Authors: CG Cooper
For his part, Barrett sounded like he was enjoying the laborious task of the painstaking search. Cal had to hand it to the guy, he was methodical and professional when the incentive was there. He wondered what Barrett would say if he found out that Cal had located a key piece of information and not shared it. He’d worry about that later. Surely he could figure out a way to give the NCIS agent his portion of credit.
“Anything from headquarters yet?” Cal asked Daniel, who’d volunteered to coordinate the efforts with Neil, Jonas and Diane. The sniper knew his boss was still a bit unsettled by his girlfriend’s role in the operation. Better to keep the two apart for the time-being. Cal wouldn’t say so, but he’d been relieved when Daniel had suggested splitting duties.
“Still a blank on Gower and Mason other than the fact they’re both on leave. Neil says he’s widening the net to include ports of entry. Maybe they went out of the country.”
It was possible, but where would they go?
+++
Falls Church, Virginia
10:14am
Barrett slid the thick book back into the tall bookshelf then grabbed another. His partner, Special Agent Weston Moore, was sifting through boxes of old Ellwood family photo albums.
Something about the monotonous drudgery of the task appealed to Barrett’s senses. It was what he’d always imagined sleuths of another century doing, lifting every rock and analyzing every paper. Stokes hadn’t told him what they might find, but the urgency in the Marine’s instructions told Barrett that what they were doing could possibly be the key to unraveling the mystery of Gen. Ellwood’s death.
Of course, it didn’t hurt that the whole thing might get tied back to the sensationalized battle between Congressman Steiner and the Marine Corps. Not that Barrett really cared, other than for the horrific loss of American lives, but he couldn’t believe the charade had gone on for so long. Surely the president or someone should have stepped in by then to do something.
But that was all way above Barrett’s pay grade. His current focus had to do with finding clues. He thought about what Sherlock Holmes would do had he been in Barrett’s shoes. Probably smoke a pipe or analyze the density and make of the bedroom carpets.
He chuckled to himself as he refocused on the task at hand, first holding the paperback book by the spine and leafing through the pages to see if anything fell to the floor. Nothing did. On to the tedious task of flipping from one page to the next. Not for the first time, he wondered why Stokes had told him to place the most emphasis on the books.
Weston Moore interrupted his thoughts when he walked into the library, his heels thumping on the rug covered hardwood floor.
“Nothing in the photo albums. Want me to help you in here?” Moore asked.
“I got to here,” Barrett pointed to the empty spot on the bookshelf and swept his hand back over the area he’d already searched. “Why don’t you start at the end and we’ll meet in the middle.”
“Got it.”
Barrett was impressed by the new agent. The guy didn’t complain about anything. He was an eager pupil and had quickly found how to make Barrett’s job easier. Barrett wished all new NCIS employees had the same attitude. He wondered if that had anything to do with Moore’s military background. For the most part, the men and women who joined NCIS from the armed services were used to putting in long hours and working hard to get things done. Moore was a shining example of what a stint in the Army could do to spit out a better human being.
Special Agent Barrett was half way through his most recent inspection when Moore asked, “Did Stokes have any new information?”
“He said they were chasing down some leads, but nothing concrete.”
“You’re sure he’s giving you the full scoop?”
“I’ve got a pretty good BS detector, Moore. Stick around a while and you will, too.”
Moore nodded and went back to his work. The familiar ringing of Moore’s cell phone made Barrett look up in annoyance. He’d told the younger agent to put the phone on vibrate.
“Sorry,” said Moore, answering the call. “Moore.”
Barrett was only half listening when his partner said, “It’s for you.”
“That’s strange,” said Barrett. Moore stepped over and went to hand his superior the phone. But then he did something strange. Instead of putting it in Barrett’s hand, he dropped it and came closer. Everything slipped to slow motion, the book falling out of Barrett’s hand as his arms came up to block Moore, who was now grabbing the older agent by the back of the head. Before he knew what was happening, Moore’s knee blasted into Barrett’s sternum, causing him to double over, struggling to find breath.
He felt it when Moore slipped the pistol out of his side holster then kicked him from his knees onto his back. “Good night, Special Agent Barrett.”
Robbie Barrett couldn’t get his hands from his stomach to his head fast enough to block the descending blow from his own pistol butt. He felt a stab of pain on the side of his head, and then the world turned to black.
+++
Special Agent Moore picked up his phone from the floor and made a call.
“What’s your status?” asked the familiar voice.
“None so far,” Moore replied.
“I know it’s there. What about the wife and your partner?”
“She’s tied up and he’s unconscious.”
“You don’t think it’s better to get rid of him?”
“I figured he might come in handy. I can always take care of him later.”
There was what sounded like a growl from the other end. “You mean like you did in Florida?”
Moore took the jab without offering an excuse. “This time I’ve got him down.”
“Okay. The wife is the key. Knock her around if you have to, but find out where he hid it.”
“What if she doesn’t know?” asked Moore.
“Even if she thinks she doesn’t, he would’ve left a clue.”
“So I’m supposed to get it out of her or keep digging here until I find it?”
“Is that a problem?”
Moore knew he was on shaky ground with his employer. He’d already failed twice in a matter of days. The man on the other end of the line wouldn’t tolerate another slip up.
“It’s not a problem. I’ll take care of it.”
“Good.”
Chapter 31
Sandals Grand Riviera Resort
Ocho Rios, Jamaica
12:19pm, December 10
th
Glen Whitworth sipped his third pina colada of the morning as he lounged in one of the water-filled floating rings in the small manmade lagoon. He rubbed his growing belly and let out a burp. He’d just eaten a late breakfast, but he was already thinking of lunch. Maybe a wood fired pizza, the one with the blue cheese.
He smiled and took another sip of his drink. While he could afford going to any resort in the world, something about coming to an all-inclusive appealed to Whitworth’s frugal ways. He didn’t have a problem paying hundreds of thousands to fund a politician’s re-election campaign, or funneling millions into a company acquisition, but something about the effort of pulling out your wallet every time you wanted a drink annoyed him. Even worse, he hated the expectant look on waiters’ faces when they wanted a hefty tip.
He never had to deal with that at Sandals. Everything was paid for and tips weren’t technically allowed. Sure, he’d had to give Duane Mason the cash to pay the local thugs to dispose of Joe Gower’s body, but that was business.
Part of him wanted to live on vacation all the time. If he’d really wanted to, he could. He could sell out of OrionTech or merely step aside. He had billions either way. But that would never work. Just like his father before him, Glen Whitworth knew he’d probably die of a heart attack as he worked another long day at OrionTech.
He couldn’t complain. He loved the daily battles and the intrigue. He’d had more fun in this most recent scrap with the Marine Corps than any time since his hard-partying days in college. He wondered what the government would do with all that surplus military equipment once the Marines were dismissed. Probably sell it off for pennies on the dollar just like they’d done with all those MRAPs after Iraq wound down. Whitworth snorted. If it wasn’t for the federal government and their constant churn of oversight, he would never have his billions. While the government moved from one crisis to another, appointing a new panel for this, then disbanding it and replacing it with something else, they never had any real consistency. With new development alone, there were not only new political appointees overseeing the programs, there were new admirals and generals who came and went every couple of years. It was easy to play the system and shuffle into a more favorable position once somebody left. It was like getting to reinvent yourself every two to three years.
His father had taught him how to bend the system and morph like a chameleon. The Whitworths were masters of reinvention. The billions of dollars in assets and cash were the proof.
A shrill whistle sounded from shore, jostling him from his thoughts. He rolled over with some effort, careful not to spill the remains of his cocktail, and saw Duane Mason standing on the white sand beach.
Whitworth held up his hand indicating he’d be there in a minute. After guzzling the rest of his drink, he splashed back into the water and ambled to shore. He couldn’t wait to hear the latest from his newest enforcer.
+++
Charlottesville, Virginia
12:51pm
“Got it!” Neil shouted, almost knocking his Diet Red Bull onto the floor.
“What?” asked Diane, taking her eyes from the computer screen she’d been glued to all morning.
“I got into the U.S. Immigration system. Gower flew to Jamaica a couple days ago. His arrival documentation with the Jamaican authorities says he was going to the Sandals resort in Ocho Rios.”
“Anything on Mason?” asked Diane.
“No, but they haven’t recorded Gower’s re-entry. That means he’s still there.”
Diane didn’t disagree. She still wondered where Gen. Mason was. If anything, she would’ve thought they’d be together. With the help of Neil’s computer skills (most of which she’d realized were highly illegal), they’d pieced together a rough history of both men and their association with Gen. Ellwood. From their time at the Naval Academy all the way up to present day, the three men had crossed paths on numerous occasions.
If Gower and Mason were behind Ellwood’s death, Diane wondered what could have split the friendship so dramatically. The former Navy intel analyst knew that people changed and that priorities shifted over time, but for one of three college friends to end up on the business end of a pistol because of the other two, it was almost too much to believe. If she hadn’t found her own proof concerning Cal, she might not have believed it. This was a new world for Diane. Could anyone be trusted?
“I haven’t found any links with OrionTech,” she offered. “Do you really think they’re in on it too?”
Neil shrugged. “Cal seems to think so.”
“And is Cal always right?”
Neil grinned. “Nine times out of ten.”
Diane returned the smile. She was enjoying working with Cal’s team. They were talented and obviously entranced by their work. These were guys who were doing the right thing, even if it was a bit outside the law. Diane’s biggest immediate concern was for Cal. She couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being led down a dangerous path. That message her friend had given her said it all. They wanted Cal dead.
She now knew that he was more than capable of protecting himself, but she wondered if he knew the breadth of what he’d stepped into. When you threw money and power into the winner’s box, the stakes couldn’t get much higher. And with the prize at the top so tantalizingly close, what crook wouldn’t justify the means to the end?
Diane shook the morbid thoughts away. She had to look past the danger even if it meant ignoring the nagging fears for the man she loved. This was the reason why the military didn’t let couples serve together. The proximity might seem like the perfect idea, but when you tossed in the possibility of harm coming to your loved one, the uncertainty of the situation only increased, putting the mission in peril.
Right now it had to be about the mission. Cal was a big boy. He could take care of himself. Or at least that’s what Diane told herself as she dove into another long and convoluted government contract outlining OrionTech’s latest bid to nab more federal billions. Neil was on the phone with Cal giving him the news about Gower’s trip to Jamaica.
+++
Ft. Bragg, North Carolina
“What do you think he’s doing in Jamaica?” MSgt Trent asked. They’d all listened in on Cal’s conversation with Neil, including Vince.
“Maybe he’s really on vacation,” said Cal.
“Seems like a funny time to hit the beach,” offered Gaucho. “I mean, if the admiral’s in the middle of this mess, shouldn’t he be in town to run it?”
Cal shrugged. With technology the way it was, you could run a covert operation from anywhere. Terrorists across the globe were doing that very thing on a daily basis.
“Maybe we should pay him a visit,” said Cal. “How long does it take to get there?”
“From here, probably about three and a half hours,” offered Vince. “Depends on how fast your bird flies.”
“Gaucho, would you mind calling the Powers brothers and have them plot the flight just in case?”
“No problem.”
Gaucho moved off to call the TJG pilots while the others discussed how they could best capitalize on the information about Gower. A key piece was missing: General Mason. While Gower might’ve been at the helm of the conspiracy, Cal was starting to wonder if the man with special operations experience had been behind the attacks on the Marines. They needed to question Gower, but without spooking Mason. Their next task was pinpointing both of their whereabouts and seeing if they could all have a little chat.
Cal excused himself from the others and went to make a call. The Commandant would want to know how things were progressing now that the president had Congressman Steiner on lockdown for the foreseeable future. Cal and the Marine general knew they were getting close. The problem was, would the enemy go down swinging?