He grabbed one of the spring-loaded Gerber knives, and effortlessly flicked open the black stainless steel serrated blade. The four-inch blade had a dual edge, perfect for close quarters combat. He moved the knife back and forth, trying several grips before returning the blade back into the aluminum handle. Satisfied, he slipped the blade into the back left pocket of his brown khaki pants.
The second knife had a smaller, one-sided blade, and had been designed for concealment. A much thinner knife, he hid this in his front pocket after he repeated the same grip and slice test. Both knives were well balanced, and would serve him well, if the need arose. He genuinely hoped it didn't, because he hated the dynamics of edged combat.
A knife fight meant one thing: everyone involved would get cut. The trick? At the end of the fight, you wanted to be the one with the smallest cuts. Daniel would feel infinitely more comfortable with a pistol, and hoped that Parker intended to equip him with one, whenever he decided to reconnect with General Sanderson.
His escape from Parker had been easy enough, and gave him the breathing room he needed to fully assess his situation. Parker had stared at him with disbelief as he opened the back door and retrieved his duffel bag. At that point, Daniel expected a fight, but Parker was clearly stunned at the unexpected audacity. Parker looked dumbstruck as Daniel sprinted through traffic on the Baltimore Washington Parkway. Parker tried to force his way over, but must have thought better of it. He really had no options to pursue. The next exit sat at least thirty minutes away in the heavy traffic, and Parker couldn't afford to attract the wrong kind of attention. He imagined that Parker's next phone call had been a tough one.
It took Petrovich about fifteen minutes to navigate his way to a rental car agency in Laurel, Maryland, and another ten minutes to drive away under one of his three remaining false identities. He disposed of two sets of driver's licenses, passports and canceled credit cards at a Starbucks just off Route One in College Park. Christopher Stevens, owner of a nondescript Toyota Camry previously stored in New Hampshire; and David Harrell, Massachusetts resident, simply ceased to exist soon after Daniel took a test sip of a steaming hot, grande cappuccino with an extra espresso shot.
He rented the car and took the hotel room under the name Scott Barber, an untraceable New Jersey resident, leaving him with two more clean ID packages. Once he left the hotel room tonight, he was unlikely to return, and would be forced to dispose of Barber's ID pack. He was running out of identities, but suspected that General Sanderson could help him with this problem. General Sanderson assured him that his role wouldn't extend past tomorrow evening, so he shouldn't need another hotel room.
Daniel turned his attention to the maps and started to unfold them. He needed to quickly familiarize himself with the details of D.C.'s mass transit system, and stick close to locations that offered him rapid escape options beyond the rental car. His starting point was the Metro rail map and familiarizing himself with the different lines and timetables. With trains running frequently in both directions at every station, this would be his most likely primary emergency escape system. This system would attract the least attention, and provided the most anonymous method of travel. He made a mental note to drive over to the Metro station near the University to buy a pass that would allow him unhindered access to the railway.
He opened a large road map of the greater D.C. Metro area, and placed it on the surface of the oversized desk. The smaller Metro map followed, smoothed over the road map. He would study both maps simultaneously, doing his best to orient the locations of major roads, Beltway exits and Metro stops. He didn't have as much time as he would like for the task, but it would be enough.
Before he began, he needed to make a long overdue phone call to Jess. He had left a brief message on her office voicemail, which outlined his need to take a last minute business trip to meet with a representative from one of Zenith Semiconductors’ largest overseas clients. He left few details beyond that. The less she knew the better. Still, he needed to contact her soon.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Berg sat impatiently inside his office at Langley, waiting for word from his contact at Fort Meade. Cell phone intercepts and electronic cross references had provided enough information to direct the Brown River team to Silver Spring, Maryland, but this was the narrowest geographic corridor the NSA intercept protocols could provide, given the limited amount of cell phone traffic generated by Sanderson's crew.
Sanderson's people were on the move, and it would take some luck to find them. For Berg, luck came in the form of a highly placed friend at the National Security Agency, with just enough salt and authority to illegally co-opt one of the nation's most sensitive electronic eavesdropping systems. So sensitive, that the mere mention of the name "Munoz" and "safe house" in the same conversation, on the same phone, triggered a "high probable" alert, and gave Berg the confidence to move the Brown River team to Silver Spring.
His cell phone rang, and he answered it immediately, recognizing the Fort Meade number.
"Berg."
"I have a confirmed location of interest. Marriott Inn and Conference Center, College Park."
"College Park? What happened to Silver Spring?" said Berg.
"Different cell phones. This is the one you're looking for. Call to a hardline in Portland, Maine. Listen to the tag words. Zenith, Jessica, Danny, Sanderson. We got lucky with the location. He used the words hotel and conference center. Fucked up big time. Cell node for the call is right next to the Marriott Inn and Conference Center in College Park. Do you need the address?"
"No. I have it up on the computer already."
"Karl, I need to pull the plug on this thing. I'm working well past my usual hour, and I'm going to start drawing attention from the nighttime duty section. It's a lot easier to pull this kind of shit during the day. They've got nothing better to do than keep an eye on the system right now."
"I know, Pete. Just a little longer. I promise."
"I can't be in here past eight."
"Thanks, Pete. I owe you big time."
"You said it. Not me."
Berg immediately placed a call to the leader of the Brown River team, who detached one of the two vehicles to the hotel in College Park. The team had everything they could need to identify Petrovich, but it would still prove difficult. He hoped to narrow things down for them before they arrived at the hotel, which was no more than a ten minute drive from Silver Spring.
Fifteen minutes later, Berg was ready to drive out to the Marriott himself to strangle the night manager, who had been extremely uncooperative. Of course, Berg had absolutely no legal authority to compel any information from the woman, but the fact that she had thoroughly dismissed him and threatened to call the police didn't sit well with the senior CIA officer. He felt helpless sitting at his desk. Fortunately, the hotel parking lot had only one point of access from the hotel, and the Brown River team was deployed to cover the approach with optics that would make identification easier. They were already busy scouring hotel guests leaving the hotel.
Two minutes after his NSA friend’s 8 PM deadline, Berg's phone rang, and he snatched it off the desk.
"Tell me you have something, Pete?" he said.
"This must be your lucky day. I just got a nice intercept. Your target at the hotel just received directions to a Silver Spring address. One minute ago. 8800 Lanier Drive, Apartment 4B. Good luck, Karl."
"I can't tell you how much this helps. Thanks for hanging in a little longer. Drinks are on me," said Berg.