Rogue Threat (38 page)

“You don’t say that with a whole lot of conviction, bro. Who else could it be? Think about all of the new points of contact you’ve had in the last few months. Anybody?”

“Well, there’s Peyton.”

“You still need to introduce me. My question is, Where’d you first meet her?”

“When the vice president called me and told me to go to Fort Bragg, she was already at my house,” Matt said, his voice trailing off toward the end.

“The vice president?”

“Yes, you know, Hellerman.”

Blake took a sip of his coffee, smacked his lips, and looked at Matt. “Isn’t that a little unusual?”

“What’s that, meeting with the vice president?”

Blake nodded.

“Maybe,” Matt said. “He wanted to use me on a special task force for terrorism.”

“How did he contact you?”

“Well, that’s actually how I met Peyton. Like I said, the vice president sent her out to my house to get me to come to the meeting. I had disconnected my phone.”

“She works for the vice president?” Blake asked suspiciously.

Matt looked at Blake without speaking, then nodded. “I see your point.”

Blake gave him a quizzical stare and stood. He walked over to the door, opened it, and stepped outside, looking up at the sun. “Man, we’ve got a problem,” Blake said.

Matt stood and walked onto the deck, taking in the chill and the sun hanging low to the southeast. “I don’t think there’s any way that she is involved in this, or that the vice president is, for that matter.”

“Theoretically speaking, the vice president could be our man, and O’Hara could be his spy,” Blake said.

Matt considered the comment. “Okay, I’ll play along. If your theory is correct, that would mean he has contact with Ballantine and is involved with the terrorist attacks on America—theoretically speaking—and that would make him our man on the tape as well.”

“It would. Hence, we’ve got a problem.” Blake ran his hand across his face and then through his long hair. Matt sat in one of the deck chairs, observing the fog lifting ever so slowly from the crags in the mountains.

“And that brings us to Zachary,” Matt said, “who is my main concern.”

“Naturally. I think we needed to work through all of that to get to what is important. Whether it’s Lantini, Rampert, or Hellerman, Zachary is alive and that’s huge.”

“That’s right, and I think Zachary was a surprise to whoever the contact is.”

“But he was with Rampert for the last ten months, you told me,” Blake said. “How could that be a surprise?”

“Right. What probably happened there, if it is Rampert, is he knew, but wanted to keep the secret from Ballantine, though that doesn’t really make sense.”

“Unless he’s a cruel son of a bitch who likes to play games and wanted to feed Zachary to the lion’s den up there and give his buddy Ballantine a crack at him before he came to kill you. I mean, what is this nonsense about a one-man mission? I’m not in the military, but I’ve read enough to know you don’t ever send one guy to do anything,” Blake said.

“Good point. Rampert told me that Zachary had been in a coma until recently, when he became fully functional again. Apparently, physically he was okay a long time ago, but psychologically he was slow to recover.”

“So the actions with Zachary indicate that it might be Rampert,” Blake said, trying to nail down a point.

“Right, I’ll buy that. Rampert could have been grooming him to go into Moncrief as part of some type of deal he cut with Ballantine. Your ‘no one-man missions’ theory. He hides my brother from us, retrains him, gives him a new identity, and then sends him on a suicide mission.” Matt paused, shaking his head.

“Doesn’t make sense unless he wanted Zach dead, really,” Blake offered.

“But, then again, the actions with me might indicate it was Hellerman,” Matt said.

“How so?”

“Just look at what happened. As you pointed out, all of a sudden I get a visit from a good-looking babe. Then I get a phone call to meet Hellerman at the airport, and I’m off to Fort Bragg, but my plane gets hijacked to Vermont. It’s almost as if he knew what was going down.”

“As if he was feeding
you
to the lion’s den.”

“Right. An eye for an eye. Zachary killed Ballantine’s brother. Maybe his goal is to kill me. But he didn’t kill Zachary, he
took
him. Why?” Matt said.

“To exchange for the tape?”

“I’ve thought about that, but the tape seems to benefit the contact more than Ballantine, though it could be a sort of insurance policy for Ballantine, to hold the contact in check,” Matt said.

“I agree.”

“And it’s not likely that Hellerman would have known about Zachary being alive. If Rampert’s a good guy, he wouldn’t tell a soul.”

“That’s reassuring,” Blake said, scoffing at the notion.

“Then there’s Lantini. Maybe he’s orchestrating the entire thing,” Matt said.

“But can you really believe that any of these guys would actually participate in the killing of thousands of Americans?”

“Lantini helped start a war in the Philippines, and he denied me the shot on AQ senior leadership,” Matt replied.

Blake nodded and took a moment to think, then said, “Could be a financial motive, could be something else. Ideological maybe.”

“Not sure I buy the financial motive thing.” Matt stopped talking and stood. He walked over to the railing of the deck, staring straight ahead at the mountains. The thought came tunneling back to him like the Metro train barreling into Union Station.

“What is it, bro? You’ve got that look,” Blake said.

“The meeting that I went to with the vice president at Dulles airport. He asked me to think about this thing called ‘secular spiritual stagnation,’ a condition envisioned by Walt Rostow . . .”

“Yeah, I know, his sixth stage of economic growth,” Blake said. “Rostow’s fifth stage was high mass consumption, where we just buy stuff. Very materialistic. Because he wrote the book in the late fifties, he didn’t know what would follow, but predicted it would be a kind of ‘every man for himself,’ lack-of-spirit, lack-of-unity environment.”

“Right, forgot you were a genius. Anyway, the vice president went on about how the nation is adrift—no national spirit, and so on. Not sure I agree, by the way, but come to think of it, he seemed to know an awful lot about Ballantine. Of course, that could have been intelligence.”

“So we’ve got three suspects,” Blake said, “that could lead us to Zachary. You’ve already said, though, that Rampert didn’t seem to know where Z-man is. But that could either be a ploy, or the possibility exists that Ballantine may be jacking with Rampert. Then Lantini, who you seem fixated on. Is there something there?”

“All three are plausible.”

“That’s right,” Blake said. “And don’t forget that you may be the target.”

Matt nodded.

“Maybe I can talk to Meredith about him, see what she thinks.” Matt looked away. The thought of Meredith caused him to pause.

“Think that’s a good idea? What’s that
X-Files
saying? ‘Trust no one’?”

Matt smiled. “I think it’s ‘The truth is out there.’”

“Depends on which show you watch, I guess. So where do we go from here?”

“We?”

“Yeah, we,” Blake said. “You don’t think I’m going to let you do this alone, do you?”

Matt paused. He had been away too long. He had pushed away his family and his friends so that he could wallow in his self-pity. That had to stop.

“Yeah, man. I’m glad you’re here,” Matt admitted, looking at Blake.

“I’ve always been here, bro,” Blake said, hugging Matt. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll find him.”

Matt broke the embrace and walked down the steps of the deck to the field in the back. Blake followed. “First, we need to confirm who the voice on the tape is. That will give us some leverage against both Ballantine and the contact. For the time being, we need to assume that all three—Lantini, wherever he is, Rampert, and Hellerman—are all bad guys. Assume the worst.”

“I agree.”

“Okay, then we need to find the contact, once we confirm his identity, and use the tape to get Zachary back. I’ve already planted that seed with Rampert.”

“The tape for Zachary? I like it. Okay, let me head back down to Virginia Beach. I’ve got a couple of rat-holes I want to check. I’ll get back with you tomorrow. My sense is that we don’t have much time.”

“That’s right. And Blake, there’s something much larger hanging in the balance here. I can feel it.”

“Well, if you can feel it, then it’s happening. I know that much, dude.”

They walked around the front of the house, where Matt noticed Blake’s new Honda Super Hawk. “Sweet.”

“You can touch her, but I’m afraid we’re going to have to wait for you to take her for a spin. I’ve got a mission.” Blake grabbed his helmet and said, “I’ll call you tonight. In the meantime, be careful about your bed partners.”

“No problem.”

Blake revved the engine, pulled down his face shield, kicked the bike into gear . . . then stopped. The engine sputtered. Lifting his face shield, he said, “Almost forgot. The dudes at the Pilots Quarters said, ‘hello.’”

“Burns and that crowd?”

“Yeah, he and Austin.”

“Burns getting any yet?”

“No, but Austin’s got hooker problems from Baltimore,” Blake said.

“That crew’s always got something going on.”

“You’re telling me,” Blake said, laughing. “Get this, Austin was out fishing for cobia last night—caught a killer about thirty pounds—said he saw a plane with
bat wings
land on a merchant ship . . .”

“He smoking weed or what?”

“No, he gets kicked around being a legacy there and all—what?” He stopped in mid motion of popping his visor back down when he saw Matt’s eyes widen.

“Wait a second,” Matt shouted, holding up his hands. “Wait just a second. What did that plane look like again?”

Blake took off his helmet. “He said it was small.”

“Were the wings below or above the fuselage?”

“Above. Why?”

“Bat shaped, like a stealth plane?”

“He didn’t mention stealth, but he did say bat wings.”

“What was the name of the ship? Country of origin?”

“Chinese I think.”

“That could be Ballantine’s Sherpa.”

“Wait a second, Matt—”

“That bastard landed on a Chinese merchant ship? Are you kidding me? China is involved in this thing?”

“No way. Could have just been an executive getting there from the shore.”

“No, it was Ballantine,” Matt said. “I saw him fly away from Lake Moncrief.”

The two friends stared at each other for a moment.

“And if Ballantine’s there, Zachary is there,” Matt continued.

“Sounds like we need to contact some authorities,” Blake said.

“No.
Trust no one
, remember?”

“Right.”

“No. Ballantine wants me,” Matt said. “This is personal. I’m not letting Zachary down again.”

“I hear you, bro, but you never let Zachary down to begin with. If you want to do this, then count me in. I’m sure we can develop a plan in the next few hours. Why don’t you follow me to the beach?”

“I like it. We’ll take your boat out tonight, scope it out, and come up with a plan. You go ahead, and I’ll meet you at your house.”

“You bringing this Peyton O’Hara?”

“She’s been with me from the start,” Matt said.

“Could be part of the issue, but your call.”

“Sure you can’t remember the name of the ship?”

“The ‘One Hung Low,’” Blake laughed.

“I’m serious, Blake.”

“I know,” he said, shifting his helmet in his hands. He looked at Matt with a shrug. “
Fong How
, something like that.”

Matt paused, remembering the Japanese ship
Shimpu: Divine Wind
. And he knew what
Fong Hou
meant as well. He nodded, recalling what the insect scientist had told him.

“What?”

“Queen Bee.
Fong hou
means ‘queen bee’ in Mandarin,” Matt said.

“If that’s right—” Blake started.

“It’s right, and making more sense by the minute. Listen, I’m going to tighten up some things here, get some supplies, and then meet you at your house this afternoon.”

With that, Blake slipped his helmet back over his head and popped down his visor. The Super Hawk’s engine roared to life and sped along the gravel.

Matt watched him turn to the south and disappear. He walked to the back of the house again and came up the deck steps, crossed the deck, and stepped into the den. He stopped, cocked his head, and stepped back outside, looking directly above him.

The curtains from his open bedroom window were swaying with the breeze.

Chapter 44

Fong Hou Container Ship, Chesapeake Bay

“How did you do it?” Ballantine asked Admiral Chi Chen.

They were sitting in the captain’s quarters of the
Fong Hou
as it moored in the deep water of Chesapeake Bay. Chen was dressed in a white uniform with an unbuttoned coat. He held a glass of sake, a Japanese rice wine that he had come to enjoy.

English was the only common language between the two men.

“Do what?” Chen asked, looking out the large circular porthole.

“Turn this thing into an aircraft carrier.”

“Would you like drink first?” Chen asked.

“No, I want to get acquainted with the ship,” Ballantine said. He really did want a drink to dull some of the pain. He had slept most of the day after the precarious landing in the darkness and awakened a few hours ago, stiff and unable to move his left arm. He had downed another Percocet and was still waiting impatiently for it to bestow its numbing effects.