The Janus Reprisal (8 page)

Russell stared at the image of the refrigerator. “There is one thing.”

Washington perked up. “What?”

She pointed to the plastic cover for the refrigerator light. “The cover is slimy looking. It almost looks like someone wiped it with petroleum jelly.” Jordan bent in to take a closer look.

“You sure it wasn’t that way before? I mean, the interior of my refrigerator could use a good scrubbing.”

Washington tapped him on the shoulder. “You single?”

Jordan nodded.

“Then you’ll learn. My wife sees dirt that I don’t even notice. Women don’t allow slime in the refrigerator.”

Russell smiled for the first time since the ordeal began. “You stereotyping me?”

Washington grinned back. “Yes, I am.”

“Well, you’re right…
this time
,” Russell said. “I’m certain I would have noticed that before.”

Washington rubbed his jaw while he stared at the monitor. “Not likely that a bomb is in that small a container. Besides, we’d see the outline of one through the plastic.”

“Perhaps something biological?”

Washington nodded. “That’s outside my area of expertise. We’ll need a lab tech to come in and take some swabs.”

“Now the only question is how did they get the alarm code and once they had it, why did they bother to shut down the electricity?” Russell told the men about the recently installed code.

“Got to be either a camera somewhere or a device implanted into the keypad that tracks your key strikes. I’ll check for both,” Jordan said. “As for the electricity, maybe they thought it would knock out the alarm system altogether?”

“Hard to believe guys sophisticated enough to enable a keystroke reader wouldn’t know that most alarm systems have backup batteries.”

“I think they wanted it dark in case you woke up and targeted them. Harder for you to see them to kill them,” Washington said.

Russell followed both men into the house, looking around the front yard before closing the front door. She threw the deadbolt and joined them in the kitchen. Washington was peering into the refrigerator and Russell joined him. From the closer view the slime on the light cover was even more pronounced. Washington closed the door.

Jordan removed the cover from the alarm keypad and said, “We’ve got a reader.” He removed a small circuit board, clipping the wires that attached it to the system and replacing them. The alarm pad beeped. “I’ll check all of the pads.”

While Jordan worked on the keypads, Russell and Washington searched the house for anything else suspicious that the intruder might have left. They found nothing. When they were done, Washington and Jordan left.

Russell sat at the kitchen table, her pistol within reach, and watched as the sky lightened with the new day. The refrigerator hummed.

S
MITH TOUCHED DOWN AT
Washington Dulles at three in the afternoon, having hopped a military charter that was scheduled to fly some members of the Department of Defense administrative staff home from The Hague. None had stayed at the Grand Royal, and all wanted Smith’s take on the attack. He gave little information, choosing to act the innocent bystander rather than the operative that he was. The terrorist’s plane ticket was in his pocket.

He’d faxed the photos and the plane ticket to Klein, and now he sat and worried about the unidentified woman in the photo. While he was sure Howell could take care of himself, he wasn’t sure about the woman.

Once he landed he turned on his phone and waited for it to load. As other passengers deplaned, one man, a DOD staff member, tapped him on the shoulder.

“Looks like you have an escort waiting.” The man waved to one of the windows. A military vehicle and two MPs he recognized from Fort Detrick waited on the tarmac. Smith stayed in his seat, however, and waited for his phone to load. He had two messages; one from Klein and one from Russell. He called Klein first.

“I’ve landed. Any luck on the photo?” Smith said. He heard Klein sigh over the phone.

“None. We loaded it into some face recognition software and accessed CIA personnel files for the past five years, Department of Defense, and the World Health Organization’s database of scientists, diplomatic envoys for various nations, and as many consular personnel records as we could find. Also, I pulled a search on every present and past judge of the International Criminal Court. Nothing. Whoever this woman is, she’s not military, diplomatic, or security. I even accessed present and former Secret Service personnel.”

“How about Peter Howell? Does he recognize her?”

Klein coughed. “I’m sorry to say that Peter Howell is missing. We’ve been unable to contact him through the secure line that he maintains for MI6. They’re as concerned as we are.”

Smith’s dread increased with this news. Howell wouldn’t ignore a contact from MI6 unless he was in deep cover, dire circumstances, or dead. Smith shook off the last thought.

“I have a call from Russell. Perhaps she has news?”

“I didn’t inform the CIA about the photos yet. Don’t need them digging into your status and possibly stumbling over your Covert-One activity. But feel free to follow up with her on the Dattar angle and the coolers. I assume that WHO’s director-general has briefed the CIA on the situation by now. Were you able to get any information out of the terrorist you found on the street?”

“Collecting intel from them is going to be a real problem, if not impossible. Each one we got our hands on died. Not from wounds, you understand. They just…died. Beckmann promised autopsy results. But for now I want to locate that woman. I think the photos, the attack on the hotel, and Dattar’s escape must be related. If I can find her, I might be able to find the coolers.”

“I agree, but I warn you, do not return home. And be prepared for what’s happening at Fort Detrick. The media is slavering to speak to you, and both areas are surrounded. I’ve arranged for a short press conference from DOD headquarters at 1600 hours. We’ll feed the media beast and hope they move on to other subjects.”

“I seem to have an escort waiting.”

“That was handled by USAMRIID. After the press conference I’ve arranged for you to stay a couple of nights at the Four Seasons Hotel.”

“Four Seasons. Pretty fancy stuff. Why not a safe house?”

“You’re bound to be followed by some overambitious paparazzo. Let’s do the unexpected until the media storm dies down. The hotel staff are experts at protecting their guests from anxious journalists.” Smith wasn’t worried about journalists, he was worried about assassins, but he figured that anything was better than heading to his home.

“Were you able to get a laptop?”

“Yes. It’s on hold at the hotel, and there’s a car parked there for your use. Are you sure the time you’re spending on finding this woman is worth it? You may be chasing down the wrong lead. She may know nothing that will help us recover those coolers.”

“My instinct tells me she’s in DC or New York. Maybe Chicago on the outside, but nothing smaller and her clothes don’t match the West Coast.”

“The bigger the city, the tougher it will be to locate her.”

“That’s why identifying the photo is so important. I’ll get on it the minute I reach the hotel.”

“I’m willing to let you devote a couple of days to it, but let’s not lose sight of the real goal. We need to recover those coolers.”

“I understand, but I can’t help shake the feeling that Dattar’s escape, the attack on the hotel to obtain those coolers, and the photos must be related. I’ll keep you informed.”

Smith descended the rolling metal stairs from the airplane. He saw the MPs snap to attention at the sight of him despite his casual clothes. For a brief moment he wished he’d put on his BDUs before getting on the airplane, but they were back in the Grand Royal. He returned the soldiers’ salutes and nodded to the car.

“Take me to the grilling.” The nearest soldier, a young woman with short dark hair and heavy eyebrows, grinned at him, revealing two slightly overlapping front teeth.

“Private Mercer, sir. Won’t be that bad, sir.”

“You promise to stay by my side?” He smiled at her. Her look warmed.

“Private Warren and I,” Mercer indicated the young man with an upright carriage and serious expression standing next to her, “are ordered to protect you, and that’s what we’ll do.”

“Any chance of rustling up a uniform? Mine’s back in Europe.”

“Yes, sir. There will be one waiting for you at Department of Defense headquarters.”

He settled into the backseat, which was separated from the two soldiers by a thick protective window, and hit redial on Russell’s missed call. He was surprised to see her private cell phone number run across the screen. He’d expected her to call from CIA offices.

“Are you all right?” she said, without preamble, her voice registering relief. Smith hurried to put her at ease.

“I’m fine and just landed in DC. I used a military charter. No frills and no onboard Internet so I couldn’t let you know what’s been happening.”

“I hope you took the opportunity to sleep since it was clear from your clothing that you’d been trying to when the hotel was attacked.” Russell’s voice held a tinge of humor.

“I did. Thanks again for Beckmann. Any news on the autopsy?”

“Only a confirmation that they didn’t die of any obvious wound. We’re going to have to wait twenty-four hours for the pathology report. Beckmann’s vowed to find another one before he ‘dies of fright,’ as he puts it. I hope he does because we need some information and our usual intelligence network has been silent on the attack. Still no takers claiming responsibility.” She paused. “On that note, something strange is going on.” Smith listened while Russell filled him in on the incident at her home.

“Did they swab the light?”

“They did. It’s off to the labs, but I’d feel a lot better if you could have a look at it as well. I know that USAMRIID is on the cutting edge of new bacteria.”

“Of course, but I’m avoiding Fort Detrick right now. I’m told it’s surrounded by the media, all waiting to snap a photo of me driving through the gates. I have a friend who runs the lab at George Mason University. Can you send it there?” He gave Russell the address. “Any news on Dattar?”

“Nothing. He’s just vanished.”

It was all Smith could do not to tell her about the photos, and in particular, the photo of the woman. He toyed with the idea of telling her a half truth, that he’d found only Howell’s photo and the woman’s, but he thought that would be worthless. Russell could spend a lot of time tracking down dead-end leads because she wouldn’t have the whole picture.

“I’m in town and staying at the Four Seasons after I give a press conference at the DOD. Let me know when the cultures arrive and I’ll check them out.” The car turned in front of DOD headquarters, and Smith pressed a button that lowered the window.

“Showtime?” he said.

Private Warren gave him a nod. “Yes, sir.”

Thirty minutes later Smith was dressed in a crisp starched military uniform and standing on a raised dais behind a podium, answering questions fired at him from a room full of press. Privates Mercer and Warren were positioned on either side of the room and General Randolph, his supervisor at USAMRIID, stood behind him. He’d run through the bulk of the questions and was nearing the end of the session when a journalist asked about Dattar.

“Colonel Smith, were you aware that Oman Dattar escaped from custody that evening?” Smith tensed but did his best to keep breathing. Just hearing Dattar’s name made him grit his teeth.

“I’m aware of that, yes.”

“I seem to recall that you were involved in a humanitarian mission in Dattar’s region some time ago. Were you scheduled to testify against him in the trial?”

Smith felt the mood in the room darken. “As I said, I traveled to The Hague to attend a WHO conference on infectious diseases. While I’d been notified by the prosecutor that he might need my testimony at some point in the future regarding the handling of a cholera outbreak in the region, I was not scheduled to appear before the tribunal.”

“Are you aware that several witnesses were staying at the Grand Royal at the time of the attack?”

Smith glanced down at the podium while he did his best to contain his emotion at this piece of information. The location of testifying witnesses was to have remained strictly secret, and he had not considered that some might have been staying at a high-profile hotel like the Grand Royal. Smith wondered how the journalist had uncovered this bit of intelligence, and he wondered why Klein hadn’t mentioned to him that witnesses might have been staying at the hotel. He looked up at the expectant faces staring back at him.

“Are you sure of that information?”

The journalist deflated visibly, and Smith thought his first question was a stab in the dark. He thought of the woman, but dismissed the idea as soon as he had it. Nothing Klein had uncovered revealed that she’d died in the attack.

“I’m asking you,” the journalist said in an attempt to parry the question.

“I’m not privy to any additional information about the proceedings against Dattar than is publicly available.”

General Randolph clapped his hands. “Thank you all. You can understand that Lieutenant Colonel Smith needs to move on from this terrible experience and reconnect with his family and loved ones. This press conference is over.”

Smith felt another pang at General Randolph’s words, well meaning though they were. As a Covert-One operative, Smith had no living immediate family, no wife, and no children. He’d always relished the complete freedom that his lack of ties gave him, but for a brief moment, standing there on the podium, he felt a pang of loneliness. He shook it off, straightened, and followed the general out of the conference room.

Smith settled back into the military transport for the ride to the hotel. Next to him on the seat was a small duffel that contained his civilian clothes. He felt his phone begin vibrating when he was nearly at his destination. It was Klein.

“Saw the press conference. I have a request out to be allowed access to every witness the prosecutor called or expected to call in the Dattar matter, as well as every witness he interviewed when preparing the case. I’ll have an answer for you before the end of the day.”

“You read my mind.”

“I still think it may be a side issue, but I respect your instincts. If you think finding her will get us closer to finding the bacteria, then I’m willing to run down the photo.”

The car turned into an alley located behind the hotel and stopped. Smith climbed out, still holding the phone.

Private Mercer pointed to a door located behind a dumpster. “Sir, sorry for leaving you at the service entrance, but we were told to avoid the main lobby and to let you slip in on your own. That entrance leads to a back hallway.” Private Mercer whispered the information so as not to disturb the call. Smith saluted both soldiers and stood aside while the car reversed down the alley and drove away. As he approached the door, he noted the closed-circuit cameras that monitored the entrance; his mind was engaged with his phone conversation and his concentration on the problem of the photo. He saw the glint of light that flashed from the bushes at the top of the narrow alley, but was slow to register the danger.