He made a snap decision. Whether Kira had her own nemesis or not was something he could consider at a later time. But her logic was sound and his gut told him to take her warning about Connelly very seriously. Jim Connelly was a good man and Desh agreed that he couldn’t be bought. But the jury was still out on Smith.
Desh was annoyed with himself that even in his current paranoid mindset he had failed to at least consider the possibility that Connelly’s digging would make him a target. If Desh was going to survive this mess he would have to do better.
“Do you have a car?” asked Desh.
“Why does that question make me nervous?” answered Griffin guardedly.
“Connelly could be in someone’s crosshairs even as we speak. We need to get him in motion immediately and set up a meeting with him so I can bring him up to speed. We can’t risk taking my SUV. I’ll tell you everything I know on the way.”
“This woman is a psychopathic killer. Why would you even consider following her advice?”
“If she’s wrong, we’ll have wasted time and inconvenienced the colonel. But if she’s right, we’ll have saved his life.” Desh paused. “I assume you have a car, correct?” he persisted.
Griffin looked ill but finally nodded unhappily. “What if I’d prefer to stay here and let you meet with this Connelly by yourself?”
Desh shrugged. “Suit yourself. But in that case I won’t be able to tell you what you’re up against until I see you again. And you have to ask yourself if you feel safer on your own right now—or with me.”
Griffin frowned. “I’ll go,” he mumbled unhappily.
“Good. Can you jump on the computer and find the midway point by car between here and Fort Bragg, North Carolina?”
Griffin sat at his computer and seconds later a satellite map appeared on the large plasma screen. The image of the East Coast of the United States was almost uniformly green and not a single sign of human habitation, including the largest cities, could be detected. The Atlantic Ocean appeared as a much deeper and more vibrant shade of blue than when viewed from the beach. Griffin overlaid the satellite imagery with a driving map that highlighted the route between the two locations, spotting a promising town almost immediately. His hands flew over the keys.
“Emporia Virginia,” he announced. “It’s 172 miles from D.C. and 155 miles from Bragg.”
“Good,” said Desh. “Any State Parks? Woods? That sort of thing.”
Griffin worked the mouse to display a helicopter’s-eye view of Emporia and its vicinity and began to fly this virtual helicopter slowly forward. He called up further information on the town and displayed it on one of the smaller monitors. “There’s a hydropower dam in Emporia on the Meherrin River. The river flows northwesterly from the dam.”
“Find a two-lane road that parallels the river and woods and follow it northwest,” instructed Desh. He had decided to borrow from Kira’s playbook. Her choice of motels had been tactically ideal. “Try to locate a quarter-mile to a half-mile chunk of woods flanked by roads on either side. Easily accessible but fairly isolated.”
Griffin swooped down to the Meherrin River dam and found a nearby road that fit Desh’s requirements. He followed the road as instructed, zooming closer when he found a candidate location and back out again when he needed a more panoramic view. Whatever satellite database he had hacked into allowed him to get clearer pictures and zoom in more closely than he would have been able to do using the satellite imagery available to the general public.
“I think I’ve got it,” said Griffin.
Desh studied the screen. Sure enough, about twenty miles from Emporia another road appeared on the right flank, sandwiching the woods between it and the road Griffin had been following. The roads ran parallel on either side of the woods for several miles.
“Continue to follow your original road, but slower and from a lower altitude,” said Desh.
Griffin swooped in closer and did as instructed. Desh pursed his lips in concentration and studied the rapidly changing landscape. “Stop,” he barked. “Back up just a little.”
Desh pointed to an area of road that abutted a section of the tree line that had a break in it. A car could pull off at this point and circle back around without hindrance to a pocket-shaped clearing, about fifty yards away, that couldn’t be seen from the road. He only hoped that enough of the trees had retained their leaves to provide adequate cover. Since the satellite data was somewhat dated, it was impossible from the imagery to know for sure.
“Get the GPS coordinates for this break in the tree line and write them down for me while I make a call,” said Desh.
Desh lifted the receiver of Griffin’s phone. It was cordless but still a landline, which was what he needed. Cell phone traffic was far too easy to intercept. He had checked the phone carefully for listening devices previously and it was clean. He dialed Connelly’s scrambled line at his office at USASOC, praying he would be in.
It was picked up on the fist ring. “David?”
“That’s right.”
“I’m glad you called. And on my secure line at that,” added Connelly approvingly. “I’ve begun looking into this Kira Miller case more carefully and I’m hitting roadblocks that shouldn’t be there for someone with my clearance. I think you’re right. There’s a lot more going on here than meets the eye.”
“Colonel, I’ve learned more since we last spoke. Not enough to complete the picture, but enough to suspect you may have just kicked a hornet’s nest. I think you could be in danger. I recommend you leave your office immediately. Write this down,” he said. Desh gestured to Griffin who handed him the newly scribed GPS coordinates. Desh read them carefully to Connelly. “The coordinates I just gave you are to a short break in the tree line that parallels the road you’ll be on. Otherwise the tree line is unbroken for many miles. If you go off road there you’ll find a pocket in the woods, hidden from the road. Meet me there in as close to three hours from now as you can manage. First check your clothing and car for bugs and assume you’re being followed.”
“Roger that,” said Connelly, trusting Desh enough to follow his instructions without asking any questions.
“I’ll be with a friend: about six-five, 300 pounds, bushy beard. I’ll explain everything when I see you.” Desh paused. “Before we sign off,” he added, “has Smith contacted you yet today to explain what last night was all about?”
“Smith?”
“It’s an obvious alias. I’m talking about the person you asked me to call in when I found Kira Miller. Black Ops officer; short, wiry. Scar under his ear.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, David,” said Connelly in alarm. “Black Ops? I was told that number is to the private cell phone of my boss at MacDilclass="underline" Brigadier General Evan Gordon.”
The army, navy, air force, and marines each had their own Special Operations Command, but all four reported in to the US Special Operations Command, or USSOCOM, at MacDill Air Force Base in Florida, headed by a four-star general. It made sense that this case warranted attention higher up the chain of command and that the contact information had been for Connelly’s boss.
Desh felt his skin crawl. The news that Smith wasn’t who he claimed to be significantly increased the chance that Kira had been right and Connelly was in imminent danger. This called into question the veracity of everything that Smith had told him. Desh knew he needed to consider the full implications of this new information and discuss this further with Connelly, but that would have to wait for another time. He ended the conversation quickly so the colonel could begin taking steps to protect himself.