The Portal (A Delphi Group Thriller Book 2) (2 page)

“If you don’t have enough wine—”

“I have plenty!” he said. “Be right there.”

He was still disturbed that she had been so cautious in her alcohol consumption. Conversely, he was also disappointed in himself that he’d pushed beyond his usual limit. One more glass to make her comfortable, then he’d be done.

After grabbing a towel, Parsons returned to the couch. “Here you are,” he said, setting her glass on the table and handing her the towel.

He settled in next to her and drained the remainder of his sauvignon blanc.

“I’ve never done this before,” Mei said as she wiped her dress. “I’m so embarrassed.”

“Don’t be.”

Finally Mei threw the towel onto the table and leaned into him. “You sure you can forgive me for being so clumsy?”

“I don’t know. I may need a little convincing.” He cupped her chin and gently pulled her mouth toward his. Their lips pressed together as their arms encircled one another. Parsons felt the warmth of her embrace and began to nibble on her neck. Mei tilted her head back slightly.

Suddenly he stopped and pulled back, rubbing his temple.

“What’s wrong?” Mei asked, forming her mouth into a pout. “I’m not making you happy.”

Parsons looked around the room. Even though he was seated, it seemed to wobble slightly. He felt like a child who’d been swung around in the air then placed down and asked to stand.

“No, of course you make me happy.” He looked at her. The image of her face was fuzzy, so he rubbed his eyes. “I’m not sure what it is. Probably the combination of champagne and wine. Just hit me a little hard.”

She tapped the end of his nose. “I warned you not to drink too much.”

She was right. He should have stopped drinking a long time ago. Then again, it seemed odd for his body to react this way. He wasn’t used to drinking champagne, so maybe the carbonation was the culprit.

“You sure you’re okay?” she asked.

He suddenly found it hard to combat the feeling of drifting off. “Sorry…”

Mei pulled him closer, rubbing the back of his head gently. “Just relax.”

After his eyes closed, Mei asked the man she knew as Peter a few questions in the silly voice she’d been practicing for weeks. Hearing no response, she poked his head gently several times. Still nothing. The pill had done its work, and even sooner than she’d expected. The idiot had probably quickened the process by drinking so much.

Satisfied that he was completely out, she propped his body against the back of the couch, slamming his arm roughly against the cushion. It was all she could do not to spit on the American pig.

Mei stood and reached into her purse. She pulled out two latex gloves and a laser pointer. After glancing at the man one more time, she crossed the room and turned off the lights. She then walked quickly over to the window in the dining area, staring at a condo tower one block away. After counting off floors, she turned on the pointer and aimed the red dot at a window with a small statue perched on its sill.

She waited patiently. She knew a surveillance team was hidden there, the same team that had been watching the American for the last three weeks. Seconds later, the curtain moved slightly, and a red light flashed three times.

No one had followed them, and she was free to proceed.

Mei turned off the pointer and returned to the living room, approaching a series of cabinets built into a wall near the front door. She pulled on the latex gloves and opened the cabinet on the far right. She pushed a few books aside and found what she was looking for, a small gray safe. She entered a memorized code on the pad to the right. It contained twenty-one digits, but her entry was flawless. Seconds later, a tiny light to the right of the pad shone green. She turned the handle and opened the door.

Perfect.
The customized computer tablet was right where her people had said it would be. She slid it out carefully and returned to the couch.

After powering up the device, she reached into her purse and retrieved a thumb drive. Before proceeding, she glanced over at the American. His eyes were still closed, and his breathing was regular.

“In a few hours, we’ll know exactly who you really are,” she whispered in Chinese.

Turning back to her work, Mei snapped the thumb drive into a slot on the side of the tablet. Seconds later, a box popped up on the home screen, and a bar began to fill from left to right. The Trojan was loading. About a minute later, the bar had filled completely, and Mei removed the drive. She then shut the tablet down, walked over to the safe, and placed it inside, careful to position it precisely where it had been before.

Once she had moved the books back into place and closed the cabinet door, she returned to the couch and sat down next to the American. She pulled his left arm over her shoulder and snuggled up against him, settling in for the half hour it would take for him to wake up.

Sandpoint, Idaho

ZANE WATSON’S ARM snapped forward, sending his line looping out over the cold, clear water of the stream. The fly landed so softly that it barely made a disturbance on the surface.

Come on, I know you’re there.

The gentle movement of the water carried it a few inches, causing it to spin and twirl invitingly. The operative waited patiently, confident the sheltered cove would yield another strike.

Suddenly he saw a hint of movement as a dark silhouette rose out of the depths. It seemed to hesitate, but seconds later the water swirled violently and the fly disappeared.

He turned the reel firmly, enjoying the light but feisty tugs. Despite its size, the fish made several good runs before finding itself spinning in the confines of an oversized net. Reaching down into the cold water, Zane closed his hand around the slippery body and lifted it gently into the air. He took a moment to admire one of the masterpieces of nature. A smudged pink line ran the length of its body, surrounded by a sea of black dots that looked like they’d been painted there by an artist flicking a wet paintbrush. In terms of beauty, the rainbow trout had no rivals.

Zane had already released four that afternoon, which meant this one was going to take up residence in a pan back at the lodge. His stomach growled at the thought of a plate filled with fried trout, wild rice, and roasted asparagus.

The operative paused and thought back over the last several days. The remote vacation had been just what he’d needed. The lodge and the hundred acres it sat on were owned by CIA field officer Garet Slater, who had inherited it from a wealthy uncle with no kids. Since the two had time off, Slater had invited Zane to join him for a week in the wilderness. They would hike and fish during the day and share war stories over cigars and cognac at night.

Unfortunately those well-laid plans had been dashed when Slater was called back to Langley on the day he was to leave. Instead of fishing and smoking cigars, he would be boarding a white Gulfstream GV at Andrews Air Force Base. National security was calling him to an undisclosed location.

A generous man, Slater had told his friend to go ahead and make use of the lodge. Zane, who desperately needed some downtime, had graciously accepted.

Slater was a special spook in that he was one of the few rank-and-file agency operatives who had knowledge of Zane’s employer, The Delphi Group. Among other things, he knew the clandestine organization conducted investigations that the US government could not or would not associate itself with, primarily those involving bizarre events such as scientific advances, the paranormal, or any other category not suitable for transparent budgets.

Created in the wake of the events that took place in Roswell, New Mexico, in 1947, the organization went from being directly under the auspices of the federal government to being privately owned and funded under the black budget of the CIA.

The owner of Delphi was Dr. Alexander Ross. Fittingly, he had become known as the Oracle, the sage of ancient Greece. Like his namesake, Ross had earned the reputation of having an uncanny ability to gather important information. Those skills had been honed over a long career, first as a CIA case officer and later as Director of National Intelligence. His no-nonsense approach, coupled with his natural affinity for clandestine work, made him the perfect leader for an organization like Delphi.

Delphi’s headquarters were located on the top floor of a modern, mirrored office building on Wilson Boulevard in Arlington, Virginia. Its employees used a private lift just past the main bank of elevators in the lobby. It hadn’t taken long for the secretive nature of the organization to trigger much speculation among employees of the building’s other tenants. In fact, it was not uncommon to hear the name Delphi whispered at the Starbucks in the lobby on any given morning.

In addition to the main office in Arlington, Delphi owned four training and deep-cover facilities across the US. They also owned a number of smaller offices and safe houses throughout the world, primarily in Europe and Asia.

The organization deployed approximately two dozen operatives at home and abroad. Zane Watson was designated as senior operative, a post he had held since joining Delphi. Watson was a former Navy SEAL who had been honorably discharged due to a severe knee injury suffered while conducting a snatch-and-grab operation in Yemen. Disappointed at not being able to serve but determined to make the most of what he did have, Watson enrolled in computer science at North Carolina State University. He was able to obtain a full degree in only two-and-a-half years, an accomplishment that would later catch the eyes of the right people. And if that weren’t enough, he’d also been able to obtain a pilot’s license simultaneously.

The injured knee would later be repaired with advanced surgical techniques developed at Duke University. At that time, the former SEAL had settled into his civilian life as a pilot instructor based out of Raleigh-Durham International airport. It was at RDU that Watson had reconnected with former high school classmate Claire Williams, a flight attendant for a major airline.

The relationship was the proverbial match made in heaven, with the seed having been planted years ago in school. But the time spent apart eventually took its toll and brought the relationship to a halt. Many still predicted the two would get married at some point in the future, but Watson had his doubts. Sometimes when a ship sailed, it never came back.

Watson was single, childless, and enjoying his life as a pilot instructor when approached by Dr. Alexander Ross in the mid-2000s. Ross had heard of the SEAL’s reputation, not only as one of the best soldiers ever to rise through the ranks, but also as a man of brilliant intellect. The fact that he’d been able to obtain his college degree in under three years spoke for itself.

It took a number of flights between Reagan National Airport and RDU, but the Oracle was eventually able to bring the former soldier on board by making one major promise, that Watson could continue to live in Raleigh and work as a part-time flight instructor. The future operative had said it was one of the terms he wouldn’t negotiate, and Ross was more than happy to oblige.

Realizing it had suddenly grown darker, Zane glanced over his shoulder. The sun had dropped below the mountain ridge behind him, leaving splashes of lavender and fuchsia in its wake. Nightfall was only minutes away.

His stomach now growling insistently, he sloshed through the water and onto the bank. Turning north, he walked along the stream, stopping at a grove of willows where he’d hidden Slater’s ATV.

After placing the trout in a bucket, he stripped off his waders and replaced them with hiking boots. As he placed the rod behind the seat, he caught something in his peripheral vision. A red light was blinking in his tackle box.

The phone.

Zane shook his head and let out a sigh. The Oracle had probably left him yet another long-winded diatribe in voice mail. The last operation in Switzerland and France had caused an uproar on both sides of the Atlantic, and Ross couldn’t seem to put out the fires on his own. The constant contact had become so annoying that Zane had begun tossing the phone into his tackle box each morning.

Let Carmen help him this time.

But as he turned to walk to the front of the ATV, he stopped. In the recesses of his mind, something bothered him about what he’d just seen. A few seconds later, he realized what it was. His voice mail and text notifications were always green. This light had been red.

He reached into the box and snatched the phone out. After unlocking the screen, he frowned. Slater had asked him to download a mobile application that communicated with the security system of the lodge, and a notification from that application indicated that one or more sensors had been triggered.

“Probably a deer,” he muttered.

But as he was about to clear the notification, Zane remembered reading that while a large mammal might occasionally set off one of the sensors, they were calibrated to filter out most wandering animals.

An odd feeling pinched Zane’s gut as he scrolled through the phone’s icons. After finding the app, he opened it and stared at the additional information displayed on the screen. His brow furrowed immediately.

That can’t be possible.

And yet that’s exactly what the screen showed: a total of seven sensors had been triggered, two along the main road leading to the lodge and another five in the forested perimeter to the south.

Seven?

He frowned. The data was pregnant with significance. Not only did the numbers concern him, but the triggers from multiple directions were telling as well.

Zane slid the phone into his pocket and reached back into the box. After lifting the false bottom, he retrieved the matte-black Glock 21 hidden underneath. He then pulled out a tactical suppressor and snapped it into place, tucking the weapon into his belt.

As Zane climbed into the front seat of the four-wheeler, one thought was seared into his consciousness.

The lodge was under attack.

“THIS IS ROSS,” said the distorted voice on the other end of the phone.