Dark Waters (11 page)

F
ive minutes later, Jordan squeezed through the gate into the alley and looked in both directions while Taylor waited obediently in the courtyard. The alley felt safe, even with its pockets of shadows. Unlike al-Ajami with its myriads of hostile observers, there wasn’t a soul in sight.

The alley itself felt tight, hemmed in between the buildings. Across from the Dizengoff Apartments was a bank—dark, shuttered, and protected by a camera security system that rivaled the Pentagon’s.
Safe
. Street lamps attached to the building walls winked on, pooling circles of light every ten or fifteen feet. The bulbs had all been replaced. At the far end of the alley, traffic moved steadily past the entrance. At the other end, the asphalt disappeared into dusk behind the hotel.

Knowing there were others who wanted to find the USB drive, Jordan kept her guard up. Whatever the information was, it had cost five people their lives. She had no intention of adding the judge or herself to the count.

Once she was certain they were alone, she signaled to Taylor to join her. “Let’s be quick.”

Jordan tossed him a pair of latex gloves, pulled on her own pair, and circled the dumpster looking for an easy mount. She failed to find one and had Taylor hoist her over the lip. Dropping
into the trash bin, Jordan fought with her gag reflex. The dumpster was three-quarter’s full and smelled of beer and vomit. Bar trash. The stench overwhelmed her.

Drawing a breath, she cautiously picked up a bag and heaved it over the side of the dumpster. One by one, she emptied the contents of the bin over the side. Taylor began opening bags, looking for signs of recognizable rubbish.

Once she conquered the odor, she fell into a rhythm, wrangling the slime and the grime. Then a movement to her right caused her to freeze.

“Chrrrrrr.” A reddish, squirrel-sized rat whipped around and bore its teeth. He chattered in his throat. He puffed up his body and whipped his tail back and forth.

“Crap!” She stood her ground, balancing on top of the shifting trash.

“Hey, I think I found something!” yelled Taylor.

“Perfect timing.” Keeping her eye on the rat, Jordan backed cautiously toward the edge of the dumpster. Taylor held up the front page of a
New York Times
.

“English version, today’s date.”

Vaulting over the edge and barely missing the judge, she slammed the lid shut on the rat.

“The garbage police,” she said, seeing his quizzical look. “Let’s move inside the courtyard.”

Taylor dragged the bag through the gate and dumped it onto the concrete sidewalk. Together they sifted through the contents.

Trash was a telling thing. It offered a microscopic view of a person’s life. For example, Jordan learned that the Taylors ate a lot of ground beef, pasta, and sour cream. What better time than while digging through garbage to ask personal questions?

“That’s a nice picture of your wife that Lucy carries around.” Jordan said.

“Ex-wife,” Taylor corrected.

“What really happened between you two?”

He hesitated, and Jordan thought for a moment that he wasn’t going to answer.

“Like I said, she refused to let Alena treat Ethan.”

“So you blame her for your son’s death?”

Again, the beat of hesitation. Maybe this time she’d crossed the line.

“I tried to make it work. We went to counseling.” He sat back on his heels. “Do you know that eighty percent of marriages can’t survive the loss of a child? I thought ours would.”

“Until . . . ?”

“Lucy got sick. I try not to blame her for Ethan, but I couldn’t let it happen again. When I put my foot down about Lucy, Sarah left. She went for full custody, claiming that I was an unfit parent. That I was unstable.” Agitated, he tossed aside an empty trash bag. “Can you believe that?”

Jordan wasn’t sure what to think. Watching him with Lucy, she knew he had his daughter’s best interests at heart. However, the treatment he sought from Alena bordered on witchcraft. Maybe it was time to change the subject.

“I can’t believe we haven’t found it yet.”

“Back up, Agent Jordan. Are you telling me you have no opinion? I want to know if you think I’m crazy.” He poured the contents of a used coffee filter into his hand and sifted through the old grounds.

“No. Maybe misguided. I think you’re grasping at straws.”

“Fair.” He pitched a crushed milk carton to the side. “For a while, I questioned myself. Even now I know how it sounds, believing that an energy healer can effect a cure in a dying child. But she can.”

She glanced over. “You have no doubts?”

Taylor shook his head. “Ethan’s death was a life-altering moment. You know the ones. Something happens, life changes, and it will never be the same. Knowing that I could have done something to prevent that, that I can do something now, for Lucy . . .” He reached for another jumble of papers. “You’re young. Have you ever had one of those moments?”

“It doesn’t matter how old you are,” Jordan said. Her thoughts flashed to a cold night in Russia. Her father’s death meant moving from Russia to Colorado, from a loving family to her grandparent’s house. She flashed back to a warm night in Denver, when Posner fired his gun. To Alena’s revelations about her father. “I’ve actually had a few.”

Taylor suddenly rocked back on his heels, a glint of silver in his gloved hand. Jordan’s heart rate quickened.

“I think I found it!” he said.

*

Jordan assigned one of the Marines to reload the trash and headed inside with the judge. Pulling out Taylor’s computer, they tried opening the contents of the USB drive with no luck. Lucy was right. It required a password to open. A password they didn’t have.

“Even if you crack it, the contents are probably encrypted.” Walker said. When Jordan turned to stare at him, he held up his hands. “I’m just saying.”

Taking over for Cline, Jordan had gotten a feel for words he might use for a password. So far, they’d all failed. For all they knew, this wasn’t even the right USB drive. She took another stab at it and came up empty. She turned to the Marine.

“What do you know about computers?” she asked.

Walker shrugged. “I took some computer science at MIT.”

“Really?” Taylor sounded impressed. “How much computer science?”

“Four years. Then I found my real calling.”

Jordan found it hard to believe he had thrown away a lucrative career in computers for the chance to stand guard at an embassy in Israel. The look on her face must have said as much.

“I lost my brother in Afghanistan a year ago.”

A life-altering moment
.

“Sorry,” Taylor said.

Walker nodded.

Jordan shut the laptop. “We’re done here.”

“Looks like,” Taylor said. “That leaves the tech boys at the embassy. They’ll have toys that can crack it.” He pushed away from the table. “I need to go check on Luce.”

“Thanks for helping, Taylor.”

“My pleasure. The sooner we crack that thing, the sooner my life gets back to normal.”

I
t was after 10:00 p.m. when she headed back to the embassy. The streets were empty, so she made good time. She hoped the tech squad was still working; otherwise, someone would be coming back in.

Pulling up to the small guard shack, she handed the U.S. Marine on duty her credentials. He studied them carefully and then waved her through.

Jordan pulled forward, maneuvering the sedan around the concrete median and a pile of materials being used in preparation for Thursday’s secretary of state address. Two Bobcat tractors were parked near the compound walls, and a number of unmanned vehicles were scattered around the parking lot. Employee cars. People were working around the clock to be ready for the secretary’s arrival. A good sign someone would be in the tech room.

Wheeling into a space near the DSS offices, Jordan slammed the sedan into park. Before climbing out, she switched off the headlights and allowed her eyes to adjust to the darkness. Other than the muted night-lights of the building’s hallways, the only lit area was the consul general’s building, which sat diagonally to the DSS offices.

Jordan wondered if the secretary appreciated how much work went into ensuring her safety. It was doubtful she had any idea.
Even with the training an agent like Jordan went through, from boot camp to gun handling to strategy and planning, personnel weren’t always prepared. What had happened at Dr. Petrenko’s office was a case in point.

She let her thoughts creep from Alena to her father, the Russian national hero who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and paid the ultimate price.

Her father’s legacy had been his exuberance. He loved Russia, then Jordan, her mother, and hockey—probably in that order. Even at age eleven, he had instilled in Jordan a belief that there was no point in doing something if it didn’t evoke passion. He taught her right from wrong, how to tie her shoes, and to always tell the truth. She had served as a living example of his edicts from the day he died. If Alena Petrenko was right, was everything Jordan believed to be true based on lies?

Alena had confirmed one thing Jordan had thought for years—that her father was murdered. She never fully believed the official story, that he’d been killed in the crossfire of an assassination attempt on a prominent Russian businessman. No one had ever been arrested, and the uproar over the death of their hockey star kept anything else out of the Russian news. The case was closed quickly, with little investigation. Her father had died a hero.

Yet Jordan had always believed someone had orchestrated his death. That it wasn’t a stray bullet but a deliberate shot that had taken his life. It was that conviction—that life-altering moment—that ultimately defined her future.

The bigger question was why anyone would want him dead. The answer could cost Jordan more than her childhood convictions. It could cost her a job.

Shoving away the thoughts, she pushed open the car door. Why was she entertaining the rantings of a psychic? As far as she was concerned, Alena Petrenko was a quack.

Jordan climbed out and swung the driver’s side door shut. The sound shattered the still of the night. A softer click caused every hair on the back of her neck to stand up. Someone else was in the parking lot.

Nerves on high alert, she scanned her surroundings. The lot appeared exactly the same as when she’d entered it. There were no new vehicles. No one else had passed through the gates or entered or exited the building since she arrived. There was nothing to be frightened of, yet fear tightened her every muscle.

Moving toward the building, she took note of the shadows, of every rustle. Stress had a way of jangling her nerves, and she had been operating in overdrive the last couple of days. Once she was convinced the danger didn’t lie between her parking space and the building, she allowed her gaze to stray to the darkened glass of the buildings across the street from the embassy entrance. From there, picking off a target in the parking lot would be child’s play.

Reaching the side entrance, a Marine stepped out of the shadows.

“
Crap
, you scared the shit out of me,” Jordan said.

“Sorry, ma’am. I need to see your credentials.”

Jordan held up her badge.

The Marine studied it and then opened the door for her. The lights in the corridors were motion activated.

“Just extra precautions,” the Marine said.

“No explanation needed. Thank you, soldier.” She took comfort in his gaze on her backside as she walked down the hall to the elevator, but the discomfort returned in the muted hallway of the fourth floor. The tech offices were locked up tight. She would call from her office.

She took the stairs to the sixth floor, the click of her heels against the linoleum tap-dancing on the lining of her stomach. Once inside her office, she closed the door, flipped on the lights,
and powered up her computer. Pulling up a list of embassy personnel, she called the head of the tech department.

“I need someone to crack a password on a USB drive, stat,” she said, once he’d answered his phone.

“Can’t it wait?” The fatigue in his voice drifted across the line.

“No. It’s a matter of national security.” The words sounded clichéd.

“Aren’t they all?” he said. “I’ll get someone to come back in, but it may take a bit. Give me your number. I’ll have them call when they’re in the building.”

Jordan rattled off the numbers of both her desk phone and her cell phone. “As quick as you can.”

“Sure.”

Hanging up, she sat back in her desk chair and pulled the USB drive from her pocket. There was no telling how long the tech guys would take. Maybe she should try to crack the password again. Except how many times could she try before the data was permanently locked, or worse, wiped clean?

She could at least see what happened if it were plugged into an embassy computer. She slipped the drive into the port on the back of her laptop. Like earlier, another log-in request flashed up on the screen.

Jordan stared at the cursor flashing inside the small empty box until her vision blurred. Most people used something familiar, something they would remember—their birthday, their wife’s or husband’s birthday, an anniversary, a middle name. She could make a list for the tech. Maybe give him a jump start.

Pulling up Cline’s dossier, she pulled every important date and name from the file. Then she turned her focus on the intended recipient, the PLC. Had Najm Tibi chosen the password, or their leader, Abdul Aleem Zuabi? There was no way to narrow it down.

“Having trouble?”

The voice gave her a chill.

Jordan looked up. Batya Ganani stood in the office doorway. “How did you get in here? How did you get past the guard?”

Ganani flashed a set of embassy credentials. “We’re assisting with the protection detail for the secretary of state.” She gestured toward Jordan’s computer. “Did you get it open?”

Every nerve ending in Jordan’s body sent out alarms. Pulling the USB drive from the computer, she jammed it into her pocket. Her left hand moved for the phone.

“Don’t do that,” Ganani said.

Jordan paused, her arm hanging in midair. She considered drawing her weapon, but that would only escalate things or get one or both of them killed. “What information is on the drive that has Shin Bet and the PLC willing to kill for it?”

“You haven’t answered my question yet.” Ganani said, gesturing toward Jordan’s pocket. “Did you have any luck?”

“No, not yet.”

“Do you mind if I try?”

Jordan laughed out loud. “There’s not a chance in hell I’m letting you touch my computer or the USB drive.”

Realizing she would get nothing out of Ganani, Jordan picked up the receiver and punched the auto dial for security on the desk phone. Ganani stepped forward and pushed down the switch hook.

“Give me the drive.”

“Not a chance.” Jordan stepped backward, her hand moving to the 9 mm on her belt. Ganani was quicker. She leveled her SIG Sauer at Jordan’s chest. Jordan drew her hand away from her gun.

“You realize if you fire that weapon in here, the Marine guards will be all over you.”

Ganani cupped her free hand, flashing the universal gimme sign. “Give me what I came for and I will go away.”

Jordan had no intention of handing over the USB drive, but she also didn’t relish getting shot. Slipping her hand into her pocket, her mind scrambled to find a way out.

Ganani tensed. “Move slowly.”

Jordan adjusted her pace.

“What’s on the drive?” she asked, drawing her hand slowly out of her pocket. “What was Cline trading away? You owe me that much.”

“I don’t owe you anything. My orders are simply to retrieve the information.”

“But the files belong to the U.S.”

“Do they? How do you know?”

“You know what I think?” Jordan said. “I think you have no idea what’s on here.” She held up the drive. “I think you’re just following orders. You murdered three men and accosted an eleven-year-old child all because your boss told you to.”

“I would not have hurt the child.”

Jordan sidled around the edge of the desk until she was standing on Ganani’s side. “Who was supposed to get this? Zuabi?”

Ganani shrugged. “Tibi was known to work for him, as well as others.”

That confirmed Jordan’s suspicions that Najm Tibi’s loyalty went to the highest bidder. “Did you figure out he was working for the PLC before or after you killed him?”

Jordan could see it in Ganani’s eyes that she was losing her patience.

Ganani pointed the gun at Jordan’s chest. “Enough talking.”

Jordan stopped moving. She harbored no doubts that Ganani would shoot her, and the agent had already proven her prowess at getting away. That left Jordan two choices. Hand it over or get close enough to disarm her.

“Despite your training, Agent Jordan, you need to believe me when I say, try anything and you’re dead.”

“I believe you. I just don’t understand why you’re willing to kill for what’s on here. The information is safe with me. It won’t end up in the wrong hands.”

“Cline didn’t seem to feel the same way.”

“So he
was
passing off information.”

“I’m done talking.” Ganani reached and tried to grab the drive from Jordan’s hand. “Give it to me,
now
.”

Jordan stepped backward and lifted her arms in surrender. Without a windup, she pitched the USB drive hard and fast at the Shin Bet agent’s face.

Ganani flinched.

Jordan lunged at the same time, knocking Ganani to the floor. She dropped her weapon. It clanged to the floor just inches from her outstretched hand.

Ganani grunted and kicked, landing a blow square on Jordan’s shoulder.

Forcing herself to move through the pain, Jordan rolled sideways and clambered to her feet.

Ganani stretched for her gun.

Jordan stomped down on the Shin Bet agent’s wrist, resting all her weight on her foot. Ganani groaned, and Jordan kicked the weapon away. Pumped full of adrenalin, she couldn’t stop herself from commenting.

“Is that all you’ve got?”

Ganani answered by wrapping a hand around Jordan’s ankle and tugging her feet out from under her.

She landed flat on her back, her head bouncing off the tile floor. Small stars swam in her eyes, and she struggled for air. “You bitch.”

Jordan lashed out with her own feet, her shoe connecting with Ganani’s face. She heard the crunch of cartilage being displaced. Blood gushed.

Ganani’s left hand flew to her face, but she kept moving for her gun.

Jordan’s arm throbbed, but she had to get to there first. Planting her feet, she pushed hard and slid across the floor. She cringed as she banged into the desk. Reaching out, she knocked the SIG Sauer away and came up with her own 9 mm in hand. “Get up.”

The Shin Bet agent sneered at her through streaming blood.

“I want to see your hands.”

Ganani hesitated and then slowly raised her arms. Jordan climbed to her feet, secured the SIG Sauer, and then signaled for the Shin Bet agent to stand. “Now give me back the USB drive.”

Ganani tried Jordan’s trick, throwing it hard, but Jordan sidestepped. The drive hit the wall and dropped to the floor. Keeping her gun trained on Ganani, she bent down and retrieved it.

“For your nose,” she said, reaching for the box of tissues on the window sill and tossing them across the desk.

“What now, Agent Jordan? Are you going to call in the Marines?” Jordan picked up the phone and dialed the RSO. Even with what happened to his good buddy Posner, Daugherty was her senior officer. She wasn’t going to give him a reason to fire her.

“Daugherty.”

Jordan identified herself and explained the situation.

“Do you have the USB drive?”

“In my hand. The tech guys are on the way in.”

“Good. I know this woman’s boss, Colonel Brodsky. He’s a real hard-ass. You lock her up, Jordan, and she’ll be out before you can get back to your office. Try talking to her. See what you can get out of her, then yank her credentials and have the MPs escort her off the premises.”

“Are you coming in?”

“Not unless you can’t handle this. I see no sense in adding my name to the mix when she complains to her boss and word gets back to the ambassador.”

Daugherty was covering his ass.

“I’ll take care of it, sir.”

“Good work, Jordan,” Daugherty said.

She hung up the receiver, wondering if he meant it. She smiled at Ganani. “According to my boss, you have a get-out-of-jail-free card. So how about I save you the hassle of having to call your boss and looking foolish again? I’ll make you a deal. You tell me what I want to know and I’ll let you go.”

Ganani pitched a bloody tissue toward the wastebasket beside the desk and reached for another. “You have a good kick, Agent Jordan.”

“Have a seat.” She gestured toward a chair but kept her gun pointed at the agent. “Do we have a deal?”

Ganani sat down and pressed a clean tissue to her nose.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Jordan moved around to her own chair. “So why don’t you cut to the chase?”

“You are correct. I do not know what is on there. I do know Tibi and the others were securing information for Abdul Aleem Zuabi.”