Shadow of Betrayal (7 page)

In essence, the hotel room had been set up as a mobile strategic operations center. The furniture had been pushed to the side, making way for several long, portable tables. These had been arranged in a loose U shape. The ten monitors were set up on two sides of the U. On the third side were several pieces of equipment: receivers and computer-controlled hard drives both feeding and recording the images being shown.

All the screens were active. Those along the left displayed images from inside the hotel itself: the front and rear entrances, the main lobby, and the hallway on the fifth floor outside room 531. The images on the four monitors along the bottom of the U were murkier, and from a location nowhere near the Geist Hotel. These monitors had been numbered one through four right-to-left, the numbers superimposed in the lower right corner like a television network ID.

Monitor one was an outside shot. It was focused on a neglected apartment building two hundred miles away in New York City. A light rain was falling over the neighborhood, clearing the streets of anyone interested in an evening stroll. Lights were on in a few of the windows
in the neighboring buildings, but none shone from the one centered in the shot.

According to the information Peter had received, this particular building was abandoned, a fact reinforced by windows that were either boarded over or broken. A set of concrete steps led up to the front door, where a faded paper notice had been stuck on the surface. It was too far away to read, but he had already been informed that it was an advertisement for a local concert that had long since occurred.

Monitors two through four were shots from inside the abandoned building. Number two showed the small empty lobby and the inside angle of the main entrance. Number three was focused on an equally empty hallway that fell off into darkness after only a dozen feet.

The image on monitor four, though, was different from the rest. While the cameras feeding the other monitors had been stationary, each securely mounted so as to give a fixed, steady image, camera four was anything but motionless. The image was in constant movement, up and down, side to side, and never staying in one position for more than half a second. This camera was mounted in an apparatus worn by their agent on site. It rode just above the agent’s right ear. As if to emphasize that fact, the sound of low, steady breathing came out of the monitor’s speaker.

Peter seemed to be the only one interested in the first three monitors. Since this was a solo incursion, and the only potential backup was several miles away, Peter knew he was all the protection the agent had. It was up to him to raise a warning if he saw anyone else on one of the screens. He had argued that this operation should have waited until an adequate team could have been put in place, but he had been outvoted.

“Agent Douglas knows what she’s doing,” Chercover had said.

“And we want to keep this low profile,” Furuta added.

It wasn’t the way Peter liked to run things, but he didn’t have much of a choice. Perhaps if he had been the one to hire the agent, he could have pulled rank. But she was CIA, and part of the National Intelligence apparatus. That made her Chercover’s responsibility. Peter’s search team had been following another lead that had taken them north into Canada, and Chercover hadn’t wanted to wait until they could return.

The only concessions Peter was able to get were to equip Douglas with the surveillance equipment they were now using to watch her movements, and to delay the incursion long enough so that Peter could send a small strike team up from D.C. to act as backup if necessary.

The image on monitor four stopped in front of a doorway.

“I think this is it,” Agent Douglas said, her voice coming over the speaker. “Someone’s tried to distress it, but it still looks out of place. Don’t know if you noticed, but most of the other doors were wood. This one’s metal.”

Chercover glanced at Peter. “Locked?” he asked.

Peter raised the small microphone he was holding to his lips. “Is it locked?”

A hand shot into the frame and grabbed the knob. Agent Douglas tried to twist it, but it moved less than a quarter inch before stopping.

“Yes, locked,” she said. “I think I should take a look at what’s inside. Am I cleared?”

Peter looked at the two men. Without moving his gaze from the monitor, Chercover nodded once.

“You’re cleared,” Peter said into the mic. Then added unnecessarily, “Be careful.”

Agent Douglas pulled out a lock pick set, then set to work on the keyhole. Peter glanced again to the other monitors, making sure she was still alone. His gaze lingered on the lobby shot displayed on monitor number two. It seemed as though something was different. A shadow perhaps, but everything was dark on darker, so there was no telling for sure.

“If it doesn’t feel right, get the hell out of there,” he said as he returned his attention to monitor four.

“I’m fine,” she said, her tone displaying her displeasure at being interrupted.

After several seconds, she stopped what she was doing, then turned the knob again. This time it moved.

“Got it,” she said. She stood up. “Okay. I’m going in.”

“I’m not liking this,” Peter said, both into the mic and to his two guests. If the door was hiding something important, it shouldn’t have
been this easy to open. “Something feels wrong. I’m sending the strike team over.”

“It’s fine,” Agent Douglas said. “A strike team isn’t trained to look for things the same way I am. They might unintentionally mess up something we need.”

“My men are trained for all sorts of situations. They’ll be okay.”

“If she says she can handle it on her own, then we should let her,” Chercover said. He leaned toward the microphone in Peter’s hand. “Agent Douglas, do you feel you need assistance?”

“No, sir,” Agent Douglas replied. “The first sign of a problem, I’ll pull myself out.”

“You may proceed then,” Chercover said. He straightened back up and looked at Peter. “Your concern is noted, but this is a special circumstance.”

“It’s always a special circumstance,” Peter said, knowing very well he’d used the same excuse himself several times in the past.

“Of course it is,” Furuta said.

All three men watched as Agent Douglas pushed the door open. The room beyond showed up as pitch-black on the monitor. Whatever light there was filtering in from the hallway didn’t make a dent in the abyss.

“Can you see anything?” Peter asked.

“Hold on,” she said.

A few seconds later a bright light swept across the wall next to the doorway, then a flashlight came into view in Agent Douglas’s hand. She aimed it through the new opening. At first it seemed to have no effect, then the camera moved closer to the threshold and tilted downward.

“Can you see it?” she asked.

There was a short landing, then five or six steps descending into the darkness.

“A stairway?” Peter said.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “Appears to be pretty solid. Made of wood, I think.”

“Can you see how far down it goes?”

The image from the camera moved through the doorway, then
tilted downward with the slope of the staircase. Even then, the optics and the compression caused by the satellite transmission kept most of the room’s details in darkness.

“It goes pretty far. Definitely more than one story.”

“What do you mean?” Peter asked, trying to imagine what she was describing in his mind.

“The floor of the room is a good one and a half to two stories down. The stairs double back halfway down so they can fit.”

“Can you make out anything on the floor below?”

“Not really,” Agent Douglas said, then paused. The view on the camera swung methodically from side to side and up and down as she examined her surroundings. “Okay. I’m heading down.”

The camera bobbed upward once, then angled down as Agent Douglas moved her right foot onto the top step.

“So far so good,” she said.

Her left foot came into view, then settled on the next step down. Peter could hear her breathing, deep but steady.

Another step down.

Then another.

Then, “Shit!”

Before Peter had even registered what she had said, a bright flash and loud explosion overpowered the monitors, turning the image on the screen into a blur of whipping shapes and colors. There was nothing recognizable or coherent.

“Agent Douglas!”

The roar from the speakers became a series of booms and crashes.

Then, just as suddenly as the incident began, it stopped, the image from the camera now as still as those on monitors one, two, and three. And the only noise was an occasional creaking or muffled thud.

“Agent Douglas?” Peter repeated into the mic.

There was no response.

“Tasha,” he said, using her first name. “Can you hear me?”

She remained silent.

“I’M SENDING IN THE STRIKE TEAM,” PETER SAID.

“Hold on,” Chercover said. “We need to think about this for a moment.”

“For God’s sake, she might still be alive. I don’t give a damn what you want to do. I will not leave an agent down.”

Peter snatched up his cell phone from where he’d left it earlier, next to monitor three. He had prepped it for just such an emergency, and only had to touch the screen once to connect the call.

The strike leader answered after a single ring.

“Situation’s gone critical,” Peter said. “Move in fast. Agent down, condition unknown. Booby-trapped, but no hostiles have been spotted. Go. Now.” Once he was off the phone, he looked back at his clients. “Next time maybe you’ll listen to me when I have concerns about an operation.”

Furuta turned toward Peter, slow and deliberate. There was no concern at all in the man’s eyes for the situation. “Risks are part of the job. Agent Douglas has always been aware of that. We would assume
you would be, too. But if you are unwilling to take those risks, maybe we need to rethink our working relationship.”

As Peter was about to respond, a movement on one of the monitors caught his attention. He turned to get a better look.

“What is it?” Chercover asked, looking at Peter.

“I thought I saw something.”

He was pretty sure it had been monitor three, the hallway view. But it was empty now, like it had been before. Perhaps it had just been a glitch in the transmission, some digital artifact that had appeared on the screen for a split second, drawing his attention.

He had almost convinced himself that was it, when a man appeared on monitor two. He was thin, and was dressed neat enough that Peter guessed he wasn’t homeless. But with the low light, making out facial features was out of the question, as was detecting skin tone or hair color. He was a shadow in clothes.

“Who the hell is that?” Chercover asked.

Peter didn’t answer.

The man ran into the lobby, then pulled the door open just enough to peek through and make sure there was no one on the stoop waiting for him. Once he saw that it was clear, he jerked it open the rest of the way and stepped outside.

Peter switched his attention to the exterior shot of the building. The man closed the door behind him, then ran down the steps and took off west on the sidewalk. Within seconds, he was no longer visible.

“Who
the hell was
that?” Chercover repeated.

Again, Peter said nothing. They’d all been watching the same feeds, so they all had the same amount of information.

Peter gritted his teeth. If Chercover had only waited for him to get a team in place, like he wanted, then maybe the explosion could have been prevented.

Peter glanced at his two guests. They were both staring at the monitors, no emotion on either of their faces. Real pros. Undoubtedly each had witnessed agent-down situations before. Peter had, too, countless times it seemed. And while he also tried to keep his emotions suppressed, he was only partially successful. He could feel a tick under his
right eyebrow, a twitch that only flared up when things got out of control.

He raised the microphone back to his mouth. “Agent Douglas?” he said.

If she could hear him, she wasn’t responding. Chances were, during the fall, her earpiece had been dislodged, and she wouldn’t have been able to hear him no matter what.

“Agent Douglas,” he said again.

“Leave it alone,” Chercover said. “She’s probably dead.”

Peter looked over at the old man, then raised the mic to his mouth again, his eyes locked on Chercover’s. “Agent Douglas?”

“Is that your strike team?” Furuta asked.

He was pointing toward monitor one. On it, a dark van had pulled up in front of the abandoned building.

The phone Peter had used to call the team began to vibrate. He picked it up and pressed Accept.

“We’re here,” Perkins, the team leader, said.

“You’re looking for a room in the basement. There was an explosion, so there’ll probably be some damage in the hallway. But it should also lead you to the right room. Be careful. The staircase that was just inside the door is damaged, and the floor is nearly two stories below.”

“Copy that,” Perkins said.

“Agent Douglas is down there somewhere. Find her, and get her out.”

“Anything else?”

“A man left the scene about two minutes ago. I don’t expect him to come back, but there might be others. If you find someone, take them alive. I want to talk to them.”

“Got it.”

Peter gave him the signal settings he’d been using with Agent Douglas so they could communicate by radio, then hung up.

“They should search the building,” Furuta said. “This is obviously the place we’ve been looking for. There’s got to be something there. Something that will help us identify Primus.”

“Seems to me, Agent Douglas might have already found it.”

“Found where it is, perhaps,” Chercover said. “But what exactly did she find?”

“That’s not this team’s job,” Peter said. “They’ll get Agent Douglas out, then we’ll figure out our next move.”

“We need to figure that out now,” Furuta said. “We don’t have a lot of time on this. The man who got away could be informing his contacts about what happened right now.”