Internal Threat (24 page)

“We’ve got about sixty seconds before they break through the door locks. Start a countdown for me,” she said.

Her eyes roved across the screen as her fingers raced to keep up with her mind.

“What are you doing?” Jason finally asked.

“There’s no way Cameron could have modified the tracking program on an outside server. The modified code has to be here somewhere…”

Dozens of folders flew past but nothing stood out.

“Thirty seconds,” Jason warned.

Think, Emma!
The monitor scrolled its text without caring. She paused, something triggering in her mind. Her head snapped back to Cameron’s body. There was something about it that snagged her attention. The way he was laying? No. It was his hand. It was clutching a-

“Snickers!” she whispered triumphantly. She scrolled back to one of the folders she had dismissed a few seconds earlier. It was labeled “Snickers.” Double-clicking it open, a collection of documents stared back at her. “I found it,” she said aloud to Jason.

“Good. Can we go now?”

“Not yet.” She found the code for the tracking program modifications. She had to give Cameron credit; it was impressive work. Yet, it was nothing that Emma could not cut through in the span of a few seconds. Scanning it, she realized the one thing she needed to find. “He made all the changes but there still needed to be a small satellite adjustment to re-triangulate the signals. That couldn’t have been done by him. He needed authorization.” Opening a sub-folder, Emma selected a document labeled “Satellite Authorization.”

“Got it! It will have Griggs’ signature on it and that will prove that he-” As the document popped up on the screen, Emma’s eyes quickly hunted for the name and signature.

She gasped. “Oh my God.”

Before Jason could question her shock, two MP’s burst through the door with their guns blazing.

M
att was lying on the beach he had just been on with Luke but something was different. The sun was out, shining brilliantly in the sky. Warm sand ran through his fingers and the soft terrycloth of a towel was rolled beneath his head. In front of him, a toddler was building a lumpy castle made from wet sand and ocean water. Matt recognized him as a two-year old Luke, who glanced up to give his father a lopsided grin. Matt turned his head slightly, knowing who he would find there.

“You fall asleep?” Katie asked him.

“I’m asleep right now,” he said.

“What do you mean?” she asked, giving a perplexed little laugh.

“I only see you in my dreams. You’re dead, Katie.”

“Oh right, I keep forgetting about that,” she replied matter-of-factly.

“Well, you never did have a head for remembering things.”

She smiled and it washed over him in the same comforting way that it had since they first met. Her hand reached out to caress his cheek. He pressed it against her fingertips, felt their warmth.

“I can smell you. That coconut sunscreen you used to lather on,” he whispered. “It’s like you’re still here.”

“I’m here right now,” she answered.

“No,” he shook his head. “This is a memory. When we visited Los Angeles and we took Luke to Malibu. The perfect sun, no clouds in the sky, mountains in the distance. And I told you I could live here forever.”

Something clawed at the edges of his consciousness, a memory he was trying to recall. Yet he did not want to remember it. He wanted to linger in this space for a few minutes longer, reveling in the vision that stilled his restlessness.

“Understood,” Katie said. Matt looked up at her, confused by the response. Her eyes were smiling but her lips were pursed together. When she spoke again, it was not in her own voice but an emotionless baritone.

“San Clemente Island,” she said.

Matt knew that voice, even though the words were coming from his dead wife’s throat. It belonged to John.

Suddenly, the world shifted on its axis. The beach slid into the waves and the sun smashed into the Santa Monica Mountains, exploding into a thousand shiny shards before disappearing completely. Luke and Katie winked out of Matt’s vision, leaving him surrounded by a dark night sky.

Blackness.

Matt felt his breath steadying and knew that he was back in the real world. Gone was the sand beneath his hands, replaced by the slickness of car seat vinyl. He kept his eyes shut, listening for John’s voice again.

“Understood,” John repeated before making the distinctive tap to end a cell phone conversation. “Wake up, Weatherly.”

Matt gagged as the cloying scent of smelling salts passed beneath his nose. His eyes snapped open. John was facing him, a gun trained to his head. He motioned with it. “Move,” he ordered.

Matt climbed out of the car and John followed him. Looking up, Matt saw that he was at the Pacific Court, an unassuming office building located at the edge of Malibu.

“Your son was taking you in the right direction anyway. I saved the easiest one for last,” John said behind him, pressing the gun into Matt’s back.

“Smart planning,” Matt admitted.

“I am nothing if not thorough.” The gun jabbed into his spine. “Walk.”

Matt did as told. As he plodded towards the front door, his brain flashed through escape options and came up empty. He switched instead to the immediate goal of saving the lone guard that he knew would be on duty inside the lobby of the building. This was a less secure location but one that was guarded nonetheless. An idea arrived. It was not elegant but would at least give the person a fighting chance at survival.

Pushing through the glass doors, Matt recognized the guard as Leonard Belkins, a man in his fifties whom he had exchanged pleasantries with a few times over the years. Belkins looked up from the Los Angeles Times he was absorbed in and his face broke into a smile.

“Mr. Weatherly,” he started. “What can I do for-”

“Run!” Matt shouted at the top of his lungs. “Now, Leonard!”

Maybe it was the tone of Matt’s voice or the desperate look on his face. Maybe it was due to Leonard’s keen instincts. Whatever the reason was, Belkins listened.

As John emerged from behind Matt to spit bullets, Leonard was already charging through a side door. Gunfire nipped at his heels but Matt heaved a sigh of relief when he heard the clank of an outside lock being thrown into place.

John whirled to face Matt. “Stupid. Very stupid. Now you are forcing me to find that man after all this is over and torture him to death.” He shoved Matt forward with the hot barrel of his gun. “Let’s get this over with.”

A minute later, Matt found himself staring down at yet another blinking server box.

“Do it,” John growled behind him.

“I need something to puncture the box with. It needs to be rendered fully inoperable and that can only be done by severing the wires inside.”

John hesitated before saying, “A pair of wire cutters is on the wall to your left. That should work.”

“Thank you,” Matt said politely.

He took them and felt the gun press into his back again. “Do not get any ideas,” warned John.

Matt nodded, heading back to the server box. He clutched the cutters in both hands, pointing the nose downward. With a strong thrust, he plunged them into the back section of the box. The green light continued to glow steadily.

“Is there a problem?” John asked, growing impatient.

“Just need to cut these two wires in here,” Matt responded. He searched for the wire he was hoping would be there. His heart leapt as he found it. Quietly, he snipped through it and pinched it between the fingers of his right hand. With his left, he found the main power wire beside it. He clamped the cutters around it and severed it completely. The green light continued to sputter. Matt fumbled trying to pull the wires he needed out. He took the opportunity to ask the question that had been plaguing him since his odyssey began.

“Why me, John?” he asked.

There was a beat of silence before John answered. “You can thank Colin Nemec for giving me your name. But once he did, everything about you was almost too perfect for my requirements. I needed someone to be blamed if there was ever an investigation. Who better than the disgruntled former operative whose government killed his wife? Besides, I have tempted people with the usual vices before – gambling, drugs, sex. Yet there is nothing that people will blindly follow orders for more than the protection of their offspring. That is why, Weatherly.”

Matt nodded as the green light of the server wavered before going completely to black.

“Server down,” he said. “We’re done.”

“Yes,” John answered, clicking back the hammer of his gun while moving it up to jab into the back of Matt’s neck. “We are.”

Matt spun and pivoted. The dangling server wire clutched in his right hand shot a shower of hot orange sparks into John’s face while Matt quickly crouched down. John screamed as the sparks struck his cheeks and forehead, scorching the flesh. Matt used the opportunity to knock the gun out of John’s hand, jamming the flat of his left palm into the murderer’s midsection.

With a grunt of expelled breath, John was forced backwards. Matt raised his hand to strike again but John caught it mid-flight. Instantly, Matt was thrown into hand-to-hand combat that he had not faced in years. His punches were mostly deflected while John’s hits found their home on Matt’s ribs and kidneys. As John’s fist arced for another blow, Matt ducked and delivered a roundhouse kick to his adversary’s kneecap. John cried out in pain, buckling slightly.

Matt turned and ripped the server box from its moorings in the cage. He whirled and caught John squarely across the cheek with it. A pair of teeth bounced across the floor as John crumpled in a heap.

Matt knew this was his chance. He lifted the box over his head, feeling its heft in his hands. Swinging downwards in a whistling arc, it headed for the back of John’s head.

Light winked off of metal as John sprung to his feet. He batted the box away with a forearm. Matt tumbled forward from the momentum, unable to stop himself. In one horrifying instant, he saw the curved blade of a knife in John’s free hand. It was on a collision course for Matt’s sternum. He tensed in anticipation of the piercing.

A bullet whistled past his chin.

It snagged John’s attention and caused his knife to miss its mark, instead slicing through the fabric of Matt’s shirt.

“Drop the knife!” a voice called out. Matt straightened and turned to see Leonard Belkins sighting down his gun barrel for another shot.

John moved towards Matt again but another gunshot made him stop. His eyes flicked back and forth between Belkins and Weatherly, weighing his options. He expelled a breath and hurled the knife towards Belkins. The security guard ducked to avoid its path, giving John the seconds he needed to make his next move.

John sprinted towards an exit door at the far end of the room. Before Belkins could get off another shot, he was through the door, the faint echo of his rapid footsteps left in his wake.

Feeling stunned and dizzy, Matt steadied himself against the server cage for support. Belkins was suddenly there beside him, putting his arms beneath his shoulders.

“What the hell is going on, Mr. Weatherly?” Belkins asked, shaking his head in wonder.

“Can’t explain,” Matt replied, already getting back on to his feet.

“Hold on a second. You can’t go anywhere like this. I called the police. They’ll be here any-”

At the mention of police, Matt stiffened. Thoughts and faces smashed into him. Larsen. Ashley.

Luke
.

He clamped a hand on Belkins’ shoulder, nodding his thanks. “Don’t follow me. I’ve got to go.” His legs felt like they were standing on solid ground again. He headed for the exit door that John had passed through.

“Where are you going?” Belkins called after him.

“To end this,” Matt answered before disappearing through the doorway.

A
shley’s muscles seized in nervous anticipation as a car rushed past her. Like the previous three times, it simply kept going, its crimson rear lights disappearing around the bend of the Pacific Coast Highway. She glanced at her watch again. Fifteen minutes had passed since John had taken Matt away in the police car. She had promised herself that she would wait a full twenty minutes to make sure that he was not coming back but the thought of Luke sitting alone in the Porsche across the road made her discard the plan.

When the police car had first approached, Ashley had been on the bluff above the beach, looking down at Matt and Luke. The lights called her attention and, thinking quickly, she had dashed to a dense copse of tall reedy plants at the opposite side of the road. John had not bothered to spend much time looking for Ashley, instead standing perfectly still while he waited for the Weatherlys to make their way up from the beach below. She had witnessed the entire exchange – Luke’s injection, Matt’s harsh beating, followed by the police car peeling away in a cloud of road dust.

Rising now from the prickly shrubs that were her hiding place, Ashley took two quick looks down both directions of the highway, and then ran across the darkened lanes. Approaching from the driver side, she saw Luke’s tousled hair leaning against the dashboard. Fearing the worst, she yanked open the door.

“Luke!” she cried, fearing that he was hurt.

The boy looked up, startled. He shrank back until realizing who it was that yelled his name.

Ashley realized that the only pain Luke was suffering from now was emotional. Tears streaked his cheeks and his lower lip quivered. “My dad,” he croaked.

Silently, Ashley opened her arms and Luke rushed into them. He clamped around her waist, burying his face in her shirt. Sobs shook his tiny frame as Ashley stroked his hair. “It’s not your fault, Luke,” she whispered soothingly. “You’re safe now.” She meant it. This poor boy had been through more than anyone, adult or child, deserved to be put through in one night. The memories alone would haunt him for a lifetime, if her own memory was any indication.

“What do we do now?” he asked her, rousing her from her thoughts.