Strike Force (5 page)

   Peg didn't want to hear any of it. "That no account son of mine hasn't been around if that's what you're wondering. Dead in a ditch somewhere maybe."

   "He's my baby's daddy, Momma Peg. Please don't talk like that when Sarah's around."

   Peg turned away from the camera on the phone. "Aw, she's off watching her shows. She didn't hear nothing."

   "Did you give him the gift I sent for our anniversary?"

   Peg wagged a finger in front of the phone. "Broke up means broke up and no I didn't give him nothing. I gave it to baby girl instead."

   Meredith put on her brave face. "I still love him, Momma Peg. He can't help who is. Don't hate him for me. Love him for me."

   "You mark my words, child. He'll break your heart again if he doesn't break your head first next time."

   Meredith frowned. "I fell, Momma Peg. He didn't push me down the stairs."

   "Like he didn't break your arm? Like he didn't--"

   "I have to go," Meredith cut in. "I love you, Momma Peg. Take care of my baby girl."

   "You know I will, child," Peg said as she hung up.

   Meredith put away the phone. She broke down, sobbing, crying into her hands.

   Eventually, she opened the stall door, wiping her eyes with a tissue with one hand while opening the door with the other. Her head was down but her eyes went wide all the same. Someone was standing outside the door, waiting for her.

   Meredith pointed at the door. "This isn't the only lady's. There's another just around the corner."

   "So sorry about this," the woman said as her arms grabbed and twisted Meredith's neck around.

   Meredith felt an instant of sheer terror and pain before nothingness found her.

Chapter 12

Bluffdale, Utah
Morning, Tuesday, 19 June

In the administration building of the National Cybersecurity Initiative Data Center complex, senior data mining and analysis specialist Dave Gilbert sat in his private cubicle and noted the data stream from the Med was coming from a mindboggling assortment of sources. Everything from US and allied military, insurgent militias, and foreign governments to civilian emergency response. He hadn't gone home yet from his swing shift of the previous day. He was beyond tired but he had just confirmed the data was real.

   Thinking there was a problem with the updates was a rabbit hole he'd fallen down for hours. Perhaps though it was because of the dead silence from the media too, and he'd had his second monitor displaying CNN Headline News, BBC News and Al Jazeera News all night long.

   It didn't make sense because what he was seeing indicated a there was some kind of high-stakes operation going on. He hadn't seen such a flood of data coming out of the Med since the uprising that ousted and killed Libya's dictator, Muammar Gaddafi.

   "Morning in Utah. Afternoon in the Med," Dave said aloud as he reminded himself of the 9-hour time difference. He started backtracking through the data to see when it all began. It didn't take long and soon he wrote 5:18 AM in large block letters on a yellow sticky note that he stuck to the lower left corner of his primary monitor. On another sticky note, he wrote 5:42 PM--the current time in the Med. This note he stuck to the lower right corner of his primary monitor. The notes were reminders to himself that he needed to fill in the gaps between to understand what was happening.

   He told himself that none of this was directly related to his current job, that he should turn over what he'd uncovered to his old friends working the Mediterranean desk at NSA headquarters in Ft. Meade.

   But what he was seeing was like a giftwrapped puzzle and he was for once in his life in the right place at the right time. He'd created the algorithms and search interfaces that sifted through the exabytes of data being gathered by the NSA every single day. He knew what he needed to do to unravel the puzzle.

   He also needed to tread carefully. The NSA, CIA and other covert intelligence agencies, foreign and domestic, had dozens of missions going on around the world at any one time. If he'd stumbled into one of those and inadvertently exposed it, all hell would break lose.

   
But what if it isn't a covert op? What if some sort of major attack is underway?

   Jumping up from his chair, he paced back and forth in his little cubicle.

   
The stakes are high, inconceivably high. If I do this and things go wrong, I really will get fired. For real. It won't be just another panic attack.

   Dave exited his cubicle, walking past the dozens of other workspaces in which other specialists were handling other aspects of their Big Data mission.

   He walked down the stairs to the first floor and went outside. He stood there a moment breathing the clean mountain air, with the morning sun on his face.

   His car was right there in the parking lot. All he had to do was get in it and drive home. By the time he ate, slept and woke, this would all be over and whatever it was he could pretend he never knew anything about it beforehand.

   He told himself this but knew he couldn't do it. He thought of 9/11. How the agency had credible intelligence that something big was coming. How the agency hadn't been able to use that information to stop what happened from happening.

Chapter 13

Mediterranean Sea
Afternoon, Tuesday, 19 June

"Belay that," Captain Howard said. "Evers, you've something else to tell us, so out with it."

   Scott scratched at his forehead. The adrenaline rush was wearing off and he was suddenly feeling the day's wear and tear again. "I believe I do. A hunch. Something I saw while I was under."

   "Under?" the captain asked.

   Scott took a step toward the master chief and stood at the chief's side as a show of solidarity. "Edie and I were on the bridge with Captain Pendleton when it started. When I saw incoming RPGs, I pulled Edie over the rail and we went under. We dove down to avoid the shockwave and stayed under as all hell broke loose. Edie and I are both experienced divers and free divers, so we can hold our breath longer than most. Still, we couldn't have been under for more than a few minutes.

   "By the time we surfaced and came around the
Shepherd
, it was over and there was no trace of the attackers." Scott stopped, caught himself. "Wait, I think… No, I know. I saw one of the fishing boats when I came up. Far away and trailing smoke. Then I saw something, large, black giving chase. I assumed it was one of the NSW RIBs. But from what I heard earlier, both NSW RIBs were recovered in waters near the
Shepherd
."

   Captain Howard reached for a large mug of coffee, which must have gone cold long ago. He swallowed the cold mud and then said, "Inflatables 1 and 2 were recovered near the
Sea Shepherd
. Recovery ops continues and we will keep search and rescue going until all missing are found."

   "But you've only found six. Isn't that right?" Scott said, only realizing the importance of his words as he said them.

   "Six…" Master Chief Roberts said, pausing to look to the Operations Commander. "That's the service member recovery count. We've recovered twenty one: six servicemen, two from the
Bardot
, four from the
Shepherd
, and eight from the fishers."

   "Living?" Scott asked. "In the infirmary?"

   "Not all aboard this ship. Not all living," the master chief said.

   Scott paused, counted in his head. "That's twenty, not twenty one."

   Master Chief Roberts looked to Executive Commander Howard before he responded. "The other's a… defense contractor… who was aboard the helicopter we lost this morning."

   Scott noted the delays in the response and suspected the chief said "defense contractor" but meant operative. If so, the operative was most likely from the CIA. Intrigued, he asked, "The helicopter, was it attacked before or after the
Bardot
sank?"

   Master Chief Roberts said, "The SH-60B was on route to the
Bardot
when it went down and the reports of the
Bardot
came in at the same time."

   Scott became agitated, animated. "Two coordinated attacks? One precision attack on both the
Bardot
and a combat patrol helicopter. A second precision attack on the
Shepherd
and two fully-manned inflatables."

   Master Chief Roberts nodded and was about to say something when Scott said, "And four found from the
Shepherd
?"

   Master Chief Roberts nodded again.

   Scott asked, "Where are they?"

   Master Chief Roberts said, "The infirmary will have that information. If not aboard, they'll know which ship they're on and the status."

   "Status…" Scott said. "You mean whether they're alive or dead?"

   Scott didn't wait for an answer. He turned about, and called out for Midshipman Tinsdale.

   As he was leaving the situation room, the Operations Commander said, "Well, we've now wasted time that could have been better spent discussing tactical response. The strike force is assembled and ready below decks. Pilots not part of current ops are on crew rest. Planning cells are preparing and working through the most likely response scenarios, including beach assault, selective insertion, and amphibious engagement."

   As much as he wanted to know the truth about Edie, Scott knew if he left now he'd never get back into the operations room, never be part of the planning or response. He turned around in the doorway, said, "Give me a satellite phone and we'll see who's wasting whose time."

   The Operations Commander, a big, dumb grin on his face reached down, grabbed a satellite phone from his ready pack, and tossed it to Scott. "Knock yourself out… In the meantime, we'll continue discussing tactical response and how to kick these jihadist bastards so hard they'll go crawling back to their caves to die."

Chapter 14

Mediterranean Sea
Late Afternoon, Tuesday, 19 June

Alexis reached down and picked up the dead woman's phone. A picture on the cracked screen showed a brown-eyed blond-haired girl with a missing tooth and a constellation of freckles. The little girl couldn't have been more than seven or eight. Adorable, Alexis decided as she put the phone on the sink.

   The air in the tiny room was stifling and she fanned her face before she unbuttoned the dead woman's blouse and removed it, along with everything else, before stuffing the body in the stall. Locking the stall with herself inside, she climbed up and over the edge, slipping down the other side.

   Afterward, she dressed in the dead woman's clothes, looking at herself in the mirror over the sink as she did so. Before she finished buttoning up the blouse, she noticed the nametag had come undone, so she fixed it back into place.

   She grinned at her reflection, almost as if to say, "Hello, old friend."

   She picked up a hat from the floor, dusted it off and fixed it into place. She knew enough about shipboard rules to know she generally wasn't supposed to wear a hat indoors, but sailors often did, especially if they were young and forgetful. The dead woman had been both, Alexis decided, as she turned from the mirror and reached for the door.

   Before opening the door, she paused and turned back. "Midshipman Tinsdale, at your service, sir," she said to the mirror until she believed it.

   The two had a passing resemblance, she decided. Same height. Same build. Same close-cropped blond hair. It's why she'd picked the midshipman.

   Plus, with the midshipman running back and forth along the halls, it was as if she was asking to die. Almost like she was saying here I am, come and kill me and hurry up about it.

   Alexis knew the lower ranks were practically invisible. She'd always been invisible when she'd served. They never cared that she was a person.

   The faces behind the hands that patted her ass or grabbed her tits were never looking at her face, that's for sure. They only cared that she could hit the mark every single time at 800, 1200 or 1500 meters. That she had three holes that they could fill on a dark night in the desert.

   Thinking about what she'd just done, her jaw clenched and her face got the pinched look of sadness. She sometimes felt pity for the sorrows she caused but remorse was something she felt rarely.

   Angry with herself for feeling anything, she let herself cry. Red eyes and puffy cheeks might help her make look more like the dead woman anyway.

   She cried for the life she should have had.

   She cried for everything that had happened to her during the long dark nights in the desert.

   She cried for the empty places in her heart.

   But, above all, she cried to get past the pain, to get past feeling anything.

   If she was going to survive, she needed to be numb. Numb like her they told her to be during those dark nights in the desert.

   She touched a tissue to her eyes, let the tissue soak up her tears and her pain. Seeing her puffy red eyes in the mirror, she smiled.

   Done sobbing, she put the tissue in her pocket. She picked up the dead woman's phone and put that in her pocket too. She'd almost forgotten the phone in her haste to do what she needed to do next.

   She looked at her watch, almost willing time to hurry toward zero hour.

   Calmly, she removed a magnetic sign from a utility cabinet that'd she'd unlocked previously. As she entered the hall, she put the sign on the door to the bathroom. "Closed for Cleaning," it read.

Chapter 15

Mediterranean Sea
Late Afternoon, Tuesday, 19 June