The Killing Chase (Beach & Riley Book 2) Page 20

  “I’m certainly no expert, but I’d say you should just trust your feelings. If you show him just a little of how you feel, he’ll get the message soon enough. I know Dozer seems flippant, but I also know for a fact he’s a true gentleman, and fiercely loyal. You two would make a great pair. Just relax and let it happen – if you want it to.”

  Tears welled in Tik’s bottom eyelids, but she held them back by sheer force of will. Hers had been a very difficult and painful life until Jake had saved her. She’d lost her entire family under particularly brutal circumstances, and Jake was the only person in the world she truly trusted. Now this man – who’d rescued her from a fate worse than death, who’d given her a home, a job, security, and a feeling of belonging – was encouraging her to follow her heart.

  “What if he not like me?”

  “Maybe you can’t read the signs, little sister, but it’s pretty obvious to me. He’s definitely interested. The last time I saw him act like this around a woman was with his former fiancée. It almost destroyed him when she died of cancer. Trust me, when he falls, he falls hard and fast.”

  “What if him want me go away from here? Maybe him want to live Australia.”

  “You’re getting way ahead of yourself, Tik. Just take it one step at a time, and don’t overthink things. You can cross that bridge when you come to it, if necessary.”

  “”Shhh!” Tik rubbed the tears from her eyes. “They come back.”

  The Australians sauntered back to the kitchen workbench and plopped themselves down on stools.

  “So, what you got cookin’, good-lookin?” Dozer asked.

  Tik glanced at Jake, and he gave her an encouraging wink. She turned to Dozer, giving him a very brief but angelic smile, before returning to her usual demeanor of self-control. “Tom Yum Goong. You can eat spicy?”

  Tik’s adorable smile caught the big man off guard. Her simple but poignant gesture spoke volumes, piercing his heart with a suddenness and depth he hadn’t felt in years. Gone was Dozer’s mask of humor; he saw something in Tik he’d hoped to find again, but never truly expected. “Spicy’s good, thanks,” he said, trying to regain his composure.

  Priest had noticed Tik’s smile too, and observed the immediate, drastic change in his brother’s deportment. He leaned back in his stool to meet Jake’s eyes, giving him a questioning glance. Jake raised his eyebrows, nodding his head almost imperceptibly. Priest gave him a satisfied smile. It seemed his younger but not so little brother might finally be ready to try again. Priest couldn’t be happier – for both of them.

  The older brother backed off from his usual teasing and banter while they ate. He and Jake watched as the interaction between Dozer and Tik progressed. The brothers could return to their good-natured ribbing soon enough, but for now Priest would give the fledgling connection time to bloom. He took his bowl to the sink, and said, “Come on, Jakey, let’s go see what you’ve got in your bag of tricks. Anything you reckon we can get past the blockheads at Ukrainian customs?”

  “There might be a thing or two,” Jake said, following Priest toward the armory.

  *****

  “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t serious, Althea,” FBI Deputy Director Whyley said. “I know we agreed never to use our being brother and sister to help each other’s career, but it’s not for me. There’s something very dark going on in DARPA, and they fall under your department’s jurisdiction.”

  “Where does your information come from?” Althea Whyley asked.

  “I’d rather not say, but I can assure you the source is unimpeachable.”

  “Come on, Iain, you can’t expect me to barge into DARPA’s affairs without a legitimate chain-of-command request. They’ve got very powerful allies, and they’re granted a great deal of leeway in their research and procedures. If I go poking around, it’ll raise flags very quickly. Their flat management structure means this guy, Ian McAdam, will find out what I’m up to, and cover up so fast it’ll make your head spin. Then I’ll have to explain myself to the Inspector General. No, if you want me to get into this, I’ll need approval from the Deputy Secretary of Defense.”

  “But we’ve got no idea how high up the rot goes. I can’t risk tipping off whoever authorized McAdam’s operations.”

  “Then there’s nothing I can do.”

  “Look, sis, I’ve always admired your hardheadedness. It’s what’s gotten you where you are today. But how do you think it’s going to look to a Senate committee when they find out the Assistant Inspector General for the Office of the Secretary of Defense allowed a major conspiracy to happen under her watch?”

  Althea Whyley sighed deeply. “If I’m going to do this, you’d better give me a damned good reason, little brother.”

  “I’ll give you more than one. First, we’ve got a financial link between McAdam and the murders of two federal employees – the prison transport driver and the guard who were moving Adler from Sherbourne Institute to a special testing facility. The transfer was approved by the Federal Bureau of Prisons, but McAdam faked Adler’s death, and paid the guard and driver twenty-five grand each to keep quiet. Then a few days later, they both died under questionable circumstances. We can’t prove it yet, but we believe McAdam had them both killed to ensure secrecy.”

  “When you use words like ‘questionable circumstances’ and ‘we believe,’ I have to wonder at the veracity of your allegations, Iain.”

  “Goddammit, this is serious, Thea. I’m the Deputy Director of the FBI, for crying out loud. You really think I’d make shit like this up? We know Adler’s still alive, and we know McAdam paid the guard and driver off. Those facts alone should be enough for you to act. But if you want more, how about the trail of bodies Adler left in his wake? Innocent civilians have been brutally murdered since that psycho’s been on the loose.”

  “I read about the murders, but they said it was a copycat.”

  “We thought so, too, until Adler kidnapped two of my agents and almost beat one to death. The guy’s fighting for his life in the hospital right now. Then there are the mysterious dead soldiers found at Adler’s crime scenes. These guys’ fingerprints had all been surgically removed. When we traced their DNA, we found they’d all been reported as killed in action overseas over three years ago.

  “Who the hell would have the resources and cover to pull something like that off? And these guys were killed by Adler while they were obviously hunting him. Probably trying to recapture him and hide him away in some DARPA black facility so no one would find out about McAdam’s operation. You need to find out what the hell this guy’s up to and who’s pulling the strings.”

  “You don’t think he’s acting alone?”

  “In my experience, everyone has a boss. I have no idea if it’s someone at the DoD or not, but there must be more to it than some mid-level DARPA administrator.”

  “You say McAdam has direct financial links to the Bureau of Prisons guys. How did you find the link?”

  “Does this mean you’re going to look into it?”

  “I can’t make any promises. What you’re asking me to do constitutes a serious breach of protocol. But if what you’re telling me is true, you’re right – I need to get ahead of it.”

  Chapter 28

  Vladimir Petrov sat alone at a workbench in the basement of Sergey Ugolev’s sprawling Kiev compound. He held a small pneumatic die grinder up to the stem of an expensive, hand-cut crystal champagne flute. The machine appeared comically small as he held it like a pencil in his oversized hand.

  The diamond cutting wheel emitted a piercing whine each time it touched the lead crystal at fifty-thousand rpm. Petrov carefully dripped water on his work to avoid shattering the piece, as he manipulated the tool to wear away just over half the stem’s original circumference where it met the bowl of the flute.

  Satisfied with his work, he rinsed and polished the flute then held it up to the light for a final inspection. Petrov held a deep appreciation for its maker’s master craftsmanship and felt a pang of guilt o
ver his intended purpose for the doomed work of art. But what must be done must be done. He reverently replaced the flute next to its no longer identical twin on the outer side of their elaborate red velvet presentation box and closed the lid.

  Upstairs in the kitchen, Petrov retrieved a chilled bottle of Ugolev’s preferred 1990 vintage Veuve Clicquot, La Grande Dame, from an enormous stainless steel refrigerator. Bottles of this distinction were reserved to commemorate old victories and cement new alliances for the organization. Normally such opulent occasions were the realm of his boss, but Petrov was willing to bet Ugolev would forgive his misuse of the venerable vintage this once. Carefully Petrov wrapped the bottle in butcher’s paper to absorb condensation before placing it into a single-bottle, insulated carry-bag.

  Petrov picked up his treasures then proceeded into the main hall, toward the mansion’s formal entrance. At the inner door he found his two most trusted men waiting; one took the packages as the other held open an overcoat for Petrov to slide his huge arms into the sleeves. This man then respectfully smoothed Petrov’s lapels and threw a cashmere scarf around his brigadier’s neck.

  As Petrov turned to the exit, another soldier opened the frosted glass door from inside the main entryway, making a short, crisp bow as the brigadier passed, followed by his two most trusted men. Petrov had become used to the formalities Ugolev demanded within his inner circle. In fact, he’d grown to appreciate his fine tailormade suits and opulent surroundings. Whatever he might think of his boss, Ugolev had certainly taught him the finer things in life.

  Two more guards stood at the main entrance. One reached to open the door, but Petrov stopped him. Speaking in Ukrainian, he asked the man what the sweep of the Albescu headquarters had shown.

  “All is clear, sir. They await your arrival.”

  “Good. We should be back in an hour. In the meantime, have the housemaids and kitchen staff prepare the house for Mr. Ugolev’s arrival.”

  The guard nodded and opened the door. The three solemn men walked a few steps through the crisp evening air to their waiting stretch Mercedes. Once inside, Petrov looked at his men.

  “You know what to do. Wait for my signal, then carry out your orders.”

  *****

  “When did this start?” McAdam asked his assistant.

  “I just found the search trail now, so it couldn’t be more than twenty minutes ago.”

  “Find out if there’s an official investigation through the Inspector General’s Office or if it’s just another fishing expedition. Get back to me straightaway.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  McAdam rubbed his chin. The last time someone had tried to check up on his secret operations, it had been a sharp, Harvard-educated, ladder-climber trying to make some quick points with the Inspector General. McAdam had used his considerable track record to influence the Deputy Director and shoot the young man down in flames. That was one eager beaver who’d be going nowhere fast in the DoD.

  But this felt different. The Adler escape, and the loss of his secret paramilitary team, could have attracted unwanted attention. The coming weeks and months were vital to his boss’ plans. McAdam would have to take drastic measures if this turned out to be a genuine threat.

  His assistant knocked lightly on the door and let himself in. “It’s not an official investigation, sir. But I traced the signature to the Assistant Inspector General herself.”

  “Get me Colonel Watson in Nevada.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  McAdam knew his next step could be a dangerous one, but he couldn’t afford someone of Althea Whyley’s stature looking into his affairs. Line one’s LED lit up as his phone rang.

  “McAdam.”

  “It’s Watson. What’s on your mind?”

  “I’ve got a problem needs dealing with. Have you got someone reliable in my vicinity?”

  “You just saw him yesterday. One of the guards at your safehouse is an operative – damned good one, too.”

  “So what’s he doing on guard duty in Arlington?”

  “He had to go into headquarters to renew his clearances, so I gave him something to do while he waits for the paperwork to go through.”

  “Thank God for bureaucracy. This is a very sensitive matter. I don’t want to know how it gets done, but it needs to look like an accident. Is that clear?”

  “Crystal. Who’s the target?”

  “You’re not going to like this, but it has to be done – and quickly.”

  *****

  “What do you think Jake’s up to?” Kerr asked Fouts.

  “Beats me. But with Jake Riley, there’s always a plan. I bet he’s got something interesting in mind.”

  “Be nice if he’d let us in on it,” Albrecht said. “I’m not sure how I feel leaving a guy like Adler unguarded.”

  “I hear you,” Fouts replied. “But you don’t know Jake like we do. And no one knows him like Tom Walker does. Trust me, if Jake wants him left alone, he’s got good reason. Anyway, we’ll see soon enough – this is our turnoff.”

  Albrecht steered the SUV onto the offramp. Fouts watched the GPS, giving Albrecht instructions, as they passed a number of intersections before reaching an unfinished industrial estate five miles west of the outskirts of Arlington, Virginia.

  “This is the place,” Fouts said. “I see a driveway ahead on the left.”

  “Got it. This place looks deserted.”

  “I think that’s the idea. Last building on the right.”

  Albrecht proceeded slowly along the row of fifteen offices and warehouses in various stages of completion. The sunlight was beginning to wane, but he left the headlights off as he turned into the loading bay of the only completed building in the estate.

  “Kinda spooky out here,” Fouts said. “No security guard, no lights. I guess that’s what Jake wants. He probably owns the whole estate.”

  “Seriously?” Albrecht said. “I mean, I know the guy’s got money, but there’s gotta be at least ten mill in this place.”

  “More like fifteen, I’d say,” Kerr said, leaning forward between the front seats. “You really don’t know Jake that well, do you, buddy?”

  “Obviously not as well as I thought.”

  “Here’s the lowdown. His parents died in a plane crash on their private jet when Jake was only twelve. He and his older brother got a huge insurance payout, and inherited the family business.”

  “What was the business?”

  “Well, the apples don’t fall far from the tree. His old man was a Green Beret back when Green Berets ruled the earth. When he got out, he used his field experience to start developing weapon technology. He patented a bunch of really cool shit and made a fortune selling to the government. Pretty soon their company was responsible for more than five percent of the entire U.S. military arms budget.”

  Albrecht let out a loud whistle. “Wow, that’s a lot of green.”

  “Hell, yeah. The guy was making gazillians.”

  “So it’s all Daddy’s money then?”

  “Not a chance. The old man was certainly a millionaire, but he had a co-op attitude to business, so his people shared in the profits. Jake’s inheritance was a few mill, but taxes took a lot of that. They did pretty damned well, but not the kind of money you could start an empire with. Then Jake’s brother, Shane, was killed in action. Jake should have inherited his share, but taxes were going to decimate the funds, so Jake gave the whole thing to the Salvation Army.”

  “So how can he afford this kind of thing?” Albrecht asked.

  “I think you’ve seen by now that our boss is a very clever guy. When he was old enough to access his inheritance, Jake started investing. He must also have inherited his old man’s touch with money, ‘cause the guy owns commercial and residential property all over the country. He’s worth way more than his father ever was.”

  “So that’s how Walker was able to start the Test?”

  “Walker’s a great guy, a brother, but business was never his thing. He’s always wor
ked for a living. That’s why Jake talked him into the Test. Jake bought the land and put up the capital, so he could get his old Ranger instructor off the hamster-wheel.”

  “And thank God he did!” Fouts added. “Now the three of our dumb grunt asses get paid big bucks and own five percent each of a multimillion-dollar-a-year business. And that’s all she wrote. Let’s get this nut-job to where the boss wants him.”

  They exited the SUV, and Kerr dragged Adler out of the back, letting him thump heavily to the ground. “You like that, freak?” Kerr kicked the still unconscious serial killer in the stomach for good measure, then grabbed the golden mesh and dragged him toward the loading dock.

  The building was two stories tall, with generous office space and meeting rooms above the main entrance. The warehouse component was fifty yards long by thirty yards wide, designed for midsized, light industrial and storage businesses. Fouts reached into his pocket for the key Jake had given him, and opened the side entry into the warehouse structure. He walked in, followed by Albrecht. Kerr brought up the rear, dragging Adler behind like a sack of garbage.

  “Holy shit – now this is spooky!” Albrecht said.

  The day’s dying light still radiated through skylights in the structure’s roof. In the dim glow, they stared at an obviously purpose-built cage in the center of the otherwise empty warehouse. All six sides of the movable cage were made from one-inch-diameter 41xx chromoly steel tubing, expertly welded, reinforced at two vertical points, and with a gate on one side.

  Each wall was five yards wide, making a perfect cube of containment. Inside the cage, a surgical gurney was secured to the far wall by heavy stainless steel bolts. A tray of surgical instruments lay on a mobile table beside the gurney and a small vital statistics monitor stood beside it.

  “How the hell did he know he’d need this rig?” Albrecht asked.

  “What makes you think he had it made for the occasion?” Fouts said. “You never know with ol’ Jake. Could have been stored away someplace and brought here when the place was built.”