Chain of Command (18 page)

Chapter 32

Arlington, Virginia

5:25pm, December 10
^th

With their business in Ft. Bragg concluded for the moment, The Jefferson Group had hopped back on their plane and landed at Reagan National just after 4pm. Vince was putting out some feelers with some friends he’d made in Jamaica during a cross-training the year before. He was confident that if Gower was still on the island, the Jamaicans could find him and keep tabs on the admiral. Vince had even volunteered to fly down there himself and apprehend Gower if that’s what Cal needed.

They’d bide their time for now and see what the Jamaican authorities could find.

Diane and Neil had just arrived from Charlottesville, and Cal and his girlfriend were enjoying a quiet room service dinner in his hotel room. They’d been discussing OrionTech and the possible motives for the corporation to be involved in the latest dust-up.

“Are you sure you’re okay with me being here?” Diane asked, sipping from a glass of house red. There’d been an awkward moment when she’d arrived, kind of like your family showing up at work when you were knee deep in the weeds. Happy to see them, but distracted.

“I’ll get used to it,” Cal answered honestly. They’d take it a step at a time just like they had with their romantic relationship. Diane would be starting the new semester in January, so the arrangement might not even be a permanent thing. Part of him hoped it wouldn’t be. He knew how he could be on the job, especially in the middle of an operation, and that wasn’t something he wanted Diane to see.

“Just tell me if I’m in the way and I’ll scoot to the side. Really, Cal, I understand that this is your thing. I don’t want my being here to come between us.”

She understood him so well.

“As long as you promise that you’ll forgive me for losing my temper every once in a while.”

“Deal,” she said, sticking out her hand. He grabbed it and pulled her out of her chair and onto the couch. She plopped down with a laugh. “What time do you have to go?”

“I told Mrs. Ellwood that Daniel and I would be there around six.”

“That should give us plenty of time.”

“Time for…?”

He grinned when he saw the lascivious look in her eyes.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re on time.”

“Oh?” Cal asked, pulling her closer.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “I hate unpunctual men.”

+++

5:58pm

Daniel pulled their new rental in next to what must have been Barrett’s rental car. Cal hadn’t spoken to the NCIS agent all day, but he assumed Barrett would’ve called if he’d found anything.

He knocked on the front door and was surprised to see the young agent they’d first encountered on their trip to Orlando days before. Cal couldn’t remember the guy’s name.

“Mr. Stokes, good to see you again,” said the agent.

“I’m sorry. I never got your name.”

“I’m Weston Moore. I guess you could call me Robbie’s flunky.”

He led them into the house as they spoke.

“Are you new with NCIS?” asked Cal.

“Yeah. Been with them less than a year.”

“Former military?”

“Army, but don’t hold that against me.”

Moore seemed like a nice guy. Cal saw that he still had his coat and tie on. He would’ve thought they’d dressed down a bit considering the boring task he and Barrett had been relegated to.

“So where’s Barrett?”

“He and Mrs. Ellwood stepped out to pick up some dinner. She’s really made us feel at home.”

“She’s a nice lady,” said Cal.

“She is,” replied Moore, showing them into Gen. Ellwood’s office. “Well, here’s what we’ve examined so far.”

Moore gave them a rundown of everything they’d done. Cal was impressed. Barrett had taken the chore seriously, really gone to it with a fine tooth comb.

“Sounds like you’ve got it covered. Thanks again for your help on this. I can imagine you’d probably rather be doing something else,” offered Cal.

“All Robbie had to say was that this might help crack the case with the whole Marine thing. I can’t tell you how sorry I am for your loss.”

“Thanks,” Cal said. The guy was laying it on pretty thick. Maybe he was just trying to get in their good graces. Who knew what Barrett had told the guy?

“Hey, you guys want anything to drink? Mrs. Ellwood made some tea that is really dynamite.”

“Sure, I’ll have some.”

Daniel nodded too.

+++

Special Agent Weston Moore walked into the kitchen and grabbed a tray from the countertop. He then filled two glasses with ice tea and set them on the tray, along with a pile of napkins. Moore took a steadying breath, imagining the scope on his favorite rifle, waiting to be given the green light to fire downrange.

He slipped his pistol out of his pocket and held it underneath the tray. It took him a second to get it positioned just right, but then he had it set. As long as he kept it at waist level the two Marines would never see it.

A smile made its way to his face as he entered the office again. Stokes and Briggs were scanning some files that Moore had set out for them to peruse.

“Anything interesting?” he asked, gauging his distance, wanting to be perfectly prepared to take the shots.

“Not really. You guys are probably better at this anyway.”

“I don’t know about that. Here’s your tea,” said Moore, extending the tray toward Stokes.

“You can just put it on the desk,” said Stokes, not lifting his head from his reading.

Moore hesitated. His targets weren’t where he wanted them. As he tried to figure out what to do, his eyes locked on Briggs. The sniper had somehow changed. Gone was the passivity Moore had thought looked more like boredom. No. Now the man’s eyes held recognition, a hardness Moore had seen on the battlefield, when a combatant recognizes the enemy.

The tray slipped from his hand and Moore was in the process of turning his wrist so he could properly aim when Briggs’s foot connected with his shooting hand. The weapon fired as Moore wondered how Briggs had reacted so quickly. Surprise turned to horror as the blond sniper he’d been so eager to kill moments earlier, now loomed before him, pistol extended, aim steady, right at Moore’s face.

He considered fighting it out. Maybe he could take one of them down before he was killed. But instead, he dropped his weapon to the ground, his hand involuntarily raising in the air.

By now Stokes had his weapon out, too. “Get on your knees.”

Moore obeyed, eyeing both men with the contempt that was now crackling in his stomach. He’d been so close. How had Briggs…

“Where are Barrett and Mrs. Ellwood?” Stokes asked, stepping closer.

“Fuck you.”

Stokes’s boot caught him in the stomach. Moore couldn’t help doubling over.

“Let me guess, you’re the asshole that tried to take us out the other day,” said Stokes.

Moore didn’t answer, still trying to catch his breath.

“Who are you?” asked Briggs, his voice like a snake who’d wrapped its prey in its coils and now had all the time in the world to get the answers it needed.

Moore got back to his knees and said, “Sergeant Weston E. Moore, United States Army. Sniper.” He spat the last word out like a dagger. If the designation registered with Briggs, he didn’t show it.

“You were the one in Florida,” Briggs said. Moore could almost see the pieces clicking together in the Marine’s head.

“Where’s Gower?” Stokes asked.

Moore didn’t take his eyes from Briggs. It would’ve been so sweet to put a bullet into the man’s forehead. When he’d found out that Briggs had been up for the Medal of Honor, but that the award was pulled at the last minute, Moore knew he’d found his prize. The legacy of sniper on sniper warfare went back generations. The fact that Briggs was part of the cocky Marine brotherhood would’ve only made it more delectable.

Stokes was speaking, but Moore didn’t hear. Images floated across his conscious mind. He’d been imprisoned before. His spotter dead and his unit out of reach, the Taliban had found him after a bloody fight. He’d taken down at least twenty, but then his ammunition had run out, and there were just too many of them. Weeks of torture. Nights of horror. He wouldn’t let that happen again.

The only man who hadn’t left him to die was General Mason. He’d found out about the sniper’s capture and committed every troop he had to get him back. It took months, but finally Sgt. Moore was rescued. He came out of it a broken man. Once sure of his abilities, everything now seemed wrong.

Gen. Mason took a special interest in him, ensuring he had the best treatment for his physical as well as his mental disabilities. It took time, but he’d made it back. He’d proven that he still had it. Moore hadn’t pulled the trigger for Gen. Ellwood, but sure would have if the Marine hadn’t had the courage.

And now here he was again, on the wrong side of the barrel. But this time he was at peace. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, but he’d come prepared. It only took a subtle shift, scraping his back teeth together as he’d practiced so many times, like a fine trigger pull. He gave Briggs a wink, and clamped his teeth together.

+++

Special Agent Moore crumbled to the floor, his head slamming against the corner of the large wood desk. Cal watched him fall, thinking that the spy was putting on a ruse. He hadn’t seen the wink.

“He’s dead,” said Daniel, bending down to check for a pulse.

“What?”

“He had an L-pill.” L-pills, also known as kill-pills, had been improved since the early days of cyanide filled capsules. They’d at one time considered issuing a CIA version of the pill to the TJG operators, but the entire team had refused, opting to take the chance of capture rather than to take their own lives.

Daniel closed his eyes and mouthed a silent prayer. Cal didn’t join in, leaving the task to his more spiritual friend.

Once he was finished, Daniel stood up and said, “Let’s go find Mrs. Ellwood.”

They found Special Agent Barrett drugged in a small guest room bathtub. Other than a nasty welt on his head, he looked okay.

Cassidy Ellwood was in the master walk-in closet. She’d been worked over by Moore and sported a black eye, swollen lip and some bruised ribs. Despite her injuries, Mrs. Ellwood looked more relieved than frightened.

“We need to get you to the hospital, Mrs. Ellwood,” said Cal, upset that he’d let harm come to the grieving widow.

“That can wait,” she replied, wiping her face with a wet washcloth as she examined herself in the bathroom mirror.

“Ma’am, we really should get you to a more secure location.”

“Don’t you want to debrief me first?”

She sounded like an exhausted Marine who’d just come in off patrol. Cal hadn’t expected the question.

“There’s time for that later. Right now—”

“Mr. Stokes, if it means getting closer to the bastards who killed my husband, I’d appreciate you getting that information right now.” Like before, she said it with the authority that only a general’s wife could wield.

“Okay. Tell me what happened.”

“I won’t bore you with the details. The most important thing is that he kept asking for something. He thought I knew where it was.”

“And do you?”

“I don’t even know what he wanted. He said Doug hid it and my life depended on him finding it. Honestly, other than the diary I gave you, I don’t have a clue what he was looking for.”

So there was something. A puzzle piece that the enemy wanted. Maybe Gen. Ellwood had left behind an insurance policy. Cal would need more help if they were going to find it.

“Tell you what, let me get someone over here to take a look at you, Mrs. Ellwood. I’ll also bring over some friends who can keep an eye on the place and help find whatever the other side is looking for.”

Mrs. Ellwood smiled. “That’s better.”

Chapter 33

The Pentagon

Arlington, Virginia

7:29am, December 11
^th

He’d slipped out of Jamaica just in time. No sooner had the Whitworth’s jet left the deck, than his local contacts called to inform him that Jamaican authorities were poking around, asking about Gower. They’d found his girlfriend and were in the process of threatening her with jail time unless she told them what they wanted to know.

Gen. Mason chuckled. The woman didn’t know anything. Gower had brought her along for an easy lay. The guy had never had the confidence to fish for someone out of his league, so he’d always poached on ogling staffers who appreciated the attention of a decent looking Navy man.

His office was covered with messages and files. It would take him a day to shuffle the work out to his underlings. He’d perfected the art of delegating administrative tasks. Being part of the Pentagon’s procurement apparatus meant more than a little paperwork, but within months of assuming his final post, Mason had his system set.

From the day he’d stepped in the windowless office, he planned for his retirement. There were plenty of companies who would love to hire a two-star general, but most of the offers he’d considered seemed beneath him.

Joe Gower had been the key. Over the years Mason had always been content with allowing his former roommate to take the lead. It made Gower happy, and despite the occasional haughty comment, it made him bearable. What Gower didn’t know was that Mason was always watching. He’d learned to manipulate his Academy classmate in a hundred different ways. Proud people were like that. Give them incentive or prod them with compliments and there wasn’t much you couldn’t get them to do.

But Gower was the one who’d had initial contact with OrionTech and Glen Whitworth. He’d formed the relationship and put his own neck on the line while Mason nudged him forward. Gower had even introduced Mason to Whitworth, and the two men had formed an instant connection. For months they’d schemed behind Gower’s back. The look on the admiral’s face had said it all as his supposed friend had taken his life. Gower hadn’t suspected.