Shadow Catcher (23 page)

CHAPTER 50

“T
hey have no communications.” Hei Ying spoke in measured but fluent Chinese. “I severed the SATCOM link at the Wraith, the hub of their network. The command center, the aircraft, the ground team—each of them is now isolated from the others.”

The spy reclined in the driver's seat of a sedan, parked in the shadows behind the Romeo Seven hangar. The mission had stretched late into the day, much later than expected. Darkness had already begun to fall.

“Very good.” Zheng's voice was mottled by the sat phone's heavy encryption. “And what did you learn before you cut them off?”

“They did not reveal the position of the landing craft, but their team did reach the cave. They plan to head south to locate the prisoner.”

Zheng sighed into the phone. “I already knew as much. You must do better than that. It is time to implement the final contingency that you proposed.”

Hei Ying hesitated. The spy had hoped that it would not come to this, but very little had gone to plan so far. “I am prepared. But I am taking a major risk of exposure. I expect to be compensated, twice the original figure.”

“Yes, yes,” said Zheng. “Just as we discussed. I will see to the money, but you will only be paid if you succeed where Wulóng failed.”

The sound of a door opening and closing drifted across the parking lot. Hei Ying instinctively sank into the seat. “I must go. I will contact you when it is done.”

* * *

McBride pounded the desk next to the computer.
Nada
. Nothing. It was like everyone associated with Distant Sage had either died or disappeared.

Maybe they had.

With a little help from Molly, he had turned Nick's office into his own intelligence center, adding two more high-power computers and a server to link all three CPUs. The added speed wasn't necessary for most of his work, but it was vital for the facial recognition search.

Earlier in the day, he had isolated the image of the Caucasian man from the 2003 picture of Wulóng. Then he fired up Romeo Seven's facial recognition program and started a match search. It was a long shot. He and Molly had run several algorithms to clean up the image, but at the end of the day, it was still a grainy, ten-year-old picture. It might not be clear enough for a good match.

While waiting for the recognition software to run its search for Wulóng's associate, McBride had dug into Major Baron's Distant Sage mole theory. For the last few hours, he had plowed into the CIA's data mine, looking for anything on Wright or Jozef Starek. But for all his digging, he came up empty-handed.

The two men were ghosts.

He abandoned his efforts and jiggled the mouse on the computer running the recognition software. The screen came alive. An endless stream of ID photos, mug shots, and candids flashed by, each image processed in microseconds as the program compared key facial features to McBride's target. The network of databases was huge. Even with the added speed, the search could take another ten hours or more, and it still might not find a single match.

McBride checked his watch. He had promised the major that he would go get his family, and he had already waited too long. As he stood up to leave, the computer running the photo match gave a loud beep. The cycling images froze on a candid picture from the CIA database. A sandy-haired man in a wet suit smiled through a bushy mustache. Incredibly, the system declared the man a seventy-one percent match to McBride's target, better than he had ever expected. The file listed a number of aliases. He immediately noted a pattern in the names: Adam Albee, Gregory Gartner, James Johannes. There were nine in all, and they were all alliterations. He chuckled. Spooks and their games.

Spooks. Maybe Joe Tarpin could find more information in the CIA's internal archives. McBride attached the file to an encrypted e-mail.

Joe,

This guy turned up in an old picture with our Chinese assassin. See if you can find him in your archives. I'm on my way to get Major Baron's family. I'll call you as soon as I get back to find out what you've turned up.

Will

He sent the file to the printer so that he could have a hard copy and then shut down his systems and headed out the door, only to slam into Molly as she raced down the hallway. She let out a startled “Ooh!” The stack of papers in her hands flew in every direction.

“Whoa, take it easy,” said McBride, bending down to help her clean up the mess. “What's going on?”

Molly gave him a fleeting smile as she collected her papers into a disheveled heap. “I'm so sorry. We've lost communications with the Wraith and the ground team. The colonel is throwing a fit.”

A torrent of unintelligible shouting erupted from the command center. McBride cringed. “I see what you mean. Amanda set that network up,” he volunteered. “Maybe she can fix it.”

“I know. I was headed to the back offices to look for her.” Molly's brown eyes pleaded with him. “Do you know where she is?”

“You mean she's not in the command center?”

Molly shook her head. “She said she was going up top to get some fresh air, but she never came back. She's not answering her cell phone either.” She stood up with her papers and looked around helplessly. “It's like she just vanished.”

CHAPTER 51

Q
uinn found the Chinese soldiers easy to tail, even though the leader wouldn't let the infantryman smoke. As the morning light grew, the six of them removed and stowed their now useless NVGs, but Quinn's multispectrum goggles allowed him to track their heat signatures even in the daylight. The more they marched, the hotter they became and the easier they were to break out from the foliage. He tracked them from as great a distance as possible, so that he could move quickly enough to keep up without fear of the noise reaching their ears.

As the trees thinned, Quinn drifted farther and farther back, making room to scan for other signatures. A couple hours into the march, his scans paid off.

He had drifted well southwest of the soldiers to take advantage of some rising terrain, coming almost parallel with them as he climbed two-thirds of the way up a short ridgeline. Looking forward from his higher vantage point, he thought he saw his objective. A figure crouched in the trees on the edge of a cultivated valley. He couldn't be certain that it was Nick. The man definitely looked bigger than the Chinese soldiers he'd been following, and the battle gear outlined in the infrared looked a lot like his own. Then he moved, raising his weapon, and Quinn saw a holster of knives strapped around his leg.

Quinn resisted the urge to scoot down the hill and snag his rogue team lead. He held his position and watched. Nick seemed to be taking aim with his machine gun. Following his line of fire, Quinn saw that he was tracking another figure, moving along the tree line. Then he saw something else. There were more soldiers, farther back in the trees, following Nick's target. Nick lowered his weapon as the target moved closer to his position.

“What are you doing?” whispered Quinn, as if Nick could hear him through the implant. “Keep your weapon up.” Then he noticed a difference between Nick's target and the other Chinese. The soldier's gear was all wrong. It didn't match any of the others. He moved differently too, quickly, furtively. He wasn't stalking. He was evading.

Novak. Nick was right.

Quinn looked to Nick and then back to the Chinese, realizing that his boss didn't see them. The soldiers moved in a wide arc, encircling the two Americans. The net was already falling.

The smoker and his new friends changed course to join the others, now moving more carefully, spreading out and crouching as they jogged from tree to tree. The leader took charge of the whole group. He signaled the others, pointing directly at Nick.

“Shadow One, this is Shadow Two,
come in
,” pleaded Quinn, but he got no response. He had to alert Nick somehow. He looked down at the long
suppressor affixed to the front of his MP7 and shrugged. “Why not?” he said under his breath. He quickly unscrewed the suppressor, dropped his MTGs to his neck, and took aim at the soldier closest to Nick. Then he changed his mind and shifted to the group's leader. “Sorry, buddy,” he said, and then took the shot.

The sound of the 4.6-millimeter rounds exploding out of the chamber reverberated through the forest, echoing off the hill on the opposite side of the valley. It had the desired effect. Quinn watched as Nick immediately took cover and began searching the trees for targets. Novak dove to the ground as well and then rolled over and fired wildly into the forest behind him.

The Chinese soldiers spread out and ducked behind any cover they could find. Quinn could see confusion setting in. None of them knew where the first shot had come from. All they knew was that two of their number had been shot; Quinn had dropped his target and Novak had winged another one. No one looked up toward Quinn's hill. He took advantage and tried to pick the big soldier from before out of the crowd. He was easy to find.

The big guy had run over to help his leader. Finding the man dead, he grabbed the radio and started barking orders.

“I guess that makes you the new man in charge,” said Quinn. “Not for long.”

He squeezed off two bursts and the big soldier fell on top of his dead comrade. Suddenly mud splattered up into Quinn's face. He heard heavy thuds and cracking wood as bullets rained down around him. “Jig's up,” he said out loud, diving for the cover of a rock formation jutting out from the hill.

The heavy rounds kept pelting his previous position. The shooter had not seen him move, so Quinn took the risk of rushing forward, finding new cover behind another boulder. He searched for the source of the gunfire. What he saw astonished him.

Weapons fire exploded all over the valley. Two off-road vehicles had stormed into the field next to the orchard. Quinn recognized the Norinco fast attack vehicles from his intel training; the instructors liked to call them dune buggies on steroids. The heavy fire came from a 12.5-millimeter machine gun mounted on the back of one of them. The thing had a scope on it, probably infrared, but the operator made little use of his optics. Instead, he leaned into his back support and snaked the weapon back and forth, spraying Quinn's hillside.

Novak appeared to be shot in the leg. Nick had run to his side and now dragged him toward the orchard with one hand while firing sidelong at the FAVs with the other. Quinn saw that the Chinese could have cut him down at any time, but the other vehicle's machine gun operator kept his weapon strangely silent.

Quinn took aim at the driver of one of the FAVs, but the vehicle was too far out of range, even for his MP7. He wished that he had brought a sniper rifle on this trip. He turned his weapon toward the soldiers in the forest, taking down two more.

He stood up and ran toward Nick again, but soon he had to dive for cover behind a fallen tree. One of the FAVs found him and pelted his position with more heavy rounds. The fallen tree split and splintered, showering him with tiny pieces of wood.

Quinn saw the crest of the descending ridge just a few meters behind him. He abandoned his rapidly deteriorating cover and low-crawled over the top, putting solid ground between himself and the machine guns. After a quick recovery breath, he got up and ran in a crouch toward the valley, hoping that the FAVs would not see him pop out at the base of the ridgeline. He found a new vantage point behind another rock formation, seated a fresh clip in his weapon, and searched for another target.

The situation looked hopeless.

Nick had stopped his retreat in the middle of the field between the forest and the orchard. He crouched amid waves of tall grass, shielding Novak, alternating fire with his Beretta in one hand and Novak's Colt in the other. The MP7 hung at his side, empty. The FAVs circled him like wolves while the troops from the tree line slowly advanced. Several others now jogged toward Quinn's last position, their weapons up, searching.

Quinn had closed the range with the FAVs, but he couldn't get a clean shot at the gunners because of the armored mounts around the machine guns. Just as he shifted his aim to the closest driver, he saw the soldier in the passenger's side pull out a huge shotgun and point it at Nick. Before Quinn could react, the man fired. Sparks flew from the end of the barrel. Nick dropped like a stone and disappeared in the grass.

A single bullet ricocheted off the rock next to Quinn's hands. Then a hail of bullets followed. The soldiers had found him. Quinn ignored them. “Get up, Nick,” he said under his breath.

Chips of flying rock stung his cheeks and bounced off his vest. Still, Quinn would not take his eyes off the spot where his team lead had fallen. “Get up!” he screamed.

A gunner in one of the FAVs jerked his weapon toward the sound and began obliterating the rock. Quinn had no choice but to run.

CHAPTER 52

K
aty Baron laid her son, Luke, in his crib. He was finally asleep. She'd been rocking him for the last hour and a half, but every time she tried to lay him down, he would open his eyes and cry again. She cringed as she set his little body gently down on the mattress, knowing that a few hours' relief was probably too much to hope for. But Luke did not cry. He breathed the sweet, even breaths of a sleeping baby boy. Suddenly she didn't want to leave.

Despite all of the work it took to get him to go down, part of Katy wanted to stay and watch Luke sleep, just to soak in the sight of him. Another part of her wanted to race from the room and get a hot shower, and the rest of her felt tremendous guilt over the selfishness of the thought. After the previous night's attack, she felt an incredible urge to sit next to his crib and watch over him all night. She knew that was silly. Nick's boss had told her the attack was an isolated incident, the act of a nutcase working alone.

Katy laughed inwardly at her own indecision.
Get out of here, you idiot
.

Feeling the guilt that only mothers know, she backed quietly out of Luke's room and headed for the comfort of the shower. She never even made it to her bedroom door.

The sound of the door chime reverberated through the house like the deep peal of the bells of Notre Dame. Katy raced down the hallway, wondering who could possibly be at her doorstep at this hour and swearing that they would die a violent death if they woke Luke. As she rounded the corner into the foyer, she saw a hand reaching for the bell again. She sprinted for the door, slamming her hand against the narrow window next to it and waving at the intruder to prevent him from ringing again. In the darkness, she could not see the man's face. He wore a red polo shirt and slacks, not exactly the garb of a killer. Probably some salesman.

Katy promised herself that she would not open the door, no matter what this guy was selling. She flipped on the porch light and a face appeared in the window. She couldn't believe her eyes.

“Will?” she asked through the glass. “Will McBride?”

“Hi, Mrs. Baron. I'm sorry to show up on your doorstep so late.”

Katy swung the door wide. “Will, you can call me Katy, just like I told you the last time I saw you—which was what, six months ago?”

“A year, ma'am,” replied McBride.

“Nick's not home, Will. He's TDY. He'd be thrilled to see you, though. How long are you in town?”

McBride shifted side to side on each heel, creasing his freckled brow. “Mrs. Baron, I'm working with your husband on a special assignment right now. He asked that I come and collect you and Luke and bring you back to our office.”

“You're not making sense, Will,” said Katy, fighting to understand. “Nick is out of the country. Did you join his unit at Andrews? Does this have something to do with the attack last night?”

McBride nodded slowly. “Yes. Yes it does. And yes, I am working with Major Baron's unit.” A car door slammed shut in the distance. He looked warily over his shoulder. “Please, ma'am, your husband feels that you are in danger. We need to get you back to the base.”

Out in the driveway, Katy struggled to install Luke's car seat in McBride's Corolla while he lifted her duffel bag full of baby supplies into the trunk. “I didn't know babies needed anvils,” he grunted.

“You can never be too prepared,” said Katy. “If Luke has an accident in your little hideout, you'll thank me.”

Just as McBride finally cranked the engine, his pocket gave an obnoxious chime, the sound of a doorbell.

Katy nervously glanced over her shoulder to check that Luke was still sleeping. Then she folded her arms and glared at McBride. “Really?”

“I'm sorry, it's my text alert.” He struggled to get the phone out of his pocket before it chimed again. “We're going to have to make a short stop and pick up Amanda Navistrova,” he said, staring down at the screen. “I've been trying to find her. She says she went home to freshen up and now her car won't start.” He put the phone away and pulled down to the edge of the driveway, but then he stopped again, looking up and down the street.

“What is it?” asked Katy.

McBride let his head fall back against the headrest and lifted his hands from the steering wheel in frustration. “I don't know where she lives.”

Katy guided McBride to Amanda's condominium in Oxon Hill, just to the west of the base. She lived in one of the older models, a narrow three-story that capped the end of a long block of fifteen attached units. Most of the residents appeared to be sleeping. Only a few lights still burned in the windows of the other units.

Katy frowned. The streetlamp closest to Amanda's place had shattered, leaving her end of the street in total darkness. “You'd think she would have left the porch light on,” she said, squinting out the window.

“She must be ready to go,” replied McBride. “She's in as big a hurry as I am. I'll be right back.”

Katy got out and moved to the backseat, so that she could sit next to Luke and leave the front for Amanda. She closed the door as quietly as possible, buckled in, and then gazed down at her son, amazed that he still slept. She wanted so much to touch his face, to run her fingers down his soft cheek, but she didn't dare.

Suddenly, Katy heard a cry from outside the car. Constricted by her seat belt, she tried to lean across the backseat, angling her body around the baby to peer out the window. From the odd angle, she thought she saw McBride fall forward into Amanda's dark doorway. “What's going on?” she muttered to herself. Then she saw a shadowy figure hovering over McBride. She saw a long black object in his gloved hand. There were two dim flashes. McBride's body convulsed.

Katy let out an involuntary yelp. The dark figure backed into the shadows.

Luke began to cry. “It's okay, it's okay, baby. Mommy's sorry,” said Katy breathlessly as she fought with her seat belt. She tried to keep her eyes on Amanda's doorway, but in her panic, she couldn't get the catch to release. Finally she looked down and found the button. The buckle sprang loose. When she looked up again, McBride was gone. Luke's crying became more insistent.

Katy stared at the empty doorway for just a fraction of a second. Then she started scrambling over the front seat. “Mommy has to drive the car now, sweetie,” she said. She punched the lock as she settled into the driver's seat. A shadow passed over the steering wheel. She looked left and saw a gun swinging toward her. The window shattered.

Katy screamed.