Red Eagle, page 12
Tommy froze halfway out of the car. “Keep?”
Leroux popped the trunk. “It’s best to try not to think about it.”
It was evident Tommy wasn’t taking his advice, as the poor kid’s cheeks paled. They unloaded their bags and Leroux slid aside a hidden panel on one of the shipping containers, entering his eight-digit code. There was a click and he checked to make sure they were still alone among the sea of containers, then hauled open the door. The bags were all carried inside and the door quickly closed, sealing them into the well-equipped, well-stocked space. There were sleeping quarters and a small kitchen, enough supplies to take care of four people for six months, if not more, plus a state-of-the-art control room.
The amount of work that must have gone into building the place had always sent his mind racing. Kane had revealed little beyond the standard, “how would you have done it?” Once he had thought about it, it made sense. Kane had already revealed to him how he made his extra money. He never stole, he never pocketed cash or valuables that he came across on and off duty. Instead, he earned his money gambling.
He was extremely good at reading people, and could almost always tell when someone was bluffing. It gave him an edge over anyone else when he was playing against a human opponent. Games of chance like slot machines and roulette were for fools. Blackjack required a knowledge of the game, but it relied too much on the person beside you, and was still tilted toward the house.
But a good game of high-stakes poker, where the odds were even between the players at the table, was where he excelled, and evidently he excelled to the extreme, for this setup had to be a seven-figure one.
As for how Kane had put it together, Leroux had guessed and his friend hadn’t corrected him, surmising that everything had been built by different vendors, none of whom knew what the other was doing, then finally assembled by people he could trust, then transported by people who had no idea what they were transporting.
Resulting in this sophisticated facility, known to almost no one. He had worked out of here several times, and though cramped, he had always enjoyed it, thinking of it more as camping than anything else.
He pointed at one of the two bedrooms and glanced at Fang. “That room is yours. Tommy and I will share the other one.”
Tommy grinned. “Thanks, buddy, but I don’t swing that way.”
Leroux managed a chuckle, not in the mood for humor. “We’ll probably be working in shifts, but I can’t promise I won’t spoon you.”
Tommy laughed and tossed his bag in the room. “So, we’re after a mole, and we already have a suspect,” he summarized as they all headed into the operations center. He took a seat, expertly activating all the equipment, having worked out of here himself a couple of times.
“That’s right. We believe Deputy Chief Wiltshire is the leak, though we have no evidence to prove that. Our job is to get that evidence, then bring it to the Director of the CIA, so that we can contain the leak. If we don’t plug it soon, Dylan and Sherrie’s lives could be at risk. At least ten people are dead already.”
Tommy’s hand momentarily trembled, then he took a deep breath, steadying himself before resuming the boot-up. “Where do we start? I assume we’re not going to try to hack into the Agency.”
Leroux shook his head. “No. I doubt he’d be stupid enough to be conducting his business using Agency equipment. We need to find out every method he has of communicating outside Langley. Landlines, cellular, Internet. Anything. Any devices including phones, PCs, tablets, hell, if he has a NEST controller, I want to know.”
Fang sat in a chair in the corner. “Wouldn’t his home PC be secure?”
“The one provided by Langley, yes, but if he’s the mole, he’ll have a secondary device. Whether that’s a tablet or a laptop, or just a burner phone, he’ll have something. Let’s start with the obvious. Find out what regular landlines and cellphones he has, who his Internet provider is, the usual drill. He’ll have slipped up at some point, they always do.” He glanced at Fang. “Are you up for some fieldwork?”
She grinned. “Is a bear Catholic?”
Leroux gave her a look. “I think it’s supposed to be, ‘Does a bear shit in the woods?’”
“Oh. Then which one’s the one with the Catholic?”
“Is the Pope Catholic?” suggested Tommy.
Fang shrugged. “I prefer the way Dylan says it. It makes you think.”
Leroux grunted. “His brain does work in a different way, doesn’t it?”
She nodded. “It does. Though I find you Americans all think in a different way than us Chinese.”
Tommy’s fingers stopped moving. “What do you mean?”
She waved her hand at him, dismissing the question. “We don’t have time for me to get into that. Let’s just say you plan for this year, we plan for fifty to a hundred years.”
Leroux had to agree with her assessment. The Chinese Communist culture was different, and he often wondered how much of it was because they were communists, or how much of it was part of their culture developed over thousands of years. The Chinese government was developed around the concept of the state, not the individual. In America, a politician did something so he could get credit. Sometimes it was for the good of the country, but far too often it was so he could get reelected in two to four years. In China, none of that mattered. Plans were made for the long term, whether 10, 50, or 100 years. Communist China always had a plan. Was it set in stone? Of course not. Things changed, but the plan was always for the long term.
In America and the Western world, few plans ever extended beyond the timeline of the current administration, because they knew as soon as they were out of office, whoever replaced them would work hard to undo whatever they had done. It meant planning beyond ten years was almost always doomed to failure. In China, they didn’t have that pesky problem of elections. They could make a 20-year plan or a 50-year plan. And as long as the Communist Party of the day continued to agree with it, the plan continued to be in effect.
It was something that Western governments had difficulty understanding. China didn’t need to dominate economically or militarily in the next five years—it didn’t care about that. Its goal was to dominate by the end of the century, and every indication so far was that they would succeed, for the Western consumer didn’t care about human rights, didn’t care about environmental laws, didn’t care about labor laws. All it cared about were cheap goods produced by a totalitarian state. The Western governments who feared what China could become were willingly allowing their citizens to hand over the money that would finance the very outcome that secretly terrified those that led today’s democracies.
“We’re up,” said Tommy, interrupting Leroux’s train of thought.
“Get me his home address. And I need to know any vehicles he or anyone in that household might drive.”
“Yes, sir.”
Tommy went to work and Leroux turned to Fang. “I want trackers on all of his vehicles, and eyes and ears on that house. As complete a surveillance package as you can manage without tipping anyone off.”
“But won’t it be swept because of who he is?”
“The house will be, but not the surrounding properties. I’m more concerned with passive scanning. I want to know if there are any devices operating in that house that aren’t official.” He tossed her his car keys. “Do you know where the equipment is?”
“Yes.”
Tommy turned in his chair. “I just sent you the address plus the info on the two cars registered there.”
Fang checked her phone. “Got it. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She left the room and Leroux heard her opening one of the storage lockers to retrieve the necessary gear. The outer door opened and slammed shut, their protection now gone, though inside this facility, he wasn’t concerned. Kane had already explained how it had been reinforced. Nobody was getting in here.
Tommy turned to him. “I just checked Kane’s private database and it has a file on Wiltshire. It looks like a copy of the CIA’s personnel file on him.”
Leroux took a seat beside Tommy. “Send it to my station.” He quickly scanned the information, completely unfamiliar with the man who had possibly ended his career. He was married, two children, three grandchildren. A memory nagged at him and he Googled the names of the children, confirming the recollection. His daughter and son-in-law had died in a car accident two years ago on their way to pick up their son from daycare. Wiltshire and his wife were now the legal guardians of the grandson named Leonard.
Perhaps he’s not the complete asshole everyone thinks he is.
He frowned. He might still be an asshole. His wife might be the saint.
She’d have to be to stay married to him all these years.
“I’m into his bank accounts.”
Leroux turned his attention to Tommy’s screens. “Any unusual deposits or withdrawals?”
Tommy shook his head. “No, there’s not much activity here at all. Do people still pay with cash?”
“His generation certainly does.”
“Well, maybe that’s it then, because his accounts seem to have a paycheck being deposited, a few regular payments, utilities, phone, that type of thing.”
“Mortgage?”
“Looks like it’s paid off. But that wouldn’t be unusual for his age, would it?”
Leroux shook his head. “No, it wouldn’t. Check the wife’s accounts. Maybe she’s the one who pays the day-to-day stuff.”
A few taps and they were looking at the account of a woman who had embraced the 21st century, everything from Starbucks to Walmart paid electronically, though nothing unusual.
Leroux pursed his lips. “If he’s getting paid, he’s certainly not putting that toward his day-to-day life. Start digging for anything that might link him, her, or any of his family, including extended family, to other accounts, investment accounts, real estate holdings, anything that might suggest he’s hiding assets. If he’s the mole, he has to be doing it for a reason, and he has to be getting paid by somebody.”
“Yes, sir,” said Tommy. He paused. “Umm, we’re assuming he’s doing it for money. Could he be doing it for some other reason?”
Leroux regarded him. “He could be getting blackmailed, but that’s always harder to track down. Let’s start digging a little deeper to see if we find any accounts tied to him. Let’s hope we’re lucky. I want something to take to the Director before Kane lands.”
34 |
Approaching Langley, Virginia
“We’ve got company.”
Sherrie didn’t visibly react to Kane’s warning, as any mirror checks might potentially tip off their pursuers that they had been detected. “Where?”
“Behind us, two cars back. Black SUV.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah, they’ve been on us since the airfield.”
“Who the hell would be following us?”
“If this situation is as big as Chris suggests, then it has to be the Russians.”
Sherrie frowned. “This pretty much proves our theory of a mole.”
“Yup.”
“What are we going to do?”
“We keep heading for Langley. Once we’re through the gates, we’re safe.”
She eyed him. “That doesn’t sound like you.”
He flashed her a grin. “No, it doesn’t, does it?”
“So, what is the plan?”
“We take them out, and if any of them survive, interrogate them to find out who the hell they’re working for.”
“That sounds a lot more fun,” said Sherrie as she reached behind her without turning her head. She hauled forward a bag from the back seat then unzipped it, revealing a cache of weapons and other accouterments of the trade.
“Grab the vests too. They’re under your seat.”
She reached down and felt them, then yanked them free of their Velcro attachments, the CIA provided vehicle fully equipped.
“Get ready to put yours on,” said Kane as he prepped for a turn.
She positioned it in front of her, then he made a right-hand turn, momentarily putting them out of sight of the tailing vehicle. He cursed as he found a notorious British sportscar in limp mode blocking his path. He swerved around it, not bothering to honk his horn—the poor bastard had enough problems with his vehicle choice.
Kane resumed a regular speed so as not to raise any suspicions while Sherrie donned her vest then strapped it in place.
“Set?”
“Set.” She slid his vest over to him, positioning it between his chest and the steering wheel.
“Next turn, as soon as I complete it, you take the wheel.”
“Got it.”
He checked his rearview mirror to see that their tail was still with them, though too many more unexpected turns would have them realizing he had spotted them. They should already suspect it if they knew anything about his record. Any trained agent was always fully aware of their surroundings, and would have picked up any tail by now.
A left turning arrow switched from green to amber and he hammered on the gas, careening around the corner before straightening out. “Now.”
She grabbed the wheel and he struggled into his vest, strapping it in place before retaking control. Sherrie checked his handiwork then distributed weapons and ammo. “How do you want to do this?”
“I’ve always found the element of surprise to work well.” He eyed the route ahead, running down his options. With the amount of gunfire he was expecting, he wanted to find the least public place possible. He turned right and hammered on the gas, gunning them toward the warehouse district. He checked his rearview mirror and their tail was still with them, accelerating to keep pace. He winked at her. “Oops, I think they figured out we’ve spotted them.”
She checked her side mirror, no longer concerned with her head movements tipping them off. “Do you think they just want to talk?”
He chuckled. “I’ll try to remember to ask before I take the first shot.” He spotted what he was looking for, an abandoned distribution center, vacant for at least a year. He cranked the wheel, sending them sailing into the parking lot, then hammered on the accelerator as he raced down the side of the building before drifting them around the corner. He continued to let the rear end slide until they had made a complete 270, leaving them facing where their pursuers would soon emerge. He threw his door open and took aim, Sherrie doing the same.
“Take out their tires. First sign of a weapon, it’s open season.”
“Roger that.”
The roaring engine of the SUV approached, the hood suddenly visible as it emerged from the side of the abandoned building. Kane opened fire on the front tire and the driver swerved away to avoid the shots, but the damage was already done, the tire flat. Sherrie opened up on the rear tire, taking it out. The SUV was equipped with run-flats, but those were only good for punctures. The sidewalls were now completely shredded by their bullets, and the vehicle was no longer a pursuit threat.
It screeched to a halt and all four doors opened. Two TEC-9s emerged, spraying scores of rounds at them blindly. Kane ignored them, instead opening fire on the rear window, Sherrie doing the same, their armor-piercing rounds making quick work of the bullet-resistant glass. It was clear this was a purpose-built vehicle, not some rental, and it changed the equation slightly by eliminating the possibility this was gangbangers or something similar. These were clearly government or government-funded. The question was, whose government?
He’d be sure to ask if any of them survived.
Sherrie yelped as a window in the abandoned building shattered overhead, raining glass on the ground only feet away from her.
He didn’t look, instead continuing to fire. “You okay?”
“Yeah, just a few scratches. Are we waiting for them to run out of bullets, or are we hoping to just get lucky?”
He laughed. “I always enjoy getting lucky.” But she was right. Another lucky shot and one of them could be dead. He broke left, away from the protection of the reinforced car door, continuing to fire at the open rear door until he emptied his mag. He ejected it and reloaded in less than a second, continuing to lay fire through the door as he improved his angle. Someone groaned, then a body tumbled out the rear driver’s side seat.
The driver stepped out to get a better shot at Kane and paid the ultimate price before he could aim his weapon. Kane continued to advance until he was perpendicular to the vehicle as Sherrie sustained her fire, keeping the other two preoccupied. Kane put three rounds in the final occupant of the rear seat then took two steps forward, getting an angle on the final hostile in the passenger seat.
“Drop your weapon!”
The man spun toward Kane’s voice.
“Drop your weapon or you die!”
The man laughed then pressed his own weapon to his head and fired.
Kane lowered his Glock as Sherrie emerged from behind her car door.
“Well, that was unexpected,” she said. “Weren’t you supposed to ask them if they wanted to talk?”
He shrugged. “I thought I did.”
“Now what do we do?”
“Call it in, search them, and hope we get some piece of intel off them that’s useful.”
35 |
Deputy Chief Wiltshire’s Office, CIA Headquarters Langley, Virginia
“Make it quick. I’ve got a meeting in five minutes.”
Tong resisted the urge to frown at Deputy Chief Wiltshire. She would never like the man, and she would never like working for him. It was perhaps selfish to pray for the Chief’s full and speedy recovery so the days under this man’s supervision would be few, however she found almost every spare moment was spent doing just that. There was a reason they passed this man over for the job. Men with attitudes like him didn’t inspire confidence, didn’t inspire loyalty. Somebody like Morrison, who treated his staff with respect and who had your back, whether it was within the walls of this complex or out in the field, inspired people to go above and beyond. They would skip breaks or lunch when necessary, they would put in the extra hours when needed.
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