PMadriani 12.5 - The Second Man (10 page)

 

Chapter 21

H
ENLEY WAS
PARKED
in one of the spaces out in front of the Hacienda. It was just after 11:00
P.M.
He was sitting in the small blue sedan with federal plates and signs on the doors that marked him as a government gofer. The car was a rolling piece of crap operated by the GSA.

But then Henley wasn't a field agent. He didn't rate a high-­end rental car. He was considered a bean counter and got about as much respect as an auditor with the IRS. It was little wonder they raked every taxpayer over the coals. And Henley couldn't even do that. All he could do was try to blow the whistle on Defense Department contractors, all of whom had close, well-­moneyed friends in Congress.

He was hoping to get off the base and back home to Virginia the next day. He had put enough heat on the ­people from Stanford and the contractor that he was confident they would be moving operations over to Moffitt at Sunnyvale soon.

He was talking on his cell phone with his driver's side window rolled down. It was unseasonably warm, but Henley was just minutes from his room and a cool shower. He was talking with one of his supervisors back at Langley, the boss on the night crew. They were wrapping up business, coming current on the dirt of the day, a lot of numbers with Henley genuflecting. He was hoping to leapfrog perhaps two GS ratings with his next promotion. A little browning of the nose never hurt.

“I guess that's about it.” He was about to hang up when he said: “Oh, by the way, one more thing. There was a guy who dropped by here today, said he was with the SEALS, attached to DEVGRU. His name is Cameron Akers. I never met him before, but I've heard of him. Rumor is he claims to have made his bones at Abbottabad. Shot the man. Of course, we all know better.” Henley liked to walk the talk. It made him feel as if he were part of the clan, ready to put on a tux and go screw Moneypenny at a moment's notice.

“The problem is, I don't know exactly what he was doing here. He didn't seem to have any real business. He showed up with some skirt on his arm. Probably trying to impress her. But here's the deal. Somewhere, I saw our man Akers musta taken a war wound or something.”

As he was talking, a large, dark vehicle pulled into the parking space next to him on his left. With his window down and the guy's motor running, Henley could barely hear his boss at the other end of the line.

“What's the significance of all this?” said the boss.

The guy might have been a GS-­15, but he was dense.

“Word is Akers was discharged for medical cause. If so, what's he doing here showing up on a classified project? You might want to check it out. Ordinarily, I wouldn't take a second look,” said Henley, “but being as the Joint Chiefs and the Director are on the warpath trying to tighten security, I thought I better bring it to your attention. You know,” said Henley, “before the FBI comes and tells you about it.” He almost had to shout to be heard above the sound of the engine parked right next to him. Henley looked over at the other car, his expression filled with irritation. The entire parking lot was empty, and this asshole had to park on top of him. He was about to roll up his window when the engine from the car next to him shut down. He looked over but couldn't see the prick behind the wheel.

“You can't fix it if you don't know about it,” said Henley. Protecting the boss was always the best way to a quick promotion. He would have asked that their telephone conversation be recorded and transcribed and that a copy be placed in his personnel file. But Henley figured since he was calling in through the Langley network, there were at least eighty ­people already listening in with digital-­recording and transcription devices. By morning, his words would probably be all over WikiLeaks. It was the reason no one could keep secrets anymore.

“You might want to check it out and get back to me when you can. Talk to you tomorrow.” Henley hung up.

The headlights went out on the car next to him. He looked over, but given the height of the vehicle and the fact that its windows were smoked, he couldn't see anyone inside. When he tried to open his door, he couldn't. The other car had him jammed in. “Damn it!”

He was forced to crawl across the front seat of the small sedan, open the passenger door and climb out headfirst. When he got there, Henley's eyes were focused down at the pavement less than two feet away. He looked a bit mystified. He wondered who the hell had spread the plastic poncho on the ground directly underneath the open car door, and more to the point, why?

 

Chapter 22

J
OSEL
YN CAME TO
in the dark bedroom. She was sprawled on her back across the bed. Her head throbbed. She ripped the cloth away from her face, snapping one of the rubber bands as she went. The cloth was dry. The ether had evaporated. She was nauseous, about to give up the tea and perhaps little pieces of apple from her earlier snack. Akers had drugged her with chloroform, and now it was making her sick. The question was where was he? The question was in the back of her mind as she retched.

She planted her hands on the bed and tried to stop the room from spinning. When it finally did, she took a deep breath and struggled to sit. Slowly, she dragged her legs over the side of the bed until they hit the floor. To Joselyn they sounded like two ten-­pound flatirons.

She sat there for several seconds before she tried to stand. Joselyn knew that any second, Akers might charge into the room and douse her once more with the foul-­smelling cloth. As she stood up, she stumbled forward, propelled by the forward cant of her upper body until she hit the wall several feet away. She thought that if Akers hadn't heard that, her head hitting the solid wall, he must be dead. Somehow, she knew he wasn't. She couldn't be that lucky. She was getting to know the man, and it was not a pleasant experience. She used the wall to hold herself up, both hands planted firmly against the flat surface. She looked out through the open bedroom door into the darkness beyond, the black void that was the living room.

Joselyn wondered how long she had been out and whether Akers was out there in the dark, waiting for her, toying with her like an alley cat with a mouse. That was his style.

Even if he was there, Joselyn knew she had no choice. She had to get down, out of the tower, or at least try. She stumbled out into the black void, dragging her listless legs and dead feet. Under the door in the distance, she could see the same sliver of bright light leading to the hallway outside, and beyond that, the stairs down to the lobby.

Joselyn made her way across the living room, lurching from one piece of furniture to the next until she ran into the back of the couch. She used it to steady herself and finally made it to the door.

She turned the handle, threw the door open, and instantly found herself bathed in the blinding light from the overhead fixtures out in the hall. She saw the top of the stairs just a short distance away. Best of all, there was no sign of Akers.

As she moved forward, the pulse in her head pounded. Breath came in waves of near hyperventilation until she felt as if she might pass out. She had to keep going. She fought the fight, made it to the stairs, grabbed the railing, and started down.

When she finally got to the bottom, the ground level near the lobby, it seemed a miracle that she hadn't fallen. Her hopes crested and fell. The lobby was abandoned, the lights dimmed. There was no sign of the clerk at the desk. Perhaps they closed down for the night. Joselyn had no idea. Her eyes gravitated toward the couch against the wall. She wanted to sit, or better yet, lie down. But she knew if she did, she might never get up. The thought entered her mind that maybe the thing to do was to find someplace to hide, to huddle down where he couldn't find her, where she could sleep and recover her senses, then find help. But where?

She moved slowly toward the door, the entrance to the Hacienda. Joselyn knew she didn't want to step outside until she first looked to make sure that the Escalade wasn't parked there. Maybe he'd gone, taken the car, and disappeared? It was possible. With him, anything was possible. He was a nutcase. The thought of being abandoned by him certainly didn't fill her with a sense of loss. At the moment, the only picture she ever wanted to see of him in the future was on a wanted poster.

As she looked out through the front door, she saw only one car parked in front. It was a small sedan. The trunk was open. She could see the shadow of someone moving around near the rear of the vehicle just behind the open door to the trunk. It was the only living soul in sight.

Joselyn stepped out the door and started walking toward the car. As she drew closer she recognized it. She saw the federal government plate on the front, the light blue paint job. Then as she moved to the right she saw the sign on the driver's door
FOR OFFI
CIAL USE ONLY
. It was the car they'd seen at the airfield, the one Henley was driving, the only man Akers seemed to be afraid of. And there he was at the back of the car. Probably getting his luggage. Joselyn started to move faster. She picked up her feet and began to run. She reached the back of the car, turned, and smiled at the man standing there.

Before she realized what was happening, Akers put his hand over Joselyn's mouth to keep her from screaming. Her eyes took in the open trunk, the plastic, tarp-­bound bundle inside. The bloody head of the man, Henley, under the flap of one corner.

Akers reached into the open trunk, doused another piece of cloth. Seconds later, the same familiar, sickening smell, the cloying odor of chloroform rose and swept over her one more time, carrying Joselyn away like a mountainous ocean wave.

 

Chapter 23

A
KERS TOSSED
J
OSELYN
into the backseat of the small sedan and slammed the door. He figured that he would do the final honors later. There was no need to tie her up. She was a rag doll, out cold for the second time, down for the count.

Ever since she took off her pretty clothes and tried to make for the door of the suite, Akers had been considering his options. At first he felt discouraged. He had wasted so much time and effort to make it work that, when she tried to poison him, naturally he was disappointed. He thought they really had a chance to make it. But she wasn't trying. She was an ice queen and high maintenance, way too much work.

So now he had two bodies to get rid of. The problem was transportation, how to move them and where to dump them? He would have preferred somewhere off base. There were millions of acres of open land and back roads in the area, places where no one would probably ever find them. The problem was, he had no way to deliver the goods.

He couldn't put the bodies in the back of the Escalade because there was no trunk. The back windows were smoked. It was difficult to see in, unless they stopped him at the guardhouse on his way out and checked. They might make him open up the back. This wasn't likely, but Akers couldn't be sure. And he didn't want to take the chance.

Henley's small blue sedan had a trunk, but Akers was sure to be challenged if he tried to drive it through the checkpoint and leave. The MPs were certain to have recorded the license plate and taken down Henley's information when he drove on post. They would have recorded his driver's license and perhaps his agency ID. Akers couldn't use either. If the guards took even a casual look at the picture on Henley's ID, there wasn't a hope in hell that Akers could pass for him.

The best he could do was to dump both bodies into the trunk of Henley's sedan, drive it to a secluded location somewhere on the base, and try to hide it. Put some brush over it or find a ravine where it couldn't be seen. He didn't want to burn it because they'd see the smoke for miles. With any luck, the military wouldn't find it for at least several days, maybe a week. By that time, he'd be long gone.

This was the plan for tonight's festivities. A ten-­ or fifteen-­mile drive up one of the more secluded roads, with the headlights out, followed by a vigorous run back. If he moved, he'd be back at the Hacienda by early morning. He could take a shower, grab the Escalade, load her up, and be gone before 10:00
A.M.

But before he could do anything, he had one more chore to complete. He had to gather up the wench's personal items, her clothes, the overnight bag, and anything else she left upstairs. He wanted to dump them along with the bodies in the trunk of the car.

Akers opened the back door, looked at her one more time, lifted one eyelid, and figured she was good for at least another forty minutes. By then, it wouldn't matter. She would be taking up residence in the trunk with Henley, getting ready to cook under the hot sun somewhere out in the wilds.

Akers closed the car door, locked it, and headed at a trot back to the room to grab her stuff.

 

Chapter 24

B
Y THE TIME
Herman and I rocket north on 101 past Camp Roberts, I've got the pedal to the metal doing eighty-­five, not even bothering to check the rearview mirror any longer. If the Highway Patrol stops me now, I'm going to ask them to join us. We are told by authorities in San Diego that there's a nationwide BOLO (Be On The Look-­out) for Cameron Akers, along with a description and warning that he is believed to be armed and dangerous.

Herman has made several attempts to call the Hacienda, but all he got was a recording and the message that the desk is closed for the night. Harry has a new friend, some shrink from the Navy who is preparing the ground for us with the military. As of fifteen minutes ago, Naval authorities from San Diego called ahead to Hunter Liggett so that the military police on base know what's happening.

An hour ago, we were told that they've checked their daily roster of visitors on base and that they showed no record of Akers having come on post. Then ten minutes ago they called back and said they had reason to believe that he might have entered the post under an alias, using a phony driver's license. One of their sergeants, an MP, remembered questioning a man near the airfield early this morning. He couldn't remember the name, but the man handed him a Navy SEAL ID showing that he was attached to DEVGRU. The description given fits Akers, that and the fact that there was a woman with him. I had Herman ask if there was a description for the woman. The sergeant said he didn't see her up close, but his partner who did, told him she was a “looker,” a little bit older, but in his words, “a stone-­cold fox.”

B
Y THE TIME
we reach the fort, there is a veritable task force forming a short distance down the road, inside the perimeter fence. I can see the emergency lights flashing from military vehicles in two or three directions. A few of the Humvees have mounted machine guns on the back. And most of the MPs appear to be packing carbines, mostly M-­16s.

As we pull up to the gate, it appears that they're on the lookout for us. As soon as I roll down my window, a young lieutenant asks for my name. When I give it to him, he tells me to pull over and park the car in a reserved area. As Herman and I get out and lock up, another officer, this one in desert fatigues with captain's bars on his shoulders and packing heat on his side, crosses the road with an enlisted man, who is carrying two large boxes.

The officer approaches, and says: “Are you Mr. Madriani?”

“Yes.”

“What can you tell us about the woman? Is she dangerous?”

“No! She doesn't have any idea what's going on. We believe she may have been lured up here believing he could help with some research. Items relating to her work.”

“What kind of work?”

“Can we talk about that later? If she's with Akers, and she's who I think she is, she's in danger herself.”

“How well do you know her?”

“Intimately,” I tell him. “We live together.”

“Oh,” he says. “No one told us that. Do you know Akers?”

“Not well. I only met him once for a few hours, professionally and socially. He seemed somewhat erratic. But from everything I'm hearing now, he's dangerous as hell.”

He nods. “She may be in trouble, but we can't be sure,” he says.

“Who?”

“The woman. We've only had surveillance on them for about five minutes.”

“Then you know where they are?”

“Yes. He's upstairs in a room at the Hacienda. She's in the backseat of a car parked in the lot out in front. She appears to be sitting upright, and every once in a while, she lies down. We don't know whether she's trying to conceal herself, whether she's armed, or whether she's under some kind of restraint that we can't see.”

“If it's Joselyn, you should move in and get her out of there now.”

“Given his background, there's a chance the car could be booby-­trapped,” he says.

“You mean a bomb?”

He nods. “In which case, she's a hostage.”

“If I can get close enough to take a look, I can identify her. Then, at least, if it's her, you'll know who you're dealing with.”

“Good!” he says. He grabs one of the boxes placed on the ground by the enlisted man. He lifts the lid and takes out a black Kevlar vest. “Here. Put this on!” He hands the other one to Herman. Seconds later, the officer, Herman, and I are packed into a Humvee with the driver and a guard, racing north up the road to a surveillance point where, I am told, I can get a look at the woman though a powerful spotting scope, clear enough that I should be able to identify her.