Chapter 16

Gone Dark

Carter leaned on the stainless steel handle of the entry to the Det’s foyer, exiting the cramped millimeter wave scanning room. Light spilled in from the bright marble-floored entry. The slam of the door behind them echoed like a gunshot. Grind’s blue Skechers scuffed against the heel of his Guccis. Why did the man insist on walking so close? No concept of personal space.

A thick-armed marine with M4 and full battle rattle nodded as the pair passed. Head down, Carter stepped toward a dark side hall, his temporary office at the end. But as long as this investigation had dragged, the stronger the area’s stale scent of permanence. Glancing at the doorjamb, he noticed a yellow sticky note with Carter written in black Sharpie hanging from an otherwise empty name tag holder. He yanked it down and crumped it into a palm. Grind squeezed by him through the door and plopped into a bright blue executive chair with coffee-stained armrests. Against his orange shirt, he looked ready for a Denver Broncos football game.

From the morning’s shotgun-accompanied introduction to Lori’s supervisor, Stacy, he had grasped one overt takeaway: Find out who had given the order for the op in North Korea and he’d be on the trail of who’d put the contract on Lori. And be one step closer to Moses. Jamison had installed a stealthy keystroke recorder on the senator’s computer and discovered the man frequently utilized TOR, a dark web browser, to converse through anonymous chat rooms. His communications were cryptic, but it appeared he was selling a list of military operators and foreign operatives. US spies. And he had a buyer. The deal would close within a week. If correct, the leak could be the largest intelligence breach in US history. Jamison hadn’t been able to uncover the list on the hard drive yet, and even on the dark web, the senator communicated in ambiguous terms. Lots of people used the dark web, even for legal purposes. Carter needed solid evidence to provide to the appropriate authorities.

Grind scratched on a flaky pastry smear on his pants. “Stacy not sayin’ much carries meaning.”

True. The importance of what was unsaid could eclipse the spoken word. Stacy had embodied confidence, but she couldn’t hide a certain level of tension. Her jittering fingers as she’d loaded the shotgun. The missed targets as they were walking out. And her husband… Come to think of it, Stacy’s file had said she was divorced. A live-in maybe?

Carter rubbed his neck.

“Detective!” came from around a corner, back near the foyer. The purring voice sounded like Grace, Red’s admin. Carter frowned as he remembered it was Saturday afternoon. She didn’t routinely work on weekends, but one tended to work around the needs of the Det. He pointed to Grind, picking at yellow stuffing sticking from a tear in the seat. “Who was that guy with Stacy this morning? She called him her husband, but her file said divorced. Find out if she was married recently. I’ll be back in a few.”

Walking to the vestibule, he turned a corner and a tall woman in a black suit with a white collar met him halfway across the hard floor. It was Grace. Jet-black hair, lightly salted, pulled up in a bun. He’d never noticed how long her neck was. A hurried smile. Anxious? Carter had never sensed it in her before. Tautly muscled calves carried her with long strides.

He lifted his chin. “What’re you doing here?”

She waved at him with a follow me, then walked toward her desk at the far end of the entry. As she turned, her dark brown eyes caught his gaze. She possessed a self-confidence he’d rarely seen in anyone working an admin position. Behind her the cubicle village buzzed, a rumble of activity humming from pale blue squares. “Didn’t you notice all the cars in the lot? Something’s come up.”

Must’ve missed it. Walking in, he’d still been musing over the morning’s meeting with Stacy. “And?”

She lowered herself into a small black leather swivel chair behind an L-shaped reception desk, mahogany top matching the foyer’s paneling. “We’re active. A tasking came in.”

Carter rested forearms on the raised counter. “Where to?”

She shrugged, but gave a coy smile. A glance at the Marine guard standing at the far end of the room. Her blouse opened so low he noticed a new freckle amid her cleavage. She leaned forward to whisper.

He held his determination; his eyes stayed locked to hers.

“Don’t know. They’ve been in the command center for hours. You heard from Red?”

Why was she whispering? He shook his head. “No. Still no luck tracking his tag?”

Her smile withered. “No. Ran recordings, but his marker just melts into a big bright blob once they got west of I-95. They could be anywhere along the Front Range.” Her warm breath smelled of peppermint. “You have any other way of contacting him?”

“Me? No.”

“Nothing at all?”

What was she getting at? She was his admin. If anyone had an emergency means of contact, it’d be her.

She leaned back, crossing a leg. “He’s gone dark. I don’t like it.”

“Dark” meaning off duty, or off the grid in this case. “So, you’re telling me the Det has no way to contact its commander?”

She nodded.

Carter knit his fingers together. “Maybe it’s time you stop hoping he wasn’t involved in that shooting on Pikes Peak, and assume he was. Captain Richards share our concern?”

She snatched up a pencil and tapped the eraser on a notepad. “Not yet. Plus, we’re maxed out right now. He’s planning the op. He’ll be tied up for a few days at least.”

“And in the meantime?”

“Based on what I see on CNN, the FBI has control of the scene in Colorado. If he knew Red was involved, Richards would pull every string in the Hoover Building to get at what he needed. But if not, it’d be detrimental to the mission.”

Right enough. Like most classified organizations, the Det’s modus operandi was to stoop below anyone’s wandering gaze. She bent forward in her chair again, feet flat to the floor, eyes darting across her desk as if deep in thought. What was she hiding? “Something you’re not telling me?”

She leaned close again, left breast brushing against his knuckles as she approached his ear. The lily fragrance of Diorissimo was on her neck. “This is the first op the captain has planned as the lead. Red needs to be here for it.”

Carter stood abruptly, out of the woman’s reach. “I’ve seen the captain work. It’s his time. Plus, you know Red. If he were here, he’d be in the middle of the whole thing, suiting himself up. He needs to back off. It’s better this way.”

She crossed her arms and plopped back. The cushion hissed. Maybe he could use this. “I’ll get Jamison to do some digging. He should be able to get Red’s sister’s cell phone number, the one they’re visiting out there in Colorado. But if I do that, you help me.”

She sat upright. “Now you’re talking my language.”

“How can I find out who authorized last winter’s op to North Korea?”

“Who? You were here when we got that one. Red did. Remember?”

“No. I mean from Higher.”

A coy grin. “For that, you’ll owe me big.”

“I don’t see it that way.”

“I don’t care how you see it. I hold the cards. I come out on top.”

Fair enough. “Whatever. I’ll owe you,” he mumbled.

Her brown eyes widened as she licked a lip. “Admiral Javlek. He authorized it. He’s the one all the ops used to funnel through. Was the chair of the JCS, but retired a few months back. He gave the green light to Red.”

No shit. “Further back than that. I know Javlek doled out the taskings. How do I figure out who put the request in to him?”

“That’s all we’ll have.” She pointed the eraser toward his chest. “You’ll need to talk with him.”

He glanced at her computer. “Why? Can’t you just look in the file and see who it came from?”

She giggled, then cleared her throat. “Cute. Written? You’ve been here for months and you still haven’t figured it out?”

“Figured what out?”

“No tasking comes in on paper. It’s all verbal, and never recorded. We communicate with the cooperatives through written means, but taskings are never in print. It’s the old-fashioned way. For an organization that’s not supposed to exist, it maintains deniability when things go bad. It’s who you know. And Javlek knows them all. Talk with him.”

Nothing written? This wasn’t good, on so many levels. “And he is?”

She cocked her head. “Running for Senate. Spends his spare time on a sailboat, I’m told. Now, get me that cell phone number. You owe me.”