Greene's Calling: Seventeen Book Three (A Supernatural Action Adventure Thriller Series 3) (33 page)

Conrad glanced at the two immortals and the Secret Service agent gathered around him. They looked as mystified as he felt. ‘Put her through,’ he ordered quietly.

A second link blinked open on the display. The woman occupying the center of the frame looked to be in her early twenties and sported shoulder-length blonde hair streaked with red, and a solid, blue-eyed stare. Science posters dotted the stark walls of the university lodging behind her.

‘Hi,’ said Conrad.

Dawn Hagen blinked. ‘Hello,’ she responded curtly. ‘Are you the man the CIA lady wanted me to talk to?’

‘Yes. My name is Conrad Greene.’

Dawn Hagen narrowed her eyes at the camera. ‘I saw the photographs the US government put out an hour ago. I recognize one of the women.’

Conrad’s pulse ratcheted up a notch. He leaned forward tensely. ‘Which one?’

‘Your FedEx Field suspect. I remember her from the day my family had the accident in Hawaii, eight years ago.’ Dawn Hagen’s cheeks flushed with color. ‘I was supposed to go with them on the trip we had scheduled that day, but I wasn’t feeling well and stayed back at the hotel. Bridget was going to keep me company. I insisted she go.’ A haunted look rose on her face. ‘I knew how much she wanted to see the national park.’

‘Bridget?’ asked Conrad, puzzled.

‘My twin sister,’ she replied huskily. ‘We were sixteen at the time.’ Her expression slowly hardened. ‘From the bits of conversation I heard between my father and that woman, it seemed it wasn’t the first time he had spoken to her. They had a terrible argument outside the restaurant, when we were having breakfast.’ Her lips pressed into a grim line. ‘My father was not a man who lost his temper easily, Mr. Greene. I had never seen him so angry in my life. He shouted at her to stop harassing him or he would call the police. She left the hotel right after.’ Her eyes darkened. ‘She looked like she wanted to kill him.’

Conrad studied the grave young woman for silent seconds while he recalled what Professor Akihito Itaka had said about the Strabo Corp. data.

‘Did anything related to your father’s work ever go missing at the time?’ he said finally. ‘Were there any break-ins at his lab or disturbances at your home that might have suggested somebody had tried to—?’

‘No,’ she cut in. A troubled expression clouded her features. She chewed the inside of her cheek.

‘What is it?’ Conrad prompted gently.

Dawn Hagen hesitated for a moment. She appeared to come to a decision.

‘I’ve already reported what I’m about to tell you to the authorities in the US, but they chose to ignore it,’ she said in a brittle tone. She stared unflinchingly into the laptop’s camera. ‘I have always felt that my family is still alive, Mr. Greene. Don’t ask me how; I just know they are. The psychologists who counseled me after the accident said this feeling was survivor’s guilt. A couple of years later, I was prescribed antipsychotics because they believed I was crazy.’ A muscle twitched near her jawline. She took a deep breath. ‘Thirteen months ago, I received an email from an account I didn’t recognize. It went to my junk folder and I almost deleted it. But something made me stop and open that message.’ Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. ‘Call it a sixth sense.’

‘What was in the email?’ said Conrad.

‘The first part was pretty self-explanatory. It said “We’re alive, SH, Morocco.” It was followed by three numbers.’ Dawn Hagen frowned. ‘The message was incomplete. I believe it was sent in haste.’ A bitter expression twisted her features. ‘I gave this information to the FBI and Homeland Security. They promised they would look into it. They never did.’ She moved closer to the monitor at her end, her eyes gleaming in the light reflecting off the screen. ‘That email was sent by my father, Mr. Greene. I would bet my life on it.’

Conrad stared at her, his mind racing with the possible implications of this fresh revelation.

‘I believe you,’ he said at last, his own conviction crystallizing as the words fell from his lips.

Dawn Hagen paled. Tears pooled in her eyes. She bowed her head and whispered, ‘Thank you.’

‘Can you forward that email to us?’ Conrad requested in a soft voice.

She jerked her head in a nod. Five minutes later, they were staring at the email Dawn Hagen had received.

‘She’s right,’ muttered Laura. ‘Without the complete information, we have nothing to go on.’

Stevens started pacing the cabin.

‘Do you guys really believe this stuff?’ The agent’s eyes reflected his growing incredulity. ‘That the accident in Hawaii eight years ago was somehow a fake? That this professor and his family didn’t die? I mean, why go that far? Also, what happened to his wife and daughter?’ He blew out a frustrated sigh. ‘Christ, what’s to say this girl’s not actually making this stuff up like the authorities probably suspected. She could be leading us on a wild goose chase!’

Donaghy pulled a face in the silence that followed. The CIA agent had stayed online while they spoke with Dawn Hagen. ‘He’s kinda got a point there, Greene.’

Conrad observed the two agents for silent seconds. The more he thought about it, the more what Dawn Hagen had asserted made sense. A professor in chemistry and macromolecular science with expertise in explosives engineering would be the ideal person to create a new bomb.

‘Considering what these people have done to date, it wouldn’t surprise me if they orchestrated that car crash,’ said the immortal finally. ‘Svein Hagen’s research into explosives was obviously of great interest to them. If they couldn’t persuade him to join them of his own free will, it seems logical they would resort to kidnapping him.’ He pulled a face. ‘We are after all talking about some seriously deranged minds here.’

‘From the way his daughter described his interaction with that woman, I doubt Svein Hagen would have helped them if he was on his own,’ Laura concurred. ‘But if they were holding his wife and child hostage...’

‘Still, that’s a helluva speculation,’ said Donaghy. ‘And eight years is a long time. Even if we assume your supposition to be correct, what’s to say they’re still alive?’

‘We believe the enemy we’re facing has been around for some time,’ said Conrad. He chose his words carefully; the only members of their team who knew of the immortals were Connelly and Stevens. ‘What we’re currently seeing are the key stages of a plan that may have been set in motion several decades ago.’ He bit back a sigh. ‘And you’re right, Donaghy. Dawn Hagen’s family could very well be dead. But I think they will be kept alive until the final act plays out, whatever that may be. It’s what I would do if I were in the enemy’s shoes.’

Stevens’s shoulders drooped. ‘Jesus,’ he murmured in a dejected tone. ‘Do we really have a chance against these—?’

‘Don’t give me that bullshit, Harry!’ snapped Laura. ‘The Service trained you better than this!’ She glared at Stevens. The latter flushed a dull red.

Anatole patted him on the shoulder. ‘Hang in there, kid. You haven’t
really
seen us in action yet,’ the immortal said with a dangerous glint in his pale eyes.

‘Did you get any other leads from the pictures we put out?’ Conrad asked Donaghy.

The CIA agent shook her head. ‘Nope. None that seem relevant at the moment, anyway.’

Conrad rubbed his chin reflectively. ‘How about the email Dawn Hagen sent through? Think you could trace the source?’

Donaghy looked doubtful. ‘We can try, but I’m not promising anything.’

‘Okay,’ Conrad said. ‘Let us know if anything else comes up.’

‘Will do,’ Donaghy replied. Her gaze shifted. ‘Vassili, we still on for that drink?’

Conrad blinked, nonplussed.

‘Honey, if the world hasn’t ended in the next few days, I shall take you to this little place I know in New York and treat you to the most delicious Cosmopolitan you have ever tasted in your life,’ Anatole drawled with a wicked grin. ‘I’m hoping it will rob you of more than just your inhibitions.’

Claire Donaghy shook her head and chuckled. ‘You’re such an ass.’ She grinned. ‘I’ll bring the gun in case you don’t deliver on that promise.’

Anatole laughed. The window winked close. Stevens stared at the immortal, slack-jawed. Laura looked amused.

‘Since when do you go out with CIA agents?’ Conrad blurted out.

‘Since none of your beeswax,’ Anatole replied. The tips of his ears reddened.

Conrad gazed silently at his friend. Though he had never lacked lovers in the centuries that Conrad had known him, Anatole had yet to find his soulmate, a common state of affairs for many immortals since the plague that decimated their numbers in the fourteenth century and rendered most survivors infertile. Conrad had never known him to date a human. Claire Donaghy’s forceful personality had obviously made an impression.

He shook his head and drummed his fingers on the table, his mind returning to their current predicament. ‘What time is it in Cleveland?’

Laura looked at her watch. ‘Six thirty in the evening. Why?’ she asked, puzzled.

‘I think we should talk to Akihito Itaka,’ Conrad replied pensively.

The Case Western professor was in the middle of dinner when they phoned. Conrad waited while he transferred the call to his study.

‘I’m sorry for disturbing you, but I have an urgent question,’ said the immortal.

‘It’s alright,’ said Itaka over the cabin speakers. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘You mentioned earlier that the data we showed you contained strong elements of Professor Svein Hagen’s work, correct?’

‘Yes, I did,’ affirmed Itaka.

‘What I’m about to tell you also falls under the heading of secrecy that Director Connelly explained to you earlier today,’ warned Conrad.

There was a thoughtful lull. ‘Okay,’ said Itaka cautiously.

‘I just spoke to Dawn Hagen, Svein Hagen’s surviving daughter,’ said Conrad. ‘She’s convinced her family is still alive.’

Itaka inhaled sharply. ‘How—?’

‘She received an email from an unknown computer server about a year ago,’ Conrad interjected. ‘She believes it was from her father.’ The immortal hesitated, wondering how much he should reveal to the scientist. ‘The content suggested he might be somewhere in North Africa.’

Itaka’s gasp was audible across the connection.

‘My God,’ the Cleveland professor whispered. There was a faint thump and a squeak of wheels, as if he had sat down heavily in a chair.

‘My question is simple: if Hagen is alive, could the data you saw be his work?’ asked Conrad. ‘
Could
the new explosive have been made by him?’

A long silence followed.

Conrad straightened in his seat. ‘Professor Itaka?’ he said sharply.

‘I’m here,’ came the quiet reply. ‘Yes. If Svein was alive, that could very well be his work.’

Conrad released the breath he had been holding. He had suspected as much. ‘Thank you,’ he said quietly. He bade the professor goodnight and disconnected.

A small frown wrinkled Laura’s brow. ‘What now?’

Conrad ran a hand through his hair, his head churning with the astonishing revelations of the last twelve hours. ‘I don’t know.’ He sighed. ‘We’ve followed all the leads we’ve had so far. It’ll be up to our intelligence network to come up with the next clue.’

His words proved unerringly prophetic. He was still awake and gazing meditatively out of the porthole next to his seat when they got a phone call from West Virginia.

‘Hey, it’s Franklin here.’

Conrad recognized the NSA agent’s voice over the Learjet’s cabin speakers. ‘Hi, Franklin,’ he greeted. ‘What’s up?’

‘I’m outside Charleston, at the headquarters of the firm that owns the MD helicopter from the Crystal City incident,’ said the NSA agent. Static crackled faintly on the line. ‘Petersen had apparently already cleared them. We were in the area, so we came to take a second look. Call it a gut instinct. Anyhow, turns out they operate hydraulic equipment manufacturing plants across several states. We’re talking pretty large-scale stuff, Greene. Their clients feature among the biggest names in the oil and gas, offshore drilling, shipbuilding, and mining industries in the world. Anyway, they’d closed shop by the time we got here. One of their employees was a bit lax when it came to shutting down his computer. We found some financial records dating back to 1990 that show substantial holes in their accounting figures. Guess what?’

Conrad could almost hear the smile in Franklin’s voice.

‘It seems they’ve secretly been providing equipment to an oil and gas production facility in Morocco. The orders we’ve seen are on a massive scale,’ said the NSA agent.

Conrad exchanged stunned glances with the immortals and the Secret Service agent. ‘Morocco? Are you sure?’ he asked sharply.

‘Yeah,’ said Franklin. ‘The shipments were originally addressed to offshore drilling sites in the Middle East. They never made it to their destinations.’ The agent paused. ‘Sorry, Greene,’ he continued in an apologetic tone, ‘but this oil company’s name didn’t come up when we were searching for links to the Strabo Corp. board of directors. We had to dig through a shitload of bureaucratic red tape and I’m pretty certain I heard one of my agents promise her first newborn to the Moroccan authorities before they would give us a name. The outfit is called Khan Inc. It’s owned by an Ariana Muhlisi Khan.’

Conrad saw the shocked looks dawning on the others’ faces.

‘It’s all right Franklin, you’ve done a great job,’ he said, unable to hide the urgency in his voice. ‘Have you got an address for us?’

The NSA agent chuckled. ‘I’ve got even better. Seeing that the site is in the middle of bloody nowhere, the Moroccans kindly provided us with the GPS coordinates. I’ll send them through to Hartwell.’

Laura’s phone beeped with an alert five minutes later. She tapped the screen and opened the new email. A gasp left her lips when she read the message.

‘What?’ said Conrad, alarmed.

‘Dawn Hagen was right.’ Laura stepped to the onboard computer and brought up a satellite map. ‘That number she received in that email a year ago? It was the beginning of a set of geographic coordinates.’ She typed in a series of numbers and stood back, her face hardening. ‘Her father’s in Morocco.’

They stared at the complex of lights etched starkly against a dark, desert background on the monitor. A thrill of excitement shot through Conrad. He detected the same nervous energy rising in the others. He stood and strode to the cockpit.

‘Change of plans,’ Conrad told the pilot.

Three hours later, they were on the ground at a military airport in southwest Morocco. It was four thirty in the morning in northwest Africa. A cold wind struck Conrad’s face as he exited the aircraft. He glanced at the tiny sand devils whirling on the tarmac before studying a hulking shape some fifty feet away. The plane had taxied next to a gunmetal-gray, MV-22 tilt-rotor Osprey helicopter.

Conrad led the way down the cabin steps and jogged across to the two figures standing in the shadow of one of the prop rotors of the vertical takeoff and landing aircraft. He looked at the rank insignia pinned to the collars of the soldiers’ utility uniforms and offered his hand to the woman with dark hair and green eyes. ‘Hi. Conrad Greene.’

‘First Lieutenant Avery, platoon commander, US AFRICOM,’ she said perfunctorily and shook his hand. ‘This is Moore, my staff sergeant.’

Conrad acknowledged the stocky blond man next to her with a curt nod and introduced the rest of his team.

US AFRICOM was the Unified Combatant Command of the United States Armed Forces in Africa. As such, it was responsible for all US Department of Defense operations, military exercises, and security relations on the continent.