Sleeper Cell Super Boxset (19 page)

Cooper looked it over. According to the file, she’d have just as much access as the director himself. “I’m used to the liabilities, sir.”

“We can’t touch Perry. Not now at least. Both Homeland and FBI directors hold him in high regard. He’s had a hand in making policy for a very long time.”

Son of a bitch
. “He’s been planning this for a long time.”

“
If
it’s him,” Moringer replied. “All you have right now is speculation. We need hard evidence, and I won’t go to the other directors until you give it to us.” Moringer rose, along with his deputies, and the three men headed for the door. “I suggest you make it fast, Cooper. We’re running out of time.”

Cooper knew he was right. The attacks across the country were becoming more frequent every day. The breakdown in communication, transportation, security, all of it was mounting to unprecedented levels. And every day this group of terrorists found new ways to torture the country. Attacks on food banks, fuel tankers, power stations, cell towers, cable lines, train stations, public transportation, anything and everything to keep people from moving.

Tanks and Humvees roamed the streets, as martial law had been enacted for most of the country. People were growing restless. Maybe complete social disorder was what he wanted? But there was a sinking feeling in the back of Cooper’s mind that it was something more. “C’mon.” She slapped Diaz on the arm. “Let’s see how far I can push my new clearance.”

“No can do, Coop.” Diaz shook his head. “You can’t have any contact with anyone from the department moving forward except for Moringer. He made sure I understood that before the meeting took place.” Diaz walked to the door and gave a shrug. “We can’t make it look like you’re getting any help. As far as the director and I are concerned, we asked you to come in here to tell you to
stop
snooping around.” Diaz lingered at the door before opening it then looked back at her. “But if you do need help with anything, I’ve gotten pretty good at lying.” He flashed a grin and then left.

Cooper reached for the file on the table once more, flipping through the pages. The file contained information on attacks out at sea. A number of Coast Guard vessels and Navy ships were being pestered by pirates and mercenaries, but so far they’d done nothing more than lead them on wild-goose chases. However, there was a report listed that showed two Coast Guard ships missing, with the last radio transmission coming from somewhere off the Atlantic Coast near Boston. She shut the file and drummed her fingers on the table and quickly left the room.

The moment Cooper was out the door and into the hallway, any DEA agent or staff member in the area stopped what they were doing to look up at her. It was like she had the plague, a witch marked and not to be spoken to or interacted with in fear of catching whatever she had. But despite the most recent events, the plague that her peers thought her to have had been growing for quite some time.

Mistrust and rumors were two of the worst stigma an agent could have, and Cooper had both. She ignored the whispers as she walked past her peers. Half of them probably either thought she had been fired or was one step closer out the door.

Outside, the sun was up, and Washington, DC, was alive and locked down. From the steps of her department’s building, she could see the hundreds of troops in the streets. The capitol had been granted an excess number of soldiers, which seemed to have kept the terrorists from performing any attacks, but the rest of the cities of the country weren’t as lucky. DC was nothing more than a symbol.

With the president in Air Force One, circling the atmosphere and waiting for the culprits to be caught, the city didn’t hold any real strategic value for the mayhem that the terrorists enjoyed practicing.

The file that Moringer had given her had no mention of Captain Dylan Turk, the central focal point of how all of this had started. No doubt excluded on Perry’s orders. It’d been a while since she had spoken to Dylan. With Dylan’s son captured by the terrorists she was willing to bet that would be good motivation for blackmail. She decided it was time to go and have a word with the captain.

***

The monitors on the screens had faces from every major city on the West Coast, and Perry watched each and every one of them squirm. It gave him a certain satisfaction, something that he couldn’t find anywhere else except within the realm of authority.

Perry had found that all men craved power, even if they didn’t realize it. It was the aphrodisiac that corrupted businessmen, politicians, anyone and everyone who managed to get a taste. It was the same power that his father had seemed to grasp, but once it was gone it had left him twisted and beaten, which had caused him to physically leave his own marks on Perry.

The ascension of Perry’s career had been a long, strenuous climb. He lacked the political connections, looks, and charm that his peers relied on. But none of them could outsmart him. Add that to the fact that no one expected much from him, and he managed to sneak up behind every doubter and choke them out with their own tie around their neck.

“You said we’d be making money. You said we’d be rich!” The grey-haired, heavy-set, flushed-red-faced man on the screen just left of the center pointed a fat finger at Perry and slammed his fist on a table. “But money won’t do us any good with half the country in chaos!”

The rest of the men on the screens echoed their discontent with similar gestures. The last-ditch effort to save face and pretend that they didn’t fear what was coming, offering the illusion that they still had control over their own destinies, much like children throwing tantrums in a department store.

“You came to me, gentlemen,” Perry said. “There is no other course of action. You keep the shipments coming into the West Coast for my men, or I send what units I have in the area and kill you.”

“You can’t do that!”

Perry twirled the flag pin on the lapel of his jacket. The outline was crusted with gold, and the red, white, and blue shimmered under the lighting in the office. He plucked it off and pinched it between his fingers, holding it up for the men on the screen to see. “Do you know what this is? It was given to me by the vice president of the United States after a Senate hearing three years ago. I’d just been promoted to deputy director of Homeland, and the Senate meeting I was a part of was a subcommittee for wiretapping and surveillance of criminal activity in the United States.” Perry dropped the pin to the table, and it clanked lightly against the wood. “I can do whatever I want. Whenever I want. I have power. I have reach. I have authority. I have everything that you need to keep your operations running, and if I hear one more piece of pathetic, whining, sniveling shit tell me what I can and can’t do, I will bring you down with the force of the United States government, which is willing to grab any scapegoat it can as to who is helping orchestrate these attacks.”

It sent most of the faces on the screens in a downward glance, but Don Vivenci refused to lower his eyes. “And what makes you think we can’t turn around and pin this on you?”

Perry reached over to his laptop and opened his inbox. He dragged a few documents and attached them to an email, ran it through an encryption program, then hit send. “You have a present in your inbox, Don.” The mob boss fiddled with his phone while Perry picked up the flag pin from the desk and pinned it back to the lapel of his jacket.

“What is this?” Vivenci asked.

“That,” Perry said, looking down at the pin and spinning it to where it was sitting upright, “is the proposal I made over two years ago to track your movements on the West Coast. Criminal activity, conspiracy, drugs, it’s all there and already signed off by my superiors.” With the pin neatly back on his jacket, Perry looked to Vivenci’s ghost-white face. “They know about my relationship with you, but they just believe that it’s for the cause of stopping you instead of using you. Whatever lies you try and tell them will be discarded as farce and a sad attempt to try and save your own skins. I have files like that on everyone.”

The pale, ghostly look spread to the other six faces on the monitors around Don Vivenci. If it weren’t for the fact that it’d been so easy to manipulate them, Perry would almost feel sorry for them, but that portion of his mind had long ago dissolved.

“The pick-up times will be shifted by an hour this week.” Perry rose from his chair and buttoned his jacket. “I expect everything to run smoothly. If I hear of anything out of the norm, then you can expect a federal raid on your homes, families, and whatever is left of your businesses. Goodbye, gentlemen.” Perry clicked the power button on the conference call, and the screens went black. He placed his laptop in his briefcase and opened the blinds to his office.

The hallways were busy, as they always were these days. He checked with his receptionist to make sure all his meetings were set for this afternoon, and once she confirmed, he headed down the hall.

“Oh! Mr. Perry!”

He stopped and turned, his receptionist hurrying down the hall after him, holding a piece of paper. She caught her breath, and Perry snatched the scribbling from her hand. “What’s this?”

“Director Moringer from the DEA called while you were on your conference call. He said it was urgent. About an Agent Cooper?”

That woman was starting to become a larger pain in Perry’s side than he’d anticipated. “Thank you. I’ll give him a call immediately.” Perry uttered a few under-his-breath curses as he weaved in and out of the personnel scattered throughout the halls.

Outside, the heat of DC struck him, and he felt the inside of his suit start to cook. He made a beeline for his car, dialing Moringer’s number on the way. On the second ring, Moringer picked up.

“Deputy Director Perry, how are you?”

“Busy. What can I help you with, Director Moringer?” Perry tossed his briefcase into the passenger seat of his car and started the engine.

“Agent Adila Cooper worked on the original case with Homeland last week when that boat captain was boarded by the terrorists.”

“Yes, Captain Turk, I remember. I thought Agent Cooper had been suspended due to her negligence with the captain and his son?” Perry pulled out of the parking garage, and one of the soldiers stopped traffic and waved him out onto the street. Every intersection that Perry passed had troops stationed at it.
Foolish show of power and a waste of resources.

“She was, but we found out yesterday that she’s been investigating the matter on her own, and she kept bringing your name up. As far as I’m concerned, she’s on her last leg. She’s a good agent, but I don’t need her getting in your boss’s way and causing me another headache. I was hoping that any information you get about her, if she continues her work unauthorized, you could funnel to me and I could handle internally.”

Perry turned onto the highway, where a line of tanks rolled down the opposite side of the road. “Of course. I’ll be sure to help you as much as I can, but if she goes too far, I’ll have no choice but to march it up my chain of command.”

“I understand. Thank you.”

The call ended, and Perry pressed the corner of his phone against his jaw. Whatever Cooper found wouldn’t be enough to cause any problems with his operations, but the fact that Moringer had called him directly was cause for concern. It wasn’t protocol, and it definitely didn’t fit Moringer’s profile. He was by the book, he was morally right, and the only thing that upends a morally righteous man is the idea that in his sacrifice, some evil will be vanquished. And Perry was betting that evil was him.

Chapter 6

The neighborhood wasn’t as bad as Cooper expected it to be, but then again her shock level had significantly decreased over the past week. She parked on the side of the road outside a rundown shack that looked like it was one notice away from being condemned. The yard was littered with trash, and the three-foot fence that circled it sagged and was broken in most sections, serving more as an eyesore than as an actual barrier to guard anything.

When Cooper pounded on the front door, flakes of paint fell off with each thud. A few more knocks later, and an older man, hunched over with no shirt on and bandages around his stomach, gripping the doorframe for support, finally answered.

“Yeah?”

“I’m looking for Dylan Turk,” Cooper answered. She scanned the inside and saw that it wasn’t in much better shape than the exterior of the house. “I was told this is where he was staying while the DEA and Homeland had his house under investigation.”

“And who are you?”

“Agent Cooper. Is Dylan here?”

The old man eyed her suspiciously. “You have identification?”

“Look, you can either let me in, or I can force my way in. The choice is yours, old man.” Cooper shifted her weight to her back leg, letting momentum build for her in case she needed to strike quickly. The one hand the old man kept behind the door was no doubt gripped around a rifle.

Finally, the old man showed his other hand empty and opened the door wide enough for her to pass through. “He’s in the shower. Should be out soon.”

“Thank you.” Cooper eyed the shotgun by the door on her way in and was thankful it hadn’t come to that. Shooting a man who’d already been shot wouldn’t look good, no matter how she tried to spin it to Moringer. The old man hobbled back to the couch and reclined gently, his face wincing as he lowered himself to the cushions. “You were Dylan’s first mate on the ship when he was boarded, right? How are you healing up?”

“About as good as the city is.” He flopped the last couple inches down onto the couch and sank into the cushions. “I hope you’re here to tell Dylan some good news.”

Cooper had her eye on the back room and made sure to listen for the shower running. The low, steady hum of flowing water was still running, so she had time to look around. “Good news is, we haven’t heard that his son is dead. So that’s something. Is there only one bathroom here?”

“No. Toilet’s down the hall to the right.” The old man reached for his radio and scanned the dial, a mix of scrambled music and news coming out of the speakers.