Mercury Rising, page 15
“I’m not sure I’m comfortable answering that question for you,” Simpson finally said.
“Come on, Jerry. I didn’t hire you to sidestep tough questions. What’s your gut tell you?”
“My gut tells me that the more involved you are in this mission, the more value you would bring to it,” Simpson said. “It also tells me that you’d be in commensurately more danger.”
Clark shrugged. “If someone’s already gunning for me, what difference does it make how much danger I’m in? In for a penny, in for a pound, right?”
“Are you sure?” Simpson asked. “I can brief you later after you’ve had some time to reflect on this whole scenario.”
“No,” Clark said, shaking his head. “I don’t want to wait. Tell me right now what’s going on. And don’t mince words, Jerry.”
Simpson shrugged with his lips. “If you insist, who am I to argue with the President of the United States of America? Though I recall you saying that you didn’t want a bunch of yes-men surrounding you.”
“I’m not asking you to blow smoke up my ass. I just want you to level with me about what happened in the Atlantic and what’s the status of the Mercury team.”
“In that case, stay seated. This isn’t the kind of news anyone should take standing up.”
“I’m listening,” Clark said.
Simpson proceeded to recount the situation to the president, excluding nothing. After Clark made it clear he wanted to know every last detail, Simpson figured he might as well recount everything in order to gain not only Clark’s trust but also his help. When Simpson finished, Clark eyed him closely.
“So, let me get this straight,” said Clark, his eyes narrowing. “This Colonel character has enough power to get these guys aboard a C-130 transport overseas?”
“Or he knows somebody who can or has dirt on them. All I know is that Barrett didn’t book a ticket for that flight.”
Clark let out a long breath through puffed cheeks. “If this gets out—”
He let his words hang as he ran a hand through his hair.
“It’s not going to get out unless you let it be known, sir. The reality is it’s in everyone’s best interest for this to stay secret, especially in the interest of our operatives. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Blake Barrett, it’s that he does his best work when he’s pretending to be dead. And he’s been doing it for quite a while now.”
“I’ll do my own investigation into the plane and see what I can learn,” Clark said. “But in the meantime, I want you to go after this son of a bitch before he unravels us from the inside out.”
“We’ve never stopped going after him, though I’m starting to think that maybe I need to at least look like I’ve given up so I can operate without having to look over my shoulder every minute.”
Clark grunted. “In the espionage business, you better never stop looking over your shoulder.”
“I understand, sir. Maybe what I’m trying to say is that I just want to be able to go on the offensive some without always having to wonder if he’s coming for me.”
“The best way to approach this is to realize he’s always coming for you. But if you land a punch first, you’ll have a chance to stop him.”
“Guess it’s time to go land some haymakers,” Simpson said with a wink.
“You’re starting to get it,” Clark said, a smile easing across his lips. “Just keep me apprised of whatever you do.”
“Then I guess I’ll start by saying I’m going to disappear for a while.”
Simpson climbed out of the SUV and returned to his office, still glancing over his shoulder as he mulled his next steps. He sat down at his desk and pecked away on his keyboard, searching for flights. After he had narrowed down his choices, he heard one of his burner phones buzzing. He yanked open the desk drawer and was disappointed to see it wasn’t Barrett calling.
It was the Colonel.
“Is there a bomb in my office?” Simpson asked as he answered the phone.
Col. Sanders laughed softly. “I forgot how literal you were.”
“Forgive me if I mistook you for being figurative the last time we spoke,” Simpson said. “You made it clear that if we ever spoke again, it’d be the last time I ever spoke to anyone. So, I just want to prepare myself in case you’re about to detonate a bomb or send a team of operatives storming into my office.”
“Jerry, Jerry, Jerry. I like you, I really do.”
Despite what Col. Sanders was saying, Simpson knew he hadn’t misunderstood. There had to be another reason why the Colonel was calling—and Simpson knew whatever the reason was, it wasn’t good.
“What do you want?” Simpson said, his tone sharp.
“Relax, Jerry. You don’t need to conjure up some tough guy act for me. We both know that you’d already be dead if I wanted you that way.”
“Then why am I still alive?”
The Colonel clucked his tongue. “When did you become so cynical, Jerry?”
“Maybe when I started getting threatened with my life. Funny how that’ll make a man cynical, but it does.”
“Well, I was wrong,” Col. Sanders said.
“Now, there’s a first. The great Col. Sanders admits he was wrong, ladies and gentlemen.”
“I wasn’t done,” Col. Sanders said. “So, what I was going to say before you cut me off was this: I was wrong for threatening you so soon. I underestimated just how vengeful you were, Jerry.”
“Can you blame me?”
“Of course, I can. I made you a rich man. Plus, I thought the threat of death might make you reconsider this quest of yours to unmask me and level serious allegations against me. But it seems to have done the opposite, according to my sources.”
“Maybe you need to reconsider who your sources are?”
“Are you suggesting they’re inaccurate?” Col. Sanders asked.
Simpson remained silent.
“Okay then,” Col. Sanders said. “That’s all I need to know right there. But I wanted to let you know that not only will I kill you if you come after me, I’ll introduce evidence to the public that you were the one ultimately responsible for the death of all those federal judges—after you’re dead. In other words, I’m going to kill you and then dance on your grave.”
Simpson chuckled. “Do you think I’ll care what you think after I’m gone? I’m not quite as egotistical as you are.”
“Ruining your reputation isn’t the only way I can hurt you.”
“I get it, Colonel. You’re quite creative when it comes to revenge. But maybe you should know, I am too.”
“Listen here, Jerry,” Col. Sanders said, his voice dropping to a low growl, “the worst thing for you just might be to stay alive and be my useful idiot. So, if I were you, I’d consider disappearing for a while—and never coming back.”
“Message received,” Simpson said before he punched off.
He leaned back in his chair and interlaced his fingers behind his head, closing his eyes. If he had his way, he would prefer to engage Col. Sanders in a duel like during the Colonial times of America. They would pace off and then fire at each other. That is, if Simpson could find that damn Colonel. He was everywhere and nowhere all at once.
Then Simpson mulled over the phone call, something nagging at him. The Colonel never made unnecessary moves, never wasted energy on empty threats. So why call again?
The realization hit him like ice water. The Colonel wasn’t threatening him—he was stalling him. Keeping him on the line long enough to—
Simpson’s training kicked in. He dove behind his desk just as his office window exploded in a shower of glass. A sniper’s bullet buried itself in his chair where his head had been seconds before.
His desk phone rang immediately. Simpson, staying low, grabbed the receiver.
“Close, but not close enough,” Simpson said.
“You’re better than I gave you credit for, Jerry,” the Colonel said, his voice cold and businesslike. “But you can’t hide in that office forever.”
Simpson crawled toward his emergency bag, always kept packed in his bottom drawer. “Let me guess—you’ve got the building surrounded?”
“Something like that. You’ve got maybe three minutes before my people reach your floor. Though I have to admit, I’m impressed. Most people don’t recognize a targeting call when they hear one.”
Through his cracked door, Simpson could see the hallway lights going out one by one. The Colonel’s people were methodically clearing the floor, professionally and thoroughly.
“Here’s what’s going to happen, Jerry. You’re going to walk out of that office with your hands up, and I’m going to make this quick. Or you can make me work for it, and I’ll take my time.”
Simpson reached his emergency bag and pulled out the sat phone Barrett had given him months ago. “There’s a third option you haven’t considered.”
“And what’s that?”
“I don’t go down alone.” Simpson hit speed dial as he spoke. “My insurance policy just went active, Colonel. Every piece of evidence I’ve gathered, every recording of our conversations, every classified document about your operation—it’s all going to the right people if I don’t check in within the hour.”
The line went quiet for several seconds.
“You’re bluffing,” the Colonel finally said, but Simpson detected uncertainty in his voice.
“Am I? All my years in intelligence taught me a few things, including always have an exit strategy. Mine just happens to involve burning your whole operation to the ground.”
Simpson could hear footsteps in the hallway now, getting closer. Through the broken window, he could see the fire escape ladder.
“This isn’t over, Jerry,” the Colonel hissed.
“No, it’s not. But next time we talk, I’ll be the one setting the terms.”
Simpson ended the call and grabbed his bag. The footsteps were at his door now. He had seconds to make his choice—surrender or run.
He chose to run.
As he climbed through the broken window onto the fire escape, Simpson realized the Colonel had made his first real mistake. He’d revealed just how desperate he was becoming. And desperate men make errors.
Barrett was out there somewhere, closing in on the truth. Simpson’s job now was to stay alive long enough to help him finish it.
The hunt was on for him too.
CHAPTER 20
RIVER OF NO RETURN WILDERNESS AREA | IDAHO
The screen door creaked and groaned as Barrett pulled it back and held it open for his colleagues. Watts and Stone filed into the cabin after Lynch before Barrett let the door shut. He remained outside, his eyes scanning the surrounding forests. In the branches of a Ponderosa pine towering overhead, a pair of squirrels chattered as they chased each other and sent flakes of bark flitting to the ground. Barrett looked up for a moment before turning his attention back to the woods. He thought he’d heard something else, something heavier trundling along the forest floor. But after everything fell silent, he joined everyone else inside.
Lynch gestured toward the lone remaining ladder-back rush chair at the kitchen table before scooping ground coffee out of a tin canister and preparing a pot of coffee for the group. Barrett sat down and scanned the interior of the cabin. It was short on decor and smelled of fresh pine, devoid of signs of a well-worn house.
“Did you build this place yourself?” Barrett asked.
“Took me six months to build it by hand,” Lynch said as he pumped water from the sink. “Though I have some solar panels that I used to power a few tools—and my coffee pot now. You’re not supposed to build out here, but I didn’t see anyone who was going to stop me. Finished a week before the first snowfall.”
Watts stood and ran her hand along a rough-hewn beam. “Where’d you learn to do all this?” she asked.
“I picked things up here and there,” Lynch said. “Glad I did too because I wouldn’t have been able to get off the grid like this if I hadn’t.”
Lynch removed two mugs from a shelf hanging in the kitchen. Then he grabbed two more wooden goblets out of the cupboard.
“I’m surprised you have enough cups for guests,” Stone said. “Who’s been joining you for supper?”
“You’re my first guests,” Lynch said. “But even out here, a man’s got to have some hobbies. So, I started carving things. At first, I just carved out mugs and then later moved on to more intricate things.”
Barrett chinned toward a small figurine of a dog sitting on an end table next to a rocking chair. “Is that some of your handiwork too?”
Lynch smiled and nodded. “I made almost everything in here. Found a few things like the windows off some abandoned homesteads I came across. But that carving is what I’m most proud of. I wanted to carve Butch, Amelia’s first dog she had growing up, and give it to my daughter one day. Butch was a beagle, which might be easier to see if I could paint it. One step at a time, right?”
“It’s all impressive,” Barrett said.
“I bet you’d make some impressive things too if you had hours of free time to fill your day with,” Lynch said. “But you didn’t track me down in the middle of nowhere to talk about my frontiersman skills, did you?”
The coffee pot finished and he filled a cup for everyone, bringing them back to the table two at a time.
Barrett cradled his mug and took a sip. “I told you I spoke with Admiral Becker and he mentioned something about guilt. What was he talking about? What were you guys doing?”
“Before we begin,” Lynch said, settling into his chair, “I want to know what you’re really after. So, I guess what I’m trying to ask is this: Why are you really here?”
Barrett locked eyes with Lynch. “We want to go after Col. Sanders.”
Barrett reached into his pocket and retrieved the photo he’d taken from Admiral Becker’s boat. He tapped Lynch’s face.
“Right before Admiral Becker’s yacht was obliterated, he showed that picture to me and said the two of you were the only ones still alive who’d participated in Col. Sanders’ scheme.”
“And now I’m it,” Lynch said before a sigh of resignation. He looked down at the table and shook his head.
“Which is why you’re pretty much our last hope,” Watts said.
Lynch grunted. “Scraping the bottom of the barrel, aren’t we?”
“We’re serious,” Stone said. “What was really going on over there?”
“I knew I never should’ve volunteered for that mission,” Lynch said with a sigh. “But I needed—no, wanted—some extra money at the time. I’d been wanting to take my wife on a nice trip once I got home. I don’t fully understand how difficult it was for her to take care of things while I was deployed, but she did a great job. We were having trouble getting pregnant on top of that. I thought maybe if we had some extra money, we could afford some fertility treatment too. And look where chasing all those dollars got me—living in isolation in the middle of the woods far away from my family who I’ll probably never see again.”
“Not if we can eliminate Col. Sanders,” Stone said. “There’s a good chance you could get your life back.”
“There’s just one problem—nobody knows who the hell Col. Sanders is,” Lynch said.
“I thought you said—” Barrett began before Lynch cut him off.
“I corrected myself,” Lynch said. “What Col. Sanders is presents the biggest problem of all, not his identity.”
“Please explain,” Barrett said.
“Col. Sanders is part of something much bigger. I’m sure you’re familiar with the Echo Syndicate by now. He is part of the syndicate’s leadership, but he’s just one of more than a dozen that I’m aware of.”
Barrett furrowed his brow. “So, you worked for this guy when you were deployed in the desert but you never knew who he was?”
Lynch nodded. “We received our orders through another soldier, Frank Perry, who died in a freak hunting accident when he fell out of a tree stand—though I’ll never believe that. Anyway, the handful of us who were working for Col. Sanders would ask Perry about Col. Sanders’ identity, and he would give us the old cliche line of, ‘If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you.’ Except, he wasn’t joking. He was dead serious every time he said it. After a while, we stopped pestering him about it.”
“But you still found out about the Echo Syndicate?” Barrett asked.
“Not on purpose,” Lynch said. “I would say it was by luck, but bad luck judging from my current situation. One day we were getting a shipment together for Perry, and he had a bad case of the shits. He was running off to the can every few minutes. So, I found some of the papers he’d been holding that detailed what he was supposed to ship. And then I saw something about the Echo Syndicate scrawled at the bottom of the page. I started doing some research on the dark web and read some stuff about the organization on one of those conspiracy sites. There are a lot of nut jobs in those forums, but sometimes the stuff turns out to be real.”
“What else did you learn about the syndicate?” Stone asked.
“Nothing verifiable. Just a lot of speculation about how it was organized and who might be involved. A few names were thrown around, none of which I recognized. I also knew what the syndicate was doing—and all the chatter was way off on that. So, I doubted that the people really knew what they were talking about. Except for the existence of the organization.”
Barrett shifted in his seat, the chair creaking beneath him. “What were you doing?”
“When I first got involved, we were smuggling cash back home through construction equipment,” Lynch said. “You’d be amazed at how much cash you can hide in a back hoe. Then we started sending back drugs, both pharmaceutical and the illegal variety. We had a guy who was supposedly moving the product for us and giving us all a cut. And that’s all I would’ve ever thought it was about until one day I learned that it was a test run for something else.”
