Dark Vessel (COIL Book 4), page 7
"I have waited for days to hear you say that." Scribbling on a notepad, I handed the paper to her. "This is a government friend of mine. She will help you. Say Corban sent you. That name is on the bottom here, too. Tell her everything, and she will make sure it is all legal for you to keep Earl, assuming he really does not have any relatives when she searches."
"Serious?" She threw her arms around my neck. "You've done so much for me, Fost! How can I find you again?"
"You will not find me, Ruth. This is where we part for good."
Ruth looked around the apartment. We'd been together for only two weeks, but we'd become like family. God knew to bring her into my life to give me focus as I dealt with my own problems. Maybe to distract me some, too. I was a man who could obsess over dilemmas.
She promised to teach her two children about their Russian Uncle Fost, and I promised to pray for God's will in her relationship with Benjamin Vitco. With that, we parted.
Down in the garage, I didn't drive away too quickly. One more final stunt required one more elaborate disguise. This one I applied with much artistry. Cheekbones and chin, teeth and nose. It took me an hour in the car mirror to get my hair just right—a lighter brown that I could wash out in any sink in sixty seconds.
"Okay, I'm ready to go into the TaTD facility," I said to Chloe, who still shadowed me. "If you can't get in ahead of me, I'll have to go in alone to finish this business once and for all."
There was no answer since my belt mic was only one-way.
The TaTD's secure facility was in Maryland a short distance from the Pentagon. I turned off Washington Boulevard and into the packed parking lot of a building I'd never been in before. It was a new installation with a Plexiglas entrance where two armed officers sat at a desk. The rest of the structure appeared to be concrete, interrupted occasionally by narrow, tall windows that reminded me of archers' windows in the walls of an ancient fortress.
Rod Chang had provided me with a Department of Defense identity under the name of Eric Lando, a senior agent. Instead of fabricating a file in that name, the military file was sealed in confidentiality codes, which, if checked out, would fit my cover adequately. However, I was entering the wolf's lair. The amount of bluffing I'd have to do to get the information I needed was of more concern to me than my identity. It could even mean my life.
"I'm here to see the acting director of the TaTD," I informed the first officer in uniform. He scanned the digital tape on my ID, one that matched my new face. Chang's people were experts. As my clearance was run, I glanced at the second officer. His hand was on the trigger of his carbine, hanging on a sling across his chest. I couldn't read his face behind dark glasses. If I had to fight my way out of the building, I was up against some tough men. Hopefully, getting inside was the hardest part.
"General Forglade is out of the office," the first officer said.
"That's why I said I'm here for the acting director," I snapped. "Someone's filling in for him. Who is it?"
"A man name Karl Coleman, the general's right hand." He pointed at my side. "I need to check that briefcase."
In the past, I'd smuggled into North Korea micro-thread Bibles that were sewn into my clothing, so I wasn't concerned about these boys finding my weapons of choice. They were just doing their jobs.
At last, I received a visitor's pass, which was clipped onto the breast pocket of my suit. When I walked through a metal corridor, I was reminded of a body x-ray machine I'd seen in a Saudi palace earlier that year. To confirm my assumption, I heard a low whirring sound. I was being scanned for contraband, maybe even for bio weapons.
Arriving at the end of the corridor, I found an elevator with one button on the wall, but I didn't reach for it since two more armed men were there to operate the car for me. This status of alert was what I expected from the Tactical anti-Terrorist Division headquarters within Homeland Security. I couldn't imagine Chloe infiltrating the facility on short notice, but she was a pretty ex-Mossad agent. Not even I knew the extent of her resources. At the least, she was outside in the car, vigilantly listening to my communications, following my transponder on her little screen, tracking me.
My escorts knew exactly where to take me, and we descended several floors instead of going up. That made sense since the building appeared to be only two stories tall from the outside.
The next hallway was surrounded by glass walls through which I could see dozens of uniformed men and women hard at work at their stations. The glass reminded me of the government job I'd left years before; Big Brother and Uncle Sam were always watching.
We turned a couple corners and arrived at an office door still labeled with General Forglade's name. I waited calmly as a man punched a security code into a wall-mounted computer. The door popped open and I was motioned forward. Now I was left to proceed alone into the carpeted room with glaring artificial sunlight.
I stepped inside and the door hissed closed behind me. A mural behind glass windows gave the impression of a tropical beach.
"It's all solar-powered," a voice said, "but it still ain't the sun."
Turning, I faced a man I knew well. Or thought I knew. It was Roy Turpin, the very man I thought had been blown up in my car! He was alive! Instead of brown, wavy hair, however, he'd shaved it all off. Or the hair I'd seen two weeks earlier had been a wig. The man walked around his wide desk and offered his hand. Clearly, things were much darker, much more sinister than I'd ever imagined. I wished I'd worn glasses with video imaging to capture his face rather than just audio for Chloe to record.
"What's the DOD sending someone down here for? Is this about General Forglade?"
Shaking the man's hand, I hoped my eyes didn't give away my anger and accusation on the surface of my brain. All the time I'd spent on this man, thinking he was an inmate in need of a fresh start as a vessel for Christ! It wasn't the first time I'd been fooled, but what an elaborate hoax! All for what?
"I'm here under the guise of liaison for Homeland Security resources." My voice was raspy to throw him off. I took a seat as he returned to his side of the desk. "You do understand what I mean by guise, I trust?"
He licked his lips and studied me. Could he tell that my face was made up? Was my chin still in place? My teeth?
"Have we met?" He tossed a cashew into his mouth, but offered me none. "Tough to tell from your file where we might've met."
"Serbia in ‘91? I did field work there." I held his gaze, daring him, challenging him, like two cardholders on the final call. "Mogadishu, maybe."
Since his face betrayed nothing, it probably meant he knew I was misleading him intentionally.
"What do you mean you're here under the guise of some liaison?" He shook his head and leaned to one side, perhaps to check my face from another angle. I turned my head slightly to face him more directly. "You weren't expected. I don't take meetings like this."
"I was sent to clean up this mess. It's gotten out of hand. Dowler's not cooperating like the general promised." My words made him stop chewing his cashews. "What? You didn't think Forglade was keeping his plans to himself, did you? Muhammad ibn Affal and all that business— You-Know-Who isn't pleased with things."
His eyes narrowed slightly, and he may've tried to recover, but I glimpsed uncertainty there. And fear. Yes, I was bluffing. I had to bluff. Roy Turpin, or Karl Coleman, and General Forglade were working for someone too terrifying for the general to even remain in the country.
"Go on," he said.
"Dowler was underestimated." I stared my coldest, hardest glare I could muster. "And we overestimated your ability to control him."
"It wasn't about control!" He was ruffled. "It was about removing him from the picture long enough to . . . You know. We expected challenges."
"Of course." I didn't know what he was talking about exactly, but I needed to know before I left him. "How would you explain those challenges to date?"
"Are you here to take me out?" he asked, with more calmness than I would expect from a man wondering if he were about to die.
"Stay on subject. We want to know how you're explaining these challenges. That's why I was sent for face-time. Nothing else has been decided."
"Sure, Dowler made some unexpected moves." He scratched his ear, or adjusted a comm I couldn't see. Was someone besides Chloe listening? Could Chloe even hear my signal through all the tech and cement? I guessed not, which meant I was isolated, alone. "But we still have leverage. That's why Dowler still hasn't shown his face. It could still work. We just need a little more time. The general did his part. I promised to do mine, or clean everything up if I have to. Go back and tell our friend his money has been well spent. This is what I do."
I let my eyes drift, as if bored, over to the distracting mural. They had leverage? That made me shiver. Leverage in what form? Intel? COIL personnel in their pockets?
"How do you know that leverage will do what you intend?" I raised my eyebrows. They felt bulky under so much epoxy. "Dowler's anything but predictable."
"If I know anything about him—and I think I know him better than anyone—I know he cares for his family."
"His family?" I scoffed, an icy feeling in my gut.
"Yeah, this op has been my baby the whole time. Mine. Don't let anyone forget that. I'm not going to let it fall apart! No one else has put more time into it than I have. I don't leave any loose ends. Trust me: I'll get the general. Dowler corresponded with me for months, laying out all the things he cared about in plain terms. The man's a sap. He's got two passions: God and family. We had a need, and we're meeting that need—using a man who's no longer loyal to anyone but those two fragile passions. Don't tell me I don't know my business. Dowler's family was easy pickin's. It's what I do, remember?"
I stopped breathing. It was my turn to panic. My wife and daughter! How? It made no sense! Chloe had said Luigi Putelli had picked them up after the funeral, hadn't she? No. Wait! She'd said a slender, bald man had picked them up, and she hadn't gotten a good look at him. I'd assumed it had been Luigi, but Karl Coleman was bald too! Everything was crumbling around me. Feeling myself slipping, I tried to keep my composure, to manage my blood pressure.
"What if Dowler has already gone to the authorities? It'll blow up in our faces."
"We are the authorities. Besides, what would he say? There's nothing to say, and he knows it. That's why he went underground. Except for that game in Europe with the Muhammad identity, he hasn't surfaced anywhere. He can't know what we're doing, what we're using it all for."
"Even after what Forglade confessed a few nights ago?" I asked. His eyes widened, and I didn't want to give him an inch. "What? Didn't he tell you about that before he skipped the country?" I sighed loudly. "See, this was a mistake. Forglade's practically out of the picture now. You wonder why? He had to know this was closing in on him and he left you to take the fall."
He cursed and chomped on his nuts.
"Who would've thought making a civilian our scapegoat would be this messy?" He pulled a drawer open and took out a small laptop. "I'll kill the general myself. It's not like I don't already have blood on my hands over this. Your boss isn't exactly untouchable, either. Keep that in mind when you throw your veiled threats around. It'd be real easy for someone to link us together, even if all I ever do is share my debriefs, or see only your face."
"What about this leverage?" I didn't care about whatever I'd been framed for, and I wouldn't until I understood in what way he was talking about my family.
"That's what I'm talking about." Coleman typed on his laptop. "Even dead, they're still leverage if Dowler thinks we're holding them. They'll be found in a day or two, maybe, but we're counting on the investigation on the whole other thing to run its course, right? Dowler's hiding out creates just the suspicion we're after. Forglade is in Gustavia, using our own tech to hide from us. Now there's a predictable man. He bragged about that place for years. Your boss sent him there himself. In a few days, I'll catch a flight and— What're you doing?"
The pen was in my hand almost without me thinking about it. I aimed it at him across the desk. My other pen with the tranquilizer serum was still in my pocket. But this pen contained a truth serum and a mild sedative with the ability to fire the toxin in projectile form. He was still within range.
"Don't move an inch. Keep your hands on the desk." I stood slowly. Panting, I could barely control myself from doing the unthinkable to this man. "You actually killed Dowler's wife and daughter?"
"That . . . was the plan. What are you doing?" His nostrils flared. "Don't do this! I won't fail you guys! Think about it! They'll investigate my death. You kill me, and you'll never get out of here. This place is a vault!"
With a clouded mind, all I could think about was that my wife and daughter had been murdered! Now I wanted to kill this man. My heart ached against my Lord's call to represent Him—to get vengeance for the blood that had been shed against me. It was all my fault! No, it was Karl Coleman's fault—this dark heart before me, this evil vessel who'd killed my family. Murderer!
I pressed the tiny tab on my pen, and expected a quick hiss of CO2 to propel a water-soluble dart into his chest. But nothing happened. Trying again, the button seemed to be jammed. He saw my weapon had misfired, and he reached into his desk. An instant later, he was aiming a handgun at me.
"You're good, Lando, but not good enough." He walked around the desk and shoved me into my chair. As he tore the flawed pen from my fingers to inspect it, I didn't fight for it. "Clever weapon. The scanners upstairs didn't even notice it. What was your plan? Let me take the heat with Dowler? I told you I'd fix things, or take care of anyone left hanging in the wind. Listen, I'm not going down for this, not without taking you guys down with me."
"Your gig is up," I said boldly, my eyes trying to look around the muzzle. "It's all over!"
"Hardly." He reached over his desk and touched an intercom. "This is Coleman. We have a security breach. Secure the building and send a team to my office."
"This is a government facility, Coleman," I said as he walked behind me. "You can't stay here forever. It's over. Why do you think Forglade took off?"
"What? You don't think I can still clear my name? Remember, I know who I'm up against. And I'll still finish off Forglade and Dowler. I have contingencies in place." The door behind me burst open and four armed men entered. "Two of you prepare the west tunnel exit. Go! You two, secure him and come with me."
My arms were roughly bound behind me with something plastic around my wrists, then I was marched out of the office after Karl Coleman. If I hadn't been in such shock over the news of my wife and daughter, I might've tried to fight them off. Now bound, my options were limited. As soon as we surfaced above ground, however, Chloe would be able to detect and track me, as long as I didn't lose my belt. Besides the belt, I felt I had nothing else to lose. My family was gone.
*~*
Chapter 13
Karl Coleman clearly didn't want me talking in front of the TaTD security agents who escorted me. This much was apparent when he battered me on the head when I tried to question him about his intentions. The fact that I'd so easily convinced him I was sent from someone higher up seemed to be of some hope for my survival. He didn't know I was Corban Dowler. I was in a tight spot, and my mind was spinning from being so deceived. If I could free myself and take Coleman into custody, there was a chance—
A concrete tunnel was exposed from behind a wall. It had a ramp down and to the west from the TaTD facility. If my bearings were right, we were headed to the southwest side of Arlington Cemetery, on the other side of Southgate Road.
When the tunnel began to ascend toward ground level, I knew I had to start thinking straight or I was a dead man. Two men still escorted us, with Coleman leading the way up the damp floor. I stumbled along but it was ignored as my two escorts roughly forcing me ahead. There seemed to be no stalling these professionals. Unsuccessfully, I tried to shut out my anguish over my family's demise. If I gave up now, or if I didn't live through the next few hours, I'd be the loser.
"Don't try anything!" Coleman rasped in my ear as we reached another heavy door. It swung upward, then we walked through a small, cluttered shed to an opening covered by flimsy metal. The hidden door behind us closed. Coleman unlocked then shoved me roughly ahead through the metal doorway. Sunlight made me squint. With my hands bound behind me, I struggled to remain upright lest I fall headfirst onto pavement.
When I seemed to be standing alone in a parking lot, I looked back at the small shed from which I'd emerged. Coleman aimed a silenced gun at the two escorts, then shot them dead. They fell inside the door of the shed, and Coleman closed and locked the door.
"Move!" He pushed me toward a row of vehicles. There seemed to be no cover, and with my hands bound, I didn't dare attack the frantic gunman. It was then I realized we were in the parking lot of the Arlington Memorial Chapel. Had we come that far from Washington Boulevard?
Now exposed to the satellites above, Chloe was certain to be tracking me. Though I faced seemingly insurmountable danger, I wasn't without hope. Chloe had bugged my belt for this very reason, and if all else failed, I knew my salvation was secured in Christ for all eternity. And I'd soon see my family again in heaven! My contempt for Coleman was loathsome to me, and I regretted it terribly. In light of my probable death, I prepared my broken human heart for a meeting with the King of Kings.
"Get on the floor and lay down!"
Coleman nudged me from behind as I stepped into the back seat of an SUV. When I seemed to be stalling, he jabbed his gun into my left kidney. I dropped face first, bloodying my brow, but I felt only the pain in my back. The door slammed, and I was trapped on my belly for a moment, struggling between the seats.
The engine started, and Coleman rushed us away from the lot. I couldn't think. Was there nothing I could do? My knife! On the floor behind the front seat, I twisted my left foot up to my bound hands. From the heel of my shoe, I picked at a tiny tab. Finally, I slid a composite knife from the heel. It was oddly shaped to fit snugly in the sole, and razor sharp. As plastic, it hadn't been detected by the security screenings earlier. But now what?
