ANOMALY.MIL (The Conspiracy Series Book One): A Romantic Suspence Novel
Read ANOMALY.MIL (The Conspiracy Series Book One): A Romantic Suspence Novel Online
Authors: Samantha Saxon
Titles by Samantha Saxon
The Lady Spies Series
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THE REBEL’S ROGUE
Coming Summer 2016
The Conspiracy Series
OUTLIER
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DESCENDANTS
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COM
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ANOMALY.MIL
(The Conspiracy Series Book One)
Samantha Saxon
Tartan Publishing LLC
TARTAN PUBLISHING LLC
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Copyright © 2016 by Samantha Saxon
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at
[email protected]
ISBN
:
97-80997194-86-9
Editor: Ursula Wood
Cover Design: Dar Albert, Wicked Smart Designs
To my friends who assure me that I’m not crazy, because they are too. Love you all.
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Table of Content
Descendants.com Headquarters
Salt Lake City, Utah
January 13, 9:44 a.m.
"We got one!"
The man in the black suit jumped to his feet, then walked across the room to stare at the computer over the analyst's right shoulder. "Where?"
"I'm working on it,” the programmer muttered, tension straightening his back as he fought the keyboard to extract the information they would need from their database. His dark eyes grew wide with concentration as he read from the high-definition monitor. "Washington State. A town called Woodinville. Her name is Mrs. Catherine Miller."
The older man lifted his cell phone to his ear, and out of habit, hooked his thumb on the belt loop in front his holster.
"I want the team ready to go in ten minutes," he ordered. "We're going to Seattle." The man hung up, his heart pounding with an unfamiliar urgency. He turned his gray eyes on the man sitting in front of the computer. "Is there anything else we can use?" he asked, praying that there was.
The internet resisted, but the kid was persistent.
"She's a thirty-two-year-old owner of a magazine called
The Finer Things
. According to her tax records, she works from home and didn't make much money last year. However, her husband did. His name is Dave Miller and he works for…" The tech tapped again, and colorful websites flashed by until he found the one he was looking for. "Microsoft. Nice," the kid added, impressed.
"Focus, please," the older man growled as he leaned over the small table at the back. He was already stuffing his black leather briefcase full of the evidence he would need before clicking it shut. "Call our guy over at Google to get the woman's search history and all of her files stored on the cloud. Then call her cell phone company, which is…" He snapped his fingers at the young tech.
"Uh, AT&T."
"Do we have someone there?" He was pretty sure they did.
"Oh, yeah." The tech nodded. "We have a guy that's been working with us for years."
"Great, I want Catherine Miller's phone records. The recordings of her conversations,
not
a list of calls. Have them sent to my cell phone along with any photos or video she may have posted online," the man said, shrugging on his unfashionable jacket with his full cup of coffee left steaming on the table, long since forgotten. "It shouldn't take us more than two hours to get to Seattle. I want any additional information on Catherine Miller in my hands when we land."
"Yes, sir."
The man lifted up his briefcase, and had just reached the door when he heard—
"Crap!" Followed by furious tapping away at the worn keys of the keyboard. "You better make it an hour and a half, sir."
"Why?"
"She has a brother." The kid looked concerned. "Ansel Babineaux, thirty years old."
"And?" He walked back to the computer.
The kid spun in his chair and looked him straight in the eyes. "He's Special Forces."
"How do you know?" the older man asked, the pressure in the room ratcheting up a notch as they both considered the implications.
"Because I can't find a thing on him after the age of twenty. And I mean
zero."
The kid shook his head, amazed. "Do you know how difficult that is in this day and age?"
"Are you sure the guy's not just dead?" he asked, knowing that records got lost down the government’s bureaucratic rabbit hole at an appalling rate.
"Absolutely sure." The younger man nodded, his dark curls emphasizing his point. "There was no death certificate ever issued. No news reports of his death. No obituary. Nothing. This guy is a ghost. And to become a ghost, you need help."
"From the military?"
Or CIA
. Either was bad for them. The man ran his hand through his salt and pepper hair. "And this is Catherine Miller's biological brother?"
"Yep."
"Which means he's a carrier too." It wasn't a question and the kid did not take it as one. "He'll put up a fight."
"Yep."
"How strong is the sister's positive?"
The analyst spun back around then ran his finger down Catherine Miller's DNA test results. "Eighty-nine percent. Wow, that's the highest I've ever seen and men tend to run even higher. So, the brother will—"
"Call Cody and apprise him of the situation," the older man interrupted, inhaling deeply as he thought. "Have him meet us at the airport," adding, "Do you have an address on this guy… Ansel did you say?"
"No way, this guy is off, and I mean
off
the grid," the tech answered, wiping it away with his hand. "The military, and maybe his sister, are the only people who even know this man exists."
"Well, it doesn't matter." The older man shrugged his broad shoulders. "As soon as the Pentagon finds out he's a carrier…they'll kill him. But for now, I need to get to Catherine Miller." He glanced at his watch. "Before they do."