Rogue Operator (10 page)

Call
me! I’ll make it worth your while!

At the
bottom was a phone number he had no doubt would lead to a riotous night of
debauchery. But he was on duty now—not officially, this was after all a favor,
but nonetheless he considered himself on the job. Between jobs the alcohol
flowed, the women took priority, but on the job, it was all shut off unless
part of his cover.

He
looked at the paper one last time and stuffed it into his pocket with a sigh.
Too
bad.
As he strode toward the rental counter to pick up his prearranged
vehicle, his mind as always returned to the memory that haunted him, that
dogged him almost his every waking moment. The cries, the screams, the
desperation.

He
focused on the floor as his feet carried him automatically to his destination,
he having already memorized the layout of the airport on his way here. He began
to flip through his itinerary, when his phone vibrated with a message.

Envelope
waiting for you at rental counter. C.

Kane
reached the Enterprise rental counter, and minutes later was sitting in his Ford
Expedition XL, the unopened envelope sitting on the passenger seat. He left the
airport, and aimed himself at the nearest set of golden arches to satisfy a
morning ritual that he had kept almost every day of his adult life when he was
stateside.

McDonalds
breakfast.

Nothing
said ‘You’re home!’ to him more than a sausage and egg McMuffin with a hash
brown and large Diet Coke. Coffee was never his thing, he couldn’t stand drinks
that weren’t cold. He’d make a show if he were on assignment, avoiding coffee
or tea being one way to draw attention to yourself in the bazaars of whatever
hole he might be in.

But back
home, when not concerned about a cover needing to be maintained, an ice cold
Diet Coke or Diet Pepsi, was his vice.

Or an
ice cold Bud.

But at 7:48
in the morning, that was frowned upon in this country. Now in Phuket…

He
smiled at the new memories he had been able to acquire before leaving that den
of depravity, alcohol not clouding any of it. He took a bite of his sandwich,
then ripped open the envelope, shaking the contents out onto the passenger
seat. In between bites and gulps, he quickly read the contents, all briefs on
the scientists and their work, along with the family members that had
disappeared, and finally an Echelon intercept of a phone call that blew the
entire case wide open.

There’s
definitely something going on here.

And it
was their research that terrified him. If these guys were building a better
mousetrap, he’d say leave it to the FBI, and who cares. But if the mousetrap
these guys had apparently designed was to get into the wrong hands, a lot more
than mice would be fucked.

Tossing
the last morsel of hash brown in his mouth, he washed it down with a long drag
on his Diet Coke then wiped his mouth, checked his teeth in the vanity mirror,
then climbed out, stuffing the garbage in a nearby can. Moments later, with the
GPS programmed for the motel Chris had recommended but not reserved in the scientists’
home town, he was on the freeway, the radio tuned into the first station he
found aimed at the twentysomethings, he finding it important to keep up with
popular culture as part of his cover. Being able to discuss politics or
metaphysics was surprisingly useless in his line of work. But knowing the
latest hit from Rihanna or the name of the upcoming Tom Cruise movie was
critical in reigniting a stalled conversation.

American
popular culture was now almost universal.

Much to
the chagrin of most other countries’ cultural elite.

He
glanced in his rearview mirror at an SUV that had done its fourth unnecessary
lane change since he’d pulled onto the freeway. He was pretty sure it was the
same Chevy Suburban he had seen at the airport when he was leaving. He had been
trained to notice everything. Every vehicle, every person, every landmark. And
this was the only vehicle he had seen at both the airport and since leaving
McDonalds.

He had a
tail.

A few
slight increases in speed, mixed with some slowdowns, and he had pretty much
confirmed his suspicions. He was being tailed, and that led to the myriad of
inevitable questions. Tailed by whom? How’d they know he’d be arriving? Were
they Company, FBI, local, foreign, private? What were their orders? Were they
just there to observe? Were they there to take him out?

And that
was the bottom line that he cared about. He enjoyed fresh air and daylight. Six
feet under kind of disagreed with him. But he couldn’t just go and kill a truck
full of what could be Federal employees assigned only to follow him and see why
he had come back to the US without telling anyone.

Which
brought him back to one of the most important questions—how did they know?
Besides himself, Chris Leroux was the only guy who knew he was back. Which
meant either Leroux had told someone, or he was under surveillance as well.

The
latter was more likely. Though Leroux wasn’t trained as a field operative, he
was no dummy—anything but. He’d keep this entire mission on the down-low if he
could. And that meant Kane would have to get a message to Leroux outside of
normal channels.

But
first he had to lose his tail.

He
pulled into a Walmart, parked, then entered the store, making a note of where
his tail parked—two rows behind him, to the right. As he entered the store, a
quick glance showed someone had exited from the passenger side, rear door.

That
meant most likely a team of four.

No
problem.

He
beamed a smile at the elderly greeter, and grabbed a cart, making his way up
and down the aisles, filling it with assorted items. Matches, lighter fluid, cigarettes,
WD-40 and a few bags of unsalted nuts, along with two cans of Raid Max Wasp and
Hornet Foam Bug Killer, a case of bottled water, duct tape, a rope as well as a
couple of hunting knives, zip ties, a crossbow with several dozen bolts, and
the biggest med kit he could find.

And a duffel
bag to carry it all in.

The girl
at the cash gave him a curious look at the mishmash of items, but said nothing,
instead seeming to focus on the skin exposed by the several buttons of his
shirt left undone. She smiled at him as he paid with a large money roll, and he
gave her a wink that he was pretty sure made her young heart beat a bit faster,
the blush he was rewarded with speaking volumes.

A glance
at the door confirmed the man sent to tail him was still standing in the
entrance. He’d have to lose him somehow.

“Where’s
your garden center?”

She
pointed toward the right. “Down there.”

“And
your bathrooms?”

“Same
direction, you can see the sign from here.”

He
looked and spotted the universal symbols for relief.

“Got it,
thanks!”

He gave
her another smile and pushed the cart toward the exit and the elderly lady
checking receipts. Positioning the cart against the wall, between a gumball
machine and a coin operated spaceship ride for tots that he hadn’t been on
since he was drunk and seventeen, he stepped over to the woman with his best
smile.

“Excuse
me, miss?”

“Miss?
My dear heavens, young man, I haven’t been called ‘miss’ since I was your age.”

Kane
touched her shoulder briefly, smiling. “Oh, you lie, I know it!”

She
turned her head with a smile and dismissed his statement with a wave of her
hand.

“What
can I do for you?”

“Quick
favor. I need to go to the bathroom, and I just paid for my stuff”—he pointed
toward the cart—“but I don’t want to leave it unattended, just in case someone
takes something. Could you be a dear and keep an eye on it for me, just for a
minute or two?”

“Well,
I’m not supposed to—”

“I’ll be
quick. Just a number one!” he said, holding up a finger next to his winning
smile.

She
laughed and lowered her voice, leaning in.

“Okay,
make it quick, Dear!”

Kane
gave her a wink, then intentionally looked directly at the man in the door
watching him, and narrowed his eyes as if in suspicion. He headed for the bathroom,
and a quick glance over his shoulder showed his tail in pursuit, albeit
attempting to look inconspicuous. To the untrained eye he would have just been
any other customer. The man was good at his job, which meant Company or
private. FBI weren’t trained to follow people like him, and locals definitely
weren’t.

And the
only reason he had spotted this one is because they were working a one vehicle
team. Normally he would have expected a three vehicle pursuit, or if only one,
then satellite support so the tailing vehicle could remain out of sight.

Which
meant either this was a rogue Company operation, private with no satellite
support an option, or it was just a routine tail to see why he was back without
reporting it to his handler.

He
stepped into the bathroom, found it thankfully empty, then entered the larger
stall reserved for the handicapped. And waited. It didn’t take long, the door
opening, and careful footsteps echoing on the tile. He heard the door of the
stall next to him creak slightly, then a gentle push on his own door, a pair of
boots he recognized as standard issue Company making an appearance.

He
dropped to his knees, reached forward and grabbed the man by both ankles,
yanking hard. He heard a yelp as the man fell backward. Kane repositioned his
hands, yanking on the man’s pants, hauling him into the stall. He punched him
in the nose, the man’s head smacking the tile from the recoil, knocking him out
cold.

Kane
froze, listening to see if anyone else had come in during the four seconds it
had taken him to disable the man.

Nothing.

He
quickly did a pat down and relieved his tail of a .40 caliber Glock 23, another
standard Company issue, and a nasty coil of wire on a retractable spool he
guessed was used for strangling its victims.
Not
standard issue.

Was
he intending to use that on me?

There
was no ID, no wallet, just a wad of cash and a cellphone Kane wouldn’t trust to
take with him. He pulled the SIM card, tossed the phone in the toilet, then
used the wire to tie the man’s hands behind his back, and to the plumbing. He
couldn’t risk staying any longer, his buddies would be wondering where he was,
and besides, he had made a promise to a little old lady whose day was tough
enough without him causing her worry.

He slid
himself out from under the stall, leaving it locked from the inside, washed his
hands, then quickly returned to his cart.

“Thanks,
miss!
” He gave her a wink and she batted the air with her hand, giving
him a bashful smile as she checked someone’s cart. He pushed his toward the
gardening center, and was soon outside. Filling his duffel bag with his
purchases, he strode behind two construction workers, far enough to their side
to not look odd to the workers, but at an angle that would hide him from the
SUV the rest of his pursuit team was in.

Clear of
their forward angles, he walked behind the row of vehicles they were parked in,
then stopped two vehicles short, crouching down. He removed the two cans of
Raid spray, popped their caps, stuck the attached straws into both, and shook
them hard. Crawling behind the final vehicle, he looked to make sure no
innocent bystanders were about to stumble upon him, then rolled behind the SUV.
He shoved the straws into each of the two tailpipes of the performance exhaust
system, then pressed the buttons hard. The hiss sounded unbelievably loud to
him, but inside the well-insulated cabin, he hoped they would hear nothing.

A door
opened.

His
heart stopped.

He let
go of the buttons, the hiss stopping.

“I’ll go
look for him,” he heard a voice say as boots appeared, then the door slammed
shut. He watched the boots disappear, then pressed the buttons again, emptying
the cans into the exhaust system.

Rolling
away, he put the two cans into his duffle bag, strode back down the row of
vehicles about half way, cut between two cars and over to his rental. He tossed
the duffel bag in the trunk, then climbed in the car. A check of his mirror
showed the SUV still parked. He fired up the Expedition and pulled out, driving
by the SUV with his window down. He could hear the engine turning over,
coughing, then stalling out with a thunk. He smiled and pulled out onto the
freeway, a final glance showing the two remaining occupants outside of the
vehicle.

Assuming
they don’t have satellite support, I should be good for a while.

Resuming
his course to Ogden, he pulled out his secure phone, and placed a scrambled
call to Washington, DC.

Time
to warn our friend.

Chris Leroux Residence, Fairfax Towers, Falls Church, Virginia

Chris Leroux tucked in his shirt, paying careful attention to
buttoning up properly. Today he was going to ask Sherrie White out. At least
that was the plan. He was hoping to be saved by either food poisoning from
breakfast, a car accident that didn’t result in injury—for her or him—or her
announcing her nuptials to the entire office before he had a chance to
embarrass himself.

Essentially
he was praying for a way out.

Because
if one wasn’t provided, he was asking her out.

For
coffee.

And what
really was the big deal? It was just two colleagues, going for coffee. There’s
nothing wrong with that. Nothing unusual. He adjusted his tie, opting for a
plain dark gray with subtle pattern, rather than the garish yellow one he had
received at last year’s gift exchange, a tie so unusual he wasn’t sure if it
was a joke gift or not. He had simply blushed, held it up, and thanked the
anonymous purchaser.