Rise of the Beast: A Novel (The Patmos Conspiracy Book 1) (10 page)

22

Tikrit, Iraq
June 25, 2003

THE MEN DROPPED ON CABLES from the UH-60 Black Hawk helicopter at dusk. The shooting started before they hit the ground.

Even as he dropped and rolled behind a stony outcrop, Burke’s mind whirled. If they knew we were coming, they would have shot down the Black Hawk. That weapon of death was a much bigger prize for Saddam’s resistance forces than the bodies of five Rangers.

Burke poked his head above the rocks to assess how bad the quagmire he had landed in was. The rocks in front of him exploded with gunfire. Bad.

He was twenty years old and certain he was dead. He saw all four of his assault team members dead or dying where they landed. A platoon of fifteen enemy combatants was fanned out in an approach formation, less than a hundred yards from where he was crouched. One football field separated him and death.

Burke thought of his parents and the little church he grew up in. This was the moment you prayed. You asked God to forgive you and make sure you were ready to meet your Maker. Even an atheist covered his bases. But his mind continued to race.

If they knew we were coming, they would have blasted us out of the air with Russian-made SA-21 Growlers. But they knew we were coming—and they didn’t. Something was seriously amiss.

Burke couldn’t say the prayer. If everything he had been taught was correct, he was accepting eternity in hell. But he was already there. He was filled with a raging hatred that wasn’t a good starting point for talking to God.

Burke rolled to his left and fired his M4 at the left flank. Two men dropped, bright red wounds on their chests. He immediately rolled to the right and dropped three men on the left flank. Five men down. Ten to go. Not good odds now that they knew he was alive and returning fire. He wanted another look to see what was happening, but already knew they were moving fast to outflank him.

Their approach had been careless. They weren’t expecting opposition.

He looked behind him at a small drop and made a simple tactical decision. Run into the desert.

But he knew he had to do something first. Ranger honor said you left no man behind. The men who fought together outside the fence knew that was not precisely correct. You didn’t leave a live man behind to be tortured. He knew his mates would do the same kindness for him. He popped his head out and finished off the only teammate who was still moving. He had many regrets in life, but this act of mercy wasn’t one of them.

Then Burke sprinted a zigzagging pattern the first hundred yards from the rock cropping while bullets sprayed behind and beside him. When the sounds of Kalashnikovs died down, he settled into a steady six-minute mile pace.

Why aren’t they chasing you? He knew the answer. They assumed he was good as dead—and that’s what they had been prepped and paid to do. Keep running and live to face another day.

Where would he end up? He had no idea. He knew getting as far away from the platoon HQ and Colonel Grayson was priority number one.

Sometimes you can’t go home.

New York City
The Present

“GET FIVE MEN TO TEETERBORO. If she’s on his plane, we jack the car and pull her out now. If she’s not on the plane, I want to know where the car goes. The operation ends tonight.”

He hung up the second the man grunted confirmation. His next call was to Henri.

“Yes, boss?” the Frenchman answered sleepily.

“Time to move offices, Henri. Keep the line open to Pauline and to me, but clean everything else up and switch locations. Tonight, if possible.”

“What’s happened boss? Is Pauline okay?”

Burke didn’t respond.

“Sorry boss. I know better. No questions. I’ll shut things down in Luxemburg. I’ll head to Brussels and await word.”

“Don’t tell me where you’re going,” Burke responded curtly, disconnecting the call.

Henri looked at the phone dourly. He hated what he was about to do. He liked Burke. They had gotten in and out of some tough jams together. Burke was a good guy. He was loyal in a world of treachery. But someone offered to pay him more to keep him abreast of Burke’s plans and movements. A lot more. Henri hit the preassigned number for a call to Arlington, Virginia.

BURKE WAS ANGRY. WHY was Henri being so sloppy? Burke himself was already breaking every security protocol and didn’t need more breaches in his leaking ship. He could feel the water rising.

Burke looked at himself in the mirror. Jeans. White shirt. Simple black cashmere jacket. There was a Sig Sauer holstered at the small of his back. He wasn’t prepared, but what he had on and what he packed was good enough for where he was heading.

It would have to be or more people close to him were going to die.

23

The Ozark National Forest

THE TEMPERATURE WAS DROPPING. PAULINE’S shoulder alternated between numbness and throbbing agony. She didn’t know how far she had run. Maybe ten miles. She had no clue what direction she was heading or how close to help she was. She had no phone, no identification, no food, no medical supplies, no outer clothing, and no cash. Her running gear was top of the line, but it wasn’t made to keep her warm overnight while exposed to the elements.

If I go to sleep out here, there’s a good chance I won’t wake up. They will have won.

She was walking now. Stumbling was a better description.

What was she going to do? She had no way to contact Burke. She never saw the numbers for him or the bakery she called. It was all programmed in her phone. She had a good memory but there was nothing to remember. A blank screen was all that appeared on her phone when she called. She had no contact information for her handler. Burke said it was safer that way.

I’m sure you are right. But safer for who, Burke?

She knew Jules would be leading a search for her. She still couldn’t believe she had escaped him. The trail was an upward winding climb, surrounded by dense forest. Pauline had never considered herself to be
an environmentalist, but maybe she would become one. It was the trees and ground foliage that had saved her life after all.

I escaped certain death but how do I stay alive to celebrate it?

Even if she found an egress from the forest and wandered onto a road at the very moment a police car was driving by, that would still be a death sentence. She didn’t know the details of how they did it, but she knew the big picture of how Alexander and his minions worked. They were connected. They knew things—whatever things they wanted to know. Their ears were to the ground right now. They would know when she surfaced on the grid of civilization.

Why did the universe let me survive only to kill me?

She had to stop. She couldn’t take another step. Her legs were made of rubber. She sank to her knees. She looked up at the stars. They were brilliant in the cold, almost frosty air. Her last picture of the world would be a beautiful one, she thought. Her head lowered and she began to cry though no tears fell. She was so tired. Her head was swimming. Stay upright. Her body ignored the command. She toppled over, on the edge of passing out.

She heard footsteps on the trail behind her. She was too weary to open her eyes but the footsteps stopped and she knew someone was standing over her. Had Jules finally caught her? Could he make up that much ground?

She curled protectively into the fetal position.

Suddenly there were two hands reaching underneath her. Then she heard a grunt as a large man straightened up with her cradled in his arms.

I wonder what Burke’s first name is, Pauline wondered as she passed out.

24

New York City

PATRICK WHEELER JUMPED THE OILY puddle onto the curb as a cab cut the corner tight, splashing a sheet of filthy water that drenched his pants, socks, and shoes from the knees down.

Jerk!

Wheeler wasn’t sure the driver steering the hurtling missile even saw him.

Wind cut through his lightweight jacket. Snow in October? Not quite. The glistening mist that fell through the city lights of the Meatpacking District was only a couple of degrees warmer than fullblown snowflakes. Close enough. The temperature had to have dropped to the thirties. Where was the global warming that the world had been promised since he was a kid? What was the deal with this polar vortex?

Why didn’t I wear my heavy coat?

He had a four-block east-west walk to his apartment from the subway station on Canal Street. Four long blocks. It could be worse.

And where was the big career he was supposed to have? He was only twenty-seven, but that was still too old to be sharing an undersized apartment in Manhattan with two roommates. Even if the Meatpacking District was the place to live. His ten by eight bedroom with no window
was bad enough, but the apartment had only one bathroom. Sharing a bathroom with two other guys was enough to make long hours as a serf in the empire of KPMG seem preferable to being home. The less time in the suffocating little apartment, the better. There was a reason he went out for a couple drinks almost every night.

He was living in a great part of town and the happening spot to be for his age. In exchange, all he had to surrender was his privacy, dignity, and reasonable access to a shower and toilet.

He did well with his accounting degree from the University of Tennessee in Knoxville. He couldn’t wait to finally leave the state. New York, Chicago, San Francisco, and Houston were his preferred destinations. He got his top pick. The Manhattan office.

But he couldn’t have graduated at a worse time. The economy was in the dumps. He got the first job easy enough. He had frat brothers who hadn’t landed anything for a year or two. But he had expected a lot more. His starting salary was sixty-four thousand dollars, which might have sounded like a lot in his hometown of Winchester, Tennessee, but didn’t go far in New York City. He spent two years doing sixty-hour workweeks to pay his dues, but all he had was a small stepping-stone promotion and a raise of ten percent. So he quit KPMG to get an MBA at New York University and improve his marketability. Two years later, the economy was still in recovery. Recovery? Right. The tailspin had hit bottom. So after a couple dozen job interviews—including one with the FBI, which would not be a lucrative a career, but still sounded pretty good to his southern fried patriotism, he hired back with KPMG, just one small stepping stone above square one, with another fifty grand in student loans.

At least he was out of audit and in the consulting division. His next promotion would be a good one.

Keep telling yourself that.

He was tired of waiting.

Time to go back to Knoxville? Give Nashville a try? Something’s gotta give.

He keyed himself into the small Spartan lobby of his building, walked past the single elevator, and hoofed it up ten flights of stairs, two steps at a time. He wasn’t fat, but he had put on fifteen pounds in the past four years and wasn’t exactly thin anymore. He had to start getting more exercise. And start drinking less. Booze was a major reason some of his Sigma Nu brothers had taken longer to enter the workforce.

He passed five doors, fumbled to get his key in the deadbolt, turned the lock, and entered the small common room of his apartment. He stopped in the threshold and stared. Two middle-aged men in dark blue suits were sitting on the couch, looking as if they owned the place. Maybe they did.

“Patrick Wheeler?” one asked as he stood.

“Who is asking?” Patrick asked back, not feeling as confident as he hoped he sounded.

The two men were on their feet and both pulled leather holders from pockets and flipped back the front flaps to reveal shiny badges that said FBI just as clear as day.

I filed my taxes on the simple form. I don’t have a car so there isn’t a drawer filled with tickets. I haven’t had sex with anyone underage because I haven’t had sex in months. I pay my student loans on time. I have health insurance. What does the FBI want with me?

“I’m agent Greene and this agent Rasmussen,” the man closest to him said.

“Okay.”

An awkward pause.

“Uh, what do you need from me?”

“We need a couple hours of your time,” Greene said.

“And you came by my apartment to tell me that?”

“Yes, we did.”

“I have a phone.”

Neither man responded. There was another awkward pause. Wheeler pulled out his iPhone and hit the calendar icon.

“When were you thinking? I’m at client offices all week.”

“We need to meet with you right now,” Greene said.

“Seriously? Now?”

The two large men didn’t feel the need to answer.

“This is crazy,” Wheeler said. “You can’t expect me to drop everything and just go with you.”

“That’s exactly what we expect and that’s exactly what’s going to happen, Patrick,” Greene said. “Let’s stop wasting time. It is time to roll.”

“It’s nine o’clock,” Wheeler protested. “I just got off work. I have an early start tomorrow.”

“I apologize for the inconvenience, Patrick, but we need you now. I should have mentioned, you will be compensated for your time.”

“Is this a job interview?” Wheeler asked. “I did put in an app with the FBI but never got a call back.”

“I’m not authorized to tell you the exact nature of this meeting,” Greene said.

“I can’t miss my morning meeting,” Wheeler stated with all the bravado he could muster. “This can’t go longer than two hours. Tops.”

“It’ll take two hours if that’s all the time we need from you,” Greene said. “If it takes longer, that’s life.”

“I just told you I can’t miss my morning meeting.”

“You might have to,” Agent Greene said. “If that becomes necessary, we’ll make appropriate arrangements with your employer.”

“They may not take kindly to that,” Wheeler said. “We’re behind schedule on a big project.”

“Don’t worry about KPMG, Patrick,” Greene said. “They’re a big company and can handle your potential absence just fine.”

True. But can I?

What was going on?

“Do I have time to grab a bite?”

“We’ll have food brought in,” Greene said with ill-concealed impatience.

“Do I need to bring anything?”

“We have everything you need,” the agent answered. “It’s time to roll. Now.”

Greene was giving an order, not a suggestion. Did he have a choice? Could the FBI do this? If this was a job interview, there were better ways to make a great first impression.

He did another quick inventory of his boring existence. No fights. No money laundering or fixing books for KPMG clients. No political activity. Nothing. He wasn’t being arrested he didn’t think, which couldn’t always be assumed post-Patriot Act.

Why in the world does the FBI need me? I wish I knew something from the corporate world that would rise to the level of an FBI investigation. Is this a job interview?

“Can I see those badges again?” Wheeler asked, stalling for more time to think.

The two men looked at each shrugged and held out their badges and identification again.

Wheeler shrugged. How would he know if they were legitimate or not?

“Let’s get this over with,” he said in surrender.

He locked the deadbolt and followed the men toward the elevator.

Greene slid in the backseat next to Wheeler. Rasmussen drove. Greene wasn’t impressed. The kid might be smart but he was definitely naïve, he thought. Neither description mattered. That’s not why the kid was
needed. There was an old saying, it’s not what you know that matters most;
it’s who you know.
In this case, Wheeler had hit the mother lode with whom he knew. He probably didn’t even know it.

Greene and Rasmussen weren’t actually in the FBI. Wheeler didn’t need to know that either.