Extraordinary Retribution (20 page)

“Adam Gadahn, the first American indicted for treason in more than half a century.”

Lopez was stunned. “Accomplice to
treason
?”

Houston shook her head bitterly. “Fred says we’re fucked.”

32

“B
asically, you’re fucked,” said the floating head of Fred Simon on the monitor.

His pixelated image showed little emotion. Lopez and Houston sat close together in front of the screen listening to the parade of bad news. It was worse than Lopez could ever have imagined, even given what they had done. Their theft of CIA documents had crossed a line in the Agency neither Houston nor Simon knew existed.

“They’ve mobilized a manhunt locally and internationally. Civilian law enforcement has been involved, and APBs are out for both of you in the area. Meanwhile, they’ve labeled you radioactive, Sara. It’s a hell of a smear job—basically you’re a double agent who slept her way across one hundred bedrooms at CIA, grabbing a stash of secrets each time. They’ve released a bunch of compromising photos and recordings. The story is starting to pop up on the national news and online rags. It’s damn ugly.”

“Jesus,” said Houston, her face tightening. “I’ll check them out. I’ve been focused on other things.”

“They can’t make a charge of treason stick, of course, but that won’t matter for the manhunt. That charge has multiple government agencies prowling around for you. My sources even sounded frightened. The Agency wants you locked up and silenced.”

“What are our options, Fred? Realistically.”

Simon laughed bitterly. “Surrender.”

“Like
hell
,” barked Houston.

“Sara, these guys aren’t playing around. You can’t expect to evade this dragnet for long. Turn yourself in before some wild chase ends up with both of you dead.”

Lopez leaned forward and spoke into the camera. “We aren’t going to give up, Fred. We’ve come too far in this search for my brother’s killers, the killers of many of those in your organization. Sara and I now know what the CIA has been hiding. Secretive missions of an illegal nature that connect all the murders.”

Simon looked concerned. “Sara, what is he talking about?”

“Rendition, Fred,” she answered.

“Rendition? So the hell what? That’s not news.”

“Rendition of American citizens. Snatched over the last ten years in multiple missions. Snatched on American soil.”

“You’re shitting me.”

Lopez interrupted. “No, we’re not! The records we got from the CIA computers—that have us now in hot water—prove it without any doubts. My brother was part of more than twenty of those missions.”

“Black-ops snatch missions targeting
citizens?
Grabbed here? Oh, Lordy, what a toxic barrel of waste that is. Who the hell was crazy enough to authorize this?”

Houston shook her head. “I don’t know. The superiors are only identified with code words: Bravo, Phoenix, Nexus, and the like. It was all set up post-9/11, extreme measures. After 2007, all references to the program disappear.”

Simon nodded. “They killed it, I guess. Still, though, evidence of numerous such events—toxic waste, Sara. No wonder they’re trying to quarantine you two.” He waved his hands at the screen, lecturing them. “From what you’ve told me, I think all the more you need to go in
ASAP
. Cut a deal with them. Promise to shut the hell up. You can’t change the past. Justice in this business is a pipe dream. Cut your losses, Sara. Turn yourself in.”

“I don’t think you’re paying attention!” said Lopez, his voice rising in volume. “The killers are still out there. They aren’t going to turn themselves in. We now have information that can begin to tie everything together. Whatever these murders are about, they have something to do with these missions. We’ve picked up a trail!”

Houston finished for him. “This could lead us to the identity of the killers, Fred. Besides, who says they are finished? How many more agents will die? We’re not going to surrender and duct tape our mouths shut! We’re going to find them.”

“Before the Agency finds you? It’s just a matter of time!”

“Then we’ll use our time as best we can,” said Houston defiantly.

Simon stared at the screen in silence for a few seconds. He sighed. “It’s a fool’s quest, Sara, but if you’re determined to do this, I’ll do what I can to help. But my hands are mostly tied.” Simon ran his fingers roughly through his white hair. “We’ve been connected long enough. We have to be careful or we’ll end up leading them straight to you. My advice is to lay low, move constantly, don’t do anything that can lead to identification through any databases. All communications must be proxy and anonymous. Your banks, credit cards, online accounts are all off limits.”

“We know all this.”

Simon continued, ignoring her. “If you were just going to disappear, you just might be able to pull it off. But you want to push to reveal the killers. You want to
investigate
. You will have to make yourselves visible and vulnerable to do this.”

“We know, Fred. But it’s something we have to do.”

Simon shook his head in resignation. “You Scottish girls are always so damn stubborn! Fine. I’ll reach you again within the week. I’m not idle, Sara. You do have friends left in the Agency. More friends than that, even. There is a network of some like-minded old farts like me not only at CIA, but at FBI, NSA, some others. We’re our own secret society, but we’re sadly outgunned. We’ve been pushing since after 9/11 to change the course internally, but we’re trying to stay
honorable
. It’s hard to compete with
dishonorable
, let me tell you
.
”

Houston looked stunned. “How can we reach this group, Fred?”

Simon smiled shyly. “Watchmen. That’s our name for ourselves, from the comic. Sorry,
graphic novel
. It wasn’t my idea.”

“How do we reach these
Watchmen
, then?”

“Right now, through me. That may change, we’ll see. Things are moving quickly, you’ve made sure of that. We’re doing all we can, but the machine is bigger than us. We’ll talk soon. Be smart. Be safe.”

The connection was broken, and the screen went dark. Neither Lopez nor Houston moved or spoke for a moment. The silence seemed to weigh a ton.

Lopez spoke first. “At least there is a team fighting on our side.”

“The Watchmen,” chuckled Houston. “I always wondered why Fred seemed so determined to keep up these interagency meetings. I thought it was for better intelligence coordination. But maybe it was more.”

“I don’t think they were preparing for this.”

“No. I don’t think they were either. And it sounds like there aren’t many of them. Still, any help is welcome right now.” Houston turned toward Lopez and looked deeply into his eyes. “Thanks for risking so much with me, Francisco. I know it’s not just about Miguel for you either. I’ve seen it in your face. Whatever happens, it means a lot to me to have a friend in this.” She placed her hand on his.

Lopez was moved and embarrassed at the same time.
Or am I afraid of her?
Sometimes she seemed like a powerful force that might just consume him in ten different ways. What unnerved him the most was how attractive that idea had become.

He tried to redirect the conversation. “I have an idea, Sara.” She looked at him quizzically. “The Church,” he said. “We’re surrounded on all sides by powerful forces, numbers and reach we can’t fight or can’t control. But the Catholic Church is a big organization, as well. With deep pockets and a reach that goes around the world. And it is a
moral
organization, whatever its faults and the tarnishing by the press. It is based on the teachings of Jesus Christ. Lies, shadows, torture, murder—these are the works of the Devil and must be opposed.”

Houston looked doubtful. “Francisco, what can the Church do?”

Lopez stood up, feeling empowered for the first time in this madness that had descended on them. “I don’t know, Sara. But I know they have the power to shelter us, shield us. Once upon a time, often in history, the Church would shelter those persecuted by the governments of nations. Maybe it’s time to call on that again.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Go see my bishop in Alabama. He’s the first point of contact, the doorway to the ecclesiastical power structure. I’ll tell him what we have found out. I’ll show him the evil that is stirring.”

“And if he refuses to help?”

Lopez’s eyes flashed, and he stood up straight. “I believe in my Church, Sara. The bishop won’t refuse to help. God cannot abandon us at this hour.”

33

T
he lights were dim in the farmhouse, the only illumination the flat computer screens lining the faux stone walls. The bluish hue cast a death mask on the shadowy figures seated around a table in the middle of the room, their features pale, ghostly, and inhuman. Even their speech seemed to take on whispered tones, as if spoken by the wind.

They stared at a computer monitor, the face of CIA Agent Jesse Darst filling it. He spoke in a grave voice, his face lined and strained.

“They got my hard drive, and through it, access to a lot of stuff before we could shut it down, lock them out completely. All the files were there,
the entire program
!”

“This was unexpected,” said Nexus, “and we need to move fast to contain it. That will do for now. You weren’t directly involved in the operations. You shouldn’t be overly concerned.”

“Indirectly will destroy me too, if this ever gets out!”

Nexus held up his hand. “I know that, but you must not panic. We need you to stay focused and continue to report to us. We
need
your information. We’ll be in contact soon.” Darst nodded, and the screen went black.

“Then they know.” It was the baritone voice of Bravo.

“There is no doubt,” answered Nexus. “It was unthinkable that they would dare such a thing. That they could
accomplish
such a thing. Building 448 was considered impregnable; its security unassailable. The documents were hyper-encrypted, NSA-certified algorithms.”

“That a pimply hacker online could crack in an hour!” spat Zulu.

Bravo laughed and gestured around them. “Nothing is impregnable, gentlemen. Nowhere is completely safe. It’s best we keep that in mind.”

Nexus interrupted. “The wraith we’ll consider soon, but we must deal with the pair. Even at this juncture, they have begun to destabilize things beyond acceptability. We thought to use them to solve our problems, but they have created new ones. Their raid on CIA, their cracking of the code is beginning to set in motion our worst nightmares.”

“Not our worst,” interrupted Zulu.

Bravo spoke. “The release of the document to the hacker community is an embarrassment to the CIA and will further isolate us in their panic to prevent discovery of this program. However, in and of itself, the document is benign.”

“That document, yes,” finished Nexus. “But there are more, and our assets have intercepted several of their communications, as mentioned. There is no doubt that they have discovered the truth. If they have all the documents on the missions—and we must assume that they do, or will soon—it is only a matter of time before they have the proof in hand.”

“And the connection to us?” asked Zulu.

“There for all to see,” spat out Nexus.

Bravo leaned forward, his thick brow prominent in the ghostly light. “The black-ops snatches are damaging enough and with the connection to our names, will mean we will be wanted men. But they are bright. They will dig deeper. They will connect the
other
names.”

Nexus nodded. “It is inevitable.”

Zulu looked panicked. “If they see how we used the program, who we targeted, even a few—it will be ruin!”

“It will destabilize the entire political structure,” said Bravo.

A red light flashed on a conference call system in the middle of the table. All eyes settled uncomfortably on the blinking LCD, and Bravo’s words hung in the air. Nexus sighed and reached over to the device.

“He’s been listening in, of course.” Nexus pressed a button. “Lophius?”

“You fools have nearly brought everything down on us.” The voice was imperial. Several around the table sat up in their chairs instinctively. “Bravo is correct. Everything we have done is at risk now. The
future
of our cause is at risk! Extreme measures are required.”

“Your plan?” asked Nexus.

The voice spoke harshly over the speakers. “When your quarry attempts to go to ground, render the ground inhospitable. I promise you, gentlemen, we will have them between a hammer and an anvil. There will be no escape.”

34

T
he old soldier had left for the US-Mexico border. He would be gone for several weeks, his mission to acquire the illegal items bought and paid for, shipped and delivered through networks of international arms dealers and smugglers. It was a task not without its own danger, but the wraith knew criminals would sense their peril in dealing with the former special forces officer. Thirty seconds in his presence was enough to sense the possibility of death.

The mad program of rehabilitation was nearly complete. His training approached the minimum goals required to continue his mission. The time had come for the external guise to be fine-tuned.

The creams brought back painful memories. Perhaps it was the high mercury content in the whiteners. Neurotoxins that shook loose the thoughts. Perhaps it was simply the process of camouflage, the psychological discipline and pain it required that stimulated recall.

First to return and torment him were the surgeries. Most were for injuries sustained in his often violent quest: bullet wounds, knife damage, shrapnel. But the worst were the cosmetic surgeries. At least battle wounds made sense. Erasing his natural appearance bordered on mutilation.

As he applied the cream to his face, part of his mind was transported to an operating room table, his head locked in a metallic cage. His eyes were held open by hard rings. He saw the nurse on the left, her gown filthy in this makeshift ward in forgotten alleyways. The doctor was a disbarred and disgraced plastic surgeon, whose crimes were matched only by his skills. The underground said he was the best, if you had the money. If you would brave the risk.