Читать книгу Disruptive Force - Elle James - Страница 11

Are you still assigned to help me? CJ Grainger hesitated before she sent the text to Cole McCastlain. The former member of Marine Force Reconnaissance now worked for Declan’s Defenders, the small but dedicated agency created to help fight for justice when the police, FBI and CIA couldn’t get the job done.

A week ago, CJ had helped Declan’s Defenders by providing them information she’d found on the dark web about a potential assault on the National Security Council meeting.

That attack had gone down as predicted. The VP and Anne Bellamy, a mid-level staffer for the National Security Advisor, had been taken hostage, amid another plot involving a deadly serum. Fortunately, Declan’s team had been ready. They’d rescued the vice president and the staffer, killed two Trinity sleeper agents embedded within the White House staff as well as two other agents who’d worked with them to abduct the hostages.

Trinity.

Even the thought of the name and organization made CJ break out in a sweat. She’d spent the past year hiding in plain sight. One of very few who’d escaped Trinity and lived.

I’m here, Cole texted.

Again, CJ hesitated. On her own for so long, she’d survived because of her independence and ability to disguise herself. She’d been very careful not to leave a trail a trained hacker, private investigator or Trinity-trained assassin could follow. And she didn’t have anyone to be used as leverage. No Achilles’ heel, no loved one Trinity could hold hostage to get her to come out into the open.

The part about no loved ones had been one of the reasons she’d been recruited into the Trinity training program in the first place. And by “recruited,” she meant stolen out of a foster care home she’d been placed in by Virginia State Social Services.

The state of Virginia hadn’t spent a lot of time and resources looking for a child nobody wanted.

Years ago, as a young adolescent, she’d been assimilated, brainwashed and forced to learn how to fight, how to defend herself and how to kill people Trinity ordered her to eliminate.

Until one year ago.

They’d ordered her to kill a pregnant woman. The wife of a senator. When CJ had sighted her rifle on the woman, who’d been probably eight and a half months along in her pregnancy, she hadn’t been able to pull the trigger. She’d hesitated, wondering if the baby was a boy or girl and thinking that if she killed the child’s mother, she’d be without a parent. And knowing that if Trinity decided the father was of no further use to them or was a risk who could expose someone within the organization, the father would be eliminated, as well. That would leave the child parentless.

Having been parentless, CJ had refused to let that happen to the unborn child.

Her hesitation hadn’t helped the woman. Trinity had a second assassin waiting on a rooftop to do the job if CJ wouldn’t.

The shot was fired, the bullet piercing the woman’s belly, killing the baby instantly. It wasn’t until much later that CJ learned the mother had died in transit to the hospital.

After she’d failed to take the kill shot, CJ had known what would happen next. Since most Trinity agents didn’t get second chances if they failed an assignment, she knew the man who’d assassinated the pregnant woman and her baby would be turning his rifle on her.

CJ, anticipating the inevitable, had ducked low, out of the sight line of the rooftop from where the gunman leveled his sniper rifle and pulled the trigger.

The bullets flew well over her head. She’d tucked her rifle into the golf bag she’d carried up to the rooftop and then crawled to the door and descended to the first floor. There, she hid her golf bag under the last step of the staircase, planning to retrieve it after the furor died down.

In the meantime, she’d pulled a hooded jacket out of her satchel and slipped it on over her sweater. The added bulk made her appear heavier. She slipped on a pair of black-rimmed plastic glasses and tucked her hair under the hood of the jacket. Then she jammed her hands into the pockets of her jeans and hunched her shoulders like a teen trying to be invisible. Slipping out of the apartment building, she’d blended into the rush of people heading home from work.

Instead of going to her apartment, she’d kept walking. Nothing in that apartment meant anything to her. It had been a place to sleep and shower. She always carried everything she needed in the satchel she’d slung over her shoulder. A laptop, a couple changes of clothes, three wigs in varying colors, makeup and her Glock 9mm pistol. She’d also had a burner phone in her pocket, along with a wad of cash and a couple of credit cards that would have to be shredded since she’d become a target for the same organization she’d worked for.

For the past year, she’d been on the run, dodging shadows and living from day to day looking over her shoulder.

Are you in trouble? Cole’s second message brought CJ back from her memories to the task at hand.

Are you still digging into Trinity conspirators? she texted.

CJ didn’t want help, but she had to find the leader of Trinity before he found her. Two or three people searching the internet was better than one person using borrowed internet from public libraries.

Yes.

Look into Chris Carpenter, the Homeland Security Advisor for the National Security Council.

Cole’s response was quick.

Got anything to go on? Any clues?

CJ hated to say she had a gut feeling about the man. A trained assassin relied on cold, hard facts, disregarding emotion and luck.

Prior to the attack in the NSC, the conference room coordinator received a text from Carpenter.

The guy who helped kidnap Anne Bellamy and the vice president?

Yes.

His assistant, Dr. Saunders, was the woman who was almost killed in a hit-and-run accident, wasn’t she?

That’s the one.

On it.

CJ had been doing her own digging on the dark web via the Arlington Public Library. She’d hacked in, making it past the firewall of the phone system used by Chris Carpenter to his billing information. She’d narrowed her search of his calls to the day of the attack. She’d gone through his phone records, searching for a connection to Terrence Tully, the conference room coordinator for the NSC meeting, and found one.

Terrence Tully had been one of Trinity’s sleeper agents, embedded in the White House, waiting for his call to serve.

That day, he’d helped orchestrate the kidnapping of the VP and Anne Bellamy, the woman CJ had contacted to warn about the attack.

Can we meet? Cole asked.

CJ frowned. Any contact she had with others put them at risk. She’d already broken the first rule she’d made for herself upon her defection from Trinity: stay away from anyone or anything to do with the organization. Including people who were actively searching to destroy it.

She’d broken that rule by contacting Anne to warn her of the attack.

Then she’d involved herself in Declan’s Defenders’ rescue effort. If that wasn’t bad enough, she’d gone to their base location at Charlotte Halverson’s estate. The Defenders knew more about her than she’d wanted to divulge, including what she looked like. And they’d assigned one of Declan’s men to be her protector and backup.

CJ snorted. Like she’d let that happen. If she allowed anyone to get that close to her, it would be one more way for Trinity to find her and the agent would be collateral damage when Trinity came to kill her.

Being a loner was better for all involved.

She typed, If I need you, I’ll find you.

CJ backed out of Carpenter’s phone records she’d been perusing and went back on the dark web, digging into anything she could find that might lead her to Trinity’s leader, the best kept secret in the entire organization.

When she’d first left Trinity, her main focus had been on staying alive and out of their way. It didn’t take her long to realize, however, that she’d never be truly safe until the organization was destroyed. And the best way to do that was to find its leader and destroy him. Because of the recent Trinity activity in the DC area and the fact that it was a world capital, she felt confident that Trinity’s head was somewhere in the vicinity.

A little more than a week ago, she’d found a particular website with a forum where anyone could anonymously arrange to hire a hit man. It seemed assassins for hire didn’t like that Trinity was an exclusive organization they couldn’t crack. Some of the people on the site had it out for Trinity and had made it a personal challenge to identify its leadership and/or to sabotage the organization’s hits. It was on that site through online chats and more that CJ had learned about the potential attack on the White House during the NSC meeting.

Going to the site, CJ went directly to the message board.

Still looking for the Director, she typed.

A few seconds later she received this response: They’re still looking for you.

Weary of the chase, the worry and living below the radar, she wrote, Time to stop T.

The time will come. We will find the Director.

Today?

Probably not.

The next message made her pulse pound.

Someone knows where you are.

CJ frowned.

How do you know?

Message traffic on another site, listing IP address of Arlington library.

She glanced out the glass window of the computer room to the library beyond. Moms were helping their children carry stacks of books to the counter, and a college student with a backpack leaned over the desk to ask the librarian a question. No one looked like a Trinity assassin. But then, she had been one and had been trained to blend in.

Where are you seeing this? she typed.

No time.

He’s here now?

Now. Run. Don’t go home. Compromised.

CJ cleared the browser, cleared the screen and logged off the computer. She ducked low, pretending to get something from her backpack. Instead of putting something in, she took out the blond wig cut in a short bob, pulled it on and quickly stuffed her own auburn hair beneath it. Then she took off her black leather jacket and crammed it into the backpack, straightening her pale pink T-shirt with the cartoon kitty on the front. Setting a pair of round sunglasses on her nose to hide her green eyes and popping a piece of bubble gum into her mouth, she stood.

Disguise in place, CJ exited the room through the opposite door from where she’d entered and slipped through the stacks, weaving her way along the travel section into the how-to books.

A gray-haired man peered at a gardening book for beginners. A young woman perused a book on designing websites.

CJ moved past them. She’d have to go through the front entrance to get out without setting off any emergency exit alarms.

A group of two women and six children ranging in ages from five to fourteen loaded books into bags and headed toward the door.

The college student stood at the magazine display, leafing through the tabloids.

CJ crossed the open space in front of the checkout desk and trailed the group of women and children out of the building and into the parking lot. She looked around, keeping the door to the library in her peripheral vision.

CJ moved across the parking lot in the opposite direction of the children, not wanting them to be collateral damage should the situation get sticky. She kept walking, figuring the farther away from the library she got, the better. Once she knew she’d shaken whoever might be after her, she’d hop on a bus and head for...

Hell if she knew. If the apartment she’d rented had been compromised, she couldn’t go back there.

Footsteps sounded on the pavement behind her.

CJ stepped around a large SUV and chanced a look back.

The college student had followed her out of the library. He had slipped his backpack off his shoulder and was reaching inside.

CJ made it to the sidewalk, quickly passing shops and other buildings until she found the right one. She ducked into the restaurant and walked to the back. The dim lighting forced her to remove the sunglasses. Following a waitress, she entered the kitchen.

“Sorry, miss, you can’t be here,” the waitress said.

CJ grimaced and glanced over her shoulder. “Is there a rear exit through here?”

“Yes, but for employees only.”

“My ex-boyfriend is following me. He won’t leave me alone. And he’s abusive.” CJ touched the waitress’s arm. “Please. I need to get away from him.”

The woman’s eyes rounded and she looked through the glass window of the swinging door. “Dark hair and backpack?”

CJ nodded. “Yes.”

The waitress grabbed her arm. “Come with me.” She led CJ to the back door and out into the alley. “My husband is waiting for my shift to end. He can take you where you need to go, as long as it’s not too far.” She glanced down at her watch. “I get off in fifteen minutes.” She took CJ’s hand and led her to an older model sedan with a faded paint job.

The man in the driver’s seat was asleep, his head tilted back against the headrest.

The woman tapped on the window.

Jerking awake, the man sat up and rolled down the window. “Hey, Bea, are you off already?”

“No,” Bea said. “But I want you to help this woman get away from an abusive ex-boyfriend. Take her where she needs to go. I’ll be ready to go when you get back.”

She turned to CJ. “Ronnie will take care of you. He’s a good guy, my man is.” Bea opened the back door and held it for CJ. “Hurry, before he figures out which way you went.”

CJ nodded, hating that she’d lied, but needing to get away. “Thank you.” She climbed in and hunkered low on the backseat while Ronnie drove away from the restaurant and out onto the busy street in front.

CJ waited until they were half a block away before she looked up over the back of the seat in time to see the college student run out of the restaurant and look both directions.

When he turned and walked toward the library, CJ let out a sigh.

“Was that the guy?” Ronnie asked.

CJ nodded. “He just won’t let go.” Which was true. Trinity assassins were trained to keep after their target until the target had been eliminated. He’d find her again. And when he did, he wouldn’t let her slip away a second time.

CJ had Ronnie drop her off at a metro station two miles from the library. She slipped onto the train headed for a neighborhood she’d been through several times. The one where Cole McCastlain lived. She wasn’t ready to admit she needed help, but she’d found a furnished town house for rent near his. If it was still available, she’d crash there and regroup. She needed time to think about her next move. Maybe it was time to openly join forces with Declan’s Defenders. They were all after the same thing. To bring an end to Trinity. To do so, they had to bring down the Director.

COLE SAT AT his desk in the town house he’d rented, his body tense, his gaze glued to the computer. He’d seen the messages come across the website he’d been following. He’d known Trinity was closing in on CJ. And he’d been unable to do anything but warn her. Frustration was too weak a description of what he was feeling. Cole needed action.

But CJ had refused to let him or anyone else from Declan’s Defenders overtly assist her in their mutual objective to bring down Trinity. She’d insisted she was better off alone.

He’d been lucky today. The messages had come in just in time for him to warn CJ to get out of the Arlington library. Hell, he’d been able to locate her based on the IP address of the computer she’d logged in on. She’d been perusing the internet on sites known for helping people find assassins for hire. What scared him was that if he was able to find her, others could easily do the same.

He’d invested in a burner phone. Next time she texted, he’d give her that number and insist she use it with a new burner number. Trinity had to know Declan’s Defenders were out to destroy the organization that had most likely put out a hit on John Halverson. Declan’s Defenders would not exist but for the trust and generosity of Halverson’s widow, Charlotte—Charlie.

John Halverson had been on a mission to stop Trinity’s illicit activities. He’d scratched the surface and had probably gotten too close to finding their leader, thus making them desperate enough to eliminate the threat.

As much as Charlie had done for Declan and his band of former Marine Force Reconnaissance men, they wanted to return the favor. Their mission was to find the leader of Trinity, the Director. The theory was to chop off the head of the snake and the rest of the organization would die.

According to Halverson’s records, he’d been searching for the same thing. It had taken him years to get as far as he had, and yet, he’d not found the Director or, at least, not been able to identify him before he was murdered.

Cole had been working with Jonah Spradlin, Charlie’s computer guy. They’d been hacking into the computer system at the White House to deep dive existing background checks on people who worked there ever since CJ had given them the heads-up on a planned assault on the NSC meeting at the White House. The problem, of course, was that there were over four hundred people who worked in the White House. Narrowing them down to the few who might present a threat had been a challenge. Four had evaded their background check prior to the hostage taking at the NSC meeting. Four Trinity assassins had been embedded in the White House staff.

Those four were no longer a threat. But how many more were slipping past them? The background checks didn’t tell them much. They had to dive deeper into their private records, bank accounts, emails and phone records. The task was monumental given the number of White House staff.

The cell phone beside him buzzed with a text message. He glanced down at the screen. Unknown Caller.

His pulse beat faster as he unlocked the screen and stared down at the message.

Thank you.

Are you okay?

Yes.

Need a place to stay?

No.

If you do, I have room. So does Charlie.

Thanks.

Let me help more.

You are. Dig into Carpenter.

Will do. Be careful out there. I’m here whenever you need me.

Good to know.

Got a burner phone. Need to stop using this number in case it’s being monitored. Call me for the number.

Cole waited, hoping she’d call. For several minutes, he didn’t hear anything, text or voice. Then his personal cell phone chirped.

Unknown Caller.

“It’s me,” he answered.

“Number?” a female voice said.

He gave her the number and waited for more.

The call ended.

Disappointment piled onto frustration made Cole clench his fist. How could he do the job of protecting CJ if she wouldn’t let him get close?

His burner phone vibrated. His pulse leaped and he lifted it to his ear. “It’s me.”

“It’s me,” she echoed.

Cole smiled. CJ’s husky voice flowed over him like warm chocolate, oozing into every one of his pores.

“Better,” he said. “Now, tell me...did you find a place to stay?”

“For now.”

“Did you have any trouble getting away from the Trinity guy after you?”

“No.”

She wasn’t very forthcoming with information. Cole sighed. “What are my chances of actually seeing you so that I can protect you?”

She laughed, the sound like music in his ears. She almost sounded like a different person. “Slim to none. I don’t need protection.”

“Would you have made it out of the library without my help?”

“Yes.”

“Did my assistance help you make it out without an altercation?”

She hesitated. “Yes. Thank you for the heads-up.”

“It can’t be easy searching the web on public computers. Charlie has a room full of computers in a secure location.”

“Thanks, but I’ll manage.”

He felt her pulling away. “CJ?”

She didn’t answer, but the line didn’t go dead.

Cole continued. “I really want to help you.”

“Find the Director.”

“We’re working on it,” he said, wanting to reach through the airwaves and grab her hand.

“I’ll be in touch.”

And the call ended.

Cole sighed. At least he’d heard from her and gotten her onto a more secure line. He wanted her to be more tangible, to see her, touch her and know she was close so that he could protect her. At the same time, the woman was still alive after living a year outside of Trinity. She knew what she was doing and having someone else hanging around might slow her down.

Patience was never something Cole had in abundant supply.

He lifted his personal cell phone, not the burner phone he’d used with CJ, and dialed Charlie Halverson’s estate.

Declan O’Neill answered. “Hey, Cole. Got anything new?”

“Heard from CJ.”

“Good to know,” Declan said. “Was wondering when she’d make contact.”

“Dig into the Homeland Security Advisor, Chris Carpenter, since he’d texted Terrence Tully prior to the NSC incident.”

“I’ll get Jonah on it.” Declan paused. “Did she say anything else?”

“No.” Cole explained what had gone down with messages on the dark web and Trinity finding her at the library in Arlington.

“Does she need a place to stay? Charlie would happily put her up for as long as necessary.”

Cole shook his head, though Declan couldn’t see it. “She said she has a place for now. I gotta tell you, this assignment is killing me. How do I protect a woman I can’t see?”

Declan chuckled. “It’s like she’s a ghost. Most likely she’s gun-shy.”

Cole snorted. “I know I would be if I had a target painted on my back. Trinity doesn’t like to lose one of their own.”

“To Trinity she’s a loose end that needs to be tied up.”

“With a bullet.” Cole’s jaw tightened.

“That’s why you need to get closer to her and keep that from happening.”

“Tell me about it.” Declan was preaching to the choir. If only Cole could get close enough. Then he might be able to do his job.

In the meantime, all he could do was continue to sift through clues and data to find the Director.

Until CJ came out of the shadows, she was on her own.