Infiltrator Read online

  Infiltrator

  Bob Blink

  Chapter 1

  Washington, D.C.

  The wind whipped at Mark Wilson's clothes, and threatened to sweep the aluminum attaché case he carried from his hand. It was uncommonly cold, even for January in this part of the country, and the weatherman suggested it was going to get much worse. A major storm front was closing in on the city, and sometime today, well after dark Mark hoped, the predictions called for more than a foot of snow. Temperatures in the negative double digits were anticipated, and if the forecast was correct, the winds were going to exceed anything he'd ever seen. His light blond hair, cut almost military short, was already dusted with a fine powder, although most likely from snow whipped up by the winds rather than an advance snowfall from the impending storm. He shivered, his six foot, one inch frame chilled to the core, and clenched his overcoat tight at the throat. Even the extra sweater he wore underneath wasn't enough to cut the wind completely.

  The taxi had let him out more than a block away, as was standard. Today was one time he'd considered violating that rule, but the NSA was unforgiving of those who violated their rules, and in the seven years he'd been with the agency he'd learned to follow protocol at all times. Who would have thought that farm-raised Mark Wilson would hold such an important position in one of the world's most important spy agencies, he thought. When he'd decided to seek employment there, he'd wondered if they would consider his application at all.

  Of course he wasn't a field agent. He didn't think he'd have the nerves for that kind of work, but his expertise with computers had served him well. True, he'd been given some interesting training and had been involved in a minor way in a couple of local operations, but nothing of the type that the true agents got into regularly. Still, Annie, the girl he was seeing off and on, had been impressed when he'd deliberately let slip he had a role in a local undercover operation, something he knew he shouldn't have revealed, but for several reasons Annie already knew where he was employed, one of them being her brother worked there as well, although in an entirely different department.

  A particularly strong gust turned him partly around as he shielded his face against the blast and the sleet it churned up. Fortunately his destination was just ahead and he'd soon be out of the miserable cold. He wished he knew why he was supposed to come to this place every six months for a special debriefing. He had been told to discuss the meetings with no one, even those he worked with daily. He assumed they had similar meetings themselves, but like himself, they never mentioned them. The agency was overly secretive in some ways.

  As he approached the building, he examined the multistory structure critically. It was no different than the rest of the office buildings on the block, at least from the outside. Old, with gray stone facing and showing the signs of age, it wasn't particularly impressive. But then that was what the Agency liked. Here in a section of the city that was seeing massive rebuilding, it was starting to stand out, and he could envision that in a few years he would be directed elsewhere. Glancing casually around, he checked to see who might be in the area and discovered that other than himself only one other person was braving the elements in this vicinity.

  He wasn't surprised that he recognized the other. Stephanie, he dug the name out of his memory, surprised it came to mind so easily seeing as he hadn't thought about her at all since the last meeting. He knew little about her other than she was one of those that had been present on the same day each time he'd been here before. In a way that surprised him, and he was surprised he hadn't thought about it before. She wasn't Agency. He'd overheard enough the last time they'd been here to know that she worked for one of the larger communications conglomerates in the city. Why would she be a regular at what was an Agency facility he wondered? Or the others? He was certain they would be here today as well. They had been at the other times he'd come, although they interacted only briefly, and he hadn't thought of them since the last time.

  He held the door for her since she arrived at the entrance just as he reached out to open one of the large doors that would admit them into the lobby. She nodded, clearly recognizing him as well, but said nothing beyond a brief, "Thank you." He nodded his reply, and followed her inside out of the biting wind.

  The lobby reflected the age of the building much as the outside had, perhaps even more. An elderly lady sat at the chair behind the desk, and a lobby guard, armed with the usual Glock sidearm sat near the elevators. Neither looked like they would pose a threat to anyone determined to make their way unauthorized up to the floors above, but Mark suspected they were far better trained than they looked. Probably former Agency, or perhaps CIA. He also suspected there were additional security forces nearby, just in case. Every effort was being made to make this place seem less important that it obviously was.

  They didn't need to check in. The woman at the desk acted as if she didn't care who they were, as they made their way to the elevator. There were eight floors, each supposedly rented out to a different company, as listed on the directory next to the elevator doors. The guard nodded at them, more toward Stephanie than himself. Mark recognized him from the past visits, and assumed the man did the same. When the elevator chimed to indicate the arrival of the car, they moved closer in anticipation, and stepped in once the doors opened.

  "Here we go again," Mark offered, hoping to break the ice a bit.

  Stephanie smiled in return. With her long red hair, she was really quite stunning Mark realized, wondering why he hadn't noticed the fact on previous visits.

  "With this storm coming in you'd have thought they would reschedule this meeting," she said after a brief pause. "I can see getting home tonight being troublesome."

  Mark had been having similar thoughts. The nearest subway entrance was almost two miles away, and if things got as bad as he suspected they might, getting a taxi could be difficult. They would be in great demand, and most likely delayed. They'd have to call and arrange for rides before leaving the building and have them come here, as waiting out in the storm wasn't going to be desirable. He'd have to ask his interviewers about proper protocol.

  They rode the rest of the way in silence. The elevator stopped at the fourth floor, and Mark waited for her to get off first. They stepped out into a large open waiting area. The elevators were enclosed in a small oval structure, opening into a large open waiting area. The few windows that existed at this level were distant, but showed the worsening weather outside. It looked to Mark as if the storm would be arriving much earlier than the weatherman had predicted.

  The look here was completely different than the barren and tired old lobby on the first floor. Everything had been upgraded and was beautifully laid out and of superb quality. No one waited to greet them, but a small breakfast bar waited off to one side with warm rolls, coffee and juices for them to partake of while they waited. Mark noted the other familiar faces from previous sessions. All eight of them were now here. He and Stephanie had been the last. The others were scattered around the room, making little effort to exchange small talk. It was as if they were all strangers, despite their having been here multiple times together. Mark realized he wouldn't have been able to describe any of them had he been asked the day before. Seeing them brought back his recognition, but they clearly faded from his consciousness once they left here. Not very good technique for an NSA operative, he thought, but maybe that was something the Agency somehow controlled.

  A couple of the names returned to him. Bud Johnson, who was pouring a cup of coffee for himself, was the only other member of the group that Mark knew anything about. He was an out-of-towner, a Wall Street type who worked at one of the larger investment firms. Goldman, Mark thought. He must have come all the way to D.C. for this meeting. Perhaps he'd come the day before, and stayed t
he night somewhere nearby. Mark spotted a small traveler's bag parked in a corner, and didn't envy the other's trip home tonight.

  A blond woman in her early thirties he recalled was named Jessie, and worked in a similar field as his own; Homeland Security. The last name he could dredge up from a reluctant memory was that of Glen Taylor. Standing several inches taller than himself, the man's black skin emphasized the powerful build of the Air Force Major. The names of the other three, two women, one Asian, and a man at least a decade older than the rest of them, eluded him.

  Suddenly feeling the chill that permeated his whole body, Mark headed toward the bar, planning on getting a warm cup of coffee for himself. Stephanie broke off to the right, heading toward a corner he recalled her occupying in the past. As he made his way across the room he couldn't help a reoccurrence of a thought he now recalled from previous meetings, that this was an odd assortment to have gathered here, and wondered why his organization had tagged him for these sessions.

  Had the wait been longer things might have become awkward, but Mark barely had time to get started on his coffee when the first name was announced over the intercom. Pam Chou, the name suddenly familiar to him, stood and headed toward the room where she'd been directed. He watched her go, wondering who she really was and what she might offer to this strange debriefing session. The other names were called in rapid succession, and Mark found himself headed, coffee in hand, toward Room 4F where he'd been directed. They were all directed toward the east end of the building, but each to a different room. He didn't expect to see the others when the debriefing was complete. He never had in the past. He didn't know if that was because he was the last to finish, or because, like him, they simply left when done.

  Mark checked his watch as he stepped out of the room back into the spacious lounge area and closed the door behind him. It was considerably later than these sessions usually lasted. That probably explained the wrung out feeling that permeated his entire body. His mind was numb, his head feeling too large for his skull. He felt that his entire being had been battered, and didn't want to think about how he had spent the day. As always he realized that somehow he'd shifted around to the opposite end of the building, and the door he'd just closed behind him was not the one he'd gone into all those hours earlier, although he couldn't recall how he might have shifted that far during the day's events. His thoughts were centered on getting home, settling in with a warm bath and a couple of relaxing rum and cokes after getting something to eat. The empty pit that was his stomach was making him very aware that the last thing he'd eaten was a couple of breakfast rolls many hours earlier.

  A brief glance toward one of the windows showed it was dark outside, although he could see lights of the distant buildings indicating the snow wasn't masking the view. Still, it would be cold, and catching a cab more difficult this late. He wondered about the state of the storm. All of the time he'd spent in the daylong session had been in areas cut off from any outside view.

  "There he is," someone said, and Mark looked up to see that it was the Glen Taylor who'd spoken. The deep voice caught him unprepared. He was surprised to see not only the Major, but all of the others were still there in the lounge. Based on the time of day, he'd expected he was the last one out, but would have thought the others had gone on their way as usual. Instead, they were all gathered in the waiting area as if anticipating his release.

  Several of the waiting group started his way.

  "The city is virtually shut down," Taylor explained as he drew near. "Apparently the conditions have been pretty rough while we were locked away in meetings. The taxis are backlogged for hours, and can't even get to many areas of D.C."

  "The snow plows are working frantically to clear the streets now that the worst is over," Bud Johnson explained. "Planes have been grounded as well. I don't know if I'm getting out tonight or not."

  "The dispatcher at the taxi company wouldn't promise a time, but said at least a couple of hours," Taylor added. "But if you have a look outside, I don't think they'll even be able to get here."

  Mark wandered over to the window and looked down on the street. He immediately saw what Taylor meant. The snow, and there had been a great deal, had been drifted by the wind and now covered the street in waves. In places it was several feet deep, and it was obvious that no car had passed by in hours. Until the streets were cleared, this building was effectively cut off.

  "Crap!" he muttered softly, trying not to think of how far away the subway was.

  "We're going to a nearby restaurant to wait things out," the small Asian woman said. "It's only a couple of blocks and I think we can walk that far. It's also on a larger street which should be open. Hi. I'm Pam Chou. We have never really met. You're Mark. Stephanie told me your name." She held out a small hand.

  Mark took the offered hand and nodded her way. "Nice to meet you Pam," he replied, taking in the delicate and attractive features. With her long silky black hair that cascaded to the small of her back, and liquid brown eyes, she was quiet captivating this close. "Do you think this restaurant is even open? It wouldn't be good to get trapped outside. This isn't an area where much would be open this time of night. Maybe we ought to talk with the people here and see what alternatives are open to us?"

  "Good luck with that," Jessie Carter warned, entering the conversation. "There's no one here. I tried to get the attention of our interviewers here, but once those doors close, it's like they have somehow vanished. I even knocked on the door you just came out of. Nothing."

  Mark didn't recall anyone knocking on the door when he was being interviewed, but it didn't make sense the people responsible for these sessions would simply walk off. And where would they go?

  "How about on the other levels?" he asked.

  "It's late," Jessie replied. "They are all dark. I'm guessing people saw what the storm was bringing and the smart ones left early today before conditions trapped them here. Not even anyone in the lobby."

  "I called the restaurant," Pam replied, eager to get things moving. "Phone service isn't the best for some reason, and some of us have no access at all, but my phone is still working. Steph says some of the other carriers must have tower outages. I've been to the place before and had the number stored. They claim they've been open every day for over fourteen years and aren't about to let a little snow shut them down. They're open."

  "We can call the taxi company and have them redirect our cabs there," Taylor suggested. "In the meantime we can settle in someplace nice and get something to eat. I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

  The growl in Mark's gut answered for him. He glanced toward the window and replied, "I guess we have no choice." He didn't relish going outside, but these people had waited for him, and he suspected staying here now meant staying the night.

  The remainder of the small group was drifting over. Each introduced themselves, even those he knew names for, and he added names to the remaining faces. Jerry Marshal was the older gentleman, and the other woman he hadn't known a name for was Monica Parker.

  "Are we going to get going?" Jessica Carter asked. "It's only going to get darker and colder out there."

  Several voices agreed, as Glen and Pam surveyed the group. He and Pam seemed to have organized the planning between them.

  "All right then," Pam said. "I'll lead the way once we get outside. As I said it's only a couple of blocks, but it will probably be rough going. Bundle up and let's get started."

  Fortunately everyone had come prepared for snowy weather, since it had already been pretty miserable earlier in the day. Shoes and boots as well and multiple layers of clothing would help keep them warm, and another glance out the window suggested the cutting wind of the morning had died away. Mark picked up his attaché case, and others grabbed purses or small folders they had brought. Bud Johnson rolled his travel case over to a corner and set it there.

  "That can stay. I'll get it tomorrow if I'm still in town, or have them ship it. Trying to pull it through this snow isn't wort
h the stuff I have inside."

  Glen took the lead and headed out toward the elevator, holding the door so everyone could fit inside. Mark had a momentary urge to suggest the stairs. If the power were to glitch while they were inside, they'd be trapped for a considerable period, and they were tightly crowded getting all eight of them inside at once. No one else complained, and the doors were already shutting before he could bring himself to speak, so he mentally crossed his fingers and hoped they made it down. So far the power in the building had seemed reliable enough. He thought he saw the lights in the lounge cut out just as the door closed, and he held his breath.

  The elevator proceeded to descend normally, and reaching the Lobby level, the bell chimed normally to indicate their arrival. The doors opened smoothly to the brightly lit but drab entryway, and they stepped out. As Jessie had warned, the area was deserted.

  "Let's hope they haven't locked us in," Jerry Marshal warned.

  Pam was already at the door and had pushed it open. "It's locked from the outside, but it opens from the inside," she said with a grin. Mark held the door as Pam and Glen led the way outside, finally stepping out himself and letting the door close behind him. His sharp ears heard the 'click' as the door locked upon closing. He tried it just in case, but as suspected, they were outside now, and with no one waiting inside, they wouldn't be getting back in.

  A very light dusting of snow was falling, and that was coming nearly straight down. Mark wasn't certain if it was falling snow, or particles being blown off the top levels of the building by the slight breeze that would be stronger up there in the unprotected areas. But looking around in the faint light from the street lamps he could see the storm had been intense while they had been inside. There were drifts of snow, blown and shaped into waves that buried the few objects that had been scattered along the street. The street itself was clearly closed to any traffic. While in places he could see patches of the black surface showing through, in others there were drifts at least three feet deep that stretched across the street. No cabs would be coming here until this was cleared, and he doubted that would happen tonight. Briefly he wondered about those who they had come to see, but that wasn't his problem now.