Wilson finished reading the message, contemplating the P-8A encounter. Kazan was the newest and quietest Russian submarine; it was possible the false target was indeed Kazan.
After debating the matter, Wilson decided it was better to run down a lead rather than sit around doing nothing. He buzzed the submarine’s Communicator on the ICSAP panel.
“Draft a message requesting the waterspace behind Mad Fox zero-four,” Wilson ordered.
While the submarine’s Communicator worked on the message, Commander Jerry Maske approached, informing Wilson the Battle Stations watchbill had been updated. After relieving Maske of his command, Wilson had pondered what to do with Maske, the most experienced officer aboard aside from him. After considering the issue, he decided to assign Maske as the submarine’s Fire Control Coordinator during Battle Stations.
As Executive Officer on his last submarine, Maske had spent two years as Fire Control Coordinator, all of it on an operational submarine, while North Carolina’s current Executive Officer had never prosecuted a real submarine as FCC — only simulated trainer contacts thus far. With the Executive Officer freed up, Wilson reassigned him as Battle Stations Officer of the Deck, tapping into his experience as well.
The Communicator approached with the draft message, which Wilson approved for release, and it was quickly transmitted.
While they waited for a response, Wilson decided to move North Carolina toward the edge of their current operating area, where they would go back to periscope depth. Hopefully, by then they would be assigned the desired waterspace behind Mad Fox zero-four.
“Officer of the Deck, come down to four hundred feet and course two-six-zero. Increase speed to ahead flank.”
66
MCLEAN, VIRGINIA
“This could take forever,” Harrison said.
“Not forever,” Kendall replied, “but close.”
It was like looking for a needle in a haystack.
The thought crossed Harrison’s mind, not for the first time, as he sat beside Kendall in the NCTC, shifting through real estate leads on his computer, searching for places Mixell could store a CONEX box. They were making slow progress due to the sheer volume of possibilities; there were more than fifty thousand properties on the market in the Washington, D.C., area. Even after they were winnowed down to those that could hide a CONEX box — warehouses and rural listings with a barn or forested land — a painstaking satellite review of each property was required, and in many cases, eyes on target from agents or officers visiting the property.
Harrison leaned back and took a swig of lukewarm coffee from his fifth cup of the day, taking a break as he gazed across the main floor of the NCTC, packed with analysts scouring data. They had been at it nonstop for the last two days, with Kendall getting things started shortly after their visit to the Port of Baltimore, and Harrison joining her the next morning. Thus far, however, their efforts had yielded nothing.
To help track Mixell down, the NCTC had released his image, captured as he debarked the flight at Dulles International Airport, but the effort was suffering because the issue hadn’t been designated a National Special Security Event by the Department of Homeland Security. They hadn’t yet determined what Mixell’s target was — person, place, or event — nor even what type of weapon had been shipped to Baltimore. As a result, the NCTC wasn’t entirely focused on Mixell, spreading its resources across several potential terrorist actions.
Nonetheless, potential leads had been flowing into the NCTC via phone calls and emails from various law enforcement agencies in the area. Kendall was flicking her way down a plethora of email reports from the Maryland State Police, and he could tell she was reconsidering her decision to involve the state troopers. Still, scouring through police reports seemed infinitely more interesting than reviewing properties for rent or sale, and Harrison had been helping Kendall, while the real estate review had been delegated to a dozen other analysts allocated to them by Jessica Del Rio, the NCTC supervisor.
Harrison returned to his computer, scrolling down the emails, reviewing the subject of each before moving on, when his eyes stopped on a missing person report. Wondering what a missing person report had to do with Lonnie Mixell or places he might hide a CONEX box, he read further. When he got down to Missing Person’s Occupation, his eyes halted.
He nudged Kendall on the shoulder. “What do you think?” he said, pointing to the screen.
She leaned over and read the report. “A missing realtor?”
Her eyes moved down to the woman’s home address.
“Alexandria. Close to D.C. and minutes from I-395 and I-495. Sounds like a decent location for Mixell, assuming he’s found a warehouse. What type of property does she specialize in?”
Harrison scanned the report. “Doesn’t say.”
He picked up the phone and dialed the Alexandria City Police Department, and after two transfers, was connected to the officer who filed the report.
“Sandy Perry?” he repeated back to Harrison. “Yeah, she’s a realtor. Actually, she has her own company. Her secretary reported her missing this morning; she missed several appointments and she’s not answering her phone. Her secretary stopped by her townhouse, but she wasn’t home either.”
“What type of properties does she specialize in?”
“Mostly commercial. Offices, retail space, warehouses, that type of thing.”
“Do you know if she’s rented any warehouses in the last few weeks?”
“Don’t have a clue,” the officer said. “I only took down the missing person details. You’d have to talk to her secretary.”
“Got her name and number?”
“The name’s Ashley Gonzalez,” the officer replied, then provided her home, office, and cell phone numbers.
After thanking the officer and hanging up, Harrison dialed Ashley’s cell phone. The woman answered and Harrison identified himself, then asked if her boss had rented any warehouses recently.
“A couple,” was the response. “Why do you ask?”
Harrison explained they were searching for a man who might have something to do with Sandy Perry’s disappearance — a man who was likely looking for a warehouse to rent — then asked for the addresses.
“I don’t have them with me. I’d have to check the computer at work.”
“Hold on for a second.” He turned to Kendall, placing the phone on mute. “What do you think? Worth checking out tonight? The fresh air would do us good.”
Kendall leaned back in her chair and stretched, extending her arms behind her head.
“Good idea,” she said. “I could use the break, plus we can stop for a decent dinner while we’re out, instead of the crappy cafeteria food.”
Harrison unmuted the phone. “Where’s your office?” He wrote down the address, then asked, “Can you meet us there tonight?”
“Sure. What time?”
“We can be there in…” He turned to Kendall, who said, “A half-hour.”
Harrison made the appointment, then he and Kendall retrieved their weapons from their lockers and left for the garage. Kendall offered to drive since she knew the area, and a few minutes later, they were on their way.