‘Why now?’ Jarvis asked. ‘What’s this really all about?’
Nellis leaned back in his seat. ‘I received direct orders two months ago, allegedly from the Pentagon, to maintain a watch on Dr Lucy Morgan as a person of interest to United States security. It’s not every day I get direct orders regarding a single individual — that kind of attention is usually reserved for international terrorists and war criminals. Having personally researched her background, I could find absolutely no evidence of any sign of her being a threat to national security. I did some quiet digging, and none of my contacts at the Pentagon issued those orders.’
Jarvis raised an eyebrow. ‘What did you do, sir?’
‘I did as I was told,’ Nellis grinned, ‘and I waited to see what would happen. Sure enough, Lucy Morgan has been making some strange movements, working into the early hours in her apartment, buying chemicals and such like that are normally used for laboratory experiments. The CIA listed her as somebody perhaps intending to create bombs, but none of the chemicals she has bought can be used to create any explosive device that I know of and besides, she’s a model citizen and respected scientist.’
‘Not to mention a patriot,’ Jarvis added. ‘Lucy’s no terrorist.’
‘I had a few agents research her history, made connections with her presence in Israel some years ago, and with it numerous highly-redacted files. No clear trail, but enough to suspect that there was more to the ordered surveillance than met the eye. More digging linked Ethan Warner to Israel at the same time, and from there his link to you at the DIA.’
Jarvis masked his uncertainty with a smile. ‘Stirling work, sir.’
‘But I can do no more from here,’ Nellis replied, ‘and now Lucy Morgan has taken a vacation and vanished completely.’
Now, Jarvis leaned forward in his seat. ‘How long?’
‘Two days,’ Nellis replied, ‘right after she was observed speaking to one Nicola Lopez.’
Jarvis could not help the smile that creased from the corner of his lips as he pictured Lopez in his mind, her firecracker temper and sarcastic wit.
‘They’re up to something,’ Jarvis said finally. ‘Lopez might be helping her in some way.’
‘More than that,’ Nellis said. ‘Morgan was approached a Russian the day prior to her disappearance, a man by the name of Vladimir Polkov. He’s the son of Yuri Polkov, a famed fossil smuggler and all-round enemy of the state. We didn’t have the ability to obtain recordings, but if a fossil smuggler is interested in a fossil hunter’s work, and Lucy Morgan has been conducting private studies of some kind…’
‘… then she’s found something new,’ Jarvis completed the sentence. ‘And you think that Majestic Twelve might be watching her too.’
‘I need you to get onto this Doug, quietly,’ Nellis implored him. ‘Your former commanding officer, General Mitchell, recommended you in the highest terms to me as a reliable agent and patriot. Whatever’s going on with Morgan and Lopez, I need to find out, and if it leads me to identifying the members of Majestic Twelve then I can start doing my damned job properly and root out the corruption that has blighted the intelligence community for so long.’
Jarvis rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. ‘What resources will I have?’
‘Not much,’ Nellis admitted. ‘Two trusted agents as a security detail, what tech’ data I can send you directly, a jet and a budget of course. It goes without saying that this will be un-official operations, no paper trail, no direct contact after this meeting. You’ll be supplied with a satellite phone and all necessary visas if required. We need to move fast Doug. What do you say? Do you think you can track Lucy Morgan down?’
‘Definitely,’ Jarvis replied. ‘But Warner? I honestly don’t know.’
VII
‘Your target is a Caucasian male, approximately forty years of age and with extensive military experience. He has a one-hour head start and is considered highly dangerous. Do not attempt to apprehend him on your own: locate, identify and report in for reinforcements.’
There were some forty infantry soldiers standing in the light drizzle that fell from low scudding clouds obscuring the peaks of the Cairngorns. A broad valley bordered the bitter waters of a river that flowed it seemed from a wilderness untouched by human hands, bleak and steep hillsides of black granite and windswept grass. All of the soldiers were dressed in disruptive pattern material and heavy black boots, and they cradled SA-80 rifles in their gloved hands. Before the infantry stood their commanding officer, a major of the regiment who gestured to the barren hills around them.
‘Your target has extensive survival experience and is known to be capable of enduring in even the harshest environments for weeks on end. He is able to fashion weapons from the barest minimum of resources and is a highly disciplined expert in camouflage and concealment. For his age, he is known to be in impressive physical condition and is possessed of a high degree of tenacity. He will not surrender even if found, and has a temperament that will likely result in him physically defending himself if cornered. You have forty eight hours to find him.’
The major surveyed his men one last time and then saluted. ‘Good luck, dismissed!’
The forty soldiers turned and jogged away in formation, leaving the asphalt road and the sound of their thumping boots becoming dull and muted as they journeyed out across the sodden landscape with a pair of sergeants leading them.
The major watched as the small platoon followed the faint trail left by their quarry barely an hour before, and wondered if indeed they would be able to track him down. His regiment had spent much time training in the art of camouflage and concealment as well as the complex skills required in tracking and trapping fugitives. The entire objective of the new training regime was designed specifically to give the British Army the ability to track down terrorists and other undesirables who may decide to hunker down in the most remote and inaccessible regions of the British Isles, a new and interesting tactic deployed by enemies of the state wishing to avoid detection.
For some time, the greatest fear of governments worldwide in the Western world had not been the massive terrorist organisations such as Al Qaeda and Islamic State, but rather the actions of so-called lone wolf terrorists, those that were impossible to track, invisible to detection by the sheer nature of their status. Living mostly off the grid, without cell phones or access to the Internet or bank accounts and driving licences, a true lone wolf could strike almost at will and disappear just as quickly if they were possessed of the will and intelligence to plot and execute an effective terrorist attack. It was Major Jonathan Wilkinson’s job to train British infantry to track down that lone terrorist and finish him off before he had the chance to strike.
A squall of bitter rain splattered against the Major’s combat fatigues and he pulled his beret down a little tighter about his head as he walked back towards the four ton vehicle parked nearby. He reached the door and opened it to a billowing cloud of welcome warmth coming from the interior of the cab as he climbed inside and slammed the door shut. The driver, a regimental Corporal, sat behind the wheel and waited patiently as the major picked up a folder he had left on the dashboard and opened it.
‘From what I gather, this chap has never been found in any of the seventeen exercises he has run with us. Not bad for a damn Yankee, I’ll give him that.’
The corporal nodded but said nothing as the major scanned down the pages of the file and tutted to himself. ‘A former United States Marine, apparently. Well, we can’t have Yanks running around making fools of our boys, eh?’