Out of the Storm (28 page)

Her eyes opened slowly—the same velvet-brown he saw in his dreams. Her face took on a contented look as she recognized him.

“Hi.” She squinted, her lips forming a weak smile as her eyes washed over his face.

“Hi,” he whispered back.

“I’m so sorry,” she managed, the hint of a tear forming as she studied him. “About everything.”

“Not your fault.”

Ashley licked her lips. Eric quickly searched the nightstand and found the water pitcher. He poured half a cup. He let go of her hand and directed the cup carefully to her mouth after placing a straw in it.

He stroked her tousled dark hair. It could be unruly. Tonight it looked in a state of chaos. But to Eric she looked wonderful. A smile crossed his lips as she reached out for his hand again.

“You’re all right.” His throat tightened. “That’s all I care about.”

“Kylie?” she asked hoarsely, eyebrows arched.

“She’s fine. Lu brought her here earlier, but you were sleeping.” He smiled. “I’ll bring her by tomorrow if you’re all right.”

He put her hand on the cover sheet and turned to get a chair.

“No! Don’t leave,” she pleaded in a scratchy voice as she found the tray with her cup. “
Please.”

“I won’t,” he promised and pulled his chair close enough so he could hold her hand. He took a deep breath inhaling a trace of the intoxicating fragrance that surrounded her.

She sighed gently and closed her eyes again.

All the security? What didn’t he know? If Ashley was in this much danger, he wasn’t going to leave her. She’d become more than an important part of his life. She was his life. Eric would never let anything happen to her. But something wasn’t right. Eric couldn’t put his finger on it. The guards, the agents, his brother? What was he missing?

Ashley dropped into a light sleep, snoring softly. He let his eyes close for just a minute. Eric needed sleep. Needed it badly. In the field fatigue was expected—SOP. It went with the job. Back in the world it was different. He tried, fought against it but his eyelids refused to stay open. Eric couldn’t…give…in…

He had no idea how long he slept, but it was filled with strange, frightening images. Ashley cried out. Eric sat bolt upright.

“No,” she mumbled, fighting with her sheets as she threw the top one off. “Too dangerous…” She continued her rant, eyes staring at some invisible specter. She collapsed on her pillow again, closing her eyes for a minute.

Suddenly she rose again. He’d seen it before in men with severe concussions or PTSD. Eric pressed the call button. “Eric...danger.” She fought, yanking at the IVs just as the first nurse appeared. “Can’t stay…have to get away…
to leave!”
she yelled.

Get away?
Leave?
Eric’s mouth went dry as he watched the nurse inject something into her IV drip. He stared, terrified at the thought she might run away—stop being part of his life.

Suddenly he understood the intense security surrounding Ashley. She was the lynch-pin, the vital cog or...what? He didn’t want to think about the suspicion that lurked in the back of his mind. Jack had assured Eric she was no prisoner. Had he lied? And if so, why? What were these people really after? What was so important, so damning she had to be protected like the crown jewels?

The sedative had taken effect. Ashley rested quietly again.

Eric pulled out his cell and found the number he wanted. He hit dial.

“Hi,” Carson said quietly.

“We need to talk.” Eric stood and headed for the door.

“Okay,” the man they called the Admiral agreed. “There’s a place just off…”

He gave Eric directions to a small, out-of-the-way coffee shop.

“Got it. See you in twenty minutes.” Eric took two steps toward the bed and kissed Ashley on the lips gently. He backed away and watched her for a long moment. “God as my witness, I will never let anything happen to you,” he said as his throat grew tight. He squeezed her hand.

“Love you…” She moaned softly and grew an innocent smile in her sleep.

I love you too
, Eric mouthed the words as he threw open the door, pushed past Jack and the guard, and headed toward the elevator without another word.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Eric sat in his Jeep in the hospital parking lot. The car with the plainclothes officers huddled inconspicuously behind the large maple tree.

Eric couldn’t spot the tail behind him as he sped down Route 28 toward the rendezvous. He knew the place. Traffic had evaporated. But that was Cape Cod. Despite being one of the prime vacation getaways in the East, Eric always marveled at the fact that they rolled the sidewalks up at nine p.m. The meeting spot was a mile down the street from Lu’s house. Good place for quiet conversation. Also a good place for an ambush but that made no sense. If they’d wanted to waste him they had ample opportunity. No, he’d calculated that he must have some integral role in this complex scenario.

On the way he gave Louise another quick call.

“Hi. Everything okay with you and Kylie?” he asked.

“Yep. We’re all snuggled in with our own private police force.” Eric wasn’t sure. Was she annoyed or pleased?

“Good. Stay that way,” Eric ordered. “Do what they say and try to stay cool!”

Right,
he thought.

Eric arrived at the coffee shop and parked next to a utilitarian Dodge pickup. He got out and scanned the parking lot and the dimly lit interior. He walked toward the door and through it. Four customers sat in booths or at the counter. Since the placard said that closing time was ten p.m. and it was five past Eric assumed they were Carson’s people.

Carson nodded casually and showed what passed for a smile as he motioned for Eric to join him. The fact that he sat in the center of the small shop reinforced Eric’s belief that the “customers” belonged to the Admiral.

Eric studied the small interior. It had the feel of one of those film noir scenes—poorly lit, ceiling fan thumping overhead, and everyone apparently minding their own business. Despite the noisy rattle of the overhead AC unit and the few inhabitants, it held a damp, musty feel. He quickly scanned the others and slid in across from the older man.

“Admiral,” he said with an even tone.

A faint smile crossed Carson’s thin lips. “Who gave you that title? Jack?”

Eric nodded. “Yep,” he managed before a rotund young waitress approached them. She was working at chewing her gum and had a cherubic face. Eric wondered if she was part of the cast or had been recruited to give the place a semblance of normality.

“Anything else?” she asked in a soft Midwestern drawl that confirmed she was more than part of scenery.

“Another black coffee for me and…you?” he looked at Eric.

“A Pepsi if you have it?”

The girl nodded and gave him a flirtatious smile as she turned and headed toward the counter adding a special sway to her generous hips as she left. Eric knew it was window dressing though why Carson and company were role playing he had no idea.

“How’s Ashley?” Carson asked with a look of concern.

“Okay,” Eric said quietly as he studied the older man. “Let’s skip the pleasantries and get to the point? Someone is stalking her. Trying to scare the hell out of her and me, too, I guess. They’ve killed at least two people, probably more if you include the guys across the river. What does she know that would put her at the center of this whirlpool?”

“Nothing,” the older man said casually.

Eric pushed back in the booth and stared. “What the hell do you mean, nothing?”

“Just what I said. Nothing,” Carson repeated. A half-smile teased his thin lips again.

Eric watched him as a cold fear swept over him. So that was it. What had his father always told him? Everything is perception, appearance. Like the pretty waitress, Ashley was window dressing. Only the waitress wasn’t lying in the Cape Cod hospital scared out of her wits.

“So all the smoke and mirrors are just that—smoke and mirrors?”

Carson nodded.

“Does she know that?”

The older man shook his head. “Nope. Wouldn’t work if she did.” Carson looked around casually. “Ashley thinks she’s discovered a clue to the next 9/11.”

So that was it. Ashley and by extension Kylie were decoys. Pawns in a game of cat and mouse. And Carson, the Admiral, or whatever the hell he was called was standing by with dozens of agents just waiting for the bad guys to pounce—make a move. Then they’d go into action. If Ashley was caught in the crossfire, tough luck.

“You son of a bitch,” Eric whispered through tight lips. He started to reach across the table. The “customers” who remained stood. They were next to him in a split second.

“Hold on, son. I know what you’re thinking, but I’m not the cold-hearted bastard you think I am.”

Eric sighed deeply and sat back in his seat as he raised his arms in a gesture of surrender. He was outmatched.

Carson motioned the men away and leaned toward Eric. “You don’t know what we’re dealing with here. You think I wanted to put that innocent young woman and her daughter in harm’s way?” He grabbed Eric by the forearm. “You know what real loss is. Combat deaths, your wife. I know it too, Eric.” He looked around and lowered his voice. “I can’t even count the good men and women I’ve lost.” His gray eyes found Eric’s. “But I can remember every face. And I had a daughter at Cantor-Fitzgerald on 9/11. Ring any bells?” Carson released Eric’s arm. He slumped in his seat.

A large lump formed in his throat. “Sorry, Admiral.”

“I want to put an end to terrorism. Once and for all. Be done with it. But what’s happening now…the situation we’re dealing is worse by a factor of ten.”

“Worse?” Eric was confused. “How so?”

“After 9/11 everyone went scalp hunting. Wanted somebody to blame. In the end we discovered that like most everything in life, it was a series of mistakes, oversights, and coincidences. A lot of fingers got pointed. Some higher-ups got whitewashed, others got fired.”

Eric nodded. “Okay, so…?”

“Have you ever heard of Firestorm?”

“Yeah,” Eric answered. “Ashley mentioned it. It’s the reason everyone’s chasing her.”

“Yep.” Carson nodded. “The other thing that happens when there’s a terrible tragedy like 9/11 is you’ll usually find some folks who think they know what’s best for the rest of us. They’re smarter and better than the system.”

Eric nodded back. “Some geniuses who’ve figured out how to protect the world and prevent the next crisis?”

“You got it.” Carson sighed and closed the space between them again. “But the guys we’re after have taken that to a whole new level. They have a new technology and intend to use it to show us how vulnerable we are.”

“Shit.” Eric felt cold fear creep into his body as he looked into Carson’s face. “How?” he asked.

“They’re going to scare us straight—show us how badly we need their leadership and guidance by blowing up thirteen small towns during their
Fourth of July celebrations.”

Eric was hearing but not believing this. It was straight out of Ludlum or Lee Child. “What?” he whispered incredulously.

“We’re still not sure what their real goal is. Ralph infiltrated the mid-level operation. Anarchy, martial law, a military coup? They’re all possibilities. We only know they’re a powerful cabal of highly placed officers from all the service branches. They think we need their leadership because we’re all such stupid shits. But then every egomaniac and fanatic I ever met thinks that way.”

“What does this have to do with Ashley?”

Carson sat back and wore a reflective look. When he spoke he wore a soft smile. “Ashley is a genius of sorts. You could call her a savant. You know, like the five-year-old who can play Rachmaninoff’s piano concertos or beat the world chess champion. But her talent is much more practical. She’s a genius with technology—computers and the Internet to be specific.”

“I knew she was good, but I didn’t know she was that good.”

“Good?” The older man chuckled. “She’s beyond good, Eric. If there was a competition for hacking she could be the world champion.”

“Then why was she still living with Ralph? Why isn’t she working for you or the CIA or Microsoft making six figures a year and driving a Lexus?” Eric asked.

Carson sighed deeply. “She attended Norfolk State University. Full scholarship to the College of Science, Engineering, and Technology. In her junior year she was working the graveyard shift in the data center. Stupid, boring shit she could have done in her sleep. There was a problem. They said she was changing student grades for money.”

Eric shrugged as he watched Carson. Had his angel lost her halo? He swallowed. “Did she?” he asked.

“If she had they’d never have caught her. Ashley’s too good.” He shook his head disdainfully. “But she lost her scholarship and it went on her record. Not many places want to hire someone who’s been thrown out of college for cheating at that level. Poor kid couldn’t even get a job as a bank teller after that.”

“All right, so what does all this have to do with what’s happening now?” Eric asked.

“Here’s the bottom line. The lunatics behind Firestorm know she hacked into their secure data base. She did it in a misguided attempt to help Ralph. They have no idea what she saw or downloaded. We know most of the supporting cast of Firestorm but there are three men at the top who run the operation. Ralph was able to worm in far enough to get that. Those men are terrified she might have information or pictures that could identify them.”

So that was it. It was what Eric had been afraid of, but it made perfect sense…if you didn’t care what happened to the girls. He found Carson’s eyes and fixed on them. They had that cold, impassive look. The ceiling fan rattled, breaking the tense silence as the two watched each other.

“So, you’re using her as bait. Hoping that the big fish come after Ashley.” He shook his head. “And you’ve set up this whole charade, even sending them to me hoping to draw them into the open?”