Poe

Chapter Six

“Deuce, let’s go!” Alex yelled as she knocked on Deuce’s apartment door for a third time.

She heard something bang against it on the other side, then it jerked open.

“Chill, man. I’m ready,” he said. He was wearing cargo pants and a blue, unbuttoned short-sleeve shirt over a gray, Jack Daniel’s tank top.

“That’s what you’re wearing?”

He looked down at his clothes. “What? I didn’t get any notice about a dress code.”

Alex made no further comment. In truth, she was dressed only marginally better than he was — jeans and a black, long-sleeve T-shirt. No logo or picture, though.

They rode in silence through town and onto I-295. Joining the traffic moving southwest toward DC, Alex found herself thinking about her father. It was pretty much something she’d been doing nonstop since she’d said goodbye to Danny, and had made for a very rough, uneven night of sleep.

“Hello?” Deuce said. “Alex, you in there?”

She blinked and glanced over. “What?”

“I asked you a question.”

She looked back at the road. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

“Obviously.” He was silent for second, then said, “My question was, are you going to tell me why you changed your mind about Stonewell or what?”

Alex hesitated.

“Please tell me you heard me this time,” Deuce said.

“I heard you.”

“And?”

“And they need us to help with an extraction.”

“That doesn’t really answer my question.”

“The target, a week ago, she was seen with…my father.”

Silence.

“Are you serious?”

Alex nodded. “I’ve seen the pictures. It was him.”

“Holy shit.”

Deuce had never met her dad, but as one of Alex’s closest friends, he was well aware of the colonel’s disappearance.

Neither of them spoke for a moment, then Deuce said, “So we’re helping because she might know where he is, right?”

“Right.”

He nodded. “I’m cool with that.”

“I knew you would be.”

McElroy checked HIS watch. It was almost eight a.m.

As he paced his office, he fought the urge to look out the window.

Where the hell was Poe?

God help him if she’d decided to back out. He did not want to miss this opportunity.

The tip had come in through one of his Eastern European contacts. Fadilah El-Hashim, terrorist money launderer extraordinaire, had been spotted. And being high on Stonewell’s acquire list, she immediately became McElroy’s priority.

Within an hour, McElroy had dispatched a small team to follow up on the information. The intelligence proved to be good. Excellent, in fact. El-Hashim was still there.

McElroy immediately informed his superiors, and presented them with two options of how to proceed. The first, grab El-Hashim immediately and deliver her to the CIA for interrogation. The second, keep her under observation, see who she met with, and see who else they could net before they brought her in.

When McElroy was pressed for his preferred plan, he said, “It’s a risk, but I think it would be a mistake to apprehend her right away.”

The directors had concurred and approved option two, making it clear that if El-Hashim were to somehow avoid capture, it would be McElroy’s ass in the fire.

The strategy had paid off. Within the first two weeks, they added several new names to their terror watch list, and uncovered a whole new Somalian splinter organization that had yet to show up on anyone else’s radar.

But a trip El-Hashim made to Crimea changed everything.

The moment McElroy saw the photos his surveillance team extracted from a security camera along the waterfront in Yalta, he no longer thought of El-Hashim as his number one target. The photos showed the woman in her everpresent hijab, talking to a man.

But not just any man.

To Raven. The son of a bitch who’d given McElroy’s team the slip back in May.

If McElroy could bring Frank Poe in, especially after the earlier snafu, the reservations that he knew some of Stonewell’s management had about him would disappear, removing the final obstacles to future advancement.

At the same time, it could also backfire on him. If, that was, his bosses knew about the Raven sighting.

While he’d been routinely giving progress reports on the El-Hashim mission, his briefing that day made no mention of the wayward colonel. The only people who knew Raven had been sighted were a limited number of his trusted team members.

Get Poe first, then break the news. That would be best.

To do that, he would have to go through El-Hashim. He knew she must have some way of contacting the traitor, which meant the time had come to bring her in.

He put the nab team in place near her home base in the Czech Republic so they could grab her as soon as she returned from Crimea. Unfortunately, that had yet to happen. Somehow the foolish woman had gotten herself and several of her associates arrested. About the only good thing that had come of this was that the officials in Crimea didn’t seem to know who they had. El-Hashim was listed under a false name — A’isha Najem.

It took McElroy less than ten minutes to get over his annoyance, and realize the new situation might actually provide an opportunity. What if he could get someone into the prison to bring El-Hashim out?

The logistics were solved fairly quickly with the old standby combo of blackmail and money. And with the how figured out, it became a question of who?

The operative would have to be a woman, someone who could think on her feet and blend in with the other female prisoners. While Stonewell did have female security employees, they were few in number and all were assigned elsewhere.

McElroy was looking through the digital archive on Raven when he came upon a mention of the colonel’s daughter and everything clicked. Not only had she spent two years in the army before going to college, she now worked as a domestic fugitive retrieval specialist, or, as most called it, a bounty hunter.

She was perfect.

And she had a Stonewell file, too. But instead of containing a gigabyte of information like her father’s, her dossier was under one meg, consisting merely of reports on previous attempts by the company to recruit her. All had failed.

That didn’t bother McElroy. None of the previous attempts had included the leverage he had.

A link to her father.

As he read through her file again, he saw a cross reference to another Stonewell employee named Shane Cooper. According to the document, Cooper had served with her in the army.

McElroy worked out a deal to have the man temporarily transferred to his group, thinking that Cooper would have knowledge of Alex that might prove useful.

In the end, it wasn’t Cooper’s insights that had helped secure her services, but the man’s ability to take a punch.

Unfortunately, all of his maneuvering would be wasted effort if Alexandra Poe didn’t show up.

But as he started to check his watch again, the door behind him opened, and one of the receptionists stuck his head in. “Sir? Your visitors are parking now.”

The Stonewell compound was in a forested area about four miles outside of DC, down an unmarked road that was easy to miss if you didn’t know where you were going. Fortunately, McElroy’s coordinates had been very precise and Alex had no trouble finding the place.

A quarter of a mile in, a guardhouse stood in the middle of the road, flanked on either side by a gated fence that disappeared into the woods. Topping the fence were large coils of razor wire.

As Alex pulled her Jeep to a halt, a uniformed man stepped out of the guardhouse. This wasn’t some fifty-year-old, potbellied rent-a-cop just doing time, however. He couldn’t have been more than thirty, with the build and demeanor of a human bull.

He leaned down and looked inside the Jeep as she lowered the window.

“Ms. Poe, Mr. Jones. Welcome to Stonewell.”

Alex and Deuce nodded.

“Put this on your dash,” the guard said, handing her a piece of paper through the window. He looked out at the road beyond the gate. “Continue on for four tenths of a mile, then make a right, and that’ll take you to the parking area next to the main building. Your assigned spot is number seventy-two. Please make sure you use only that number. When you arrive, stay in your car until someone comes out to get you.”

Alex raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything.

The man took a step back, reached behind him, and pushed something just inside the guardhouse door. The gate began rolling out of the way. “Have a good day.”

Alex was tempted to give him a salute, but didn’t. Instead she hit the gas and started forward again, knowing what Deuce would say before he even opened his mouth.

“Stay in the car, huh? I’ve got a better idea. How about we turn around right now and head back home? It’s not too late, you know.”

“Shut it, Deuce.”

“I haven’t been here two minutes and I’m already getting bad vibes.”

“Just close your eyes and go to your happy place. I’m not turning around.”

“You’ll wish you had. Mark my words.”

Alex shot him a glance. “I’m gonna mark your face, you don’t shut the hell up.”

The turn was precisely where the guard had told them it would be. A hundred yards in, the forest opened up into a large parking area in front of a wide, two-story building, its façade little more than a wall of dark glass. An array of antennas and satellite dishes graced the roof.

Alex found slot number seventy-two and pulled into it. Killing the engine, she glanced over at the building’s main entrance and saw three men heading their way.

“At least they’re not keeping us waiting,” Deuce said.

One of the men was wearing the same type of uniform as the guard at the gate, and looked every bit as capable. The other two were Cooper and McElroy.

Alex and Deuce popped their doors and climbed out.

“Right on time,” McElroy said, smiling. He walked over to Deuce and held out a hand. “Mr. Jones, good to meet you. I’m Jason McElroy. Welcome to the Stonewell team.”

Deuced looked at the hand, then shook it with far less enthusiasm than McElroy.

“This is my associate, Shane Cooper,” McElroy said. “He’ll be working with both of you on this project.”

After Cooper and Deuce shook, the uniformed man removed two lanyards from his pocket, each with a plastic ID badge attached. “Please wear these at all times,” he said, handing them to Alex and Deuce. “They’ll grant you access as your clearance allows.”

Deuce slipped the lanyard over his head. “And what does our clearance allow? The commissary and the restrooms?”

“Mr. McElroy will make that determination.”

“Will I have to take some kind of oath first?”

Alex shot him a look. “Deuce, lighten up. We’re all on the same side here.”

“I just want to get the rules straight,” he said. He grabbed his badge and waved it at the man in uniform. “What if I lose this thing?”

“Don’t,” the man told him, his face stone.

Deuce, however, wasn’t intimidated by authority, nor, Alex knew, was he a huge fan of corporate rules. But before he could say anything else, she put a hand on his forearm and squeezed. “Play nice, big guy.”

“I’m just asking a question.”

“There’ll be plenty of time for questions. How about if we get inside first?”

She saw the other three men exchange a look. McElroy said, “That sounds like a very good idea. Why don’t you both follow me?”

Judging by the wall of glass outside, Alex had been expecting some kind of swanky lobby with cushy chairs and a Barbie doll receptionist. But the lobby was not a lobby at all, just a long white corridor intersected by other hallways and lined with several doors.

McElroy led them through the maze and into a large conference room. A long glass table surrounded by more than a dozen black leather chairs took up the middle of the space.

On the walls were several framed photographs. On first glance they looked like vacation shots from around the world, but Alex knew that the gray-haired man in the photos was Stonewell founder and Chairman of the Board Thomas Greer. In each shot he was with someone different — a US president, a prime minister, a powerful political figure.

“Have a seat,” McElroy said, motioning to the chairs.

Deuce dropped into one of them and spun it around. “Hey, cushy.”

Alex rolled her eyes. One minute he was playing hardball, the next he was acting like the class cutup. She wished he’d make up his mind.

She sank into the chair next to him as McElroy said, “All right, first things first. Contract?”

Alex pulled the contract out of her pocket, unfolded it, and placed it on the table. “I could use that pen now.”

McElroy happily provided it, and she signed at the bottom of the page.

“Excellent,” he said, then set it next to one of the three folders that were lying on the table. He slid the nearest one to Deuce. “And this is yours.”

Deuce eyed it dubiously for a moment, before taking out the contract and giving it a quick scan. “Same as Alex’s?”

“Yes,” McElroy said. “Exactly the same.”

“What do you think, Alex? Should I sign it?”

She sighed and spun the pen toward him. “Deuce, if you don’t quit acting like a jackass, I’ll kick your butt out of here before they have a chance to. Now sign the damn thing and shut the hell up.”

“All right, all right,” he said. He picked up the pen and signed. “Happy now?”

McElroy smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Jones.”

“Deuce. Call me Deuce.”

“All right, Deuce.” McElroy put his contract on top of Alex’s, then picked up the remaining two folders and put one in front of each of them.

Alex opened hers and found a small stack of documents. “What’s this?”

“Just a formality,” he told her.

She looked through the papers. There was a medical questionnaire, something about next of kin, and several other informational forms. “We already signed our contracts.”

Another McElroy smile. “Yes, you did. These are simply documents that all contract employees fill out before they’re allowed to work for Stonewell.”

“So if we don’t fill them out,” Deuce said, “we don’t get the job?”

Alex couldn’t help but notice the hopeful tone in her partner’s voice.

McElroy spread his hands. “I don’t see why that would even be an issue. Just look through the forms. If there’s anything either of you have a problem with, we can talk about it.”

Alex returned her gaze to the top document. She liked her privacy as much as Deuce did, and any other time she might have decided his instincts were right — that it was time to walk. But considering what was at stake, she couldn’t do that.

She picked up the pen and started to fill in the blanks.

“She took my pen,” Deuce said.

McElroy produced another, and Deuce started in on his stack.

They were only halfway through when McElroy’s cell phone rang and he stepped outside to take the call. When he came back in, he said, “You’ll have to excuse me for a bit. Cooper will take you around, and I’ll catch up with you at the briefing.”

As he turned to leave, Alex got to her feet. “Wait a minute. Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“I don’t think so. Why?”

“You said that after we signed our contracts, you’d tell me where the woman is.”

He nodded. “And I will. All your questions will be answered at the briefing.”

Before she could protest further, he was out the door.

Annoyed, Alex sank into her chair and went back to the forms. It took another five minutes before she finally closed her folder.

Deuce was still scribbling away when he turned to her. “Who’d you put for your emergency contact?”

“You,” she said.

He grinned. “And I’m putting you. Sure gonna suck for them if we both die.”

He finished his last sheet, closed his folder, and slid it next to Alex’s.

She looked at Cooper. “Now what?”

“Now we get you certified.”

“For what?”

“Weapons.”

“Are you serious?”

A shrug. “Company policy.”

Alex felt anger rising. “Come on, Shane, what is this bullshit? Am I being jerked around or what?”

“No more than any other recruit. I told you, it’s company policy.”

Grinning, Deuce said, “So do we get to shoot?”

“That is the general idea,” Cooper said.

“Hell, if you’d told me that earlier, I would have filled these things out a lot faster. Let’s rock and roll.”

They used one of several all-white golf carts parked behind the main building to drive out to the range, Cooper behind the wheel.

As they drove, Alex looked out at the maze of roadways and clusters of buildings, which reminded her of a trip she and Danny took with their parents to Universal City, back before all the shit came down. This facility had the feel of a Hollywood backlot. “How big is this place?”

“Couple hundred acres,” Cooper said. “Give or take.”

Deuce frowned. “What do you need all the room for?”

“Research and development. Training. That kind of stuff.”

As they passed the last cluster of buildings, they came upon an elaborate obstacle course to the right that looked as if it had been plucked directly out of a war-torn, Middle Eastern city, complete with bombed-out buildings and makeshift hidey holes.

“Jesus,” Deuce murmured. “This is like a mercenary’s wet dream.”

“Or a combat vet’s nightmare,” Alex told him.

They heard intermittent gunfire long before the firing range came into view — a pair of shooters, maybe three at most. The firing range itself was in a rectangular clearing surrounded by twenty-foot-high mounds of dirt meant to catch any stray bullets. It was long, eight hundred meters at least, with half the firing line covered to protect shooters from the sun and elements, and half not. Behind the firing line was a long, thin building that Alex assumed served as the armory.

Once out of the cart, they passed through a gate into the range. The shooters were down at the other end under the roof. There were three targets set up down range, two at fifty meters, and the last at three hundred.

Another shot echoed off the embankment. Though there was no way to see exactly where it had hit, Alex did notice the far target jerk with the impact of the bullet.

As they turned down the wide concrete walkway that ran between the building and the firing line, a man who was standing at the far end watching the shooters looked over and started walking toward them.

He was tanned and toned, with cropped hair and a purposeful walk that bespoke yet another military alum. Stonewell seemed to be crawling with them.

“Coop,” the man said. “These them?”

“Yes, sir.” Cooper motioned to his two companions. “Alexandra Poe. Deuce Jones.” With a glance at them, he said, “And this is Carl Dugan. First sergeant, retired. He’s the range master.”

Alex had a momentary urge to jump to attention, but it passed quickly and she held out her hand. “Mr. Dugan,” she said.

He gave her a once-over, then took her hand as a smug little smile creased the left side of his face. “Ms. Poe.”

Alex knew immediately what that smile meant. There had been guys like him in her unit in Baghdad, guys who thought she belonged at home making snacks for the boys, or down on her knees worshipping the great god Johnson.

When Dugan shook Deuce’s hand, most of his disdain had disappeared. He focused back on Cooper. “Standard checkout, right?”

“Right,” Cooper said.

Dugan turned to Alex. “So, ladies first? Happy to give you a little lesson, if you like.”

Alex stared at him, expressionless. “Deuce will go first.”

Dugan smiled again. “Whatever you’d prefer, ma’am.”

The standard check involved shooting a Beretta 92A1 9mm pistol at a target twenty-five meters out, and an M16A4 military-grade rifle at a target two hundred meters down range. To pass, the shooter had to hit within the outer boundaries of the target eight out of ten shots.

Dugan led them down to one of the empty lanes under the roof, then retrieved the weapons and ammunition from the armory.

“You load,” he told Deuce after he set the pistol and box of 9mm ammo on the counter.

Deuce popped the mag, filled it, and jammed it back in. While he was doing this, Dugan clipped a target to the auto-positioning wires, programmed in the required distance, and set the target on its way. He handed out adjustable earmuffs, and clear shooting glasses.

“You want to take a few practice shots?” he asked Deuce.

“Sure.”

“Have at it.”

Deuce stepped up to the line, pulled on his earmuffs, and raised the pistol. He held his position for several seconds, then let off five quick shots.

“More?” Dugan asked.

“No, I’m good.”

Dugan brought the target in and changed it for a fresh one. Alex was happy to see that Deuce had landed all five shots within the large circle. Once the new target was in place, Deuce took aim again. This time he shot in bursts of two, until he finished the needed ten.

The target whizzed back. Nine shots within the circle, the tenth just barely outside.

“Dammit,” Deuce said. “Can I try again?”

“Nine’s passing,” Cooper told him.

“Yeah, but ten’s better.”

“Let’s just keep moving, shall we?”

Deuce took longer between shots with the rifle. This time he got credit for all ten.

“All right, you pass,” Dugan said. “Congratulations. Though you could use some work on tightening things up.”

Deuce grunted dismissively, but Dugan ignored him and gestured to Alex. “All right, ma’am, your turn.”

Alex switched places with Deuce, snatched up the nine, and reloaded. Once the target was twenty-five meters out, she moved into position and aimed down the barrel.

Dugan came up beside her. “Take as many practice shots as you want, ma’am.”

“That won’t be necessary,” she said.

“You sure? Don’t forget, it’s eight out of ten or you fail.”

She looked at him. “I’ll take my chances.”

That rueful smile came out again. “Just trying to be helpful.”

Alex eyed the target and immediately slipped into the zone, waiting for that moment when instinct and training became one — just as her father had taught her when she was thirteen years old. Then she pulled the trigger in steady succession—bam, bam, bam, bam, bam—until she finished her tenth shot.

Dugan was still smiling as he pushed the button to retrieve the target, but his condescending expression disappeared the moment he got a good look at what she had done.

Not only had she placed all ten shots within the large circle, every single one of them was contained within the much smaller circle in the center.

“I’d call that a pass,” Cooper said.

Dugan, looking considerably less cocksure than he had a moment ago, mounted a new target and sent it rushing down the range.

“It’s a combined test,” he said. “Still gotta pass the rifle.”

Alex picked up the M16. Though it had been years since she’d held one, its heft was familiar. She sighted down the range, and let off a single shot. Even at this distance, she could tell that while it was in the smaller circle, it had hit slightly off center. She compensated for the discrepancy with the sight, and shot off another round. This one was near perfect.

Eight shots later, she was done.

Once the target was back, Dugan looked at it, then at her. “I take it this isn’t your first time out.”

Alex removed the magazine from the rifle and popped the remaining bullet from the chamber. “I’ve had my share of practice. But most of the targets were shooting back.”

“She was also brigade champion for two years running,” Cooper told him. “Did I forget to mention that?”

Dugan leveled his gaze at Cooper. Without looking at Alex, he said, “You pass.” He folded up the target and walked back to the armory.

Deuce watched him go. “Guy’s kind of a prick, isn’t he?”

“Pretty much,” Cooper said.

Despite herself, Alex was smiling now. “I have to admit that was worth the trip. What’s up next?”

Cooper gestured toward the exit. “Time for your briefing.”