A Darker Shade of Dead (30 page)

“Looks like she drew you a map,” Sam commented, nodding at one of the folders Matt had left open on the desk as he looked at the one beneath it.

“More than you know, Sam,” Matt said absently as he continued to read.

One exchange in particular drew his attention. Admiral Chester had issued orders for the personnel change that inserted Bev into Matt's office, and shortly thereafter Tim had died, turned into a zombie.

Bev had circled the date and time stamp on the orders. Either accidentally or deliberately—and Matt now believed it was the latter considering the way she had left and the evidence she'd left behind—the orders were dated
after
Bev's arrival on base. Add to that her personal cell phone records, which she must have added to the file…now they were interesting. The records indicated Beverly had called Admiral Chester at home shortly before the orders were faxed through to Matt's office from Chester's home fax machine. Voilà. Just like that, a conspiracy was born.

Bev had given him probable cause to investigate Admiral Chester. All wrapped up in shiny fax paper and tied with a bow.

 

Beverly Bartles didn't look back as she boarded the small charter plane in the early hours before dawn. The flight crew consisted of only one pilot. Nobody else. He didn't even glance at her as she boarded. He simply closed the cabin door behind her and then shut himself inside the cockpit.

A moment later, she heard the engines rev in preparation for departure. The small jet rolled away from the hangar and onto the tarmac. Minutes later, it was airborne.

Beverly felt her fear of capture slough away with each mile, each moment that passed. She'd made her getaway. Her secrets were safe. She'd given Matt Sykes enough to keep him busy and his attention focused elsewhere. An admiral was a much bigger fish than a mere ensign, after all. Too bad Sykes didn't realize the admiral was only a small player in a much bigger game.

She smiled with smug satisfaction as she poured herself a finger of expensive bourbon and settled back into the luxurious leather seat. These private jets were comfy. When she got her cut of the money, maybe she would buy one of her own. She would be able to afford all sorts of luxuries once she had her share.

Beverly settled into a light doze, dreaming of the easy life she would lead once this was all over. She felt safe enough for the moment to grab a little shut-eye.

Twenty minutes later, she was fast asleep when the Praxis Air charter jet burst into a ball of flame. Tiny bits of debris rained down over a farmer's field for a good five minutes. Very little was left of the jet, or its occupants.

 

“Is it done?” the voice on the phone asked.

“It's over.” The man in the office answered. “I've got to tell you, I don't like this at all. You're ruining my father's company. This is the second jet I've destroyed for you. I'm going to have the NTSB crawling all over my ass in an hour. I won't do it again. This is the last time.”

“There's no record of Bartles being on the jet, right?”

“Of course not. Just the pilot. I made it look like he was returning the jet to our home base for repairs. Just a ferry flight to get the jet back here. I'm going to blame the crash on his poor judgment in thinking the jet was fit to fly. Pilot error.”

“Tidy.” Satisfaction sounded in that voice.

“That's what you pay me for. But this is the last of my dad's jets I'm losing. Understood?”

“It would bring too much suspicion were we to destroy another one of your father's toys, so you needn't worry. I will, however, still require his planes to fly my potential buyers around. The sooner we cut the final deal, the sooner we both strike it rich.”

“Charter flights are the bread and butter of this company. It won't be a problem to fly your buyers around. You know that.”

“Very well. I'll leave you to your NTSB visit. I'll be in touch in a few days. As soon as the furor dies down a bit.”

The man in the office hung up the phone with a muffled curse. This was getting much more complicated than he'd bargained for. Sometimes he wished he'd never become involved with this whole mess, but the money was too tempting to turn down. He never thought he'd have to kill people or destroy two of his father's prized jets, not to mention having to deal with the National Transportation Safety Board.

If the old man would just loosen up on the reins and give him access to more cash, he never would have been put in this position. It was all the old man's fault, really. Served him right he'd lost two jets over the deal. His stinginess with his own son had caused all this.

The man, standing alone in the office, cursed again. Even if he'd wanted to get out now, he was in too deep. He'd killed. He'd falsified too many documents to recall. The only way out now was success. They'd sell the technology to the highest bidder, and his cut would set him for life. He could buy the island he had his eye on and retire there with any number of beautiful women who liked expensive living. He didn't have to limit himself to just one female companion. He could have as many as he liked whenever he wanted them. However he wanted them.

The old man's disapproving gaze would never land on him again. He'd finally be free, with his own money. He'd never again face the threat of being cut off without a cent. He'd be his own man. Finally. And for good.

It was a heady thought. A smile graced his lips as he dreamed of the freedom all that cash would buy him. That was what made all this worthwhile. Freedom from his over-bearing, judgmental, stingy father was the goal that would help him put up with all the questions and investigations. All the disapproval he'd face from the old man and the suspicions of the NTSB.

He just had to keep his eyes on the prize—an island of his own with a bevy of beauties at his beck and call. Yeah, that's what kept him going. That, and all the money he could ever hope to spend.

 

John circled Dr. Rodriguez. He was sitting behind a table in an empty conference room. A video camera taped the entire interrogation for future reference. Matt sat across the table, watching Rodriguez squirm under John's masterful interrogation.

“We know Ensign Bartles was feeding you information,” John informed him.

Rodriguez refused to speak. He merely drew invisible circles on the tabletop with his finger. Matt watched the man while John tried to elicit a response. So far, John hadn't gotten him to say anything else. Since the failed attempt to escape in the woods, Rodriguez had clammed up.

“We know about Admiral Chester. He's already in custody.”

Was that a flicker of response?

“Chester isn't talking yet,” John went on. “But he will. You know he will. He hasn't got the balls to hold out very long. Especially if they offer him a deal for cooperating. He'll sing like a choir boy and sell you down the river. You know it's true.”

“You're lying. You haven't got him.” Rodriguez's hand fisted on the table.

There. Now that was the kind of response they were aiming for. They were getting to him at last. Rodriguez was clearly angry.

John
was
lying, of course. Chester was missing, too.

“Sorry. It's true.”

John pulled out his smart phone and flashed a photo of Admiral Chester looking a lot worse for wear, sitting behind bars. Wolf was pretty good with Photoshop and had whipped up the image at John's request.

“How long do you think it'll be before he tells us everything?” John holstered his phone and glanced at Matt. “We've got a bet going around the team. I've got him spilling what he knows around lunchtime.” John glanced at the clock. “Doesn't give you a lot of time to get in on the deal before him. If you talk to us, they may go easier on you.”

Matt noted the lack of anyone from the legal side of things. They hadn't called anyone from the judge advocate general office—JAG. They wouldn't let a civilian lawyer anywhere near this. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Knowledge of the contagion was something that had to be kept limited. It was beyond top secret. It fell into the world of the blackest of black ops. There would be no showy trial. No mixing with a general prison population for this man.

No, Rodriguez was most likely going so deep in a hole that no one would ever see or hear from him again. He didn't seem to realize it, and that gave them some leverage. For such a book-smart man, Rodriguez was sadly inept when it came to real-world living.

Even now, the scientist was eyeing John as if he was on the verge of talking. Matt watched the telltale hand on the table. It remained clenched.

A loud thump sounded as that beefy fist came down hard on the table. Frustrated anger showed on Rodriguez's face. He'd cracked. Finally.

“Chester was supposed to be on a charter flight out of Dulles Airport. I was to be on another from Fayetteville.”

“Destination?” John prompted.

“I don't know. We were just supposed to board the planes, and the rest would be taken care of. We were to rendezvous all together to plan our next step.”

“So there's somebody else pulling your strings,” John mused aloud. “Who?”

“Oh, no. I won't give that up until I'm certain I have a deal. I want to talk to a lawyer.” Rodriguez's hand unclenched, and he sat back in his chair, apparently at ease. He knew he's just pulled the ace from his sleeve. He'd given up Chester, but there was an even bigger fish he could give them.

Maybe the man wasn't as inept as Matt had thought.

“No lawyer, but I'll arrange for you to speak to someone with the authority to give you the guarantees you're looking for.” Matt spoke for the first time during this interrogation. John stepped back as Rodriguez's attention was redirected to Matt. “First though, I want details about the flight. Airline. Flight number. Everything you know about it.”

Rodriguez seemed to consider his options, then sat forward in his chair again, resting both forearms on the table.

“Praxis Air. Charter from Fayetteville airport. All I had to do was make a call when I felt the operation was in trouble and they'd pick me up anytime, day or night. It was all pre-arranged.” Rodriguez's passive expression turned to one of disgust. “I called last night and was in the process of gathering my things when you showed up. I should've left earlier.”

“Yes, you should have,” Matt agreed. He stood and nodded to John.

John would handle the rest of the interrogation from here. Matt had to act on the information they'd just gotten. It was probably already too late, but they had to at least try to capture Admiral Chester at the airport. Matt would need help on this one. He flipped open his phone as he left the room and strode down the hall.

Once the call was made and MPs from the Washington, D.C., area were on their way to arrest Admiral Chester at Dulles Airport—if he was still there—Matt made another call. This time, he needed Sarah. She was a former cop. Her skills would be needed in dealing with the Fayetteville airport.

She would head the small team tasked with grounding the plane that had been arranged for Rodriguez. He wanted her to question the pilot. Unless that's how Bev had gotten away. In which case, they had to find that plane ASAP.

They also had to trace the arrangements that had been made to keep that charter flight open at Rodriguez's beck and call. There had to be a paper trail on that somewhere. It was a lead that had to be acted on at once.

Matt set the wheels in motion, utilizing the members of his team to the best of their abilities. It had been a long night filled with danger and combat. It looked like it would be an even longer day spent tracking down tangos and paper trails. Thank goodness he had a strong team that could handle all facets of this mission. They'd just gotten a lot closer to their goal of shutting down the bastards who were attempting to sell the zombie contagion technology to the highest bidder.

It would be a good day—no matter how exhausted he was.

 

“Admiral Chester was apprehended on the tarmac as he attempted to board a charter flight out of Dulles,” Sandra reported. She'd taken over on comms that morning to interface with the MPs that had been ordered to catch Chester if at all possible.

Damn, it was good to see her. It had only been a few hours, but he needed his Sandra fix in the worst possible way. Even with everything that was going on, he needed a minute just to touch her hand and smile.

“How are you doing, sweetheart?”

“I'm tired, but otherwise okay. There's too much going on to sleep now.” Her bright eyes filled with enthusiasm, reminding him of why he'd come down here. “I figure when this is all over, I might hibernate for a month or two to catch up on all the sleep I'm losing, but it's a small price to pay.”

The communications console was set up in what Matt had come to think of as the War Room in their new building. It was the large, open office area that led to his new private office. He had assigned positions around the big, open space to every member of the noncombat portions of the team and had state-of-the-art equipment installed.

The communications console had been the first thing up and running. The monitoring station for all the sensors they'd installed around the base perimeter was located here, too. All information needed by the team filtered through this room, and the boards were always manned, which made it one of the safest places in the new headquarters. A good place for Sandra while he went out to take care of business.

She was probably out of danger now that Rodriguez had been captured, but he wasn't taking any more chances with her safety. She was his now. She'd agreed to be his wife. That was something special. He wouldn't let her come to harm, not while he lived. She would just have to get used to his overprotective nature. He figured they had the next forty years or so to work on that. Thank God.

“So where is Chester now?” he asked, trying to focus on the task at hand.