Split Second (24 page)

41

Jenna Morrison was reclining against the headboard of
the Best Border Inn’s low-rent king-sized bed, her blonde wig thrown
unceremoniously on an end table. Her eyes were closed, but she was wide awake.
Dan Walsh was tapping his fingers rhythmically on the desk. And Aaron Blake was
pacing like a caged lion, which was not easy to do in the seedy, cramped room.

It had been over thirty minutes since the kid had
returned, assuring Blake that he had accomplished his mission.

So where was Cargill?

“Is it possible Cargill wasn’t alerted when the boy
entered your ATM password?” said Walsh.

“No,” replied Blake decisively. “I may be willing to
believe time travel is possible. But I’m not willing to believe Cargill would
ever be so sloppy as to fail to monitor our accounts. The only reason I got
away with using an ATM earlier today was that they were scrambling after our
escape from
Greg
’s
house. But once they had a chance to think, this would be one of the first
things they’d do.”

“And you’re certain the kid didn’t screw up?” said
Jenna.

“Not certain, but confident. He brought me an account
balance like I asked, so I know he got into the system as me. He insisted he
held up the paper with my message facing the camera. My Spanish isn’t perfect, but
it’s good enough for me to be sure that
he
was sure. Maybe Cargill is out of reach, or can’t be disturbed. Although I’d be
surprised if he didn’t leave orders to be interrupted if he got a bead on us,
no matter what.”

Blake sighed. “Let’s give it another hour. If we don’t
hear, we’ll try something else.”

He continued pacing and checking the time. Another
fifteen minutes passed, and he thought he would lose his mind if he had to wait
another forty-five.

His phone rang.

Blake had already instructed his PDA to set up the
call through the motel’s television as before, audio-only. Cargill must know
what he looked like by now, but giving him a peek at the motel room would give him
clues to their location that Blake wanted to avoid.

All three assumed the positions they had taken
earlier, with Blake and Jenna on the edge of the bed and Walsh seated in the
desk chair.

Blake answered the call, and confirmed that it was,
indeed, Lee Cargill on the other end. Unlike Knight, the man was broadcasting
video from the very start. He was seated at a desk in an office that looked
like a high-tech nerve center from which a military or business chieftain could
conduct far-flung operations. Cargill appeared to be in his early fifties, with
salt-and-pepper hair, brown eyes, and a world-weary face.

Blake introduced himself and informed Cargill that
Jenna Morrison was also on the call.

“Can I assume Dr. Walsh is still with you as well?”

Blake thought about this, but saw no point in denying
what had to be obvious to the man. “Yes.”

“I have to say you’ve been most impressive, Mr. Blake.
And I don’t impress easily.”

“Good to know,” replied Blake dismissively. “But this
isn’t a social call. You have
Greg
Soyer,” he said, his tone now ominous. “I want him back.
Immediately!
If not, I make sure Nathan
Wexler’s discovery goes viral.”

Cargill let out a heavy sigh. “Fine,” he said. “You
can have him. He’s unhurt.”

His speed of capitulation made Blake certain that the
man had expected this demand.

“But first let me tell you what this is all about,” added
Cargill. “No one was supposed to get hurt. I don’t blame you for not trusting
me, but let me explain what’s really going on.”

Jenna’s expression turned feral.
“Was it
you
who ordered your men to
kidnap me and Nathan from our home?” she spat. “Were those
your
men in the Hostess truck?”

“Yes,” said Cargill. “But let me
explain.”

“
Let you explain what?
” she screamed. “That one of your men shot
Nathan in the face at point-blank range? Is that what you need to explain? Are
you going to tell me I imagined it all? Because I was there. I saw it happen!”

Cargill’s face fell. “Everyone on
that exfil team was killed,” he said despondently. “I didn’t know for sure until
just now that this is what happened in that truck, although I have to admit I suspected
it. And this is on me. I know that. I was in charge of making sure you were
both brought in safely, so his death is my responsibility.”

“His death isn’t your
responsibility because you were in charge of safety!” screamed Jenna. “It’s
your responsibility because
your man
killed him!
”

“This is far bigger than you know.
Let me start at the beginning, and then—”

“No!” barked Blake. “No stories.
No long conversations. I don’t care what you have to say. I want Greg Soyer.”

“But once I tell you what’s
going on, you’ll see things differently. And I need you to come in so I can
protect you. You’re in great danger.”

“No shit!” said Blake. “We’re in
great danger from
you
.”

“Not from me. From a man named
Edgar Knight.”

Blake arched one eyebrow. “Yes,”
he said. “We’ve had the pleasure of speaking. How do you think I know you have Greg?”

“Shit!” said Cargill, shaking his head. “Tell me you
didn’t give him Dr. Wexler’s file.”

“I don’t have to tell you squat,” said Blake
derisively.

“Look, given what I know about you and your prior
actions, I have to assume you were prudent enough not to give this up right
away. Which means Knight is moving Heaven and Earth to find you, so he can get it.
You can’t trust him, although I’m sure he said the same thing about me. But let
me tell my version of the truth—which is the
actual
truth—and you can decide for yourself.”

“After I have
Greg
Soyer.”

“But I’m the only one who can give you adequate
protection.”

“Look,” said Blake, “I don’t know who to trust, and I’m
not in the mood for another lengthy conversation about forty-five microseconds
of time travel. But once I have my friend back, I’ll humor you. You can give us
a call and delight us with your storytelling abilities, okay?”

Cargill shook his head in obvious frustration. “You’re
making a mistake not listening to what I have to say. And you’re putting far more
at risk than just yourself.”

“I’m willing to take that chance,” said Blake.

Cargill sighed. “It looks like I don’t have any other
choice,” he said in resignation. “So you win. Looks like we’re going to play it
your way.”

42

Brian Hamilton sat alone in a
booth at the Colorado Springs Outback Steakhouse and sliced off a small piece
of the twenty-ounce prime rib he had ordered, intending to savor every last
piece. He brought the fork to his mouth, already salivating from the aroma. As
the flavor washed over his taste buds his phone buzzed, indicating he had a
secure text coming in, from none other than Lee Cargill himself.

He glanced around the room, out
of habit, to ensure there were no prying eyes, but this was unnecessary as he
was in a booth with his back against a wall.

He shoved another piece of steak
into his mouth and began reading:

This message is for members of the Q5 Inner Circle only. We have
recently come to learn the whereabouts of Jenna Morrison and Aaron Blake. You
are familiar with Jenna Morrison and why she is important, but I’ve been
purposely keeping you out of the loop, so Aaron Blake is a name you haven’t heard.

Blake is an ex-Army Ranger she recruited, and from our experience,
elite even among this elite group. He has also proven himself highly capable,
creative, and quite competent at the art of deception. While we think recovering
these two will now be routine, we’ve made this mistake before. When we first
tried to bring in Jenna Morrison and Nathan Wexler, we were also confident it
would be a cake walk. Until we ended up losing over a dozen men, including five
from the Inner Circle.

For this reason, even though acquiring these two targets should require
very little manpower, I want all eight of you to join me and Joe Allen on this op.

Along with Morrison and Blake, a scientist named Dan Walsh is with them
at a motel, at an address and room number provided at the end of this message.
Joe Allen and I are flying to Cheyenne Mountain now, since we know all of you
are in the vicinity. Two hours from when I send this, at eight tonight, we will
all meet at runway three, where an aircraft will be gassed up and ready to go. I’ll
provide an extensive mission briefing while we’re en-route to their motel.

I need to tell you we suspect we have a mole in the organization. We
don’t think it is one of the eight of you, but we can’t rule this out. This is
one reason we’re taking all of you along, because if one of you do decide to
cause trouble, he will be hopelessly outnumbered. For this reason, I must ask
you to keep your eyes open and watch each other. And Joe and I will be doing
nothing but watching all of you during the mission.

I hate to do this, since nothing impairs a mission more than not being
able to trust every one of your teammates with your lives, but I have no
choice. Again, I can’t imagine the mole, if he exists among you, would dare
reveal himself given this warning and the numbers involved, but understand that
this is still a possibility.

That was everything. Beneath
this was Lee Cargill’s electronic signature, and below this the address of the
motel at which their targets were staying.

Hamilton shook his head in
wonder. Perfect!

He forwarded the message to
Edgar Knight’s highest priority address, one he had never used before, and one
whose misuse was not taken lightly, since Knight’s PDA would wake him from the
dead if it ever received a message on this channel. If Knight later decided the
importance of a message didn’t warrant this pulling of a fire alarm, heads
would roll, or in this case one head: his.

But Hamilton knew that Knight would
not consider this a false alarm.

He would consider it one of the
most important messages he had ever received.

* *
*

Hamilton finished his meal in
total contentment. He had plenty of time to reach the rendezvous point at
Cheyenne mountain while Cargill was flying in. He finished his last bite,
smacking his lips in satisfaction, and then leisurely ordered and finished a large
wedge of cheesecake.

Finally satiated, he left his
pretty young waitress a big tip and drove back to the Colorado Springs Hilton, where
he had chosen to stay while awaiting the assignment of permanent quarters
inside the mountain.

He was resting in his room, thirty
minutes before he planned to leave for the base, when his cell phone indicated he
had received another priority message from Cargill. He quickly pulled it up and
began to read.

To members of the Q5 Inner Circle. Belay my last orders. I had
negotiated a handoff with Aaron Blake, which you would have been briefed on,
but it turns out this was yet another test, another deception. I mentioned Blake
was slippery, and careful. It turns out that he isn’t at the motel he said he
was, and now has insisted on a new rendezvous point and set of procedures.

Given these changes, and given his painstaking caution, I’ve decided
not to take any chances. For this reason, Joe Allen and I will be handling this
by ourselves, after all.

Apologies for the change of plans. I will be contacting you soon to
give you details about your new quarters and assignments.

Lee Cargill.

“God-
dammit
!”
thundered Hamilton in disgust. So much for getting lucky.

He quickly forwarded this
message to Edgar Knight using his highest priority channel once again. His boss
would know these events were out of his control, and that he had proceeded
precisely as he should have, but he would not be happy.

43

As he watched Greg Soyer exit
the small commercial helicopter in the waning light of sunset, Aaron Blake felt
a crushing weight lifting from his throat. He had been suffocating since his
friend was taken, and finally felt as if he could breathe freely again.

Soyer looked unharmed and in
good spirits, as advertised.

Blake had sent Cargill’s pilot
to two other locations, changing the drop-off point to the Torrey Pines helipad
at the last moment, ensuring they couldn’t set up a team on the ground to keep
tabs on him. He also had a clear strategy for getting out from under satellite
surveillance once he picked up Soyer.

Jenna and Walsh were
safely back at the Best Border Inn in San Ysidro, waiting for him to lose any
surveillance and return for them.

Jenna had suggested the
Torrey Pines helipad for the handoff since it was in an area considered part of
La Jolla, where she lived, and she knew it well.

The area was heavily
wooded with its namesake tree, the Torrey pine, which basically only grew on
this narrow strip of coastline, making it the rarest species of pine in the US.
In addition, the Torrey Pines area was home to a prestigious hospital and a
thriving biotech community, a spectacular golf course situated along cliffs
overlooking the Pacific, and a two-thousand-acre natural reserve, with eight
miles of trails.

The helipad was surrounded by the
location’s namesake pine, which provided both shade and isolation, but was also
near a frequently traveled street. The air was fresh and cool, and Blake’s
surroundings were tranquil and beautiful, but he was focused only on his friend
and the small helicopter.

As Soyer moved quickly away from
the helo, heading due north as Blake had instructed, the helicopter rose into
the air and flew off toward the east. Blake watched it carefully until it was out
of sight.

Not that he had any real concern
Cargill would make a play for him. He had made sure the man knew he had
separated from his two companions, so that if anything happened to him they
could still release Nathan’s work, the very threat that had secured Soyer’s
release in the first place.

Blake was sitting in the
driver’s seat of a rusted yellow Chevy Impala, the second car he had purchased
that day, parallel parked on the street between a Mercedes convertible and a
Lexus sedan. When Soyer was within twenty yards of him he exited the vehicle
and waved him over. His friend quickly closed the distance between them and
they exchanged a heartfelt bear hug.

“I am so sorry I got you into
this,” said Blake.

“Don’t be,” said Soyer. “You did
warn me what might happen.”

This did little to assuage
Blake’s guilt, but he needed to move on. “Are you bugged?” he asked.

“I don’t think so. But knowing
you, you’re prepared to check.”

Blake grinned. “You know me too
well, Greg,” he said, removing the same bug detector he had used to clear Dan
Walsh. Within a minute, he had cleared his friend as well.

They both got into the car and
shut the doors, but Blake didn’t start the engine. “So what happened after you
were captured?” he asked. “Did Cargill tell you anything about what’s going on?
Was he able to crack the flash drive?”

Blake also wondered if Cargill had
used torture, or had threatened such, in order to get Soyer to reveal the
password, but decided Cargill was too smart for this tactic. For all Cargill
knew, Soyer had set up a password that would initiate an immediate self-destruct,
so any password that was coerced out of him could blow up in Cargill’s face.
Better to crack it on his own.

“Before I tell you what
happened,” said Soyer, “can I assume we’ll be reunited with your friend soon? You
know,” he said in amusement, “Jane Smith.”

“Not immediately,” replied
Blake, “but soon enough. I have all kinds of fun planned to be sure we shake
any human or electronic eyes on us before I go anywhere near her.”

“Where is she?”

“At the Best Border Inn in San
Ysidro. Nothing but the best for my clients.”

“Yeah, I noticed the word
best
in the name of the inn.”

“And for good reason,” said
Blake with a grin. “It’s the finest one-star motel money can buy.”

Blake started the car to begin
taking his pre-planned counter-surveillance measures. He was wedged in between
the two luxury cars surrounding him with only inches to spare on either end.

The car was so old it didn’t
even have a rear-view camera, so he studied his mirrors to begin to extricate
himself from the spot, as optimistic as he had been since this whole affair had
begun. Maybe things were finally turning in their favor. Knight had made a
gracious offer for them to align with him, and to protect them from Cargill. His
friend was safe and unhurt. And they now had leverage that had proven its
value.

Blake continued to bask in
positive thoughts, right up until he heard a loud spitting sound and felt a
dagger in his gut at the same instant.

He clutched at his stomach, but
instead of finding a gaping hole, he found a tranquilizer dart imbedded there.

He had just enough time to
glance up to see Greg Soyer with a gun in his hand.

In a rush, he realized what had
happened. He had been shot at point-blank range by a man he considered to be
his closest friend.

He had no time to consider this
betrayal further as the drug hit his bloodstream and he slumped over against
the steering wheel, unconscious.