Betrayal Page 7

  Next to him, Argo took in a deep breath and slapped a hand down onto the lid, worry lines becoming more prominent in his leather-like face. “You sure about this, kid?” he asked. “Why not wait until we get it back to the sub. Let yourself get a better look. And why risk getting it wet?”

  Carbon glanced at him and grinned. “I know what I’m doing, Gramps. Chill.” Argo hesitated before removing his hand, those worry lines still deeply furrowed.

  Carbon flipped the lid open without worry. His reasoning was simple: The design was all about letting the men who delivered it escape before the recipients could open it. With the light on the front no longer flashing, it would signal whoever had possession of the box it was now safe to retrieve the drive inside. Sure enough, Carbon found a plunger inside that would have been depressed with the lid closed. Opening it prematurely would have completed the circuit and turned their small craft into floating debris, and their reducing their bodies to chum for the sharks.

  Carbon laughed. “See, I told you I know what I’m doing.” The inside was lined with dark gray foam, cushioning the contents. The data device inside was nothing more than a standard-looking portable hard drive. Which was curious. Agent Seymour had made it sound like the thing was state of the art. This looked like something he could have ordered online and had delivered the next day. It surely didn’t mean there wasn’t some serious encryption technology going on inside. Maybe the drive had been disguised to fool the casual eye? There was only one way to find out.

  He pulled out his tablet. The case it was in served to protect it from the water, sand, and other debris. The first thing he did was to see if the drive had a power source by looking for an EM or electromagnetic field. It did. A quick search found it was WiFi-enabled as well. This meant no cables needed to be connected to access the contents. Carbon went ahead and resealed the protective box to keep it from getting wet. Leaving it sitting on his lap, he linked to it easily with his tablet and began to search. What he found surprised him. There was encryption on it, but not anything that would require a quantum computer as was promised. In fact, he was certain he could crack it easily. This both intrigued him, feeding his curiosity, and scared the bat crap out of him. Was DJ right? Was this mission all one big lie?

  He applied one of his programs to attempt to crack the code and allow him in. Turning to Argo, he said, “Something’s not right. This is too easy. I’m starting to think maybe the people who tried to sell this to the Russian were lying to them. There’s probably just recipes or some grandmother’s diary on here.”

  Shockingly, without much wait, he was suddenly in. He blinked in surprise and began looking through the contents. There was a series of folders with unique names. They were names he recognized. There was also a simple text file. He open it and nearly fainted at what he saw. Carbon sat there staring, not moving, dumbfounded. Argo watched him, waiting. Finally, after a long few seconds, Carbon turned to Argo to tell him what he was looking at when something in his peripheral caught his eye.

  It was Sam. He was pointing his pistol at him. “Drop it at my feet,” he ordered, the promise of murder smoldering in his eyes. Carbon didn’t even hesitate. He did exactly as instructed, dropping the case onto the bottom of the boat at Sam’s feet. It was only then he noticed Argo was aware of the betrayal too. A glance at the older man showed that he was angry at Carbon’s obedience. But what else could Carbon do? He was no hero. He was no warrior like the rest of this bunch. His battleground was a field of ones and zeros. Yet the look in Argo’s eyes told him everything. He had just given up the only leverage they had. Sam was going to kill him now. The intent was evident in the man’s heated stare. Their newest recruit had shed his polite persona. What sat at the back of the boat, working the throttle on the small outboard, was a villain who operated with no remorse. He was going to kill Carbon, Argo, and Latricia. His weapon was silenced. DJ and the others just up ahead wouldn’t hear a thing. Sam would then power up behind them and shoot them all in the back. He was nothing more than a thief. A murderous thief.

  And poor Latricia. She was sitting at the bow, eyes focused ahead, clueless of the treachery behind her. She would never see it coming. Carbon’s eyes cut to the rolling waves. Not long ago, he been convinced he would die out here. Then, his focus had been on the silent predators who called these waters home. He had been wrong. It would not be the sharks that ended his life, it would be the traitor pretending to be their friend.

  The boat hit a larger swell and the bow rocked up and then down. Carbon watched as the action caused Sam’s aim to first drop, pointing at Carbon’s waist, then rise again to point over his head as the inflatable crested the wave. It was then that Argo moved. His friend did not go for his gun. There was no hope for that. No amount of speed could have allowed him to draw and fire. Instead, Argo lunged sideways, embracing Carbon in a bear-like hug, and shoving them both over the side. Before the cold water enveloped him, Carbon saw the pistol recoil twice, heard the muffled bark of the report, felt Argo grunt from pain. Then, Carbon reflexively closed his eyes as the deep blue of the Sea of Japan closed over his head.

  __________

  DJ had been shot many times. Too many. He had been fortunate so far. He was fortunate again. He felt the impact of a round between his shoulder blades. The synthetic plate on the back of his vest protected him, doing its job, keeping him alive. It didn’t mean the strike didn’t hurt. It did. A lot. A trip to a chiropractor would be in order after they got back. Still, from his experience, he could tell the bullet was on the smaller side and slow. A larger thirty caliber round from an AK, for example, would have knocked him flat, broken a rib or two, and had him trying to remember how to breathe. He was thankful.

  DJ shoved the outboard motor throttle away from him to the right, causing the boat to make a hard left. Turning his head to find the source, he was shocked into inaction. The second Zodiac was empty save for Doolie, and the newbie was firing his sidearm at him. They had been betrayed from within. Doolie had killed the others and was now focused on the first boat. DJ’s brain was torn between wanting to know why and fighting back. A second bullet whipped past. A third punched through his boat and whistling air could be heard. A fourth caused Coonie to curse. A fifth struck the water in front of him, then skipped through the boat and grazed his leg, causing him to wince in pain. More leaking air could be detected.

  DJ snapped out of it, released the throttle, and drew his trusty pistol. His first shot went wide. His second went low and into the water. The rolling ocean and pitching boats provided unstable platforms for the shooters, with moving targets that bobbed unpredictably. His third passed just left of Doolie’s head. An answering round just nicked the front of DJ’s gun. Sparks flew and tiny shards peppered the side of his face. The gun was twisted violently in his hand from the impact and burning pain flashed through his wrist, spraining it. DJ dropped the ruined weapon and reached for his rifle. As he did, he could hear Cash and Coonie finally start firing back. He also heard the other boat motor rev to peak power as Doolie decided it was time to go.

  Their boat was doing a slow spin in the ocean, and when he brought his weapon up, both Cash and Coonie blocked his view. Doolie was at full throttle and racing away. DJ snatched the throttle back and twisted, eager to pursue, but it was Coonie that gave him pause. She pointed to the right and shouted. DJ’s head twisted in response. At first, he saw nothing. But then he caught sight of two bodies floating in the water fifty yards away at the peak of a swell, arms waving.

  DJ couldn’t pursue. He had friends in the water. Friends who might be bleeding out and dying. He barked at the other two to patch the boat, and then pulled on the outboard to turn into the direction of his floating teammates.

  The Zodiac was equipped with a compressed air cylinder for inflating the raft. If the pressure valve sensed a leak, it automatically began to pump air into the raft. The boat was also outfitted with a patch kit. There were several large squares that looked like rubberized Band-Aids. Their sticky
surface would bond even if they were wet and soaking. Both Cash and Coonie got to work and DJ steered towards his floating friends.

  He lost sight of them for a moment as they passed on the other side of a wave. When they came back into view, he could tell their issue was serious. Carbon was frantically waving with one arm. The other was wrapped around Argo. The Sheriff wasn’t moving. He was floating in a relaxed state with his head leaned back onto Carbon.

  DJ gunned the throttle, urging the craft to move quicker. When he finally reached them, DJ could feel his anger pushed to the boiling point. Carbon was OK. Argo was breathing and awake, but there was a pool of blood in the water around him. He had been shot. Maybe multiple times. The Sheriff pointed weakly to his left side but said nothing.

  DJ and Cash hauled the wounded man over the side and Argo let out a long groan of pain. Once in the boat, DJ rolled him onto his back, the man’s legs hanging over the side. He began to examine his friend and found two bullet holes in his left side below the ribs. The vests they wore offered no protection under the arms. That was precisely where Doolie had chosen to shoot him. The wounds were low and toward the front. There was a chance nothing vital had been hit. It all depended on the angle of the wound tracks.

  Coonie finished patching the boat and hauled Carbon in next. As DJ worked to free the Sheriff of the vest, he snapped a question to Carbon. “Where’s Bounder?” The wide-eyed hacker said nothing. He simply shrugged.

  Coonie stood in the rocking boat, balancing herself with the rocking waves, scanning the ocean. “Lost Sam. Don’t see him at all.” The pitching sea made it hard to spot things on the surface. It wouldn’t matter even if they could see him. Loaded down as they were, they would never be able to catch up. “There!” she exclaimed, pointing behind to the rear. DJ turned, expecting to find the traitor skipping across the water like a smooth stone in the distance. Instead, he saw a floating body. An unmoving, lifeless body.

  DJ whipped the boat around. He feared the worse. He got exactly that. Latricia was dead. She had never seen it coming, clueless of the fate that awaited her. The bullet entered the back of her head and exited from just above her right eye.

  DJ was as mad as he had ever been. He had not experienced this level of frustration in some time. Every one of those moments had been associated with the death of someone close. He found himself clenching his fists and gritting his teeth. The rage was building in him, making his face warm. His heart was pounding. There was no way to release it. He was surrounded only by those he cared for, and miles upon miles of water. He looked around, seeking something to break. It was then he noticed Cash was bleeding from the arm. Coonie had a nasty gash on her cheek, a narrow miss for a headshot by their traitor.

  But why? Why had Sam Kenny done this? To sell the drive to some other party? And how did he possibly think he could get away? The only place within range of his tiny boat was a Russian fishing town on the coast. He might not even be able to reach that. Could he speak Russian? It hadn’t been included in the man’s file. There was no escape for the man. Dressed as he was, armed as he was, Sam Kenny would be captured or shot as soon as he could make landfall. Especially now that the entire Russian Army was looking for them.

  There were too many questions. There were no answers.

  DJ pointed at Carbon. “I know the comms package was on the other boat but use your satellite phone and call the farm. I need to speak to Brett.”

  Chapter 8: Murder, Capture, and Escape

  Abbi didn’t like how she had lost contact with Ali. True, the man had said he was busy, but he wasn’t considered a field agent anymore. He coordinated things. He didn’t go on missions. What could be going on that was intense enough for him not to spend ten seconds and reply? The longer this waiting stretched on, the more she became convinced that something much bigger than what they could see was bearing down on them like a fanged monster. The longer the wait, the more distrust she had for the two agents who had invaded their farm under the claims of “helping.” Don’t even get her started on Agent Seymour. The man was hiding something. She was now sure of it. And where had he disappeared to? He had sent her team off on their objective but didn’t make the trip with them. Why wasn’t he here instead of Bill and Ted? With something so big at play, she would have thought the man would have wanted to stay close to the operation in some way. Where was he? What was he up to? Was he really who he said he was, despite the assurance of Agent Ali?

  To learn more about who the mysterious Agent Seymour really was, Abbi had a program running in the background designed to break into the CIA’s classified personnel files. To make this process faster, she had hacked into MIT’s supercomputer and employed its big brain to crunch her custom code. She wasn’t sure how long it would take, but it couldn’t come soon enough. The mystery was killing her.

  The men in the room were all focused on the large screen, watching the team with a commandeered satellite as they made their way out to sea to meet with the Vermont. There were no other vessels close, and it looked like they would have no issues. That’s when things abruptly changed and spun her life around. Two people were falling into the water out of the rear boat. Abbi hastily stood from her desk and walked to stand with the others, suddenly anxious for an entirely new reason. Before she could stand even with the others in front of the wall-sized screen, whoever was in the front of the boat fell forward into the water and the raft ran over the top of them. Abbi’s heart was galloping in her chest and a knot appeared in her stomach. The camera view wasn’t close enough to distinguish who was who in the boats. The satellite was of an older design and the resolution was not as good as some of the more sophisticated models in orbit. Additionally, there was sporadic cloud cover often rendering the image hazy as it struggled to see through the partial covering.

  Brett was sitting on the edge of his wheelchair. “Who was that?” he demanded. Abbi didn’t respond. She didn’t know. He had as much information as she did.

  She found herself easing closer to the screen, squinting her eyes, struggling to make out the identity of the occupants. As she watched, it appeared the one driving the second boat was pointing at the group in the first. No, they were firing! Whoever was driving the second raft was shooting at the occupants of the first! It made no sense. She looked on in horror, aware that a moan of despair had escaped her lips. She couldn’t help herself. She couldn’t tell who was who, or why one was killing the others. In shock, she could only watch as the first boat took a hard left. The one driving the lead boat began firing back. It was DJ. She was sure of it. Suddenly he seemed to recoil and hunch over. He had been hit!

  Anger, fear, and confusion welled up within her and she shouted at the screen, her hands wrapped into fists, desperate to help in some way. But she couldn’t. She was stuck here, thousands of miles away on the other side of the planet, powerless to do anything but watch and pray.

  The others in the first boat seem to finally realize what was going on and began firing at the lone member of the rear raft. Whoever it was, veered off and began powering away. The screen flickered for a moment and then went black. A pop-up window appeared in the middle of the screen that read: Connection Lost. Brett shouted at her, “Get it back!”

  She spun on her heels, prepared to do just that, but froze. In her focus, she hadn’t noticed both Bill and Ted had backed away from the screen. Bill had his pistol out and pointing at them, a smile on his demented face. Ted was all the way to the rear of the room, standing behind Abbi’s desk. One hand was still on the keyboard of her computer. The other was wrapped around his own gun. It was pointing at the still sleeping Cassie, clueless of the chaos that had descended on the world around her.

  Bill chuckled softly at seeing the desperate fear wash over her face. “Well, I guess we don’t need you two anymore.” He sighted down the barrel at Abbi’s face. There was no concern for her safety. She had forgotten about what had happened on the screen behind her, her worry for her team and husband a distant memory. Her only thought
was of Cassie. Would they kill her? If not, who would care for her? Would DJ be able to find his way to his daughter? Just when she was sure Bill would pull the trigger, a ringing phone broke the silence of the room like a hammer does glass. He paused and held up a finger to her. “Hold that thought,” he said. He fished his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and answered. “This is Bill.” There was a long moment as he listened to the other end. Then, “I see. Understood.” He hung up and put the phone away. “Well, it seems that since some of your team survived you still might have some value.” He shifted the gun to Brett. “You, however… Well, let’s just say three’s a crowd.” The gun went off twice, impossibly loud.

  Abbi jerked her head to the left to see Brett looking down in wonder at the two bullet holes punched through his starched white dress shirt, and the expanding circles of red around them. She was crouching next to him then, shouting his name, a taloned fist of pain clutching her heart.

  He looked up at her, sorrow in his eyes. He spoke then, softly, almost a whisper. “Whatever happens next is my fault. Should have never taken the job. I’m sorry.”

  She gripped his hand, fury, and sadness rolling through her. “It’s not your fault. And I promise you, they’ll pay.” He offered a weak smile, tears forming at the corner of his eyes. Then, gradually, bit by bit, they glassed over, the light to his soul dimming. It was the same look her mother had given her long ago as she lay dying in Abbi’s arms. And then, Brett’s eyes closed forever.

  A single tear tracked slowly down his left cheek.

  Brett Allen Foster was dead.

  __________

  Alimayu Salana finally had an opportunity, his first chance at escape. All he had been hoping for until now had been a chance. That was all he had here. A chance. He had been captured, fairly easily, too. One never expected an attack to come from within, from someone on your own side of the playing field. Certainly not from your own organization. Never from a friend. Yet there he was, tied to a chair, beaten and battered by someone he had once called a friend.