The Trident Deception

PROLOGUE

As a full moon cast faint shadows across the narrow paths winding through Rock Creek Park, Russell Evans checked over his shoulder again as he ran at nearly a full sprint. The young man almost lost his footing on the rocky path above the creek bed, his dress shoes slipping on the damp stones. Stopping behind a thick copse of trees, Evans rested his hands on his knees as he waited for his exhaustion to fade, his heart racing as he gulped the cool night air. Dropping to one knee, he thought about the poor choice he’d made tonight and the danger he now faced.

It had seemed like a wise decision at the time. The man he had chosen to confide in was the one person who had the authority to investigate further. But Evans had misinterpreted the flicker in the man’s eyes when the information had been laid before him, assuming the seasoned government official shared his concern over what he had discovered. Now Evans believed the man’s concern was not for the danger the security breaches represented but for the discovery of the breaches themselves. Evans now realized that had he been older and wiser, had he confided in someone more trustworthy than powerful, he would not be in a desolate park in the middle of the night, fleeing for his life.

Evans pulled out his cell phone and scrolled through his address book, the faint light of the BlackBerry display illuminating his face in the darkness. This time, he selected a person he knew he could trust without question. A draft e-mail appeared. The first line of the message he’d typed was short and cryptic, only seven characters long. He was about to expound when the snap of a twig brought his head up.

Pressing the BlackBerry display against his chest, he scanned his surroundings. But his eyes saw nothing in the dark shadows. He slowed his breathing, keeping it shallow in an effort to listen more closely, but all he heard was the babbling of Rock Creek as it wound south toward the Potomac. As he debated whether to finish the e-mail or resume his flight, a voice reached out from the darkness.

“Stand up.”

Searching in the direction of the voice, Evans spotted its source. In the trees twenty feet away stood a man, his arm raised, pointing a pistol. Evans stood, then took a step back.

“Stay where you are!”

The man’s voice was familiar, but Evans couldn’t place it. His eyes strained to identify the man, but the moon’s faint illumination was insufficient.

“Who are you? What do you want?” Evans asked.

“Who have you told?”

“About what?”

The man stepped closer, his face becoming clearer. “Tell me who you have told, and I’ll spare your life.”

Evans almost laughed. He knew he would be dead in a few minutes regardless of what he revealed. As he held the cell phone against his chest, he slid his thumb along the keyboard and pressed Send. The message was incomplete, but it would have to do. He had run out of time. He dropped his phone on the ground as he replied to his assailant, hoping the sound of the BlackBerry hitting the path wouldn’t be noticed. “I told no one. You caught up to me too soon.”

Evans crushed the phone between the heel of his shoe and the rocky trail with the full weight of his body, until a sharp, impossibly loud crack echoed through the quiet park.

“What are you doing?” the man asked.

“I stepped on a stick,” Evans replied, with no expectation he’d be believed.

“I can see I’ve wasted enough time with you already.”

It appeared Evans had assessed the situation correctly; he would not leave Rock Creek Park alive. But the e-mail had been sent, offering hope the information he had collected would be successfully analyzed. Not that it mattered, Evans stepped toward his executioner, hoping to determine his identity. As the man’s features slowly materialized into a recognizable face, Evans began trembling. He now understood what was at stake, what they were planning to do.

“It’s a shame I have to kill you,” the man said. “But when we’re about to kill millions, what’s one more.” The man squeezed the trigger gradually, until he felt the firm recoil of the pistol in his hand.

Standing over Evans’s body, the man verified the single shot had done its work. He then scanned the ground with a small flashlight, spotting the fractured BlackBerry. Stooping down, he retrieved the phone, attempting to turn it on. But the phone refused to energize. Realizing what Evans must have done, the man slipped the broken phone into his pocket, confident it could be repaired enough to reveal whom the young man had contacted and what information had been shared.