Chapter 7
Pounding on my front door woke me up. With a quick look at my alarm clock, I snatched my Glock off my nightstand and rolled out of bed.
Nothing good comes in the form of a middle of the night visitor. I was almost to my bedroom door when my ringing phone had me retracing my steps.
Zane’s name on my phone in the middle of the night was worse than an unexpected visitor.
“What’s going on? Someone’s at my door,” I told him.
“That’s me,” he grunted.
Okay, I’d been wrong, the worst thing that could happen was Zane pounding on your door in the middle of the night. That meant whatever it was, was bad enough he dragged his ass out of bed leaving his wife in that bed. There were very few things that would pull Zane from Ivy. None of them would be good.
I disconnected the call, tossed the phone on my bed, kept the gun, and made my way through my townhouse.
I checked the peephole, saw Zane angrily staring at the door.
“I know you’re looking at me, asshole. Open up.”
Once I had the door open Zane wasted no time barreling through with none other than Charlie Michaels on his heels.
What the actual fuck?
“Smith’s on his way over,” Zane announced like it wasn’t after three in the morning and my teammate was coming over for a beer.
“Why’s he here?” I asked instead of asking what I really wanted to know—where was Nebraska and was she all right.
“He’s concerned Nebraska’s walking into a trap.”
In true Zane fashion he walked to my couch, sat down uninvited, and left Charlie standing in the foyer.
“Have a seat,” I begrudgingly offered. “I’ll make coffee.”
My condo had an open floor plan—at least that’s what the real estate agent called it when she was giving me her sales pitch. I called it one big room with a bedroom and bathroom off the living room. The realtor used that as a selling point, too, a downstairs master. All that meant to me was I didn’t have to drag my laundry down a flight of stairs. But it’s biggest advantage at the moment was I could make coffee and still see Zane lounging and Charlie stiffly sitting on my couch since the kitchen was unobstructed.
“Wanna fill me in on what’s going on?” I prompted as I pulled yesterday’s grinds out of the basket.
“Ole Charlie here came bearing gifts,” Zane started.
I didn’t get the chance to ask why Charlie chose a middle-of-the-night visit to deliver whatever he wanted to give Zane before there was another knock.
I watched Zane fold out of his sprawl to answer the door while I added a third scoop of grinds to filter. It was going to be a long day; strong coffee was going to be my only coping device.
“Nice jammies,” Smith snickered.
I glanced down at my grey lounge pants complete with bright yellow combat-ready rubber ducks—a Christmas gift from Kira. I was pretty sure she’d given a variation of mine to the whole team. My rude hand gesture to Smith was met with a chuckle.
Zane cut through the exchange to announce, “The two of you are on a flight to Cairo. It leaves in four hours.”
I had yet to process the Cairo part before Zane went on, “Nebraska is meeting with Amani Carver. Her flight will land a few hours after yours.”
“Amani Caver, the man who bought the microdrone tech from that dipshit, Mark Shillings?” Smith inquired.
“One and the same,” Zane confirmed.
“Why is she meeting with him? The Raven project is dead. The Sparrow was scrapped in testing and the payload capabilities were never authenticated,” Smith correctly pointed out.
“The Sparrow project was completed,” Charlie contradicted. “Or the sale of the plans were completed. Amani has a talented team ready to reengineer any hiccups. The meeting isn’t about the drone. Nebraska requested a sit-down as a show of loyalty to warn Amani Maddon is ready to execute his end game.”
I didn’t want to think about why Nebraska would be loyal to the man who bought the schematics to a microdrone that was so small it was basically undetectable with the plan to use the silence and maneuverability of the UAV to drop nerve agents to decimate throngs of people.
Amani Caver was a modern-day Chemical Ali.
“What’s Maddon’s endgame?” Smith asked Charlie though his eyes were glued to the percolating nectar of the gods slowly filling the coffee pot.
“Did you read the files Nebraska gave you?” Charlie asked impatiently.
“No. I was more interested in Paulo Alves and why Nebraska was there to kill him.”
I was too far away to get a read on Charlie but I didn’t miss the slight tic in his cheek. The prison riot wasn’t in the files he sent.
“Paulo was personal.”
“Personal how?” Smith pushed.
“He was a low-level criminal. Content to sell drugs, pimp women, do his part in his gang, but never made moves to move up. Could’ve been he was lazy or too strung out himself. Either way he was a street dealer. Not someone we would concern ourselves with. But Nebraska had an informant—husband and wife. She liked them, they were good people doing what they could to clean up their neighborhood. She was in Brazil getting intel on a large shipment of cocaine Primeiro Comando da Capital planned on moving out of the country. She went to see her informants. When she got there the neighborhood was in mourning. Her informants’ daughter had been brutally raped and murdered. Everyone knew Paulo had done it but no one was talking. Before she could find Paulo he was picked up on drug charges. With overcrowding and the corruption, Paulo would spend a week in Conjunto then he’d be released. Nebraska made sure he didn’t leave the prison.”
How could one woman be such a contradiction? She’d mete out justice to a rapist who otherwise would walk free for his crimes while sitting with a man who was planning what would amount to mass murder.
The better question was, why was I contemplating the woman’s actions?
I yanked four mugs out of the cupboard while I forced myself to listen to Nebraska’s father and ignored the knot of apprehension quickly twisting at the thought of her alone in Egypt meeting with a very dangerous man.
“It’s my understanding she knew you were in the prison and left your mission undisturbed,” Charlie finished.
“She did,” Smith confirmed, but offered nothing else. “What’s Maddon’s endgame?”
The stretch of silence had me turning back to the living room. Charlie’s gaze was fixated on my TV. His face was stoic. His shoulders tense. It was a given the man wasn’t happy to be in my living room in the middle of the night, but it was more. I’d venture to guess it even went beyond his daughter meeting with Amani Carver.
“I’ve known Maddon for the better part of forty years. When I met him, he was fresh to clandestine services. He was a cocky asshole like the rest of us when we started. Came in hot, thought he could make a difference and was ready to get out into the field. Back in the eighties we were ass-deep into the war of drugs. New tactics were in their infancy. Maddon excelled at gathering sources. He managed to build a network in Central America that didn’t just help the cause; it propelled the operation into overdrive. So much intel was being sent back to Washington they had to scramble to bring in more analysts.”
As interesting as that was, I wasn’t sure why a history lesson was relevant. I jerked the half-full carafe from the machine and filled my mug.
“I’ll take one of those, too,” Smith called from the living but was already making his way into the kitchen.
Zane had moved to a chair Layla had convinced me to buy to complete what she called the aesthetic of the room. She also called it a club chair, whatever the hell that meant. I called it uncomfortable and useless. But right then with Zane sitting in it staring at me I could add too small to uncomfortable.
“Is Maddon’s time in Central America pertinent? My men have a flight to catch,” he asked impatiently.
One could say my boss didn’t like his time wasted. Taking that a step further he really didn’t like it wasted in the middle of the night.
“Looking back, I think that’s when it started,” Charlie went on. “Not to say he was dirty back then, but that’s when he learned how to play the game. He cultivated a network—not assets. He was smart, he made them beholden to him in a way that was generational. One of his informant’s children needed medical attention, he paid for it. A relative needed out of the country, he secured documents. A brother needed help paying for his education, Maddon paid for that. With no wife, no children of his own, no permanent residence since he was in the field so often, he had the money to spend. The locals called him a savior. In the nineties when operations turned to the Balkans he did the same thing. After 9-11 our focus changed again and he was assigned to Afghanistan to support OEF.”
Smith stared at me over the rim of his mug as he slurped down the hot liquid as if it wasn’t scalding his mouth, with a look that mirrored my wish Charlie would hurry the hell up and get to the point.
“Again, Charlie, my men have a flight to catch.”
“I began to suspect something wasn’t right when I was in France. My cover as an art forger had long been established. I hadn’t been in an active war zone since Nicaragua. My business and Maddon’s hadn’t crossed for a long time. It was a coincidence I was in Paris the same time he was.”
“You said business, but you remained personal friends over the years?” I asked for clarification.
“Correct. Maddon remained a close personal friend. With my cover, I didn’t cultivate friendships. I lived that cover, I was an art forger, until we decided to broaden the scope, then I had an accident that left my right hand damaged. Instead of me being the forger I became the man to broker the deals. I had five of the best forgers in the world working for me.”
“Back to France,” Zane prompted.
“I was in Paris to oversee the delivery of a Gustav Klimt. Maddon flew to Paris to meet with an asset. There was word al Qaeda was planning an attack. I didn’t know who his asset was, I just knew he was in country and asked me to meet for a late dinner before he went back to Afghanistan. During that dinner he complained the asset didn’t have what he needed so he was sticking around for a few days. The next morning I met with my client, Jules Laurent, and delivered the Klimt. After the deal was complete, he invited me to stay for a drink. Not unusual but I sensed there was more than simply toasting a successful transaction. I was right. Jules tells me the night before, he’s met with an American who’s selling strategic movements of DCRI. Jules had the contacts to broker this deal, but he’s reluctant to work with the American and asked me if I could look into the man.”
“Maddon Judd was selling out the Central Directorate of Interior Intelligence,” Zane growled his assertion of the situation.
Now we were getting somewhere.
“He was using the alias Peter Brady. As soon as Jules said the name, I knew. But I didn’t want to believe Maddon was selling out our allies at DCRI. I thought it was a double-cross or a tactical maneuver to sell misinformation. I told Jules I would make some calls and get back to him. Before I left Paris that night, I called Jules, told him Peter Brady checked out. A week later a church blew up. Fifty-three men, women, and children died. Among them five were DCRI and three were national police. That was the first time I doubted my friend. But it was not the last. I started watching, using my connections to follow Peter Brady, collecting evidence. The problem is, Maddon’s the golden boy of the CIA. With each administration change, retirement and replacements of the seventh floor he works hard to prove how invaluable he is. He has so many people in his back pocket there’s nothing I can do with the evidence without tipping him off. So I sat on it, waited, watched, and that brings us to now—Maddon’s end game. He’s tying up loose ends before his finale. Amani is a loose end. He’s met with him face to face. Amani can identify him.”
“What about the others who have met with him?” Smith asked.
“Jules died of cancer a few years ago. The rest of the men and women are in the file along with their causes of death. Some natural, some not. When the Peter Brady name became trusted Maddon stopped face-to-face meetings until Amani Carver demanded a sit-down.”
“I’m unclear why you sent your daughter to meet with us,” I interjected.
Charlie’s gaze swung to me before he looked back at Zane. His expression shifted, communicating something to my boss I couldn’t read but clearly Zane did and whatever that was Zane didn’t like.
“Nebraska was supposed to explain Maddon’s plan. He has a GB team at his ready to take out Amani but Maddon doesn’t have the sign off to use deadly force until he can give the Agency more than the purchase of the drone. It’s well known your team can retrieve information when others can’t. It’s also well known that during that pursuit you don’t mind taking out a target. Either way, Maddon gets what he wants, Amani dead. By your hand or his team, he doesn’t care. But he needs Amani dead before he can move on. We need Amani alive.”
And since we didn’t listen, Nebraska’s on her way to Cairo to warn Amani.
Fuck.
“And now you want us to go to Cairo to what?” I continued. “Back her play?”
Seeing as Charlie had spent the majority of his life living a deep cover I wasn’t sure I believed his look of concern but he certainly tried his damnedest to sell it with his deep frown and pinched brows.
“I believe Maddon has caught on.”
“Right,” Zane murmured. “Don’t tell me he’s changed his behavior sometime in the last twelve hours.”
There you go, Zane’s not buying it either.
“Not towards me. But Badger’s been in touch.”
At the mention of Badger Zane went on high alert.
“Why in the fuck is Badger contacting you?” Zane seethed.
“Nebraska tried to negotiate a deal for him several years back. The deal was unsuccessful yet still bore fruit.”
Zane entirely shut down. Every emotion slammed closed leaving him looking like he suddenly had no interest in any further discussion.
“Who’s Badger?” Smith asked what I wanted to know.
“The last man you see before you meet your maker,” Charlie answered.
I wasn’t a fan of riddles in general. Most especially not when I was woken up after a few hours of sleep. In my exhaustion I tried to remember if the name Badger had come up in any of the files Kira had given me on Nebraska. I was coming up blank.
“He’s an assassin?” Smith pressed.
“Assassin. Mercenary. Take your pick. Though he’s not a killer for hire. He lives and works by a moral code that cannot be bought. And will only step in when all other forms of negotiations have failed.”
“Are you saying your daughter negotiates deals for a merc?”
I couldn’t be bothered to hide my disdain at the idea.
“No. What she negotiates is behavioral change. If she’s successful and the party agrees to the sanctions or abandons their actions she doesn’t call Badger or someone of the like.”
Words. So many words floated around in my head begging to be shouted out of my mouth.
Words like: are you fucking kidding me all the way to what kind of man allows his daughter to consort with the types of criminals whose crimes are so egregious the only way to stop them is death.
“What’s Badger’s concern?” Zane rejoined.
“Maddon contacted him under the Peter Brady alias to tell him he had proof the Dove had turned.”
Fury etched into Zane’s features, his study of Charlie became razor sharp.
“Who’s Dove?” I asked when it became obvious Zane didn’t plan of sharing whatever had tweaked him.
“Nebraska’s the Dove,” Charlie answered
I felt my muscles seize as the bitter coffee in my stomach turned rancid.
I could hardly recognize my own voice when I asked, “Maddon’s called in a hit?”
“Attempted to call in a hit.” Charlie’s variation did nothing to still the conflicting emotions warring in my head. “What Maddon doesn’t know is, Badger’s in the know about his alias. Not that Badger would ever believe Nebraska turned and Maddon has to know that. Yet still he reached out to deliver a warning.”
“And that is?” Zane asked.
“Nebraska’s going to warn Amani has a show of loyalty in hopes he will return the favor and keep his eyes and ears open to Maddon’s movements while Nebraska makes the moves she needs to take out Maddon.”
No.
Fuck no.
Hell to the fucking no.
Again, how in the actual hell was this man okay with the danger his daughter was putting herself in?
Before I could stop the words they spewed from my mouth, giving away more than I would’ve liked. “That’s not going to happen.”
“It very much is, Mr. Spears. Nebraska is highly skilled. She will—”
“No, Charlie, you misunderstand. Her skill set is not what’s in question, the insanity of the operation is. Your daughter is out there alone playing a game of cat and mouse. She thinks she’s the cat. Maddon thinks he’s the cat. In a game like this it’s a crapshoot who’s actually the fucking cat. The odds aren’t in her favor. They’re fifty-fifty at best.”
Charlie nodded, “That’s where you come in.”
Yeah, this was exactly where I came in.
To put a stop to this recklessness.
To do that I needed to pack.
Which meant Charlie needed to leave so I could speak to Zane.
“Was this the gift, or did you have something more?” I asked.
Charlie shifted, opened his suit jacket, and pulled out a thumb drive.
Great.
“Maddon’s safehouses, bank accounts, and most trusted associates,” Charlie said and tossed the drive on the coffee table in front of him. “Also what I believe is his end game.”
“Wanna cut the suspense and just tell us?” Zane sighed.
“Electrical grid,” Charlie announced. “From what I’ve pieced together he’s been working with the Chinese. Best way to attack the US is to take out our electrical grid. Once that’s down, the chaos that will ensue will make us an easy target. Ports will be next. Think 9-11 but with ships. Take out the bridges near the major ports. Once that happens the United States will fall into panic. Step three would be a cyberattack. Then you have all the makings for war.”
Jesus Christ.
“You know this—”
“I don’t know anything as fact,” Charlie interrupted Zane. “This is my gut. Me knowing him for over forty years, trusting him, working in the field with him, learning from him, confiding in him, him confiding in me. This is what I would do if the Chinese were paying me to plan a war with America. On that drive you’ll find an account. Once Kira traces it she’ll find the payments are direct from the CCP. It won’t take but a few minutes for her to find it, seeing as it only took me a week.”
Fucking, fuck.
“Find Nebraska. She’ll lead you to Maddon. Quietly take him out, put someone in his place to continue talks with the Chinese and you might be able to stop World War III.” Charlie stood, straightened his jacket and moved towards the door but looked back at Zane. “As a failsafe, I’ve given Badger duplicates of what I’ve given you. In the event of my death Nebraska knows how to access all my personal files. As a backup, Badger now has access as well. He has my permission to hand everything over to you if something were to happen to myself and Nebraska. You’ll have everything from the time I started my career to as recent as yesterday when I update my files.”
Charlie turned back to the door but slowly turned when Zane called his name.
“Does Nebraska know her mother’s alive?”
The man didn’t look surprised Zane knew.
“No.”
“Come again?”
“As far as my daughter knows her mother was murdered when she was twelve. I’d ask you to keep Pidge’s secret but I know you won’t so all I can do is ask that when you tell her, you do it in a manner that will cause the least amount of harm.”
“I’m sorry, are you seriously asking one of us to do your dirty work?” I asked through gritted teeth.
The nerve of this motherfucker.
“Yes. I should’ve told her years ago but I’m too much of a coward. Telling her Pidge is alive would be to betray an oath and shatter my daughter’s heart. Neither of which I have the courage to do.”
“Where’s Pidge now?” Zane’s voice was laced with disgust. He was a father who would under no circumstances leave his children.
“Off doing Pigeon things. Whatever they may be. She checks in once a year on Nebraska’s birthday to ask after her. She never tells me where she is or what she’s doing and I never ask. On Nebraska’s eighteenth birthday was the last time she asked me for a photograph. And in the years since I have not offered. She is not of my blood but she is my daughter. Not Anna’s and certainly not Dmitri Zenin’s.”
Zane came out of the chair he was lounging in, stood at his full height, and scowled at Charlie.
“You’re shitting me. The Zenith is Nebraska’s biological father?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Jesus fuck. Anything else you need to tell us before you leave? Is her godfather Satan? Any relation to Harley Quinn?”
“I think as far as the parental lottery goes her father being a notorious Russian contract killer is shitty enough, don’t you?”
My head was getting ready to explode.
Or my temper.
I wasn’t sure which but something had to give to release the pressure that was building in my chest.
Nebraska’s mother was whatever she was—I’d yet to figure that out. And her father was a contract killer and enforcer for the Bratva. So what did Charlie Michaels do? He basically led his daughter to follow in her biological parents’ footsteps.
What the fuck?
“I can see you don’t understand why I’ve done what I’ve done,” Charlie murmured.
“Are you talking to me?”
“Yes, Mr. Spears. I had two choices when I took Nebraska in. Hide her away and do whatever I could to protect her until I died, which in my line of work could’ve happened at any time, or make her a worthy adversary. I decided it was best to give her the tools she’d need to protect herself against the enemies of her parents. I’ve been lucky, she’s been lucky, and no one has made the connection. Pidge hid her pregnancy from Dmitri. She was successful in hiding her daughter for twelve years. The moment Pidge heard Dmitri was in the US looking for her, she faked her death and sent Nebraska to live with me. You can hate what I’ve done as much as I hate I had to do it. But you cannot disagree that Nebraska deserved to have all the tools necessary to protect herself.”
I couldn’t argue with that even if I disagreed with the tools he’d taught her.