Chapter 8
8
Sanders.
Where the hell is he? Logan stepped out of his H10 at the small airstrip closest to Ester, Alaska, a tiny suburb of Fairbanks. Originally, it was the site of a goldmine strike in the early 1900s. Now known more as an artists’ community, he had read that most Ester residents were employed in Fairbanks or at the University of Alaska Fairbanks ,an interesting fact since terrorists were recruiting from the university.
It was only two days after Logan had agreed for LSIMT to work the DHS mission, giving the Keepers little time for preparation. Donald had made the preliminary arrangements, including the compensation for the owner of the small airfield to hire Logan as a part-time mechanic. It seemed the man was more than happy to do so, getting paid while having a licensed mechanic help him out. Donald had already taken care of the house arrangements with the landlord and had sent the information to Logan, including a street view. Mary acquired the key, and Sadie scoped the area, reviewing the aerial photos and maps.
Now, in Ester, he only spied the airfield owner, but no scientist to greet him. He introduced himself to Oscar, a tall, lean man with a wide grin. Logan wondered if he was always happy or just very satisfied with his compensation from Donald. Glancing around the small facility, Logan had a feeling Oscar could use the money and the mechanical assistance.
Once the introductions were made, he discovered Oscar to be unconcerned what hours Logan worked, when he’d show up, or why he was even in Ester. Hiding a grin, Logan felt sure Donald had impressed upon Oscar the need for discretion.
“You haven’t seen a Mr. Sanders around, have you?”
The wrinkles in Oscar’s forehead deepened, and he rubbed his chin. “I can’t say that I know anyone by that name.”
“Well, he was supposed to meet me here today.”
“It’s only been me around today that I’ve seen,” Oscar said.
Thanking him, they shook hands again, and Logan moved back to his helicopter for his bags. Grabbing them, he walked over to the vehicle the Keepers had arranged for him. Eyeing the old, beat-up, dark blue Ford F-150 with approval, he climbed inside and started the engine. He’d told Casper to make sure that his vehicle would serve his needs while blending into the local environment and not stand out.
Setting his GPS, he looked at his watch. Donald had assured him the scientist would meet him at his arrival to coordinate when they would begin working together. Normally, he would have already communicated with anyone involved in the mission, but Donald had been adamant that they wouldn’t meet until their arrival in Alaska for security reasons.
It was now already thirty minutes past the time Logan said he would arrive, and he wasn’t willing to wait longer. Sanders can find me… I’m not waiting around for him.
Reporting in, he called the compound. “Sanders isn’t here. I don’t know what hotel Donald put him in, but I’m heading to the house.”
“Logan, why wouldn’t he give you his contact info? This is bullshit,” Mary argued.
“Sanders is on a need-to-know basis, but I agree. Keeping us in the dark until we finally meet face-to-face seems like overkill, even for Donald. Well, fuck it for now. I don’t need him until I discover what’s being concocted, and then I’ll only need him to find out how to neutralize it. I’ll let you know as soon as I get to the house.”
“There’s one more thing,” Mary said, her voice sharp. “The inside security cameras you ordered to be delivered have been delayed. I’m so pissed and gave the company my assurance we wouldn’t be using them anymore.”
“Fuck,” he grumbled. “Can we get more, or do I need to look here?”
“It’s already taken care of. Bert found a new vendor, using someone Carson’s group has contracted with. I’ve assured them that if they get the items to us tomorrow, then we’ll continue to use them. Cole will fly them to you once we have them.”
“Okay, but I’ll coordinate with Cole once I get the lay of the land.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Oh, and Mary? Good work, and pass that on to Bert, as well.”
“No thanks needed, boss. Only doing what we were hired to do.”
He disconnected, pissed as hell about the delay but certain that Mary and Bert would take care of the vendor issue. He sighed and scrubbed his hand over his face. Starting any new business certainly meant there would be multiple issues, especially finding vendors that would fulfill the orders for the special equipment required in many of their various missions.
A few miles down the forest-lined road, he pulled into a shopping center, eyeing a grocery store Sadie had already discovered for him in her planning. An efficient trip inside allowed him to grab the necessities. Grumbling at the uncertainty of whether the house had a microwave, he skipped the nuke-ready meals in the freezer case, opting for sandwich fixings. Placing the bags into his truck, he continued on his way.
Seven miles later, he turned onto a gravel road, observing the occasional house dotting the lane surrounded by thick trees. The area was heavily wooded, maintaining privacy for the residents but also keeping the satellite images Sadie wanted to search from being visible—the encroaching forests hid the houses. Reaching the end of the street, he came to a round cul-de-sac with only two houses.
A quick look assured him this was the right place. The twin houses, single-storied ramblers, were adorned with weather-beaten wooden planks that gave evidence of their age. Todd had checked the floor plans of the original houses, and Logan knew they were mirror images of each other, a fact that would undoubtedly streamline his efforts to gather intelligence.
A sedan was parked in the neighbor’s driveway, and another small, energy-efficient black car was parked on the cul-de-sac. Looks like the terrorists already have visitors. Donald had reported that surveillance determined the terrorists spent several days a week at the university and traveled to the mosque in Fairbanks on Fridays.
Pulling into the driveway of the house he would be occupying, he parked with deliberate nonchalance, opting against concealing his presence. Might as well have them get used to seeing who’s here. Stalking to the side door with several grocery bags in his hands, he used the key Mary had received from the landlord and stepped inside.
Halting immediately in the small kitchen, he narrowed his eyes, momentarily uncertain he was in the right house. A used coffee cup sat on the counter next to a coffee maker that was turned off but still contained the dark liquid. A few dishes were in the sink, rinsed but not put away. He cursed under his breath, pissed that no one had cleaned after the previous occupants.
Grimacing, he stepped farther into the kitchen, looking around at the scrub-worn countertops, wooden cabinets, and, glancing at his feet, the faded and yellowed linoleum floors. The appliances appeared to be clean but older models. Placing the bags onto the floor, he rounded the counter dividing the kitchen from the dining area, where a scarred wooden table with four mismatched chairs sat. His scrutiny moved sharply to the living room, pleased to see a clean, albeit worn sofa and two wooden chairs with thin, but also clean, cushions tied to the seats.
A faint floral scent lingered in the air, offering a feeble attempt at air freshener by the landlord who hadn’t bothered to clean the kitchen.
A wood-burning stove sat in the corner on a brick platform, surrounded by wooden plank flooring. An entertainment center held a not new but not ancient TV. To his right was a hall leading to what he knew were two bedrooms and one bathroom.
The front door was to his left, straight from the living room to the worn front porch. Sighing, he turned to go back to the truck to get the rest of his supplies when the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.
Cocking his head to the side, he listened carefully, hearing the faint noise of someone in one of the back rooms—not footsteps, but the sound of someone opening a drawer. Withdrawing his weapon from his holster, he moved stealthily down the hall. Quickly determining the sound came from the bedroom on the left, he glanced through the partially opened door. The person was behind the door, out of sight, but he heard a drawer being closed. Sliding slightly to the side, he peered through the crack in the door on the side of the hinges, seeing the intruder bent away from him, looking down at what appeared to be the chest of drawers.
With practiced ease, he flung open the door, causing them to stumble backward and lose their balance. With one arm, he flipped them onto their stomach across the bed and planted his hand on their back, growling, “Don’t move, asshole.”
The intruder was not only short but slight in stature, easily held in place by his hand. The fleeting idea of a teenager ran through his mind. He stared dumbly at the long, silky black hair tumbling across the bedspread, and the floral scent filled the room. The body underneath his hand grunted as they tried to breathe.
Jerking his head, with his hand still pressing down in the center of their back, he raked his gaze down his prisoner, seeing a dark green T-shirt that had ridden up over white panties with long, naked legs hanging over the bed. Fuckin’ hell…a woman!
Grabbing her right shoulder, he flipped her again so she was facing up. Her dark, wide eyes stared back at him, flicking to the side where the gun rested easily in his grip. Her chest rose and fell with each shaky gasp. She opened her mouth slightly, as though to speak, but closed it quickly as she glanced at the gun once more.
“Who the hell are you?” he growled, his rough voice filling the small bedroom.
“I…I’m Vivian.” Swallowing audibly, she cast a nervous glance toward the weapon again. “Vivian Sanders.”