Black Flagged (The Black Flagged Technothriller Series) (6 page)

"I'd hate to think I've developed a reputation for being squeamish," she replied with a grin.

"On the contrary. That's why I woke you up at one thirty in the morning instead of your boss. Keep me updated. Frequently. Good luck."

"Understood, sir. Thank you," she said and turned back to her phone again.

She was interrupted by Special Agent Justin Edwards.

"Agent Olson, may I take the lead on the Newport case? I have considerable experience leading high-profile case investigations."

"Justin, I'm familiar with your background. The Boston team is already top-heavy with Greg Carlisle in the mix. I need you at one of the other sites," she said and returned her focus to her phone.

"Yeah, but I have a solid interrogations background. I'd be more help in Boston than at any of the other sites."

"I don't need another interrogator in Boston. I need investigators. Do you want to go to Newport? I can let you take Newport, but you stay in Newport."

"Anything that mattered in Newport is already on its way up to Boston," he said and glanced to the side with a look of disgust.

"Pick your team for Maine. You'll get travel arrangements, a tech support package, and background information on your murder victim within the hour. Turn something up in Maine, and you can join us in Boston. I need to make a call," she said and turned away to dial Counterterrorism's duty desk.

"I don't want to go to Maine," he protested.

"Then stay here and work a phone," she said over her shoulder.

A few seconds passed while Justin stared contemptuously at her back. "I hope they have sushi," he said and turned to walk away.

Agent Olson glanced over her shoulder with high hopes that the arrogant prick had finally moved on. He was a talented FBI agent, but she couldn't stand him. Movie star handsome, impeccably groomed, Harvard law degree, wealthy and connected parents. She could list another ten reasons why Justin Edwards would rocket up the career ladder at the FBI, despite his barely suppressed sexism and perpetually arrogant demeanor. This almost bothered her as much as the amount of time he spent staring at her breasts. She saw him closing in on an attractive, blonde female special agent in the center of the room. She thought about intervening, but the duty section head for Counterterrorism Operations answered the line.

"This is Supervisory Special Agent Heather Olson, I need to contact Agent Gregory Carlisle immediately."

Chapter Four

6:50 a.m.

Portland, Maine

Daniel stepped out of the shower and dried himself in front of a full-length mirror that hung on the back of the closed bathroom door. The steam-obscured image of his body gradually clarified as he wrapped a towel around his waist. His body was well toned from a regular routine of calisthenics, running and soccer. He carried very little body fat, which gave him a slightly gaunt appearance, which Jess said could be fixed by adding about five pounds to his frame. He'd have to stop exercising to gain any weight, and sometimes a ten-mile run was the only thing that kept his head clear.

As the details further materialized in the mirror, Daniel turned his head slightly, still looking. His torso was covered by numerous scars, some short and deep, others long and shallow. Two particularly nasty scars crisscrossed his chest, evidence of a knife fight that had ended badly for Daniel, and worse for the young Kosovar militant that had stumbled upon his sniper position. Most of the scars were reminders of his fickle luck; shrapnel and bullet fragments that hadn't found a lethal home in Daniel's body. A few of the scars were self-inflicted, part of his indoctrination at the "Ranch." The most notable mark on his body sat high on his right arm. A faded panther tattoo.

He opened the bathroom door and saw Jess standing at the foot of their bed. She looked stunning, as usual. Her dark brown hair, cut and styled straight, rested just below the shoulders of a navy blue blazer. Collar points of a crisp white blouse lay over the blazer's lapels, brightly contrasting the dark jacket. She had chosen to wear matching suit pants instead of a skirt, which slightly disappointed Daniel. He thought she looked killer in a fitted skirt. Her eyes were fixed to a television hidden inside of the dark red armoire that sat against the wall, in front of their bed. She pulled a black belt through several loops of her pants while staring at the television.

"You missed a loop," he said.

Jess took her eyes off the television to face him. "Quit staring," she said jokingly.

"I really can't help myself," he said.

He examined her face, still amazed by how similar, yet different she looked since they had first met at school. Her seductive light brown eyes added a soft, exotic dimension to her dark complexion. She was more stunning now than ever before, and his love burned stronger than ever. He was convinced it would never burn out. It was a love forged by a fire few could possibly imagine.

"Check this out," she said and nodded at the television.

Daniel walked over to help her with the loop she missed, and stared at the screen. A local reporter stood in front of two Cape Elizabeth police cars, which blocked the entrance to a long driveway. The driveway extended through a stone archway with dark iron light fixtures on each side, and led to a partially obscured luxury home settled behind mature pine trees. The archway connected to a three-foot-tall sandstone wall that extended the entire length of the property's road frontage. A local police officer leaned against the left side of the arch with his arms folded, keeping a close eye on the media crowd. Daniel caught a sparkling glimpse of Casco Bay through the archway, just past the house.

The reporter identified the deceased as Mohammed Ghani, an importer with offices in Portland and Boston. Police were withholding details, but an anonymous source reported that Ghani had been stabbed to death outside of his home. Another source confirmed the presence of federal agents at the crime scene, but Portland's FBI office had refused to comment. Daniel decided to change the subject.

"Hey, are you going out for drinks with the ladies tonight? I could meet you for dinner after."

"That would be nice. We can grab sushi at Sakura's. It's right across the street from The Lounge," she said, turning to face him.

"Ah…The Lounge. Where all the young ladies gather to sip cosmos…"

"And all the men stand around watching them," she added.

"I can't wait to pluck you out of there, right in front of all those desperate guys. Can we pretend we don't know each other?"

"I can't guarantee the behavior of the women in my office, so it's probably not a good idea. Sounds fun though," she said and kissed him.

"The betrothed members of the crew usually start heading home around eight, so meet me any time after that."

"I can't wait," he whispered and kissed her passionately.

Chapter Five

7:14 a.m.

CIA Headquarters, McLean, Virginia

Randy Keller strode casually down a crowded corridor in the National Clandestine Service's wing of the Central Intelligence Agency's headquarters building. At seven in the morning, the Counterterrorism Center's section was quiet; most of the analysts and staff were sitting in sluggish traffic, still thirty to sixty minutes away from the CIA's sprawling McLean, Virginia, campus. In about thirty minutes, the place was going to explode, and he would prefer to be back on the road when it did. He just needed to get the required "face-to-face" check-in out of the way, then he would be free to cruise back to his liaison office at FBI headquarters, where he imagined he would be sleeping for the next week, until they figured out exactly what had happened to Task Force HYDRA.

He reached the end of the corridor and paused at a door that read "Karl Berg, Assistant Director, Counterterrorism." He knocked and waited.

"Come in," he heard someone yell.

He scanned the room as he stepped inside and was surprised to find both Karl Berg and Audra Bauer, director of the Counterterrorism Center, sitting around a small spare computer workstation next to Berg's desk. They both glanced at him as he hesitantly entered. He hadn't expected to make a report directly to the CTC's director.

"Grab a seat, Randy. The director and I just finished with the latest feed from the FBI. This link is fantastic work."

"Thank you. You're seeing what they feed out to their on-scene agents and key section heads. They add agents to the feed as they are brought into the investigation. It keeps everyone in the loop and on the same page, but it's not always the fullest picture," he said.

"And that's exactly why we have you over there. I've read your summaries of this morning's events. I agree that the FBI had been compromised. Please have a seat," said Bauer.

Keller turned a chair to face them and sat down. He glanced at the window and wondered if they were really designed to resist electronic listening devices. In over fifteen years at the CIA, this had never been a concern for Keller, since he had never sat behind a desk in a room with a window. His office at the FBI was the closest he'd ever achieved, located across the hall from the coveted window offices.

"Do you have any ideas about where to start looking?" said Bauer.

"Ma'am, it's difficult to say. They don't compartmentalize their operations like we do here. This is one of their highest priority investigative task forces, but they still have no organic support assets. The core team is permanently assigned to HYDRA and is comprised of mostly Terror Financing personnel, but they rely on key players in nearly every other section for critical, daily support. These key personnel probably spend most of their time working for the task force, but they also support other investigations within the entire Counterterrorism Division. I see new names and new faces on a weekly, if not daily basis. I've managed to compile a list of everyone that I've seen, but I guarantee this is not a complete list. Just too many people involved to count. You should've seen how many people they assembled this morning. Lots of fresh faces," he said and handed a flash drive over to Berg.

"Nice work. We'll start looking at financial records, communications trails…get the groundwork rolling on this. I'll walk this over to Counter-Intel," said Berg.

"Take it to HUMINT, too. They need to know what to start looking for immediately. Have them look back at least one year. Eight simultaneous murders? I guarantee this has been in the works for months, if not years," said Bauer.

"No mention by Sharpe of a possible leak?" said Berg.

"Not to the group…or to me."

"That's not much of a surprise. He doesn't completely trust you, and he needs the task force to focus on evidentiary procedure. Any mention of a leak this early would undermine the investigation," said Bauer flatly, then added, "We need to let them focus on what they do well, while we start digging into all the possibilities."

They all nodded, and the director stood up. Berg and Keller joined her.

"All right, I'm going to brief the deputy. Keep me directly in the loop on everything. I'm not sure what we'll get from our in-house FBI liaison. He's back in D.C. doing the same thing you're doing. Randy, I need you to figure out a way to get us inside their interrogation efforts. I'm tempted to send someone out to Boston," she said from the door.

"I don't think it will be necessary. Sharpe made it clear that he wanted a live interrogation feed, and I don't plan to stray very far from Sharpe's side, unless something interesting pops up," said Keller.

"Stay close. I don't think Sharpe has thought this through all the way. He's sending a special team up to Boston with special orders that may not play out too well over a live feed. He'll shut it down pretty quickly if Mr. Carlisle pushes the envelope," she said and left the room.

"Back to DC with you. Good work on this. Let me know what you need, and it's yours," said Berg

"I think I'm going to need a cot for my office."

"For what? I can't imagine any upcoming scenario in which you sleep."

"Good point. I'll see if we can get in on the feed from Boston. One way or another," said Keller.

"Now that would be an epic score on your part."

"That's why you have me over in FBI land."

"Among other reasons. Make sure to grab whatever you need on the way out. I'll call tech support as soon as you leave my office, which should be in a few seconds," said Berg.

"I'm gone," he said and closed the door behind him.

Keller weaved his way through the growing crowd of analysts, displaying a combination of strained smiles and harried expressions that effectively discouraged anyone from engaging his attention. He reached the elevator bank unmolested and jabbed the down button several times. He needed to get back to FBI headquarters before the Boston interrogation began.

Chapter Six

8:15 a.m.

Portland, Maine

Daniel stared intensely at the flat-screen monitor in his office. His door was closed, and he hadn't been interrupted since he arrived at 7:45, nearly thirty minutes ago. This came as no surprise, since everyone was busy poring over their reports and preparing their speeches. The overseas marketing division had a meeting at 9:00, followed by a general marketing department meeting at 10:00. It was that time of the month for mother Zenith.

Sitting in his cubicle, Daniel was extremely worried. He didn't like what he had uncovered on the internet. A simple Google search yielded seven additional murders similar to the one in Cape Elizabeth. Wealthy Muslims, all murdered last night. Details were sketchy in most cases, almost as if they had been withheld. In one case, the Google link was no longer active. This story had been filed in the
Providence Journal
, and its tag line had piqued Daniel's interest the most: