Sealed In Lies (8 page)

Jack Weaver, The Invisible Man, hadn’t earned this nickname by sitting around and waiting for trouble to find him. Carlos’ men had probably discovered the truth by now and were out searching as well as the CIA. They weren’t as good as Jack, but they were good and would find him eventually. He wasn’t ready to move yet. He still felt he needed another day to rest and time to plan his next move.

He soaped himself up and washed his hair. Gently, he removed the bandage on his leg and soaped the wound. It was still swollen and angry. He needed to get to his stash of medical supplies and get some antibiotics in his body before this little diversion of his got infected. He couldn’t afford the hindrance.

Stepping out of the shower, he grabbed the towel from the rack and dried off. Jack stood in front of the mirror assessing his overall condition. His body was a magnificent work of art and he knew it. He kept it that way. Years of hard work and training kept his muscles well toned and rock hard. Too bad the face didn’t look as great. He always felt his Native American genetics made his eyes too small and his cheekbones to prominent and high. His dark brown eyes were dull with exhaustion. He had slept for a few hours, but the nightmare had prevented him from resting.

His wet black hair hung down beyond his shoulders and he still had the black mustache he had grown for his disguise in Colombia. The green contacts and the scar on the side of his face were gone, but he needed to further change his appearance. Reaching into the shaving kit he pulled out a pair of scissors and began to shear away the black wavy locks. Once he cut away as much as he could with the scissors, he pulled out a razor. It was going to take a little time, but when he finished, he would be as hairless as a newborn baby.

Jack put the razor down and studied his reflection. There was not a facial hair anywhere, except for his dark eyebrows. He was completely bald and the mustache now lay in the sink with the rest of his hair. He turned his head to look at his profile. It was an interesting look, he thought. It made his sharp nose stand out a little more, but that was okay. It changed his appearance and that was his intention.

Jack cleaned up the mess and flushed the hair down the toilet. He would leave nothing behind that could give anyone a clue as to what he looked like now. He needed to fade into the background until he could get the much-needed answers to all of his questions. He put another bandage on his leg and walked back into the living area of the small apartment to get dressed. He pulled out some underwear, a pair of jeans, and a black T-shirt. Putting them on, he walked back into the bathroom. He looked a little like the Michael Chiklis in The Shield only much taller.

Limping back into the living room, he pulled his laptop out of his duffel bag. He needed to spend more time on those files. If he could find out who the Emperor was and connect all the dots, he could redeem himself with the CIA. As it stood now, his career was over. He knew they would view him as a rogue agent and he would be hunted down like a fox by a pack of hounds. He had worked too hard and come too far in his career to let that happen.

He booted up the laptop and pulled a case of CDs out of the secret pocket in the duffel. He popped in the first CD and waited for it to load. He opened the file. Encrypted code filled the screen. Jack stared at it and pulled out a few dog-eared notebook pages from the case holding the CD’s. He glanced from his notes to the screen, his brows furrowed in concentration.

He picked out the names again, the Emperor and Warren Walters. They were the easiest to decode and recognize. The rest of the symbols would be harder. It would take time but he would get there. He knew the what and when it was going to take place. Now all he needed was the where, the how and who. His next move would be to get what information he could from Warren Walters. Not face to face, but covertly. He needed to break into his house and search his computer. Maybe there were files there that would help him sort out this mystery.

Jack made a few more notes and nodded to himself. He would go to his storage shed, get his car and his stash of supplies, and then he would break into Warren Walter’s house. He might find a clue in something of Warren’s that would lead him to the Emperor. Although Jack doubted Warren would be as careless as Carlos was, he might just get lucky.

Feeling better now that he had a plan, Jack bowed his head over the computer screen and continued to work.

Chapter 9

Jack’s head came up with a start. Had he heard a noise? All five normal senses, as well as a sixth one he seemed to be blessed with, were on full alert. He rubbed his sleepy eyes while trying to focus on what he thought he heard. Something had awakened him. He looked at the open laptop where the battery icon was blinking dangerously low. He shut down the computer and closed the lid. Based on the amount of battery power the machine had, Jack deduced he slept for about 3 hours.

A car door slammed outside the apartment. Jack turned off the lamp and moved silently to the bedroom window. He could see the parking lot below and two dark shadows moving slowly around the side of the building. Instinct kicked in. He had to move fast but the pain and stiffness in his injured leg reminded him that would not be easy. He hobbled back into the kitchenette area and grabbed the laptop. He threw it into the duffel along with the few clothes that were lying on the floor by the mattress. He was pulling on his running shoes when he heard the footsteps in the hallway. He shut the door to the bedroom and with one swift kick the doorknob went clattering to the floor. That would hold them for a few minutes. Just long enough for him to get out of the apartment.

Jack opened the window and threw the safety ladder down the side of the wall. He put both his arms through the straps in his duffel bag and threw it on his back like a backpack. It was heavy and awkward with the laptop in it, but he would have to manage. He was swinging one leg over the windowsill when he heard it. One single gun shot. They had blown the lock on the front door and his time was down to seconds.

He swung his other leg out the window, ignoring the stab of pain and climbed swiftly down the ladder. When he reached the bottom he grabbed his SIG out of the waistband of his jeans and adjusting the duffel bag on one shoulder, slowly moved back against the wall. He inched his way along, staying in the shadows and out of sight from the window above. He looked at the black sedan where he had seen the two shadows. Had they left a third man in the car? From this distance he couldn’t tell. Best to assume they did and move in the opposite direction.

“
He went out the window, damn it. I thought we had him. Let’s move. He couldn’t have gotten far.”

Jack heard the voice from above. No South American accent. These were Americans. Must be the CIA. He hadn’t told anyone about his little hidey-hole but somehow he’d been found. He cursed himself as he moved around to the front of the building. He should have never fallen asleep. The only blessing that came out of that was the darkness. He worked on that code all afternoon and must have dozed off around five or six o’clock. He took a quick moment to glance at his watch and saw it was just past eight.

Jack knew they would not recognize him right away with the changes he had made to his appearance so he tried to blend in with the surroundings. He kept a firm grip on his gun as he walked around the building staying in the shadow as much as possible. He stopped at the corner as the two men came rushing out the front door of the apartment complex. As Jack expected, they split up. One came in his direction and the other one went around the building on the other side. Within seconds the man coming straight for him would be within reach.

Jack stepped out of the shadows and into the light. He just prayed that his disguise would work long enough for him to get the upper hand. “Hey man, you got any money?” Jack spoke with a thick Spanish accent. Hopefully, the agent would think he was some local drug addict and leave him alone.

“
Did you see a man running back here?” The agent asked. Jack quickly sized the man up. He was short and skinny. Jack had him by a good five inches and seventy pounds, but he would not use this advantage unless he absolutely had to.

“
No man, I didn’t see nobody. I been back here a good ten minutes going through the dumpster. Ida seen someone if they had gone by. Who ya looking for?”

The agent stopped looking around and stared at Jack. Uh Oh. “Hey, you’re…”

It was over in an instant. Jack reached out jabbed the man in the throat with the fingers of his right hand. He knew just where to strike and the small man dropped to the ground gasping for air. With one swift blow Jack had collapsed his windpipe, not enough to kill him, but he certainly wasn’t going to be able to run after him or yell for help.

Jack grabbed his duffel and continued to walk toward the street slow and easy. Just as he reached the sidewalk, a city bus pulled up to the bus stop across the street. The timing could not have been better. He calmly crossed the street and boarded the bus. By the time the other agent found his partner, Jack would be out of the neighborhood.

That was too close. Jack sat back in the seat and watched Washington D. C. glide past. How had they known where to find him? He thought back and probed his memory to determine if he had ever told anyone about the little apartment. He didn’t think so, but he wasn’t sure. Kent was the one who gave him the idea in the first place, so maybe he recorded it somewhere when Jack told him he had a place. Kent always said that every agent needed a hidey-hole, a secret place to go and be safe. So much for that idea, Jack thought. He just hoped they didn’t know about the storage facility. That was where he was headed next. There he kept a car, clothes and medical supplies. He needed those if he was going to carry out the next phase of his plan. At least he grabbed the laptop and the discs. The rest was expendable, although it would be damned inconvenient. He just hoped in his infinite wisdom that he hadn’t told Larson about the storage shed too.

He got off the bus on Florida Street and walked the few blocks to the U Store It on the corner. He stood out of sight in the doorway of the building across the street watching. He tuned in to that sixth sense he had that told him if danger was close. He had this tingle that ran from the base of his neck up the back of his scalp and stopped right on the top of his head. It took him years and multiple injuries before he learned to trust that sense with complete abandon. He stared and he concentrated. No tingles. All was clear.

Jack crossed the street, reached into his pocket for the keys, and pulled out only lint. He cursed. The keys were lying on the table in the apartment. How could he have been so careless? This just wasn’t like him. The lack of rest and the stress of his injury were affecting his normally sharp mind. He looked at the locked fence and then up and down the street. It was deserted, thank God. Getting into the facility and into his unit would be no problem, but leaving those keys behind was going to cause him a definite headache. Not to mention that the name of the storage facility and the unit number was on the key he’d left behind. Maybe luck would be with him and the agents missed the keys in their haste to find him. Undoubtedly they would search the apartment, but that would take time. By the time they reached the facility, he planned to be long gone. He would make sure of it.

He scaled the fence, not without a great deal of difficulty, and within minutes reached his storage unit. He sent a silent prayer of thanks skyward as he bent over to unzip the duffel he grabbed on his way out of the apartment. He pulled out a small leather pouch and removed the tools he would need to pick the sturdy padlock securing the unit. The heavy metal lock fell to the concrete with a loud ping. Jack looked first to the right and then to left making sure no one else was around. He stood quietly and when all he could hear was the sound of his own breathing, he lifted the metal rolling door. It creaked and rattled its way to the top of the track and Jack peered inside the dark unit.

When his eyes adjusted, he could see the dark shape of his Nissan Pathfinder in the center of the unit surrounded by boxes. Jack worked quickly pulling the car cover from the SUV and checking under the mat for the keys. They were just where he had left them. He sent up another prayer that the battery was not dead and the vehicle would start. He turned the key and the Nissan roared to life. Jack turned on the headlights and the unit was flooded with the bluish glow of halogen.

Jack got out, opened the back of the SUV, and checked the metal storage locker. In it he found his medical supply kit; four guns, two M16’s, a Glock pistol and a double action Colt Python revolver; ammunition; and ten thousand dollars neatly wrapped in bundles. This should tide him over until he could reach his planned hideout and figure out a way to access his accounts without being traced. He cursed again, remembering that wasn’t going to be easy. He had no one he could trust. Everyone in the CIA was looking for him because he was the rogue agent that killed the Deputy Director. He couldn’t just pick up the phone and call one of his buddies in the office. Thinking of an old movie, Jack muttered to himself, “This is a fine mess you’ve gotten us into, Ollie.”

Jack opened the medical supply kit and took out the medicine bottle containing the antibiotics that he stored there. Checking the date and being satisfied they were still usable, he popped two pills into his mouth and swallowed them dry. He shuddered at the moldy aftertaste. At least they should prevent any infection that might be festering in his leg. Now he had to get out of here before the CIA caught up.