Читать книгу Perfect Weapon - Amy J. Fetzer - Страница 8

Never leave a man behind.

It clawed at Jack, brewed in his chest with the grief he’d suppressed for the last couple of hours. He dealt with it the way he always had. He shoved it to the back of his mind while he addressed the here and now. There’d be time enough later to drink to the dead.

Parked in an alley a couple blocks from his house, he watched his place, smoking a stale cigarette he found in a crushed pack under the seat. He didn’t know if the cops and NSA had shared information yet, but he wasn’t taking a chance at getting hauled in before he learned more about Hale and what really happened on that mountain.

Time to call in some favors. He dialed his cell phone. The pick-up was instant.

“Hey, Jack.”

Caller ID at NCIS. He’d have to remember that. “Hutch, I need a favor.”

“Name it.”

“You been contacted by NSA?”

“No.” A pause and then, “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t say. Not yet. Run a check for me.” He pulled out the ID tag and read off the name.

Jack heard the computer keys tapping.

“Nothing. No record, no address. You sure this woman exists?”

Her image popped into his mind; small, long reddish-brown hair, bloody clothes and leaving bodies in her wake. “I’m sure. Go level five.”

“Negative.” Dennis Hutchinson’s voice was muffled, whispered. “Not authorized.”

Jack battled for a second then said, “Decker, Lyons, and Martinez are dead, Hutch. Murdered while we were hunting at Luray. She’s the reason.”

“I’ll get back to you on that.” The line went dead.

Hutch would come through. He owed Jack for pulling him out of a little mess in Iraq a few years back.

With NSA swinging the big dick around, trying to sweep the murders under the carpet of national security, he had to back up and regroup. He’d already tossed the dead deer in a Dumpster near the park, and went to a self-serve car wash to rinse out the blood. The ranger’s clothes joined the carcass and Jack was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt he’d planned to change into after the hunt and had stashed in a duffel in the truck.

He was freezing his ass off. He scanned the area, his two-bedroom house outside Quantico and was locked as he’d left it. Most of his neighbors were still at work. He couldn’t wait till nightfall. People would be coming home, kids would be near and vulnerable. If the intelligence network connected, they’d be looking for him before morning. He was a material witness, and when NSA figured it out, Jack would have to turn himself in. He was hoping his military record spoke loudly enough for him when NSA learned he’d slipped away from the rangers. Breaking the rules wasn’t something Jack did easily. Ever. But three dead Marines made the difference.

Leaving his truck and edging down the alley, he slipped in his back door.

Inside, he didn’t turn on lights. He pulled the shades, feeling like an escapee from prison. He kept his cell phone near. After a quick shower, he changed, then took inventory of his Ops gear, and stuffed it into duffels and packs, loading it by the door. He started to dial Lyons’s wife, then stopped and dropped into a chair. What would he say? He’d lost men before. When they knew the enemy and saw them coming. But this?

A goddamn massacre. And he couldn’t give their families answers yet.

He stared at the phone, then laid it down, and gripped his head, fought the grief, the images of shattered skull and blood. The expressions and tears he knew he’d see when he told his friends’ loved ones their husbands and sons were dead. It was his duty to be the one to inform them. But with the sad news, he needed to tell them why, and that the murderers were behind bars. In caskets, would be better.

Pushing out of the chair, Jack went to his liquor stash over the stove, and poured himself two fingers of twenty-year-old scotch. He held it up in salute, murmured, “Semper Fi,” then tossed it back in one shot. It burned over the ache swelling his throat. He gripped the glass, his vision burning.

It should have been me. Dammit. The glass popped in his fist. He stared down at the shattered glass, the blood blooming on his thumb. You’re alive for a reason, he thought. Get control. He rinsed his hand, gave it a quick first aid, then sitting in front of his computer in the darkened house, he went online to search for Doctor Sydney Hale.

College photos and newspaper clippings of numerous awards digitized on the screen. Child prodigy, gifted. A masters in microchemistry at Clemson, another in microbiology, then a freaking doctorate from Johns Hopkins in chemical immunology. Jesus, did this woman even have a life beyond school? Then, five years ago, everything stopped. Using his access codes he had only because he was a team leader, Jack bent a few more rules, skewered his ethics, and accessed files few could. Still, nothing came up in the last five years. No water bill, no mortgage, not even a driver’s license. She’d been wiped out, and that meant someone didn’t want Sydney Hale to exist.

Her image gelled on the screen again, and Jack memorized her face, the curvy body and bright eyes. The man in him recognized her beauty. The Marine in him saw the answers to his friends’ death.

Who are you, Dr. Hale? What were you making up there?

The cell phone rang. Jack looked at the number and answered.

Hutch spoke briefly, then cut the line.

Cisco sat alone inside a long, black windowless van, the satellite communications phone to his ear. His skin turned a slightly darker shade as the director raked him over the coals. Mother had failed and it was Cisco’s responsibility. “I’m looking at the satellite thermal shots now, sir,” Cisco argued. “Three escaped. No sir, the two bodies we have were wearing thermal liners.” The director asked how he knew only three escaped. “Aside the bike track, those men were running uphill, and their body temp didn’t keep up with the cold liner suits under their clothes. Obviously they’d planned to ride double.”

Cisco scanned the photos, the doors of the van closed. Outside, several agents waited in the cold evening. Gabe wished they were in here facing the big guns instead of him. “I’d ask that you not inform anyone of the dead Marines, sir.” Cisco didn’t want to tip any hands just yet.

“The council and the Under Secretary must be informed,” the director said.

“We have a leak, sir, and until I cap it, I insist. I’m sure you’ll agree it’s best that the country doesn’t know that three Marines—on leave—were murdered anywhere near the Cradle.”

“Agreed, however, watch yourself. You’re inches from accusing a member of the council of a criminal act.”

“With the exception of you and the Under Secretary, everyone is a suspect…sir.”

There was a long silence as the director weighed the options and scenarios. As Cisco had done since dawn this morning. “Agreed.”

“I’ve accounted for the five researchers not on that shift. All have valid alibis, but can’t be undisputedly proven. It was dawn. They were sleeping.”

“And Dr. Hale?”

“Alive and secured. I’ll be questioning her soon.”

“She’s a valuable resource, Cisco. Her brain child garnered a billion dollar project funding.”

“I understand that, sir, but she is the only living witness.” Cisco pressed his advantage. “I’m aware the R & D team was working on Sarin countermeasures sir, but what type exactly?”

“You’re tasked with finding the terrorists and the vials,” was his boss’s answer.

“You’re tying my hands, sir. How can I hunt if I don’t know what to look for?”

The director made a frustrated sound. “It can’t be helped.”

“Then don’t expect miracles.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Yes, sir.” Shit. He needed more information to work this.

The director cut the call and Cisco did the same, tapping the heavy satellite phone against his knee before sliding the door open. He inclined his head and agents climbed in. “Wick, get the car.”

Wickum looked forlornly at the warm van, then hunched in his coat, and obeyed.

Cisco shut the door and stared at the men crowding the van.

“Get comfortable, no one leaves.” No one balked, either. “When CBC gives the go ahead, excavate. We need to get down there.” The Chemical Biohazard Control Unit would clear the air for toxins before anyone was close enough to be affected. Cisco silently deliberated, then spoke. “The Cradle was a working lab for Sarin gas countermeasures.”

Expressions changed, eyes widened.

“It’s a level five, no discussion without secure locations. We have whisper devices; they can, too. I want everyone to be suited up if they go near the entrances. There were vials of gas stored six hundred feet below. We don’t know if they got to them or what else they might have seized. We have to work from a clear objective.” He held up a finger. “One, they took the gas and will use it to blackmail the U.S. Two, everyone below is dead and possibly the research data destroyed or stolen. These attackers easily killed three hunters; they won’t hesitate in killing anyone else. I want to know where those shooters were positioned—today. Dr. Sydney Hale escaped unharmed, yet lost her ID tag. She says it’s on the mountain, so I want people searching the kill zones for it. If the wrong people find it, the wrong questions will surface. And worse case…we have an internal leak. It could very well be her. We treat her like one.”

Cisco’s narrowed gaze drilled each man. “At this point we can only speculate. We won’t know the truth till we get to the security tape linkage from the Cradle to Mother up and running. I want Hale, the entire R&D team, security forces, and the dead Marines researched thoroughly. Especially Hale. I want to know the last time she had a date, her hair cut, her favorite restaurant, everything. Hodges, you take the lead.”

Cisco slid open the door and climbed out, leaving Hodges to close it and address the men remaining inside. Wickum picked Cisco up in the sedan. The heat was blasting and Cisco sank into the leather seat and stuffed his feet right below the vent.

“To the safe house?”

“Yes. Take your time.” Cisco rubbed his face, then stared out at the beautiful scenery. Find the leak and it will lead us to the gas. He didn’t let himself think about the people who’d died today. Instead, he pulled Dr. Hale’s file from his briefcase. She was his only link and during the ride, he considered how he could use her.

When Sydney would normally be dropping face first into bed, she was wired, her nerve endings frayed. She couldn’t sleep, couldn’t even be still. She was damn tired of being left in the dark, too. If anyone should be kept abreast of what happened, it was her. She was project manager. Or, she had been—until her world went up in gunfire and smoke.

She moved around the cabin, hunting for something to take her mind off the attack. You’d think they’d stock a safe house with books or video games, but there wasn’t even a TV that she could find. She tossed out the burnt coffee dregs, started a fresh pot, then rooted in the cabinets.

“Anyone want a sandwich?” she called out. “Play poker?”

“No thank you ma’am,” came from around the house.

She found a bag of Bugles. She wasn’t hungry at all—a surprise since food was a vice for her—but stuffing her mouth was better than tearing into the agents. They had orders and were following them to the letter. Still, it ticked her off.

Radios crackled, men mumbled. Syd was walking the perimeter again, shoving corn horns into her mouth when a car pulled up. She moved to the window and was pushed back by an agent. She rolled up the bag, wiped her mouth and waited. It didn’t take long.

A tall, slender man entered from the side entrance with another, slightly shorter man following behind him. More men in black, she thought as the great room emptied except for the pair. Sydney folded her arms and regarded them.

“Cisco.” She’d met him once before when her handprint and retinal scan were registered.

He nodded, eyeing her too large clothes. “Dr. Hale. This is Agent Wickum.”

Sydney shook his hand. It was ice cold.

“Are you comfortable, Dr. Hale?” Wickum asked.

“Fine, peachy. What happened?”

Coming into the living area, Cisco removed his coat, turned it inside out and laid it over the back of a chair. Details like that told her he was meticulous and careful.

“That’s what we’re trying to ascertain, ma’am,” Wickum said politely.

Cisco just stared. It was unnerving.

“What about my project staff?”

His eyes went flat and Sydney felt the thread of hope snap. She sank onto the sofa and covered her face.

Over her head, Cisco and Wickum exchanged a glance.

“You were outside the Cradle when it was attacked, weren’t you, Dr. Hale?”

“Yes.” She looked up.

Cisco ignored her glossy eyes and asked, “Who knew about your absence?”

“Corporal Tanner, he’s the only one with the codes.”

“And he’s dead.”

She felt slapped. “Yes. He let me go topside often. I’m a little claustrophobic. I like air that’s fresh. Clears the mind.”

“What did you see, Dr. Hale?”

“Aboveground, nothing.” She shook her head, reliving it all again. The silence in the woods and the horror below the surface. “It was still a little dark. I had a penlight. I was up there maybe fifteen—twenty minutes tops. When I came back down, there was heavy smoke in the corridors, Corporal Tanner had been shot and he fell on me. I dragged him into the elevator and we went to the top. But he was dead before we reached the surface.”

“He was shot where?” Cisco asked.

“In the chest. It went right through his Kevlar vest. That means armor piercing, right?”

Cisco nodded. He didn’t bother with making notes or a tape recording. But his number two man did.

“When I realized the elevator would go down again, I tried to stop it.” A harsh laugh shot from her throat. “Like slapping the eight inch thick steel door would stop that thing? They must have used it to come back up the shaft because they were right behind me.”

“Who was behind you?”

“The killers.”

Cisco didn’t bat a lash.

Her gaze flicked to Wickum. He looked normal—blond hair, brown eyes. Average cute, like someone’s big brother. But while Agent Wickum had life in his eyes, Cisco’s looked vacant.

“Continue.”

“I ran and fell once.” She showed him the scrapes on her palms and arm. “I had Tanner’s gun. Combs took it. And my clothes. When I fell, I must have lost the ID tag. They shot at me a couple times and that’s when the Marine dove at me.”

Inside Cisco went still as glass. “Marine?”

“Well that’s what he said. He wore a Gilly suit, you know, those netted things with fake leaves and branches all over it.”

Cisco nodded.

“He knocked me to the ground, covered me and fired back at the man shooting at me. He had a hunting rifle. The attackers used silencers because I didn’t hear anything more than soft popping till the bullets hit something. The Marine’s rifle was loud. Then we ran to his truck. I crawled in back with a dead deer and he went looking for his friends.”

“This man who helped you, did he say how many were out there with him?”

“He said pals, plural, Agent Cisco. More than one. He left me and that’s the last time I saw him. I ran to the store, made a call and got to Mark eight. Followed the rules.”

“Except for being outside the facility at dawn.”

“I’m alive because of that, so back off.” She stared across the room at the agent and if she wasn’t so pissed she might have put her girl brain in gear and admired his looks. But she knew better. Cisco would do anything for the cause, and if that meant pointing a finger at her, he would.

“Yes ma’am. You should know, those men don’t need a permit or license to hunt there.”

“Yes, they do. It’s a state park.”

His thin look was like saying very good Dr. Hale, next question. She wanted to drop-kick him.

Wickum handed him a large envelope. Cisco slipped out the photographs and offered them to her.

She recoiled, dropping them on the coffee table. “You son of a bitch!” It was of the dead men in black. In full Technicolor, one’s chest blown open. “You could have warned me.” She shoved them at him with a snide look. “The men I saw were dressed like that, but they wore masks. One had bright blue eyes.”

He tucked the pictures away. “What did you hear and see after you came down the shaft, Dr. Hale?”

“Smoke so dense I couldn’t see far, gunfire, and the terrorist with blue eyes aiming at me and Tanner.” She flexed her fingers. “Blue Eyes stepped over a body. I didn’t see anyone else except him.”

“Did Tanner return fire?”

“Maybe before I got down there, but I did.”

There was a slight lift of a brow. “That was very brave.”

“Are you always this much of a condescending asshole?”

“Yes.”

Wickum cleared his throat.

“The chemicals I worked with could be used as weapons of mass destruction. Shouldn’t you be looking for them instead of grilling me?”

“We are.”

“They have the gas, don’t they?”

“We don’t know yet.”

“What do you mean? You go down there, open the cold room and take inventory.”

“We can’t get into the Cradle by Tatiana’s Veil. It’s been sealed from the inside.”

“The escape elevator?” He shook his head and she frowned. “Mother didn’t automatically turn on the emergency compressors and vent?”

“Mother is down and with the Sarin threat inside, no.”

Slowly she stood, her voice a cascade of shock and outrage. “Good God, Cisco, they may be alive! If they’re trapped on a level, they have ten hours of air down there. Twelve max. But there was smoke and that eats the oxygen.”

“And if the vials were broken, they were dead in seconds anyway.”

“You know, I suspected you didn’t have a heart, now I’m sure you’re missing a soul, too.”

Cisco stood very still, his hands behind his back, his gaze direct. He’d had to weigh the deaths against the final outcome and the consequences. “If we turn on the compressors everyone above could die, too, Dr. Hale.”

“Not unless the dead guys had something like atropine and contamination suits on them. I didn’t see suits or lugging them either. No”—she shook her head—“they didn’t release the gas. The risk is too high. They attacked to steal it.”

“Yes.”

“So my entire staff is choking to death down there. Jesus, how do you sleep at night?”

His fists tightened.

“This is your mess, Cisco. The Cradle was supposed to be impenetrable. Mother should have operated on her own.”

“Yes, but it didn’t. And I’ll find out why.” Without another word, he moved to the kitchen and poured himself some coffee. Syd watched him dump heaps of sugar into the cup. Wickum followed him and the two spoke softly enough that she couldn’t hear. They did it to make her nervous.

It wasn’t working. He let her staff die. She wanted to hurt him. Bad.

“I know you worked on nerve gas countermeasures.” Cisco had his back to her.

“Goody for you.”

Cisco faced her, arching a black brow.

“I’m not breaking security, Agent Cisco, so either you two show me your clearance, or shut up.” He obeyed and she could tell it irritated him. “Yes, the Cradle team developed a cold implosion bomb.”

“How does it work? And explain it so I can understand.”

Syd had to think for a second, several formulas whizzing through her brain. “Since Sarin lacks odor, color and taste, we needed to create a way to see it and stop its spread, to dissipate the gas once it’s released. The implosion sets off high volume high pressure phosphorous Freon. Freon attacks and paints the gas first, suspends its drift because it gives it weight. The chemical mix goes airborne and neutralizes the most deadly pathogen components. The real success was that we made it work without heat generating blasting material so it remains highly effective after detonation.”

Wickum’s mouth hung open. “Wow.”

Cisco stepped in front of him. “Could it seal the doors?”

“No. It’s not that kind of bomb. It creates a flash burn if you’re close or holding it, but it’s cold. You’d end up with mild frostbite unless you got the mix in your eyes. That would blind you.”

“Was there one of these bombs inside the Cradle?”

“Yes. They were stored one level above the cold room.”

“We have to assume the intruders have both the chemical weapons and a means to stop it.” Cisco scowled, rocking back on his heels. Only his gaze shifted to her. “Is that the only project?”

Now it was Sydney’s turn to be silent.

“Please answer the question, Dr. Hale.”

She simply tipped her head to the side. Cisco wanted to push it, but admired her resistance. He was overstepping his authority as it was. He asked her to repeat what she saw and what happened for the third time. Cisco considered that the Marine who saved her life and went back into the fray was one of three lying in a makeshift morgue. But he’d find out for certain.

He reached for his coat, slipping it on. “You’re to remain here, Dr. Hale.” He headed to the door, his black coat flapping like wings.

“Cisco.” He paused to look back. “There were three vials of liquid gas left. Those were used to test the effects of a completed implosion bomb. We used the accelerants for development, in small amounts. They’re not easy to get after nine-eleven, but any good chemist with the formula could make a deadly gas like that.”

“One strike would be plenty. And right now, we don’t have the countermeasure. They do.”

“If they have the countermeasure bomb, they have three prototypes. We did development, not manufacture. They can’t recreate it quickly. It took biochemists and physicists two years to make that work.”

Outside the house, Wickum hunched in his black coat. “She’s not what I expected.”

“They never are.” Cisco had learned that brilliance didn’t have to be explained and most people with minds like Dr. Hale had a sheltered shyness. Dr. Hale was the exception. She’d come a long way from the woman he’d fingerprinted five years ago. She could barely look him in the eye then. Now, he suspected she’d like to see his ass kicked all over the mountain.

“Why didn’t you tell her about the dead Marines?”

Cisco opened a thin cigar and bit the tip, turning his head to spit it aside. He struck a match, the flare turning his features demonic. “No need right now. She’s lost her staff and her life’s work. Her house been filtered yet?”

Wick checked his watch. “It should be done by now. I think you have her all wrong.”

“What I have is a suspect and a witness. She’s smart enough to make a cold implosion bomb, what else could she do?”

“Hell if I know. I flunked chemistry.”

“I don’t trust her, neither should you. Get your hormones under control.”

“Hey, she’s pretty, intelligent, and she does have a nice rack.”

“Yeah, well. She used those charms to get past the Marine guard in time to escape the killing field. Who else did she con?”

“I’ll bet you twenty she’s clean.”

Cisco eyeballed him. “You’re on.”

“You’re going to release her.”

“We can’t mark her without her knowing it. She’d expect it. Get her place wired, and put a tail on her. Let’s see who comes to Dr. Hale. If she’s in this, she’s the brilliance behind it.”

“And if she’s not?”

“We’ll know within forty-eight hours.”

“Yeah, she could be dead by then.”

Cisco squinted thought cigar smoke. “Hence, the tail, Wick.”

Jack slipped inside the darkened house, moving quietly into the living room. Suzie Lyons was curled in a chair, a wad of tissue in her fists. She stared blankly at a TV, the sound turned down.

Jack called her name.

She flinched and hopped out of the chair. “Who’s there?” She grabbed the nearest object, a heavy alabaster ashtray.

“It’s me Suzanne, Jack.” He stepped into the light.

“Oh, my God.” She dropped the alabaster and launched at him. “I thought you got killed! What happened? Why can’t they tell us anything?”

He grabbed her, muffling her mouth with his hand. “Shhh. Sit down.” He forced her into the chair. “No, no lights.” She stared, her pretty tearstained face aglow from the TV.

“How did you survive?”

Anger and bitterness tinged her voice. He didn’t blame her. She was young with a baby and no husband. He was a bachelor with no one. It didn’t make sense to anyone—especially him—that he was here and Lyons would never come home again.

“I’m alive by pure chance, Suzanne. If I could change it, I would gladly have died in his place.”

Her expression softened. “I know you would have, Jack. Carl always said you were the first man in, last man out.”

Jack’s jaw tightened. “He was a good man. He didn’t deserve this; none of them did.”

Tears burst free. “Make me understand, please.”

He told her enough to ease her mind, but not enough to put her in danger. She sat there and whispered the word, murder as if saying it would help her understand.

“I don’t know why it happened, but I’m going to find out.” He gripped her hands. “I swear I’ll get the bastard who pulled the trigger and the one who gave the orders.”

She inhaled. “You can’t. Are you crazy? Think of your career. Oh, Jack, let NCIS handle it. Please.”

He frowned. “Who’s contacted you?”

“No one except the chaplain and the CO. Both said it was a hunting accident.”

Oh, yeah, that washes, Jack thought bitterly. Three expert marksmen shot each other? In the head? The CO didn’t know anymore than the cops did. “Stick to that story for now.” Jack stood, rubbing the back of his neck. His gaze fell on a picture of his team and he picked it up, memorizing the faces of the men he’d trusted the most.

“Take it.”

He looked at her. She pulled it out of the frame and handed it over. “Carl would want you to have this.”

He pocketed the picture. “I have to ask you not to tell anyone I was here.”

She set the empty frame back on the mantel and nodded.

“I’m really short on time, Suzanne.” Although he was legally on leave, he had seventy-two hours to conduct a Line of Duty investigation. It was his right as their ranking officer and the only thing that might keep his ass out of a court martial for going rogue. “I need some of Carl’s gear.”

She nodded and went to unlock the hall closet. “It’s all in there. Take it.”

Jack gathered everything he could. Carl was a southern boy who liked his guns and all the toys that came with them. Gear stowed, he moved it by the door.

“I know what’ll happen to me and Lizzie, Jack. I’ve known this since I married a Marine and I’ve prepared myself for it, but what’s going to happen to you?”

It touched him that in her grief she even considered that. “Nothing I can’t handle. Don’t you worry.” He touched her chin till she looked at him. “If the government comes here and asks about me, don’t lie. Tell them I was with them.”

“They don’t know?”

“They aren’t forcing their hand enough to find out or I’d be standing in front of the general right now.” Jack laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Until they catch up to me, I’ll do some looking. I have somewhere to start.”

She nodded and he kissed the top of her head, then pulled her into his arms. He held her as she clung to him and cried her heart out. “You have someone coming to stay with you?”

“My mom should be here in an hour or so,” she murmured, wiping her nose.

Softly he whispered, “Listen to me, Suze.” She looked up. God, she was just a tiny, fragile thing. A widow at twenty-five. “I swear on my oath as a Marine, I will get them.”

“I’ll pass that to Decker’s and Martinez’s family.” She squeezed him and bravely stepped back. “Now go. Because if you’re hunted, they’ll look here.”

Slinging the gear, Jack motioned her away from the back door, and gripped the knob. Before he opened it, he plucked keys from a rack near the door and left her alone in the dark.