FATAL eMPULSE Read online

  Alena complied.

  “Please get in the car. I know that both of you have weapons. I ask that you keep them holstered.”

  Gerrit got into the first vehicle. “Where are we headed?” Alena slid in next to him.

  Beach Boy spoke up. “Not far from here, sir. Just a few minutes’ drive.”

  As the vehicle pulled out onto the street, he glanced over at Devon McAllister’s residence as they swept past. Most of the shutters were closed tight. A gardener worked in the front yard, looking up and down the street as he toiled. Gerrit nudged Alena and thrust his chin in the gardener’s direction.

  She nodded, looked toward the men in the front seat, and shrugged.

  The gardener was either a plant for the guys who just snatched Gerrit and Alena from the street or a spotter for Devon. If he was working for Devon, then they lost the element of surprise. McAllister knew they were coming.

  He sat back and tried to relax. The fact these men hadn’t disarmed him indicated that they might be the good guys. Otherwise, he and Alena would have been proned out on the street and handcuffed—or worse.

  The two-car caravan traveled along US-1’s Overseas Highway, reaching the Boca Chica Key. He saw a sign identifying the U.S. Naval Air Station just ahead. Both vehicles barely slowed as they passed through the checkpoint. A naval enlisted man in jungle fatigues and carrying a shotgun slung over his left shoulder gave a curt salute as they passed.

  They traveled a few more blocks and pulled into an empty parking lot before a two-story white stucco building. Few windows offered a glimpse inside. They eased out of the dark-tinted vehicle into bright sunshine without any comment from their escorts. A Navy jet roared nearby as it shot from the runway and climbed into the cloudless blue sky. Gerrit watched the F/A-18 Super Hornet bank a sharp right over the ocean before he entered the unmarked building.

  They were ushered into a large briefing room in the center of the building, with only one doorway and no windows. The over-the-hill Beach Boy, who first spoke to Gerrit near McAllister’s house, now led them down a center aisle between all the rows of chairs. Ahead stood an elevated lectern and, behind it, a large wall-mounted monitor, a bluish screen offering a hint the system had been turned on for future viewing.

  As Gerrit neared the front, he saw a row of occupied chairs close to the elevated podium. He grinned at his uncle Joe, Beck Malloy, and Jack Thompson. The only one missing was Willy Williams.

  Beach Boy and his men fanned out around the room as Gerrit and Alena moved to greet the others. Gerrit grabbed a seat next to his uncle. “What’s all this about, Joe,” he whispered. “They yanked us off the street and brought us here just as we got near Devon’s house. We had no choice.”

  Joe leaned closer and Gerrit noticed he looked exhausted. His uncle’s hazel eyes look tired and worried, but they reminded him of Gerrit’s father, Thomas O’Rourke. Plastic surgery and a facial makeover had changed whatever features they once shared, but Joe’s eyes still retained the same look of his brother. Thomas’s death had started the chain reaction—Jack sending Gerrit back home from Iraq to take care of his parents’ last effects; Gerrit joining the Seattle police Department to find his parents’ killers; and everything that happened since.

  Glancing at Beach Boy and the other armed strangers, Joe whispered, “Sorry for the way they made contact. Just bear with it for a few more minutes, and I think you might find out this is a blessing in disguise.”

  Before Gerrit could get more information, the door opened and a lone man strode down the center aisle as if he owned the place. His uncle gave the man a nod as he swept past and walked up to the podium. The man returned Joe’s nod with a terse smile.

  Gerrit turned his attention to the stranger as the man leaned on the wooden lectern. He wore a light tan tropical-blend suit, with a white shirt opened at the collar, and no tie, a step up in attire from Beach Boy and the others. The man appeared to be six feet, slim build, with salt-and-pepper hair, closely cropped. His facial skin seemed etched by worry, as if he carried the world on his shoulders. He glanced at Gerrit before starting.

  “First, I’d like to apologize for gathering you here with no explanation and under some duress. Time is of the essence. In fact, we have no time at all.” He nodded to Beach Boy and the others, then pointed his chin in the direction of the only door. The bodyguards had been dismissed.

  Once the armed escorts left, the man continued. “My name is Frank Collord and I work for the U.S. intelligence services. You don’t need to know more about me right now except I can become your best friend—or worst enemy.”

  Silence filled the room for a moment, as Frank looked at each of those sitting before him. “Joe has known about me for some time. Everyone else…I am a new face to you all.”

  Gerrit stole a glance at his uncle staring at the floor. A new player his uncle never mentioned? Gerrit tightened his jaw, realizing that Joe must have told others about him. He’d confront his uncle later about this breach in security. How many other people knew about their group? He turned back as Frank spoke in a clipped New York accent, sharp and to the point.

  “I’ve had my eyes on this group since Joe began recruiting each of you—at my direction.”

  Gerrit turned and glared at Joe.

  His uncle finally looked up and shrugged. Leaning over, Joe whispered, “Just hear him out, Gerrit. Then you can bawl me out all you want.”

  Alena sat a few chairs away. He could tell she was just as angry. Joe had a lot to explain after this meeting.

  “Before you start stoning Joe, listen to what I have to say. Then you decide if Joe and I were right in keeping this from you until now.” He moved around the side of the lectern with a TV remote in his hand. “All of you are interested in one man right now, and what he might be up to. I am the man who can get you that information and maybe help you stop one of the most dangerous men on earth.”

  He pressed one of the controls on the remote. On the screen, Gerrit saw the face of the man he knew as Stuart Martin.

  “Let me introduce you to Brandimir Kisyov, a man with many names and many nationalities. He has only one goal in life—to bring the United States to her knees.”

  Frank Collord finally captured Gerrit’s attention.

  Chapter 23

  February 24

  Gerrit sat fuming. How long had Frank known about Brandimir Kisyov, aka Stuart Martin? Before Richard Kane and the others tried to kill Gerrit and murdered his friends? He forced himself to override his emotions.

  Turning in his chair, he glanced over at Beck and Jack. They sat impassively, watching Frank. He couldn’t tell what they might be thinking, but by the silence in the room he knew Frank had their attention.

  “Brandimir Kisyov—only known to me as Stuart Martin until recently—has been a target of mine for some time. Everything this man does is reported back to me within hours of the activity. A meeting between two of his known contacts earlier today has raised the threat level against the United State even higher. I believe both of these contacts had face-to-face meetings with Brandimir—the meeting with Hassan in Paris you know about, and another meeting in Venice four days ago with a Russian intelligence officer Ivan Yegorov, who believes he is dealing with an American by the name of Richard Dunsmuir.

  “Hassan and Yegorov still believe they are dealing with two men—but it is only a matter of time before they put it together. One of our case agents just contacted a supervisor at Langley to alert us about a meeting between Hassan and Yegorov earlier today near Baku, Azerbaijan.”

  He flicked the remote showing a photo of Brandimir meeting a man in an apartment. Gerrit could not place where the photo was taken, but the brutish face of Brandimir’s visitor seemed a stark contrast to Brandimir’s aristocratic features. These two men came from different worlds.

  Collord continued. “This gentleman is Ivan Yegorov, a high-ranking member of Russia’s SVR, their foreign intelligence agency. Like Russian prime minister Vladimir Putin, Yegorov survive
d the reformation of the old KGB. He is an influential man with direct access to those in power.”

  Beck stood, his face livid. “Why has the FBI been kept in the dark about Brandimir Kisyov? You’re telling me this lobbyist for the communications and military defense industries just met with a known Iranian terrorist and a Russian intelligence officer? Do you know what kind of national security damage a man like this can do to our country?”

  Frank put the remote down and placed both palms on the lectern. “I understand your anger, Agent Malloy, but let me continue and maybe you will agree with my reasoning.”

  Beck sat down but clearly he was less than satisfied.

  “As I said, a case agent sent an alert that Hassan and Yegorov met aboard the Russian’s yacht this morning. We were unable to capture the first part of their conversation, but we did learn that Yegorov obtained a set of design plans for an electronic air-defense system from Stuart Martin. He urged Hassan to contact Yegorov to carry out an unspecified plan with the Russians and a third country.”

  Gerrit cut in. “How did you come up with identification on Brandimir Kisyov?”

  Frank glanced over at Joe. “You wanna to field this?”

  Gerrit’s uncle nodded and stood. “As soon as Willy and I were operational in Lake Tahoe, I tasked both of us to find out what we could about Martin. Willy activated the Daemon Files, and entered the Project Megiddo program. He concentrated his search around anything directly connected to Stuart Martin. We kept coming up empty until Frank passed on the name of Richard Dunsmuir.”

  Joe glanced at Frank, then nodded at the screen. Frank flicked on a program Gerrit recognized as a voice-over Internet service that allowed for video conferencing much like Skype. Joe and Willy built a similar system and enhanced it with encrypted security measures that only their team could access.

  Willy smiled down from the screen, one arm around Bones. “Hi, y’all.”

  “Our friend has been listening in on our meeting.” Turning to Willy’s image on the screen, Joe said. “Tell them what you found about Kisyov.”

  A second jet roared overhead, drowning out Willy’s conversation. Joe held up his hand, indicating Willy to wait until the jet moved on. He then signaled for Willy to continue.

  “As I said, Boss Man gave me the two aliases Dunsmuir and Martin, and I began searching Megiddo’s database, looking for links between the two. Came up with zip. But then I noticed individual messaging accounts and a third party—someone who could access their private accounts. This link led me to a third account within Megiddo—user protected. Copies of messages between Dunsmuir and Martin were forwarded to this third account, but there were no messages back to the first two accounts. Simply a one-way street. It appears as if this third party was accessing the other two accounts and answering and sending messages from within Dunsmuir’s or Martin’s accounts.”

  Gerrit impatiently broke in. “Where did you come up with the Kisyov identification?”

  Willy looked irritated for a moment. “Okay, okay, you want me to jump ahead?”

  “Preferably before this becomes old news.”

  “I went to the settings and searched for whoever was authorized to change the account—add or delete—and found the name of Brandimir Kisyov. From there, I could begin to build a database of information on the guy.”

  Frank stepped forward. “Willy gave me this information, and I searched through the federal databases. From there, we started peeling the onion, which led back to Richard Dunsmuir and Stuart Martin.”

  Beck suddenly leaned forward. “Let me go back for a moment. Can you be more specific about these stolen design plans? Did they originate in the United States?” Beck seemed less concerned about Brandimir’s identify and more concerned about the loss of military secrets. Gerrit felt the two went hand in hand.

  Frank nodded. “The theft occurred in the United States. At this time, we are not sure whether the Russians have been able to duplicate this system, and if so, whether it is fully functional. If they have, we’re in trouble.”

  Another jet roared over the base. Frank waited until the blast dissipated before continuing. “The plans Brandimir sold to the Russians dealt with an electronic jamming device that can blind our air-defense systems. We know the system works because we and the Israelis tested it on a raid into Syria in 2008—against a new Russian air-defense system. The Israelis were able to slip in and out without detection.”

  “Frank, I can’t believe you waited this long to tell us.”

  “I understand your feelings, Beck, but we just learned about this from a case agent today. We’re trying to assess damage as we speak.”

  Gerrit noticed Beck and Frank were calling each other by their first names. This was not out of familiarly. Maybe out of spite. He imagined Frank was getting tired of the second degree from Beck. And the FBI agent seemed beyond livid that his agency had been kept in the dark. Wait until Gerrit started in on him. Frank might want to change careers before this meeting ended.

  Beck did not give up. “And just who are you sharing this information with—another spook group?”

  Frank’s face reddened. “Only with this group for right now.”

  Shooting to his feet again, Beck raised his voice. “You are out of your mind if you think this information stays in this room. I’ll be on the phone the second we’re done here.”

  “Sit down, Agent Malloy,” Frank barked out the command. “Sit down and shut up. Let me finish what I have to say. When we’re done, you will not be sharing it with another soul without my express consent. Are we clear?”

  Before Beck could respond, Joe stood and grasped Beck’s arm. “Just hear him out. This is my fault, not Frank’s. I chose not to tell you about my connection to him. Trust me. He’s one of the good guys.”

  Beck lowered himself back into his chair. “Okay, Frank. Give us whatever you have. Then we’ll decide.”

  “The reason very few people know about the extent of Brandimir’s activities is because I didn’t know who I could trust. Brandimir has his fingers into every level of government, including the White House. Somehow, he and his contacts have burrowed their way into our intelligence agencies and law enforcement, wherever they might find useful information.

  “All of you know what trouble Brandimir can bring down on your heads. The Seattle hospital shootout and the trouble Richard Kane brought to your doorstep is just some of the chaos. It’s connected with Project Megiddo. I want to make sure about the extent of Brandimir’s reach before we take him out.”

  “You mean take him down, don’t you?”

  “I mean kill him, Agent Malloy. If you can’t live with that, then there’s the door.” He waited a few seconds for Beck to make a decision. When he remained silent, Frank continued. “This man can never have a chance to make it to court—if he is brought to trial, he could do irreparable damage to our country. Just the time it takes for the justice system to give him all his rights, he could reach out and bring our country down. I believe he would be able to expose our intelligence assets around the world, sell nuclear secrets to the Iranians—you name it. He could arrange this while cooling his heels in our maximum security prison.”

  Shaking his head, Beck leaned back. “Since he is not a U.S. citizen, there are places we could hold him indefinitely until we’re sure he is no longer a threat.”

  “You mean like Gitmo?” Frank let out a grim smile. “Maybe we could, Beck, but I’m not sure he could be contained there. Or anywhere, for that matter.”

  “We have to try, Frank. I’m not against putting someone down given the right circumstances, but to hunt him down in cold blood—that’s not what we’re about.”

  “We have precedent. Look at Osama bin Laden. Look at others our government has sanctioned to be killed. Brandimir is a greater threat than all of those. He can reach inside our government and get whatever he needs.”

  Beck tugged at his right ear. “I want to make absolutely sure there’s no other option before we terminate him
. Exhaust all other possibilities.”

  Frank raised himself from the lectern and picked up the TV remote. “What about you, Gerrit? Are you willing to look at all other options first?”

  Gerrit nodded. “I’m with Beck. Let’s make sure.”

  “And what if I told you Brandimir was behind this killing?” Frank flicked the remote.

  Gerrit stared at the screen and saw photos of his parents’ crime scene. He had studied these photos for years, searching each print for some clue as to who might have killed his folks.

  “What if I told you that Brandimir was probably behind this bombing? That he was the one who ordered Richard Kane to arrange these deaths?”

  Gerrit flashed back to the man’s dying moments, where Kane told him he was only following orders to arrange his parents’ hit.

  “You still feel the same way about Brandimir?”

  Gerrit tightened his jaw without answering.

  Chapter 24

  February 24

  Al Ghuzlaniyah, Syria

  Can this man be trusted? Atash Hassan stood near the open window, looking across the walled compound toward the lights of the Damascus International Airport. Bleary eyed, he stared in the distance, watching a commercial jet take off. He had taken a direct flight from his meeting with Yegorov this morning in Azerbaijan, and the hours and travel were wearing him down.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Atash watched his host, Raed al-Azmah, sitting stiffly on a gold-fabric couch, trying to conceal his nervousness. Others had been ushered out of the room by Raed as the two men got down to business.

  Atash turned to face his host. “What have you heard from those within your government?”

  Raed’s right hand nervously stroked the arm of the couch. “Doubts are starting to surface about your country’s commitment to the cause. To the future.”

  Atash turned away to disguise his anger. He’d expected cowardice at some point, but they were too far down this path to turn back. He knew Raed al-Azmah was just the messenger through his position with the Air Force Intelligence Directive, an agency that knew little about how to run the Air Force but a whole lot about how to stifle dissenting voices here in Syria.