Chesterfield shook his head. “Sir, I’ve tried my hardest to get into the man’s head, but he’s been two…sometimes three moves ahead of me since the whole damned thing started.”
“Language, son,” Nelson chastised, confusing Darren even more. “No cursing in my office unless I’m the one doing it.” He picked the cigar up again and took another pull, blowing the smoke in Darren’s face. “Think, boy. You’re an ex-spook; your government is trying to pin some hokey bullshit on your head and your friends are dragged into it. What would be your next move?”
Darren blew his breath out, his mind trying to wrap itself around the situation, but his sleep deprived brain refused to cooperate. “I don’t know…maybe hide until it all blew over?”
“This is a spec-op soldier. A trained instigator and field operative. Do you really think he’d go to ground and wait?”
Darren shook his head. “No. He’s too proud. He’d…” His face lifted and he stared at Colonel Nelson. “He’d want to be proactive.”
Nelson nodded. “Okay.” He blew out another blue-gray cloud of smoke. “And how do you think he’d accomplish such a task?”
Darren’s head was shaking as he tried to put himself into Bridger’s shoes. “To my knowledge, he has no other resources. All of his connections are tied up with that damned Baba Yaga group.”
Nelson nodded again. “Okay. What else?”
Darren shook his head, his face twisting in frustration. “I can’t imagine…”
“You have to, boy!” Nelson pulled the cigar out again and pressed it into the back of Darren’s hand. Chesterfield’s eyes grew wide and he opened his mouth to scream. Colonel Nelson pressed the orange glowing tip harder into his skin, his hand like a vice, holding Chesterfield’s flesh to the flaming cherry. “Wake your ass up, boy!”
Darren pulled his fist back and cupped it protectively with his other hand. He stared at the older man. He was wide awake now, his mind racing. “The only thing he has that could possibly be damaging is the documents that Wallace sent him.”
Nelson nodded again, a slow smile spreading across his face. “And what can he do with those?”
Darren shook his head. “N…nothing. They’re encrypted.”
Colonel Nelson gave him a knowing look. “Are they, now?”
Darren nodded. “Yeah. My IT experts said it would take them years to break the encryption.”
“Unless…”
Darren’s face registered confusion while his brain tried to connect the dots. “Unless he had somebody on the inside that could decode it for him.”
“Bingo.” Nelson took another pull from the cigar then snuffed it out in his ashtray. “I think you need to double check that Bridger and his cohorts don’t have any other connections that might be tied to the agency.”
“I’ve checked, double checked and triple checked.” Darren began to pace slowly. “All of their contacts are either dead or retired. There’s nobody active that they ever worked with or even had a third degree of contact with.”
Colonel Nelson sat down and stared at the man, willing him to connect the dots. “What are his other options?”
Darren shook his head. “Unless he could figure out a way into the building…” He quickly dismissed the idea. Slowly his eyes widened. “Or find a way to get the program out of the building?”
Colonel Nelson shrugged. “If that’s the only option that is viable, you’d better run with it.”
Darren turned to leave then paused. He stood at the door, the blackened burn on his hand beginning to throb. “You’re a cold son of a bitch.” He turned slowly and faced the man. “But, thank you.”
“Remember, Chesterfield…”
“I know sir. You don’t know shit.”
Karachi, Pakistan
BASSIM AL-AHMED paced the sunken living room, his face twisted with anger. “Why? Why would they kill so many just to stop us? We are not fighting them!”
“Bassim!” A man ran into the room, a ledger in his hands. “I have found something.”
Bassim took the ledger and scanned it. He looked up at the messenger and smiled. “Perhaps he knows where our money is.”
“Who, Bassim?”
He held the ledger up so that they could all see it. “Muhammed al-Abadi! Our would-be politician and friend of the common people, that’s who.” He slammed the ledger down on the table and clenched his jaw tight.
“He is a small arms dealer. He is nobody.”
Bassim spun and stared at the man who spoke. “Where do you think his arms come from? Huh?” He kicked the table, knocking the ledger across the floor. “He worked for the widow!”
“Are you sure, Bassim?” One of his men leaned down and retrieved the book from the broken glass scattered across the tile. “If he worked for her, could he truly know?”
Bassim stared at the man. “According to that, Muhammed is her right hand. He was the face for the majority of her dealings. No self-respecting buyer would dare deal with a woman.” He spat and cursed himself for having stooped to that level himself.
“If he is her right hand…”
Bassim nodded. “Then he must know where our money is.” He turned and glared at the men surrounding him. “Find Muhammed al-Abadi! Bring him to me ALIVE!”
26
Langley, VA
DERIC HAD GROWN tired of making numerous trips to the work truck. He handed the task of wearing down the guards to Jim, who currently was making his fifth…or was it the sixth trip back to the truck.
He set the heavy test equipment down and wiped at phantom sweat across his brow. “I really wish they had called us sooner.” He made a big show of digging through the equipment in the rear and pulled out something that even he wasn’t sure its purpose. “The system has run so long in limp mode that half the circuits are fried.”
He turned and sat on the heavy bumper of the truck. “I may have to call in reinforcements for this one.”
The guard continued to scan the area beyond him, paying little attention to
