Black Flagged (The Black Flagged Technothriller Series) (25 page)

Petrovich drew a few conclusions from the Metro Police officers' behavior. He decided that a wide-scale alert had been issued to all D.C. area law enforcement agencies, which didn't surprise him. He had killed a police officer, and the police would turn the city and surrounding counties inside out trying to find him. He also concluded that the police were being cautious. They knew what they were up against, and he could tell that the two officers at the station didn't feel very confident about their situation. They had made a good assessment, which ensured that they would return safely to their families tonight. Neither of them had any idea how close to death they had come, as Daniel walked within ten feet of them, his new disguise not even attracting a second glance.

Daniel just wanted to get through the rest of the day to see Jessica again. They had more than earned the right to be together, and he would show little mercy for anyone standing in their way. He hadn't asked for any of this and had thought he had sent a clear enough message, several years ago, that he was done. He had topped that message with more than a hundred million dollars, which apparently hadn't been enough. It was never enough for General Sanderson, but none of that really mattered now. He had to figure out how to move forward and start over. This was how he had been trained to think. Two steps ahead, and never look back.

Just as he turned onto N Street, a D.C. police car pulled up to the Metro station and parked right in front of the exit. Two officers emerged from the patrol car and hurried toward the Metro entrance, neither of them glancing around at any of the emerging Metro passengers. One of them carried the patrol car's shotgun. He was glad he chose to get off the Metro before Union Station. A few more minutes on the train, and he would have been forced to walk through a chokepoint of police officers emboldened by reinforcements and heavy weaponry.

Daniel planned to work his way toward the Mall area, sticking close to other groups of people on heavily commercialized streets. It was still early for D.C., and he didn't see this as a problem. He liked the idea of the Mall area, since it was always filled with tourists and locals of every type. He'd have no trouble blending in with the crowd there, while waiting for Parker to pick him up. The Mall was roughly one mile away.

Chapter Thirty-Three

9:05 p.m.

CIA Headquarters, McLean, Virginia

Berg sank back into the deep leather chair and called Jeremy Cummings' cell phone again. The phone abruptly went to voicemail. He had lost contact with Cummings just over thirty minutes ago, after his team had pulled into a Natural Foods parking lot in Silver Spring, Maryland. He'd given Cummings the order to terminate Petrovich and had expected to hear back from him within ten minutes. Despite a burning desire to personally avenge Nicole's murder, he forced himself to acknowledge the bigger picture. The man was a trained intelligence operative, on the run from the authorities, and it was only a matter of time before he spotted the teams trailing him. He didn't have any more favors to use at Fort Meade, and if he ditched the Brown River teams, they might never find him again. When Cummings reported that Petrovich was headed into a grocery store, he knew this would be their best opportunity, so he gave the order.

He knew something wasn't right and decided to call CIA headquarters' communications desk. He placed the burner phone on the table next to his chair and pulled out his personal cell phone. An automated system answered, and Berg spoke several passwords to authenticate himself.

"Good evening, Mr. Berg, how can we assist you?" a calm voice said.

"Thank you. A friend of mine from Silver Spring called asking if something big was going on up there. He thinks I'm some bigwig over at the FBI, so I always get calls from him about stuff like this. Most of the time it's his imagination, but he insists that the Metro station down there is swarming with cops," he lied and wondered if his voice was being analyzed by any electronic equipment.

"Stand by, sir. Looks like your friend is not imagining things today. I'm showing a D.C. Metro Area APB for a suspect in the murder of a police officer," the voice said.

"Well, I guess that would explain the activity," Berg said, wondering if maybe Cummings' cell phone had died.

"The same suspect is sought in connection with multiple homicides. This all happened in the same area, at the same time. The police officer was found shot to death in a Natural Foods parking lot, and several other bodies were found at the same scene. More bodies were recovered a few blocks away, in a residential neighborhood. Yeah, your friend was not imagining this. Sounds like a small battle took place in Silver Spring. Every law enforcement agency in and around the beltway is looking for the shooter."

"Sounds like a bad night to be on the streets up there. I'll give him a call, and tell him to stay inside until the police figure this out," Berg said.

"I think that's probably a good call. Is there anything else we can help you with?"

"No. Thank you very much. Sorry to bother you guys with something like this," he said.

"No trouble at all, it's been an unusually quiet night," the voice said, and Berg heard a click.

Berg decided he would take a walk and destroy the cell phone used to contact the Brown River team, but first he needed to make one more call. He used a third, separate cell phone, reserved solely for the purpose of calling this number. The phone rang for what seemed an eternity to Berg, but was finally answered by a familiar voice.

"I assume the team took care of your business," Darryl Jackson said.

"I think we have a problem," Berg said.

"You mean I have a problem," Jackson stated.

"I talked with the team leader right before they followed him into a grocery store. I lost contact with them after that, and now every cop in the D.C. area is converging on that same area. Multiple homicides, dead cop…I just wanted to give you the heads up. It won't be long before you get a call," Berg said.

"Fuck. I thought two teams would be enough," Jackson said.

"Sounds like he took them both out. There is a report of multiple homicides in two different locations. I know these are your guys, and I'm sorry, but…did you cushion yourself from this operation?"

"Shit. As much as I could. Nothing in writing. Cummings assembled the team. I gave him complete authority on this one. I didn't want a big trail," Jackson said.

"This is going to sound bad, and I apologize, but if Cummings was killed, would any of the other team members know who issued the orders?"

"Not likely…are you suggesting that Cummings take the fall for this?" Jackson said.

"I'm just suggesting that if Cummings is dead, why expose anyone else?"

"All right. I don't like it, but reality is reality. I can tell from your voice that this wasn't exactly a legit mission on your end, so that leaves a lot of asses hanging in the breeze."

"Precisely," Berg said, relieved that his friend could see the big picture.

"So here's what I need from you. A large sum of money," Jackson said.

"I don't understand," Berg said, hesitantly.

"Not for me, you jack ass. For Cummings. Let's just say that it's possible for some of our team leaders to have undisclosed accounts, into which money is sometimes deposited for extra work. Work that nobody wants to acknowledge here at Brown River, or perhaps at the Pentagon. I might have access to some of these accounts, and a large, untraceable payment to the right account, very fucking soon, might give me all of the plausible deniability I need to steer this thing well clear of Brown River…and you. Do you know anyone that might be able to do us…you, a favor like this, and deposit some cash into the right account?"

"I think I can figure something out. I'll call you back when I'm ready," Berg said.

"Perfect. The larger the sum, the better. Six figure range. I'm willing to personally stake this cash to keep my ass out of jail, so don't be shy…and don't hesitate to throw some money into the pot yourself. I know you're not used to throwing your own money around, but this would probably be the right time to make an investment," Jackson said.

"I agree," Berg said.

"And make sure you toss the cell phone you used to call Cummings."

"Now you're giving operational security advice to a CIA operative?" Berg joked.

"Well, I'd like to continue to have the opportunity to sit around and sip fine Scotch with that operative, and I don't think they allow alcohol in prison…so don't take offense," Jackson said.

"Get me the account information, and I'll call you as soon as I have something. Sorry about the mess," Berg said.

"It's not your fault, really, and regardless of what happens today, I still owe you. I'll be waiting for your call, but please don't ponder this for too long. With a dead cop involved, things might move quicker than either of us expects," Jackson said, and the line went dead.

Berg thought about their situation for a few minutes. He was utterly disappointed that this opportunity had slipped through his fingers, but he might still get another shot at it. Petrovich would have a difficult time snaking his way out of this one. Everyone was looking for him at this point. He was now the key figure in both a federal and local manhunt. He had few doubts that Petrovich was capable of eluding everyone, but he liked the odds, and if Petrovich surfaced again, Berg would kill the murderer himself.

Chapter Thirty-Four

9:20 p.m.

The Pentagon, Arlington, Virginia

Colonel Farrington received the "green light" from General Sanderson earlier than he had anticipated. Frankly, he thought early tomorrow morning would be the best time to take possession of the file. He would attract little attention leaving in the morning, amidst the thousands of Pentagon personnel pouring into the building. At this point in the evening, the security staff would have very little to do at their station, and he might be searched. The search would likely be limited to his briefcase, which would be empty of anything suspicious. All of the file's contents would be strapped to an ingenious vest system under his uniform. If they decided to pat him down, Sanderson's extraction team had better be ready for a hot pickup.

He looked around his deserted section and thought about the six individuals inside the Sanctum. Neutralizing six people in rapid succession would be a challenge, but he had some equipment to help him with the task. Slowly, over the course of several months, he had managed to smuggle the pieces of two non-lethal devices into the Pentagon. He would be glad to get it over with. He faced a wide spectrum of capabilities in that room, and he wasn't looking forward to the encounter, for various reasons.

Two senior enlisted staff personnel, neither with any specialized hand-to-hand combat training, but resourceful nonetheless, would be the most dangerous to underestimate. One CIA agent with a photographic memory. Probably trained as a field agent, but not recently active in a dangerous assignment. His reaction would not be instinctual, but still dangerous. The two FBI agents would be armed, but they would be the least of his challenges.

The most dangerous man in the room was McKie. He was a former Black Flag operative, and the only traitor to the program known to General Sanderson. He'd actively brought Black Flag's questionable activities to the attention of General William Tierney, who sparked a Congressional investigation into Sanderson's program. The Congressional inquiry effectively killed the program, burying it along with both of the generals' careers. Nobody wanted the details of this program to become public knowledge, which is why the file had been kept in its original form and sent to the military's most secure tomb. Sanderson's orders regarding McKie were explicit and had only been revealed to Colonel Farrington minutes ago. The orders actually made his job inside the room easier.

He wondered why they hadn't just burned the file, if it could be so damning to the country. In his opinion, this was the curse of intelligence gathering. Even the most toxic information had its value, and in an important room somewhere in this city, someone wasn't willing to forsake that value to make the right decision. Sanderson's plan would rectify this situation, and he needed to get moving. According to the general, his ride would be here shortly.

He opened the lower drawer of a three-level file cabinet to the left of his workstation and moved a stack of manila files onto his desk. Under the files sat a gray metal box, which he quickly unlocked. The box was filled with an exotic array of non-lethal weapons, and one long black commando knife. Alone in the Pentagon's Special Information Section, Colonel Farrington started to assemble the various devices.

**

Julio Mendez retreated to the back of the custodial closet and lowered himself onto the folding chair he called home. He'd found that metal box one day, while snooping through the file cabinets after hours, and thought it was suspicious. Buried under a bunch of files, hidden from view, he'd seen Colonel Shifty open it before, early in the morning, and place something inside. The box is what put the colonel onto Julio's watch list from the start. He'd felt bad about poking into desk drawers and unlocked cabinets, right up until the day he found the colonel's secret box. Then, a few days ago, the colonel started taking secret calls on a cell phone he kept hidden in his briefcase, which was a complete violation of the Special Information Section's security policy.

He had to take immediate action. He could sense that something important was going on in the Sanctum, and that the colonel was up to no good. It was a bad combination in his mind, and even if nothing big was going down, it was still his duty to report the cell phone. Colonel Farrington should know better, especially in this section. He decided to call security on the cell phone he had hidden inside his thermos. He finished unscrewing the lid, when the door suddenly swung open. Colonel Farrington stood in the doorway pointing something black at him. The metal leads from the Taser reached Julio before his brain really processed what was happening. He didn't remember much after that.