Styles and Phillips had pulled into a Home Depot. Phillips had pulled up Google Earth and zoomed down on Ryyaki Ali's estate. With a few clicks, the image was amazing. You could easily see individuals on the property.
"Do a perimeter search. That is where we might see some friendlies."
"Gotcha."
Styles watched as Phillips performed her magic on her laptop. The connection between the two reminded him strongly of himself and his sniper rifle. Synergy.
"I've got a vehicle that's partially hidden just off the property. I don't see any individuals." She turned the screen so he could see for himself.
"Show me the position on an overlay of the entire property."
Phillips complied. "Is this what you want?"
"Yeah. Looks like they're about two hundred yards south of where I went in. That's too close. We're going to go in ninety degrees from them, here," he said, pointing toward the electronic map. "That allows a good distance between us, just about a mile."
"Won't they have the place surrounded?"
"No. They're just watching the outskirts. If they're that close, I'm surprised they got past the guards up in the tree stands. That's pretty smart."
"They might have run a recon with infrared over them like we did. Even though they can't do that from a satellite, they can certainly do that with a drone."
"Maybe." Styles started the Yukon and pulled into traffic, while Phillips fired up her laptop that received the video feeds from the cameras Styles planted.
"On second thought," Styles advised, "keep the subsonic rounds loaded. We might be better off keeping noise to a minimum with those agents so close."
"How's the leg?" she asked.
"Little sore; it's no concern."
29
President Lamar had called Coverley Merritt into the Oval Office. "Have a seat, Coverley." Merritt sat down across the desk from the president. "I'm going to make some changes; some of them involve you. I'm not convinced that this DPO is really necessary. Under my administration, the heads of agencies are going to work together, or they'll be looking for new jobs. Therefore, I'm going to eliminate this. You're a good man, and I don't want to lose you — or worse, waste you — so I'm going to have you assist Elliott Ragar of the NSA. I want to get through this biological problem before I announce it; we don't need any distractions. I just wanted to give you a heads-up. I'd like you to keep this under wraps until I make it official. If you have some extraordinary people under you, I'd like you to make a list and submit it to me. Good people are hard to find. Be sure that loyalty weighs in any decisions you might suggest. For now, it will be business as normal; just be aware that change is coming. Do you have any questions?"
"No questions, sir. However, I'd like permission to speak freely."
"Go on." Just then, the president held his hand up to stop Merritt as a knock on the door came and coffee was delivered. The assistant set one cup in front of the president and the second one in front of Merritt. Once the president's assistant had left the room, closing the door behind him, Lamar motioned for Merritt to continue.
"I'm not making comparisons here, understand. Your predecessor found the different directors quite often did not play well together. This new department he created eliminated much of the friction. I applaud your expectations, but quite honestly, sir, I believe you will find that particular expectation much harder than one might think."
"This is not a frivolous decision, Coverley. However, for me, I believe it is the correct one."
"Whatever you say, sir, I serve at the pleasure of the president."
"Good. I believe you will enjoy your position at the NSA. I'll be in touch, and keep me up to date as you find necessary. Thank you, Coverley. I do appreciate your support."
"Yes, sir." Merritt left, nodding toward the president.
Elliott Ragar, Matt Sanderson, and Charles Rockford had decided to meet privately. They had arranged to convene at a restaurant a short distance outside Washington. They had requested a table in the far corner. While there were a few men also dressed in suits, most were in casual wear.
Ragar spoke. "As we all know, Backersley lost three agents yesterday and last night."
Both Rockford and Sanderson nodded.
"He is supposed to turn over anything he finds to us. Either of you received anything?"
"Not a thing," answered Rockford.
"I haven't heard from him," replied Sanderson. "His ego is going to toast him one of these days."
"We'll be lucky if it doesn't toast all of us," snapped Ragar.
Sanderson added, "My people tell me that he has an intelligence unit there, as well as a response team. It's believed that Robert Randall is leading the response team."
"Christ, isn't that the same SOB that caused all that shit in Italy two years ago?" questioned Ragar.
"Yeah. He's good at his job but can't see past his own ass. He doesn't care who gets caught in any crossfire. If he's out there, and Backersley turns him loose, there'll be hell to pay."
Starr's attention picked up. The little dot representing Ellhad's truck was on the move.
"We've got movement on the truck," he stated over his comm set.
"Okay, Starr, he's all yours. Don't screw this up," asserted Styles.
"You do your job, sonny boy, and let me do mine."
"Keep us posted."
"Roger that."
Phillips interposed, "Confirmation on the truck's location."
"You got anything else going on?" queried Styles.
"All other cameras show quiet. Hold on. The truck is still moving."
"Starr, Phillips says the truck is moving."
"I can see that. I got a good idea. Don't call me; I'll call you."
"Don't get so touchy." Styles grinned as he spoke.
"Tell him that Ellhad is about ten minutes from him," offered Phillips.
"Phillips says he's about ten minutes out from you."
"How does Phillips know where I am? Never mind. I retract the question."
"You're finally learning," Phillips responded after donning her own comm set.
Styles called out, "J. C., you got your ears on?"
"Loud and clear. I just finished the preflight on the chopper. All the gear is loaded up. I did not touch your favorite toy."
"No reason to; I won't need it here, at least not at this location. We may grab it. I don't know yet."
"I'm going to take this bird over to a small uncontrolled airport that's only about twenty miles from you. That's a good staging place for me. I can be on-site in under ten minutes if need be. Just tell me when you want me airborne."
"Roger that, J. C."
"I've got the truck in sight. I'll check back in," interjected Starr.
"Roger that, Starr. Do not let him spot you."
"He won't."