Point of Control (24 page)

C
HAPTER
46

Bailey fired two rounds before spotting the second man at the end of the hall. The missing cryptographer! She lowered her gun.
Damn!
Crusher was fleeing. He’d rounded a corner and disappeared.
Go!
Her primal instinct was to charge after him. She’d been chasing this bastard for weeks, and her victory was slipping away. She glanced around. Where was Garrett?

“Lee Nam,” Dukko cried out from the floor, his voice weak. “We found him.”

Bailey forced herself to forget about Garrett’s safety—for the moment. The North Korea crisis had to be resolved first. She knelt next to Dukko, who was leaning against the wall. In the dim light, against his black shirt, it was hard to tell how much blood he was losing. But the look on his face told her it was bad. He was dying. “Get out your phone!” she yelled. “You have to make the call.”

Dukko struggled to get his hand into his pocket, but he managed to pull the phone out and hand it to her. “Get a picture of Nam, so Dear Leader knows he’s alive.”

Bailey popped up, ready to run down the hall. But the timid IT guy was coming toward them. “Ki-ha!” Lee Nam cried out and dropped next to his bodyguard. “You’ve been shot.” The cryptographer looked up at her. “We have to save him.” Nam started to pull off his shirt.

“Wait! I have to get a picture.” She didn’t want the dying police officer in the photo. KJU was crazy, and might use it as an excuse to kill Jake Austin anyway.

The tech guy ignored her.

She shouted to get his attention. “Kim Jong-un has threatened to execute an American and possibly launch a missile if we don’t show him you’re safe. Keep your shirt on and stand up!”

Nam did as instructed, eyes blinking in fear and confusion.

Bailey snapped two photos, then filmed a short video to be sure she’d covered it. She squatted next to Dukko again. “Help me send this to the right person.”

“Just text it to the last number I texted. Then call that number.”

She went through the motions, but the message didn’t send.

“Shit! We don’t have a signal down here.” She stood, ready to bolt upstairs to the bunkhouse.

“Bailey?” Garrett’s voice came from behind the wall.

She spun toward the sound. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

Thank god.
“We’ll get you out in a minute.” She hated leaving Garrett. Jake Austin wasn’t even that important. But placating Kim Jong-un was critical.

She charged through the tunnel, Dukko’s phone in her hand. Crusher probably had the keys to the locked doors, but there had to be a sledgehammer or something she could use to free everyone. But the phone call came first. She pounded up the stairs, heart racing. In the laundry room, she paused, gulping air, and pressed Send again. An unexpected joy filled her heart. Garrett was alive and well, and she was about to prevent a war. Another reason to love this job.

The dialogue box changed color. The text had gone out. Still, North Korea was on the other side of the world. She called the same number. It rang four times, then a tight voice said something in Korean.

“English, please!”

After a rapid background exchange in Korean, someone else came on the line. “Commander Ryuk.”

“This is Agent Bailey, United States Federal Bureau of Investigation. I’m calling to report that Lee Nam has been located.”

“Why do you have Lieutenant Dukko’s phone?” Suspicion gave his voice an edge.

“He was injured by the kidnapper, a crazy individual who has nothing to do with our government. But Lee Nam is safe. Did you get the photo and video I sent?”

“Just a moment.”

“Call off the execution and release Jake Austin.” She raised her voice, but he’d already put her on hold.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lee Nam step out of the basement opening.

The line went dead.
Shit!
Bailey pressed the logged call and tried again, but it didn’t connect. She hurried outside into the dark and tried the call again. The same commander came back on. “Kim Jong-un will honor his agreement, but he wants an apology.”

She almost laughed. “I’m sorry for what happened.”

“He’d like one from President Harris.”

“Then he should give him a call.” She heard an engine start in the distance. “I have to go.”

“Your country is irresponsible, and North Korea won’t send professionals to your symposiums again.”

“No problem.” She hung up and turned to Nam, who’d followed her outside. She pressed Dukko’s phone into his hand. “Call 911 and get an ambulance. Cops too. Tell them Palisades Mine.”

The engine revved and she spun toward the sound. It wasn’t a car. Something smaller, like the quads she’d seen earlier. An ATV roared away from the processing plant, its headlight cutting through the night to shine on the trees. Crusher!

Bailey sprinted toward the facility. There had been two quads, and she could see the other one now.
Please let the key be in it.
She leapt on the little four-wheeled vehicle and reached for the starter. A push button. Yes! She flipped it on, gave it gas, and took off after Crusher’s retreating headlight.

In the distance, at the edge of the trees, he turned left and rode parallel to the woods.

Where was he going? He was heading away from the parking lot where he’d left his truck. Bailey visualized the maps she’d studied of the area. South and west of the mine was a river and another small town. He had to be heading toward it. What was his plan? Steal a car? The town was at least twenty miles away, and getting across the rugged terrain would be difficult enough in daylight. At night, it seemed impossible. Did he have another vehicle stashed somewhere?

She kept the throttle wide-open, pushing the little sports vehicle to its limit. The headlight barely illuminated the dirt path, and she bounced along, hitting the ruts and bumps hard. She toggled her focus between Crusher’s ATV ahead and the ground below, trying to keep him in sight and not crash her own quad. It was crazy, dangerous, and exhilarating. Bailey also expected it to be a short ride. Nothing in Crusher’s background indicated he was an outdoorsman or athletic in any way. With his life and freedom on the line, he was obviously willing to challenge himself. But she would prevail. Her lack of fear was working in her favor now, and her tenacity never failed her.

The roar of their engines cut through the quiet night, startling a big bird that flew out of the trees ahead. The path began to descend, and they zigzagged through the trees and past basalt ridges. Bright moonlight glinted off the bare rocks, giving her fair warning of their presence. After a while, her hands tingled with numbness, and she loosened her grip on the rubber handles. This could be a long ride after all. But she was slowly gaining on him.

A few minutes later, the temperature dropped and the air felt heavier, wetter. The river! They were nearly there. Would he turn and ride south toward the little town? Was there any kind of path along the bank? Maybe the area was used for horseback riding, and he was following a familiar trail.

The trees thinned out and glimpses of the river came into view. Wet rocks shimmered along the edge. Before Crusher reached the riverbank, he veered left. Bailey steered off the path and cut across the grassy area, hoping not to hit any rocks or unexpected obstacles. A thick clump of grass popped her ATV into the air, slamming her down hard into the seat. She managed to keep control. She’d also closed the gap by another twenty feet.

Bailey tried to visualize the map again but couldn’t get oriented. Where was the town from here? Was it really in this direction? Her damn dysfunction made her unsure. Crusher’s engine slowed, then his vehicle turned toward the river. What the hell was he doing?

She kept the throttle open and a moment later made the same turn. But she took the corner too fast. Her ATV tipped, and she rode it on two wheels, fighting to bring it back to the ground. The rough downhill path worked against her, and the quad went over. Bailey jumped free at the last moment, landing hard on one knee. Her body registered pain, but she blocked it and jumped to her feet. Her ATV had slammed into a bush, and the engine sputtered to a stop. Bailey sprinted down the path. The river was right there. Crusher had no choice but to abandon his quad too. Was he going to swim? Did he think she wouldn’t get into the river?

A dock at the bottom of the slope came into view, and she spotted Crusher standing in a boat, bent over.
Oh hell!
It looked more like a fishing dingy than a speedboat, but still, it would carry him down the damn river and out of reach. He yanked a cord, and a propeller engine kicked over. Could she reach the dock and leap into the boat before he pulled away? No, he’d already freed the tie lines, and the craft sped away.

A smaller boat was moored on the other side of the dock with its outboard tipped up out of the water. Bailey ran to it, noting the tie-downs. She had a knife in the satchel that was still strapped across her chest, but getting it out might take longer than loosening the rope. Drift boats were often moored with simple loops, and this one was. She quickly freed the lines and jumped into the boat. The dock floated in a shallow bay, out of the main river current, and probably belonged to a homeowner nearby. She didn’t waste time looking back for the building. The headlamp from Crusher’s quad was still on, giving her just enough light to see what she was doing. She’d hunted and fished with her father during her childhood in Colorado, so this was second nature. She dropped the motor into the water, opened the gas flow, and jerked on the starter cord. It took three pulls, but the engine purred to life and she guided the boat into the river.

Where was Crusher? She’d taken her eyes off him while she’d prepped the boat, and now he was running without lights. She caught a glint of something on the water downstream and steered in that direction, cranking the little motor as high as its RPMs would allow. The sound of water breaking against the hull brought back more memories of her father, most of them good. The night was cold, and her hands were stiff, but the discomfort barely registered. Letting Crusher get away at this point was unthinkable. It wasn’t even about justice for the victims. He’d tried to kill her twice, and for that, he would pay.

His outline emerged out of the darkness a few minutes later. She was rapidly gaining on him. He’d taken a boat with a weaker engine or simply wasn’t running at full speed. When she was twenty yards away, she pulled her weapon, one hand still on the throttle. He became aware of her a moment later, jerking his head back to look, then facing the river again. His hand fumbled behind him, reaching into his waistband. He was pulling his gun! She’d watched him shoot Dukko earlier with a surprising cold accuracy. But she wouldn’t fire until he pointed his weapon at her. It wasn’t a moral concern, simply a practical one. This capture needed to go down clean. Cops might shoot suspects in the back, but the bureau did not. She needed her peers and supervisors to respect her.

When she was fifteen feet away, Crusher finally turned and aimed his gun at her. Bailey was ready. She fired off the rest of her rounds. Two made contact and he collapsed. His boat slowed as soon as he let go of the throttle, and the weight of his body plunging sideways shot the drifter toward her in a spin. She bumped his drifter with the nose of hers to stabilize it, then let go of the throttle and leapt into the other boat. Crusher was a bounty, and she intended to bring him in. She squatted, searched for his gun, and shoved it into her satchel. She heard him breathing, but it was a ragged, dying sound.

“Crusher.”

His eyes opened, and she pushed against his chest wound. He moaned in pain.

“Who is your contact at the FBI?”

He didn’t answer. She pressed harder. “Tell me! You’re dying and you have nothing to lose.” She might find the information in his phone, and she might not. He could have used a burner that he’d already destroyed.

“Don’t know.” The words were barely audible.

“Who are you working with?” Someone with deep pockets had funded that underground lab.

“Max.” Crusher’s eyes closed and his head lolled to the side.

At least she had a name. Bailey looked downriver and spotted the lights of the little town. Thank goodness. Now that her adrenaline had stopped pumping, her thoughts turned to the victims. She had to get back up to the mine. Garrett might be injured and still locked in the basement. The thought made her heart hurt. She’d never felt another person’s pain before, and it was unpleasant. Why had she thought she
wanted
this?

Suddenly, Crusher’s hand came up, reaching for the side of the boat. Bailey grabbed his wrist. But it wasn’t a gun. He was trying to throw his phone into the river. She pried it from his weak fingers, then secured his hands. He died while she was locking the plastic cuffs. Bailey scrolled through his phone for the last few numbers in the call log. One had a DC area code. Had he been talking to Haywood, the assistant director? Or was Max from the capital too? He’d tried to hide his associates, but she was about to uncover them.

C
HAPTER
47

Jocelyn parked down the block from Brent Haywood’s house and waited in the car for Ross to arrive. She put in her earbuds and listened to her favorite Stevie Wonder songs to distract her. Was she really going to confront the assistant director of the FBI about his possible involvement in a murder? What if she was wrong? Haywood would be a powerful enemy. Still, she had to ask the questions.

Ross had found the AD’s address and confirmed that it was within three blocks of the park the murdered tech guy had received calls from. The same burner phone had also made calls to Zach Dimizaro from a corner near FBI headquarters. Haywood might have a good explanation, but it was certainly no coincidence. The assistant director—or someone who worked and lived in the same places he did—had made four calls to Dimizaro in the two weeks before he was murdered. Haywood might have been investigating Dimizaro, but if so, Ross hadn’t found a record of it within the bureau. Her husband had even more to lose from this confrontation.

She caught the glare of headlights pulling up behind her, waited until she was sure it was Ross, then unlocked her doors. He climbed in and apologized for keeping her waiting. “Something big is going down out in Washington State, and the Critical Incident team is gathering to monitor it. The only information I could get was that the North Korean IT guy might have been found and the Seattle field office had sent out a team.”

Very good news.
“Does that mean Kim Jong-un is backing down from his threat?”

“I don’t know. I’m not on the CI response team, so I heard everything secondhand.” A note of regret in his voice.

Jocelyn made an unsettling connection. “Do you suppose the North Korean kidnapping is somehow related to my murder victim? They’re both involved with encryption software.”

“That would be bizarre.” Ross stared at her open mouthed. “Especially if the AD orchestrated the Lee Nam abduction.” He shook his head. “That would make Kim Jong-un right about the US government being involved.”

“That is disturbing.” Jocelyn braced herself. “Shall we go find out?” She glanced down the street at Haywood’s house. The garage door was open, and a sedan was backing out. Her pulse quickened. “He’s on the move.”

From a distance in the dark, she couldn’t be sure who the driver was, but whoever it was had broad shoulders and a large head. “Is that Haywood? Can you tell?” Jocelyn itched to start the engine but made herself wait.

“Sure looks like him. I wonder where he’s going.”

Both their jobs were on the line, and they needed to stay objective. “It could be an ice-cream run.”

“It’s almost midnight, so I don’t think so. Pull out as soon as he passes the first intersection.” Ross slid down in his seat. “Unless he comes this way.”

She knew how to tail a suspect. But she scrunched down as well and didn’t respond. This was too important. They had to function like a well-oiled law enforcement team, not an estranged married couple.

Jocelyn counted, giving the sedan time to back into the street, then heard it drive away in the opposite direction. She eased into an upright position, waited for another count of ten, then turned the key. “Maybe he’s going to the park to make another clandestine call.”

Two blocks later, when the sedan eased off the street, she did the same and killed the engine. She’d been right about the park, and it was the shortest tail job she’d ever done. Excited and nervous, she turned to Ross. “Did you bring a listening device?”

He grinned. “Of course. And we it call it
ears
.”

“Whatever. Just get it ready. We need to get out and get closer.”

“It’s in my pocket and simply needs to be activated. Let’s go.” Ross quietly opened his door. “If he spots us, we put our heads together and start talking like drunks on their way home.”

They moved quietly past big dark houses with nothing but porch lights on, walking on front lawns rather than the sidewalk. As they rounded the corner, the park came into view across the street. They spotted Haywood walking up a path toward a cluster of trees in the middle of the park.

They ducked behind a minivan parked on the street.

“Are we close enough?” Jocelyn’s knees hurt from squatting.

“No. Let’s cross over and sit on that first bench.” Ross pulled her up, put an arm around her, and leaned in close. “Let’s do this quickly.”

Jocelyn wrapped her arm around him too, and they hurried across the street. They were out of Haywood’s line of sight, even if he turned around. When they reached the outer bench and sat, Ross pulled her in for a long kiss.

“You’re not fooling anybody,” she whispered.

They were facing the same street they’d just crossed and could no longer see Haywood, who was in the park somewhere behind them. She could only hope he hadn’t spotted them. If he had, he might just keep moving. She glanced over her shoulder. Through the trees, she saw a man sit on a bench near the playground. “He’s in place to make a call now.”

Ross pulled out the tiny device and turned it on. They heard static for a minute, then muffled footsteps. Someone was approaching Haywood! She glanced over her shoulder again. Another man, also wearing a dark coat, sat on the bench a foot from Haywood.

Through the ears, they heard Haywood say, “It’s over. Crusher has been compromised, and Seattle agents are moving in. I can’t stop them.”

“He was reckless,” the other man said. “Kidnapping the North Korean was insane. I had no idea he would do that.”

“Will the NSA lose its investment?”

The other man laughed softly. “The bureau will get all his businesses through forfeiture. And whatever the North Korean and the other scientists developed for Crusher will end up with the State Department. The government will control the cell phone market and block encryption one way or another.”

He was with the National Security Agency?
Holy shit!
Jocelyn’s chest felt tight. She didn’t know who Crusher was, but members of two government agencies had been collaborating with a kidnapper. Rage and fear gripped her. What was this really about? She met Ross’ eyes. He looked overwhelmed too.

But they remained silent, listening to the clandestine conversation.

Charles Max Damper shifted on the hard wooden bench. The mission hadn’t gone as planned, but it wasn’t a total loss. The government’s access to the synthetic would be delayed by bureaucratic processes, but they would get control of it. They’d lost the opportunity to control the cell phone market through ZoGo, but the war was just getting started. The scientist who’d been killed was unfortunate collateral damage, but they had to keep the big issues at the forefront. Accessing phone conversations remained their best tool in preventing terrorist attacks. As long as they stayed on top of encryption and kept collecting data in motion—regardless of what those idiots in Congress did—the NSA would continue to save thousands and potentially even millions of lives.

So far, he and his supervisor were in the clear. Crusher had never seen his face, and their only contact had been through the burner phone in his pocket. Once he destroyed it, the connection would be gone. The money the NSA had shifted to ZoGo was untraceable, and his FBI contact could shut down the investigation if needed. Crusher could and likely would die in custody, if he hadn’t already been killed in the raid.

But unhackable encryption software, like the code he was about to acquire from his associate at the FBI, trumped everything else. The NSA had never intended to let ZoGo embed security in cell phones. That was the primary reason for trying to gain control of the market—to keep it encryption free so they could continue to access every phone conversation and text. But they still needed a copy of this particular airtight encryption’s source code so they could reverse engineer it and devise a way to defeat it. This wasn’t the only security code they were scrambling to defuse—as was so often the way with tech innovation. They were forced to play whack-a-mole with several separate projects popping up nearly simultaneously in the development community. The threat posed by the North Korean’s algorithm was in a class by itself. Without the original code, it might really have been unhackable.

The version Max had tried to buy hadn’t worked out. The tech guy hadn’t shown up at their scheduled meeting, and Max had learned recently from Haywood that Dimizaro had been killed by a mugger. A thief, who’d taken the damn prototype. Fortunately, Haywood had somehow got his hands on a version. Maybe from the company Dimizaro worked for. The greedy bastard wanted a lot of cash for it, but Haywood knew its value. “Let’s see the flash drive,” Max said.

“I have a prototype phone, but the code is in there.” Haywood spoke softly, not looking at him. The AD had been on board the mission from the beginning. The FBI, or at least a few individuals within the bureau, wanted to see only encryption-free devices on the market as much as the NSA did. But he and Haywood had been the only ones willing to take the bold steps necessary to ensure that it happened. Haywood reached into his pocket and held out a cell phone. “Do you have the cash?”

“Yes.” Max pulled a package from under his coat. The five hundred thousand he was paying Haywood was a bargain. He handed the money to the FBI agent and stood to leave. The burner phone rang in his pocket. Was Crusher calling him? Had he escaped the FBI raid? A wave of anxiety rolled over Max, and he didn’t dare answer.

Ross gestured excitedly. “Go around to the other side,” he whispered. “We’ll box them in, and I’ll call for backup.”

Jocelyn jumped up, pulled out her weapon, and hurried down the sidewalk. Her soft-soled shoes made little noise on the cement, but still, she was glad to leave it behind, cutting through another group of trees and crossing the grass toward the playground. The men were standing near the bench, but then the shorter guy, the NSA agent, started to walk away.

Time to go!

With her weapon raised, she rushed toward them. From the path behind the bench, she saw Ross running at them from the other direction.

Haywood spun toward her, startled.

“Hands in the air!” she yelled.

The NSA agent reached for his weapon.

“Don’t do it! I’ll shoot you!” Ten feet away now, Jocelyn slowed. “Put your weapons on the ground.”

Ross was next to the bench now with a gun pointed at Haywood.

“You’re making a huge mistake,” the NSA agent said. “Walk away and forget you know anything about this.”

“Put your weapon on the ground!” Jocelyn’s heart pounded and adrenaline coursed through her body.
Please don’t have a stroke.

“We’re high-level government agents,” the NSA man said, “and we have an undercover operation going. Get out of here so you don’t fuck it up.” He still had his gun in his hand, but it was at his side. Haywood had stayed silent, unmoving.

Ross spoke up. “I know Haywood. You can both explain yourselves at the bureau.”

A phone rang in the NSA agent’s pocket. For a moment, they all froze, as the low-pitched sound cut through the night.

“I’ll take that call,” Jocelyn said.

The NSA man started to bring up his gun. Jocelyn fired two shots. One hit him in the shoulder. He made a startled grunt and dropped his weapon. She rushed in and cuffed him before he could make another move. Ross had done the same with Haywood, who was talking rapidly, spinning a cover-up. Jocelyn’s nerves fired so wildly it was hard to process what he was saying. Two cars pulled up next to the park, and men in suits climbed out. Backup had arrived.

Jocelyn shoved the NSA agent to the ground and pulled the still-ringing cell phone from his pocket. This could turn out to be important evidence. “Hello?”

“Who is this?” The woman on the other end was assertive.

“Detective Larson, Metro Police Department. Who is this?”

“Agent Bailey, FBI. How do you know Shawn Crusher?” The woman shouted over a loud engine noise.

FBI?
That surprised Jocelyn. The NSA man’s phone was a cheap burner, like the one she expected Ross to find in Haywood’s pocket. “This isn’t my phone,” Jocelyn said. “But I arrested the man it belonged to. He’s an NSA agent. Why are you contacting him?”