DEAD BEEF (Our Cyber World Book 1) (32 page)

This phone was different, Martin noticed now. It was actually more like a small point and shoot camera. He found the video button, motioned Ochoa, Sasha and Leticia to get behind him. They did, and he turned on the video. He walked around, panning left and right, capturing only the fallen enemy and their shot-up gear.

“Are you seeing this, Chana?” Martin asked. He never got a response.

“Is something amiss?” Barak asked her.

They were standing on the tarmac of Cheyenne Regional Airport. Chana was clenching her phone and with eyes closed, she gritted her teeth. She parted her mouth just wide enough to say, “Never send the hired help to do the work of a professional.”

Barak came closer. “May I see that video?”

She replayed it while she looked away.

The video stopped, and Barak asked, “Who did this?”

“Tough operatives you will soon face.”

“How many of them?” he asked.

“Twelve of the dead ones, no more than three of the ones that killed them.”

“These future opponents of ours have my respect,” Barak said.

“So long as they have your attention, I don't care. Your respect save for me.”

“I do have far more respect for you, but one hears many stories about streams of bodies left in your wake. I don’t intend to be one of them.”

“To avoid being one of the bodies, be a professional,” she said and walked away.

“Mr. President, we have confirmed that Agent Ochoa did indeed cancel the distress call, replacing it with GPS coordinates for a crime scene.” The CIA deputy secretary pointed at the screen. “Our team arrived there just after Agent Ochoa, Leticia Ortiz, Martin Spencer and Sasha Javan left, after being detained by yet to be identified—.”

The president looked at the video and said, “Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Who was detaining who?”

“It appears an altercation ensued—.”

“Where are Spencer and the others?” the president asked.

“They’re safe and on their way to rendezvous with Mrs. Spencer and Stan Beloski.”

“Well, these goons didn’t delay them much, did they? Who are these people, anyway?”

“Twelve bodies in all, no identification. Two unmarked helicopters, state of the art. We will be running DNA and fingerprints through the system.”

The president stood up and asked, “Anything else?”

When no one replied, he walked out. He didn’t need to ask any more questions.

Chapter 42

Ochoa drove the rest of the way. He figured Spencer needed a break. The genius had done another brave job with some quick thinking mixed in during the rappelling descent, and had even handled himself well during the chase. But the shoot-out rattled him. He now sat in the back’s right seat with Sasha to his right, snoozing on his shoulder. Ochoa figured that spending a little one-on-one with her for the next few minutes on their way to the rendezvous point would do Spencer some good. He still looked unsettled and in shock. Seeing dead bodies by the dozen did that even to the best man, maybe especially to the best man, and Ochoa was beginning to grow in his respect for Spencer as not only a good man, but one driven to do some good. Ochoa could stand with a man like that any day.

“How are you doing?” Ochoa asked Leticia, who was also relaxing a bit in the passenger seat.

“Forgetting about it already,” she said with a cool edge to her voice.

“You did good back there.”

“You do good, or you do dead. Not much of a choice. Not much to think about.”

“I know you resented me when I suggested it,” he said, “but you and I have a lot in common.”

“Maybe we could go out for some foo-foo coffee after this,” she said. “Nothing like a few dead bodies, slit throats and blown up chests for a girl and a boy to build a relationship.”

“I don’t know. I heard you were married to a soldier once.”

“You really know how to sweet-talk a girl, don’t you.” She didn’t seem upset. Her voice was soft, almost hard to hear, and with a deadpan expression she stared out her window. “Leave Gabriel out of this, OK? He was no killer. He was a hero, a real one. The kind that goes in and does his duty and just wants a normal life with kids, a wife, a white picket fence home and a big ol’ pickup truck. You and I, we’re not like that.” She paused. “We’re damaged goods letting life carry us in rivers of blood.”

“Rivers of blood,” he said. “I like that. No joking intended here, but do you write poetry?”

She smiled. “Good pickup.” She turned to face him. “Yeah, mostly in Spanish, but I’ve been getting better in English, too. Sometimes my cousin puts one or two of my poems to music and sings them at family parties.”

“That sounds nice,” Ochoa said. He eyed Spencer and Sasha in the back. “Maybe we could serenade those two.”

“They don’t need any serenading,” she said. “They have a strong connection. You know how they say a man leaves his mother and father and cleaves to his wife and the two become one? Those two naturally cleave to each other. That’s rare, actually. It really doesn’t happen as much as people like to believe.”

She sat sideways, pulling in her legs and wrapping her hands around her knees. “What about you? Do you do anything outside work like a hobby or a pastime?”

“I drink beer.”

“Just like a man to make a joke out of a question that gets into who he is.”

“I’ve thought about knitting.”

“More jokes. Boring.”

“I don’t know, fishing I guess.”

She rolled her eyes and turned ninety degrees to sit normally.

Ochoa checked the GPS. Behind him Spencer said, “Almost there. Mono Lake is just to our right now. As soon as you pass this side of the shore, there’ll be a turnoff. It sneaks up on you, especially in the dark.”

“Sounds like you’ve been here often,” Leticia said.

“A few times, at sunrise and sunset to take pictures. Nothing like tuffa and glassy water reflections in good light.”

“See, Mr. Spencer does something other than his job. Something creative and interesting... and different.”

Ochoa saw the turnoff and slowed down to make the turn into the lot. Once inside, he saw a pickup truck with a motorcycle in the back but no sign of an occupant. The truck pointed toward the highway, and Ochoa swung the Land Rover around to park it also pointing at the highway, ready to sprint out.

Once they came to a stop, Cynthia came out of the shadows. “Great rendezvous point, Martin,” she said. “You forgot to tell us about the cemetery.” She pointed her flashlight toward the south, casting its light onto a few nearby tombstones.

“You made good time,” Ochoa noted.

“Yeah, a dirt bike does that. I didn’t have to go all the way into town, either. Beloski called me a few minutes ago. He should be about 10 minutes out tops.” She lit up Ochoa on the chest with her flashlight. “You guys look like you had an interesting time.”

Ochoa came closer to her and said, “Spencer did another of his I don’t know what I’m doing but I can figure it out anyway act on the descent. Took care of Sasha
and
Leticia when she banged her head.”

While they talked, Martin popped the hood of Cynthia’s pickup truck, waived a flashlight back and forth, and slammed the hood down. “Good,” he said. “No electronics.”

Ochoa, Cynthia and Leticia exchanged looks, and none of them commented on Martin’s remark. Ochoa said to Cynthia, “We also had a little encounter with two helicopters and twelve non-identified operatives.”

“It looks like you’re wearing them,” Cynthia said.

“I’m wearing half of them. Leticia has the other six.”

“She’s the real thing?” Cynthia said.

“You can say that.”

“Told ya.”

Spencer was taking a scanner device out of the back of the Land Rover, and was making his way around the two vehicles.

“Your bike has a beacon,” he told Cynthia. “And the Land Rover has two. Let’s rip them out.”

“You don’t want D.C. to know where we are?” Ochoa asked.

“Not really. This is an undercover op, and we’re radio-silent as much as possible. But your question assumes these are pumping back to D.C. when we have no idea who put them there. Since the boys in D.C. weren’t so kind as to pre-coordinate with us, off they come.” In another minute, Spencer had taken the beacons out and crushed them underfoot.

They turned out all lights and waited, guns at the ready.

A few minutes later, Beloski arrived in the Toyota FJ-40. Ochoa helped him transfer medical supplies from the Toyota to the Land Rover. Spencer scanned the FJ for beacons, and finding two, removed them and disposed of them with a clank and an underfoot crunch. He inspected Ochoa's SUV last and found no beacons.

"I guess you're beacon enough," Martin said to Ochoa.

It was then that Ochoa decided he needed to speak up as to how this caravan was going to be arranged.

“Martin, if I may make a recommendation about who goes in what car, I think you should always go in the middle car, whichever that is. I know you probably want to be with Sasha, and we’ll do that tomorrow. But tonight I think it’s a good idea if we have two folks in each car to bump the driver awake if he or she starts drifting off.”

“OK.”

“How about you go with Cynthia in the pickup truck. That will be our middle car today. I’ll take point with the Land Rover and Sasha. Beloski and Ortiz bring our six o’clock with that FJ-40. Sweet ride, by the way.”

“You can have my other one when we get back,” Martin said with a slight grin. “I’m good with your plan.”

“One more thing,” Ochoa said. “Radios.” Beloski got 3 radios out of the back of the FJ-40 and handed one to Ochoa, who added, “I asked for these along with the other supplies. The have twenty-six channels, so we’ll start them on channel five, and every hour, bump the channel up by one. When you’re at twenty-six, subtract every hour, when you get to one add, and so on. We’ll use these to stay coordinated.”

“Sounds good,” Martin said. “The last thing we need to talk about is which way we’re going to take to get to Cheyenne, Wyoming. I have that plotted out, and I’ll let you guys know over the radio. I may tweak a couple of things to take the road less-traveled. Right now we’re making a b-line to Carson City. We’re looking at 15 to 20 hours straight to get to our final destination, so let’s roll, folks.”

Cynthia drove the middle car, the Toyota Tacoma truck, while Martin used his laptop and secured cell phone to review the course he had set.

Arriving at Carson City one hour and 50 minutes later, they all got gas for their vehicles and bought a couple of spare gas cans, just in case they would need them. Martin told the team that during the evening, he felt better about just pushing north to Reno then heading west on the faster Interstate 80. As they were approaching Fernley, Nevada, Martin informed the team that he thought it would be fine to stay on Highway 80 until Salt Lake City. By his estimates, at their current rate of speed, they should reach that waypoint just before 8 AM the following morning.

For the next few hours, Martin used his laptop and secured cell phone to monitor and search for probes and attacks around the country. He focused his attention on the East Coast and Cheyenne and surrounding areas. All was quiet in Cheyenne, but he’d keep an eye in New York where at least two actors were probing the stock exchange.

Shortly before 3 AM, Sasha got on the radio to say that she’d checked her I-network, by which she meant her Iranian monitors, and she found no new activity to report, so she was going to get some shut-eye, darlings.

At this point, Cynthia said, “How about you catch some shut-eye, too, boss?”

“Thanks, but I’ll stay up to keep you awake.”

“I’m fine,” she said. “This cross-country driving thing is more fun than I anticipated. I’m sorry I’ve put it off this long.”

“You did good in purchasing this ride,” Martin said.

“I’m glad you approve. Goes to show that I was paying attention to your hobby.”

“I wish I had repaid the favor.”

“Me, too.”

“You were... are a good wife. Too bad I can’t measure up.”

She smiled. “You did the best you could. Now get some sleep, please. We need you fresh and sharp.”

Martin thanked her and leaned his seat back as far as it would go. Within less than a minute, he felt himself drift off to the constant drone of the road and the engine.

At 8 AM Eastern, two young men sat at two locations nearby the New York Stock Exchange. From each of their laptops they launched attacks on the computer systems tied to the stock exchange in an obvious attempt to break through and into the stock exchange’s computer network systems. Each of the attacks used a different and sophisticated variant of a payload that had never been seen in civilian networks. Fortunately a recently installed software update easily repelled the attack and launched a counter-attack that all but destroyed the two computers that had launched the attack.