Black Flagged (The Black Flagged Technothriller Series) (29 page)

"Nobody's in pursuit? How many state troopers did they have on scene?" said Sharpe.

"A lot, but it happened so fast, it took them a few minutes to realize what happened. They radioed ahead, but unfortunately, every state trooper on duty along that stretch of the Interstate was sitting at that accident site," Bernstein said.

"This is unbelievable. I can't stress to you how important it is that we find this crew. Even just one of them. It's critical," Sharpe said.

"I fully understand the situation, and every law enforcement officer along the Interstate 95 corridor is looking for them. So far they have nothing. They also have a possible police impersonator, and this is throwing everyone for a loop. Local cops at the intersection below the highway were told by a state trooper to switch radio frequencies a few minutes before the FBI convoy arrived at the off ramp. They then got orders to let traffic from one of the local roads pass, effectively blocking Olson's group at the intersection. The rear SUV was hit with the gas while they were stopped at the intersection. State police swear that nobody told them to switch frequencies or walk down to the intersection after the locals established their roadblock."

"What happened to the state trooper?" Sharpe asked.

"Local police say he walked up the off ramp, and they assumed he rejoined the troopers," Bernstein said.

"Shit, this is a mess. Thanks, Dan. I need to make some calls really quick. Call me immediately if you hear anything else," he said and hung up the phone.

"Frank, I need you over at the Pentagon ASAP. Weber said the fax line was dead. I think we have more than one problem on our hands right now. Munoz was our last link," Sharpe said, closing his eyes and leaning his head back.

"Did Olson make it?" O'Reilly asked.

"Uh…shit. Sorry. Yes. Yes. Everyone is fine. Olson and the agents in the first car were hit by another vehicle and injured, but they'll be fine. The others were knocked out by some kind of gas. Munoz is gone."

"Dead?" Mendoza asked.

"No. Gone. Get over to the Pentagon, Frank. I want to know why the line to the Sanctum is down," Sharpe said. "O'Reilly, make sure the team up in Portland starts downloading every picture of Petrovich available. If we can create a composite impression for the new National Surveillance Network, we might be able to start scanning surveillance and traffic cams registered with this system for a match. It's a long shot, but we might get lucky."

"They should already be doing this, but I'll make sure they understand the priority. I'll start the process for creating the required NSN composite. I'll need you to call the NSA to get me one of the templates necessary to build it," she said.

"That'll be my first call," he said, as agent Mendoza opened the door to leave.

Mendoza checked his watch. "NSA's gonna love this. I'll call your cell as soon as I figure out what's going on over there."

"Hopefully I'm being paranoid," Sharpe said.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

10:20 p.m.

Safe House, Alexandria, Virginia

The first thing Daniel noticed when he walked through the safe house door was the familiar smell of Sanderson's strongly brewed coffee. Bolivian coffee. The odor brought back unpleasant memories of Sanderson's office complex at The Ranch. The second thing he noticed was that Colonel Farrington drifted behind him in the hallway, just before Parker stopped at the apartment door. He was sure that neither man fully trusted Daniel in the presence of the general, nor would Sanderson himself. What none of them knew was that Daniel Petrovich had no idea how he would react when he walked through the safe house door.

He wanted to kill Sanderson for dragging him back into this hellish life and potentially destroying what he had struggled to build with Jessica, but the practical side of him knew he might need to rely on Sanderson to fully elude the authorities and land on distant shores. They could always start another life. He shifted his backpack and thought of the submachine gun inside. He was pretty sure Colonel Farrington wouldn't let him get to that. The knife hidden in his front pants pocket might be another story, but for now, he didn't want to open that book. He'd listen to the general and decide the best course of action.

Sanderson's voice filled the room as soon as the door shut behind Petrovich.

"Danny, it's really good to see you again," he said and walked toward him for a hug that was surely meant as more of a pat down than a display of emotion.

He barely embraced the hug, and the general backed away. Sanderson was a physically impressive man, even in his late fifties, and hadn't aged a year as far as Daniel could tell. Like most Black Flag operatives, his face was forgettable. Not overly handsome, or unattractive, but a face that could blend, if it wasn't perched on a body more appropriate for someone half his age.

Sanderson was dressed in a light blue oxford shirt, stretched tightly over his muscled body, and similarly strained khaki pants. He had always been an exercise fanatic, and even when his recruits at The Ranch were finally in peak physical condition, he kept pace and often ran circles around everyone. He was the product of nearly two decades of special forces training and experience, combined with nearly a decade of his own fanatical "off the books" program. He was also one of the most cunningly intelligent human beings Petrovich had ever encountered.

"Is this place even safe?" Daniel said, and Sanderson smirked, clearly not expecting a warm welcome.

"I wouldn't be here if it wasn't. The team that tracked you down today was a fluke. We're investigating it," Sanderson said.

"Didn't seem like a fluke to me. Seemed like more of a leak," he said and glanced around the sterile room at Parker and Farrington.

"I guarantee you we've had no leaks today. Everything has proceeded according to plan, except for the team sent to intercept you. Everyone, please have a seat," he said and motioned toward the couch and chairs arranged around an empty coffee table.

Daniel glanced at the dining room table, which was covered with three laptop computers and a mess of power cords and wires. He saw the hallway outside of the apartment on one of the monitors, which gave him some reassurance that they might be safe here.

"Intercept is certainly one way to describe it. It felt more like a Black Flag mission. There was no hesitation to kill me," Daniel said, while he placed his green backpack in the middle of the bare coffee table and opened it.

He saw Parker and Farrington tense, but they didn't move. General Sanderson kept the same indifferent expression on his face while he reached into the pack and took out one of the laptops.

"Excellent work. Parker, I want you to take a look at the files on this computer. There are two of them, right?"

Daniel didn't answer, but instead pulled the second one out of the main compartment. He felt the heavy weight of the MP-9 through the thin nylon and dismissed the thought that formed from the contact.

"I pulled some cameras from the trucks, too," he said and spilled these out onto the table over the computers.

Sanderson opened one of the laptops and shook his head.

"Now this is very interesting," he said, turning the computer around for Daniel.

He found himself facing a recent driver's license photo and a ghost from his past, Marko Resja.

"Shit," Petrovich uttered.

"Shit is right. You were brought into this at the last minute, so I think this might be related to the little problem we discussed, Colonel," he said, and Colonel Farrington nodded.

"Something else that fell through the cracks today?" Petrovich said, glaring at the general.

"Something we couldn't have foreseen, but we can certainly handle. I'll need your help with this. Probably later tonight. Maybe tomorrow. When do you think they'll figure out what happened at the Sanctum?" Sanderson said, addressing Colonel Farrington.

"Impossible to say. They might know already…or if it's a relatively quiet night for the FBI, it might not become apparent until morning," he said.

"It won't be a quiet night for the FBI. Our team in the northeast just took down the FBI convoy transporting Munoz," Sanderson said.

"Then they probably know something is wrong. The only line in and out of the Sanctum has been cut, and one of my staff was holding a fax sheet in his hands. I couldn't tell if this was incoming or outgoing. It fell into a pool of blood," the colonel said.

"Let's assume they know. Our problem should be out on the streets tonight. Right?"

"The toxin lasts a little under an hour and has no known side effects aside from dizziness. If he can clear the FBI's red tape, he should be back on the streets pretty quickly," Farrington said.

"Who is this problem you're talking about? I think we're all far enough along in this to cut the need-to-know bullshit," Petrovich interrupted, tired of the semantics game they were playing.

"The CIA liaison at the FBI has an eidetic memory," Sanderson said. "That means he has a…"

"I know what it means, General. So, you want me kill a CIA employee now? Fine. Who else knows about me, or Black Flag, or whatever the fuck else you're going after today? I'll kill them all if it puts an end to this," he said, glaring at Sanderson.

Sanderson didn't speak right away, and Parker looked uncomfortable. He couldn't get a read from Farrington, and for a fleeting moment, Daniel thought he might have to shoot his way out of the apartment. His mind started calculating the process, and within the flash of a second, he envisioned it all. The MP-9 was loaded with a round in the chamber, and all he'd have to do was get his hand into the backpack. The top was unzipped roughly four inches to allow him quick access. He wouldn't have time to remove the weapon, so he'd fire it from inside the backpack.

"Danny, there won't be any need for you to shoot your way out of here. You're part of the team. We just need you to tie up a loose end, and our work is done here. We're all free to start over," Sanderson said.

"There's more than one loose end. Someone on your
team
talked to the feds. Have you heard from the man you assigned to the Newport killing?" Petrovich said.

"You caught that? The story was up for a total of thirty-three minutes before the feds pulled the plug on the article," Sanderson said.

"Not exactly what I wanted to see when I woke up this morning. How much of today's operation was compromised because of that? Or did you have a contingency plan, as usual?" Petrovich said.

"I didn't need one. His capture was a critical part of my plan. Without his flawless performance, all we'd have to show for our efforts are eight dead Al Qaeda financiers. You met him during your initial training, before we split you up for area-specific indoctrination," Sanderson said.

Petrovich didn't know what to ask next. For the first time, in as long as he could remember, he was thoroughly confused. He let the general's statement settle for a few seconds, before responding. "You purposely put one of our guys in FBI custody?"

"I had to," Sanderson said, studying Daniel's response.

"I didn't leave him hanging out to dry, if that's what you're thinking. You know me better than that, Daniel. I may be a shitty son-of-a-bitch to work for, but I have never put one of my people into a situation that they were not adequately prepared to handle, or without the best possible plan to help them achieve the mission. The convoy we just hit was transporting him to FBI headquarters here in D.C. Right now, Munoz is on a boat slicing through the waters of Long Island Sound, headed for a quiet rendezvous, and a nice, secure transit south."

"And the rest of the operatives? If the CIA somehow connected the dots to me, then parts of the file are out. Right, Colonel?" Daniel said.

"Very limited information. Roughly a dozen names along the East Coast were provided to the FBI from the Black Flag file, which is what we counted on. I destroyed those faxes on the way out. I saw some detailed information from your file on the last fax sent to the FBI. McKie tightly controlled the flow of information on behalf of the Pentagon. Nobody wanted the contents of this file to go widespread," Farrington said.

"McKie? I figured he'd be in hiding with General Tierney," Daniel said.

"McKie stuck around the Pentagon and landed himself a cushy job doing nothing, except managing the flow of our military's best kept secrets. That's how our country rewards traitors," Sanderson said.

"I assume he's dead," Daniel said, looking to Farrington.

"Very dead," the colonel confirmed.

Daniel sat back into the couch, processing everything he had been told, but he still couldn't make any sense of the day's events. He had assumed that the entire day had been some version of a revenge play orchestrated to cripple Al Qaeda's operations within the U.S. Sanderson could be almost childlike in his need to seek revenge, but beyond last evening's assassinations and the death of McKie, nothing else he had just heard from Sanderson fit this assumption.

"This isn't about taking Al Qaeda down, is it?" Petrovich said.

"Cutting off funds to Al Qaeda's growing U.S. presence is my gift to the U.S. government. They would have watched and waited until it was too late. But you're right, this wasn't the main event," Sanderson said.

"Then why exactly has my life been turned upside down today?" Petrovich said.

"Colonel?"

At his prompt, Colonel Farrington removed his jacket and started unbuttoning his uniform shirt. Daniel thought he was wearing a bulletproof vest, which would be a nice addition to his own equipment list given the circumstances.

"There's gotta be an easier way to set me up for a gay striptease act," Daniel said, and Parker laughed.

"Always quick with a joke, even under extreme duress. You know, this was one of the key indicators that you were a good match for my program. My staff psychologists spent more time than you can imagine examining your reactions to stress. You were by far their favorite," Sanderson said.