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  22

  The army, navy, air force, and marines each had their own Special Operations Command, but all four reported in to the US Special Operations Command, or USSOCOM, at MacDill Air Force Base in Florida, headed by a four-star general. It made sense that this case warranted attention higher up the chain of command and that the contact information had been for Connelly’s boss.

  Desh felt his skin crawl. The news that Smith wasn’t who he claimed to be significantly increased the chance that Kira had been right and Connelly was in imminent danger. This called into question the veracity of everything that Smith had told him. Desh knew he needed to consider the full implications of this new information and discuss this further with Connelly, but that would have to wait for another time. He ended the conversation quickly so the colonel could begin taking steps to protect himself.

  “Ready to go?” asked Griffin when Desh was off the phone.

  “Not yet. I need to think,” said Desh. He lowered his head for almost a full minute as Griffin waited anxiously.

  Desh finally lifted his head and looked at Griffin thoughtfully. “It’s possible that we’re no longer under surveillance or we’re being surveilled by friendlies,” he said. “But we can’t be certain of this, so we need to freeze anyone watching. We need to make sure they don’t have any reason to point their satellites at the exits of this building while we’re leaving.”

  “What are you talking about? Whoever is after us can’t just access satellites and get real-time imagery of whatever they want on a whim.”

  Desh raised his eyebrows.

  Griffin swallowed hard. “Come on, David,” he said nervously. “Are you saying these people are so high up in Big Brother they can authorize real-time satellite surveillance of us?”

  “I have reason to believe so, yes.”

  “Holy Christ!” barked Griffin. “We’re totally and completely screwed.”

  “Don’t count us out just yet,” said Desh. “I have an idea. If we can convince them we’ll be staying here for a while they’ll have no reason to point a satellite at your apartment complex.”

  “How do you know they aren’t watching the exits the old fashioned way?”

  “I’ll reconnoiter the area before we leave, but I don’t think they are. They’ve told me they’re calling off the dogs to get my cooperation. They know I’ll be checking carefully to see if they’ve gone back on their word.”

  Griffin didn’t look convinced. “So what’s your plan?”

  Desh told him. He would remove the bugs from the container in which he had placed them and assume they were still active. Then they would put on a little play for their audience. “For a hacker with your social engineering skills this should be a snap,” said Desh encouragingly. “Don’t overact, don’t speak woodenly as if you’re reciting lines, and don’t speak directly into the bug. They’ll pick up your voice from wherever you are. Just be yourself. If this seems staged it’ll blow up in our faces.”

  Griffin frowned. “Thanks for not putting any pressure on me,” he said dryly. He paused for a few seconds to get things straight in his head, took a deep breath, and then gestured for Desh to proceed.

  Desh carefully removed the bugs, putting a finger to his lips unnecessarily, and then nodded at Griffin to begin.

  Griffin’s face was a mask of concentration. “David?” he said in disbelief. “David Desh? Wake up.”

  “Wha—” mumbled Desh.

  “Wake up and tell me what the hell’s going on here?” demanded Griffin accusingly. “Why did I just wake up in the middle of my floor? What the hell are you doing here sleeping on my couch?” He delivered the lines convincingly, throwing himself smoothly into the role as Desh had hoped he would.

  “Sorry,” said Desh, doing a good job of sounding groggy. “I stopped over a few hours ago and couldn’t get you awake. I fell asleep myself while I waited for you to sleep it off. I was exhausted.” He paused. “Still am for that matter.”

  Desh went on to repeat the conversation they had had earlier when he had filled Griffin in on the night before. He then repeated the specifics of the assignment he wanted Griffin to work on, an extensive foray into Kira Miller’s past. “Look, Matt, I’m really sorry about this, but I still need to regenerate. Do you mind if I continue to sleep on your couch while you work?”

  “Go ahead,” said Griffin.

  “Thanks. Can you wake me in exactly two hours and give me a progress report?”

  “Will do,” responded Griffin.

  Desh gave the thumbs up signal to Griffin and then put his finger to his lips. He carefully returned the bugs to the soundproof container.

  “Nicely done, Matt,” he said appreciatively.

  With any luck anyone keeping tabs on them would relax for a while and decide that any satellite use for the next few hours would be a waste of resources.

  Desh continued to visualize different scenarios that might arise and considered making a stop at his apartment for bulletproof vests, but quickly ruled this out. It would be risky and take too much time. Besides, the vests could only stop handgun fire and not rifle-fire. If the military were involved in this, even a small rogue element, they would assume he was wearing a vest and choose their weaponry accordingly. In this case the vests would be a disadvantage rather than an advantage. He enjoyed the Star Wars movies as much as the next guy, but had always seen Storm Troopers as the height of stupidity: their head-to-toe white body armor did nothing but slow them down and make their movements awkward while failing to protect them one iota from even the weakest blaster.

  Desh removed the thick wad of hundreds from the case he had brought and held them out in front of his face to show Griffin. “An ample supply of cash can prove just as useful in certain emergency situations as a weapon can,” he said, and then shoved the bills into his front pants pocket.

  Griffin raised his eyebrows. “And here all these years I was under the impression that carrying a huge amount of cash actually put you in greater danger, not less. Who knew?”

  Desh grinned. “Do you have a cell phone on you?” he asked.

  Griffin nodded.

  “Leave it. I’m sure you know they can be used as homing beacons.”

  Griffin pulled his phone from his pocket and set it on his desk. “Okay,” he said, nodding toward Desh. “What about your phone?”

  “It’s a special design issued by my firm. It can’t be tracked. You can’t protect people effectively if their enemies can track you.”

  Desh slipped out the door and scouted the area for ten minutes, until he was satisfied the coast was clear. Even so, they took separate exits from the building, keeping their heads down and walking as unobtrusively as possible.

  Griffin retrieved his car, a blue Chrysler minivan, and met Desh two blocks from the apartment complex. Griffin slid over into the passenger seat. Desh jumped in, quickly adjusted the seat and mirrors, and drove off. The minivan hadn’t had a bath in some time and it was cluttered with empty water bottles, Starbucks containers, and even an empty pizza box.

  Desh turned to Griffin and raised his eyebrows. “A minivan?” he said with a smile. “Interesting choice for a single guy like you, Matt. I hear these are real chick magnets.”

  “You Special Forces sissies may need flashy sports cars to attract the fairer sex, but not us hackers,” responded Griffin with mock bravado. “Women find us irresistible. We get swarmed like rock stars.”

  Desh laughed. “I see. So the minivan is actually a tactic to fend them off?”

  “Exactly,” replied Griffin with a grin.

  “Good choice, then.”

  Griffin laughed. “Actually,” he said, “I use it to haul around scores of old computers, sometimes rebuilding and reselling them and sometimes cannibalizing parts.” He smiled slyly. “And as for women, I do very well for myself. And I really don’t need a fancy car. I meet and attract them all the old fashioned way.”

  Desh gazed at Griffin quizzically.

  “Online, of cou
rse,” he said in amusement.

  Desh’s smile remained for several seconds. When it was finally gone, a grave expression replaced it. “All right, Matt,” he said. “It’s time to tell you what I know, incomplete as it is.”

  Griffin’s face reflected both eagerness and anxiety, in equal measure.

  Throughout the long drive to Emporia, Desh told Griffin everything he knew and the current state of his analysis, forcing himself to obey the speed limit as he did so; battling his nature so they wouldn’t risk getting pulled over. The day remained overcast, with intermittent rain, although it appeared they were driving away from the rain rather than toward it.

  When Desh had finished, Griffin was dumbfounded. “This is truly astonishing stuff here, David. If any of this is true the implications are staggering,” he said.

  Desh pursed his lips and nodded in agreement. “I know I’ve managed to put you in the middle of all this, but if it makes you feel any better, you and I could be standing at the crossroads of human history. The decisions we make now could well play a role in stopping a bioterror threat and bringing the fountain of youth to the world.”

  “Thanks David,” said Griffin, a pained expression on his face. “Now I feel a lot more relaxed.”

  “I was shooting for inspiration.”

  “And you succeeded. I’m inspired and freaked out at the same time.”

  Desh smiled. “Why don’t you tell me what you learned about Kira while I was asleep,” he said.

  Griffin was five minutes into his report when Desh’s cell phone went off. He pulled it from his pocket and eyed the screen warily. It was Connelly. And given the call was unsecured, it had to be urgent. Connelly’s cell, like Desh’s, was untraceable, but it paid to keep the communication short and to the point.

  “Yes,” snapped Desh as he answered the call.

  “I’m tracking non-stop toward our rendezvous point, with an ETA as planned,” said Connelly. “Managed to flush out some company. I think I lost them but can’t be sure.”

  “Understood,” said Desh. He paused in thought for a moment and then added, “Stick with the original plan. I’ll monitor your perimeter after you arrive.”

  “Copy that,” said Connelly, ending the connection.

  Griffin eyed Desh questioningly as he put his phone away.

  “The colonel detected a car following him,” explained Desh. “But he thinks he lost them.”

  “Thinks he lost them?” said Griffin nervously.

  “We have to assume he hasn’t.”

  “But I heard you say, ‘stick with the original plan.’ Why would you do that if you still think he might have been followed?”

  “Because we need information and this might be our best chance to get some.”

  “How?”

  “By setting up an ambush for any unwanted guests,” responded Desh gravely.

  Griffin shook his head vigorously. “No way!” he croaked, his lofty vocabulary invariably coming down to earth when he was scared or angry. “That’s not what I signed on for. You may thrive on all this macho military bullshit, but I’m not interested in any of it.”

  Desh let out a heavy sigh and frowned deeply. “Me either, Matt,” he mumbled wearily. “Me either.”

  23

  David Desh glanced impatiently at his watch once again and frowned. He was hidden from view behind a large tree trunk at the outer edge of the clearing, which was roughly the size of a basketball court, waiting for Connelly’s arrival. He and Griffin had picked up a cab in Emporia. After instructing the driver to drop them off a quarter-mile from the meeting point they had finished their journey on foot. Desh had the tranquilizer gun in one pocket of his windbreaker and two spare clips for his .45 in the other.

  Griffin was waiting twenty yards farther into the woods. Few of the trees were totally bare, while many of them held full compliments of leaves that hadn’t even begun to change color. Given the significant number of evergreens added to the mix, the woods provided adequate cover as Desh had hoped, with a thin cushion of colorful, newly fallen leaves on the ground.

  Desh came to full alert! A car was approaching.

  He relaxed slightly as it came into view and he recognized the colonel behind the wheel. Connelly carefully chose his route over the hardened ground, which hadn’t experienced any of the rain that had fallen to the north, trying to minimize any evidence of the passage of his car. He killed the engine and cautiously got out, alert for anyone following. He was wearing civilian slacks and a heavy green knit sweater. Judging from his bulk, Desh guessed he was wearing a vest as well.

  Connelly surveyed the tree line methodically. When his eyes reached Desh’s hiding place, Desh moved his head into Connelly’s line of sight and nodded meaningfully. The colonel caught his eye and gave him an all but imperceptible nod of acknowledgment in return. Satisfied that Desh was in place as expected, Connelly scooped up an arm-full of fallen leaves and returned to where his car had exited the road, placing the leaves strategically so they would hide any visible tracks but would still look random.

  He then carefully returned to the clearing and stood by his car as if waiting for someone.

  Desh knew it was possible that Connelly had lost whoever was tailing him, but if these followers could authorize satellite time this would be little consolation. It was also possible that whoever had been following the colonel had no intention of taking any hostile action, but Desh had no choice but to assume otherwise.

  Desh quietly made his way to the oversized hacker. “It’s showtime,” he whispered so softly that Griffin wasn’t sure if he had heard it or had simply read Desh’s lips. “Don’t move. Don’t even have noisy thoughts,” he continued in hushed tones, his lips almost touching Griffin’s right ear. “A single snap of a twig can give away your position.”

  Griffin glared at him angrily for putting him in harm’s way but nodded his understanding.

  Desh picked his way through the woods noiselessly, with cat-like grace and light-footedness. The tip of his tongue protruded just slightly from his mouth as he concentrated carefully on avoiding pine cones and twigs, and more plentiful still, fallen leaves that had become dried out and would crunch noisily at the slightest touch.

  Desh was convinced that whoever was following Connelly would have enough respect for the colonel not to try a frontal assault. Given Connelly’s location in the clearing they were sure to take a textbook approach through the surrounding woods to surprise him on multiple flanks. Desh was on Connelly’s southern flank and calculated the angle he would take, coming from the road, if he were attacking Connelly. He chose a post that gave him a full view of this expected approach while keeping him hidden.

  He waited behind a dense evergreen, ringed by a thin cushion of needles, now brown, that had fallen from the tree. He remained perfectly still as several minutes ticked by.

  He caught movement from the corner of his eye!

  A man dressed in black commando gear and wearing a bulletproof vest was stealthily approaching along the exact line Desh had visualized, a militarized and silenced version of Desh’s H&K .45 automatic, a favorite of Special Forces commandos, gripped in his right hand. Desh’s heart began to jackhammer wildly in his chest but he was able to steady it through force of will alone. The soldier scanned his surroundings alertly while he moved silently and athletically through the woods toward Connelly’s position.

  Desh leveled the tranquilizer gun at the commando and waited for him to get closer. He had no interest in harming a fellow member of the Special Forces who might just be a dupe in this situation. Given the soldier’s body armor, a tranquilizer gun would be his most effective weapon in any case.

  The man slowly crept closer. Closer. Closer.

  Now! thought Desh, emerging from behind the tree and squeezing off a shot before the man could begin to react. The tranquilizer gun was as silent as a bow. The dart scored a direct hit to the soldier’s thigh, and he crumpled to the ground as the tranquilizer took immediate effect.

/>   Desh didn’t waste another moment. The man’s colleagues were sure to be advancing from alternate flanks. Desh was racing toward the clearing when the word “Freeze!” thundered through the woods. He reached the tree line to see Connelly with his hands up and two men, mirror images of the man he had shot, emerging alertly from the woods on Connelly’s northern and western flanks, their weapons held expertly in front of them with two hands and pointing unerringly at the colonel’s forehead.

  Desh fired! The soldier on Connelly’s northern flank collapsed to the ground.

  Desh wheeled around the instant the shot was off and fired again at the last remaining commando, but the man had caught Desh’s motion and instinctively threw himself into a roll. Instead of hitting an appendage, Desh’s shot bounced harmlessly off his vest. The soldier came up firing but Desh had already darted back behind a tree.

  Bark flew past Desh’s face as a bullet imbedded itself in the tree he was using for cover. The soldier was about to shoot again when his arm was blasted backwards and his gun clattered to the ground. A stunned expression came over his face as he realized he had been shot. Blood poured from his arm. Connelly rushed forward and kicked his gun away, and then retreated to a safe distance with his own weapon still trained on the wounded man. Connelly had known Desh was on his southern flank and had been primed to act once Desh had made his expected move.

  Desh circled the clearing at the tree line, his gun drawn, looking for additional assailants. There were none. He returned to his original flank and motioned Griffin to leave his hiding place and join him in the clearing. They emerged from the woods and quickly joined Connelly. Desh was calm and alert while Griffin was pale and clammy, looking as if he had seen a ghost.

  “All clear?” said Connelly.

  “It looks that way,” replied Desh, “for the moment at least. Let’s question this guy and get the hell out of here.”

  Connelly motioned to Griffin. “Is this your friend?” he asked.