan?”

“No.”

“Has anyone else? Only answer if you have,” said Jackson.

Everyone shook their heads, mumbling.

“What is the likelihood that the Russians have compromised your office phone, Audra?”

“Zero,” she said.

“Bug planted in your bag? On your person somehow?”

She shook her head. “Unlikely. I’m screened for electronics upon entry to the building and again when I get to my floor.”

The conclusion was inescapable.

“Then tonight’s attempted abduction was an inside job,” Jackson concluded. “Inside the CIA, or inside Sanderson’s crew?”

A low discordance of disbelief and muttering started.

“Darryl is right. We can’t individually discount everyone in here based on their word alone. Sorry,” she said. “Graves?”

Sanderson’s lead surveillance tech smirked, a rare show of emotion from the guy, based on what Berg had witnessed from him today.

“Assuming I didn’t rig the game,” said Graves, “I’m confident none of Sanderson’s operatives sent any unauthorized transmissions.”

“How can you be sure?” said David Bauer.

“Because Sanderson is a paranoid motherfucker, as my colleague might say, and insisted that I monitor all of your communications,” said Graves. “Unless one of you is hiding a phone or tablet we didn’t manage to detect and infiltrate, the team is clean.”

“Even my phone?” asked Mazurov.

“Especially your phone,” said Graves. “Anyone that’s been out of the direct fold for a while got extra scrutiny.”

“So what do we have?” said Jackson.

“Not much,” admitted Bauer. “My office phone or the office itself is likely bugged. That indicates an internal problem.”

“Shit,” muttered Berg.

“What?”

“I was in your office talking about Reznikov a few days ago. They came for me first.”

“And I passed on your request to monitor any and all channels for any information about Sokolov or Reznikov.”

“Who’s Sokolov?” asked Daniel.

“Possible accomplice in Reznikov’s recent escape. Long story,” said Berg.

“Escape?”

“The Russians received information that Reznikov was working at a clandestine bioweapons laboratory sponsored by the Solntsevskaya Bratva. The raid failed, but the circumstances surrounding Reznikov’s truly miraculous last minute escape are suspect at best. Sokolov has been one of Reznikov’s personal bodyguards for a few years. His body was not recovered at the site, but the rest of Reznikov’s guards, along with a very high-ranking Bratva commander, were found dead a few miles downriver from the lab. We think Sokolov sold Reznikov to the highest bidder.”

Daniel nodded. “And that bidder is now trying to tie up any loose ends connected to Reznikov.”

“That would be my guess,” Berg agreed.

“Wonderful,” said Daniel. “Any idea who the highest bidder might be?”

Berg had to tread lightly here, because his latest theory sailed straight past conspiracy and landed in uncharted territory. They’d done it once. Why not again? He decided against sharing the theory.

“No. We need more information to start down that path,” said Berg. “Right now, we need to figure out who we can and cannot trust.”

“I don’t trust anyone outside of this room,” said Munoz. “Except for Sanderson.”

“We obviously can’t turn to the CIA,” said Jackson. “I’d cross Brown River off the list too.”

“FBI?” said David Bauer. “I have a few contacts there.”

Berg had almost forgotten about his conversation with Ryan Sharpe.

“Sorry. I forgot something. It’s been a long twenty-four hours,” said Berg. “I called Ryan Sharpe right after I brought the Reznikov intelligence to Audra’s attention, and asked him to facilitate adding Sokolov to as many international terrorist watch lists as he could wrangle. I didn’t explain why I was interested in Sokolov, and I never mentioned Reznikov. I asked for this as a favor. Sharpe is a guy I trust.”

“But we can’t cross him off the list of suspected leaks,” said Bauer.

“Then it looks like we’re back to square one, unless your electronic wizards can conjure up some kind of answer by mixing all of the captured cell phones in a cauldron or something,” said Jackson.

“I wish it worked like that. Be a lot easier than drinking ten cups of coffee between now until dawn,” said Graves. “We’re working on something, but it might take some time.”

“Then we’ll have to expedite the process,” said Jessica.

Everyone turned toward her voice. Jessica stood in the wide, high-arched opening that connected the main hallway with the great room — holding a knife to a man’s throat. The man in her grip had a black bag over his head.

“I guess the cat’s out of the bag,” said Graves.

“My guess is that this fucker can move things along nicely,” she explained.

Berg glanced at Daniel. “Looks like your wife made a speedy recovery.”

Daniel stood up. “We’ve been working on something.”

“Jesus,” stated Jackson, shaking his head in disbelief. “Now we’re kidnapping people? Did you know about this, Karl?”

“I honestly had no idea,” said Berg, looking to Audra. “Seriously.”

Bauer sighed. “This is officially out of control.”

Jessica wrangled the man into the room.

“The whole thing has been out of control since it started,” said Daniel. “This might be the only way to get it back under control.”

“Where did he come from?” asked Bauer.

“He was waiting for you in the parking lot behind the Freaky Bird,” said Jessica. “I kind of couldn’t help myself.”

“Nice of you to finally unveil your little secret,” Jackson smirked.

“To be honest, you’ve been the only thing holding it up,” said Munoz.

“Me? Seriously?” said Jackson. “I’m the only motherfucker in this room that can get in his car and go back to a normal life. I’m here for one reason and one reason only. To make sure my best friend doesn’t end up back where you guys found him this afternoon.”

“Sorry if we couldn’t just take your word for it,” said Daniel.

“Who’s we?”

“Everyone except Karl, Audra, and her husband,” Munoz answered. “The possible connection established to Brown River earlier today made us a little nervous.”

“And how exactly does this change things?” asked Bauer. “No offense, Darryl.”

“None fucking taken, I guess,” said Jackson.

Graves explained, “We did some deep digging—”

“That means hacking,” Gupta interrupted.

“Thank you for the unnecessary clarification,” said Graves. “We hacked into Brown River’s payroll database and found Samuel Harper. He makes a lot of money for a contractor.”

“How much?” asked Jackson.

“One hundred and fifty thousand. Salaried.”

“Salaried? Security contractors aren’t salaried.”

“Definitely salaried. We also found a onetime payment of one hundred and fifty thousand dollars paid two months ago.”

“Sounds like a onetime sign-up bonus, though we stopped those three years ago,” said Jackson.

“Apparently not,” said Daniel.

“Let’s cut to the point here,” said Jackson. “How does this supposedly clear me for your circle of trust?”

“You never left the circle,” said Berg. “We just needed to find someone bigger than Harper involved at Brown River to fully convince Sanderson’s people.”

“This guy?” asked Jackson, pointing at the hooded man.

“Yes. We found our new guest on the payroll too,” said Graves. “But his pay structure was a little higher.”

“How much higher?” said Jackson.

“To the tune of three hundred thousand higher.”

Jackson whistled. “Not many people at Brown River making that kind of money. Not anymore.”

“Then maybe you’ll recognize him,” said Munoz, nodding toward Jessica.

She pulled the hood off, tossing it to the floor, pushing the man forward.

“Jack Wellins?” said Jackson. “He ran Brown River’s Direct Action Group, a kind of off-the-books special missions roster. Left close to two years ago for another security firm. Ajax Global.”

Berg noted the timing. Another link supporting a wild theory he was starting to believe more and more by the minute.

“Then Brown River has made a continuous and costly payroll error,” said Graves. “He’s received a monthly paycheck from them for the past seven years, uninterrupted, plus a three-hundred-thousand-dollar bonus six months ago.”

“Damn, Jack! You hit the jackpot! Care to explain this peculiar discrepancy?” said Jackson. “Or maybe why you were waiting around a coffee shop to murder a senior CIA director.”

“Good to see you again, Darryl,” said Wellins.

“Wish I could say the same. Let’s get a closer look.”

Jessica manhandled him around one of the couches until he stood on the edge of the group, in easy view of everyone. He came across more defiant than intimidated.

“You look a little smug for your predicament,” Berg noted.

“I know exactly what’s going to happen here,” said Wellins. “Why dwell on it?”

“Then why not sit down in a comfortable chair,” Berg offered, motioning to an empty seat. “And enjoy a rare Scotch from the den while filling in the blanks for us. Beats the alternative.”

Wellins swallowed hard, looking around the room; his defiant facade tempered. “You know that’s not gonna happen. Hard to scare a dead man.”

Daniel Petrovich started laughing, followed by Sayar. When Munoz and Melendez joined in, Berg looked around to see what was so funny. Most of them were focused on Wellins, shaking their heads.

“What’s so funny?” said Wellins.

“I can’t speak for anyone else in the room, but I’m not here to scare you,” said Daniel. “I’m here to make you talk, by any means necessary. We’ll skip the beatings and move right into the cutting, of course. Seems like an appropriate place to start given what your team did to Mr. Berg. Then we’ll move on to far more creative methods. If all that fails, a few of us will make the drive down to your house in Midlothian and set up an interactive teleconference with your wife and kids. Interactive in a ‘you tell me what I want to know, and I don’t poke a kid’s eye’ out kind of way.”

Wellins struggled, held tightly in check by Jessica’s forearm and the knife pressed against his neck.

“You will not touch my family,” snarled Wellins. “They’re off-limits.”

“I don’t have any limits,” said Daniel.

“You can’t let them do that,” said Wellins, looking to Bauer. “We follow unwritten rulebooks governing these things. You know that.”

“Maybe if I knew who you were working for, I could convince them to observe those rules,” said Bauer. “Brown River doesn’t count.”

“They’re off-limits,” repeated Wellins. “You know that.”

“I’m not the one you need to convince,” said Audra.

The man’s glance shifted to Berg.

“Don’t look at me,” said Berg. “I have seventy-six painful reminders why I don’t give a fuck what they do to you or your family.”

Chapter 44

Darryl Jackson strolled into the great room, sipping his coffee more out of habit than necessity at this point in the morning. The effects of caffeine long ago quit having any measurable impact on his system. Just a little longer, and he’d settle in for a long nap. His wife was on the road, headed up to Princeton to get their daughter Liz and disappear until this mess cleared up. If it cleared up. Their other daughter, Emily, would be a little harder to safeguard. She was in her first year of law school at the University of California at Berkeley, thousands of miles away. Convincing a first-year law student to ditch classes and “disappear” would take some finesse. He’d let his wife handle that one, backed by a sizable emergency nest egg. Whatever it took for them to disappear.

As soon as he could break free from this mess, he’d meet up with his wife and figure out a way to get Emily. Unfortunately, he couldn’t give his wife a timeline for his departure. The more information they dug out of Wellins, which had been surprisingly scant so far, the stranger things sounded.

Audra Bauer walked into the great room and collapsed on the couch next to him. Karl Berg jarred awake and glanced over at them from the lounge chair. He’d been here all night, in and out of sleep based on the acquisition of new information.

“Well?” Berg prompted.

“I think the well is dry,” said Bauer. “He mumbled Ajax a few more times then passed out.”

“That’s it?” asked Jackson.

“He’s barely recognizable,” she replied with a tired, vacant look. “I can’t imagine they’ll get anything else out of him. He’s wrecked far beyond what they did to you, and I’m not letting them pay a visit to the man’s family. That’s nonnegotiable. I’ll turn myself in before I let that happen.”

Berg shook his head. “Sanderson’s cyber team hasn’t made any headway with Ajax. It doesn’t exist.”

“We scoured every possible public and government record for a company matching that name, involved in the same line of work,” said Graves. “Nothing remotely related came to our attention.”

“Well, you missed something,” said Jackson, turning toward Graves. “No offense.”

“I’m used to it,” said Graves. “But we didn’t miss anything.”

“Your head was on the desk a few minutes ago,” said Jackson.

“We’re all tired.”

“I distinctly recall a few managers and executives jumping ship for Ajax around the same time as Wellins. I checked out their website. Pretty slick compared to ours. I remember bringing that up with HR,” said Jackson. “The place is real. Somewhere just outside of Petersburg, Virginia.”

“Have you actually seen it?” asked Berg.

“You ever actually see Brown River?” Jackson shot back, slightly agitated.

“We’re not questioning the existence of Brown River,” said Berg.

“Fine. No, I’ve never seen the Ajax facility.”

“Maybe we’re not defining Ajax correctly? We know Wellins never technically left Brown River, right? He can say Ajax all day until he’s blue in the face,” said Berg. “But he’s a Brown River employee. Same with Harper, which brings up another issue. Brown River has done a lot of hiring over the past six months, according to payroll. What was the total, Graves?”

“Three thousand six hundred and forty-three new hires, all former military or law enforcement. Pay scales are divided into three distinct categories. Three thousand and forty-two at seventy-five thousand dollars annually, plus a single one-hundred-thousand-dollar lump sum payment. Then it jumps to five hundred and fifty employees at the same level as Harper. All salaried. That leaves fifty-one coming in at the very generous Wellins level.”

“This is all news to me. I was told we’re in replace-only mode for hiring,” said Jackson. “How much does all of this represent?”

“For fiscal year 2009, we’re talking seven hundred and thirty-six million dollars, rounded up. Fixed salary costs moving forward will be three hundred and thirty-four million dollars. This isn’t counting guys like Wellins, who joined Ajax beyond that six-month window.”

“That’s one hell of a capital expenditure,” said Bauer.

“Like they’re building an army,” said Berg. “Called Ajax.”

Jackson was stunned by the numbers. Nearly a billion in salary expenses alone for this year? He worked on the global operations side of the house, and their budgets had shrunk consistently over the past three years. Maybe Ajax was paying Brown River to piggyback on their payroll department? He knew that didn’t make sense, but he had to ask.

“Any way Ajax is using Brown River’s payroll division to process their own payroll?”

“Brown River is claiming these employees for tax purposes,” said Graves. “And that would be one hell of an employee expansion for a company that doesn’t exist.”

“I don’t know what to say or do at this point,” said Jackson. “Seriously. We can’t go to the FBI or CIA, and we might have a four-thousand-man death squad operating on U.S. soil, half of which is probably driving the streets, looking for us right now.”

“Looking for us,” Berg corrected. “Not you.”

“I don’t like the way that sounded,” said Jackson. “It sounded an awful lot like I’m about to be asked to do something that scares the shit out of me.”

“The cyber team has put together something they hope you can deliver to Brown River,” said Bauer.

“Waltzing into Brown River with this discovery doesn’t sound like a healthy idea right now. Or ever.”

“Hear us out,” said Berg.

“I knew I shouldn’t have left the two of you alone earlier,” Jackson grumbled.

“Graves wants you to log into your computer from a hardwire connection at your desk and insert a flash drive. Follow the directions on the screen, and the virus will take care of the rest. They think the Ajax information is on a network compartmentalized from the rest of Brown River’s visible network, but might be able to find a way to access it internally.”

“It’s highly probable that someone ‘officially’ working at Brown River has full knowledge of Ajax. Possibly several or more. It’s just too damn big of an operation to exist in a vacuum, and the fact that they’re piggybacking it on the Brown River payroll suggests collusion. I’m guessing these are highly placed executives and managers, who would require access to the Ajax network.”

“It’s a long shot, Darryl, but that’s all we have at this point. We need to keep pulling at threads until this unravels,” said Bauer.

“All right. I’ll do this, but after I deliver the virus and you guys confirm it’s working, I need to take care of my family. Cheryl’s on her way up to Princeton to get Liz, and I have no idea what’s going on with my daughter in California.”

“Does the timing work?” asked Berg. “I don’t want to put you in danger. You’ve done enough already.”

“I’m due back from my conference tomorrow, but it won’t raise any eyebrows if I roll in later this morning. I’ve been known to bail on conferences early.”

“Thank you, Darryl. If you sense anything is wrong at Brown River, you walk away. Promise me that.”

“You can bet your ass on it.”

And he wasn’t kidding. One sign of trouble and Darryl Jackson was gone.

Chapter 45

Ryan Sharpe took the call, despite it originating from a satellite phone, as indicated by its prefix. He had news for Karl Berg and had previously left a message asking him to get in touch.

“Karl, this is Sharpe,” he said. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you. I have some information to pass related to the favor you requested.”

Berg sounded flustered. “Yes. Sorry about that. My phone was stolen a few days ago. I was required to remotely deactivate it, for obvious reasons. You’ve found Sokolov?”

“I wouldn’t say we found him, but a report out of Libreville fits the bill.”

“As in Gabon? Africa?”

“Of all places, right?”

“Actually, it’s not surprising, if this is him,” said Berg.

“Here’s what we have. A local organized crime informant reported the purchase of small arms with ammunition, a few sets of body armor, and an expensive four-wheel-drive vehicle by two Russians that flew into an airport on the outskirts of the city.”

“This is unusual in Libreville?”

“Russians aren’t uncommon in Libreville, but filthy ones flying into sketchy airports and liaising with Gabonese crime syndicates in the middle of the night are apparently very unusual. Enough for the informant to file a report.”

“Filthy?”

“The two men smelled and looked like they had walked out of the jungle,” said Sharpe. “That’s right out of the report.”

“Like they’ve been on the run.”

“And headed somewhere in a hurry,” said Sharpe. “I hope this helps.”

“It does. Thank you,” said Berg. “Is there any way for me to get more detailed information? Perhaps a place to start an investigation if we were to put some discreet assets in Libreville?”

“The Saint De Marquis market west of the city.”

“Perfect. Thank you,” said Berg, a long pause ensuing.

Sharpe could sense something else brewing and wasn’t surprised at all when Berg continued.

“I stumbled onto something that… let’s just say I have no idea how to present this without coming across as paranoid.”

“Sounds promising.”

“I know. Not exactly the best hook, so I’m just going to be blunt,” said Berg. “Have you ever heard of a company called Ajax Global?”

“Sure,” said Sharpe. “We’ve lost a number of agents to them over the past few years. They become law enforcement consultants, whatever that means. Same thing used to happen with Brown River, but that slowed down. Pretty much stopped, actually.”

“Interesting. That fits what I uncovered.”

Sharpe didn’t really have time for CIA conspiracy theories, but he had to admit that Berg had him intrigued. If anything, he might be able to pass something on to the Human Resources Branch that could help them stem the tide of departing agents.

“What’s on your mind, Karl?”

“Ajax doesn’t exist,” said Berg.

“Of course it does,” said Sharpe.

“Just hear me out. Ajax exists in name, but not in substance. I have evidence directly suggesting that employees who left Brown River for jobs at Ajax have continued to be paid by Brown River, for up to two years in some cases. On top of that, Brown River payroll indicates close to four thousand new hires in the past six months, but a senior Brown River executive swears they’ve been in a hiring downswing for three years. The payroll numbers add up to nearly a billion dollars for fiscal year 2009, a big number for a company that has never been valued at more than a billion dollars.”

“Sounds like a Treasury issue to me. IRS?” said Sharpe.

“I think they’re raising a small army under the radar,” said Berg. “Just look into this, discreetly, and get back to me if you want to hear the rest of the story.”

“The rest of the story?”

“Be very discreet. I can attribute two domestic kidnapping attempts to employees on this mysterious Brown River payroll.”

“That’s sounding more like the FBI’s jurisdiction,” said Sharpe.

“You have no idea. I’m going to email you a file with the payroll information, all packaged for your consumption.”

“I’m sure there’s a federal warrant associated with the acquisition of that data.”

“Sure. I’ll send that along later today,” said Berg. “Promise me you’ll do a little digging and get back to me.”

“I’ll take a look,” said Sharpe. “Is this a good number for you?”

“Let me give you a different number,” said Berg. “It’s a redirect. I’m serious about being discreet, Ryan.”

“Understood.”

“Be in touch shortly,” said Berg, ending the call.

Sharpe stared at the phone. That was by far the most intriguing call he’d taken all year. He rubbed his chin. What to do with this one? Seriously. The side investigation into Sokolov hadn’t uncovered any earth-shattering reason to explain why Shelby and Berg were keen to find him, other than what they knew from the start. Former Eastern Bloc commando turned mercenary. Dime a dozen, really. He’d turned up in an interesting location, but that was about the extent of it.

Now Berg was talking about “off the books” domestic paramilitary groups on a kidnapping spree? Cooked books, perhaps, at one of the largest international security corporations in the world? Why not? It wouldn’t take Dana and her team long to substantiate enough of Berg’s claim to decide whether to look further.

Sharpe got up from his desk and opened his office door, making his way toward Dana’s office. He knocked on the door frame and stepped into the opening.

“Busy?”

“You know I’m not,” she said. “Come in. What’s up?”

He stepped inside, closing the door. “I just passed along the Sokolov news to Berg, and he hit me with something else.”

“You were just talking to him?” she asked.

“Yeah. Why?”

“Probably nothing, but remember when we tied Sanderson’s original Argentina location to various land holdings owned by Ernesto Galenden?”

The memory of that exciting moment came with a bitter taste. He paused a little too long. Hesterman had originally discovered Sanderson’s headquarters.

“Sorry. I didn’t even think of the connection,” she said, touching her scar. “I kind of wear a constant reminder of Eric.”

“It’s not your fault. Sometimes it just hits me like a hammer,” said Sharpe. “Usually when I’m least expecting it. Galenden?”

“Murdered yesterday in his Buenos Aires office.”

“That’s big. How did you come across that?”

“I activated every possible reporting protocol linked to Berg when you had me look into Sokolov. Same protocols that helped us narrow our search for Sanderson to Argentina, adding everything else we’ve ever connected to Sanderson. Came up in my feed this morning. I thought it might be something you’d want to pass on to Berg, to tell Sanderson. We know he played a major role in funding Sanderson at one point.”

“Probably still does today. I’ll give Berg a call when I get back to my office. Any suspects?”

“I didn’t dig any deeper,” she said. “I can call our liaison at the embassy.”

“No. I have a direct line to a senior federal investigator there,” said Sharpe. “I need you to look into something else.” He explained Berg’s call.

“Wow. That’s one hell of a conspiracy theory,” she said.

“It’s probably nothing, but be discreet.”

“This won’t take long. You can’t hide a company,” said O’Reilly. “Especially one with four thousand new employees.”

“Let’s hope not,” said Sharpe. “They don’t sound like the kind of employees you want to vanish.”

Chapter 46

Berg didn’t have to wait long for Sanderson to answer his call. He imagined the general sitting around in the same kind of sleep-deprived stupor, racking his brain with conspiracy theories while the information trickled in at a painfully slow pace. The news he had to share would definitely wake him up.

“Karl, what are we looking at?” Sanderson asked.

“Good news and bad news. I just got off the phone with Ryan Sharpe. They have a lead on Sokolov. Sounds like Reznikov’s with him.”

“That’s good news. How solid is the intelligence?”

“Not very,” said Berg, explaining what Sharpe had passed along.

“Thin, but promising. Any chance of getting CIA support on this? Some money-pliable law enforcement contacts? Information on the organized crime scene players? We’re going to attract a lot of attention there poking around the markets for Russians buying illegal weapons.”

“This is where the bad news starts. Audra Bauer was my only conduit to get that kind of information, and she doesn’t know who to trust.”

“Right,” said Sanderson.

Berg still sensed a lingering doubt about the CIA mole theory, despite having presented nearly incontrovertible evidence to support it.

“Terrence, someone listened to my conversation with Bauer from her end. That suggests a real problem at the CIA. Add the phantom army Brown River created for someone with deep pockets, and a disturbing picture emerges. A picture with True America written all over it.”

“I’m analyzing every angle. Hear me out on this. Assuming the phantom Ajax group was behind your abduction—”

“There’s no assuming. The team was on Brown River’s payroll, and Wellins went to work for Ajax, whether it exists in writing or not.”

“Fair enough. An off-the-books team paid by Brown River grabs you, looking for information about your contact in Moscow. A well-placed contact, from what I gather.”

“One I’m willing to go to my grave protecting,” said Berg.

“Apparently,” said Sanderson.

“I don’t think they had any practical experience with torture methods,” said Berg.

“Sounds like they did a fair enough job,” said Sanderson. “So. They grab you — interested in all things Russian.”

“And Reznikov,” said Berg. “True America has a vested interest in putting that story to bed.”

“So do the Russians,” said Sanderson.

“Fair enough.”

“Then they lose you rather spectacularly. Right?”

“Right,” admitted Berg.

“Less than six hours later, they try to grab Bauer out of desperation, who they could have easily followed out of Langley. The Russians know the two of you are connected. They do their homework.”

“But they set up at the coffee shop before Bauer drove out of headquarters.”

“One of her favorite stops on the way home. A shitty private investigator hired to find Bauer would stake that place out,” said Sanderson. “And Wellins? He’s part of this Ajax group. A very real, well-paid, under-the-radar part of Brown River that maybe doesn’t discriminate against well-paying clients.”

“The Russians,” Berg stated.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you found a Russian-backed investor or two behind the sudden influx of capital at Brown River. I’m not saying this isn’t a major fucking problem or that we ignore it. I just can’t shake the strong feeling that the Russians are behind this. And now they have a small army inside the U.S. Wellins probably thinks he was running some kind of patriotic errand. Taking on a rogue cabal of conspirators within the CIA. Wouldn’t be the first time contractors at Brown River have been misused this way. I seem to remember an enterprising CIA officer sending some contractors to kill an imminent threat to the United States back in 2005.”

He was right. Berg had convinced Jackson to send a team up to D.C. to kill Petrovich under the guise of national security. Sanderson’s case for Russian puppet masters was solid, possibly made stronger by the rest of the news he needed to share.

“There’s something else you need to know, which I think tips the scale in favor of your theory. Ernesto Galenden was murdered sometime yesterday. I just received word from Sharpe, on the heels of the Reznikov tip. One of Sharpe’s contacts in the Argentine Federal Police said Galenden was tortured extensively.”

“When was the estimated time of death?”

“They think before midnight,” said Berg. “His last appointment of the day was with two Russian executives from Gazprom.”

“They weren’t executives with Gazprom. More likely Zaslon. None of this is coincidence, Karl,” said Sanderson. “Is there any doubt in your mind what’s going on right now?”

“There’s always doubt. But it sounds like we need to relocate.”

“That’s a good start. There’s no telling how deep the Russians will dig into Galenden’s holdings, and with an army ready at their disposal, there’s no telling how quickly you might have uninvited guests. I’ll do the same here, effective immediately.”

“Our primary focus right now is to build an airtight case against Ajax, or whatever Brown River is hiding.”

“Add staying alive to that to-do list,” said Sanderson.

“We’ll fit that in somewhere,” said Berg. “Right now, we need to find new accommodations. I may need to break this group into smaller pieces to stay hidden.”

“I don’t advise that,” said Sanderson. “Munoz and Melendez will stay with you, guaranteed. You’re their mission right now. Same with Graves and Gupta. I can’t say the same for Mazurov or Sayar, and I know the Petroviches will fade away if pulled too far away from the group’s center of gravity. If the Petroviches split, you can definitely kiss the other two goodbye. That doesn’t leave you with much if an opportunity arises.”

“Any chance of reinforcements?”

“Everyone I have here is either tied up waiting for the Reznikov mission or tied up with our imminent evacuation. I have some assets in Europe, but given Russia’s sudden interest in my organization, they’ll need to lie low,” said Sanderson.

“We’ll figure something out.”

“I know a secluded place about three hours out of D.C. It’s a little rustic and hasn’t been used in about three years, but I can guarantee its secrecy.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because you don’t know about it, and neither does the FBI,” said Sanderson. “I monitor it remotely. Nobody outside of the Black Flag family has entered the structure. You’ll be safe there as long as you don’t drag anything back with you.”

“Does it have running water?”

“If you can start the site’s generator. If not, a large off-the-shelf replacement will run everything you’ll need for now.”

“I’ll take it,” said Berg. “Send directions to Graves.”

“No need. Munoz and the Petroviches know where to find it.”

“That’s where you rebooted the program,” said Berg, with an air of reverence.

“I spent two good years there. Productive years. I’d love to see it again.”

“One of these days.”

“I’m not counting on it,” said Sanderson.

The thought of turning into a permanent refugee like Sanderson depressed him. They needed to get to the bottom of this conspiracy fast so they could figure out who to trust or, more importantly, who not to trust. He’d already taken one giant leap of faith in that direction.

“I asked Sharpe to look into Ajax,” said Berg. “Hopefully he’ll have something by the time we get resettled in our new location.”

“I was going to suggest trusting Sharpe,” said Sanderson. “You might want to consider a few press sources. Blowing this wide open could put Brown River out of business at least. Also might come in handy as an insurance policy.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” said Berg. “I’ll make sure Graves puts together a tidy, failsafe package.”

“We’ll get this sorted, Karl. Might be a little messy, but that’s the nature of this business. It certainly wouldn’t hurt if we got our hands on Reznikov. He’s our ultimate bargaining chip with the Russians. I can’t move my team to Libreville without better intelligence or local cooperation.”

“I’m not sure how we can pull that off right now.”

“What about Manning? Is there any way Audra can convince her boss to help with Libreville? Activate some ground assets to start asking questions? Liaison with my people on the ground? There’s no way he’s in on this conspiracy.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” said Berg. “She doesn’t want to get him killed.”

“Give her some time to simmer down from last night,” said Sanderson. “I need to get moving. I want to be long gone when they arrive.”

After the call ended, Berg lay alone in the great room, replaying the conversation. Something nagged him, a stray thought washed away by relentless waves of exhaustion. It was probably nothing. He had bigger things to worry about right now, like their immediate departure. They’d have to figure out what to do with Wellins. Probably dump him in a shallow grave in the woods.

Same with Foley. He hated to do it to her, but they couldn’t risk properly dealing with her body. It wasn’t like they could leave her at the front door of a funeral parlor with a note. They’d deal with her later. Bauer walked in from the kitchen, interrupting his thoughts.

“We’re almost packed up,” she said.

“Good. Sanderson has a safe place we can use. It’s about three hours from here.”

“The further the better for now.”

He suddenly remembered what was bothering him. “Audra… Thomas Manning,” he started.

“I’m not getting him involved,” she said forcefully.

“Have you spoken with Thomas this morning?”

“I called to let him know I wouldn’t be in today. He’s at the office. I bypassed him with the Sokolov request and went straight to Zane Abid, my replacement at NCS. There’s no reason for Ajax to go after him.”

“But he knows about Reznikov. Everything about Reznikov,” said Berg. “Yet he wasn’t targeted.”

“He wasn’t in the loop.”

“The latest loop. Something about Reznikov’s recent escape made someone nervous,” said Berg. “Sanderson just had me ninety-nine percent convinced it’s the Russians cleaning house, but Manning should be missing if that was the case.”

“Three missing CIA officers at one time would raise some serious eyebrows,” said Bauer. “Maybe they were showing a little restraint.”

“Maybe,” said Berg, not really convinced.

He needed a lot of rest and some time to think this through. The three-hour car ride ahead of them would be a start.

Chapter 47

James Quinn stormed across the White House lobby, annoyed that he’d been pulled from the weekly Homeland Security meeting. It was hard enough to get everyone in one place with his or her undivided attention. By the time he got back, Jacob Remy would have command of the room, cheered on by that monkey on his shoulder, Gerald Simmons. How Crane had retained the two of them seriously perplexed Quinn.

Now he had Shelby on the line, insisting the call was critical. Normally he would have called Shelby back later, but the former director of the FBI had somehow curried serious favor with Beverly Stark, Crane’s chief of staff. Shelby wouldn’t hesitate to jump the chain of command and call her. Quinn had a good idea why Shelby had called, and didn’t want to hear about it from Stark. He could envision her interrupting the meeting he’d just left with the news, which would make him look like an idiot.

The internal politics in this place made his head spin. Part of him wished the new administration had given him the boot, along with everyone else that seemed to have a clue. He entered his office in the northwest corner of the West Wing and thanked the unfortunate staffer tasked to drag him out of the meeting. After shutting the door firmly, Quinn took a seat at his desk and picked up the encrypted phone, pressing a button to connect the call.

“Sorry about the delay, Frederick,” he said. “The staffer spent longer than usual fretting outside the Roosevelt Room.”

“Nobody wants to drag the national security advisor out of an important meeting, especially the Homeland Security meeting. I apologize for insisting, but I have some time-sensitive information that I think you’ll agree beats entertaining the likes of Jacob Remy and Gerald Simmons.”

“You really don’t like them, do you?” asked Quinn.

“No. And neither do you,” said Shelby, bluntly getting to the point. “I just received some promising intelligence from the FBI regarding the possible location of Reznikov. Admittedly, the intelligence is a little light on substance, but it’s worth investigating.”

Quinn listened to the details, feeling less than enthused by what Shelby recounted.

“I’m not saying this doesn’t have potential, but I don’t think I can take this to the president, Frederick,” said Quinn. “Seriously. Two Russians arrive in Libreville in the middle of the night to buy guns and an SUV on the black market? I’m not even sure who we’d send. I can’t imagine General Gordon biting off on this unless he was forced.”

“My next call was going to be Zane Abid. NCS should be able to lend a hand,” said Shelby.

“I wouldn’t get your hopes up too high,” said Quinn. “The U.S. hasn’t focused much attention on Gabon recently, or ever. Their embassy presence will be minimal.”

“Somebody has to follow up on this intelligence,” said Shelby. “I’d get on a plane myself and do it if I didn’t look more fit to be on a luxury safari than a covert field operation. The CIA will have to figure something out. I’ll call Abid and apply some pressure. You do the same on your end. Please. Sorry if it sounded like I tacked the please on as a formality. I didn’t ask for things in my former job.”

Shelby’s last statement was the closest the man had come to not sounding like an asshole since he’d met him. Quinn had wondered if Shelby realized that going from the job of director of the FBI to principal deputy director of National Intelligence was a significant step down in authority. Even the director of National Intelligence was more of an administrative and advisory role than anything, exercising no authority to command any of the sixteen agencies comprising the United States intelligence community. It wasn’t a bad place at all to land if one had higher ambitions in government, and Quinn was fairly certain Shelby had his eye on a bigger prize.

“Let me see what I can do,” said Quinn, recalling a recent conversation with Raymond Burke, senior counsel to the president.

Burke had asked Quinn where things stood with Sanderson’s people, specifically if they could be trusted to work on behalf of the new administration. President Crane had so far been reluctant to use any unconventional programs, waiting for the political dust to settle. Burke indicated that the president might soon be open to exploring these options, especially if they could solve problems without the public deployment of troops.

“There is another option. Something off the books we’ve used before. In fact, you have some experience with this option. Both good and bad.”

“I think I know what you’re talking about,” said Shelby. “I’m not a big fan of using mercenaries, particularly the kind with a history of attacking federal agents and blackmailing the United States.”

“I feel your pain, trust me, but they’ve proven themselves trustworthy time and time again since those days. If the CIA and DOD can’t help, they may be our only option.”

“Then we better hope the president can convince at least one of the vast public entities entrusted with protecting the United States to do their job,” said Shelby.

“We’ll work this from both ends. We can’t afford to let this opportunity slip by. And very nice job wrangling this intelligence. The fact that it came from a nontraditional intelligence source will help sell it.”

“I’ll pass that along to my guy at the bureau.”

After hanging up with Shelby, Quinn leaned back in his leather office chair and considered the options. The Homeland Security meeting would have to go on without him, not that it ever stopped. He’d take this to Beverly Stark immediately and get the ball rolling. Maybe NCS could put together a ground team here, augmented by a few area experts, and fly them into Libreville. If the decision was made within the next few hours, they could have a team on the ground and in place within twenty-four hours. How hard could it be to track two out-of-place Russians in the Gabon jungle?

Chapter 48

Yuri Prerovsky walked up the stairs to his floor, egg salad sandwich and warm Styrofoam container of potato soup in hand. He was bummed about the sandwich. The seemingly endless string of meetings had pushed well past one o’clock, leaving him with the wretched choice between egg salad and the barely seasoned ground mystery meat. The decision came down to numbers. Two egg salad sandwiches remained in the stainless steel bin, dwarfed by a neighboring mountain of plastic-wrapped mystery-meat bombs. It wasn’t a tough call.

Half of his section was empty, most of the agents and staff eating in the underground cafeteria. He usually took his lunch at his desk, catching up on emails or prioritizing reports. Mindless work while he took a few minutes to fill up on enough calories to keep him from buying crap at a vendor stall on the way back to his apartment, where he could cook a real meal from scratch, one of the few things he looked forward to on weekdays.

He reached his tiny office and squeezed between the wall and desk to his chair facing the door. Placing the desk in the middle of the office like this was one of the least optimal configurations to take advantage of the confined space, but Kaparov had taught him well.

“Why make it so easy for me to see that you’ve been staring at the same screen for the past hour?” he’d say. “I can always find something for you to do, or stare at.” Truer words had never been spoken at headquarters.

Prerovsky settled into his chair and faced his most important decision of the day. Did he start with the soup or sandwich? He started to unwrap the sandwich. Better to get it out of the way. The potato soup wasn’t half bad. With one hand holding the sandwich, he typed his password with the other, activating his home screen.

A quick scan of his email inbox revealed dozens of messages sent by other assistant deputy directors or their minions during the morning stretch of meetings. Several came from Gennadiy Yurievich, who’d sat right next to him all morning and never said a word to him! He was the second most junior assistant director in the organized crime division, a precarious position in the hierarchy to hold in a division that clearly had a few too many assistant directors. Prerovsky’s presence could only be perceived as a constant threat to the man’s job. If only Yurievich knew that he’d gladly trade this office for a field job at this point.

The sandwich had drifted close enough to his nose to remind him why he didn’t like egg salad. Egg salad was something you made with eggs nobody would eat, and enough mayo to cover up the reason why. He’d almost taken a bite anyway when an “email alert” caught his eye. He didn’t get many of those. Prerovsky lowered the sandwich after reading the subject line and clicked on the message. He skimmed it once and picked up his office phone, dialing a familiar extension.

“Deputy Director Kaparov,” his friend answered.

“Why the formality?”

“Ah, Yuri. It’s because they swept in a few weeks ago and installed that abysmal key-encrypted phone system. It doesn’t give you any indication of who’s calling. Could be the fucking director himself! You can’t let it go to voicemail. Or shouldn’t. I don’t really give a shit.”

“A few weeks?” said Prerovsky. “I’m surprised they haven’t made the transition here already.”

“I’d be surprised if they ever did. How else would the Bratva stay one step ahead of the FSB?” said Kaparov. “You didn’t hear me say that.”

“But everyone else did,” said Prerovsky. “Have you taken lunch yet? There’s a hotdog cart not too far away. I’m staring at an egg salad sandwich, or rather smelling it, and sincerely wishing it away. My treat.”

“You know the way to my stomach, Yuri. I can eat Stardogs for lunch and dinner.”

“Meet you downstairs in a few minutes,” said Prerovsky.

He memorized the details of the message, shaking his head. If Sokolov and Reznikov were still connected at the hip like his friend suspected, this information could only mean one thing, and it changed everything.

Chapter 49

Sanderson sat on the balcony of an apartment a few blocks west of Plaza 9 de Julio in Barrio Los Molles. The building had been renovated into luxury apartments close to a year ago, with one of Sanderson’s shell companies as its earliest significant real estate investor. He’d purchased three adjoining units to use as a backup to their new headquarters in the hills north of the city. The shell company used for the transaction had no link to Ernesto Galenden, nor had it been used to purchase anything remotely traceable to the Black Flag program. It sat mostly dormant all of these years, maintained in electronic perpetuity by a Cayman Islands-based financial house.

He’d stay here with the organization’s remaining skeleton crew until they found a new location safe from Russia’s renewed interest in his operations. He’d strongly considered leaving Argentina altogether. With their connection to Galenden no longer a secret to the Russians, Argentina might prove to be a difficult place to stay hidden, no matter where they relocated.

When Farrington’s team returned from Africa, he’d rent warehouse space and housing outside of Buenos Aires to accommodate the group until they came up with a permanent plan. It wasn’t like they were busy. The operation in Gabon was the first full-scale deployment of Black Flag assets in several months, and it felt like more of a wild-goose chase than anything else.

Not that he was complaining. Even if they’d just thrown him a bone to keep him occupied, a professionally and discreetly executed mission would make an impression on somebody. Then they’d get another operation and another. Baby steps. If the Africa operation yielded Reznikov, he could get the Russians off his back in a hurry. Even if it didn’t produce the scientist, he’d offer to deliver an unambiguous warning to the Russians about the price of kidnapping CIA officers. Everything hinged on Farrington’s success, which was why he’d stacked the deck, sending most of his operatives.

The satellite phone attached to his belt chimed. He wasn’t expecting to hear from Farrington for at least another hour, when they landed at the Royal Air Force airfield on Ascension Island to refuel for the continued trip to Libreville. He hoped the mission hadn’t been scrapped. They really needed this one. The numbers indicated on the phone’s digital screen eased his worry. He could think of no reason why they’d have Karl pass him the bad news.

The CIA officer wasn’t in the operational loop on this one. Or in any official loop, it appeared. At this point, Berg was running solo, with Bauer pursuing a soon-to-be irrelevant angle, all from an isolated location three hours away from D.C. Out of respect for everything Berg had done for Sanderson in the past, he would keep him in the loop regarding the Africa mission. He owed him that much.

“Miss me already?” he answered. “The light switch for the back porch is in the pantry off the kitchen. Whoever wired—”

“We have a problem,” Berg cut in.

Here we go.

Berg’s mind was relentlessly spinning in circles around the evidence he’d gathered, unable to settle on the obvious conclusion.

“Now what?” he asked, unable to restrain his irritation.

“I just received word from my source in Moscow. Sokolov was spotted in Ciudad Juarez, Mexico, yesterday, accompanied by an unidentified Russian.”

“He can’t be in both places at the same time,” said Sanderson. “What’s the source?”

“Hard to say. An FSB surveillance operation in Mexico City logged the call, placing Sokolov and his Russian friend at a bar in a brothel within the city’s red-light district. FSB surveillance confirmed that the Bratva has sent a team north to investigate.”

“The source used the name Sokolov, but not Reznikov?”

“Yes. The Bratva placed a considerable bounty on Sokolov’s head. I just learned that. They must have drawn the same conclusion I did about Reznikov’s all too convenient escape.”

“How significant of a bounty?”

“I know what you’re thinking. Money makes people see things.”

“In this case, conveniently at the source’s favorite whorehouse.”

“I have two problems with summarily dismissing this as a fake sighting. First, the source identified two Russians. The bounty was specific to Sokolov, making no mention of anyone else. Why would the source make up the sighting and add another Russian to the mix?”

“To make it more realistic?” Sanderson suggested.

“Maybe, but what’s the point? When the Bratva arrives, you’re stuck holding an empty bag, no matter how detailed you described its contents. Which underscores an even bigger problem. What does the source think is going to happen to him when the Bratva finds the bag empty and quickly determines it never held anything? You’d have to be suicidal to report a false sighting like this to the Russian mob.”

“This information is a day old?” said Sanderson.

“At least.”

“Then Sokolov and Reznikov are either dead or back in the Bratva’s possession by now. Unless you can convince the powers that be to deploy a second task force to Ciudad Juarez, there’s nothing we can do about it right now.”

“Munoz and Melendez said they’d head south. This is exactly the kind of mission they’ve trained for,” said Berg.

“Two men, without support?”

“If the report is true, we’re looking at a game changer. There’s only one reason I can think of to explain why they’d be on the U.S.-Mexico border.”

“I can’t think of any, which is why I’m ninety-nine point nine percent convinced it’s a bogus report.”

Sanderson’s own statement triggered another thought. The surveillance report itself was fake. It made sense given the fact pattern. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of this as soon as Karl described the report.

“Terrence, they’re bringing him here,” Berg stated flatly.

Of course they are. Just what they want you to think. They don’t even have Reznikov, but they can wield him like a weapon. Brilliant.

“Who? The Russians?”

“What? No. Why would the Russians bring him here?”

“They wouldn’t. The Russians don’t have Reznikov. The whole thing is a ruse,” said Sanderson.

“Dammit, Terrence!” said Berg. “Quit being obtuse. I’m talking about our government.”

“I think you’re obsessed with True America. Why would they bring Reznikov to the United States?’

“I don’t know,” said Berg. “To finish the job they started in 2007?”

“Karl, the Russians manufactured this intelligence. Think about it. They know you’re looking for Sokolov. They know you have a source in Moscow. I’m not saying your source is compromised, but they conjure up some phony intelligence about Sokolov on the U.S.-Mexico border and dump it in the system. Instant panic.”

“I don’t—” started Berg, pausing for a long moment. “What’s to say it’s not the other way around?”

In his excitement, Sanderson had skipped right past that possibility. Both reports could be false. Could the Russians deploy a large enough force in the Gabonese jungle to ambush Farrington’s team? Would they risk the political fallout from killing the Special Operations Command operators assigned to accompany the team?

“General?”

“Sorry. I was thinking about what you said. The Russians dragging us into Gabon—”

“Stop,” said Berg. “Terrence, I’m not talking about the Russians. I’m talking about whoever is behind Ajax and the attacks here.”

“True America,” said Sanderson.

“I don’t know yet, but tell Farrington to watch his back. I suspect we’ve just scratched the surface of this conspiracy, and you have most of your eggs in that C-17 basket.”

“I confirmed the authenticity of this operation with General Frank Gordon, the head of SOCOM, and Bob Kearney, the president’s Homeland Security advisor. I trust Bob with my life, and Frank Gordon is the most principled soldier I’ve ever met, even if he’s the biggest pain in my ass. The op is real. Farrington didn’t sense anything off when the aircraft picked them up. SOCOM assigned four operators from DEVGRU to keep an eye on us. Not exactly the kind of posse you send to round up twenty of my people.”

“I’m just repeating some sound advice given to me a few days back, right before I was kidnapped. Watch your back.”

Sanderson remembered the conversation and the scent of the Montecristo No. 2 in the air at the time.

“Words to live by,” he said. “I’ll warn Farrington. The team is about an hour out of Ascension by my calculation.”

“That’s an isolated place,” said Berg. “What about Munoz and Melendez?”

“Let’s see how things play out in Africa. I’ll call you when they reach Libreville.”

“Thanks for keeping me in the loop. I feel pretty damn useless right now. We all do.”

“We’ll get things back on track for all of us. This is the first step on that path. I never forget my friends,” said Sanderson.

He ended the call and immediately dialed Farrington’s satellite phone, not expecting to get through. Unless he wandered onto the flight deck and the phone caught a satellite signal through one of the windows, he would be unable to communicate with Farrington until they landed on Ascension Island. He waited to leave a message.

“Rich, we’ve had a few developments. Nothing critical, but keep a close eye on your escorts and check for stowaways. Call me as soon as you land on Ascension. Just being cautious.”

He thumbed a text message, relaying an abbreviated version of the voicemail. Sanderson lowered the phone to his side, knowing he’d place a call every few minutes until he got through to Farrington on the runway. Berg’s paranoia was like a contagious rash. Once you got it, scratching only made it worse, and he’d just scratched the hell out of this rash.