“There’s nothing in those files worth worrying about,” the voice said. “And I don’t think there’s anything on the CD to lead her in any specific direction, either. But destroy the backup disc, just in case. If she discovers anything from the CD in her possession that we need to worry about, we’ll deal with her then. Let’s just play this out.”
“Understood.”
“Is she still there?”
“She just left.”
“Then get moving.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Just as Deputy Director George Pappandopolous made his way to the monitoring room, where a guard sat watching a bank of security screens, Shari Cohen was getting into her Lexus. The screens depicted every hallway and door leading in and out of the JEH Building, including every entrance in and out of the garage. After dismissing the guard for a ten-minute break, Pappandopolous searched the monitors observing the garage area until he spied Shari’s car. As she pulled away, Pappandopolous dialed a single digit on his cell phone, waited, then spoke as if his call was expected. “Cohen’s leaving the building.”
“Yeah. So?” Judas sounded apathetic.
“So I want you to keep an eye on her,” he returned sharply. “She’ll be driving a white Lexus through the northwest gate. Do… not… lose her.”
“Why? What’s up?”
“Paxton thinks that Cohen suspects something, which may prompt her to dig into places where she doesn’t belong.”
There was silence on the other end.
“If she does,” added Pappandopolous, “you know what to do. But for now just keep an eye on her. Paxton thinks she’s heading for DHS.”
“What for?”
“More information,” he said. “Paxton mentioned that she’s in possession of an encrypted CD sent by a CIA leak in Mossad. The DHS has the capability to decode those messages, and she has unrestricted access to their decoding terminal.”
Pappandopolous could hear an audible sigh from Judas’ end. “This is already turning into a cluster.”
“That’s because we planned for Paxton to take the helm, not Cohen.”
After listening for a moment longer, Pappandopolous grunted his approval of something Judas had said and hung up.
Shari laid the files and the burned CD on the passenger seat of her car. After leaving the garage she checked her appearance in the rearview mirror and noticed the half moons forming beneath her eyes.
Behind her a blue sedan followed but stayed a fair distance behind.
Getting into the vault without detection would not be an easy task. There were cameras with facial recognition software, and individualized access codes were required to record employees’ times of entry. Since there was no way to bypass the system, Paxton could only acquire the backup disc by following protocol and hoping not to raise suspicion.
After typing in his PIN, the door opened and Paxton entered the vault, a massive chamber bearing thousands of CDs. From the tiled ceiling, fluorescent lights bathed the room. From every corner of the vault, cameras spied on him, their software deciphering the landmarks of his face.
There was no doubt in his mind that the security tapes would be examined if it was established that the backup file was missing. But with any luck, it would take weeks before the missing disc would be discovered. By then, he would be gone, living in Rio de Janeiro with his ill-gotten commission of seven million dollars.
Earlier he had checked the chain of custody log, noted the number associated with the burned disc, created a bogus label, and attached it to a blank disc. Now, the difficulty would be locating the proper disc in a library of CDs numbering in the tens of thousands. Inspecting the bogus label, he looked for a shelf that contained CDs bearing the proper range of numbers. After a moment, he found what he was looking for. He traced his finger along the CDs until he found the backup disc. He held it next to the bogus one. They were an exact match. Then, placing the bogus disc into the slot, he slid the original into the pocket of his sports jacket.
Refusing to look into the cameras, Paxton exited the vault. He could feel his heart racing, the sweat of his brow beading. He was sure that somebody would inquire what he had hidden in his pocket. But nobody did. After all, he did have clearance to enter the vault. It was simply his own paranoia attacking his nerves.
After removing the disc from his jacket, he looked about the cubicles and aisles. Sensing that no one was suspect, he fed the backup disc to the shredder, the whirring of its grinders much louder than he would have liked.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Team Leader sat against the wall of his chamber, alone, separated from his team. Though he did not fit in with the American-derived band of brothers, he knew they would not question his leadership.
At the onset of his commission as Team Leader, his authority had been immediately tested by a member of the Force Elite who went by the moniker Nomad.
Nomad’s rawboned features appeared more simian than human from steroid use, his forehead sloping from chemical evolution rather than ancestral inheritance. His brutish attitude appointed him the team’s Alpha male, and he considered Team Leader an outsider who was infringing on his right to rule.
At the commencement of training, Team Leader bore the brunt of Nomad’s derisive remarks, the members of the Force Elite following his lead. The men mocked Team Leader, letting him know that Nomad was their true commander.
By the end of the day Team Leader issued a challenge, offering to pass the mantel of leadership to Nomad if he should win.
The challenge was accepted.
Nomad removed his shirt, exposing impossibly large muscles as an exhibition to intimidate his opponent. But Team Leader remained standing at ease, his hands pressed against the small of his back. Team Leader knew Nomad’s size was his liability, diminishing his speed and agility. As the larger man circled and goaded Team Leader, calling him vile names and spitting at his feet, Team Leader remained in his stance, watching Nomad, absorbing every detail of his movements, and waiting for the opportune moment.
Within fifteen seconds of attacking Team Leader, Nomad lay dead on the ground, his neck broken and his eyes staring at nothing in particular. From that point on, no one questioned Team Leader’s authority.
A jingling of chains from the hallway told him that the members of the Holy See were testing their bonds. He stood.
The time was early, not yet dawn, the rooms and hallways still dark. After fitting an NVG monocular around his forehead, he switched it on.
He easily navigated through the darkness, stepping over discarded debris that couldn’t have been seen by the unaided eye. He stood before the bishops and the governor, the captives seeing only a green phosphorous eye hovering over them.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” said Team Leader.
The bishops stopped rattling their chains.
“Your propensity for making noise is quite unsettling.”
Team Leader moved along the mattresses with his hands behind his back, as if studying his prey. “In a moment the sun will come up, and you’ll all be fed,” he told them. “And then one of you will be challenged to a test of faith. Please don’t disappoint me.”
No one dared question him.
A moment later the green phosphorous eye winked out and Team Leader was gone, swallowed by the shadows.
Outside, the sun barely crested the horizon.