Poseidon's Arrow

83

THE MOUNT VERNON TRAIL WAS A PICTURE OF tranquillity south of Alexandria, with only the muted whir of light highway traffic nearby intruding its peacefulness. Just a few early-morning joggers and bikers were scattered along its riverfront route, pushing to complete their daily workouts before the business day began.

Dan Fowler pushed himself to sprint the last few steps of his three-mile run, crossing an imaginary finish line before slowing to a walk. He ambled to a nearby drinking fountain, where he lapped up a stream of cool water.

“Good morning, Dan. How was your run?”

Fowler choked, whirling around as water dribbled down his chin. His shock at hearing the familiar voice was evident as he turned to find Ann Bennett standing before him, dressed in her usual business attire.

“Ann . . . how are you?” he stammered.

“Just fine.”

“Where have you been? We’ve all been worried sick.”

“I had to take a little trip.”

“But you didn’t tell anyone. We’ve had the police searching for you. Is everything all right?”

“Yes. A personal matter came up rather unexpectedly.”

Fowler glanced around nervously, spotting only a few joggers and a man repairing a flat tire on his bicycle. “Are you alone? I feared you were in danger.”

“I’m fine. I just wanted to talk to you in private.”

“Sure.” Fowler eyed a grove of trees near the Potomac River that offered some seclusion. “Why don’t we walk?” He gently guided her off the trail.

“I had a lot of time to think about the case while I was away,” she said.

“You probably aren’t aware of the latest developments,” Fowler said, testing her. “Somebody hijacked one of the Sea Arrow’s propulsion motors on its way to Groton.”

“Yes, I was aware of that. Are there any suspects?”

“No, the FBI hit a wall on the case.”

“I’m not surprised. Tell me, Dan, what do you know about the ADS system?”

“ADS? Isn’t that some sort of crowd-control device that the Army cooked up? I really don’t know much about it.”

“Cooked up is right.” Ann thought back to her first encounter with the device in New Orleans. “Didn’t you tell me you were with the Army Research Lab?”

“Yes, I did a short stint there. Why do you ask?”

“According to their personnel director, you managed the security for the Active Denial System program. In that capacity, you would have had access to all its plans. Perhaps you’d find it interesting to know that the Army is not alone in possessing the technology. As a matter of fact, Edward Bolcke has a unit on one of his ships.”

“What are you driving at, Ann?”

“Dan, how long have you been on Bolcke’s payroll?”

They were almost to the trees. Fowler smiled at Ann. “That’s preposterous. We both know that Tom Cerny at the White House is your likely turncoat. Ann, you really shouldn’t jump into the water if you don’t know how to swim.”

Ann ignored the insult. “Cerny was a good red herring. I bought into him for a while, until I reviewed his detailed security clearance. Despite your allusions, he has had no involvement with any military technologies that have been compromised. He also hasn’t set foot in Central America in over twenty years. He’s clean.”

Fowler said nothing as they reached the edge of the grove.

“On the other hand,” Ann said, “I just discovered that you were a founding partner of SecureTek, the security subcontractor that was later sold to Edward Bolcke.”

“You’re reaching now.”

“Am I? We’ve tracked financial payments that were wired from Bolcke’s company to a bank account in your name here in Washington.” This time she was bluffing, but she was confident that further investigation would prove as much.

Fowler kept walking, guiding her deeper into the trees. After a long pause, he said, “Suppose you’re right. Now what?”

“You’ll be tried for espionage and spend the rest of your life in jail.”

Safely obscured from view, Fowler lunged at Ann, cuffing her around the neck and slamming her against a large red oak.

“No,” Fowler said. “I think it ends here.”

Ann stood frozen against the tree as Fowler yanked a bandanna from his pocket and rolled it thin. Wrapping it around her throat, he pulled on the ends to strangle her.

She pushed against him, but he was too strong, pinning her against the tree with his legs. Her head spun, and she began to choke—then she heard a gruff voice from behind Fowler.

“Let her go!”

Fowler turned to see two men dressed as joggers aiming Glock pistols at his head.

The man he had seen fixing a bike came running up wielding an H&K submachine gun. “FBI,” he shouted. “You’re under arrest.”

Fowler slowly released his grip on Ann, letting the bandanna fall to the ground. One of the FBI agents yanked him away as another cuffed his hands behind his back.

Before he was dragged to a waiting car, Ann stepped close and looked him in the eye. “Dan, trust me on this one. I do know how to swim.”