Volcano (4 page)

Major Carolyn Walker strode in and plopped another group of
files on top of the existing heap on Mark’s desk with a sigh. “You’re not going
to like this, Chief.”

Mark brought a stiff hand to his temples and massaged a
moment before looking up. “How many?”

“Another thirteen.”

“My lucky day.”

“No, sir. More of these reports coming in over the wires.”

Mark laid a hand on the stack and glanced over Carolyn’s
shoulder out the open door. “Close the door, Major.”

Major Walker squared her shoulders beneath her impeccably
tailored uniform and went to shut the door with short, brisk strides. She
returned and stood as straight as a fresh-starched shirt in front of Mark’s desk.
She’d been decorated twice in Desert Storm.

“At ease, Major. Have a seat.”
 
Although technically a civilian, in
DIPAC’s grand scheme, Mark Neal still out-ranked her and knew the only way to
get a woman like Carolyn Walker to sit was to damn well order her to. “How many
more?” he asked, once she’d positioned herself,
straight-arrow
,
in the chair opposing his desk.

“Can’t say yet, sir. But if you’ll pardon my French, this
thing’s a damn bit scary. Almost like we’ve got an epidemic on our hands.”

Mark drew a gold pen from his shirt pocket and thumped it
against his desk. “What kind of epidemic, Major?”

“Not for me to say, sir. Better to let the people in
analysis-”

“Your opinion, Major.”

“An intelligence scare, sir.”

“Intelligence scare?”
 
The very words made his temples constrict anew. It was true; every one
of the thirty-nine cases presented thus far had to do with somebody in or
linked to a person in the intelligence field.

So far, there’d been nebulous incidents: house fires in
Upper Northwest DC, unexplained accidents at Fort Huachuca, Arizona, street
muggings just outside of US military bases in the UK, Germany and Hawaii. This
thing was already taking on worldwide proportions, and from what Carolyn was
telling him, the sickness was spreading. Not only that, it was escalating. Each
subsequently reported act was more vile and menacing than the last.

“It’s the only association I see, sir. But, of course,
that’s not my training.”
  
Major Walker’s training was in battlefield logistics, but as far as Mark
was concerned her vision was twenty-twenty when it came to threat and analysis
work as well.
 

“Thank you, Major. I’ll go over these files and call you
back in if I have further questions.”

“Yes, sir,” Carolyn said, standing.

“Oh, sir,” she said, lifting his attention from the file
he’d already begun perusing. “One more thing worth mentioning. All the attacks,
accidents or what-have-you, seem to have a common denominator.”

Mark dropped the file he’d been holding to his desk.

“You won’t find it in all the reports there, sir, because
apparently some of the folks involved didn’t see a connection.”

“Spit it, Major.”

“Each incident was preceded by some kind of computer
glitch.”

Mark found his voice through the tightness in his throat. “A
glitch?
”

“Yes, sir. Seems that each, well most of them anyhow from
what I’ve could gather, household involved received some kind of odd computer
communique prior to a subsequent mishap.”

“Define communique.”

“Well, there’ve been a couple of E-mails, but mostly...and
this is going to sound strange...”

Mark waited, bracing himself for the inevitable.

“They were IM posts.”

“Instant messages?” Mark asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yes sir. I guess you’ve already heard then.”

No goddamn it, Mark thought, as he stood, his knees abruptly
whacking his desk, he hadn’t been listening at all.

***

Mark pushed the gas pedal to the floor and careened around
the wide curve that took the highway west of town.
Damn her
. Why hadn’t
she told him? Something was definitely up with Ana and now she wasn’t answering
the phone. He’d known she’d been acting strangely ever since the computer
incident; it was all starting to fall into place.

The engine howled as
Mark
down-shifted and took the sharp turn down the country road that led to their
home. A shower of brittle pine needles tore loose from the gray winter sky and
splattered his car as he raced to beat the wind.

He’d told her to leave the computer problem to him, that he
and the folks at the DIPAC would look into it. But a sick wrenching in his gut
told him she hadn’t listened. Either that or she hadn’t believed him. Had
thought he’d blown it off like her numerous other absurd suspicions as of late.
Claims that someone had been in the house. Rearranged things, confused settings
on appliances. Opened windows, misplaced keys...

Damn it!

There’d been more to
these past
few
days than she’d been telling him. And, even if she
had
told him,
probably more than Mark would have believed. And now, Ana had somehow gotten
the notion to tackle things on her own.

Mark’s fist pummeled the wheel as a lazy car poked its nose
out of a gravel drive and wriggled its way into his path, causing him to slow
abruptly and veer around the intruder.

Mark hung a fast right at the top of the ridge and headed
down the steep slope that led to the chalet style house at the bottom of the
hill. It was their “gingerbread house,” their perfect retreat in the
wilderness. Mark leapt from the car without even pulling the keys from the
ignition and made for the house where white smoke curled from its single
chimney.

“Maria!” he called, rushing in and spotting the maid
cradling the baby on her plump lap. “
Donde esta la senora?”

The middle-aged woman shook her head with a helpless smile.

“Maria!”
 
Mark
ran to her and, completely ignoring the baby, clamped his hands around the
nanny’s shoulders. “Ana
?!
”

“No se, senor... Debe estar en Washington.”

***

Ana was halfway through the DOS underground parking garage
when she heard the click of the switchblade. Seconds later, sharp steel
centered in over her jugular. Ana’s arms shot out in front of her as her
assailant’s burly grip squeezed the base of her shoulders to his rock-hard
chest. She instinctively clutched her hands to her throat, but lowered them as
the blade pressed against her flesh.

“Good girl, Ms. Kane,” the voice said.
Oriental,
male.
“In these tough times, cooperation is key to survival.”

Ana wriggled in his vise-like grip, but was unable to see
who was behind her.

“Now, now,” he cautioned with a cluck of his tongue. “Moving
could be very dangerous for pretty girl like you.”

 
“What do you
want?” she managed, her jaw tense with fear. Perspiration formed on her upper
lip as electric chords of panic ram-rodded her brain.

“What we want, Ms.
Kane,
is for you
to stop playing computer games.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said with a
grimace, as the crushing weight of his knee hit the small of her back.

“Of course not.”
 
He removed the blade and brought it up to the bridge of her nose.
“Thought you smelled a rat, didn’t you
Ana
?” he asked,
angling the blade across at a thin angle.

Ana jumped
back against him as the
knife promised to dig in.

He lifted the knife with a laugh. “You know what they say
about little monkeys, don’t you?”

Ana strained once more in his hold. “At any second I’m going
to scream and parking lot security’s going to be all over you!”

“See no evil,” he hissed, ignoring her bluff and rotating
the shimmering blade before her right eye. He lowered its cutting edge to the
connective tissue between her head and right ear.

“Hear,” he said, with a gentle sawing motion that was no
more than a light tickle, “no evil...”

Shards of fire and ice tore through her as the cold steel
teetered, threatening irreparable damage.

“Speak...” He brought the fine tip of the blade to the
corner of her mouth, as her lips tightened in the muted horror.

“That’s right, Ana,” he crooned, “nice and quiet. “Or, I
slice you ear to ear!”

Joe McFadden gave a cursory scan around the small white
cubicle that served as an office. It was strewn with Y2K relics. Snow globes,
coffee mugs and assorted paraphernalia proudly proclaiming
Y2K...The End
is
Near!
littered
the plain
steel desk, heaped high in corners. Packing cartons and crates crowded the
asphyxiating room. McFadden made his way in through the maze and sat. “Hate to
tell you this, Al Fahd, but you missed the party- by about two years.”

The Arab clamped down his teeth on his unlit cigar. “Tut,
tut, Mr. Smith,” he said, blowing smoke. “You Americans are
so
impatient.”

“Got all the time in the world,” Joe said, leaning back in
his chair.

The Arab let out a howl,
then
thumped his cigar against his desk. “Ah, but perhaps the world- as you
know
it- does not have so much time left for you!”

“Touché.”

The Arab narrowed his eyes.

“I meant no disrespect,” Joe assured him, toying with the
Y2K snow globe on the corner of Al Fahd’s desk. “I collect things, too.”

The Arab arched his black eyebrows.

“Weapons mostly.”
 
Joe smiled. “Tend to come in handy.”

“Ah yes...” Al Fahd grinned and struck a match against his
steel-tipped boot. “I imagine you have quite a few opportunities for picking up
those. Or,
collecting,
as you say.”
 
The Arab took a long, steady drag on his cigar. “Perhaps I can arrange
to add to your collection, if that’s what you’d like,” he said, blowing smoke.

“What I’d like,” McFadden said, crossing his arms over in
front of him, “is for you to fill me in on all this millennial bullshit.
Especially the part involving your stockpile of party favors.”

Al Fahd gave him a smirk, his black eyes glinting
dangerously. “If I were you, I’d watch my language, Mr. Smith. You appear to
forget whom you’re in the presence of.”

No, Joe remembered exactly.
One of the
most lethal terrorist trainers known to the free and not-so-free worlds.
Rumors held that Al Fahd was planning a big operation, something deadly
involving aggression on US soil. CIA undercover man Joe McFadden had been sent
here to investigate. His first cover was that of anti-US mercenary John Smith.
The layer beneath that, should it be blown, was a little closer to home. A US
chemical weapons inspector would certainly be endangered should his status be
revealed. But, the danger would turn deadly if Al Fahd were to ever suspect US
intelligence involvement. Deadly with a torturous bent, McFadden was sure. He’d
heard the agonized screams from the others taken to the back of the warehouse.
The others who, in
one way
or another, had displeased
Al Fahd or failed to prove their loyalty. And once they’d disappeared beyond
that padded door, none of them had ever returned.

“A million apologies, Al Hakeem,” Joe said, using the
double-entendre that could mean either ‘wise one’ or ‘ruler’. But what Joe had
really been doing was trying to catch Al Fahd off guard with his frankness.
Hoping that by tossing him a direct challenge, the Arab would somehow open up
and become more forthcoming about his plans.
Involving, for God’s sake,
Joe
puzzled at the notion,
latex balloons
.

Joe had waited several hours,
then
slipped back into the warehouse where he’d had his earlier confrontation with
Al Fahd. But his careful examination had revealed nothing out of the ordinary.
The suspicious Army-green gas tanks in and of
themselves
didn’t seem to pose much of a threat. In fact, all appearances as granted by
the writing on the sides of the tanks, indicated they were filled with nothing
but oxygen. But if that were the case, what had been Al Fahd’s purpose in
applying the
face mask
?
Scare
tactic, pure and simple?

Al Fahd tapped cigar ash onto the concrete floor. “There is
one thing we need to keep straight: I am the
king
and you are the
minion
.
One false move to show you do not honor that-”

“You’ll have no worries from me,” Joe assured him with the
dead calm expression years of under cover work had helped him achieve.

Al Fahd squared his ecru smile. “Excellent. Then, perhaps
it’s time for your first assignment.”

***

Mark Neal had Albert Kane on the phone.

“What do you mean,” Mark asked, running a damp palm along
the back of his neck, “you don’t know where she is?” The faint echo of a
child’s hand game being sung in Spanish echoed from the next room.

“Son, if
Ana
hasn’t seen fit to
tell you--”

“Tell me what, Albert? What are you getting at?”
 
Mark’s eyes flashed to the window as a
bolt of lightning cut the sky.

There was a pause and then the slow, patient baritone of
Albert’s voice. “You and Ana been having trouble, son?”

Mark spun toward the living room as Maria’s high chortle
blended with the baby’s squeals.

“Trouble, sir?
Trouble
? Ana could very damn well be
in trouble if you don’t tell me what in the hell is going on!”

Albert’s voice was a roar. “Now, you just slow down a
minute!”
 
He paused and seemed to
collect himself. “What’s all this about trouble and Ana being missing? I
thought she’d gone back to Virginia.”