Poseidon's Arrow

“Yes, I’m near Old Town, right off King Street. Just take the Jefferson Davis Highway into town.”

Fowler nodded and turned south.

“Any updates from the FBI while we were in the air?” Ann asked.

“Nothing yet. It will probably be several days before we learn anything from the Mexican agencies. And you probably know more than me about the two guys in black from Idaho.”

“They were Latin in appearance. If they are in fact connected to the men in Tijuana, I suspect they may be operatives from Central or South America.”

“Venezuelan rogues?”

“Possibly. There is certainly no shortage of world powers that would like to use that technology. China or Russia probably head the list. Maybe they’ve got a surrogate working for them.”

“Don’t forget the Iranians.” Fowler gunned the car to clear a yellow light. He turned onto King Street, a main drag that bisected Alexandria.

“The attackers were pretty brazen,” Ann said, “and well informed.”

“Yes, it sounds like they were fearless.”

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Ann asked.

“What’s that?” Fowler said, turning down a side street.

“Inside help. There must be a security leak, possibly at a high level.”

“Possibly, but you know how much classified information winds up in the press. It may not have been that difficult for someone to figure out that Heiland was working on something important. Since he wasn’t working in a secure environment, he made an easy target.”

“You may be right.” Ann pointed down the street. “I’m up ahead on the right, just past the big oak.”

Fowler spotted an empty space at the curb and pulled in behind a car that was idling with its lights off. Ann recognized it as a Chrysler 300 sedan.

“Why don’t you take the day off tomorrow?” Fowler said. “You’ve been through the wringer the last forty- eight hours. You could probably use some rest.”

“Thanks, but I’d go crazy just sitting around. I need to find out who these people are.”

Fowler turned off the car’s engine, and Ann climbed out. As she turned to retrieve her crutches, she was grabbed from behind. She just caught a glimpse of her assailant, a tall black male, who wrapped his hands around her and hurled her onto a small patch of lawn. The heavy man was on her instantly, jamming his knee into the small of her back while mashing her face into the grass with a plate-sized hand. She struggled to break free, then relented when she felt a gun barrel press against her temple.

“Don’t even breathe,” the big man said.

She heard Fowler cry out, followed by the dull thumping of a body being pummeled. A few seconds later, car keys jingled, and the Ford’s trunk was popped open. From the corner of her eye, Ann saw a second man carry something to the backseat of the Chrysler, then jump into the driver’s seat. The thug on her back leaned down and whispered into her face with foul breath. “Now, you lay nice and still for five minutes or else old Clarence will have to come back and hurt you.”

He eased himself off her, loped over to the Chrysler, and climbed casually into the passenger seat. The car shot forward with a chirp of its rear tires and sped down the street. Ann looked up to scan the car’s rear license plate, but it had been temporarily covered with a few strips of duct tape. Pros, she thought. They’d rip the tape off a block away, then meld into traffic, driving safely under the speed limit.

Ann jumped up and limped to the far side of the Taurus, where she found Fowler lying facedown next to the front wheel.

“Dan,” she cried, kneeling beside him.

He pried his eyes open and eased himself to a sitting position.

“I’m okay.” He rubbed his jaw. “Never saw that coming.” His eyes gradually focused on Ann. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m fine. But that was no random stickup.” She tilted her head toward the open trunk.

“Not the files!” blurted Fowler, struggling to his feet. Holding each other for support, they stepped to the rear of the car and peered into the open trunk.

Inside sat Ann’s travel bag. And nothing else.

28

THE MEMORIAL SERVICE FOR JOE EBERSON WAS WELL attended by his fellow research scientists at DARPA, many of whom stepped to the Annandale Church podium and expressed their esteem for him. Sitting in a middle pew, Ann felt a bit uncomfortable because she’d been assigned to the agency only at his death. But clearly Eberson was a respected man, and that sharpened her resolve to catch his murderer.

Fowler sat at her side, a small bandage on his chin reminding her of the attack the night before. Alexandria paramedics and police had responded quickly to Ann’s residence and found no serious injury to either one of them. But the authorities also found no trail to the muggers. Ann alerted federal officials of the theft, and an alert was put out on the assailants’ Chrysler for the greater Washington metro area. By morning, it had been found in a grocery store parking lot. Reported as stolen the day before, it also had been scrubbed of any incriminating fingerprints and Heiland’s records as well. A special FBI team was assigned to the theft, but they had very little to go on.

“I’d like to pay my respects to Joe’s family,” Fowler said as the service ended. “How about I meet you at the car?”

Ann nodded, thankful that he had offered to drive. When they climbed into Fowler’s car a short time later, Ann commented on Eberson’s popularity.

“He had a lot of years in the business,” Fowler said. “Made a lot of friends. And also a few enemies.”

“What kind of enemies?” Ann asked.

“The professional sort. The typical DARPA research project parcels out work to different companies and universities. Then we tie everything together—and garner all the credit. The little guys who make the real breakthroughs often go unnoticed.”

He turned to Ann. “I don’t think that any research scientist knocked off Eberson and Heiland, if that’s where you’re headed.”

“Just touching all the bases,” Ann said. “I know we’ve talked before, but I want to ask again what the prospects are that a leak came from inside DARPA?”

Fowler frowned. “Anything’s possible, but I just don’t think that’s the case. There’s just a relatively small team here running the Sea Arrow program. Most of the work is farmed out. That’s where I think the real risk is—with our external subcontractors. Of course there are people at the shipyard with knowledge, and that’s an obvious focus.”

“Yes, that’s why we’ve already assigned a dedicated NCIS team to Groton.”

“It may not mean anything,” Fowler said, “but I find it somewhat curious that Heiland and Eberson were killed shortly after the President toured the shipyard. I wasn’t there, but I ran the security list.”

“Are you suggesting someone at the White House might be involved?”

“Not directly. But you know the White House is a sieve. Although this administration is better than most, it wouldn’t surprise me if details about the Sea Arrow were released to the wrong people.”

“Can you give me the security list?” Ann said.

“Sure, it’s in my office—if you don’t already have enough on your plate.”

“At this point we have to cast a broad net. I’d like to check the history of any recent technology thefts of a similar nature. Have you dealt with any foreign espionage cases?”

“Not since I’ve been at DARPA,” Fowler said. “Our issues are mostly lost computer disks and the like. But I’ve been here only a year. We had a few espionage cases while I was with the Army Research Laboratory, both suspected Chinese and Israeli spies, but we never had enough to prosecute.”

“The bagmen in this case seem a bit out of character for the typical espionage operatives,” Ann said.

“True, but you never know who’s footing the bill.”