Rogue Operator Read online

  “No, the best adapted and overcame an unexpected occurrence, and successfully completed the mission.”

  There was a grunt, as if someone were reluctantly agreeing.

  “Don’t worry about it. My team got the families. It’s done. Now let’s just deliver the packages, collect our money, and retire some place warm.”

  Something squawked, and a voice came over a PA system.

  “Landing in five.”

  I’m on a plane!

  He opened his eyes a crack, and could see no one, which he hoped meant nobody could see him. Opening them some more, his heart hammered in his chest. He was aboard some sort of military cargo plane. He had seen the interior of a Hercules enough in the movies to recognize it and its configuration immediately.

  This was a military aircraft.

  And if it was military, this was no ordinary kidnapping.

  It has to be the work!

  There wasn’t a foreign government on this planet that wouldn’t kill to get their hands on his research. The weaponization potential was too great. But they had to know he’d never cooperate. But how would they know? They didn’t know him. They probably figured they could threaten him, or torture him, but he had already made the decision, along with Carl and Phil, to not let anyone know how far they’d come, before they could build in the safeguards necessary to prevent the doomsday scenario that had almost occurred.

  And he would die before he’d help anyone use his creation for evil.

  He had heard a language on the boat he didn’t recognize. It had sounded Chinese or Japanese, but he couldn’t be sure. He could definitely see the Chinese trying something like this. Industrial espionage was a daily activity for them, but kidnapping a top secret researcher? That was pushing it, even for them.

  But they’re speaking English!

  He heard a footstep behind him. He squeezed his eyes shut.

  “Jesus Christ, this one’s awake again!”

  “Don’t hit him in the head like last time, we need his damned brain functioning. They said they wanted them alive. I’m sure they didn’t mean comatose.”

  He felt something cold, hard, push against the side of his neck, and as the flow of oxygen was cut off, he slowly began to pass out, his final thoughts of his family, and what these bastards had done to them.

  Ogden Police Department

  2186 Lincoln Ave, Ogden, Utah

  Detective Jamie Conway took the stairs two at a time, and with the help of the desk sergeant, was standing in front of Officer Holder within minutes. Holder held a finger on his left hand up, without looking at her, as he finished typing something, one handed, on his computer. Finished, he looked up at her and smiled.

  “Detective Conway! Funny, I was just about to go look for your partner.”

  “You heard?”

  He nodded as he stood up and walked over to the printer. “Black SUVs? Husbands work for the same company? I don’t believe in coincidences.”

  Jamie nodded.

  “Is everything in the report?”

  He nodded, handing her a copy of the printout. “I was going to drop this on Jack’s desk, but I guess you can do that.”

  She took the pages and began to scan the incident report.

  “Anything not in here?”

  “Of course not.”

  She smiled at him and nodded.

  “Of course not.”

  Officer Holder stapled the pages he held, then handed them to another officer.

  “Make sure these get actioned tonight. I don’t want to come in tomorrow and find them sitting in someone’s inbox.” The officer glanced at the pages, then briskly walked away as if with a purpose. “I’m done for the day. Do you need me for anything, Detective?”

  Jamie finished reading the report. There was nothing much in it beyond what she had overheard in the locker room, but she was convinced it was connected to her case. She looked up at Holder and shook her head. “No, go ahead, I’ll call you if I need anything.”

  “No problem, Detective.” He turned on his heel and made a hasty exit, someone probably eagerly awaiting his arrival at home, his wedding band not having gone unnoticed to the trained detective.

  One of these days.

  Give it a rest!

  For all she knew he was running home because his wife would scream at him if he were late.

  You’re such a cynic.

  She headed to her partner’s desk, rereading the pages, trying to regain her focus rather than dwell on her unique trait of aloneness, and almost bumped headlong into him as he stormed from the stairwell.

  “I was just coming to see you,” she said, shaking the pages. “Did you hear about this?”

  Percy almost didn’t acknowledge her, his face contorted in rage, as he stormed past her, then slowly turned, relaxing slightly.

  “Hear about what?” he growled, then raised a hand, closing his eyes for a moment. “Sorry, didn’t mean to take it out on you. What have you got?”

  Jamie frowned.

  “What’s up, Boss?”

  “They took us off the case,” a semblance of the rage returning to his face. He looked about, as if for something to punch.

  She didn’t notice, her own rage beginning to boil. Her chest tightened and she could feel her cheeks flush as her jaw tightened.

  “What?”

  Her own response sounded like a growl as well.

  “Apparently the LT got a call. The Feds are taking over, they’ll be here later.”

  Jamie tossed her head back the moment she heard the word ‘Feds’. The fucking Feds. “This hasn’t crossed state lines, has it?”

  Percy shrugged his shoulders. “Fucked if I know. Last I heard, no. Apparently that’s not their excuse this time. This time it’s a national security issue.”

  “National security? What the hell does this have to do with national security?”

  “Apparently the husband is some top secret research scientist, working on some Defense Department project.”

  “So?”

  But she already realized her statement was stupid. This was a kidnapping, most likely for ransom. The question was, ransom of what? Money? The research? Military secrets? No matter what, it was out of their hands and there was nothing they could do about it. She looked at the papers she held.

  “What’s that?” asked Percy, following her gaze.

  “Another kidnapping possibly; husband works at the same company. Neighbor reported seeing two black SUVs, an interior door was kicked open, wife and kid are missing.”

  Percy’s fists clenched into balls.

  “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” he muttered, shuffling in a circle, Jamie still convinced he was looking for something to hit. He sucked in a deep breath, unclenched his fists and let the air out slowly, his eyes closed, head cocked slightly to the side. He opened his eyes as his phone vibrated on his hip.

  “Percy.”

  He nodded, grunted, then said, “Fifteen minutes.”

  He hung up and snapped the phone back on his hip.

  “Let’s go,” he said, cocking his head toward the stairs.

  “Where to?” asked Jamie, leading the way, chivalry she knew not lost on her partner.

  “That was an old Air Traffic Control buddy of mine at the airport. He’s got something for us.”

  “But I thought we were off the case?”

  “You want to go home?”

  She flashed a grin over her shoulder at him.

  “Not on your life.”

  CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

  Today, Four Days after the Kidnappings

  Chris Leroux’s eyes drooped. He was burning the candle at both ends again, but he had a hunch. And when he had a hunch, time, sleep and personal hygiene—sometimes—took a backseat to the pursuit.

  Last week, three scientists had drowned on a fishing trip, but no bodies had been recovered. Divers had been sent in but no evidence could be found of them beyond their shattered boat, it apparently run down by one much b
igger. It wasn’t a big lake, it wasn’t a deep lake, and the search continued. The only reason it had reached Langley’s attention was the nature of the scientists’ work, and what else had happened that same day.

  Leroux took a sip of Red Bull, his third that night, then eyed the can.

  I have to stop this shit.

  He stood and walked toward the small kitchen with purpose, can in hand, then leaned over the sink. He tipped the can slightly, the precious, caffeine infused beverage, ready to give him that energy he needed to keep him awake for whatever reason he may have, whether it was analyzing police reports or jumping from the edge of space, teetered on the edge of pouring out—but he couldn’t do it.

  He took a sip.

  You’re pathetic.

  He tipped the can and the brown brew glugged out of the can and into the sink. He spit out the sip still in his mouth, then ran the tap to clean the sink, waving his hand in front of the tap to do a proper job. Tossing the can in the recycling bin, he grabbed a paper towel and patted his hands dry as he returned to his desk.

  He looked at his watch and sighed.

  01:04 am.

  He made a promise to himself to leave in half an hour, he just wanted to finish getting through the Echelon intercepts that had finally arrived with the hits on the phone numbers he had programmed, and any mention of the scientists names or various other keywords he had had inserted into the Dictionary. Echelon’s master database used the keywords in the Dictionary to scan every phone conversation, email, telegram, fax—any type of communication that occurred with at least one end of that conversation outside the US borders.

  He didn’t believe in coincidences. His short career had been quite successful, and he quietly gave himself credit for figuring out the Brass Monkey incident last year, which is why when he had that feeling in his stomach, he didn’t ignore it.

  It rumbled.

  Okay, that’s hunger.

  He grabbed a handful of salted cashews and stuffed them in his mouth as he scanned the next intercept. The scientists had died, and the same day, Dr. Carl Shephard’s wife and teenage son went missing. They were officially missing persons, with no witnesses to their departure or abduction. Unlike Maggie Peterson and her two children, Ayla and Darius. There were plenty of witnesses to their abduction, a dramatic mid-afternoon event.

  It was his theory that she had changed her plans, so the abductors had to adapt, otherwise Dr. Peterson’s family would have simply vanished along with Dr. Shephard’s. But even this wouldn’t raise flags at the CIA. This was a domestic event. The FBI’s domain.

  But for the work these scientists did.

  It was their work that had raised red flags for him when he was reading the stack of newspapers he analyzed daily. For that was his life. Day in and day out, to read. Newspapers from around the world, Echelon intercepts for keyword combinations he had created, blogs, websites—if it had words, he read it. Then there were the videos, the audio recordings. It never ended.

  It was exhausting.

  And he wouldn’t change a thing.

  A girlfriend might be nice.

  He leaned back in his chair and peeked to see if Sherrie White was still at her desk.

  Nope!

  She was a hot little number he had had his eye on since she arrived a couple of months ago. Eventually he’d wire up the courage to ask her out for coffee. Even down to the cafeteria for a coffee and a muffin. He always saw her coming back with other coworkers. Sometimes as a group, sometimes one on one. And every time it was a guy, he found his chest tighten in jealousy.

  She’s waaay out of your league.

  He frowned and patted his stomach. It was flat. It wasn’t a six pack, but he kept in shape. He had always dreamed of being a field agent, but unfortunately it probably wasn’t in the cards. He was too valuable as an analyst, and he wasn’t sure he had the balls for it.

  He took a whiff of his pits and winced. No wonder you’re single. He had to start bringing a change of clothes to work and showering downstairs if he was going to keep up these all-nighters. He looked at his watch, then opened up one last Echelon intercept.

  His eyebrows shot up when he saw who the conversation was with, the caller identified as “Jason”, most likely “Peterson, Jason”, but the receiver positively identified as his mother, “Peterson, Kathleen”.

  “Hi, Mom, it’s me.”

  He scanned the rest of the message, printed it off, then raced to his boss’ office, praying he was still here. He rounded the corner and found the aide’s desk abandoned for the day, but inside the closed office, a light still glowed under the door.

  He knocked.

  “Enter!”

  Leroux sighed in relief, then pushed open the door, poking his head inside.

  “Sir, got a minute?”

  Leif Morrison, National Clandestine Service Chief for the CIA, waved him in.

  “What are you still doing here?” the greying but fit man asked, leaning back in his chair, steepling his fingers and resting his chin on his fingertips.

  “You know me, sir,” said Leroux, shrugging, “just going through some intercepts.”

  “And I assume since you’re gracing me with your presence, you found something?”

  Leroux nodded and handed over the Echelon intercept. Morrison scanned it then pushed it back.

  “What am I looking at?”

  “Remember the three scientists who drowned fishing last week?”

  Morrison nodded.

  “Well, I’ve been trying to find out what really happened.”

  “After I specifically told you not to.”

  Leroux paused, trying to recall if the wording of the order might save him.

  “Never mind, go on,” said Morrison.

  Leroux resumed. “This”—he shook the paper—“is the first proof we have that one of them is still alive.”

  “Send it to the FBI. Let them deal with it.”

  “But, sir, the source of the call is foreign.”

  “Which is why we have INTERPOL.”

  Leroux could feel the argument slipping away. “But, sir, I’m sure there’s more to this. The wife—”

  Morrison made a motion with his hand, cutting off the conversation, and apparently Leroux’s throat.

  “FBI is handling the case. Send it to them. If they need our help, they’ll ask for it. I don’t want any jurisdictional bullshit on this, I’m sorry. Things are way too delicate right now for rogue analysts to be spying on our own citizens as part of some unauthorized op.” He leaned forward. “Are we clear?”

  Leroux nodded, his chest tight, his stomach in butterflies. He couldn’t recall ever being chewed out by the boss—this one or any one—before. It sucked. He just wanted to get out of there as quickly as he could and hide in some dark corner.

  “Go home, Chris. Get some sleep, take the morning off and come back in after lunch. You’ll feel better, and I won’t be so cranky.” Morrison gave him a smile, which had its intended effect, reassuring Leroux he was still in his boss’ good books.

  “Good night, sir.”

  “Good night, Chris.”

  Leroux stepped out of the office and closed the door quietly. As he strode back to his desk, his mind raced as to what to do. There were innocent lives involved here, and he knew this was bigger than what the FBI thought. In fact, chatter had it the case was officially on the back burner, the lead investigator assuming they had faked their deaths and disappeared with their families for some unknown reason.

  He shoved his arms into his jacket and sighed.

  What am I going to do?

  He couldn’t keep up the rogue operation behind his boss’ back, that might get him fired no matter how much goodwill he may have built up over the years.

  Then he smiled.

  There was a solution to his problem.

  Kane!

  Impiana Private Villas Kata Noi, Phuket,Thailand

  Dylan Kane woke with a start, and immediately regretted it. His head pound
ed as if an ensemble of Japanese Taiko drummers were rehearsing in his skull. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, and every inch of his body was exhausted and sore. Something had woken him. Early.

  It needed to be killed.

  A vibration to his right provided the answer. His phone. He’d roll over but that would mean disturbing Chailai, who lay curled up under his arm, her head resting on his shoulder, her arm draped across his chest.

  It had been a wild night. A night worthy of remembrance, but which was more of a blur than anything else. Somebody stirred on his left. He looked over and saw the top of a head he didn’t recognize, mirroring Chailai.

  Very worthy of remembrance.

  A Budweiser sat in a bucket of nearly melted ice, within sight, but not reach. He wanted it. His thirst demanded to be quenched. He lay his throbbing head back down, and closed his eyes.

  Why do you do this to yourself?

  Sure, it was always fun, especially in Thailand, one of his favorite places to get away from the pressures of the job. But it was the drinking that killed him. While on the job, he never touched more than his cover demanded, but while off, he seemed to drown himself like there might be no tomorrow, then partake of all the carnal pleasures available to him.

  He felt the warmth of the two ladies he was now sharing his bed with, and regretted the amount he had drank the night before. Partying with two beautiful ladies, especially Chailai, deserved to be remembered, but all that flashed through the fog were glimpses of a wild night on the town reminiscent of a Hangover movie.

  Just no monkey.

  That he could remember.

  He opened his eyes and looked at the beer. It beckoned to him like a siren, a temptress urging him toward his doom, the two ladies pinning his arms making him feel like Odysseus tied to the mast of his ship. He again lowered his head into the soft down-filled pillow, and closed his eyes. A little hair of the dog was what he needed right now, but it was exactly what he didn’t need.

  He needed to stop drinking.

  He grunted, and Chailai moaned. He placed a kiss on the top of her head, and she squirmed with pleasure, her naked skin rubbing on his as she shifted slightly.