“Come, Sophie,” said Houston, “we’ve got some calls to make.”
Houston couldn’t remember a time in his life when he felt more alive. He had never dirtied his hands removing people whom he perceived to be a threat to him or his company; however, with Mitchell, he saw a man that would stop at nothing. McMasters’ inability to kill Mitchell and all of his people on Bouvet Island had set off a chain of events that Houston had not anticipated. Still, like a chess master, Houston was already thinking several moves ahead. If Mitchell couldn’t be convinced of the genius in Houston’s plan, then he would be dealt with and removed forever.
32
The image of the briefing room back at Polaris headquarters filled the small laptop screen. General O’Reilly, Mike Donaldson, and Fahimah Nazaria all sat there with incredulous looks on their faces.
“Ryan, I can’t believe you’re taking this so well,” said O’Reilly.
Mitchell shook his head. “If they were on a commercial flight that disappeared, trust me, I’d be devastated. But the instant you told me that they were on an Air Force jet, I knew that it hadn’t crashed.”
“How can you be sure?” asked Donaldson.
“If Houston could infiltrate our organization, then it stands to reason that he has already infiltrated the U.S. military and who knows what else,” explained Mitchell.
“So you think they were kidnapped?” said Fahimah.
“Perhaps,” replied Mitchell. “Did Jen find out anything interesting about the probe in Russia?”
“She sure did,” said Donaldson, who quickly told Mitchell about the discovery of a pathogen inside the probe’s soil sample.
Mitchell ran his hand over his stubble-covered chin. “What about the tracking devices in their clothes? Are you getting a signal?” Each field operative had chips placed in their clothing, allowing them to be tracked anywhere in the world. Mitchell’s and Jackson’s had been lost during their swim ashore in Venezuela.
“Sorry, we lost them about the time they boarded the plane,” said O’Reilly.
“The plane must have had some kind of dampening device that blocked the signal,” explained Fahimah.
“I doubt that it’s standard Air Force practice to have a jammer on a Learjet,” said Mitchell. “There can only be one answer. Houston must have them.”
“Yeah, that, unfortunately, makes sense,” added Donaldson.
“General, do you buy the government’s story about why they sent a jet to pick up our people?” asked Mitchell.
“I don’t see why they would lie,” answered O’Reilly. “Oh, by the way, before I forget, please pass on to Nate that his wife called and said that his daughter made the high school basketball team.”
Mitchell chuckled. “He’s snoozing. When he wakes up, I’ll let him know.”
“Okay then, I think that nearly wraps things up from this end,” said O’Reilly. “We’ll talk more when you get back here later today.”
“Sounds good; our flight leaves in a few hours,” replied Mitchell.
“One last thing before you go. Ryan, please tell your family to quit using me as their personal assistant. Your Scottish cousin from Las Vegas called a few hours ago, and she wants you to call her right away.”
“Will do,” responded Mitchell. With that, he closed the screen on the laptop.
Sitting up, Jackson said, “Well, that was one hell of a lot of gobbledygook. He knows I don’t have a daughter.”
“That was to throw off anyone listening and to let us know that he doesn’t believe their story,” replied Mitchell.
“You mean the government?”
“Who else?”
“Why would they be spying on us?”
“The probe, I guess.”
“Why doesn’t the general just play ball with the feds?”
“They’re the ones who are doing things in the shadows, not us. Besides, look what happened when they decided to help. Jen, Sam, Gordon, and Yuri are now missing.”
“What was that bit about a cousin?”
“I guess that either Grace reached out to them or vice versa, but either way I need to call her right away,” said Mitchell.
Jackson stood up. “Well, I feel like stretching my legs so why don’t I nip across the street to the nearest convenience store, pick you up a disposable phone, and get us some snacks?”
“Ah, the truth comes out. You’re hungry!”
“I cannot lie, I am famished.” Jackson gave a slight bow. “By the way, you do realize that if Houston managed to get his hands on Jen and the rest of our folks, he can do the same with us?”
“I know. In fact, I’m counting on it. Only this time it’ll only be me,” said Mitchell with a slight grin on his face.
“Why only you?”
“Because I have to go, I need to know that they are all right. Besides, I have this feeling that you and Grace are going to have to bust me out of wherever I end up next.”
Far to the north, General O’Reilly looked over at Donaldson and Fahimah. “Do you think he got the messages?”
“He may be ex-army,” said Donaldson, “but he’s not dumb. He knows precisely what you were getting at.”
Letting out a weary sigh, O’Reilly brought up a hand and rubbed his bloodshot eyes.
“When was the last time you got some sleep, sir?” asked Fahimah.
“A day or two ago,” replied O’Reilly. “As long as I keep my coffee cup full, I’ll be good to go.”
Donaldson said, “Sir, my contact in the NSA will be sending me an update on what he knows in about five minutes. If you don’t need me, I’m going to head downstairs and wait for his call on my neighbor’s borrowed laptop.”
“If he hadn’t reached out to you, you know we’d still be in the dark,” observed O’Reilly. “It’s amazing, we have probably a couple of million dollars in computers and phones in this building, and we can’t use a single one without being monitored.”
“Yeah, it just goes to show you that technology isn’t always the answer,” replied Donaldson.
“When the dust settles, have your friend come for a visit. I think I can entice him into joining our team. I have a feeling that we’re going to need a major upgrade in our IT department.”
Donaldson and Fahimah left the room together.
O’Reilly took a long swig of lukewarm coffee before standing up and stretching out his aching back.
“Okay, Ryan, the ball’s in your court now,” said O’Reilly to himself. “Get my people back before the government does something stupid.”
Two hours later, in Bogota, at Eldorado international Airport, Mitchell was standing in line to check in his one small piece of luggage when two men stepped out of the crowd and approached him. One was tall and slender, with dirty-blond hair, while the other had curly black hair and the solid build of a man who looked like he worked out several hours a day.
“Ryan Mitchell?” asked the blond man. His accent reminded Mitchell of someone from the Deep South.
“Yeah, who wants to know?” replied Mitchell, eyeing up the man standing in front of him. From their loose-fitting clothes to their demeanor, Mitchell knew that they were either ex-military or ex-police; either way, they probably knew how to handle themselves.
“Who we are is none of your damn business. Where’s Jackson?” asked the curly-haired man as he looked around, trying to see him in the crowd.
“He had to take an earlier flight,” said Mitchell. “His wife is sick.”
“Whatever, you’re the one we really want. I think you should see this, Mister Mitchell,” said the man with the blond hair as he handed Mitchell a cellphone.