Blacksnow Zero Read online

  “What’s the doctor and the Federales get out of all this? Why would they help us?”

  “This is Mexico, Sergeant. It’s all about the money. I guess the NSA isn’t shy about spreading it around.”

  Thomas shrugged. “Our tax dollars at work.”

  “I guess so.” Garcia put the clinic’s address into the Yukon’s navigation system on the dash. A moment later he said, “The clinic is not far from here.”

  Garcia cranked up the vehicle and eased his way into traffic.

  Ten minutes later the Yukon was cruising slowly past the decrepit façade of the clinic. “This is it,” the captain said. “My guess is she’s holed up at some cheap hotel nearby.”

  “I agree,” Thomas responded.

  “We’ll scout the immediate five block area, then expand the circuit if we have to.”

  “Yes, sir. How do you want to play this?”

  “Get your stun gun ready. We’ll take her as soon as we see her.”

  Thomas frowned. “In broad daylight?”

  “This is Juarez. Kidnappings are a part of life here. Anyway, I’m not taking a chance on losing her. We see her, we grab her.”

  “Yes, Captain.” The sergeant pulled a large, black handgun from a bag by his feet and rested it on his lap.

  They drove around the area in an ever expanding circle, and fifteen minutes later rolled past a shabby-looking motel with faded paint. “That’s a possible,” Thomas said.

  Garcia nodded, as he looked in the rear-view mirror. “We’ll check it out.” Driving to the end of the street, he did an illegal U-turn, went back to the motel and parked in the parking area that fronted the place.

  Just then Garcia spotted an attractive woman wearing a baseball cap come out of one of the first floor rooms. He’d studied Blake’s picture on the flight down, knew her facial features and body shape well.

  “We just caught a lucky break, Sergeant,” he said excitedly. “That’s her! Let’s go!”

  Garcia pulled his Glock from his waistband and jumped out of the car, while Thomas gripped the stunner and also climbed out.

  As they rushed toward Blake, she must have heard something because she whirled around and faced them. Her eyes went wide and she reached in her pocket. Pulling a revolver, she aimed their way, but not before Thomas fired three rounds. The gun made muffled sounds and her body flinched back. She staggered and crumpled to the ground.

  Garcia reached her a second later. “Help me carry her back,” he said to Thomas. He grabbed the woman’s shoulders, while the sergeant lifted her by the legs. They carried her back quickly to the SUV and put her in the cargo compartment.

  By this time, other motel guests had come out of their rooms to see what had caused the commotion. Seeing them, Garcia waved the Glock in the air and they hastily jumped back in their rooms.

  The two men climbed back in the Yukon and drove away.

  “What now?” Thomas asked, as the SUV sped along the busy street, weaving in-and-out of traffic.

  “We go back to the airfield, take the jet on a little trip.”

  An hour later they pulled into the parking lot of the private airfield outside of Juarez. There was no tower here, just a long asphalt runway. A row of single and twin-engine prop planes were parked off to one side of the landing strip. Their Gulfstream jet, also parked there, stood out, its sleek black shape and swept-back wings gleaming in the mid-day sun.

  Private rent-a-cops armed with semi-automatic rifles and shotguns patrolled the area. Crime was a constant problem in Mexico and armed security was necessary as a deterrent. The planes were an inviting target for theft. General Corvan had paved the way before their flight here, paying the airfield’s owner generously for usage of his runway. No questions asked.

  Garcia climbed out of the Yukon and waved to the guards, who nodded back. Thomas also got out and they went around to the back of the vehicle and opened the tailgate door. There they zipped open a black body bag and placed Blake’s unconscious body inside. Then they carried the bag to the Gulfstream, and with the pilot’s help, loaded it into the plane.

  ***

  Bobbie Garcia leaned back in the jet’s leather seat and stared out the small round window. They were flying at an altitude of 35,000 feet and the vast expanse of water below looked like a tranquil blue lake. They cruised over puffy cumulous clouds, their white shapes blending beautifully with the blue much further below. It’s a peaceful scene, he thought. It’s a shame I can’t share it with Maria. She would have liked it. Maybe soon, though. When all this was over.

  He heard a groan and he glanced back in the plane. Sitting in the seat across from him was Blake, her hands tied to the armrests. She groaned again and he realized the woman was regaining consciousness. Her eyelids fluttered and a moment later she was fully awake. She said nothing, just craned her neck around, taking it all in.

  Thomas, who was sitting across the aisle in the otherwise empty plane, got up and walked up to him. “You want me to stun her again, boss?”

  Garcia shook his head. “No. No need. She’s not going anywhere.”

  The sergeant nodded and went back to his seat.

  “Where am I?” Blake asked.

  Garcia didn’t answer at first, but rather studied the woman. Although she looked pale, she was a striking-looking woman. The pictures hadn’t done her justice. If she hadn’t been an FBI agent, she could have had a future in modeling.

  “You’re in a plane,” he finally replied.

  She glared. “I figured that. Where we going?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough.”

  “Why did you kidnap me? Is this a ransom? For money?”

  He laughed. “No.”

  “Who are you?”

  “My name’s not important. The only thing that matters is that you’re in our custody.”

  She frowned. “Are you law-enforcement?”

  He laughed again. “In a matter of speaking.”

  “My name is Susan McMillan,” she said. “I’m a Canadian citizen. I demand you take me to a Canadian consulate.”

  “Your name is Erica Blake and you’re an ex-FBI agent. There’s a nationwide hunt for you. You shot and wounded two NSA agents in Atlanta. I know all about you, Miss Blake. So, you can drop the act.”

  A flash of fear crossed her face and she went quiet.

  “What no more questions, Erica?”

  She shrugged. “What the hell. At least tell me your name.”

  “I guess it can’t hurt now. My name’s Bobbie.”

  “Okay. Who do you work for, Bobbie? The NSA? CIA? DoD? You have a military look. My bet is Department of Defense. Special Ops?”

  He grinned, said nothing.

  Blake’s face brightened as if she’d just figured something out. “You’re part of the conspiracy.”

  “What conspiracy?”

  “This big plan that links all the events,” she said. “Carpenter’s death, the President’s assassination, all the rest of it. You’re involved in some way.”

  Garcia shrugged. “You’ve been watching too many Hollywood movies, Erica. There is no conspiracy. I’m just a guy following orders.”

  “If you are connected to this insane plan, whatever it is, you may know what’s happened to my ex-husband. He went missing a while back. I need to find him. Please, Bobbie,” she pleaded. “Even if you can’t tell me anything else, tell me about him.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Steve McCord.”

  Garcia recognized the name immediately. He was the CIA agent the NSA guys had taken and interrogated. A frown crossed his face.

  “What is it? What’s happened to Steve?”

  The captain was determined not to tell the woman anything, but her beseeching expression melted his resolve. “Okay, I guess it can’t hurt. McCord was arrested and questioned. He’s still alive.”

  Her face flooded with relief. “Thank God! Where is he?”

  He waved a hand a hand in the air. “We’re going there now.�
�

  “We are?”

  “Yes. But don’t get your hopes up too much. He’s in bad shape, from what I heard. He may not make it.”

  3 Days to Zero Hour

  Gimmlewald, Switzerland

  Megan Lewis strolled on the sidewalk of the picturesque village, admiring the boutique shops and bistros that lined the main street. But, at the same time, she kept a wary eye for anyone who could be tailing her.

  After a refueling stop in Sydney, Australia, Mueller’s plane had flown her to Bern, Switzerland. Waiting for her at an airport locker, there was a phony Swiss passport and two new credit cards reflecting her new identity. Henry had thought of everything – she would have to repay the man, as soon as she got the chance.

  At the Bern airport she rented a car and drove to this small town. Henry had told her the place was a perfect hideout. It was in a remote part of the country, far away from the hectic banking centers of Zurich and Geneva.

  After checking into the small but exclusive inn under her new name, Megan altered her appearance as much as possible. Dying her hair black and putting on black frame eyeglasses, she also shed her expensive designer suit and replaced it with a pair of baggy Levi’s, a cheap blouse and white Adidas sneakers. She bought a disposable camera and dangled it from her neck. Standing in front of her room’s mirror yesterday, she looked nothing like the stylishly-dressed senator, but rather, a carefree tourist on holiday.

  Spotting a quaint café at the corner, she decided to have lunch.

  Minutes later she was seated at small wooden table next to the sidewalk. A tall waiter handed her a menu. “Would you like something to drink?” he asked in German.

  “A white wine,” she replied in the same language. “How is the Zürcher Geschnetzeltes here?” she asked, referring to the veal and mushroom delicacy popular in the country.

  “Excellent, Madame.”

  “Good. I’ll have that.”

  The man nodded and moved away.

  After drinking the first glass of wine and ordering another, her food order came and she began to eat. Savoring the rich veal and warm loaf of bread, her thoughts turned to her somber new reality. In spite of the fact she was in a picturesque village with breathtaking mountain views and quaint shops, she was still a woman on the run. Killers are after me. Trained assassins whose job it is to find me, no matter where I am.

  Gulping down her second wine, she signaled the waiter for another.

  On the plus side, she was in a country far away from the United States. Switzerland was a neutral country, and it would be difficult to extradite her back to the U.S., since she had committed no crimes. She also had plenty of money available. Years ago she had set up secret Swiss and Cayman bank accounts. And she had a good friend she could trust. Henry Mueller. Her thoughts drifted to the Swiss banker, to their last tryst. It had been exciting and fun, which puzzled her. She had sex with men only when it benefited her in some strategic way. But being with Henry had been different. Better, for some reason she couldn’t pinpoint. But she had to be careful. Mueller was married and she had heard his spouse was a very jealous trophy wife.

  As she sipped her third wine, she pushed all those thoughts aside.

  Leaning back in the wooden chair, she gazed at the nearby lake, where small sailboats with bright-colored sails glided over the azure waters. The air smelled clean and fresh, unlike the smog back in Washington. She tried to focus on the scenery and enjoy the bright sunshine and cool breeze of the day.

  Because she knew that once night fell, she would unsuccessfully try to sleep. The terror of being captured and killed lurked every night.

  ***

  Prison Complex

  Guantanamo Bay Naval Base

  Guantanamo, Cuba

  Erica Blake clutched the thick jail bars that fronted her 6’ x 6’ cell and eyed the old clock on the corridor wall. It read 2:00 p.m. Yesterday she’d been brought to the antiquated prison, stripped, hosed-down, and given an orange jumpsuit to wear. Then locked up in this cell and fed twice. She’d been told nothing.

  She’d demanded an attorney, but the two armed U.S. Marines who guarded this wing stayed silent. It was clear that listening to inmate complaints wasn’t high on their priority list.

  The clock clicked to 2:01 p.m. and the metal door at the end of the corridor opened. A man in a U.S. Navy uniform with officer’s insignia came in and the Marines came to attention.

  The three of them strode to the front of her cell and one of the jarheads said to her, “Step back, please.”

  Erica backed away from the cell door and the Marine guard unlocked it. The officer stepped in the cell and the guard relocked it behind him.

  “I’m Ensign Tulley,” the naval officer said. “I’m a JAG attorney, assigned to your case.” The ensign was in his early twenties, athletically built with a boyish face. His blond hair was closely cropped in a high-and-tight crew-cut.

  “What am I doing here, Tulley?”

  “Miss Blake, you’ve been charged under the Patriot Act for terroristic acts against the government of the United States. You’re being held as an enemy combatant.”

  Her jaw dropped. “What the hell? How can that be?”

  His boyish face reddened and Erica guessed that this was probably his first case.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. But it’s all right here.” He was holding a manila envelope which he handed to her.

  Opening it, she read through the document quickly. It appeared very official and was signed by the Attorney General of the U.S. Her heart sank and she handed it back. Then she sat down on the threadbare metal cot.

  Tulley turned to the two Marines, who were still standing at parade rest outside the cell. “Gentlemen,” he said, “I need to have a private conversation with my client.”

  The Marines saluted and went back to their post by the corridor door.

  “May I sit down?” the officer asked Erica. “We need to prepare for the next steps.”

  She shrugged and he sat on the far side of the cot.

  “How old are you, Ensign? You don’t look old enough to drive.”

  He blushed again. “I graduated from the Naval Academy six months ago. With honors.”

  “I’m sure. Is this your first case?”

  He nodded, said nothing.

  “Great,” she added.

  “Miss Blake, you’re in a lot of trouble. I’m here to help you.”

  Sighing, she said, “Okay, Tulley, looks like we’re stuck with each other. Is this a privileged conversation? I’m your client, so you can’t repeat what I say, right?”

  “That’s right, ma’am.”

  “Let me tell you what happened. Two NSA agents, posing as Census takers and without identifying themselves as law-enforcement officers, drew guns on me and tried to kill me. I had to defend myself. After I fled, I was tracked down by a secret, black-ops team and brought here.”

  A dubious look crossed his face. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but your story sounds far-fetched. Why would the NSA want to arrest you in the first place? I’ve read your file. You have a history of insubordination, and in fact, you were fired by the FBI. Your record also indicates you may have a drinking problem. Is it possible you were drunk or on drugs and that’s why you shot the NSA agents?”

  Erica’s hands formed into fists and her heart raced. “Listen, Ensign, let’s get one thing straight. Everything I’m telling you is true.” She stabbed a finger on his chest to make her point.

  Tulley held up his palms. “Okay. I’m on your side. Let’s say I believe you. Why would the National Security Agency want to arrest you? And why were you charged under the Patriot Act?”

  She breathed a sigh or relief. At least he was listening to her. Her voice dropped to a whisper and he leaned in, straining to hear. “Let me tell you everything, Tulley. It’s going to be hard to believe, but all of it is true. I first started working on this about a month ago, when I was assigned to Senator Carpenter’s death in Washington, D.C.” Then she proceeded to tell
him, in detail, the web of conspiracy she had discovered. Ten minutes later she was done.

  The young officer, his mouth open, was speechless. Eventually he said, “Jesus Christ.”

  “You believe me, Tulley?”

  “Ma’am, there’s been so many strange events happening in the U.S. lately. Things that don’t make any sense. This conspiracy, or whatever it is, does seem to tie it all together.”

  Erica nodded. “Yes, it does. Now, can you get me out of here?”

  He looked doubtful. “That’s going to be difficult. Since you’re charged as an enemy combatant, your rights to due process are forfeited. You’ll be tried here, at Gitmo in a military court. I’ll request an immediate hearing, but…it may be years before your case is heard.”

  Her anger boiled over. “So that’s it? That’s all you can say? What good are you?”

  The ensign recoiled as if he’d been slapped in the face.

  “Sorry,” she added. “You didn’t deserve that. But you’ve got to help me.”

  “I’ll do all I can, ma’am. Is there anyone who can corroborate your story?”

  She decided she had to trust him completely – he was her only chance of getting out of this prison. “U.S. Senator Megan Lewis,” she replied. “She’s a friend of mine. She’s been able to confirm the names of some of the conspirators.”

  “Good. I’ll contact her today. The senator may have connections high-up at the Justice Department. Maybe she can pull some strings so you can be tried in a civilian court back in the States.”

  Erica felt a ray of hope.

  “Miss Blake, is there anyone else that can corroborate your story? The more the better.”

  “There’s a police detective in Fairfax County, Virginia. Detective Gray. I worked with him on the Carpenter case.”

  “Okay, I’ll call him too. Having two people who confirm your story, especially a senator and someone in law-enforcement will help me get an expedited hearing with a military judge.”

  “Thank you, Ensign. There’s something else I need your help with. The guy that kidnapped me in Juarez – he said my ex-husband was being held here, in Guantanamo. I need you to find him.”