Chapter 14
CHAPTER 14
J ustin King moved through the darkest part of the street in front of the second residence owned by Eisenberger. Thanks to Guardian, he knew where every digital camera in the neighborhood was. He’d just come from Eisenberger’s primary residence. The safe in that house contained a three-inch thick ringed binder with pages upon pages of negatives. From what he could make out, they were negatives of documents. The negatives and fifteen rolls of film that had not been developed were dumped into his bag, along with five different cell phones. For good measure, he swiped all the rest of the safe’s contents into the bag. He’d let the brains figure out what was important and what wasn’t.
Ducking through a hedge, he made his way to the back of Eisenberger’s secondary house. The garden behind the home was overgrown and poorly maintained. Justin went to the back of the house and found the utility panel he needed. Within thirty seconds, he’d deactivated the geriatric alarm system.
The lock took another minute, but only because it was so old and rusted Justin needed to let a squirt of oil work on the inner mechanisms before he could turn them. He used his hip to force the door open. It moved only a couple of inches. Justin used his pen light to see what was blocking the door. Shit. He put his shoulder into the effort and slid the stack of boxes that were in front of the door inward. Once it was open far enough, he slid through the opening and shut the door.
Shining his light across the room, he whistled. Ceiling to floor, there was nothing but stacks of boxes. He opened one and then another … and another. The boxes were filled with files. Justin moved through the kitchen to the hall. If he walked sideways, he could move between the boxes lining the hallway. Carefully, he moved from room to room. The house was filled with documents—millions of pieces of paper.
He found one spot that was cleared for a desk. There was a computer hook-up but no computer, nothing but an old Smith-Corona typewriter. Justin sat down in the chair and looked from left to right. There was no way he could clear out the documents in that house, and if Guardian was looking for something specific … Man, could you say needle in a hay warehouse? If that were a thing.
He pulled out his cell phone and pushed his brother’s number.
“Everything go okay?”
He could hear his nephews in the background, laughing at something. “No, not really.” Justin drew a deep breath. “I’m still at the second residence.” He gazed down at the floor and noticed the antique brass vent cover was not completely flush with the floor. “It’s literally filled with documents. Floor to ceiling in every room. Very little walk space.” Justin pulled his pocket knife out, leaning down as he spoke. He pried the cover away and used his penlight to see what was in the vent. “Well, hello, darling.”
“What do you have?”
“Hold on.” Justin removed the box and held the penlight as he opened the top. “I think it’s microfiche.” He thumbed through the pieces of film. “At least a couple hundred of them.” He closed the box top and set it in the bag he’d brought with him. “I’ll bring this out, but there’s no way I can clear this house. You’ll need a moving truck and five or six guys to make a minor dent.”
“You’re exaggerating, right?” Jason asked him.
“Not one iota. Make that an extra big moving truck.”
“Shit.” Jason sighed. “Okay, get out of there, and we’ll figure something out.”
“You know I don’t get into the operational side of things, but one match and everything here is gone along with the house.” Jason sat back down in the chair. “I can wait for someone to relieve me or for that moving truck.”
Jason chuffed out a laugh. “Let me call in some favors. I’ll call you back in five minutes.”
“Take your time. There’s a lot to read. I won’t get bored.” Justin hung up the phone and lifted his ski mask. “Starting with you.” He reached for the folder on the desk and didn’t shield his penlight. There was no need. With all the blinds closed and boxes stacked to the ceiling in front of the windows, no one would see him. He lifted the first page and stared at the diagram, then the lettering. “Going to need a translator,” he said to himself as he turned the next page. All the same. Schematics for some type of device and in Russian. He closed that folder and grabbed what looked like a journal.
When his phone vibrated, he answered it while still reading. “Go.”
“I’ve coordinated the liberation of the documentation,” Jason drawled.
“I’ve been reading some of the stuff on the desk. Dude, is this guy a doomsday proponent?”
“I believe his thing was that the next world war would be started when hackers are able to deactivate digital banking. Why?”
“I have a book here. It’s in longhand, but what this guy’s talking about is scary shit.”
“Such as?” Jason asked.
“In a nutshell, it starts with communications breakdown, leading to financial chaos, then transportation disruptions, utilities and infrastructure failure, healthcare crisis, social unrest and crime, government response and martial law.” Justin closed the book. “Only this is written as a directive on how to do it.”
“Fuck,” Jason swore. “You mean a blueprint?”
“Yeah. Step by step, what will happen and the predicted social response. I’ve got to say, it looks pretty damn accurate from what I know about my fellow humans. The only thing that isn’t listed is the inciting act. How this all happens.” Justin looked around him. “If this guy is a prepper, he’s extreme, but why would he have a blueprint for destroying the world as we know it? This book is coming out with me along with the microfiche.”
Justin looked at all the paperwork. “Jace, from what I’ve seen in these boxes all the files in this room seem to be schematics, books, manuals, and other things that would be helpful to return to analog and manual processes. Anyone with this type of information would be in a position to survive. Maybe he’s just a prepper, but something about this book … it’s too specific … It lists geographic locations, timelines, anticipated responses … government resources, and government inadequacies. There was a lot of work put into this writing.”
“I’m going to need you to get that to … Con. Con’s in London. He’s at Centurion’s residence.”
Justin chuffed out a laugh. “Ah, you want me to go to an assassin’s house in the middle of the night? No thanks. Maybe they can pick it up from me at my hotel.”
“And that could expose you. Did you forget that nugget?” Jason asked.
“Well, no, but damn it, I don’t want to die either.”
“Then make sure she doesn’t hear you.” Jason laughed.
Justin frowned. “Oh, so this is funny for you?”
“Kind of, yeah. How about I call her and tell her you’ll be breaking in? That way, you don’t get shot, and everyone’s happy.”
“If you’re going to tell her I’m on my way over, I’ll just knock on the door. She knows me and knows what I do for Guardian.”
Jason continued to laugh. “That’s probably the best idea.”
“You think? When will your people be showing up for this stuff?”
“Anytime. Scotland Yard is sending two men over to secure the house until they can get an evidence retrieval team over there. All the documents will be loaded onto a plane and be flown home. I’ll have Jewell put together a team to work through it.”
“You’ll need a translator. There are definitely Russian plans here.”
“Russian?”
“Yeah.” Justin looked at the single folder on the desk. “Everything in the boxes I’ve opened seem to be English, but the folder here has schematics, and that file is definitely Russian. I can read basic words, but, dude, these words are not basic.”
“Grab that file, too. Open the front door for Scotland Yard before you leave, will you?”
“I can do that. Call her and let her know I’m on my way. Probably thirty or forty minutes, depending on how long it takes for your friends to get here. I don’t want to leave it unattended.”
“They just pulled up across the street.”
“Hold on.” Justin stood up and placed the folder into his black over-the-chest bag with the microfiche. He pulled down his ski mask and walked to the front door. There were taillights across the street. Unlatching the front door, he backed down the hall.
“I see them. The door is unlocked. I’m clear.” He hung up, secured his phone, and twisted his way through the crush of boxes in the kitchen. He shut the door as he heard the front door open and went straight through the garden, hopping the fence and making his way through another garden. He walked past another house and turned down the street. His ski mask was off and in his pocket. He turned his black coat inside out. Wearing a beige coat, he was a neon flag saying look at me, and that was exactly what the cops would do … if they were responding. But they weren’t. He didn’t trip any alarms, nor was he captured in any digital recording, thanks to the intel Guardian had provided. He walked two more blocks and got into his rented BMW.
“Everything go okay?” Danielle asked.
“Perfectly, but we have to make a detour.” He started the car and pulled away from the curb.
“Really? Where?” Danielle took a sip of her coffee and handed him his travel cup of espresso.
“Thanks. We’re heading to Jackie’s place. I need to drop off some things. Guardian will pick them up there.”
“Oh, well, that makes sense since she works here as a part-time Guardian liaison.”
Justin nodded. He hated the secrets he still had to keep from his wife. He glanced back at their son, sound asleep in the car seat. He was only taking low-risk jobs for Guardian. He had a family to think about and more money than he knew what to do with, so only as a favor, he kept his skills sharp. His replacement was damn good. He’d hate to live on the difference in their skill set. It was a narrow line. A very narrow line. He’d gladly passed the baton to Merlin.
They pulled up in front of the stately building where Centurion lived. “Do you want me to run it up to the door?”
“No, I’ve got it. It won’t take but a few seconds.”
“Good, you’ll have to keep it short. Our plane leaves in three hours.” She tapped her watch, which flashed three a.m.
“Be right back.” He leaned over, kissed her, and got out of the car after grabbing the two cross-chest bags that held what he’d found in Eisenberger’s residences.
The door opened before he could knock on it. Centurion, Jackie, Gabby, whatever you wanted to call her looked … well, he’d seen that look on his wife’s face after they’d finished making love. Justin felt his face flush hot. It was a damn good thing there weren’t any lights on other than the soft glow of the porch light.
He handed her the two bags he’d collected from the residences. “Sorry for interrupting your night.”
She smiled at him. “You didn’t interrupt anything. Night, Uncle Justin.”
“Night, squirt.” He turned on his heel and made his way back to the car. After he started toward Heathrow, he said, “I’m really getting old.”
Danielle chuckled. “Why do you think that?”
“I knew her when she was a gangly teenager with scrapes on her knees.”
Danielle cocked her head. “Yeah? And?”
“I think we interrupted something … with a guy.”
“Or a girl.” His head snapped in his wife’s direction, and she shrugged. “What? You don’t know.”
“True,” Justin admitted. “Anyway, it makes me feel old.”
“Time marches on.” Danielle chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’ll let you know if I think you’re getting geriatric. But for now, you still rate as an uber stud in my book. I’ll love you even when you’re jumping off cliffs in your wheelchair.”
Justin laughed quietly and took her hand as he drove. He glanced over at her. “I’d do that. I wonder if there’s such a thing as chutes for wheelchairs?”
Danielle laughed. “If not, I’m sure you’ll invent one.”
Justin looked over at her and winked. “Why not?”