The Kill Order (14 page)

21

A
t one time Parker Bruxton Kane had been in line to run the U.S. arm of ATLAS. In fact, the idea for the organization came from him, from an elite unit he ran out of the Central Intelligence Agency. It wasn’t as broad as ATLAS, as far-reaching, because it did not have the oversight, something he’d hoped to change when he’d actually proposed the idea of ATLAS to the last president. But his smaller version was certainly efficient, and this room was the heart of his operation, the place where the most sensitive of cases took place, where the finest analysts and agents worked. The elite of the elite, they’d been with him for as long as he’d held the number two position, each one handpicked—loyal to the government, they would lie down their lives for their president—but more importantly, loyal to him. They didn’t question his needs. Every one of them had a military background, knew how to follow orders, and knew that sometimes for a job to be done right, one didn’t need to know why, only what to do.

It was the perfect mix, and he hadn’t yet quite decided what to do with the team once he was appointed as the deputy national security adviser. Decisions on that, however, could wait. The more pressing matter was this Piper Lawrence.

“Listen up,” he said, holding a copy of the report Ron McNiel had written for ATLAS. “This girl we are now searching for is a potential threat to national security. She was last seen at a convenience store here in D.C., and may have viewed a secure document. She may even have a copy. I want to know everything there is about her. Where she went to school. Who she hung out with. What car she drove.
Every
thing. Understood?”

They looked at him, and for a moment, their expressions were blank.

“Get to it!” he yelled.

They jumped to work, turning to their respective computers to search for the information needed.

A half hour later, he walked in to see what progress they’d made.

Her identification photo was on the computer screen and one of the analysts, Alan Madison, nodded toward it. “That’s her.”

“And?”

“Arrested on a felony grand theft charge, dropped to a misdemeanor, in addition to several misdemeanor convictions for petty theft. Aged out of the foster care system. Currently attends community college. License valid, but no vehicles. Known associates are . . .” He pressed another button, bringing up a different screen. “Bo Brewer, owner of the shop where the first number sighting turned up. And that’s about the extent of any official records.”

Parker Kane walked up, eyed her photo, the dark makeup, facial piercings, and spiky black hair with pink . . . tufts? Whatever they were called, they’d sure as hell make her easy to spot, as he well knew. “Good start, but not enough. I want cell phone records, landline records. Every call she’s ever made. And once you have those numbers? I want them monitored to see what comes in or out. People do
not
just disappear, folks. They leave a trail, and you sure as hell better find it. This girl needs to be in a body bag before this thing turns into a national security nightmare.”

He heard the clicking of keyboards as he started to walk out. He was late for a meeting with the president, and he was
not
going to let this thing ruin his appointment.

Or the president’s campaign. Marginal presidents had a difficult enough time winning a second term. Any sort of scandal could ruin it, and there was a long year of campaigning to get through.

He started to walk out when Madison said, “There is one other thing.”

Kane stopped in his tracks. He hated when anyone said that. Something horrible inevitably followed. He turned, faced Madison. “I’m very late. What is it?”

“The girl. Piper Lawrence. According to several social network pages, she seems to have a special talent. Big at parties, apparently. Kids, sex, you know how it is. We, uh, saw some videos on the Internet that backed it up.”

“Videos? Tell me she’s giving head to some politician we
don’t
want elected or save it for the report.”

“Sir. She, uh, has eidetic memory.”

“Eidetic memory? Sex? What the
hell
are you talking about?”

Madison shrugged, then moved his chair aside. “See for yourself.”

A video of some party, the sort with kegs of beers and drunk college-age kids drinking out of red plastic cups. And there in the center of the group of drunk kids was Piper Lawrence with her black and pink hair, and someone shoving a book in front of her, while she protested. Then, under multiple drunkards chanting, “Do it! Do it!” he watched as she silently read the page of some book, handed it back, then recited the passage apparently word for word. Sex scenes from some vampire novel.

He failed to see the importance. “So she’s read it so many times, she knows it by heart.”

“Watch, sir.”

He brought up another video, this one of the girl and several young men in a library. One of them pulled a book from the shelf, flashed the cover for the camera.
Quantum
Physics
. Then he opened it to what appeared to be a random page, and handed it to her. She read it, then handed it back. This time, however, they blindfolded her before she recited what she’d read. And just in case the viewer thought it might be some joke, that it was faked, whoever put the video together had divided the frame in two, showing the page being recited so that the viewer could see.

“Play that again.”

Madison did.

Kane watched the video, his thoughts racing. They’d struck out on finding the Devil’s Key in every place they possibly could have found it. South San Francisco, where that idiot’s laptop was wiped clean. They’d struck out with the FBI agents, and Mexico had been a bust.

But as he watched this girl reciting something only a scientist could understand, he realized that there was a very real possibility that she had seen the document. She was a walking, living, breathing copy machine.

And about to become the most hunted woman in America.

22

National Counterterrorism Center

I
t was everything McNiel could do to keep his face neutral, his voice calm, while he was being grilled over the incident with Piper, and then, as he’d suspected and feared, about the viability of ATLAS as a working agency. The only positive sign at the moment was that Parker Kane was not present. More importantly, McNiel trusted everyone in this room. Not that it changed the seriousness of the matter.

General Woodson shook his head. “Is there some reason we’re even discussing this like there’s some democratic vote to be taken? ATLAS has served its purpose. There’s no need to divide resources when money and manpower are already tight. This is no way to protect our national security.”

“General Woodson is right,” Roy Santiago said. “I recommend we either dissolve it or absorb it. Or move it back to the CIA.” Had this come from anyone other than the assistant deputy director of national intelligence, McNiel might not have been as concerned. Santiago, however, was undoubtedly acting on the president’s orders.

“ATLAS,” McNiel said, “is still a viable organization. But if you fall prey to the machinations of outside influences, then we’re all victims here.”

“What outside influences?” Woodson asked, looking around the room. “The only fact I’m seeing is that ATLAS continues to make grave mistakes that have nearly cost this country its national security. How is it that the FBI had a copy of this thing to begin with? This girl—”

“Has passed on no information and will not,” McNiel said. “Not as long as she is in our charge.”

“The problem,” Woodson said, “is that you don’t have charge of her. We no longer have the luxury of hoping you can keep a tight rein on her. If she escapes again—”

“I didn’t realize she was a prisoner,” McNiel told him.

“She might as well be. And that’s assuming we even find her. It’s not like we can let her run around. If your operatives can’t keep her in control, what makes you think a program like witness protection can? There’s even less oversight there.”

“Woodson is right,” Santiago said. “That is no longer a viable option.”

“Then what do you suggest?” McNiel asked, wishing he could somehow slip his cell phone from his pocket and phone Griffin’s number, somehow warn him about what was about to occur. “That we take out a gun and put a bullet through her head?”

“Obviously,” Woodson said, “that would be a last resort. Protective custody. Plain and simple. And under the guidance of someone who isn’t emotionally involved, because of past mistakes. The military is better equipped to handle a special case like this.”

“Pissing match aside,” Santiago said, “the president has asked that I get to the bottom of what went wrong. How is it that one of your agents allowed her to be kidnapped? What sort of training or lack thereof is going on in your agency?”

The beginning of the end, McNiel thought. They were going to attempt to use this case to shut down ATLAS. He only hoped they weren’t so blinded that they couldn’t see that someone on the inside was manipulating all of them. “The men who arrived showed Agent Perrault the proper identification. That tells me that we’re dealing with someone who has access to official federal documents and identification cards. She doesn’t believe they were forgeries.”

“Are you saying two federal marshals kidnapped this girl?”

“No, I’m saying two men with official marshal identification cards kidnapped her.”

“And where is she now?”

“She escaped. According to the police reports, she fled at a convenience store and then stole a car.”

“And have you followed up on these leads? You know where she is?”

“We have. At the moment, I can’t exactly say.”

“But you have knowledge of where she might be?”

“She’s safe. I can tell you that much.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

McNiel looked Santiago in the eye, suspecting that this line of questioning had originated from Kane. He didn’t suspect Santiago of working with him, but he was certainly being influenced by him. They all were. “Why do you want to know?”

“In light of recent events, and those leading up to them, it’s my belief that you are no longer able to handle the duties to which you were assigned.”

“My unit is sound.”

“Is it?” Santiago replied. “ATLAS is the reason this girl, or rather what she is carrying in her head, is now a national security threat.
Your
team had the opportunity to neutralize this threat before it even started by removing these numbers from circulation and eliminating the people responsible.
Your
men under
your
direction allowed the asset in Mexico to slip right beneath them. Then, when the code key was recovered last October, we discover a copy was made, one that you should have foreseen. And now you are telling us that you have a handle on this? That your operatives can be trusted, when they can’t even keep a twenty-year-old girl under their protection?”

“The girl is not the threat. A mistake was made. It was corrected.”

“However briefly,” Woodson said, “she
was
in custody of the enemy. We have no idea what she did or did not tell them.”

“Enough!” Santiago said. “McNiel. If you have knowledge of this girl, I want to know now.”

“With all due respect, sir, I can’t tell you.”

“You’re forcing my hand, you realize that?” He took an exasperated breath, his expression one of frustration and regret. “You’ll report to General Woodson with the girl where she’ll be taken into protective custody, until such time as we deem it to be safe for her release. If you do not, then the president has ordered me to relieve you from duty.”

McNiel had not anticipated things would happen this quickly. “My apologies, Mr. Santiago. Even so, I can’t do that. It’s a matter of safety.”

“Then I have no choice. You will be escorted back to your building, where you will make arrangements to turn over your files on any active cases, including the current case in question.”

McNiel knew better than to show any outward sign of anger. “So we are being shut down?”

“Perhaps your agents will see reason if someone else is at the helm. The president needs some assurances that his trust is not misplaced.”

“It isn’t,” McNiel said, his mind racing with how he was going to salvage this so his team could accomplish what they needed to do. He stood. “Will there be anything else?”

“Unless you plan on changing your mind and bringing her in?”

“I do not. Now if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen. I have to break it to my men that they’re no longer working for me. I’d like to tell them personally.” He walked out, and the moment he cleared the door, he called Griffin, and, unfortunately, got his voice mail. “That tenuous thread we’re operating on just broke.” He was just about to disconnect, when he heard footsteps behind him. He turned to see Curt Ellis, the federal police officer, approaching, and knew right away that this couldn’t be good news.

“Director McNiel?”

“Yes,” he said, holding the phone in hopes it would pick up Ellis’s statement. He waited.

Ellis had the grace to look embarrassed. “I apologize, but Mr. Santiago has asked that I accompany you back to your office to stand by.”

“Stand by for what?”

“They, uh, intend to meet us there once they finish, to have you brief them on any open cases. I know you wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize their trust, but . . .”

The stranglehold they now had him in was official. The way he saw it, Parker Kane was running scared, desperate to get his hands on their investigation of W2 as well as the code key Piper had seen. “Let me finish this call,” he said. “And you can follow me there.”

“I appreciate your understanding.”

“I’m on my way to the office,” McNiel said into the phone. “Apparently they’re going to be going through the cases now, not later. I need to make sure they have access to everything.”

He disconnected, then holding his phone so that Ellis couldn’t see the screen, texted the combination to his safe, hoping like hell Griffin checked his voice mail and got there before he did.

If that sketch got out, more than the girl’s life was at risk. His whole team and anyone who had knowledge of it were in danger.

T
he federal police officer was behind McNiel as they pulled out of the parking garage. This was going to take some finesse. At least they hadn’t insisted on taking him into custody for contempt—probably an oversight, he thought, calling his secretary.

No answer.

Great. Last thing he wanted was for Parker to get his hands on the notes he’d compiled on the W2 case. Nothing like telling the enemy exactly what you knew about them, he thought, calling the reception area downstairs, and asking them to page her. Which was when he found out she had a doctor’s appointment, but was due back any moment.

What a time for people to have a real life. When his world was falling apart. How the hell was he going to get that sketch and those files out of his safe to keep Parker from seeing it? The light at the intersection turned yellow, and as he slowed for the impending red light, he realized in that one moment, he had a choice. Change to the right lane, which was open and go through it, and hope his escort wasn’t brazen enough to follow, or be the dutiful director and do as was expected, which was let Ellis accompany him into the building. Choice? No choice. He palmed the wheel, moved to the outside lane, and without accelerating, glided through the intersection, the light turning red as he passed beneath it.

He kept his car at a steady speed, exactly with the traffic, so as not to spook Ellis into chasing after him.

It worked.

If he was lucky, that bought him three minutes, he thought, making the right turn toward his office. The moment he was out of sight, he hit the gas, hoping to squeeze a few more precious seconds that might allow him to get into his safe before the federal police officer arrived to put a halt to all activities.

He had to make some quick decisions. Griffin and Donovan were more than capable of handling matters without his leadership, he thought, surveying the parking lot of the
Washington Recorder
, the cover paper for ATLAS operations, noting the usual cars parked within. It would be empty soon, everyone dismissed to go home, because once he was relieved of duty, all operations would freeze. That was ATLAS protocol, a necessary one due to the sensitive nature of their business, and it would be followed. No one would be allowed in the building, but more importantly, nothing could be removed, including the sketch and files.

It never occurred to him when the protocol was put in place that
he’d
be the focus of it.

He pulled into his slot, got out, and strode into the building, running into his secretary in the lobby.

“I just heard you called,” she said, removing her gloves as she walked with him to the elevator.

“We have an issue,” he said, pressing the up button. The door opened, and he punched in his code to access the secure floors. “In about three to five minutes, I’m going to be relieved of duty by the Senate’s federal police officer.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“What you’re supposed to do. Inform the staff to follow protocol procedures. Then stall him.”

She nodded, then stayed in the lobby, while he went up to his office. The staff on the lower floors, who wrote for the
Recorder
, would not be affected as much as the upper secure floors, since no one on the ground floor had access to classified material. Nor were they privy to the sensitive investigations McNiel’s team conducted, although they were more than aware of the nature of said investigations. They were, after all, his employees. But the upper floors were different. McNiel’s team and IT above him were very much involved in their casework. Should anyone try to access those computers without the proper password, it would automatically initiate a program that would wipe the hard drives. Any classified documents were cross-shredded before they ever left the floor.

In fact, the only thing of a sensitive nature readily available was sitting in McNiel’s safe, which was against the wall behind his desk. He entered the combination, placed his finger on the print reader, then opened it. Inside was the sketch as well as several file folders. He emptied the safe, putting everything on the desk so that he could sort through it. In his mind, there were no secure computers, no matter how many safeguards one built into them. These files were the bones of cases that he’d ensured remained off any electronic database.

As he flipped through the folders, he had to make quick decisions.

W2 . . .

Kane would be expecting to find something on it. Everyone knew they’d been looking into it, even though technically not since last October, after Sydney had recovered the list during her father’s murder investigation in Mexico. And then again when the numbers surfaced on that copy machine found in South San Francisco.

And now, suddenly, Kane was hell-bent on shutting down ATLAS, or at the very least hobbling it so that it was virtually useless.

This would be one file Kane would expect to find. So what in it, besides the sketch, would he not want Kane to see?