Fuck. No matter how he approached, there was no area that wasn't overlapped. He knew that Ali would have the best, and he figured they would probably sense out at least seventy-five if not one hundred. They were only about fifty feet apart. No way to approach without setting them off. Keeping one eye on his compass, he circled the entire house, taking almost two hours to do so. Every fifty feet was a motion detector. He counted six satellite dishes installed on the roof. He also noticed two more guard platforms on the roof at the rear of the house that were currently unmanned. Frustrated, he decided to head back. He wanted to try to plant some listening devices on the windows but knew the odds of him being seen were too great to make the attempt. He had wanted to place video cameras, but to place them in a good spot, he faced the same problem. Grudgingly, he began his retreat. He made it back to the cabins without incident, carefully retracing his steps.
As an afterthought, he decided to bug the cabin he'd seen the girl in since she was still out. The window, as in the cabin next door, was open. Slipping inside, he placed a transmitter in the same locations as in Ellhad's cabin. Then it was out the window, replacing it as he'd found it, and back into the woods. Traveling at an angle, he made it back near the first pressure detector when he froze and strained to listen. He was picking up on an extremely faint noise in the distance. Had there been much wind, he'd never have heard it. Two seconds later, he knew exactly what it was, and it could potentially prove to be a bigger threat than the guards. He had to find a place to hide, and quick. Not an easy task at night in the woods. He had an idea. He took two hasty strides over to a large tree and scrambled up. Ten feet up was a large branch, easily twelve inches in diameter. He clasped his hands and arms and hung under it, keeping as much of the branch as possible between himself and the sky. The noise increased. To someone unfamiliar, it would be unlikely it would have been heard. Even if it was, no notice would be paid to it. To Styles, it was a serious threat. Baby drone. And he knew it would be shooting film, both night vision and infrared. It was his heat signature he did not want it to pick up. If it only detected his hands and wrists, it was likely they would be read as an animal in a tree. The baby drone made three passes around the property and then left the area. Styles climbed back down out of the tree and made his way back to his Jeep he'd left almost seven hours earlier.
Climbing back in, he got Starr on his cell phone. It was just past three o'clock, Sunday morning.
"Yeah," a sleepy voice answered.
"Wake up Phillips. Tell her the CIA is in the area."
"What?" Starr blurted out.
"A baby drone just made a couple of passes over Ali's house."
"How do you know it's the CIA?"
"Too quick to be anybody else. I wonder if the FAA is having a shit fit. There's something in the air, and they have no clue what it is, because you know the CIA sure as hell isn't letting anyone in on what they are doing. From what I know, there is still a big stink going on over regulation of drones. See if Phillips can find out how much they know and what they're up to. If they're in the same game, we need to know, and I'm guessing they're damned close."
"On it." After disconnecting from Styles and before he could punch in Phillips's number, Starr's own phone rang. Through the speaker, he heard Phillips's voice.
"We've got a problem."
22
President Lamar was back in the Oval Office with his chief of staff. They had just come from a three-and-a-half-hour meeting in the briefing room. They were now read in on everything known about the assassination of President Robert Williams and the threat of the new synthetic toxin. The president was exhausted. He looked around and saw everything the way the former president had left it.
"Irving, I believe you'll find some scotch in that lower cabinet over there. Pour us a couple." Vickers hesitated. "Irving, I don't think he would have minded."
Irving came back with the drinks and handed one to his boss. He sat down in a chair opposite the desk. "I have to tell you, sir, I'm a bit uncomfortable in here at the moment."
"You'll get used to it. It's been the day from hell — worse if I could think what that might be."
"Yes, sir."
"So what is your take on everything?"
"Well, sir, I'd say the immediate problem is this biological problem. I certainly don't mean to be disrespectful, but what's done is done. We have to prioritize."
"I agree, Irving. I don't know about you, but I'm famished." The president got his personal secretary on the phone and instructed her to order a meal for them both and have it delivered to the Oval Office.
"If you don't mind, sir, I'm going to go grab a quick shower and a change of clothes back in my office."
"Go ahead; I've got some calls to make." Once again, he got his secretary on the line. "A. J., get Elliott Ragar on the line for me, please." Exactly two minutes later, his phone rang.
"Director Ragar is on the line, sir."
"Thanks, A. J." He punched a button and said, "Elliott, I want you to keep me apprised the moment anything turns up. No matter what the time. You will be my unofficial lead on this toxic agent issue. Sanderson will lead on the other."
"Yes, sir. I won't hang up my phone before calling you."
"Very good." After placing the phone back in the cradle, he turned and stared out the window at the Rose Garden, lit up beautifully. This is not starting out fun…
Myra Banks was walking down the hall to Bernard Backersley's office. Her high heels were clicking loudly on the highly polished maple hardwood floor. Bernie, I wish to hell I could get through to you about investigating the DPO. This is not going to end well. I can feel it. She actually shuddered a bit from the slight chill going down her spine.
She walked past his secretary, nodding, knocked on his door, and then entered. He was talking on the phone; he pointed at one of the leather chairs in front of his desk, so she sat. She put the red folder in her lap. He ended his phone conversation and turned toward her.
"Bernie, I've got some more info on Darlene Phillips." She paused.
"And?"
"Phillips appears to do the majority of her work at home. Curious, though, it appears she spends quite a bit of time away."
"Where?"
"I don't know. There's no record of her using the airports — or trains, for that matter. She certainly would not use a bus. Her vehicle is extremely low mileage, so she doesn't drive, and I can't find any information as far as rental vehicles go."
"Well, if she isn't home, and if she isn't traveling, does she have a boyfriend or someone she stays with?"
"I thought of that. There is no indication she has a boyfriend, or any friends at all, for that matter. I can't find any record of her being with anyone at any time or anywhere. She just comes and goes; I don't know how, where, or with whom."
"Myra, how can that be?"
"You still don't recognize this woman's abilities. I have no doubt this woman could travel to the moon and leave no trace. For the last time, you need to comprehend that this one woman can do more with a computer than my entire staff."
Backersley was quiet for a moment. "Do you think she knows what the CIA knows?"
"I think Darlene Phillips knows just about anything she wants to know. Against my better judgment, I have her apartment staked out. The next time she shows up, I'll have a tail on her 24-7. I've tried to ping her cell phone, but that was a dead end. It's always turned off. At least the number we have on record. I'm sure she has burn phones. At one point, she was issued a satellite phone, but the records show it was turned back in over a year ago. Whether she did or not, who the hell knows."