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  “I assume it will also detail their attempts to locate her?”

  “Actually, no,” said Connelly. “We don’t want you to be polluted with what came before. You’ll be starting with a clean slate. And don’t communicate with me. I don’t want to know what you’re doing. You’ll find a contact number to use when you find her. The person at the other end will handle the rest. Follow his instructions from there on in.”

  “When I find her?”

  “You’ll find her,” said Connelly with absolute conviction. “I’m certain of it.”

  “That’s two questionable assumptions you’re making,” said Desh. “The first one is that I’ll agree to take the job in the first place.”

  Connelly said nothing. The silence hung in the room like a thick fog.

  Desh was torn. There was a significant part of him that just wanted to walk away. Connelly would find a way to solve his problem—or he wouldn’t. But the world would keep revolving, with or without Desh on the case. There were other talented men outside the system. Let someone else be the hero. He had tried the hero business and had failed.

  On the other hand, what if he really did have some special quality that would turn the tide? If he walked away and the attack succeeded, how could he live with himself? He beat himself up every day for surviving the operation in Iran when his men had not. Guilt and loss were eating away at his soul already, but would pale in comparison to the question that would torment his every waking moment—what if he really had been the only one able to find, and stop, Kira Miller?

  And even though he had wanted to clear his head and put distance between himself and anyone he had know from his past life, his relationship with Connelly had been very close, and almost certainly would be again someday. There were few men he admired as much as he did Jim Connelly.

  Desh stared long and hard at the colonel. “Okay,” he said wearily, a look of resignation on his face. “I’ll help you.” He shook his head bitterly, and it was clear he was annoyed with himself for being unable to refuse. “I’ll give it my best,” he added with a sigh. “That’s all I can do.”

  “Thanks, David,” said Connelly in relief. “That’s all anyone can do.”

  The colonel paused and now looked somewhat uneasy. “Now that you’re on board, I need to insist that you don’t go after her yourself, under any circumstances. Your job is to find her. Period. The job of the person at the end of the telephone number I gave you is to reel her in.” He paused. “Before you leave, I have to be sure you’re crystal clear about this.”

  Desh stared at Connelly in disbelief. “I’m clear on it, all right, Colonel. What I’m not clear on is why. What if I found her and was in the perfect position for capture? I need to be able to strike when the iron’s hot. By the time I call someone in and they arrive, she could slip through the noose. She’s too elusive and too important to allow that to happen.” He shook his head in disbelief. “It’s an idiotic strategy,” he snapped.

  The colonel sighed. “I couldn’t agree more,” he said. “But those are my orders. I made all the points you just made as emphatically as I could, but I didn’t win the day. So this is what we’re left with.”

  “Okay then,” said Desh in annoyance. “I’m just a civilian now. If someone up the chain of command just had a frontal lobotomy, there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  “On the bright side,” continued Connelly, pressing ahead, “I was able to win one important argument with my superiors.” He smiled slyly. “I convinced them it wouldn’t be easy to entice you back. They’ve authorized me to pay you $200,000 upon initiation of the assignment as a draw against expenses. It’s all set to be wired into your account. You’ll have access to it within the hour.” He leaned forward intently. “There’s another million upon success.”

  Desh’s eyes widened. A payment of this magnitude would dramatically change the course of his life. It would allow him to leave the violent world he had known behind and immediately start down whichever new path he finally chose for himself. “Thanks, Colonel,” he said. “That’s a hell of a lot of money.” Desh paused. “But you do know I agreed to help because of you, and because of the nature of the threat, and not for the money.”

  A twinkle came to Connelly’s eye. “I know that,” he said. “Notice that I only brought up the money after you had agreed.” The colonel smiled. “Considering the bounty for Bin Laden went as high as $25 million, and considering the devastating consequences of failure, you’re the biggest bargain the government has ever had.”

  Desh smiled. “Well, as long as the government is happy,” he said dryly, spreading his hands in mock sincerity. He paused for a moment in thought. “What about Fleming Executive Protection?”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll make sure your calendar is cleared for the next month and you remain in good standing with them.” An amused look crossed Connelly’s face. “And rest assured, we’ll do it in such a way that won’t hurt your career, or your ah … reputation.” He smiled slightly at this and then added, “Do we have an agreement?”

  Desh nodded. “We do.”

  “Good. I’m sorry to have to pull you back in for one last mission, David, but I know you’re the right man for the job.”

  Desh rose from the chair and prepared to leave. “I hope you’re right, Colonel. As always, I’ll try not to let you down.” He eyed Connelly suspiciously as something he had said earlier finally registered. “You said the wire transfer of the 200k is ready to go?”

  “I just need to give the word and it’s done.”

  “So how is it exactly,” said Desh, his eyes narrowing, “that you happen to have the wire transfer information for my account, without me having given it to you?”

  Connelly raised his eyebrows. “I don’t suppose you’d believe it was a lucky guess?” he said with an innocent shrug.

  Desh allowed a bemused smile to flash across his face. He opened his briefcase, placed the accordion file inside, and stood.

  Connelly also rose from his chair. He reached out and gave Desh a warm handshake. “Good luck, David,” he said earnestly. “And be careful.”

  “I won’t be eating any pork products anytime soon, if that’s what you mean,” said Desh wryly, trying to hide his anxiety.

  With that, David Desh picked up his briefcase and walked purposefully out the door.

  4

  David Desh exited the grounds of Fort Bragg and drove to a nearby shopping center. He parked the Suburban at the outer edge of the sprawling lot, becoming a lone island of privacy cut off from the dense mainland of all other parked vehicles. He pulled out the dossier on Kira Miller and began a careful review. The five-hour drive back to D.C. ahead of him would be the perfect time to digest what he was now reading and plot out his initial strategy.

  After a little more than an hour he returned the dossier to his briefcase and began his trek home. Her file hadn’t given him much to go on, nor had he expected it to. If the girl’s background would have led to an obvious approach, others would have found it by now.

  Kira Miller had been able to hide her true nature quite well. From a very young age she had been extremely talented, ambitious, and competitive. When she set her mind to something she had accomplished it. This didn’t always win her a lot of friends growing up, and being jumped ahead in school several years did nothing to help her social life.

  Even as an adult she tended to make few friends, always keeping her eye on the ball; be it setting the record for youngest ever molecular neurobiology Ph.D. at Stanford or power-climbing up the corporate ladder. In college she had dated some, but she never managed to sustain a relationship for more than eight or nine months. Desh knew that most men would find her brilliance intimidating.

  The file elaborated quite extensively on everything that Connelly had told him, laying out her communications with terror groups, how these communications had been found, the airtight evidence gathered against her for the murders of Lusetti and her brother, and the Ebola gene therapy plot.


  After the murders, the police investigation had revealed she had spent an inordinate amount of time in NeuroCure’s animal labs late at night, but had managed to hide this activity. The employee badge she’d been issued to unlock the door after hours was designed to record the holder’s identity and time of entry in the main computer, but she had ingeniously altered the software to prevent this from happening.

  Investigators had also found that Kira had ordered far more rodents from suppliers than the company had needed for experiments. Since she was responsible for inventory, this hadn’t been caught earlier.

  It was clear she had been performing secret animal experiments almost every night. In retrospect, this made sense—chilling sense. She must have brought the Jihadists some evidence that she could execute on the strategy she was proposing to get them to pay her the substantial sums of money she was known to have in banks around the world. An animal proof of concept, as it were.

  Connelly and USASOC had vast resources at their disposal, both human and otherwise, and yet they hadn’t come close to finding this girl. Only someone extremely careful and extremely clever could possibly elude a government-sponsored manhunt for this long. And that was really the rub on this one. The prey was far smarter than the hunter. Desh didn’t feel any macho need to downplay his own intelligence, which was considerable, but it was undeniable that hers was in another league. So how to catch someone smarter than yourself?

  It was all in your attitude. You didn’t plot a strategy designed to catch her making a mistake. This is what the others probably focused on. Instead, you counted on her not making a mistake. You counted on her doing everything exactly right. This was the answer.

  As much as he had come to hate the endless violence with which he had long been associated, puzzling out the location of a dangerous adversary intent on eluding capture was a task he found completely absorbing. It was the ultimate challenge. His task was to locate a single human being among the more than six billion inhabitants of the planet, one who could be hiding almost anywhere on the incomprehensibly large surface of the Earth. So how to narrow this down?

  He shot by an eighteen-wheeler as if it were standing still, completely lost in thought. His foot was heavy on the gas pedal by nature, and when he didn’t actively control himself, his default speed was usually twenty miles per hour over the posted limit. Despite conscious efforts to contain this impulse, he was beginning to feel he was beyond hope and desperately in need of a twelve-step speedaholics program.

  Where are you Kira Miller? he said to himself as he changed lanes once again, blowing past two cars and returning to the left lane where he rapidly began pulling away from everyone behind him.

  Was she living in a cave somewhere? Maybe. But not likely. He would start by assuming she was still in the States, hiding in plain sight. She was attempting a breathtakingly complex feat of genetic engineering. The report he had read was clear that, at minimum, she would require specialized equipment, cloned genes, ultra-fast DNA sequencers, biological reagents, and genetically identical experimental animals. A terrorist camp in Iran or Afghanistan, or even the best equipped labs in these countries, for that matter, wouldn’t be able to readily fulfill her evolving needs in this regard.

  Desh decided that regardless of where she was hiding, he would begin by focusing on her computer. No matter how much she may have given up of her past life to elude pursuit, he couldn’t believe she’d swear off the Internet, especially given her need to tap into an ocean of biotechnology literature as her research progressed. But there were ways to use computers and the Internet without leaving a trail, and she had already shown an alarming degree of facility with computers when she had modified NeuroCure’s security software. Finding a single laptop among untold millions, and then having it happen to be in the lap of Kira Miller when it was found, was like finding a needle in a haystack the size of Texas.

  Desh frowned as he realized this analogy fell short. The reality was that the particular needle he was after was not only lost in an enormous haystack, but was also mobile, and would be sure to dive even deeper into the haystack if it sensed someone coming.

  5

  David Desh was thirty minutes from his apartment when his cell phone vibrated inside his shirt pocket. He lifted it out and stole a quick glance at the screen. Wade Fleming appeared on the display.

  He flipped open the phone. “Hi Wade.”

  “Hi David,” came the reply. His boss wasted no time on small talk. “Do you happen to know a girl named Patricia Swanson?”

  Desh’s brow furrowed as he searched his memory. “I don’t think so,” he said. He shrugged. “Of course it’s always possible that I met her but just forgot.”

  “Then you haven’t met her. Believe me, you’d remember,” he said with absolute conviction “She’s a total knockout. I mean like centerfold material,” he added for emphasis.

  “Okay,” replied Desh. “I’ll take your word for it. So what about her?”

  “She visited the office about an hour ago. Asked for you by name.”

  “Did she claim she knows me?”

  “No. She says she’s vacationing at a few choice resort locations around the country for the next month, thinks she might have a stalker, and wants protection. Said she saw your picture and bio on our website and wants you assigned to her. I told her you had a busy month lined up, and offered up Dean Padgett.” A note of disapproval entered Fleming’s voice. “She wouldn’t have it. She wanted you, and she was prepared to pay extra to make sure she got you.” He paused. “Frankly, David, I think you might be the one who has a stalker, not her. She’s probably a bored, spoiled rich girl out for a thrill. What greater thrill than seducing your bodyguard? Must watch too many movies. Bottom line is that I got the feeling she sees you as more of a hired boytoy than a bodyguard.” He paused. “I was tempted to tell her you were gay and offer to take the job myself,” he said wryly.

  Desh shook his head and a small smile crept across his face. Jim Connelly had promised to clear his calendar, and he must have had quite a laugh when he had hatched this scheme. He sure hadn’t wasted any time setting it in motion.

  “So when do I start?”

  “Tomorrow morning, if you take the job.”

  “If I take the job.”

  “I told her I needed your okay.”

  “Really? That’s a first.”

  “Look, David, as hot as she is, I’m not running an escort service here. I want to make sure you know what you’re getting into. I’ve seen her, and it’s hard to imagine how any man could resist her for long if that’s her game plan.” He paused. “On the other hand, she is paying top dollar, and this could be legitimate. It may be that your Delta Force credentials are what impressed her and not your friendly smile. But given my doubts, I won’t insist you take this.”

  “Thanks, Wade. But if I have to risk the attention of a beautiful woman,” he said with mock bravado, “that’s just what I’ll have to do. For the agency’s sake, of course.”

  “Of course,” repeated Fleming wryly. “You’re loyalty to the agency is legendary, David. I’ll e-mail you the assignment details and where to find her so you can get started.” There was a long pause on the line. “And I want you to know, while the rest of us are dodging bullets and laser-guided missiles protecting hairy fat guys, we’ll be thinking of you lying on the beach with a centerfold model—dodging those dangerous UV rays.”

  “Don’t mention it, Wade. That’s just the kind of team player I am.”

  “Well, I don’t want to have to worry about you, David,” said Fleming sardonically, “so be sure to use a good sunblock. SPF 30 at least.”

  “Good tip,” said Desh in amusement.

  “You know what’s really annoying about this one?”

  “That she didn’t ask for you?”

  There was a chuckle at the other end of the line. “Aside from that,” said Fleming good-naturedly. “What’s really annoying is that you’ll probably be bringing in more money
to the agency than anyone else this month. Maybe I should open up an escort service.” Fleming paused. “Take care, David,” he said signing off, but couldn’t help adding, “you lucky bastard,” before hanging up the phone.

  6

  David Desh rapped on the stained wooden door, just below its peephole and above the cheap brass “14D” affixed to it. He had removed his laptop that morning from its docking station in his apartment and it was carefully tucked under his left arm. He was wearing Dockers, a blue polo shirt, and a tan windbreaker that concealed his H&K .45 semiautomatic. A much smaller SIG-Sauer 9-millimeter was shoved in his pants at the small of his back, and identical, sheathed combat knives were strapped to each of his lower legs.

  Kira Miller was working with terrorist groups who would stop at nothing to protect her. Groups who celebrated death rather than life, and who would welcome the chance to remove Desh’s head with a hacksaw—while he was still using it—if it would further their cause. The closer he got to her, the more dangerous it would be for him. Perhaps these precautions were premature, but why take chances?

  Desh heard movement from inside the apartment.

  “David Desh?” called a voice questioningly from behind the particleboard door, loudly enough for Desh to hear.

  “That’s right,” confirmed Desh.

  “Adam Campbell’s friend?”

  “In the flesh.”

  Desh’s friend Adam, an ex-soldier who was now a private investigator, had set up this meeting for him the night before, right after he had returned home from his meeting with Connelly.