War Hawk: A Tucker Wayne Novel (19 page)

Were any members of The Odisha Group still here?

As Frank climbed the three steps to the porch, Tucker tapped a button on his radio, sending out a signal for Kane to return. From the video feed, Tucker knew the shepherd was in the woods behind the cabins on this side. He trusted his four-legged partner had already caught his scent, likely even heard his words a moment ago.

On the cabin porch, Frank peeked through the nearest window. He then hurried back to Tucker and whispered, “Can’t see much. They have blackout curtains. From around an edge, I spotted bunks but couldn’t tell if anyone’s in them.”

A shift of shadows past Frank’s shoulder coalesced into the familiar shape of Kane. The shepherd angled around the corner of the cabin and joined them in the shelter of the Suburban’s bulk. Tucker scratched the dog’s ruff, welcoming his friend back.

Kane remained stiff, still on guard, likely sensing Tucker’s tension.

Tucker pointed under the porch steps and clenched a fist. “H
IDE
. S
ILENT
GUARD
.”

Kane nudged Tucker’s knee, as if acknowledging the command—then darted beneath the porch, becoming a shadow again.

“What now?” Frank asked.

“Let’s see if anyone’s home.”

Tucker headed up the steps, letting Frank fall behind him. At the door, he tested the knob. Locked. With an aggravated sigh—
couldn’t anything be easy?
—Tucker tapped lightly on the door, cringing at even this soft noise.

He held his breath, then heard someone curse inside, followed by the thump of feet landing on wood. Pine boards creaked as someone approached.

“Who is it?” a woman called out groggily.

Tucker thought quickly. “Bed check,” he mumbled gruffly, trusting that security might periodically do a head count.

Another curse, then a dead bolt released.

As the door started to open, Tucker pushed inside, almost bowling the woman over. Frank came in at Tucker’s heels. Tucker quickly closed the door behind him.

The woman—a thirty-something brunette wearing pajama bottoms and a red football jersey for the Alabama Crimson Tide—backed away, clutching a hand to her throat, eyeing them up and down.

“Who . . . who’re you?”

“We’re friends of Sandy Conlon.”

To avoid setting the woman into full panic at two strangers in her dark cabin, Tucker found the light switch and flipped it on. Fluorescent ceiling lights flickered to life, revealing a pair of bunk beds to each side of the room, along with a couple of desks piled high with books and journals. At the rear, a short hallway likely led to bathrooms.

“Sandy?” the brunette asked, her face scrunching with confusion. “What’re you talking about?”

A second occupant stirred from a lower bunk—the rest of the beds were stripped and empty. A blanket was tossed back with irritation. “Diane, what the bloody hell is going on?”

The brunette backed until she was beside the other woman. “Nora, these . . . these guys say they’re friends of Sandy’s.”

This news drew a deep frown from the woman in the bed.

Nora . . . that had to be Nora Frakes
.

Nora reached to a bedside table and pulled on a pair of eyeglasses, fashionably bulky in a nerdy way. She was black, in her late twenties, with her dark hair cut into a short crop. She had a slight British lilt to her voice.

“Who are you?” she asked, rolling out of the bed to her bare feet, wearing a set of thin pajamas.

“My name is Tucker Wayne. I served briefly with Sandy at Fort Benning.” He pointed a thumb at Frank. “This is Master Sergeant Ballenger. He works at Redstone, at the main base.”

Frank nodded his head. “Ladies.”

Nora studied them, still on guard. “Why’re you dressed in camouflage? What’s going on?”

Knowing time was running short, Tucker needed to cut to the heart of the matter. “Sandy’s dead.”

He watched emotions flicker across Nora’s features. For a fraction of a second, a crooked smile flashed, as if she believed this was all some joke, then a crinkle of concern formed between her brows, ending with her eyes wide and fearful.

Diane was not so subtle, her voice sharpening with disdain. “You’re lying. She quit. Joined another outfit. Up in North Carolina.”

“That’s what your bosses want you to believe. But they shot her in the head. Dumped her body in the trunk of her Ford Taurus. You’re all in danger.”

Nora stepped forward, thrusting her chest out in challenge. “Prove it.”

“You know Bea Conlon.”

“Sandy’s mom?”

“I know you’ve been to her house a few times.” Tucker pulled his satellite phone from his pocket and extended it toward Nora. “Her number’s already keyed up. She’s waiting by her phone.”

Tucker had prepared for this moment yesterday, knowing he would need to gain this group’s trust quickly—and decided Nora might be the best way to achieve that. Jane had already informed Sandy’s mother of her daughter’s death and readied Bea for this midnight call.

Tucker punched the number and held out his phone.

With a frown, Nora grabbed it and put it to her ear. She waited a breath as the secure line connected. “Bea? It’s Nora.”

As Nora listened, her breathing grew heavier, her shoulders slumping. When she finally spoke, it was a feeble whisper. “I . . . I’m so sorry, Bea.” She glanced over to Tucker, her eyes glassy with tears. “And he can be trusted?”

After a moment, Nora closed her eyes and nodded. “We’ll talk soon.”

She turned slightly away and handed back the phone to Tucker. Her shoulders began to shake. Tucker stepped forward and scooped an arm around the young woman. She stiffened, but then leaned into him.

“Oh my God . . .” Nora whispered.

Diane remained still, her eyes on all of them at once. “He was telling the truth?”

“Sandy’s dead, Di.”

Diane backed away, as though trying to put distance between herself and this news. “What’re we going to do?”

“We’re all going to get out of here,” Tucker said, and pointed to the door.

As if summoned by his gesture, there was a firm knock, followed by a curt voice. “Ladies, you okay in there?”

Everyone froze.

Tucker had kept his voice low, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t been heard.

Nora moved first, motioning them to the far side of the door. “Everything’s fine, Karl!”

Tucker came close to tripping on his way over, remembering the printout of Tangent employees that Frank had supplied him.

That had to be Karl Webster out there . . . the head of Tangent security
.

Tucker flattened against the wall next to the door. With his phone still in his hand, he pulled up Kane’s camera feed. The angle of view was low, from under the porch, indicating the shepherd had remained in hiding, still keeping silent as ordered. Tucker didn’t see anyone else positioned around the Suburban.

So most likely it was only Webster out there
.

Closer at hand, the doorknob began to turn, but Nora was already there. She grabbed the handle and pulled the door partly open, shielding the view inside with her body.

“I saw your light was on,” Webster said.

“Wasn’t feeling good,” Nora explained. “That chili tonight didn’t exactly sit well, if you get my drift.”

Webster chuckled—which made Tucker want to rip the door open and shoot the man in the head, remembering Sandy’s watery pale face rising from the trunk of her sunken car.

“You need anything?” he asked. “Pepto or something?”

“I think the worst is over. I should be able to gut it out.” She put a hand on her belly. “At least I hope so.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have to deal with Johnson’s cooking much longer. We should be wrapping things up over the next week.”

Tucker pictured the moving van parked in the lot.

“You’ll all be back in your own beds before you know it,” Webster said.

More likely they’d be dead
.

A board creaked out on the porch. “Have you seen Chuck?” Webster asked. “That’s his Suburban sitting in the turnaround. I thought maybe he was in here.”

“Uh, no,” Nora answered. “I did hear him pull up, and the door slam. Have you checked the kitchen? You know how he likes his midnight snacks.” She clutched her belly again and groaned. “Or maybe you’ll have better luck at the latrine . . . or out in the woods.”

“You may be right. He did have a double helping of Johnson’s chili.”

“God help him.”

Webster chuckled again and retreated. “Hope you feel better, Nora.”

“Thanks.”

She closed the door and leaned against it for a moment.

Tucker pressed an index finger to his lips. He checked Kane’s feed and waited until Webster left. He nodded approvingly toward Nora. Her inventive subterfuge probably bought them a few extra minutes, but that was about it, especially if the Suburban continued to sit out there unattended.

“We need to haul ass out of here.” Tucker stepped forward and flipped off the light switch. “How many others of you are there?”

“Only Stan and Takashi,” Nora said. “Over in the other bunkroom. There were another two men, but Karl said they both left for home last week.”

Nora looked truly sick, as if imagining those men suffering the same fate as Sandy.

“Let’s hope they made it.” Tucker turned to Frank. “You need to buy us more time.”

“How?”

“You gotta play Chuck a little longer. Take that Suburban for another loop around the camp and come back. Make it look like you just came in for a pit stop and took off again.” Tucker glanced at his watch, remembering the schedule of the patrols. “That should buy us fourteen minutes to get everyone together and moving.”

Frank’s eyes were wide in the dark.

“Are you up for this?”

Frank nodded and tugged his cap more firmly on his head. “Back to work for Chuck.”

Tucker clapped Frank on the shoulder, then stepped to the window and peeked out to make sure it was all clear. He didn’t see any sign of Webster, but there was a light in the mess hall cabin.

Tucker pointed to the door. “Go!”

Frank dashed out, hopped the steps, and slid behind the wheel. The engine coughed and started. Tires spat gravel as the Suburban sped away, circling the turnaround.

As the Suburban neared the mess hall cabin, a figure appeared on the porch.

Webster
.

Tucker cringed, but Frank flashed his high beams at the man, as if signaling everything was fine. The bright light also momentarily blinded Webster, who shielded his eyes against the glare. As the Suburban passed his position, Webster lifted an arm, acknowledging the driver.

Frank continued on, making the turn onto the exit road and vanishing.

Tucker let out a long breath and turned back to the room.

“We need to get those other two men over here right now.”

Nora glanced to Diane, who had retreated to her bunk. The two women exchanged a silent look.

Diane nodded and stood. “I’ll get them.”

The brunette turned her back on the door and marched toward the bathrooms.

Tucker cast a questioning look toward Nora, who unabashedly stripped out of her pajamas and into jeans and a black T-shirt.

“Fraternizing is frowned upon here,” Nora explained, “but human nature won’t be denied. Bonds form, especially when you’re isolated like this. So we’ve taken to keeping our bunkrooms’ back windows unlocked. It’s only a couple steps between our two cabins. All the easier to manage that late-night booty call.”

Tucker imagined Tangent knew about these dalliances and had learned to turn a blind eye to them. He hoped that blindness continued tonight.

As he waited, Tucker used the time to get some answers. “They’re closing up shop here. Do you know where they’re going? A timeline? Anything?”

“No, but I did hear Karl mention something called White City, but I’m guessing that’s code of some sort. Either way, it’ll take them awhile to move all of the drones and support equipment.”

“You said
drones
. . . as in plural.”

“They’re all variants of a single smart design, engineered to learn on their own. We call them DEWDs: dedicated electronic warfare drones. Some of these UAVs are engineered for data collection and surveillance, others for jamming transmissions, and then there are the hunter/killers. Nasty work, those.”

No kidding
.

“The two men who left early were the ones who oversaw that particular project—but none of us would have had any success with our projects without Sandy.”

“Why’s that?”

“She was the one who made the breakthrough on the design for the central operating system, the brain for all the DEWDs. She was so damned smart. She called her breakthrough the Grand Unifying Theory of cryptology. Or GUT-C.”

Tucker got the pun:
gutsy
. He pictured all that Sandy had done in secret. Not only was she smart, she was also damned gutsy herself.

Nora sank to her bed and donned a pair of red sneakers, trying to hide the pain of her loss.

“Do you have any idea about the plan for these next-generation drones?” Tucker asked.

Nora shook her head. “We only build them. It doesn’t pay to be too curious around here.”

“What about your work area at the bunkers? If we could collect proof—”

Nora frowned and stood. “Only Karl and his men have the access codes for the building’s keypads. They keep us on a tight leash here. While we can pretty much come and go during our down time, they continue to track our cell phones, probably monitor our calls, too. But in our line of work, that’s pretty much par for the course.”

A scuff of heel on wood drew Tucker’s attention to the back hall.

Diane led in two young men. One was short and blond, the other Asian. Each man carried a duffel and wore a wary expression.

“Stan and Takashi,” Diane said. The woman still looked dazed, at the edge of panic.

“This is for real?” Takashi asked, his eyes narrow and suspicious.

Stan took Diane’s hand. “Nora, you’re sure about Sandy?”

Nora nodded to both questions, folding her arms across her chest.

Tucker waved them all toward the door. “Time to—”