John shrugged. “It’s going to scar like crazy.” He paused, then ran his fingers through his short brown hair. “I guess a scar is better than losing them.”
Eric’s phone vibrated and he held up his hand. “Hold that cheery thought.” He put in his earpiece and answered the call. “Go for Wise.”
A woman’s voice came through the earpiece. “It’s Karen. We have information you need to hear.”
“Who’s we?”
“Dewey found it—”
“Again with that guy?” How is he suddenly at the center of everything?
“The Old Man asked for his help. You won’t believe what he discovered. Dewey says that he looked for where Huang Lei wasn’t, not where he was. He wrote this new software and was trying to correlate patterns of behavior—”
“I’m not going to understand any of this from a phone call, Karen. Can you just highlight the details?”
“There are dozens of companies — big companies — that don’t appear to be owned by anyone. Their net worth is staggering. High-tech companies, software companies, pharmaceuticals, biotech—”
“Biotech?”
“Yes. They’re all owned by the same type of holding corp that ran the Jade Group. Most holding corps eventually track back to public or privately traded stock. No matter how deep we dig, we can’t find the owners of these companies. It’s all designed to obfuscate the owner.”
John and Taylor watched him curiously, and he felt his pulse quicken. “How did we not find this before?”
“There are so many layers to this, it’s amazing we found it at all. If these belong to Huang Lei, then he’s one of the wealthiest men in the world. At least in the top twenty.”
He nodded to himself. It made sense. Only someone with really deep pockets could have purchased a nuclear bomb from North Korea, let alone delivered it to Somalia. The software embedded in the video camera hardware showed Huang Lei possessed cunning and foresight. The use of the portable biolab on the MV Rising Star took considerable planning.
No, Huang Lei was proving a formidable opponent. More than that, the man seemed bent on causing mass causalities to the United States. “Wait, did you say pharmaceutical companies?”
“Yes, that’s what worries me. How much do you know about syringe production?”
His stomach flip-flopped. “Nothing, but I’m afraid you’re about to fill me in.”
“Right. There are only a handful of syringe manufacturers in the world. It’s one of those things where there’s not a lot of profit. Because of safety concerns, most syringes in the US are made at a plant outside of Nashville.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
Taylor and John were sitting up now, watching with great interest.
“It gets worse. Because of the upcoming flu season, the biggest single production run is happening now. They start shipping this week.”
“Liu Kong. That’s where he’s going.” It wasn’t a question. After all the threats, after all the missions of the past week, it made perfect sense.
“Yes. Dewey used the same software to track flights entering the United States and he found a Gulfstream registered to the Serpentine Group.”
“Serpentine? Never heard of them.”
“Serpentine is a group of rocks, sometimes referred to as false jade. Here’s the kicker — the Gulfstream’s point of origin was the Boryspil International Airport. It departed shortly after your C17 arrived.”
The wheels of the C17 chirped as they touched down. It was almost dawn when the big aircraft taxied tor a hangar the OTM had rented while still in flight.
The team members were strapped in next to him. Eric turned to them and said, “Everyone clear on the mission?”
There were nods all around.
“Okay, let’s make it happen.”
The aircraft came to a halt and the Loadmaster opened the rear of the plane. Several black Suburbans were waiting as they stepped onto the tarmac and into the crisp September air. The lead agent stood, ramrod straight, waiting for them.
“Agent Waverly,” Eric said. He hoped John Waverly wouldn’t cause him anymore grief than he had the last time they were in Nashville, but the Office needed the FBI’s help. “I see your request to open a field office in Nashville was finally approved.”
Waverly’s eyes narrowed. “The request was submitted over a year ago, then it suddenly got approved in the past two days. Are you implying you had something to do with that?”
Eric raised an eyebrow. “How could DHS expedite a request for the FBI? Probably just a coincidence.”
Waverly turned to each of them and Eric could almost see the man’s brain churning, taking their measure. “Do you think I’m incompetent? This is supposed to soften me up? I know you don’t work for DHS. I asked around. Nobody knows you.” He turned to the C17 and pointed. “This? Don’t insult my intelligence. Tell me what the military is doing here and why you need my help.” The man’s black bushy eyebrows suddenly furrowed. “Unless this is some CIA black-op.”
He is sharp.
No amount of cover story would lower the man’s suspicions, so he decided to take the direct route. “John. Can I call you John? We’re on the same side. Right now we have a serious threat to national security. We need the FBI’s help, but this can’t be on book.” Before Waverly could speak, Eric continued. “I know you’re a good agent. I’ve read your 67 file. Now you have a choice. You can do things by the book or you can throw the book out and help us stop an imminent attack.”
Waverly ran his fingers through his thick black hair. “Okay, I still don’t trust you, but what do you need?”
CHAPTER TWENTY
John quietly approached the Gulfstream V. The plane was on the east side of the airport, fifty yards from the Citation parked next to it. Its white hull was clearly visible, even though the sun wouldn’t rise for another two hours. He activated the VISOR’s thermal vision and swept over the plane.
“I can’t tell if anyone’s home,” he said.
The black Battlesuit made him harder to see, but he knew the mercury vapor lights from the hangars to the south were bright enough to make him visible if anyone looked.
“The FBI has this side of the airport barricaded,” Eric said. “According to the airfield manager, the pilot is still onboard.”
John concentrated and keyed up audio. As the different waveforms appeared on the LCD display, he concentrated again and the noise from the airport began to disappear as the VISOR’s computer canceled out the noise.
Soon, the roar of arriving jets had faded. He could still feel the rumble in his chest, vibrating within him like a drum, but the sound was effectively washed from the VISOR’s audio. Then, the sound of vehicles in the distance. Soon there was only a creaking from the Gulfstream’s airframe as someone on board walked the length of the plane.
“I’ve got movement,” he said.
“Go.”
He drew his M11’s from his hip holsters and approached quickly. He didn’t need the Implant for this. His prosthetic still ached, but not enough to keep him from making it to the plane’s hatch as it opened.
The pilot stared at him in shock. His cap fell from his head as he stumbled back on the steps, a heat bloom spreading across his genitals as his bladder released.
“Jesus, don’t shoot,” the pilot begged. “I’m not armed. Don’t shoot!”
John stood in front of the pilot, Ron Lipfield, in a hangar south of the Gulfstream. Lipfield wasn’t talking and Eric was arguing with Nancy and the FBI agent, Waverly.