Black Flagged Apex (50 page)

Stewart shook her head. "I still think they're going to use the virus somehow."

"I'd like to pursue every possibility, but I barely have enough people on the task force to process the leads and evidence produced by the compound. I doubt Director Shelby would be willing to drastically expand my resources based on a string of evidence illegally obtained by a tier of operatives kept secret from him," Sharpe said.

"Sanderson would like to send the Atlanta team north to the Honesdale area. While they're traveling, our cyber people could do some digging into the Scranton-based construction company. Ground assets can take the investigation to the next level upon arrival," Stewart said.

"What exactly does that mean?" O'Reilly asked.

Stewart looked to Sharpe for guidance.

"Exactly what it sounds like. The gloves are off. I'm giving both of you one last chance to back out of this," Sharpe replied.

"I'm in," Mendoza said without hesitation.

"I'm good," O'Reilly stated.

"All right. Let's send Sanderson's team up to Pennsylvania. How big of a team are we dealing with, Callie?"

"Four, plus a mobile electronic support team. I can have that electronic support team in place within a few hours. We're probably looking at getting the core team in place within six to eight," Stewart replied.

"Let's do it. Business as usual here, unless the team in Pennsylvania uncovers something that changes the game. If that happens, I'll figure out a way to shift assets in that direction. Until then, we process what we have. Good?"

Everyone nodded, and Stewart started for the door. Mendoza and O'Reilly moved sluggishly, leaving him with the impression that they wanted to talk in private without including Stewart.

"Ms. Stewart, keep me apprised. I'll be out on the floor in a few minutes."

She took the hint and swiftly departed, closing the door.

"Are you sure you can trust her?" O'Reilly asked.

"No. But Sanderson hasn't given me any reason to doubt his intentions. Have you seen the preliminary law enforcement bulletin regarding the Ritz Carlton attack? I suspected a connection there too. Six gunmen dead, two of them killed execution style in a suite on the top floor. The hallway outside of the suite looks like a war zone. Sanderson's people took one hell of a risk extracting Young from that hotel."

"I don't trust them," O'Reilly said, "and it's not because I'm still pissed about not being able to fully extend the middle finger on my right hand."

Sharpe was fully aware of the damage caused by the .223 bullet that shattered O'Reilly's forearm and tore sinew and ligament on its strange path up her arm toward her hand. She hadn't let it go, nor should she. Even Mendoza didn't dare make light of the fact that he missed seeing that middle finger colorfully deployed on a daily basis.

"Sanderson's plot two years ago was diabolical in every way," she said. "Meticulously planned and brutal. I don't know how he suddenly turned into a semi-legitimate arm of the U.S. government. I have the feeling that it was his plan all along. A manipulation of the highest order."

"You'd be correct in that assumption," Sharpe said, not intending to give further details about the failed attack on his compound in Argentina.

"All I'm saying is to be careful."

"Thank you, Dana. I'm doing what I can. I need you guys to keep an eye on the situation. If you see something spiraling out of control, or you suspect that we're being played, I need to know ASAP. And don't send me anything over the network. Do it in person," Sharpe said.

"Do you think Sanderson has hacked the system? I've checked for signs, but if their people are as good as it sounds, only a system reboot will kick them out."

"No need for that…yet. Plus, this would be a bad time to shut down the system. Just assume that anything you put into the system or say over the phone can be overheard."

"What about our cell phones? Computer microphones? All of that could be used to eavesdrop," Mendoza reminded them.

"We'll get creative if that becomes necessary. Time to break up this little mutiny. We might have other eyes watching us," Sharpe said.

"Fuck. This is ridiculous. We're not even secure at NCTC?" Mendoza griped.

Sharpe shrugged his shoulders. "Business as usual, people. Business as usual. Any last requests before we break this up?"

"Can you call Laurel's police chief and get Osborne's vacation records?" O'Reilly said.

"Maybe we should take a less conspicuous approach. I'll see if Stewart's techies can dig that up through their network. No point in drawing more attention," Sharpe said.

"Business as usual, my ass. Watch your back, sir," O'Reilly said.

"I'm trusting the two of you to take care of that."

Chapter 42

9:25 AM

Laurel Police Department

Laurel, Maryland

Sergeant Bryan Osborne sat in his Honda Accord and stared out at a row of white police cruisers. He still hadn't recovered from the adrenaline high that nearly caused him to break out into a full sweat in front of his chief. Chief Wilson caught him minutes before he planned to step into the parking lot and pulled Osborne into his office. He'd finally been cleared to take paid administrative leave, pending a review of the circumstances surrounding the shooting in the North Tract, and had been making the rounds through the station. He thought Wilson had a few more words of wisdom and encouragement. The ensuing conversation had caused his vision to shrink momentarily.

Chief Wilson told him about an FBI inquiry into his vacation schedule. The agent, a snippy female from somewhere in D.C., didn't explain her reasons for the request. Wilson figured that the FBI didn't appreciate the fact that basic police fieldwork had managed to upstage them, and they were looking for any reason to knock the department down a few notches. He had no idea how Osborne's vacation schedule played into their little game, and he had no intention of providing the FBI with any information about his police officers. They didn't deserve this kind of political maneuvering less than one day after an officer had been killed in the line of duty three feet away from Osborne. He said he might consider filing a complaint with the FBI if the agent called again.

He then proceeded to tell Osborne to keep his nose clean while on administrative leave. What the fuck was that supposed to mean? He didn't really care. He was glad to get out of the station without vomiting. How the hell did the FBI sniff out his trail so quickly? Maybe it was nothing. Standard procedure in a federal case? He didn't like it either way. He'd spent three out of his last five vacation periods at the compound in West Virginia. There was no way they could know that, but it still unnerved him. It was too much of a coincidence. He'd have to buy one of those prepaid phones and report this to Brown. He started his car and drove slowly out of the parking lot onto 5
^th
Street, heading southeast to the Best Buy on Baltimore Avenue.

Chapter 43

9:52 AM

Lake Wallenpaupack

Poconos Mountains, Pennsylvania

A single loon cut through the glassy water just off the small dock extending from the property's rocky shoreline. Lee Harding sat at the end of the floating dock in an Adirondack chair, holding one of the sporting rods they had found in the immense post and beam rental house. Jackson Greely followed the gravel path to a point where a small wooden ramp met the rocks. When he stepped on the dock, the loon suddenly took off, skipping along the water until it had gained enough speed to achieve flight. Harding turned his head and nodded a greeting.

Jackson took the empty chair and set his coffee down on the chair's wide arm.

"I just heard from Brown. Sergeant Osborne's chief took a call from an FBI agent asking questions about his vacation schedule. Apparently the chief told them to piss off," Jackson said.

Lee muttered an obscenity and met Jackson's stare. "That was fast. I assume you accelerated the timeline of our insurance policy?"

"We cash in on the premium tonight. That should buy us more than enough time to get the convoys on the road. Once the convoys depart, they can connect all of the dots and it won't matter," Jackson said.

"Tell Brown to get rid of Osborne. The FBI isn't likely to accept the chief's response. They'll obtain the records. It's fair to assume that the feds have connected the operatives captured or killed by their employer's vacation schedules. I wonder what else they're working on?" Harding said.

"It won't matter after tonight. They'll be in the middle of redeploying the entire task force based on what they found at the compound, when all hell breaks loose. Confusion will reign supreme for days."

Lee nodded in approval. "And the lab?"

Jackson was starting to get a little annoyed by Harding's barrage of questions. He didn't even have his cell phone handy…which wasn't a shocker given that he only fielded calls from Jackson. King Harding sat on his throne and accepted reports from his subordinates. He shouldn't think like this. The two of them had been friends for a long time, and Harding's aloofness wasn't a new development. He'd always been a "hands off" leader. Jackson was the direct opposite, with a leadership style that bordered on micromanagement. He'd long ago learned to identify competent and trustworthy people to help him compensate for this intensive, "hands on" approach. Brown was one of those people. Anne Renee was another. Maybe Lee's easy affect was due to the fact that Jackson took care of everything. He'd never been forced to adapt his style.

"Carnes is bitching up a storm, but he's pretty sure we can get the bottling wrapped up tomorrow morning if they work through the night. Shipments will leave late tomorrow afternoon if all goes well," he said.

"I can't believe we're this close. One week from now, things will start to change. The stage will be set for the New Recovery," Lee said.

"We still have a long way to go, and most of it will be out of our direct control," Jackson corrected.

"True, but the time has never been riper. The mortgage crisis is in full swing. Mortgage-backed securities. Credit default swaps. Collateralized debt obligations. The big banking collapse is flying just below everyone's radar. The nation needs new leadership to weather this manmade crisis. True America will step in to fill the void."

"We just need to get the convoys on the road," Jackson said.

They both stared out at the tranquil lake, still unspoiled by summer boaters.

"Has Young resurfaced?" Lee asked.

"No. I don't expect he will."

"Let's hope the FBI doesn't have him. He's enough of a weasel to roll on us."

"I'd be relieved if the FBI had him," Jackson said, causing Lee's head to snap up.

"What do you mean?"

"The team that aided his escape in Atlanta was outsourced. Highly skilled and untraceable. I'm hoping Mr. Young hired them. If not, we could have a big problem," Jackson said.

Chapter 44

10:15 AM

The Westin Princeton

Princeton, New Jersey

"No way, and that's final," Darryl Jackson said.

He started pacing back and forth in front of the two double beds in his hotel room. There was no way he would drive back down to Fredericksburg and do what Berg had asked. The streets were jammed with cars, all with the same goal in mind—to find bottled water. Traffic along the Beltway alone would add two to three hours to his trip.

"Are you telling me that the CIA doesn't have access to a stockpile of weapons at The Farm? That's a two-hour drive for you."

"Not with this traffic, and I can't raid whatever armory you believe exists over there," Berg said.

"But it's all right for me to drive six hours or more through traffic to grab shit out of the Brown River armory? Not to mention the fact that Cheryl will divorce me if I abandon Liz," Jackson said.

"Liz will be fine. We're starting to think that the Fort Meade attack might have been a complicated ruse," Berg said.

"For what? A bigger attack? It doesn't sound like you know much of anything at this point."

"All I know is that we're sending outside assets up to Pennsylvania, well outside of any legal boundaries. If these suspicions are correct, this team will need specialized weapons and equipment. I'm cutting them forged FBI badges as we speak. Don't worry, if the shit hits the fan, I have your back," Berg said.

"Pennsylvania doesn't have any waiting period for rifle purchases. You can pick up some sweet equipment on the spot."

"Oh. I wasn't aware that you could buy suppressed weapons over the counter in Pennsylvania now, or fourth-generation night-vision rifle scopes. They overlook federal licensing for automatic weapons too?"

"This isn't fair, Karl. I can't leave Liz unattended. Cheryl will never forgive me if something happens," Jackson said.

"Princeton is a safe town. Well insulated. You'll be back in Princeton by tonight," Berg said.

"I'll be lucky to reach Fredericksburg by six this evening, and it will probably take me a few more hours to pull off the gun heist and—"

"Nobody's stealing. You're authorized to draw weapons from that armory," Berg interrupted.

"I'll be sure to tell that to the board of directors, after your people throw them into a river to cover their tracks."

"The team didn't have a choice in Kazakhstan. You know that," Berg said.

"Uh huh. So, I steal roughly thirty thousand dollars' worth of gear and get back in my truck for the seven-hour drive to Scranton. Thirteen hours in a car, transporting stolen assault weapons across at least three state lines. By myself."

"We're sending a jet to meet you in Fredericksburg. It's a company jet," Berg said.

"You can swing a Lear jet at the last second, but a few assault rifles are beyond your reach?" Jackson said.