Chapter Forty-Three
Phoenix
At oh five hundred, I flew one of the Gulfstreams from Miami Executive to a private airstrip nine hundred and eighty miles north. Judas had been waiting when I landed. I’d briefed him, we’d split up as planned, then a new texted video had come through on my personal cell.
Now Judas was at a college campus, I was parked in a rented SUV five doors down from the house in Virginia Beach I’d had under surveillance for two months, and I was pissed.
I scanned the street.
No foot traffic. No one else sitting in a parked car.
Focusing back on my burner, I double-checked the cyber surveillance and hacking I’d done over the past half hour. Backgrounds, sat feeds, USMS database, street cams, my own video cams on the house, cell phone traces. All of it painted a picture, and now I knew what Conlon didn’t.
Condensing the intel to two pertinent images, I typed a one-word text, then hit Send as I spoke through my comm. “Judas, sitrep.”
“Still clear. Text received. Any other hostiles besides these two?”
“Not that I found, but head on a swivel.” The cell phones I’d tracked were two hundred miles away, but I trusted nothing. “Primary objective is still the priority.”
“Roger that.”
I checked the time. “Sitrep in ten minutes unless you have movement.”
“Copy.”
I scanned the street again, then grabbed my personal cell and looked at the first text I’d gotten from a Virginia area code two months ago.
One picture, no caption.
Blond hair, haunted eyes, reserved expression. It was like looking into the past.
I read the second text.
Hey, I’m Lincoln. I think you might know me?
Then I scrolled past the next few texts until I got to the first video that’d come in a couple days later.
I muted the comm in my ear, then hit Play.
Smile tentative, eyes bright green, his face filled the screen like he was leaning over the phone.
“Ah, hey… Dad?” He half laughed, then rubbed the back of his neck.
“I, um, don’t know if I’m supposed to call you that?
” His cheeks flushed, and his smile dropped.
“I, ah, don’t know your real name, and I don’t want to say the other one, you know, in case?
So, um, yeah.” His gaze shifted nervously before he looked back at the camera.
“Anyway, I’m trying something new because…
. Well, I’m not that great at texting. I’m better at talking.
Sorta. Remember I told you in that third text I play piano?
I like any instrument, actually. But Gram says the guitar is the Devil’s hand, and there’s only a piano at her house.
So, um, since she’s at the store right now, I thought I’d show you? ”
Same as the first time I’d watched this, I took note of how he said her house as he looked away from the camera for a brief second.
“Anyway, I practiced something. I don’t know what kind of music you like? But if you ever get this, you can tell me, and I’ll play you something.” He adjusted the cell phone’s angle, then backed away. “Until then, I hope you like this.”
He sat down at an upright piano.
My pulse pounded.
He positioned his fingers on the keyboard, then he started to play. A few chords in, he began to sing. His voice, an octave lower than when he spoke, resonated through the cell as his hands flew across the keys.
Eyes closed, head moving to the beat, owning every damn note, the fifteen-year-old played like a professional musician. And Jesus, he sang.
Rapt, I stared with the same stunned astonishment I had the first time I saw the video. Same as two months ago, three minutes and six seconds hit me full force, taking me out at the knees.
He played the last note, looked back at the camera, and color flooded his cheeks again. “So, um, that was it. It’s not my song, obviously. But, like, it’s super popular? Anyway, I hope you liked it.” His smile was nervous. “Bye.” He reached toward the camera, and the video ended.
I scrolled to the last texted video he’d sent that’d come through early this morning while I was midflight and hit Play.
“Hey.” Somber, dark circles under his eyes, holding the phone near his chest as he walked outside, he looked down at the screen.
“Since I’m on campus, and there’re other cell phones here, I figured this would be the safest place to send this.
” No speech disfluencies, he rushed through what he had to say.
“U.S. Marshals were at the house when I got back from practice last night. I asked why they were there, but neither Gram or the two men said. Gram just told me to answer their questions. That’s when they asked if I had a cell phone.
I said no, and they threatened to search for it.
Gram stopped them. Then one of them asked if I knew who I was, the other if I knew who I looked like.
I didn’t say anything. I never will. But the older one said if you text back, I better call him before it’s too late.
” He stopped walking. “At the library this morning, I used their internet and looked up how cell phones are tracked. Even if I got a new one, it wouldn’t be safe to call you.
” Glancing away from the screen, he stared straight ahead for a beat.
Then he looked back down. “I don’t want to get you in trouble.
I’m sorry about the Marshals.” His eyes welled.
“I won’t text again. I’m sorry. Bye.” The video ended.
Compartmentalizing rage, I shoved my personal cell into my pocket. Then I checked the satellite feeds one more time on my burner, and tapped my comm to unmute it. “Comms check. Copy?”
“Lima Charlie.” Judas replied.
“Sitrep?” I checked the magazine on my Sig.
“Subject still in sight. No sign of the hostiles or their truck. You?”
Subject. It felt fucking wrong to not be where Judas was, but I needed to be the one to tie up this loose end.
“My target’s vehicle is on approach.” Like clockwork.
Every weekday, same time, same route, same objective.
“No other street traffic here. You checking all vehicles against the intel I sent?” Once I’d gotten Lincoln’s latest video, it wasn’t hard to find the two fuckers from last night who’d parked their truck where I was parked now.
When I’d reviewed my security footage on the house, I caught it.
A static image lasting twenty seconds that’d happened three times.
Signal jam. Long enough for the corrupt Marshals to infill the house last night, then leave separately, each time undetected.
I’d also discovered my son wasn’t the only WITSEC victim the two Marshals were illegally tracking, but he would be their last.
“Affirmative,” Judas confirmed. “Same plan?”
“Same plan.” Holstering my 9mm, I got out of the rental and double-timed it to the property. “Subject is the priority, but if you have a clean shot on either tango, send it. Heading to the house now.” As I hit the side yard, I glanced back in time to see the vehicle turn down the street.
“Copy,” Judas replied.
Palming my lockpicks, I headed to the rear porch and made swift work of an old deadbolt on the back door as I gave Judas a final order. “Anything goes south, don’t hesitate. Extract the subject and take the jet.”
“Roger that,” Judas confirmed.
I stepped inside the house.
Then I quietly shut the door behind me.