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An encrypted email arrived at a carpeted office at seven o’clock on a Saturday morning. The message normally would not have been read until Sunday or at the least Monday morning, but Walter Scott had forgotten his new putter behind the desk. A tee-off time was booked, and the driver waited outside the Langley main entrance.
Walter had intended to check his messages and be on his way within minutes, but a cell phone appeared in his hands after he scanned the screen.
“I’m going to have to cancel the golf game, and I’ll be here a while. I’ll call you if needed.” Geoff, his driver, was used to such last-minute changes over the years.
“Yes, sir.”
As he settled behind the desk, he re-read the lengthy recommendation—Walter came to the same conclusion. It was a shame, really, but essential to keep the status quo.
There was only one option to guarantee success, and despite the cost, it would be worth it. He transferred the money with a series of keystrokes then leaned back in the chair. He placed the satellite phone on top of the desk from the middle drawer and waited.
Two minutes later, it rang.
Walter placed it on speaker and leaned back. “That was rather quick.”
A woman with a British accent replied. “A deposit that large gets my attention. Details?”
“Sending now.” With a few clicks of the mouse, the file transferred halfway around the world. The STARTTLS (Transport Layer Security) encryption system was two-fold. A file could only be sent if the receiving computer knew it was incoming. Coupled with the DMARC program, it not only validates the sender but the recipient as well. Even if someone were to intercept the transmission, they would need possession of the other half of the encryption to decode.
“Receiving.”
After a minute, the woman spoke. “This seems rather ... mundane for our services.”
Walter cleared his throat. She was correct, but too many bridges were burned, and those that were left pointed in a direction that made him uncomfortable. “Due to conflicts, we need to keep this at arm's length.”
“No problem.” He could hear the woman tapping away at a keyboard as she scanned the file. “Method and collateral damage?”
Walter had made many such decisions over the years, and sometimes the innocent had to be sacrificed for the greater good. It was unfortunate. Hunter appeared to be a good man. Had things been different, Noah may have been working for him.
“Accidental and minimal, unless no other choice. Also, if possible, play the Tecumseh Scenario.”
“Roger that. Is there an early completion bonus like Syrian rebel operation?”
Walter winced. It would cut into his budget, but he needed to wrap this up. “Not that significant, but it will be substantial.”
The excitement in the woman’s voice made the English accent thicken. “Talk to you soon, dear.”
*****
NOAH STOOD INSIDE RONALD Reagan at the arrival concourse with time to spare. He was still apprehensive about what had just happened. When he was training in Georgina, he had a glimpse of the multitude of different law enforcement agencies out there. In the United States, there were over 17,000 various groups with policing powers. When he mentioned investigations, the terminology was broad enough to have referenced almost anything. Technically, he hadn’t lied. Noah was an investigator, but with Arrow Point Police Department.
The other thing he had counted on was the “law-enforcement” radar. Within a few seconds, Noah could tell if someone was a police officer or not. Sometimes, military personnel gave off the same aura of command, but after any discussion, he could usually guess correctly on their background. Noah had counted on those men in the car to recognize and read him as he read others. Coupled with the fact that no one willingly volunteered for watch duty sealed the deal.
When the large double doors opened, Noah immediately forgot what he was thinking as he recognized his partner. It seems Dickinson had taken his formal attire note seriously, and he barely recognized her.
Dressed in a short gray skirt, white blouse, and matching blazer Angie pulled her carry-on luggage behind as her heels clicked on the tiled floor. Her long brown hair fell to one side when she noticed him leaning against the pillar. In the dress shoes, she must have stood six-foot-two, and Noah struggled to tear his eyes away from her legs and a brief glimpse of a toned thigh.
Of course, my partner had legs—now focus.
“You shaved.”
Noah ran a hand over his smooth cheeks and realized they were also warm. He tried not to groan with embarrassment. “Had to change up my image. Before I say anything, I need you to realize what I’m doing isn’t sanctioned and could be dangerous. There can, and most likely will be repercussions. Are you sure you want to help?”
Dickinson let out a throaty chuckle, and her dimples made an appearance. “Damn right, I’m in.”
Noah nodded as the seriousness set in. “Okay, but if I order you out, I need you to listen. We good?” He held out a hand, and it hung in the air for a moment.
She firmly shook his hand. “I promise to listen. Now, where do we start?”
First, I have to get my head out of the gutter. “We have to stop by a Starbucks. I’ll explain on the way.”
~
NOAH PULLED IN BEHIND the rear Ford unmarked cruiser shortly after ten o'clock. Angie balanced a cardboard cup holder in one hand and a white bag of bagels and pastries in another.
“Ready? It isn’t too late to change your mind.”
Angie didn’t bother to answer but instead rolled her eyes. She passed him the coffees and stepped out of the Navigator carrying the food. The two men got out of the car and slipped on their suit jackets.
“Hope you like it black.” Noah passed over the drinks.
“Thanks. We aren’t used to being treated like this. Hope it’s habit-forming.” The man with the mustache accepted the bag of food and checked out Dickinson when he thought no one was looking. Dirtbag.
Noah winked. “We shall see. Are you relieving us tomorrow morning or tonight?”
The driver shrugged. “We’ve been here for over twenty-four hours. We don’t know the schedule yet, or how much longer till they shut this down.”
Noah nodded. “We haven’t been told of a rotation yet. Hopefully, that will come down today. Do you have a logbook?”
He had been on countless surveillance operations throughout his career. Surveillance was broken down into three different types: premises, vehicles, or persons. Each type demanded a different observation post. With the lack of disguise and parked out of the residence, they must be here only for the premises. There were also many rules to follow, such as no littering, contingency plans, and knowing the shift schedule. One thing consistent across different law enforcement agents—a handwritten journal.
“Just a second.” The driver leaned down, pulled a black notebook from between the two front seats, and held it up. “Here you go.”
Angie asked, “Bathroom?”
The man with the curly mustache gestured toward the home. “The front door’s unlocked.”
“That’s a lot better than a pop bottle.” Noah wryly added.
The men chuckled, and Dickinson shrugged. “You gotta go, you gotta go.”
When the men separated and both vehicles drove away, Noah pulled the Lincoln forward to park behind the truck. With a wave goodbye, he turned off the engine and settled in.
“Holy fuck. How the hell did that just work?” Angie turned to face him, stunned.
Noah let out a nervous laugh. “The more secretive an organization, the more information is restricted to a few. I guessed that the worker bees were not told the big picture.”
“You guessed?” Angie’s eyebrows rose in disbelief.
“For now, let’s finish our coffees, then see if we can find out what happened with Miriam Davis. Because up until now, I wasn’t sure she was even missing.”