Roger groaned. “Damn. That didn’t come out right…”
“You have thirty seconds and I’m hanging up.”
“No, Bobby…look. Remember when I told you about the other agents who’d tried to do this and they got sucked in? Well, because of them, there’s this boilerpot language attached to all flags now for people who do what you do. Just…just in case. You know?”
Click
“Bobby?” Roger stared at the phone. “Aww…son of a bitch.” He set the phone back in its cradle with a heavy sigh. “Why do you have to be so damned paranoid?”
Roger’s head dropped and he desperately wanted to bang it against his desktop. Suddenly he jerked up and reached for his mouse. “I’ll show you.” He moved the mouse, waking his computer. He typed in his user name and password then navigated to the flags. He typed in Bridger’s name and it came up empty.
Roger stared at the screen and rubbed at his chin. “Did I type it in wrong when I entered it?” He tried two or three variations of Bobby’s name but they all came up as “no such file.” Finally, Roger pushed away from his computer and went to his filing cabinet. He pulled the file for the case and sat back behind his desk. He rifled through the paperwork until he found the hardcopy of Bridger’s flag. He pulled the sheet and set it next to his computer. Entering the ID number meticulously, Roger hit ENTER and leaned back waiting for the screen to populate.
He suddenly leaned forward again as the message caused his guts to tighten into a knot. Error: No correlating numerical identifier flashed across the middle of the screen. Roger went back to the ID number and entered it a second time, double checking that each digit was correct. As soon as he mashed ENTER, the same message appeared: Error: No correlating numerical identifier.
Roger swallowed hard and reached for his phone.
Langley, VA
DARREN CHESTERFIELD HUNG up his phone and smiled. He jotted a quick email to his boss to let him know that the ball was in motion. The deed was done and nobody’d been seen, nobody had to break in, and the agents were already in the wind. All in all, he felt like it was going to be a good day.
He was snapped out of his reverie when his computer chimed, announcing that his attention was necessary. Darren woke up the screen, entered his password then scrolled through the alerts and found the one for him. He read the warning; a cold chill ran up the back of his neck. Somebody was trying to throw a monkey wrench into his good day and he wasn’t liking it.
He clicked on the notification and read the details. Somebody had checked on the now non-existent flag for Bobby Bridger, and that somebody was in the FBI headquarters. Darren nodded, certain he knew who that somebody was.
He pulled the printed copy of the original flag and read the inputting agent’s name. Wallace. “Well Agent Wallace, I think it’s time you dropped this.”
Darren switched screens and began his memo. He knew that Colonel Nelson would want to be made aware that somebody was sniffing around the flags for their scapegoat and he damn sure didn’t want to be the one caught holding out on the colonel. His nuts had already been threatened by the Director of the CIA, and he was partial to them being where the good lord hung them.
4
Wood County, TX
BRIDGER BACKED THE Bronco next to the large metal dumpster of a known drug dealer and dropped the tailgate. He didn’t bother to lift the lid on the dumpster. Meth heads loved taking apart radios, televisions, toasters…cars, anything mechanical, just to see how they worked. The hard part was getting it put back together…without having a box full of spare parts left over.
He strategically placed the satellite dish, the modem and the black box power supplies where they would be visible then closed the tailgate to the truck. He could almost feel the eyes on him as he slipped back in behind the wheel and pulled away. He glanced to the rear view mirror and watched as bodies crept from the shadows and slowly approached the devices, their eyes wide with wonder. If there were any kind of tracking devices inside those things, they’d be scattered to the winds in no time.
Bobby cruised the back roads as his mind worked around the problem. He had been out of the game for so long that he didn’t have any real contacts that were still active. Wallace was his only “inside man” and he considered him burned. He didn’t know for sure what was going on, but it couldn’t be good. It was just a feeling, but his survival instincts had kept him alive in the past and every internal alarm he had was screaming at him now.
He pulled the Bronco through a mom and pop coffeeshop and ordered a tall Americano. While the barista prepared his brew, he popped open the center console and pulled out the disposable cell phone he kept in case of emergencies. Considered archaic by modern standards, this dinosaur could both make phone calls and text. He slipped the battery in and snapped the back into place. Pressing the power button, he noted that that he had better put it on a charger quick.
He fumbled with the heavy cord and shoved it into the cigarette lighter just as the barista came back to the window and handed him his dose of caffeine. He slipped her a small wad of crumpled ones and mumbled “keep the change” as he pulled out.
Bobby knew that keeping a low profile was going to be tough. He had the truck registered in his mother’s maiden name. He also had a set of IDs made just for bugging out. But being on the lamb in
