Virtually His (20 page)

They would believe him when he brought the message from the head of security. Insert disk to show them photos of faces to look for. Insert virus flashdrive. Upload initiated via his computer. De Clerq and Eight Ball would know immediately and take over. They would let him know when they found out the Cummings’ location.

He could not worry about how Elena was doing at her end. She had her task to do and he had his.

Besides, he’d put a locator on her. He activated his mic. “Keep me updated on Helen once she disappears from my view.”

F
rom the briefing, Helen knew there was a big gathering of lobbyists at the institute, brought together by the prospect of a key U.N. relief fund that had just been made available. She had to smile at that because T.—Tess Montgomery—was so very good at making things like that happen. As expected, Alexander Barinsky’s appearance caused a small ruckus among those who knew who he was.

Helen almost laughed out loud at how polite the security was in front of the media and their cameras. One of the men approached them, his face a mask as he courteously asked Alex to leave after the usual questions about appointments and availability.

“Herr Guzman, I know you understand what it is I do and that I would not come here without an important reason,” Alex had said, in a Russian accent. “Please pass this message now. Tell Dr. Weber that Alexander Barinsky is here to have half his money returned on the sale of the SEED key because it appears that Mr. and Mrs. Cummings sold half the key to me and half to Dr. Weber’s foundation. Nonetheless, your key is useless without half of the codes.” He paused, cocking his head slightly before adding softly, “If I leave now, you’ll find that I will be less likely to negotiate another time. Tell him I also know the Cummings are here, and that I did not come alone. Surely, Dr. Weber doesn’t want any violence happening today, not with so many important people around?”

The message did the job. They were escorted to wait in Dr. Weber’s office. As they followed, Helen was listening to De Clerq executing point through her earpiece, reporting on which part of the operation was “green,” meaning “on target.” Somewhere, other commandos were doing their thing. T. would have her hands full by now handling the U.N. VIPs. The security detail should be concentrating on the big event right now.

“Video link’s up. What’s their security up to?” she heard De Clerq ask.

“A few have been sent to walk the target point perimeter. I assume they’re taking Alex’s threat seriously.”

“Good. Keep an eye on them. Comm’s green, by the way. We’ve tapped into their radio feed, too. We’re monitoring all communication.”

“What’s the status on the SEED?” a voice asked.

“Status is green, over,” De Clerq replied.

Helen cocked her head. That had sounded like Flyboy although she wasn’t a hundred percent sure.

“Checkpoint Two is green,” another voice chimed in.

Their escort let them pass the secretary’s area and go into the office. Once they were in there, Alex turned suddenly and quietly rendered the man unconscious.

Helen watched as they efficiently tied up the man. They were all business as one commando set a laptop on the table and another connected a device to it. It was an interceptor program, used to check for listening devices. He nodded when it showed that the room was clean.

Everyone had completed their task. Now it was her turn. She turned to Alex. “Are you sure the elevator we want is on this floor we’re going to?”

Alex nodded. “Our Intel comes from someone who has been in this office. This access elevator has one button, fits your description. It makes sense that Weber has the access from his office to this underground floor.”

“Okay. What if there are cameras in the elevator?” She had been sure there was some kind of electronic surveillance when she remote viewed. “How are we going to bypass that?”

“The cameras will be taken care of, don’t worry. The source said the elevator is in a closet.”

The other two commandos with them were already walking around, opening doors.

“This source,” Helen said, “is he a mole in their organization?”

“No,” Alex said, pointing his guys at the doors off to the right of the main desk area. “He’s one of us. Remember, this place is just a dummy corporation. They deal with lots of unsavory characters on the side.”

“Infiltration?” Helen asked, checking behind some curtains for hidden openings.

“Yes.”

“One of us, meaning one of the commandos?” She gave an exaggerated sigh when Alex didn’t answer. Getting him to elaborate on anything was like pulling teeth. Or, hitting one’s head repeatedly against a brick wall. Poor T. She pulled open the innocuous-looking doors of what looked like a supply closet, except that there wasn’t any room for supplies. She turned, jerking her thumb towards a set of elevator doors. “Bingo!”

One of the men came forward, pulling out a small electronic component the size of a BlackBerry PDA from the inside of his jacket. Helen watched as he attached it to the security slot. A series of numbers started rapidly going through sequences searching for the correct pass code to activate the elevator.

“De Clerq, green status,” Alex reported softly. “Is it uploading at your end? Over.”

Helen could hear De Clerq’s reply through her earpiece. “Yes, the computer’s working on it already. All status green. The meeting’s started so Weber’s out of the way for the moment.”

“What about surveillance?” Alex asked.

“Except for your task, it’s all green. Pass code intercepted. Elevator doors will open on your say-so.”

“Let me check on status.” Alex glanced at his watch, then after a minute, instructed, “Right…now.”

“Ten-four. The elevator doors should be opening at your end.”

They were sliding apart silently. Helen studied the rich wood paneling from where she was. She remembered the smooth feel of the grain under her hands. So strange to actually see the real thing now, like walking in a dream.

“It’s all yours, Hell,” Alex said. “Get the key you said is down there. We’ll be waiting up here. Just give the green light when you’re back up here. We’ll open the doors then.”

Helen nodded. Alex and his men were going to stay here in case any of Weber’s guards appeared. It was bound to happen if the unconscious security man who’d accompanied them didn’t check in with them soon. She knew she didn’t have that much time. She unzipped her pants, stepping out of them to reveal the black bodysuit she was wearing underneath. Shrugging out of her jacket, she adjusted the belt she’d pulled up to hide the bulkiness of some of the tools on it. She stepped inside the small elevator and turned to face the watchful eyes of the men on the other side.

“Good luck,” Alex said.

His eyes, Helen noted, were that pale blue that reminded her of the quartz crystals in her apartment. Realization flashed suddenly in her mind that this man would much prefer to be the one going down in the elevator, that he wasn’t used to having a supporting role.

“Close, Sesame,” she replied. The door closed. Alone. Or was she? She looked up above and saw the surveillance camera and said aloud, “I hope you guys know about the microeye in here.”

“Taken care of, Hell,” De Clerq said in her earpiece. “They’re getting a different feed.”

“Okay,” she said, and pressed the only button on the panel. “Here we go.”

The elevator started moving. Strange how the feeling was so familiar, as if she’d done this journey before. It was small, like a service elevator, without the shiny frills of modern décor. She fingered the button on the panel lightly. An image of a long corridor flashed in her mind. She tilted her head, trying to follow her vision. Blinking lights. File cabinets.

The trip down took longer than she thought it would, grinding to a halt slowly. The doors slid open silently.

“Our video feed shows there’s no one there, Hell. You’re clear,” De Clerq told her.

Helen wasn’t taking any chances. If they could steal and manipulate video feeds so easily, so could the other side. She peered out and looked to the left and right quickly. Nothing. She stepped out.

“I’m in,” she said.

“We don’t have any feed that shows any activity described in your remote viewing session—nothing that would indicate the key.”

“It’s here,” she said.

She didn’t know how she knew. She just did. Maybe it was because the surroundings looked like what she’d seen during her RV session. This was the first time she was at the target location she’d been told to remote view. In her beginning CIA training sessions, an outbounder—an agent at the target area—would call in to confirm her observations, and in those later ones when she and the other candidates were given targets without a point of reference, such as a walk around what was an off-limit nuclear site in a foreign country, nothing could be confirmed firsthand.

There was an awareness in her that she was doing something entirely new in RV—checking up on her own vision and accomplishing the mission herself. She noted, with an objective calmness that was unfamiliar, that she should be excited that she’d been right so far. Yet she wasn’t.

Target objective not in hand yet, Helen.
She had to get that electronic key to prove to those big shots waiting back home that she was right.

The corridor was brightly lit. She turned to the left of the elevator. “Can you see me?” she asked softly.

“Yes.”

“So if I open a door and pop inside, and if you see me on your screen, that’s not the room.” The one she wanted was obviously not even privy to the surveillance room.

“That would seem so.”

“Just give me an affirmative if you see my image.”

“Gotcha. Our computer has correlated each monitored room to their building schematics. The first three rooms are empty and not the one you described. Are you going inside them?”

Helen pulled out the small handgun and attached a silencer to its nose. “No.” She knew what she saw and she was sticking to it. She walked past the first three rooms and turned the corner. “I see two doors to the left.”

“There’s only one monitored room.”

“First one or second?”

“First.”

“Going into the second room. If there’s someone there, I hope they’re friendly.”

She pulled on the handle and swung the door open, pointing her weapon straight ahead. Two people turned. One of them stood up at the sight of her, reaching inside his jacket.

“Was—”

“Scheiss—”

Helen never missed this close. She shot the one who’d stood and pulled a gun on her, hearing the muffled thud of the bullet hitting him in the chest as he crumbled to the floor even as she swerved and pointed her weapon at the other man who was staring at her with wide, afraid eyes. She glanced around quickly. Yeah, this was the room—same shelves, same desk, everything looked the way she had seen it. There were some things she hadn’t been able to discern in remote viewing, especially the exact arrangement and size of the room. The desk she’d seen was to the left; during her RV session, it felt as if it was in the center. That was to be expected since her focus was on the missing electronic key which was still attached to the some kind of device on the same desk.

She walked into the room and kicked the door shut with her foot. She kept her weapon on the man and waited till he raised his hands in surrender before speaking. “I see my target, Center. And I have one hostile down, another one being obedient for now.”

“Where’s the key?” De Clerq asked.

“It’s on the table, hooked up to a decoder, perhaps? I don’t know. How should I retrieve it?” She watched as her captive listened to her conversation and addressed him,
“Sprechen Sie Englisch?”

The man nodded but didn’t say anything. Helen kept her weapon on him as she made her way toward the desk.

“Cancel him,” a voice suddenly said in her earpiece.

“What?” she asked, stopping at the desk. The side of the device had blinking numbers.

“Cancel him. You need your attention on the device and we don’t want any witnesses.”

“Who is this?” Helen asked.

“Hell?” De Clerq’s voice came back on.

“Didn’t you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“You didn’t hear another voice coming into our conversation, giving me instructions,” Helen stated.

“No.”

She frowned. “Is there an override feature with the devices we use to communicate? For example, if I want to talk to you alone.”

“Of course. We all can communicate privately or to different sectors.” There was a pause. “You’re saying you’ve just gotten instructions from someone else other than Command?”

She looked at the man sitting there. In all her years as an operative, she’d never killed in cold blood before. She had shot back in self-defense or in the middle of a shootout, but this was different.

“I can’t do it,” she said.

“Do what, Hell?”

“Someone told me to cancel the remaining hostile. I’ve never shot at an unarmed man on purpose.”

There was a pause. “I see,” De Clerq said. “The suggestion was a wise one. You’re looking at the enemy and given the chance, he’ll kill you.”

“I know that but I’d much prefer it if I kill him while he’s actually trying to kill me,” Helen said dryly. “Then I’d have a reason to take his head off. But for some stupid reason, I can’t pull the trigger when he has his arms up in the air and he’s smart enough to keep on doing it, too, since he told me he could speak English.”

“Then you do what you have to do. We don’t have much time. It’s your call but you’re going to be debriefed about it. Did the person talking to you say it’s an order?”

“No, he didn’t. And do you know who would give me orders besides you?”

“Since he spoke to you on private link, no, I don’t know.”

If De Clerq had a clue, he wasn’t sharing it. “Are you sure?” Helen pressed. “Make a guess.”

“Any member of the team could have suggested that, Hell,” De Clerq told her. She couldn’t tell from his quiet tone whether he was trying to be ambivalent or not. “And I agree with him. But it’s still your call. Time’s running. Get the key and get out of there ASAP.”

A man’s life was in her hands. She had never been put in this situation before and she didn’t like it. It was different when she was fighting for her life. This was—she looked straight into the eyes of the man in the chair—someone who was looking at her with fear and hope. A long time ago, when she was caught stealing food, she had been the one looking at her would-be killer with the same fear and hope; he had let her go. She couldn’t pull the trigger.

“Please don’t kill me,” he begged in accented English.

She approached the man. “If you want to live, put your hands very slowly behind your back,” she ordered, pulling out the thin rope from her side pouch. He did so obediently. Quickly stepping behind him, she looped his neck. He jerked in surprise. She tugged in warning before adding in German, “Just in case you think about surprising me while I’m securing you, this cord is made of a material that would cut through your skin.
Verstehen Sie?
”