Angels Mark (The Serena Wilcox Mysteries Dystopian Thriller Trilogy) (9 page)

“Yes, I still have the e-mail. I save everything.”

“That’s exactly what they’re afraid of – they wonder what you have. They’ll be here soon.
Back up your computer files, now.”

“Who’s they?” asked Dan for the second time.

“I don’t know. Really, Dan, there are no more secrets. You are all caught up to where we are. Well, you will be after you read Farideh’s e-mail. But no time for that now. Grab a flash drive and get your files. I have my own flash drive in my purse. I need a copy of the files too. Then – wipe your computer clean.”

“I don’t know how to do that,” said
Karyn.

“Don’t look at me,” said Dan.

“For that, I’ll wake up my son. He can do it. The main thing is that we get those files. Now.”

9

>>My
Karyn,

I write you heavy heart. You must know for it is my hope you can go safe.

Iran make fools of everyone. For years they lie about nuclear missiles. Nuclear Nonproliferation Treaty is nothing, they spit upon it as easily as they spit on you, dear Karyn.

They threaten who wants make peace with Israel. Pro-West Arab Saudi Arabia and Egypt see Iran success nuclear, but have no fight. Iran pressure Lebanon, Syria, the Palestinians, and the Iraqis. Many thousands, hundred thousands, join radical Islamist. "Death to America!" on Iranian street for too many
year. No one stop Iran. Now they make nuclear weapons in short period. They make stockpiles uranium for nuclear device in few months—make nuclear weapons in short period. They make centrifuges to pipe work. They learn technology when they talk to UN, many lies. Now they can do bomb. They will do this. It will be soon. I hear it from husband. You trust me to know truth. I tell you day and time. I tell you where missiles strike. You go safe.

Your
Farideh <<

Paul read the forwarded e-mail over and over again, but still didn’t understand why someone had sent it to him. His head was swimming with theories that fell apart. What had begun as a simple blackmail plot to get himself onto Kinji’s staff had evolved into playing serious dirty politics with the big boys.

When Paul had scoffed at President William’s speech that day on the tarmac, he had no idea that he was being watched, and followed, the entire time. Of
course
William’s people tracked every onlooker, how could he have thought otherwise? It had been foolish for Paul to show up there, expecting to go unnoticed. It was probably that very move that got him discovered, although the jig would have been up anyway, since William’s team had Kinji’s office bugged.

The wind out of his sails, he didn’t trust himself to pinpoint the exact moment of his downfall. He sat with slumped shoulders, waiting to be told what to do next, like the minion he was destined to be.

The phone rang. He answered with trepidation, having a strong feeling that the sender of the e-mail would be on the other end of the line. He was not mistaken.

“You opened the e-mail.”

“Yes? What is that?”

“It’s a big problem for the President.”

“For Williams?”

“Yes, for Williams.”

“What does this have to do with me?”

“You’re going to be the one to fix it.”

“How do I do that?”

“Go outside. I’m standing in your yard, in the back of your house.”

Paul was only a few feet away from his back door. He peered out the window and didn’t see anyone. He slowly opened the door and saw a young blonde man sitting on one of Paul’s own lawn chairs that he’d placed amongst the landscaped shrubbery, well concealed from the road. He studied the man’s face until recognition washed over him. “I know you. You’re the intern I saw that day on the tarmac. You got the podium ready for William’s speech.”

“I’m more than an intern,” Bryce scoffed.

“Obviously. So what’s your deal?” Paul picked up a second chair, walked to where Bryce was, sat upon it, and leaned in close, conspiringly, “We’re both players. We even look alike enough to pass for brothers. So why are you sitting in the power seat when I’m sitting in a puddle of drool?”

“Why should I tell you anything? You work for me.”

Paul shrugged to feign indifference, not even fooling himself. “I was just curious.”

“How did I succeed where you have failed? What have I got that you don’t?” Bryce smiled with the same full wattage he’d flashed months ago in the restaurant, when showing Serena his frat-boy good teeth, but this time his smile was sinister; a gleam shone on his canines, accentuating his wolf-like grin.

“Ouch, I wouldn’t have put that fine of a point on it,” said Paul.

Bryce backed his chair away from Paul’s invasion of his personal space and said, “I’m here, and you’re there,” pointing his right index finger like a gloved Dr. Seuss character, first at Paul and then back to himself, “because I am John’s nephew. You are nothing more than a pretender.”

The light dawned. Blue blood, nothing Paul could do about that. He could curse his lot in life, but where would it get him? Scratching and clawing and conning his way up had at least gotten him this far, sitting with President John William’s right hand man, his own kin no less. It wasn’t over for Paul yet.

So the Kinji plan failed, who cares? He’d gotten away with it, no harm done. And now he was in William’s camp. Did it matter to him which President he was
barnacling himself to? Tuh-may-toe, tuh-mah-toe. He reassessed his situation in milliseconds and said, with a condescending tone, “I see things clearly now.”

Bryce reddened and his jaw clenched with unmistakable anger. “He doesn’t partner with me because I’m family. I’m good for it.”

Paul smiled, patronizing him now. My, how this felt good. Bryce was easily played. For all of his bravado, Bryce was nothing more than a punk kid with ego issues. This would be easier than he thought to extract information. “Oh really? You don’t really know anything, do you? You told me that’s all I need to know because you don’t know it yourself.” Paul folded his arms across his chest, sat there grinning like the Cheshire Cat, and waited for Bryce to take the bait.

Bryce leaned forward, his eyes narrowed into angry slits. “The e-mail was sent before the Big War, and was forwarded to FBI. We knew, we knew about the attacks before they happened.”

Paul struggled to maintain a strong poker face. He was blown away by this, it was much bigger than what he expected to hear; although he had no clue what to expect, he didn’t expect this. Wow. Mind blowing. So we knew. Why didn’t we stop it? We
couldn’t
stop it? Or we
wouldn’t
stop it? Aloud he said, “You’ve got me. That’s big stuff. Okay, you’re a bona fide insider, not just the nephew.”

Bryce relaxed his posture and smiled easily, baring no teeth. “No more questions. Now I tell you what to do, and you do it.”

“Got it. What do you want me to do? Find out who sent this e-mail? Or who it was sent to?”

“No, we already know both. The sender is an Iranian
woman, the receiver is her American friend. The American friend has another friend we’ve been watching. She could be a problem.”

“You want me to follow her? Keep an eye on her?”

Bryce grinned with his lips curled back, his wolf smile back in full wattage. “No, we want you to kill her.”

“What?
Seriously? I’m not a hit man.” Paul was too stunned to think of a way out of this slippery hole he was falling into, but he knew he couldn’t kill someone, especially a woman!

“We need her taken out.”

“Come on, she’s talked to people. I can’t kill everyone who knows about the e-mail,” Paul protested.

“Don’t worry about that. I will threaten everyone she’s told. When she’s dead, they’ll know I mean business.”

“How do you know who she’s told? And why not kill her yourself?”

“I’ve been following her for a
while, and have her place bugged. She keeps to herself. She’s told her husband, that’s it. Other than him, there’s the friend who forwarded the email, and her husband. Three people left after she’s gone. And if they act squirrely, we’ll kill them too before they can talk to anyone else.”

“Why trust them at all? Kill them now. Or is the body count of innocent people getting too high?”

“Get off your high horse -- you’re scum. If you weren’t, we wouldn’t have tapped you for this.”

“And if I don’t do it?”

“I’ll find someone else who will. You’ll go to prison for the Kinji blackmail. And while in prison…”

“I’ll have an accident?”

“You catch on fast. So we have a deal?”

“What choice do I have?” asked Paul weakly. Again he was bested… and this time he couldn’t con his
way back into the power seat.

10

“Clyde, I’m in trouble,” Paul began.
The brothers were in their parents’ kitchen again. Clyde was frying bacon and making coffee while Paul leaned heavily on the table, standing over it with both arms locked at the elbows, hands planted on the tablecloth with fingers outstretched. His head was hanging low, his boyish locks falling forward. Clyde thought he looked about twelve. Bailing him out of trouble had been as routine then as it was now. “Did you hear me, Clyde?”

“I heard you. I knew you were in trouble the moment you walked in the door. I told you not to do that Kinji thing. She’s smart and a woman, two reasons why she’s not worth it.”

“No, it’s not her. John Williams is blackmailing me. He found out what I was doing.”

“What? How did he know?” Paul had Clyde’s full attention now.

“He has a bug in Kinji’s office. He knew everything, and he had me in his cross hairs.”

“What does he want with you?” Clyde felt a familiar stirring within him. It was the same force that had led him to despicable acts in the past; all to protect his little brother… or, maybe, it was beyond that. It was a hunger, a craving, and his protective nature was an excuse? Possibly, but why then did he not act on these urges unless Paul was in trouble? No, this was about protecting family. Clyde was not a psycho, of that he was sure.

“He wants me to kill somebody.”

“He what?”
Clyde laughed, thinking Paul was making a clever joke. He had him going, what a corker that brother of his. Clyde laughed until his belly shook. Only when he stopped to take a breath did he notice that Paul wasn’t laughing with him. Paul was still frozen in his stance over the table, arms holding his body up, head bent; a beaten man, a scared man, a fugitive. Clyde sank into a kitchen chair, the bacon left to grow cold on the counter.

“He sent his nephew to give me the message. If I don’t kill Serena Wilcox, he’ll have me put in prison and then they’ll have me killed in there, in prison.”

“Serena who?”

“She’s a former private detective. She’s one of ours, Clyde.”

“What do you mean, one of ours? Our Off Grid people?”

“Yes. She has three kids, husband. We set them up in Goodhue. We gave them the new name of Meadows. Before that they were the Browns, no, the Bridges.”

“Okay, yeah, I think I know who you’re talking about. Why do they want her dead? What does she know?”

“She knows something big, Clyde. I can’t believe it. The government knew about the attacks before they happened. She has proof, e-mail proof sent from an Iranian woman.”

“Our government?”

“Yes, our own.
We knew and didn’t do anything.”

Clyde sucked air between his teeth and then exhaled slowly with a prolonged wispy whistle. “Paul, they were never after you. They were following
her
. We made it easy for them. They’ve been watching us all along. They know me too, don’t they?”

“Yes, they know you. They know about your computer lab, and they’re calling Off Grid a cult.”

“It is a cult. Sort of, anyway. Just a big sham, and I suppose they know that too, don’t they?”

“They know all about us, they think we’re buffoons. When I showed up at the tarmac, they had to be laughing their asses off.”

“We know nothing about them. That will change.”

Paul finally freed himself from his vigil at the table and sat in the chair across from his brother. He stared at his empty plate, and as if Clyde could read his thoughts, bacon suddenly appeared on it. He ate three strips, one after the other, and then spoke, “Clyde, this is bigger than my problems in the past. We’re talking about killing a person.”

Clyde raised his eyebrows and snorted. “And what makes you think I haven’t done that for you before?”

Paul stared at Clyde. He knew it was no joke. The repressed memory of what John Williams said to him came back.
My people tell me that your only childhood connection to Kinji is a babysitter in common. A Mrs. Mason, who we’d have talked to, but she’s deceased. Died from a freak accident in the home.

Clyde cleared the plates and loaded the dishwasher. He let the information settle, knowing that Paul would accept the situation and would move on if given enough time to digest it, process it. He was Clyde, the big protective brother. He only did what needed to be done. If Paul didn’t see that now, he would come around to it eventually, of that Clyde was certain.

“Mrs. Mason?” Paul croaked. He tried to don his poker face, but he couldn’t con a con, especially the better of the two of them.

“Don’t look so shocked, Paul. The old bat had it coming. She did it to herself. No one messes with my brother.”

“Is she the only one?”
Please, please let her be the only one
, thought Paul.

Clyde smiled gently, placating a child. “If that’s what you need to hear, we’ll leave it at that. Let’s move on. We have a serious situation on our hands.”

Paul’s self-preservation instincts kicked in and this time he was successful at putting on his best poker face. Never show your true feelings to a sociopath, especially if he is also your brother. As Paul’s life was crashing down on him, he still felt that Clyde was his best, and only, option. “What do we do?”

“Well, we don’t kill her.”

“We don’t?” Paul was careful not to let relief creep into his voice.

“No, we let
him
do it.”

“Him?”

“John Williams. We’ll bring the girl to the President himself.”

“What? Why would we do this? Wouldn’t he have us all killed? And how would we even get close enough to him? I only got close because he nabbed me. And before that, they must have let me get close, because they knew who I was, and they were following me. They won’t let me near them if they don’t want me there.”

“We go through his nephew. We get the nephew, then he’ll want to see us. He gets the nephew and the girl. Lets us go. That’s the deal. We won’t kill her, that’s what they want us to do.”

“Yes, I know that’s what they want. I don’t get what you are saying. Even if we manage to get both of them, and get them to the President, and go as far as making the deal, wouldn’t they kill us after they got what they wanted?”

“Paul, they want to frame you for the murder. They get rid of both of you that way. They’ll kill you, you know. But if you refuse to kill her, and they have to go another way, you have leverage.”

“They’ll just kill me anyway, remember? If not on the spot, they’ll get me for the blackmail attempt and kill me in prison.”

“No, they won’t. You will have too much information on them, with the proof uploaded to our computer lab. Our kid hackers are very good, Paul. They can get them at their own game. They’ll have everything recorded in the cloud, so to speak, including the e-mail they sent you – you still have it right? Why did they get sloppy about that, did they think we wouldn’t forward it, save it, copy it?”

“I don’t know, maybe they made a mistake. The nephew is cocky. He might be going off the rule book.”

“They won’t be able to get their fingers on all the recordings, they’ll be digitally floating everywhere and anywhere, all timed to be released should something happen to you.”

“Recordings?
All I have is the e-mail.”

“I’m talking about what we will have, what the kids will get for us. They’ll love this project. I’ll tell them they’ll get college credit for it.”

“So they get the girl, we get left alone. Why should we give them the girl at all? I don’t like getting a woman killed, a mother with three kids.”

“It’s the fastest way out of this. They want you because of her. Sever that connection.”

“Then we leave the country?”

“They can find us anywhere, even in the remotest of African villages. But it’s unnecessary to hide. What will keep us safe is our insurance policy. We blackmail them, we stay safe.”

“Blackmail didn’t work out so well for me, remember?”

“That’s because you didn’t have me running the show. Don’t worry, little brother, I’ve got your back. This will work. I’ll talk to my pimply faced hackers and get them on it. They’ll have you all suited up to record everything.”

“What if they check for bugs?”

Clyde winked. “You haven’t met Nicholas, my best – he’s the new kid. That boy is a magician. He’ll put a bug in play that not even you will know is there.”

“They’ll scan.”

“Not an issue. He has a remote controlled bug; that looks like an actual bug. He can fly it remotely, very remotely. He programs the thing and it can transmit from wherever it is, from long range too. We can bring it with us; release it before meeting their people. It’s so small it’s nearly invisible to the naked eye, and it’s fast.”

“I don’t know, it’s the President’s security detail, they probably have ways.”

“The bug is fast, it’ll zip right by them.
You’ll see, it will work.” Clyde rubbed his hands together gleefully. At heart, he was a computer nerd too, but he was born too late to take to computers as naturally as the younger generation. He lived vicariously through his dream team of young geniuses.

Paul shook his head in amazement. “Where did you get these kids anyway? How do you get them to do what you want? They aren’t on payroll.”

“Funny how building a state of the art lab can reel them in. Free lab time is enough, and I do pay them a little something out of my pocket. If I bring in pizza, they’re happy to stay all night long.”

“I never knew how you got them there. I never knew a lot of things,” said Paul.

“You aren’t still hung up on old Mrs. Mason, are you? I only do what’s necessary. You trust me, don’t you Paulie?”

“Yes, I trust you Clyde.”

“Then we’ll get the kids to set us up with everything we need, and find the nephew and the girl for us. I’ll get the nephew. You get Serena-whatsherface. I’m sure you can talk her into coming to our place. She knows you.”