The Enraged

CHAPTER 33

Griffin was beginning to lose his patience.

The first thing he did when he’d arrived back at his office was to assign one of his local computer-geek contacts the task of figuring out the phone number Steve Howard had used to call him, so they could then establish the phone’s exact location. But after two hours, the geek was no closer to knowing the number than when he’d started. Howard was apparently using some pretty advanced security software.

The Mole was proving useless, too. The only contact Griffin had from him was a brief e-mail saying he was making progress on the woman but basically had nothing solid yet.

And if those two things weren’t enough to cause him to lose his cool, Dima wasn’t returning his calls. Dima had told Griffin he was on duty that night. Even if he was monitoring several active O & O operations, he still should’ve had time to talk to Griffin.

Griffin checked the clock—8:37 p.m. Morten’s flight was due to land in an hour and a half. He would expect Griffin to be waiting in the back of the car when he was picked up, which meant Griffin would have to leave in forty-five minutes. He would much rather wait at the office for his boss, but he knew that wasn’t acceptable.

The cell phone on his desk began to ring — the one that had been waiting for him in his car. It was now hooked up to his computer, so that call data would be instantly sent to the geek.

He snatched it up.

“Mr. Howard,” he said.

“Mr. Griffin,” said the same caller from before.

“Are you calling because you’re ready to meet now?”

“I’m calling to see if you’ve had time to think about what I shared with you.”

Griffin picked up some additional noise on the line that hadn’t been there the last time the man called. He couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like the man was in a car or some other type of vehicle.

“Why would I do that?” Griffin said. “I have no idea what any of that meant.”

“You’re not a very good liar.”

“Perhaps there are misunderstandings all around, which I think is a good reason for us to get together and talk. Don’t you?”

“If you’re unwilling to admit the truth now, then why would talking in person be any different?”

“Mr. Howard — Steve — you’re being unreasonable. It’s a simple sit-down. I’ll even let you choose the place.”

“When I call back, rethink your earlier answer.”

The man hung up.

Griffin immediately grabbed his desk phone and called the geek.

“Were you able to trace it?” he said.

“No,” the guy said. “The call was bounced all over the place.”

Fuck!

“But,” the geek said, “I may have broken through the firewall. I’ve got the first two digits of the phone number, and should be able to get the rest. Just need a little time.”

“Then do it,” Griffin said, and disconnected.

He told himself to relax. Everything was going to be fine. The kid would get the number, Griffin would find Howard and his friends, and that would be that.

The past would stay where it was supposed to.

The second Quinn hung up, he glanced over at the laptop Nate was holding. Looking back at him from a video chat window was Orlando. He could see his sister, too, hovering at the edge of the picture.

“So?” he said above the drone of the jet flying him and the other men north to Virginia.

“Give me a second,” Orlando said.

He hated how weak her voice still sounded, but she did seem to have more energy than before, and as hesitant as he was to admit it, she did look better.

She typed something on her computer, then smiled. “I made four numbers available. They’ve gotten two so far.” She looked into the camera. “I would have gotten all four by now, by the way, but they’ll tease them out soon enough.”

“And you’re sure they won’t get the rest yet?”

Her smile turned flat. “I’ll pretend you didn’t ask me that.”

“I was just checking,” he said.

He saw her reach toward the camera a split second before the video call cut out.

Griffin’s cell phone rang as he was climbing into the back of Morten’s car for the drive out to the airport.

“Finally,” he said under his breath when he saw it was Dima. He looked to make sure the divider separating him and the driver was all the way up before answering. “Where the hell have you been?”

“I…I’m sorry,” Dima said, sounding justifiably nervous. “There have been several meetings. I couldn’t get out of them.”

“Meetings? You missed my call for meetings?”

“Director Stone was relieved of duty today, but we only found out a few hours ago. Director Cho’s been holding video conferences with everyone, going over, um, status of jobs, uh, what our responsibilities are. I, I think there’s going to be a shake-up.”

Stone was gone? That wasn’t good. The guy was a jackass who didn’t know what he was doing, but that’s what made him useful to Griffin and Morten. He was an easy way into the intelligence community, kind of like a back door a coder might put into a piece of software. They could get things through him without anyone knowing what they were really doing — including Stone. The intelligence they’d been able to acquire had been incredibly useful to their work. But that was more a long-term problem that could be figured out later. Right now, Griffin needed to stay on point.

“If something like that ever happens again, I expect you to contact me either through e-mail or text, at the very least. It’s for your own benefit. I wouldn’t want to think that you were purposely ignoring me, and have to release the information I’ve been holding on to for you.”

“I wasn’t ignoring you. I swear.”

That’s what Griffin liked to hear. Desperation. “I understand that, Michael. Just wanted to make sure we were clear.”

“We’re clear.”

“Good. Then we’ll put that behind us. Now, can I assume you’ve made progress identifying what vehicle our friends left the cabin in?”

“Yes,” Dima said quickly. “Yes, I have.”

“Well, this is good news. Tell me.”

“You were right. The owner of the cabin has a car he keeps there. A Jeep Wrangler. It’s ten years old. Dark blue with a black hardtop. Did you see it there?”

“No. Is there a chance the owner had taken it somewhere else?”

“I checked myself, claimed to be with his insurance company. The…the owner said it was still at the cabin.”

“Excellent work. You know what I’m going to ask you to do next, don’t you?”

“See if I can find out where it went?”

“Very good.”

Immigrations and Customs was always Morten’s least favorite part of a trip. Thankfully, his plane arrived at Dulles right before three other international flights landed, putting him and his fellow passengers at the head of the line.

Passport stamped and bag collected, he headed outside to where his car was waiting for him at the curb. While the driver put his luggage in the trunk, Morten climbed into the back.

“Good evening, sir,” Griffin said. “I hope you had a good flight.”

“It was fine, thank you.”

“I’m happy to hear that.”

The trunk slammed shut, the driver slipped into his seat, and within seconds, they were driving away.

“So, are we buttoned up yet?”

“Not quite,” Griffin said. “But I anticipate it won’t be long now.”

Morten scowled. This was not the news he wanted to hear. “Explain.”

Griffin told him what had happened that day, ending with the revelation that apparently this Steve Howard character knew about Miranda Keyes, and their connection to Peter’s death.

Morten’s mood darkened. That son of a bitch Peter. Why couldn’t he have left his wife buried?

“Tell me how you’re planning on solving this…problem,” he said, teeth clenched.

“By locating Howard, which is in progress as we speak. Once that occurs, I’ll pay him a visit, find out who else knows and where they are, then eliminate all the problems.”

Griffin’s confidence didn’t make Morten feel much better. This problem should have never reached this point. “How long until this is finished?”

“A day, two at most.”

Morten settled back in his seat and said nothing for the rest of the trip.

The charter jet carrying Quinn, Nate, Lanier, Berkeley, and Curson landed at 10:18 p.m. Waiting for them at the private hangar were three black Suburbans. Two of the vehicles were already full. The third had only a driver and passenger, the latter standing near the front of the SUV, his hand clasped behind him.

As Quinn and the others approached, the man stepped forward, meeting them halfway, and held out his hand to Quinn.

“Witten,” Quinn said, shaking.

“Quinn,” Witten said. “Sorry I never got back to you.”

“You kept your men from shooting us, so I’m willing to forgive and forget.”

“Mighty big of you.”

Quinn turned to the others. “Everyone, this is Clyde Witten. I’ll let you introduce yourselves.” He looked past Witten to the vehicles. “And I suppose this is the famous O & O?”

“Out for a final hurrah,” Witten said.

“Final?”

“We’ve been told to expect reassignment.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“It happens.”

Quinn glanced at the trucks again. “Any of your people know I’m the one who shot your colleague the other day?”

“Just me.”

“And I trust you won’t shoot me in the back?”

“Not planning on it.” He stepped to the side and motioned to the vehicles. “Shall we?”