Smoke and Shadows (27 page)

The only evidence was the video of a man fitting Logan's build going into the maintenance room where the FBI hazmat team had found the nerve gas canister. No link to Owen Reed meant no connection to Stuart Kwon. All connections to Kwon were all through HUMINT, which would carry no weight with DHS and FBI given that the mess with Al-Qaeda was still fresh, and the evidence to them more tangible. It would be interesting how the agencies were going to spin this to both the President and the people.
 

Viktor was bringing the agents-in-charge from DHS and FBI up to speed. And from their expression, Viktor wasn’t holding back any punches in telling them how to do their job. After a few minutes, he returned and braced a hand against the side of the SUV, leaning into her.
 

He rubbed his face with his other hand in frustration. “They’re taking the lead for now, which they should have done in the first place. It isn’t the job of the CIA to pursue domestic terrorism.”

Marissa shrugged. She agreed, what else could she say?

“I told them to stop depending primarily on open-source intelligence because the enemy is bypassing digital and analog footprints, preferring human assets to move intel via courier or face-to-face meetings,” Viktor said. “Most of our leads come from informants, Matsuda and Morgan. Hell, we wouldn’t have known about Owen Reed if Morgan didn’t tip us off on that.”

“That was a lucky break.”

“Yeah? We might not have more of those,” Viktor said. “That’s why I told them to get their heads out of their asses, keep off the donuts, and do some legwork. There’s information out there, they just need to know where to look.”

“Wish they had more people like Tim.”

Viktor smiled wryly. “Yeah, Burns is the shit.”

“So,” Marissa said, eyeing Viktor seriously. “What was that crazy move you did? Putting yourself in front of the barrel of a gun?”

Viktor quirked a brow in amusement.

“What the hell was that?” Marissa half-yelled into his face.

“Calm down, kitten,” Viktor murmured. “His gun’s safety was engaged.”

“And how sure were you?”
 

Viktor huffed, sounding offended that she would question his judgment. “I could see the red dot on his gun. I’m familiar with that model. It wouldn’t have fired.”

“Still, that was pretty suicidal,” Marissa mumbled.

Viktor, in a departure from keeping it professional while on the job, pulled her head to his chest. She punched him on the side. He grunted, but didn’t say anything else.

“Though I’ll admit,” she continued, “that was pretty badass.”

*****

Owen Reed stood in the shadows of the Cinemaplex parking lot. Most of it was cordoned off, but he blended well with the curious onlookers that gathered around to observe the crime scene. He and his men had to lay low for a while, probably even alter their appearance. He had credit cards and covers already set up so it wouldn’t be too difficult.
 

His eyes drifted to the Ford Explorer parked in front of the Cinemaplex. The first to arrive. He wasn’t surprised to see Marissa Cole. He figured when Fletcher and Tyrell didn’t show up at the rendezvous that they must have gotten caught. What surprised him was the more than friendly relationship between Baran and Ms. Cole.
 

Owen Reed filed this information for future use.

*****

Memorandum #1573737

To: President, United States of America

From: National Security Task Force

Subject: DC and Virginia Terror Attacks

Background:

The increased attacks on the homeland this year have measurably exposed our vulnerable security infrastructure. The most damaging of these attacks were the two suicide bombings carried out at the FBI satellite office and the main Metropolitan police headquarters. The subsequent attack on the leadership of this country at the Hudson Building only escalates this clear and present danger of a future attack on Washington DC. Al-Qaeda has claimed responsibility for the above.
 

The perpetrators of the nerve gas attack on the Cinemaplex in Charlottesville, VA remain unknown. Several agencies have evidence that this may point to domestic terrorism, while others believe Syria is responsible as retaliation for United States support for the opposition to the ruling party. No one has claimed responsibility for this attack.

Assessment:

Another attack on the nation’s capital will prove debilitating to the psychological well-being of the nation and will cause economic backlash.
 

There is insufficient information sharing between the agencies, especially between the DHS, FBI, and CIA.

Proposal:

The DHS will work more closely with the FBI and CIA to merge data that will uncover and prevent future attacks. It was suggested that the current enemy is evading digital technology and is employing a network of couriers to communicate. The agencies will start gathering Human Intelligence (HUMINT) assets as sources of information.

CIA will report on the situation in Syria regarding the stockpile of chemical weapons and the political climate, as well as determine if Al-Qaeda is gaining a foothold in Syria.

cc:

Director, Federal Bureau of Investigation

Director, Department of Homeland Security

Director, Central Intelligence Agency

Secretary of State

Secretary of Defense

Senator A. Robinson

Senator L. Goodman

*****

Marissa scanned the fluff memo from the National Security task force. It had been three days since the nerve gas attack. The President of the United States had issued a statement immediately after the incident to reassure a jittery nation that the agencies were on top of the situation. There had been daily briefings with all the directors of the agencies including several senators that were on the security and intelligence committees.

One of the senators, Senator Goodman, was very vocal about pinning the attacks on Syria. Though not public knowledge, the CIA knew that the senator had interests in several defense industries that would profit should the U.S. go to war with Syria.

Marissa had crosschecked information between the senator and Kwon just in case a link would uncover any red flags, but so far, she turned up nothing.

The DoD had released the nerve gas Antoxin and made it available to DHS, FBI, and some first responders in the Washington DC area. Antoxin was mandatory for all military units operating in hot zones like Afghanistan and Syria. Antoxin was not classified as a vaccine but an anti-chemical therapy. It was a molecular biology application of nanotechnology that protected recipients against the long-lasting neurological damage caused by nerve gas exposure. Together with the timely administration of atropine, a toxic gas victim could make a full recovery. Marissa had taken Antoxin when it first became available because she could be deployed to Syria at any time. Some of the Guardians, including Viktor, took the anti-chemical therapy when Matsuda divulged the probability of SK nerve gas attacks in the U.S.

The hunt for Owen Reed and his crew had been assumed by the FBI. Marissa was keeping tabs on Stuart Kwon’s whereabouts, but so far the man had been appearing in plain sight—most recently at a fashion show in Paris. The picture of him in an Armani suit escorting a famous supermodel hit her inbox first thing this morning, courtesy of Allison. Jiro Matsuda and his wife were in temporary protective custody and would be given new identities if this mess with Kwon couldn’t be resolved. There was reason to believe that Matsuda’s source, who Marissa now knew worked in Kwon’s household, had been assassinated. Allison had hacked Kwon’s personal computer network several times, but all his correspondence and money transactions were legit. Owen Reed did not appear on his payroll at all. But these kinds of transactions were easy to hide anyway, especially if they were in the form of cash or bonds.

So now, she was drawing a blank on the stack of papers before her. The tallest pile was Allison’s brief about the surge of Al-Qaeda in Syria. This information was also shared with the FBI and DHS. The rest were five other cases that were lower priority.

“I can’t believe I’m actually leaving before 5:00 p.m. on a Friday!” Allison announced as she stopped by Marissa’s desk. “So what’s on your agenda this weekend?”

Viktor had left for Las Vegas the morning after they had returned from Charlottesville, VA. He had not been pleased about it, but he was under pressure by the ATF director to lead an op against rival motorcycle clubs that were running guns. Viktor had called her a few times, brief conversations to check up on her. Marissa knew Viktor was reluctant to leave because of the near rape she had experienced at the hands of Fletcher and Tyrell. But she assured him that she was fine. For the most part. Though not the first time she’d been in such a situation because of her job, this had been an extremely close call.

Shuddering at the memory, Marissa forced herself to focus on Allison’s question. “Heading back to Dupont Circle. Make sure that my house is in one piece.”

“Sell it and move in with Baran.”

“Uh, aren’t you getting ahead of yourself, Allison? We’ve only been together for what? Four weeks?”

“You’re right. But your man is so intense.”

“How would you know?” Marissa retorted.

“You pulled your disappearing act, remember? Did you know he threw a chair against the wall in Yeager's office when our director wouldn’t tell him where you were?’

“He did WHAT?” Marissa exclaimed, mortified.

“Yes. Yeager warned me not to tell you. Men.” Allison rolled her eyes. “But you know, being in the sisterhood and all, I felt it was my duty to let you know how crazy your man is about you.”

“Oh, my God.” Marissa buried her face in her hands. He
was
intense. Did she expect anything different? With how hard Viktor had fucked her when he found her, she was thankful he had let out some steam beforehand. Otherwise, he would have made good on his promise of her not being able to sit or walk afterward.

“You know, if I had not seen how calm and collected he was on other occasions, I would say your man has anger management issues. Yeager still thinks Baran’s the shit, and his volatile nature only applies to matters concerning you.”

Marissa didn’t know how to feel about that statement. Or that her boss and analyst seemed to be gossiping about her private life.

“Are we chatting like a couple of girlfriends now?” Marissa laughed.
 

“Can you blame me? We’ve dealt with nothing but destruction, terrorists, death, and nerve gas. I don’t know how to have a normal conversation anymore.”

“Do you want to work in the field? Meet normal people?”

Allison’s eyes widened in horror. “God. No. I can’t do what you do, Marissa.”

Marissa didn’t tell her about her near rape. She didn’t think that would add anything to the report. It was enough that she got strung up like a pig and almost gutted.

“Well, if you want the shift, let me know,” Marissa offered, standing up and stretching. She was ready to go home.

*****

Marissa let herself into her Victorian row house a little before 11:00 p.m. She’d have come home a couple of hours earlier, but Brian had been insistent that she have dinner over at his place. He’d made his famous pasta with meat sauce—one of her favorites. After that, it hadn’t been hard to convince her. For some reason, she didn’t want to be on her own tonight and relished the company.

Throwing her keys on the console, she checked the voice mailbox on her landline, and as she expected, it was full. She went through the messages. Most of them were from her mom and a couple from Trent. Her mom was planning a dinner party to welcome her brother home from his deployment next Tuesday. Marissa quickly scanned the time and date of the message to make sure it had not passed. She was relieved to find that it was this coming week. She missed her brother.
 

She’d forgotten her cell phone in her purse, and when she finally retrieved it, she noticed a couple of missed calls from Viktor.

Shit.

Should she call him back? He didn’t leave any message.
 

Before she could make up her mind, her landline rang.
 

“Hello?”

“Damn, sis! You’re a hard person to track down.”

“I sure hope so.”

Trent burst out laughing. “Yeah, good one. I’m in your neck of the woods.”

“I thought you weren’t getting in until tomorrow.”

“Took an earlier flight. Can’t wait to see my sister.”

Marissa knew her brother very well. “What do you need?”

Her brother harrumphed. “It’s true you know, all these recent attacks make me worry about you.”

“You guys are fighting the war over there.”

“Yeah, makes me feel guilty about not re-enlisting.”

“You’ve done so many tours, Trent. You could always serve your country in another way.”

“Hey, you know that security company I’ve talked about?”

“Way to segue into it, bro.”

Her brother chuckled. “I’m meeting with a couple of buddies tonight to kind of talk about it. But since you’re nearby, maybe you could join us at Blue Oyster.”

Blue Oyster was a dance club on Dupont Circle.

“Hmm . . . a strange place to discuss new business. Are you sure you guys are not making an excuse to get shit-faced? Not sure I’m up to dealing with big drunken crew-cut men tonight.”

Especially not after working Fletcher's Bar for almost a week.

Her brother cajoled some more. And she had not seen him in almost nine months.
 

“Do your buddies know the work I do?”

“Only the ones you’ve worked with.”

“Okay. Are you guys there now?”

“Yup.”

“See you in a bit.”

Marissa woke up to what she thought was the sound of a loud crash. Cursing one too many tequila shots, she fumbled out of bed just in time to hear Trent in the next room bang his door open and run past her room. Muffled grunts, followed by the breaking of glass, had her reaching for her gun under her pillow.