Fallen Angel (23 page)

Bacliff hung up, pushed the phone away, crossed his arms, and lowered his head like a kindergartener told to rest at his desk.

Except Bacliff found no rest.

VITALY EGONOV RAISED A
small, green, handheld radio to his mouth, keyed it, and said, "Ostanovit." The convoy of three Tiger military vehicles—Russia's answer to the Humvee—and a flatbed truck slowed to a stop on a dirt road that normally saw only tractors and old trucks pulling animal carriers. Egonov's mottled green-and-beige Tiger slid a foot in the loose dirt, its wide tires kicking up dust and pebbles.

"What is it,
Podpolkovnik
?"

"A message from our friend in the Kremlin." What Egonov received was the military version of a text message. The satellite phone's display came to life, alerting Egonov of an incoming message. All it contained was an Internet address, coded. Egonov pulled a laptop from the space between his driver, Senior Sergeant Anton Terasov, and him.

It took only moments before Egonov had tethered the satellite phone to the laptop. A few moments later he was looking at a satellite-generated map. He turned to Terasov. "The satellite is down." He turned the computer so his right-hand man could see it. "The coordinates put it a few kilometers north of Nov Arman."

"We should avoid the town." Terasov pointed to the map. "This road will take us a few kilometers east of the satellite. We will be off the road after that."

"Time estimate?"

"Less than two hours."

"Make it much less than two hours."

Terasov put the Tiger in gear and pressed the accelerator to the floor. The heavy suspension took most of the abuse, but speeding on a dirt road meant a rough ride no matter what vehicle they were riding in. Egonov was willing to risk his kidneys.

MOYER DIDN'T KNOW RUSSIAN
but he recognized swearing when he heard it. The vehicle shuddered to a stop.

"What? What's wrong?" Moyer righted himself after inertia pressed him into the small divider between the cargo area and the truck's cab.

"Vehicles." Lev kept his eyes forward either because his eyes were fixed on something or he didn't want to be seen looking behind him.

"Details, man. Give us details."

"I counted three Tigers and a flatbed truck."

"Tigers?" Rich said.

"Like your Humvees. Four-wheel drive, diesel engine."

"Military?"

"Russian military uses them, but these may belong to the group you're looking for. They call themselves Future Dawn. Those who know them have less poetic names."

"What direction were they traveling?"

"North. We can assume they're going our way."

"Great," Rich said, "sounds like a party. I hope they brought a fruit plate."

Moyer's mind began to grind ideas.

Lev turned in his seat. "What do you want me to do?"

"Did they see you?"

"Us, Mr. Moyer. Did they see us? I'm not in this truck alone."

"Okay, Lev, did they see us?"

"I don't think so. They're downhill from us. I saw a glint off their windscreen and hit the brakes."

"Good job."

"I'm glad you liked it. Can I have a drink?"

"No booze for you, Lev. I need you sharp."

Lev lowered his head. "I keep telling you: Vodka makes me sharper."

"I doubt it," Jose said.

"Everyone give me a sec." Moyer closed his eyes and let the ideas run rampant. "How fast were they going, Lev?"

"Faster than is safe."

"The Chinese already have a lead on us," Rich said. "Now we've got hostile Russians headed to the same place."

"I know, I know. I need another sec." Moyer eyed Rich. "I'm still here, Shaq."

"I believe you."

"That's what your mouth says, but your face says something else."

"My face has always had a mind of its own."

Moyer looked down, then smiled. "This could be good. Very good."

When he looked up again, he saw six men, Lev included, staring at him.

"What?"

CHAPTER 27

COLONEL MAC AND ALAN
Kinkaid sat at one side of the long conference room table; Jerry Zinsser and Terry Wallace sat across from them. Mac selected one of the meeting rooms in the main administrative building. At first, Zinsser assumed they would be meeting in the Concrete Palace, but the idea faded when he was reminded he was no longer Spec Ops, and even if an exception could be made for him, it couldn't for Terry Wallace, CID or not. Technically speaking, despite the local CID director's influence and experience, he shouldn't even know about the Spec Ops control center.

Zinsser only served under Colonel Mac for one mission. He met with Colonel Mac several times before being assigned to Moyer's team last year and before making a hash of his career. Zinsser's first impression of Mac was a positive one. The man was built like a brick, had a quick mind, was a no-nonsense leader, and had eyes that could bore through a steel plate. He had never seen Mac angry and never wanted to. Zinsser knew the type. He could intimidate a rabid pit bull with just the tone of his voice.

"Fill me in, Jerry." Mac leaned back and folded his arms. Kinkaid took notes on a notebook computer.

"You received the web link I sent you?"

"Yes. Received and viewed."

Sometimes Mac acted like he had to pay real money for each word he spoke.

"Someone knows about Moyer's mission."

"Maybe."

"Sir, with all due respect, the kidnapper called Moyer by name and mentioned the mission."

"Correction, Agent Zinsser. The kidnapper mentioned
a
mission."

Wallace leaned on the table, putting weight on his elbows. "Colonel. I know you have secrets to keep. I've been around the Army for a long time, but we are facing a different kind of case here. A young girl's life is at stake."

"I know that. People higher up the food chain know it as well."

"I can't speak to that," Wallace said. "My only concern is the girl."

It was a slight motion but Zinsser saw Colonel Mac's jaw tighten. Not good. "I'm aware of the problem."

Wallace drummed his fingers. "Sir, what mission is Moyer and his team on?"

"That's classified."

"It may be pertinent to our investigation." Wallace scooted closer to the table. Zinsser wanted to leave.

"The mission is classified above your level."

Wallace ran a hand over his face. "Colonel, I didn't expect you'd show up with blueprints, but I have to ask the nature and goal of the mission. It is an integral part of our investigation."

"There is nothing I can tell you."

Wallace stood and leaned over the table. "Colonel, I try never to go over an officer's head—"

"Sit down, Agent Wallace."

"Perhaps you don't understand. I—"

"I said, sit down."

Wallace did, but his face grew three shades of red.

Mac straightened in his chair. "Agent Wallace, have you ever met the president?"

"I know he's pulled strings on this investigation, but no, I haven't met him."

"Well, if you want to go over my head, he will be the guy to talk to. On most missions that's not the case. It is the case for this mission. If you catch my drift."

"I don't catch your drift."

Mac's attention shifted from Wallace to Zinsser. He sighed. "The colonel is saying the president is involved. That implies the level of secrecy is way above our pay grades and probably deals directly with national security. We're not going to get anywhere here."

Wallace sprung to his feet. "I don't believe this. It's your own man. Don't you care about that? You are willing to let some homegrown terrorist torment a fourteen-year-old girl. What kind of man does that?"

"A man who knows how to follow orders."

"So you're not going to tell me anything?"

"At this moment, my men are entering harm's way. I don't need a desk jockey to bust my chops about this."

"I'm trying to save a life."

Mac was on his feet. "So am I, Agent."

"Really? Because I don't see it."

Mac looked at Zinsser. Zinsser wished he hadn't. "You need to put a leash on your lapdog, Data."

"It's not Data anymore, Colonel, and Agent Wallace is not my lapdog. I work for him. Besides, he's right. And just for the record, I have met the president."

"You know better than that. My hands are tied."

"I know, Colonel, but you're tying our hands. If we don't act quickly, we will be attending the funeral for Eric's daughter. I've faced a lot of frightening things in my life. Standing at Gina Moyer's graveside scares me to death."

"Gentlemen, I can't help you. I wish I could . . ." Mac grew silent, then glanced at Kinkaid. "You want a cup of coffee, Master Sergeant."

"No thanks, I'm fine." He looked into Mac's eyes. "Come to think of it, I do want coffee. Do I want a donut too?"

Mac nodded. "Yeah, you do. Take Agent Wallace with you."

"I'm not going anywhere. I'm leading this investigation. I will not be dismissed."

Zinsser frowned. "You want coffee, Boss. It will do you good. Trust me on this."

Wallace shoved his seat back so hard it fell over. Kinkaid was already at the door, holding it open for the fuming CID director.

The moment the door closed, Mac sat again and folded his hands on the table. Zinsser sat in silence, giving his former commander time to think. He was asking the man to, if not break security protocols, at least bend them beyond recognition. It was a career ender.

"Colonel—"

"Shut up, Jerry. You've put me in an impossible situation."

"Only because I'm in the same spot."

Mac gazed at the table. Silence filled the space. Zinsser could hear the man breathing.

"Colonel, let's try a different spin on this. You have multiple issues here, one we haven't touched on, mostly because my boss has a mouth problem."

Colonel huffed. "He is a piece of work. His CID protection allows him to talk rough to an officer, but even a gentleman like me has his limits." He chuckled, something that seemed to come from need more than humor. "Okay, let's hear your spin before I end my career."

"Here are the factors. One, you have a team in the field on a covert mission; one apparently of high order. Two, you also have the daughter of a team leader whose life is in danger. I'm guessing Eric knows about this."

"You'd be right. I owe him that much and more."

"Okay, if we can rescue his daughter, it will help him in the field."

"I'm listening."

"The third problem, the one we haven't mentioned is this: There's a mole in the system, someone who knows about the mission and who is in on it. How can that be? I don't know, but I do know that not only Moyer's mission, whatever it is, must succeed, his daughter needs to be saved, and the mole needs to be eradicated. True?"

"True."

"By helping us, Colonel, you are enhancing the success of Moyer's mission and plugging a hole in military security."

"You should have been an attorney."

"Nah, they don't let you carry weapons on duty."

"Okay. I'm going to give you the skinny. You talk to no one, not even your boss. Guide him the best you can, but I don't want him in the know about the details."

"Understood, sir."

"A few days ago, a Chinese satellite we believed to be long dead came back to life and targeted one of our birds . . ."

Fifteen minutes later, Zinsser stood at the door but facing Colonel Mac. "I don't know what to do with all this, Colonel, but thank you. It might prove useful."

"Find the girl, Data. Find her and the men who took her. I don't care what you do to them, just give her back to Moyer. His country owes him."

"Yes, sir. I will do my best." He paused. "Ready?"

"Yeah. I'll see you at the Oscars."

Zinsser smiled, then cleared his throat. He raised a finger and pointed at his one-time commander. "You are a disappointment, Colonel. It shames me to think I served under you."

Mac matched his volume. "You best evacuate this room before I have you tossed in the stockade."

"Go ahead, call for help."

"I don't need help to deal with you!"

Zinsser snapped the door open and slammed it behind him. In the hall, were Wallace and Kinkaid, both wide-eyed.

"Let's go, Boss. This place is starting to turn my stomach."