BOSTON
Only minutes ago, Agent Thomas Flaherty and Professor Brooke Thompson had arrived at the branch office of Global Security Corporation. Sipping tea from a Styrofoam cup, Brooke sat alone in Flaherty’s spartan cubicle, peering out the east-facing window that provided a spectacular tenth-floor view of downtown Boston. Directly below was Quincy Market, where the city’s historic colonial centrepiece, Faneuil Hall, sat dwarfed beneath the sleek skyscrapers of the financial district - a sharp juxtaposition of America’s past and present. Her gaze panned out beyond the Christopher Columbus waterfront park and the Long Wharf promenade to settle on Boston’s Inner Harbor. Shafts of sunlight lanced the grey clouds and joined in a sparkling circle atop the icy dark water. Maybe, she hoped, the bright spot portended more than just a passing storm.
The past half-hour had been a whirlwind. Following the harrowing escape in the tunnel, Flaherty had exited the Mass Pike and continued on to downtown. His wrecked car was ignored by the police cruisers, which sped past in response to the fatal collision blocking the interstate tunnel deep beneath Copley Place. At this moment, she thought, another Big Dig was currently under way.
She was still struggling to reconcile how Flaherty had so brazenly put their lives on the line, though he had done an adequate job of explaining to her that assassins were incredibly driven to finish their work. ‘Those guys are hardwired to do whatever it takes to eliminate their targets,’ Flaherty had told her. ‘Failure to do so means the end of an assassin’s career, and possibly his own life. Gives them a pretty powerful incentive to win.’
Flaherty had also told her that he’d been trained to avoid at all costs getting into a shooting match with hired guns, since most were former marine snipers and Special Ops commandos. So the prudent course of action was simple: flee. And, miraculously, Flaherty had managed to do just that.
The assassin’s failed attempt would take time to disseminate back to the unknown client, Flaherty had told her. And that precious time ‘off the grid’ provided them a fleeting tactical advantage.
It was no wonder that he’d headed directly here, she thought, turning her attention back to where she was. This seemingly innocent office was a veritable fortress that would be near impossible for an outsider to infiltrate. At the entrance to the building’s parking garage, Flaherty had been required to present his encrypted security badge to a trio of heavily armed, burly security guards wearing crisp navy coveralls with red arm bands and GSC shoulder patches (the agency’s patriotic emblem purposely designed to convey a symbiotic relationship to the US military). The head guard had quizzed Flaherty about the Concorde’s alarming condition, while one of his minions performed a cursory search of the car’s interior and trunk.
Meanwhile, the third guard had requested for Brooke to step out from the vehicle so he could wave a security wand over her limbs and torso. Then he’d brought her to a computer terminal and vetted her while running a check on her driver’s licence. Satisfied that she harboured no propensity for espionage, he had escorted her back to the Concorde and held open her door in polite valet fashion.
After the head guard had let down the retracting thick metal posts that blocked the garage’s entrance ramp, Flaherty had driven on to his reserved ground-level parking spot. He’d used the same ID as a keycard to access a dedicated elevator that had no control panel, only an emergency stop button and panic phone, and a security camera. The elevator had let them out directly into an elegant entry foyer, furnished with plush leather armchairs, oak-panelled walls, flat-screen televisions tuned to MSNBC, CNN and Fox, and a receptionist seated behind a sliding glass window. At first, Brooke had felt like she’d stepped into her dentist’s office. But the main entryway, situated at the end of a short corridor leading off the reception area, was fitted with a formidable security door. With two more armed guards flanking the door, it was anything but welcoming.
The facility itself took up the building’s entire tenth floor, with a ‘team-based’ open-plan office that provided clear views to windows on all four sides. When Brooke had commented to Flaherty on the irony of all this security for an office surrounded by glass, Flaherty had explained that the windows were blast-proof, tinted to keep out prying eyes both day and night, even dampered against vibration to prevent hi-tech spies from tracing conversations with parabolic microphones. ‘This ain’t no fish-bowl,’ he’d conspiratorially confided.
No matter what work was performed here (or at the firm’s twenty-six similar offices Flaherty had said were located around the globe to ensure maximum redundancy and logistical advantages), the layered security protocols seemed excessive. She figured the firm was a living testimonial to its products and services.
But even this hi-tech nerve centre had no knowledge of why Brooke Thompson had been secreted into Iraq in 2003, and why now someone wanted her dead because of it.
God, how can this be happening?
33
‘Brooke,’ a voice suddenly squawked over the intercom on the desk phone.
‘Yes?’ Brooke spoke quietly into the phone.
‘It’s me. Flaherty. Stand up.’
‘What?’
‘Just do it.’
She did.
‘Look to your left. See me over here?’
Directing her gaze left, she saw a hand waving to her. Flaherty’s head popped up over the cubicles. She waved back at him.
‘Come on over here,’ he said, before disconnecting.
Noting his position, Brooke set off through the partitions.
Angling her way through a maze of office cubicles, Brooke snuck glances at Global Security Corporation’s resident employees - mostly attractive twenty-something males and females wearing business casual attire and slim headsets. Each techie monitored not one, but three to five flat screens packed with streaming data.
Nearer where Flaherty stood at the centre of the floor, the hi-tech workstations were laid out along a wide semicircle. Here the computer displays were dominated by tactical maps and schematic blueprints.
‘Come on over, Brooke,’ he said, waving her closer. ‘There’s someone I’d like you to meet.’
The person to whom Flaherty was referring stood from her chair. Barely reaching the agent’s shoulder, the petite woman had bobbed grey hair and wore a tasteful flannel pants suit.
‘Annie is our resident expert on satellite surveillance. Our eye in the sky.’
‘Hi, Brooke. A pleasure to meet you,’ Annie said.
Brooke immediately pegged Annie’s refined New England accent, heard so many times at university charity events and museum fundraisers. It sang of old money. Annie proffered a dainty, manicured hand that hosted a jaw-dropping emerald-cut diamond ring that validated Brooke’s assessment.
‘Thanks. Nice to meet you too,’ Brooke replied warmly.
‘Tommy’s told me you’ve had quite a crazy day.’
Brooke rolled her eyes and sighed. ‘It’s like a bad movie.’
‘You poor dear,’ Annie said, smiling sympathetically.
‘Brooke, I want you to take a look at this,’ Flaherty said, pointing to the images on the display that they’d been reviewing. ‘Have a seat.’
Easing into the chair, Brooke stared at the monitor, which showed an incredibly detailed aerial shot of a highly diverse terrain. The software interface looked like the next generation of Google Earth. There were mountains to the top and right of the screen, green flatlands in the middle and to the left, and brownish tans blending in at the bottom. Roadways appeared as thin lines, and webbed throughout the land to connect a disparate matrix of dense cities. Though for Brooke, the rivers snaking through the plains were the region’s true fingerprint.
‘Just want you to confirm something for us,’ Flaherty said. ‘We’re looking at—’
‘Northern Iraq,’ she said.
Annie smiled. ‘Right.’
Brooke anticipated Flaherty’s request. ‘The cave was right here, in the mountains.’ She pointed to the exact spot. ‘There.’ She looked up at Flaherty. ‘Did I pass the test?’
He smiled. ‘Yup.’
Annie leaned in to get a closer look. ‘That’s it,’ she confirmed.
‘With the eight-hour time difference, it’s nighttime there right now,’ Flaherty said. ‘So this isn’t a live shot. It was taken earlier today. But you’ll get the idea.’
