The whine of engines sounded from across the tarmac as he made his way past a row of private jet hangars toward a little-used section of the airport. He crossed an empty field and approached a lone hangar that looked as if it hadn’t been occupied in fifty years. High weeds surrounded the structure, which was coated in equal parts of rust and dust. A bank of windows beneath the roof’s eaves showed a continuous web of cracks, with shards of glass scattered on the ground near a battered trash can. Only an expert eye examining the building up close could discern that the derelict appearance was in fact a façade designed to deter attention.
Pitt stepped to a side door illuminated by a dim yellow bulb and reached for an industrial-grade light switch. The switch assembly flipped open on a hinge, revealing a concealed keypad. Pitt entered a code that deactivated the alarm system and opened the door’s lock.
He stepped inside, turned on the lights—and was greeted by a fleet of gleaming antique cars parked in rows across the hangar floor, their polished chrome glistening under the overhead illumination. The culmination of a lifelong passion for the fast and the beautiful in automotive design, he had assembled an eclectic collection that spanned the dawn of the twentieth century through the 1950s. The museum-like appearance was augmented by a Ford Trimotor aircraft parked to one side near a beautifully restored Pullman railroad car that his adult kids occasionally used as a temporary apartment.
Pitt drifted across the hangar, patting the fender of a 1930 Packard Speedster 8 Runabout that was parked next to a workbench, the right side of its hood raised. He reached a cast-iron circular staircase and climbed to his second-floor living quarters, which he shared with Loren.
Dropping his duffel on a chair, he pulled a Shiner Bock beer from the refrigerator, then read a note taped to the freezer door.
Dirk,
I’m staying at my Georgetown condo until you get back. Too many automotive ghosts around here! Extended committee hearings will probably keep me on the Hill working late. Missed you.
XXXX,
Loren
Pitt downed the beer and returned to the hangar floor. Something was gnawing at him about the Heiland case, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Replaying the recent events had failed to spark a clue, so he slipped on a worn mechanic’s jumpsuit and made his way over to the old Packard. With a careful devotion, he began disassembling its updraft carburetor. By the time he had the mechanism overhauled an hour or so later, he knew exactly what was troubling him.
27
I GUESS IT WAS A GOOD CALL, ENLISTING PITT ON THE case,” Fowler said as he drove away from the airport.
“He’s quite a resourceful man.” Ann stared out the window and considered her impressions of Pitt. “He saved my life twice.”
“He evidently has quite a track record for averting disaster,” Fowler said. “I’m sure he can be trusted, but, just for the record, did he become aware of Heiland’s work and its capabilities?”
“He has the basic idea, but he didn’t press for more. He seemed primarily concerned about the safety of his ship and crew.” Ann reached down and rubbed her ankle. “We really should have told him all the facts in the beginning.”
“Couldn’t be helped. Tom Cerny was firm that discussion of the technology was off-limits. I think we were all surprised by the tenacity of those chasing after it.”
Fowler cleared the gates of the airport and stopped at a red light. “You live in Alexandria, right?”
“Yes, I’m near Old Town, right off King Street. Just take the Jefferson Davis Highway into town.”
Fowler nodded and turned south.
“Any updates from the FBI while we were in the air?” Ann asked.
“Nothing yet. It will probably be several days before we learn anything from the Mexican agencies. And you probably know more than me about the two guys in black from Idaho.”
“They were Latin in appearance. If they are in fact connected to the men in Tijuana, I suspect they may be operatives from Central or South America.”
“Venezuelan rogues?”
“Possibly. There is certainly no shortage of world powers that would like to use that technology. China or Russia probably head the list. Maybe they’ve got a surrogate working for them.”
“Don’t forget the Iranians.” Fowler gunned the car to clear a yellow light. He turned onto King Street, a main drag that bisected Alexandria.
“The attackers were pretty brazen,” Ann said, “and well informed.”
“Yes, it sounds like they were fearless.”
“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Ann asked.
“What’s that?” Fowler said, turning down a side street.
“Inside help. There must be a security leak, possibly at a high level.”
“Possibly, but you know how much classified information winds up in the press. It may not have been that difficult for someone to figure out that Heiland was working on something important. Since he wasn’t working in a secure environment, he made an easy target.”
“You may be right.” Ann pointed down the street. “I’m up ahead on the right, just past the big oak.”
Fowler spotted an empty space at the curb and pulled in behind a car that was idling with its lights off. Ann recognized it as a Chrysler 300 sedan.
“Why don’t you take the day off tomorrow?” Fowler said. “You’ve been through the wringer the last forty-eight hours. You could probably use some rest.”
“Thanks, but I’d go crazy just sitting around. I need to find out who these people are.”
Fowler turned off the car’s engine, and Ann climbed out. As she turned to retrieve her crutches, she was grabbed from behind. She just caught a glimpse of her assailant, a tall black male, who wrapped his hands around her and hurled her onto a small patch of lawn. The heavy man was on her instantly, jamming his knee into the small of her back while mashing her face into the grass with a plate-sized hand. She struggled to break free, then relented when she felt a gun barrel press against her temple.
“Don’t even breathe,” the big man said.
She heard Fowler cry out, followed by the dull thumping of a body being pummeled. A few seconds later, car keys jingled, and the Ford’s trunk was popped open. From the corner of her eye, Ann saw a second man carry something to the backseat of the Chrysler, then jump into the driver’s seat. The thug on her back leaned down and whispered into her face with foul breath. “Now, you lay nice and still for five minutes or else old Clarence will have to come back and hurt you.”
He eased himself off her, loped over to the Chrysler, and climbed casually into the passenger seat. The car shot forward with a chirp of its rear tires and sped down the street. Ann looked up to scan the car’s rear license plate, but it had been temporarily covered with a few strips of duct tape. Pros, she thought. They’d rip the tape off a block away, then meld into traffic, driving safely under the speed limit.
Ann jumped up and limped to the far side of the Taurus, where she found Fowler lying facedown next to the front wheel.
“Dan,” she cried, kneeling beside him.
He pried his eyes open and eased himself to a sitting position.
“I’m okay.” He rubbed his jaw. “Never saw that coming.” His eyes gradually focused on Ann. “Are you hurt?”
“No, I’m fine. But that was no random stickup.” She tilted her head toward the open trunk.
“Not the files!” blurted Fowler, struggling to his feet. Holding each other for support, they stepped to the rear of the car and peered into the open trunk.
Inside sat Ann’s travel bag. And nothing else.
28
THE MEMORIAL SERVICE FOR JOE EBERSON WAS WELL attended by his fellow research scientists at DARPA, many of whom stepped to the Annandale Church podium and expressed their esteem for him. Sitting in a middle pew, A
nn felt a bit uncomfortable because she’d been assigned to the agency only at his death. But clearly Eberson was a respected man, and that sharpened her resolve to catch his murderer.
Fowler sat at her side, a small bandage on his chin reminding her of the attack the night before. Alexandria paramedics and police had responded quickly to Ann’s residence and found no serious injury to either one of them. But the authorities also found no trail to the muggers. Ann alerted federal officials of the theft, and an alert was put out on the assailants’ Chrysler for the greater Washington metro area. By morning, it had been found in a grocery store parking lot. Reported as stolen the day before, it also had been scrubbed of any incriminating fingerprints and Heiland’s records as well. A special FBI team was assigned to the theft, but they had very little to go on.
“I’d like to pay my respects to Joe’s family,” Fowler said as the service ended. “How about I meet you at the car?”
Ann nodded, thankful that he had offered to drive. When they climbed into Fowler’s car a short time later, Ann commented on Eberson’s popularity.
“He had a lot of years in the business,” Fowler said. “Made a lot of friends. And also a few enemies.”
“What kind of enemies?” Ann asked.
“The professional sort. The typical DARPA research project parcels out work to different companies and universities. Then we tie everything together—and garner all the credit. The little guys who make the real breakthroughs often go unnoticed.”
He turned to Ann. “I don’t think that any research scientist knocked off Eberson and Heiland, if that’s where you’re headed.”
“Just touching all the bases,” Ann said. “I know we’ve talked before, but I want to ask again what the prospects are that a leak came from inside DARPA?”
Fowler frowned. “Anything’s possible, but I just don’t think that’s the case. There’s just a relatively small team here running the Sea Arrow program. Most of the work is farmed out. That’s where I think the real risk is—with our external subcontractors. Of course there are people at the shipyard with knowledge, and that’s an obvious focus.”
“Yes, that’s why we’ve already assigned a dedicated NCIS team to Groton.”
“It may not mean anything,” Fowler said, “but I find it somewhat curious that Heiland and Eberson were killed shortly after the President toured the shipyard. I wasn’t there, but I ran the security list.”
“Are you suggesting someone at the White House might be involved?”
“Not directly. But you know the White House is a sieve. Although this administration is better than most, it wouldn’t surprise me if details about the Sea Arrow were released to the wrong people.”
“Can you give me the security list?” Ann said.
“Sure, it’s in my office—if you don’t already have enough on your plate.”
“At this point we have to cast a broad net. I’d like to check the history of any recent technology thefts of a similar nature. Have you dealt with any foreign espionage cases?”
“Not since I’ve been at DARPA,” Fowler said. “Our issues are mostly lost computer disks and the like. But I’ve been here only a year. We had a few espionage cases while I was with the Army Research Laboratory, both suspected Chinese and Israeli spies, but we never had enough to prosecute.”
“The bagmen in this case seem a bit out of character for the typical espionage operatives,” Ann said.
“True, but you never know who’s footing the bill.”
“I suppose,” Ann said. “Any idea of the impact to the Sea Arrow program?”
“I’m not technically savvy enough to know, but apparently the program hinged on Heiland’s supercavitation model, which would totally transform the Sea Arrow’s capability. Now that his original research is lost, the program may be set back several years. No one believes they can duplicate Heiland’s work easily without his designs.”
“I can’t believe they robbed us of them in Alexandria. How could they have known?”
“Hard to say. Perhaps someone was tracking you after the incident in Tijuana. I’d have to think there was a third member of the party in Idaho, monitoring events. Somehow they arranged a jump on us here at short notice.”
He gave her a worried look. “Maybe you should check into a hotel for a few nights, just to be on the safe side.”
“No, I’m fine,” she said, her own safety not a concern.
“Still, I’ll follow up with the Alexandria police to make sure they patrol your town house on a regular basis.” He rubbed his jaw beneath the bandage. “I’d like to see those guys go down hard.”
Fowler turned into the parking lot of the DARPA headquarters building in downtown Arlington. Ann preferred to work at the DARPA site rather than her NCIS office across the river in Anacostia, having commandeered a small, windowless office next to Fowler. With her laptop computer, she could access nearly the same criminal resources while establishing relationships with the DARPA team working on Sea Arrow.
As she returned to her desk, she felt oddly energized. Aside from its importance to national security, the case had become personal. She shrugged off the physical and emotional drain of the past few days, motivated to dig into the evidence and discover who was behind the thefts and murders.
Her first call was to the FBI field office in San Diego. An agent named Wyatt was managing the local investigation.
“Have you heard anything from Mexico yet?” she asked.
“A few things,” Wyatt said. “The two deceased males, both in their early thirties, were not Mexican nationals. Colombian passports were found on both bodies. I can give you the names, but in all likelihood they’re phony. We checked with the State Department in Bogotá, and both names came back negative with the Colombian government.”
“The passports were fake?”
“Yes, high-quality counterfeits. We checked the prints on the deceased and found no matches in either the FBI or INTERPOL databases. Our best guess is, they were low-level hired muscle. Customs showed that they actually came into the U.S. with three other men a few weeks ago. They crossed the border at Tijuana with temporary visitors’ visas.”
“Any of them go by the name of Pablo?”
“No, nothing close to that.”
“How about the pickup truck and the boat?”
“The truck was recently purchased from a used-car dealer in Tijuana. Paid cash, registered to one of the Colombians at a taco stand’s address in Rosarito Beach. I’m afraid the Mexicans haven’t found anything on the boat.”
“Any record of their activity while in the U.S.?”
“We’re still looking. Interesting thing is, five individuals were recorded crossing the border in the truck, but only three returned. We followed up your tip about a possible break-in at Heiland’s company office. Surveillance video shows a janitor entering Heiland’s office after hours. The individual appears to match the passport photo of one of the Colombians.”
“Wyatt, I suggest you call the Spokane field office when we’re finished. Two men were just killed in Bayview, Idaho, after a break-in at Heiland’s lake house. I’ll wager a month’s salary that those are your two missing men.”
“How about a bonus if one is our janitor?” Wyatt asked. “They seem to be a persistent bunch, that’s for sure.”
“Agreed. Do you have anything else?”
“We had an explosives expert examine Heiland’s boat. He confirmed that a charge of low-grade plastic explosives was embedded in the boat’s interior and mechanically detonated. The wiring looked to have been in place for some time.”
“So Heiland triggered the explosion,” she said—Pitt had been right after all—“Any idea why?”
“He may have been aware of the threat or maybe just sensitive to the nature of his work. Was it anything worth killing over?”
“It would seem so.”
“There’s one more bit of mystery tied in with the event.”
“What’s that?”
“The autopsy report on Eberson. Based on the physical evidence and the position of his body at the back of the boat, we believe he was not killed by the explosion.”
“His feet were tangled in fishing line,” Ann said. “I assume he panicked when he couldn’t get clear of the boat and ended up drowning.”
“Actually, the pathologist says he was dead before he hit the water.”
“Was he shot?”
“No—” Wyatt fumbled for the proper description. “His skin showed signs of severe burns. His death was attributed to trauma related to burn damage.”
Ann had seen his gruesome blackened limbs but assumed it had to do with his body’s submersion at such depth. “Why doesn’t the pathologist think he was killed by the explosion?”
“Because his surface burns were atypical of fire damage—and extended beneath the skin. In other words, he cooked from both inside and out.”
Ann shook her head. “From the inside?”
“The damage is consistent with acute microwave irradiation.”
Ann fell silent, trying to make sense of the report.
“Could it have anything to do with the equipment Heiland was testing?” Wyatt asked.
“I can’t imagine. It was still in its case.”
“Understood. It’s got everyone here stumped, too. I’ll send you the report, and we can talk again.”
“Thanks, Wyatt. And let me know if you hear any more from Mexico.”
Eberson’s death was an odd twist that didn’t make any sense. If Pablo’s crew was going to kill him, why didn’t they simply shoot him? And what could have caused the microwave irradiation?