Hidden Order: A Thriller (26 page)

B
OSTON

M
ASSACHUSETTS

P
atience had never been Harvath’s strong suit, but the SEALs had taught him well. He’d gone from a toe-tapping, I-want-it-all-to-happen-now immature kid, to a thoughtful, risk-assessing, mission-focused young man who could wait in the tiniest of hide sites or lie prone for days on end until the absolute right moment to hit his target. None of it was easy, and it often sucked, but he’d learned how to put the mission above himself and that had marked a watershed moment in his life. Never had he been prouder than when he had finally become a United States Navy SEAL.

On his first mission, it was immediately apparent why his SEAL instructors had been so incredibly hard on him and his teammates. When you were dropped far behind enemy lines and it seemed like one thing after another was going wrong and one piece of equipment after another was failing, you knew you would still accomplish your mission. Failure was not an option. And as the SEALs were famous for saying, the only easy day was yesterday.

At this point, there was nothing Harvath could do but wait. Cordero had submitted the wrist cuff to the Crime Lab Unit to have it fingerprinted
and had asked them to get it done ASAP. They understood that Cordero was investigating a possible serial killer and promised they would get it done as quickly as they could.

In the meantime, patrol officers and FBI agents were canvassing and re-canvassing all of downtown, including the area around the Liberty Tree Building, Boston Common, and the Granary Burying Ground. Additional officers had been assigned to review all of the CCTV footage that they could get their hands on from the last forty-eight hours, including footage from the airport and train and bus stations.

Marcourt had been killed the same night she was taken. Based on her ears being removed, as well as those of Kelly Davis here in Boston, Harvath was certain it was the same person. He had to have gotten from Georgia to Boston somehow.

With Brittany’s description of the man who had assaulted her, as well as Agnes’s description of the man Kelly Davis had last been seen with, Harvath was hoping that they’d stumble across something—either on camera, or in the minds of people who might have seen him.

 • • • 

To their credit, the Boston PD and the FBI were keeping a lid on the details surrounding Penning’s murder, which Harvath was grateful for. Kelly Davis’s murder had been reported as a potential homicide of a young woman from South Boston. None of the details, other than her body being found in the Charles, had been released to the press.

The monotony of having been inside the Homicide Unit at police headquarters most of the day was wearing on Harvath. One of the detectives had made a run to Potbelly for lunch, but that had been hours ago. He needed a break. He needed to get outside, take a walk, and get some fresh air.

It had started raining, but Harvath didn’t care. He traded Cordero his cell number for an umbrella. When his phone rang four blocks later and the caller ID showed a blocked number, he thought it might be her with a breakthrough on the case. It turned out to be Bill Wise from D.C.

“What’s all that noise in the background?” he asked.

“It’s raining,” replied Harvath, “and I’m out on the street. Hold on a second. There’s a doorway up ahead. I’m going to duck in there.”

When Harvath had reached it, he stepped in and said, “Okay, this should be better. Go ahead.”

“I’ve done some digging since you were here last night and I think I may have found something interesting. When can you get over here?”

“I’m not sure. I’m up in Boston right now.”

“What are you doing in Boston?” Wise asked.

“Long story. You tell me your news first.”

There was the sound of pages flipping, as if Wise was going through a notebook or something. Finally, he said, “Remember how I told you that when I joined the Agency they were doing lots of
interesting
programs?”

“Yes, I do remember.”

“Well, there were rumors that one of those programs was running parallel to mine. Instead of taking operatives and making them more capable killers, it was taking killers and trying to make them into capable operatives.”

Harvath was taken aback for a moment. “Like psychopaths?”

“Psychopaths, sociopaths; antisocial personalities, you name it. The program’s pendulum swept the full spectrum of psychological dysfunction.”

“Why?”

“They wanted a stable of operatives who would kill on command without any hesitation, without any resistance, remorse, or moral hangover. The Agency wanted to be able to wield a scalpel that never blunted from use nor ever questioned why it was being used. In essence, they were trying to create the ultimate assassin.”

Harvath was confused. “Isn’t that the kind of crackpot stuff they were toying around with back in the 1960s?”

“
Nineteen sixties?
They’ve been throwing millions of dollars down rat holes since the 1950s trying to figure out how to pharmacologically and surgically unplug people from their moral compasses. But it wasn’t until the success of the human genome project and huge leaps forward in neuroscience in the 2000s that the Agency discovered their path forward.”

“And with the tidal wave of money that flooded into the intelligence
community after 9/11,” Harvath stated, “I assume they were able to fund almost any bizarre programs they wanted.”

“That’s right,” said Wise. “A lot of the money that flowed in did so via black accounts with no accountability and no congressional oversight. The only thing requested was that the money be used to ‘make America safer.’”

“You can hang a lot of ornaments on that kind of Christmas tree.”

“Don’t misunderstand. There were some excellent programs the Agency pursued. There were also, unfortunately, some less than excellent programs.”

Harvath thought about Claire Marcourt and everything that had now happened in Boston. “Did the program you’re talking about have a name?”

“It’s code name was
Swim Club
. Rumor had it that it came from the CIA’s desire to see how deep the psychological pool was for these types of candidates. They had begun by trolling state mental facilities, but then realized they needed a much bigger net. They created one of the first electronic medical record software companies, which allowed them to sift through reams of patient information, but even that wasn’t enough.

“They couldn’t monopolize the EMR industry, so they simply hacked into medical databases from insurance companies, psychiatry and psychology practices, addiction and recovery centers, even hospital CT scan departments.

“They hit a thick vein in the criminal justice system, but the real pay dirt came when they conned the military via a phony counseling organization to deal with not only psychologically unbalanced applicants, but also existing service members who snapped or suddenly became psychologically unfit for service.”

Whiffle, a military-style crew cut
. Harvath could feel himself gripping the phone tighter. “Are you saying vets who needed counseling were purposely not getting it?”

“On the contrary, if you made it into the Agency’s program, you’d be getting exceptional counseling. The problem was that you’d also be getting sized up for membership in Swim Club.”

Harvath wasn’t sure he had heard the man correctly. “You think the Agency is behind the attacks on the Fed?”

“Why not? The CIA may be overflowing with bureaucrats, but it still has plenty of Americans concerned with the survival of the country.”

While there were lots of bureaucrats in the intelligence community whom Harvath didn’t care for, there were also many exceptional Americans who risked everything day in and day out for their love of the United States. But to kill otherwise innocent people just because they disagreed with what the Federal Reserve was doing? That didn’t make sense.

But what if Wise was correct? What if it was elements within the CIA that were behind the attacks on the Fed? “You said these were rumors. Can they be substantiated? Is Swim Club legit? Is it a live program?”

“As of last year, yes, it was a live, black program, but then the new CIA director allegedly caught wind of it. He not only didn’t like it, he also didn’t like its potential for disastrous PR fallout if word ever leaked, and had it shut down. Staff were either moved to other projects or dismissed entirely,” said Wise.

“How did you find all of this out?”

“I made a couple of phone calls and ended up getting plugged back into an old colleague of mine named James Gage. Jim’s a Ph.D. who had worked on my project for a while before being transferred. I didn’t see him much after that, but guess where it turns out he was transferred to?”

“Swim Club,” said Harvath.

“Yup. When they let him go, he was pretty bitter. He probably talks more than he should, but old friends do that, right?”

While Harvath was careful about discussing classified operations, Wise had a point. There were more than a few people who talked out of school. He’d seen it in the military and intelligence worlds and had no reason to doubt that scientists or researchers were any different. Old friends, especially those expected to keep similar secrets, did talk.

“Jim filled in several blanks for me,” Wise continued. “The ones he didn’t were easy enough to figure out. A couple of times, it was nothing more than the look on his face. His silence on some of the information spoke volumes.”

“Wait a second. You met with Gage in person?” Harvath asked.

“Of course. Why not?”

“Did anyone see you? Does anyone else know you were with him?”

Wise could tell something was very wrong. “No, no one saw us. No one knows. But something is bothering you. What is it? What’s going on up there?”

“Our killer struck again overnight,” Harvath replied. “Twice.”

H
arvath gave Wise a full rundown of everything that had happened. The man took copious notes on the other end of the phone. When Harvath was done filling him in, Wise was in full clinical mode.

“So what does all of this tell us?” he asked rhetorically. “Our man is professional, at least when it comes to his work. As far as we know, there were no clues left at the Marcourt murder scene on Jekyll Island, or at the Penning murder at the Liberty Tree Building. But in what we’ll call his personal life, he’s appearing impulsive,
less
careful. Perhaps he is even losing control.”

Harvath let out a long breath.

“What is it?” said Wise. “You disagree?”

“Not necessarily. I’m just trying to process all of this. Listen, I don’t like to underestimate anyone, especially someone this dangerous, but I also don’t like to overestimate them, either.”

“You think I’m giving him too much credit?”

“What I
think
is that the guy screwed up. Whether he is a sociopath or a psychopath or whatever, I’m not a doctor and I don’t care. What I know
is that as good as he’s been, he’s finally made a mistake. Is he losing control? Maybe, but when he grabbed that girl’s wrist in the Granary Burying Ground, I don’t think he could have known that he would go on to kill that night, that he’d kill a friend of the girl he grabbed, or that we’d tie it all together.”

Wise agreed. “That makes sense, but keep in mind that not only are we potentially dealing with someone who is not rational and who does not make sense, but he’s now killed three people. If I’m right and he is losing control, he may become more dangerous.”

“He may also make another mistake,” Harvath replied. “Speaking of which, what do you make of how the body of the young girl was left in the Charles River? Does that tell you anything?”

“It tells me several things. The first is that this was likely an impulsive crime of opportunity. The woman made herself available to him and he struck. Once he did, though, he had a decision to make. Presumably, he could have left her right where he killed her. But instead, he risked the added time to steal the things he needed, weigh her down, and then drop her in the water.”

“Which means what?”

Wise took a few moments to reflect before answering. “Whoever this girl was, I think we can safely assume he hadn’t come to Boston to kill her.”

“But he cut her ears off like he had with Claire Marcourt. Why?”

“Without interviewing him, it’s hard to say for sure. He may have simply enjoyed it and wanted to relive it, or he may have rushed Marcourt’s murder and wanted to take his time with the prostitute. Remember, for a lot of these killers, the act is all about the power they wield over their victims.”

“And weighing the body down in the Charles?” Harvath asked.

“Perhaps he was ashamed of what he had done and wanted, symbolically, to be rid of it, or maybe he realized on some level that this impulsive act was a mistake that could not only jeopardize him, but also his operation. Therefore, he had worked to cover it up as quickly as possible.”

Processing information from Bill Wise was like drinking from a fire hose. Harvath was still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that
there could be even a remote CIA component to the attacks. Circumventing alarm systems like the one at the Registry of Motor Vehicles, as well as looping CCTV footage, though, was straight out of the Agency’s playbook.