Second Strike

CHAPTER 42

^{QUANTICO, VIRGINIA,}

^{AUGUST 16, 8:29 A.M. EDT}

Garin steered the Explorer off Jefferson Davis Highway, down a long, blacktopped driveway, and descended the ramp to the underground parking garage of DGT’s Quantico facility—a futuristic-looking two-story glass, steel, and granite building surrounded by fifteen acres of forest not far from the Marine base.

The two black-uniformed guards with MP5s slung across their chests standing at a kiosk next to the entrance recognized the SUV but, according to protocol, raised their weapons and tracked the vehicle as it approached the lift gate. Garin lowered the window to identify himself.

Garin parked the Explorer in the spot reserved for Dan Dwyer and took a garage elevator to the cybersecurity division, located in a space the size of a basketball court just outside Dwyer’s office. He spotted Matt sitting on a desk at the far end of the room talking with one of the tech assistants. Matt saw Garin approach and waved him toward a room enclosed from floor to ceiling in glass. A rolling murmur trailed Garin as he walked down the aisle, the techies regarding one of the firm’s founding operators with something between curiosity and awe.

Matt pointed Garin toward a chair in front of a fifty-seven-inch monitor and pushed a swivel chair next to him.

“Every so often we get lucky.” Matt smiled.

“No such thing. There’s only life’s intersection with favorable events and unfavorable events.”

“Then consider this an intersection with a favorable event,” Matt said. His Aussie accent made it seem as if he took nothing seriously. “We began the arduous process of pulling any possible clues we could find from the impenetrably encrypted phone you took off your would-be assassin in Cleveland. We devoted our best minds and tons of computing power to the task; the cybersleuth equivalent of the Manhattan Project; the Apollo space program of decryption. Vats of caffeine were consumed, incense was burned, virgins were sacrificed…”

“Matt.” The gravedigger’s voice.

“Well, mate, it’s like this: The phone’s not encrypted.”

“How is that possible?”

“We think what you took off the guy wasn’t his service device. That device, most likely, was in another pocket or somewhere else in the vehicle when you pulled this one from him,” Matt said, holding the phone. “No doubt, the device issued to him was super-duper encrypted, and he made all duty-related communications with that phone. But they were also strictly monitored. SVR, Zaslon, never had a record, however, of any communication he made or received on this phone. They didn’t even know it existed.”

“So he kept this one for personal matters that he didn’t want his superiors to know about.”

“Even badass operators like their personal privacy. Bad breach of security, but even Zaslon’s human.”

“These guys don’t make mistakes.” Garin paused. “So anything that might possibly interest us, anything useful, would be on the encrypted device,” Garin said. “Not this one.”

“Probably.”

“So how does that make us lucky?”

Matt shrugged amiably. “Maybe it does; maybe it doesn’t. That’s for you to determine.”

“Show me.”

Matt manipulated a mouse and metadata began scrolling on the monitor for several seconds, followed by a library of text messages and phone numbers. “We tracked all of the senders and receivers. For the most part, it’s disappointingly mundane. Takeout orders, Jiffy Lube, cable company. Would you believe the guy’s into fantasy football?”

“He was an assassin, not a monk,” Garin said.

“Truer words were never spoken. Appears this gent was quite popular with the ladies too. Looks like you broke at least half a dozen hearts when you stopped his, Mike.”

“He stopped his own.”

“Well, we followed up on all of them. One in New York, another in Pensacola. He must’ve operated mainly out of D.C. because we found four of his honeys in and around the District. All of them checked out as ordinary civilians,” Matt said, still scrolling. “Except one number.”

“Who does it belong to?”

“No one,” Matt said. He scrolled until he reached the number in question—a northern Virginia area code. “We traced this number. It’s a hard line to a duplex in Lorton.”

“All right,” Garin asked impatiently, “who does the house belong to?”

“A dead guy.”

“It’s empty?”

“Don’t know. The owner died four months ago. He lived by himself, so it should be vacant. We’ve got a guy surveilling the place but the drapes and curtains are all closed and there’s no sign of activity. The executor is an attorney in Arlington. He’s filed papers with the probate court but doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to sell. The property hasn’t been listed yet.”

“When was the call made?”

“Yesterday.”

“The Zaslon guy called the dead guy’s house?”

“Yes. And apparently the dead guy picked up.” Matt pointed to the monitor. “See? The call only lasted twenty-three seconds. Not unusual in my experience. Dead guys aren’t too chatty.”

“Peculiar,” Garin said. “Zaslon calls a number for an unsecure phone using an unsecure phone.”

“And talks to a dead guy. Don’t forget that.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Maybe he slipped up.”

“Again, these guys don’t make mistakes, Matt.”

“Maybe he was in a hurry. Maybe he didn’t have his service device handy. Not necessarily a big deal. The call only lasted twenty-three seconds and he could’ve talked in a way that would sound innocent to anyone listening.”

“How good is the guy on surveillance?”

“Good enough,” Matt replied. “Once upon a time he was in SAD.”

Garin nodded approval. “Do me a favor, just in case. Ask Dan to send three more people to support the guy. Just before I came here Dan told me Bor was probably in the District. If he shows up at the house, I want sufficient resources deployed so we don’t lose him. But if he does show, surveil only. No one engages until I get there.”

“We’ll handle it, Mike.”

“No one engages.” Garin rose. “I don’t care if your guys are former Special Activities Division, Delta, or Six. Got it?”

“Don’t worry. I’m well aware of Bor’s capabilities. Where are you going?”

“Shower and a change of clothes.”

“So you finally noticed.”