Black List (35 page)

She had also instructed her sister on how to remain hidden. Nina Jensen had abandoned her apartment, her job, her credit cards and cell phone. She hadn’t contacted any friends or family. But based on the surveillance Bremmer’s men had conducted at the ranch, she had managed to link up with Carlton’s dwarf, as well as with Scot Harvath.

These were two streams Middleton would never have imagined intersecting. The nexus had to be Caroline. At some point she and the Troll must have become acquainted. She got the flash drive to her sister, and the little computer hacker followed not long after. He was likely the one who had reached out to Harvath and had drawn him to Texas. The fact that they had all managed to stay off the grid was significant. Had it not been for the ranch manager’s Google search, they might have completely slipped through the net.

Two teams had been sent after Harvath, and both had failed. This time, Bremmer had instructed the Texas team to place one man in an overwatch position to act as a sniper. Middleton had pressed for details, but the Colonel didn’t have much more to provide. The team would complete their surveillance and assemble their own assault plan. They understood that they were not to kill the girl until she gave up the flash drive. If they needed to torture her to get it, they were authorized to do so. Once they took physical possession of it, all three subjects were to be terminated.

After the hit, the team would put as much distance between themselves and the scene as possible. At some point, they would make contact. Bremmer would then detail how he wanted them to deliver the drive.

Middleton had not been able to sleep. He knew the assault would happen sometime in the early-morning hours. He had no way of knowing if the sister had secreted the drive somewhere, but he doubted it. In all likelihood she had it with her at the ranch. He hoped that the third attempt on Harvath would be the charm, but as the night wore on and Bremmer failed to report in, Middleton became more apprehensive.

As he poured himself another scotch, his mind turned to another of his problems, Reed Carlton. The aging spook was a slippery old fox. How he’d made it out of the inferno that had been set at his home was a complete mystery. Bremmer’s men had been lying in wait, ready to take him
out if he managed to escape his master bedroom, which had been locked down tighter than a drum. None of Bremmer’s team had seen anyone leave the house. Everyone assumed Carlton had been consumed by the blaze. Yet when the smoke literally cleared, he was nowhere to be seen. He had completely vanished.

And while Middleton liked the idea of the BOLO being put out on him, he had his reservations about the efficacy of some law enforcement officer stumbling across a man who’d been trained by the best and had spent decades slipping in and out of hostile countries around the world.

Carlton and Harvath seemed to be cut from the same cloth. Both had been able to slip Bremmer’s kill teams. Taking control of Carlton’s Skype account had been a clever way to pinpoint Harvath, but in hindsight, Middleton wondered if they shouldn’t have waited until the old spy had been confirmed dead. Maybe they could have used the account to lure both of them into a trap.

He was Monday-morning-quarterbacking himself and he knew it. They had every reason to believe that Carlton had died in that fire. When Harvath had popped up on Skype, they would have been foolish not to jump at the chance they had.

Leaning back in one of the leather club chairs in his study, Middleton swirled the scotch in his glass. Erasing everything and starting from scratch, he rebuilt the relationship chain in his mind.
Caroline had contacted her sister. The sister had contacted the dwarf. The dwarf had contacted Harvath who had attempted to contact Carlton. And who had Carlton contacted?

Once the coroner’s report had come in, he had posed the same question to Schroeder. It made sense that in an emergency, Carlton would have secluded himself someplace he felt was safe and then would have reached out to the people best able to help protect him, his hitters.

Schroeder got on it and came back a short time later. ATS had been monitoring the cell phones of Carlton’s operators. Within twenty-four hours of the fire, each had been sent a text message reading
Stock Update: Blue Petroleum, Oil & Lubricant.
It wasn’t a coincidence. It had to be some sort of code.

The phone that had sent the message was still emitting a signal, and Schroeder had tracked it to a truck stop in Arizona. He tipped the Arizona
State Police, who dispatched units to the location in search of Carlton. Middleton, though, felt something wasn’t right.

When the signal started moving again, Schroeder, posing as a surveillance tech from the FBI, was able to help the authorities pinpoint its source. It turned out to be an eighteen-wheeler headed toward Bakersfield, California. While the driver was being questioned, other officers scoured the rig. They eventually came up with the cell phone, which had been placed in a Ziplock bag and taped underneath. Carlton was a clever son of a bitch.

Though they assumed the phone was clean and wouldn’t offer any leads, Schroeder still arranged for it to be shipped back on the first commercial airline flight in the morning.

Middleton had to hand it to the old spook. It was a halfway decent red herring. But it was also a
tell.
Carlton obviously knew that eventually the phone was going to get tagged. He’d used it only once and then dumped it. This got Middleton to thinking.
What did he do next?

Again, he reassembled the relationship chain in his mind—
Caroline to her sister, the sister to the Troll, the Troll to Harvath, Harvath to Carlton, and Carlton to his operators.
But when his operators didn’t respond, who would be next on Carlton’s list? Who would he have turned to for help?

Not only ditching the phone after one use by placing it under the westbound truck but having a clean phone to begin with showed that Carlton thought ahead; that he was a tactician. This didn’t surprise Middleton. It was to be expected from a man with his training. He would have known that they’d be looking at all of his relationships, which in fact they were. Carlton would have had to turn to somebody. He would want answers, and he would need help in getting them. Either he reached out to a contact who wasn’t in his relationship tree, or—like Caroline—the sister, the Troll, and Harvath had found a way to communicate that didn’t trip any alarm bells at ATS.

Walking over to his desk, he set his drink down and brought his computer back from sleep mode. Pulling up Carlton’s relationship tree, he studied the various branches and interlocking relationships for the hundredth time. He felt certain the answer was there; he just wasn’t seeing it.

Whom did he trust? More importantly, assuming that he had figured
out that all of his hitters had been killed, whom did he trust with his life? Without knowing what enemy had risen against him, to whom could he turn? If it was just one person, who could help him unravel a puzzle this complex, where the stakes were so incredibly high?

Staring at the chart, Middleton excluded candidate after candidate as he delved further back into Carlton’s professional career. Very likely it would be someone local; someone with exceptional contacts in D.C., who could dig for him without arousing suspicion. That suddenly brought a completely different parameter to Middleton’s mind—who might fit the bill perfectly, but at the same time be the least likely candidate of all?

Middleton searched for colleagues whom Carlton had been at odds with, people he had had professional or personal run-ins with. There were a few, but not many. Nevertheless, Middleton wrote their names down.

He was about to close out of the file when he decided to give it one last perusal and aim for the absolute least likely candidate of all. As he did, he came across a name and a bell went off somewhere in his head.

Highlighting the header, Middleton opened the subfolder for Reed Carlton’s mentor, Thomas “Tommy” Carver Banks.

CHAPTER 46

T
EXAS

M
ike Strieber had always enjoyed getting his hands dirty and being connected to the earth. He liked watching things grow and wanted his children to understand that food didn’t magically appear at the grocery store. In addition to all the other things he’d done in his life, he’d always wanted to give farming a try. So, after finding the right location, he had purchased his own farm.

Being a pilot with his own plane meant that he could fly from San Antonio to the farm whenever he wanted. It was his private refuge, and he chose not to talk about it much. It had great water and encompassed a couple hundred acres. There were horses for his wife, Angela, a pool for the kids, and of course a shooting range. Other than that, he hadn’t done much to the property. It wasn’t supposed to be a Four Seasons. It was supposed to represent a simpler time in his life.

The moment Harvath saw it he loved it. But it wasn’t because it was so remote. It was because of whom Mike had hired to work and run the farm.

The three young Marines were all veterans and each had seen combat in Afghanistan and Iraq. They were standing with Mrs. Strieber alongside
a white Suburban and a blue Ford Super Duty pickup as Mike touched the aircraft down on the dirt strip and taxied over to them. Each had been wounded, but there was no self-pity in them at all.

When Harvath stepped out of the plane, Angela gave him a big hug. They hadn’t seen each other in almost two years. She was easily Mike’s better half, and Harvath reminded him of it every chance he got. She was younger, funnier, and much better looking. More importantly, she had a heart as big as Mike’s, if not bigger.

After finishing her hello, she turned and introduced Harvath to the three Marines—Matt, Jason, and Ryan; all from Texas. Matt had been shot behind his left ear by a sniper while on combat patrol near Ramadi, Iraq. Jason and Ryan had both been maimed in separate IED attacks in Helmand Province, Afghanistan. Jason lost his left arm and Ryan both legs beneath the knee. Even in civilian clothes, though, they still looked like Marines and stood proud and tall.

The men took turns shaking hands with Harvath, but their attention was immediately drawn to the other passengers coming out of the aircraft. One would have thought that three men working a farm in the middle of nowhere might have been captivated by an attractive young woman like Nina Jensen, but they appeared more preoccupied by Nicholas and his two enormous dogs.

Angela reached out, punched the nearest man in the shoulder as a lesson to the others, and with a smile asked, “Didn’t anyone ever teach you that it’s impolite to stare?”

“Sorry, ma’am,” the men said almost in unison.

Ever the hospitable Texas lady, Angela walked up to Nina, introduced herself, and then met Nicholas before he reached the bottom of the air stairs and extended her hand. “Welcome to Five Star Farm,” she said. “I’m Mike’s wife. Angela.”

He had no idea if she had done it intentionally or not, but he liked the fact that she had made her introduction before he had fully descended the stairway. In this fashion, she wasn’t looking down at him, nor was he looking up at her. They met practically eye to eye. “I’m Nicholas,” he replied, shaking her hand. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

“Did y’all have a good flight?”

“It was very comfortable, thank you. You have a lovely plane. I’ve never flown in a Pilatus before. It’s like a private jet inside.”

Angela Strieber placed her index finger against her lips and quickly shushed him. “We don’t use those two words around here.”

“Private jet? Why not?”

“Because I’d like him to retire some day. I can’t afford for him to catch the jet bug.”

Nicholas nodded knowingly. “You’re a smart woman. There are a lot of men out there who identify themselves by having the sleekest, most expensive thing on the tarmac. But from the little I’ve seen of your husband, I don’t think he’s that type.”

Mrs. Strieber winked at him and said, “No man is immune. Trust me.”

Nicholas smiled and stepped down. Joining Nina, he was introduced to the three vets, who then walked over and helped Harvath and Mike unload the plane and transfer everything into the Super Duty. Angela showed Nicholas and Nina to the Suburban, and once the dogs were inside, headed off to the ranch house, where they would all rally.

Mrs. Strieber already had a pot of coffee going and pointed people to the cabinet where the mugs were stashed as everyone filed into her kitchen. Nicholas and Nina saw to the dogs and then offered to help with breakfast, but Angela politely declined and encouraged them to sit down with the others at the kitchen table. With fresh biscuits in the oven, she set to work on bacon, sausage gravy, and fried eggs.

As the aromas of the country breakfast filled the room, Mike set his coffee cup down, took a seat, and called everyone to order. He and Harvath had held an in-depth discussion on the flight in, and the first order of business was operational security. Mike explained that there was to be no communication with the outside world until further notice. The vets were given a simple cover story to e-mail or text to friends and family explaining why they’d be off-line for the next few days. Once the messages had been sent, Mike respectfully asked the men to let him hang on to their phones. While he trusted them implicitly, they had no idea what they were up against. Harvath had explained it to him on the flight in, and frankly it scared the hell out of him. Better safe than sorry.