Dead Shift (The Rho Agenda Inception Book 3) Read online

  Without waiting to be introduced, Jack took one of the open chairs and, as Janet and Spider seated themselves on the opposite side of the arc, he leaned across the coffee table to grab a handful of mini-pretzels. Levi moved to the front of the group and proceeded to introduce the team members Jack hadn’t yet met, drawing simple nods of acknowledgement from Harry, Bronson, Paul, and Bobby, movements that Jack nonchalantly acknowledged.

  Levi began his presentation by passing out thick manila envelopes to everyone except Jack. Noting the omission, Janet studied Jack’s face. He appeared not to care that he hadn’t been given a packet.

  “Don’t bother opening your envelopes until I’m finished,” Levi said. “They contain the credentials you will each be using for this operation. As of this moment you represent the Department of Homeland Security, more specifically Immigration and Customs Enforcement’s Homeland Security Investigations component.”

  “What about him?” Raymond Bronson gestured toward Jack, voicing the question that Janet had almost asked.

  “I’ll get to that in a minute,” said Levi. “Listen up.”

  For the next thirty minutes, Levi Elias spelled out exactly what the NSA knew and what, at this point, the agency only surmised. Then he turned to their orders. Spider’s team would pose as a special interagency task force investigating a very specific terrorist threat: that a Chinese gang, supported by North Korean intelligence operatives, would attempt to smuggle a nuclear device through the Port of Oakland.

  But the team’s real mission was to find Jamal Glover before the Chinese or some other government could spirit him out of the country. The team would travel to the San Francisco Bay Area on two NSA aircraft. Part of the team would land at San Francisco International Airport while the rest would fly into Oakland. Levi would contact them when they arrived in California with additional information.

  Levi finished his briefing and Janet watched as his gaze passed from person to person before coming to rest on Raymond Bronson. “Any questions? And no, Bronson, I don’t want to hear about how good-looking you are.”

  Janet laughed along with the others. Then she saw Levi shift his attention to Jack Gregory, who appeared completely at ease, despite having been excluded from any part of the operation that Levi had discussed thus far.

  “Okay, Jack. It’s your turn.”

  “I noticed you didn’t prepare a new identity for me. I assume that was intentional.”

  Levi leaned over and picked up the remote control that rested on an end table to his right, turned to face the wall-mounted display, and clicked the power button. When the display came to life, Janet found herself staring at a handsome, elegantly dressed man who appeared to be in his mid- to late forties.

  “Meet Jim ‘Max’ McPherson,” said Levi. “Billionaire founder of one of the world’s most successful hedge funds.”

  Levi pressed another button on the remote, then pressed it again and again, cycling through a series of bloody crime scene photographs featuring a young blonde woman slumped down against an oven. Her throat had been cut so deeply it looked as if someone had tried to sever her head.

  “And this is his daughter, Jill McPherson. Her body was discovered on Saturday morning in Jamal Glover’s kitchen. As I previously mentioned, the FBI believes that Jamal killed her in a jealous rage and fled. But we have reason to believe that a Chinese assassin named Qiang Chu killed her before kidnapping Jamal. Max McPherson doesn’t give a shit; he wants the head of whoever killed his daughter in a burlap sack. And he’s willing to pay somebody whatever it takes to make that happen.”

  Although Janet didn’t like where this seemed to be going, she saw Jack nod in silent acceptance.

  Levi continued. “Within twenty-four hours of his daughter’s murder, we began intercepting messages sent through an intermediary inquiring about the availability of people with a very particular skill set. That was yesterday. Last night, one of our people contacted this go-between and provided rather detailed information about the availability of just such a person: a man known in dark circles as ‘The Ripper.’”

  The uncomfortable feeling that had gripped Janet now had validation. Jesus! Jack’s been on the ground less than two hours and the craziness is already starting!

  “So you see, Jack,” Levi said, “you don’t need a new identity because you get to play yourself.”

  Although the previous mirth had gone out of Jack’s face, he showed no sign of surprise at this sudden turn of events.

  Levi cleared his throat. “We want you to contact McPherson, just as you have done with your previous clients, and sell your services. You are a private consultant to the NSA but you can keep any additional money that McPherson might pay you. Think of it as a bonus. And except for occasional updates between you and Spider’s team, you will operate as you have since you left the CIA’s employ, using your personal methods and resources.”

  “And if I succeed,” Jack said, “you get plausible deniability for any collateral damage I might cause.”

  “A side benefit.”

  Jack rose to his feet facing Levi, his brown eyes glittering as they narrowed. “When do I meet Mr. McPherson?”

  “You don’t. Everything goes through his intermediary.”

  “That’s not how I work. I meet with McPherson personally or you can find yourself another contractor.”

  Levi Elias paused for several seconds and then nodded. “I’ll see what I can arrange.”

  “Okay then,” said Jack. “I’m going to need some equipment and a vehicle on this end. I’m partial to motorcycles.”

  “That won’t be a problem.”

  “Good. We done here?”

  “Until I have McPherson’s answer. In the meantime you can stay right here.” Levi turned his attention back to the others. “The rest of you, pack up and get moving. Your travel itineraries are in your packets. You can study on your flights.”

  As Janet rose to her feet, her eyes briefly locked with Jack’s, and once again she felt the rush of adrenaline she got by being around him. When he turned and walked away toward the kitchen, Janet watched him go. She’d been adamant that Jack was too dangerous to be allowed on her team and she’d made her views clear to both Levi and Spider. Now, in a weird way, she’d gotten her wish. So why wasn’t she feeling good about it?

  Seeing Levi open the door and step outside, Janet followed, catching up with him as he reached his silver Audi. Levi stopped and turned to face her, his face questioning.

  Janet allowed a hint of accusation to creep into her voice. “Why is Admiral Riles sending Jack out on his own like this? I thought the whole point of bringing him on board was to add his skills to the team.”

  “That was the original plan, but McPherson offered us a unique target of opportunity where Jack gets to do what he’s so good at. Worst case, he provides a distraction that confuses our enemies.”

  Suddenly everything became crystal clear. “You’re sending Jack out without backup? Using him as bait?”

  As much as she had always liked Levi, Janet wasn’t liking what she now saw in the analyst’s dark eyes.

  “You know even better than I do that Jack can take care of himself,” said Levi. “Focus on your mission and leave Jack’s to him.”

  Then Levi opened the car door, slid into the driver’s seat, and drove away.

  Janet watched his dust trail until he disappeared around a bend, hidden by a thick copse of trees. She’d experienced this same kind of decision making many times before and she knew that from the agency perspective, it was probably a good one. Although it placed Jack at increased risk, it was the same type of risk he chose on his private consulting jobs.

  But standing in the long shadows cast by the late-afternoon sun, Janet couldn’t shake the feeling that, this time, she was responsible.

  CHAPTER 13

  Sometime in the past, one of the senior trader
s at Jim McPherson’s Maximum Capital Appreciation Fund had nicknamed his boss Max. It was an apt description of the effort he dedicated to accomplishing every goal he set for himself. During his divorce, Max’s goal had been to gain sole custody of Jillian, his only child. It had cost him a hundred million dollars to make his ex-wife go away, but it had been money well spent.

  Through the years that followed, despite the long hours he devoted to building the world’s most successful hedge fund, Max had always made sure he got plenty of father-daughter time, attending her grade school plays, middle school sporting events, and high school cheerleading competitions. When she got into trouble, which wasn’t often, he was there to ensure that if any punishment was doled out, it came from him rather than some third-party institution.

  During Jill’s junior year studying marketing at Georgetown University, two important things had happened: she’d started a successful modeling career, and she’d fallen in love with a young MIT prodigy by the name of Jamal Glover. Max hadn’t cared in the least that Jamal was black. But the fact that his twenty-one-year-old daughter was dating an eighteen-year-old had worried him.

  His first meeting with Jamal had dispelled his concern. Despite his youth, Jamal was a college junior and displayed a self-confidence, wit, and maturity that made Max want to hire the young man. Upon Jamal’s graduation the following year, Max had been disappointed when he accepted an offer to work at the NSA. When Max had offered him five times his government salary, Jamal had laughed and said something about grabbing a once-in-a-lifetime challenge.

  Thirty-six hours ago that challenge had killed Max’s little girl. The FBI’s notion that Jamal had killed Jill was understandable, but misguided. Not only was Jamal a nonviolent person, but they had been deliriously in love with each other. There was no way that Jill would have picked up another lover on the side.

  Max knew that nothing could ever bring her back, but he couldn’t bear the thought of her killer getting away with what he had done. Even worse, the thought of Jill’s murderer being processed through the screwed-up American legal system made him sick to his stomach. The prospect of having to sit for weeks in a courtroom while prosecutors presented grisly crime scene photos and step-by-step re-creations of the crime while defense attorneys tried to slander his daughter was intolerable. Even if the trial produced a guilty verdict, Jill’s killer would live on in prison.

  Pushing back from his desk, Max walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows that filled the south wall of his second-floor office and looked out at the immaculately manicured grounds surrounding the estate. Bathed in the light of the waning gibbous moon, he almost expected to see Jill’s ghostly image drifting past the fountain and through her beloved gardens.

  Max gritted his teeth so hard he heard his jaws crack. There was a price to be paid. Justice might not demand it, but Max McPherson would. He had no intention of contracting some two-bit hit man; he needed a highly skilled and ruthless specialist. Grant Thorn, his chief of security, had delivered a list of candidates. Four hours ago, after reviewing their files, Max dared to hope that he’d found the right man for the job. Then he’d gotten the bad news that had forced him to scratch that man from his list.

  It wasn’t that The Ripper was unavailable. The problem was that he had insisted on a face-to-face meeting with Max before taking the job. As badly as Max wanted to hire the best contractor available, a direct meeting with the assassin was out of the question. So he’d told Thorn to reject The Ripper’s request.

  Max scrubbed his face with both hands, digging his thumbs deep into his aching temples. When he glanced down at his laptop, the sole source of illumination in the office, he was surprised to see that it was nearly midnight. Mentally and emotionally exhausted, Max barely recognized his surroundings.

  Without bothering to put the laptop to sleep, Max walked out of his spacious office and turned toward the master suite. Maybe tonight his exhaustion would grant him a sleep not filled with nightmarish images of Jill’s corpse staring up at him from the coroner’s table.

  Glad that he’d dismissed his household staff for the evening, Max walked down the dark hallway, shoulders slumped beneath the weight of his despair. He passed the top of the gently spiraling stairway that opened down into the grand foyer and saw Grant Thorn making his nightly rounds. Grant looked up at Max but said nothing. That was good. They both knew there was nothing to say.

  The double doors to the master suite stood open and Max stepped inside his dark bedroom, closing them behind him. When he reached for the light switch, a low voice startled him.

  “I like the dark.”

  Max spun toward the sound. There in the deep shadows of his sitting area, a dark figure sat in one of his reading chairs. With his heart pounding so loudly he was sure the other man could hear it, Max debated calling out for Thorn. But if this man wanted to kill him, he could do it before the security chief could reach the stairway.

  “How’d you get in here?”

  “It would seem that your estate’s security isn’t as good as you thought.”

  No shit! Max thought. He fought to recover his equilibrium, to erase the fear from his voice. “Who are you? What do you want from me?”

  The stranger’s next words stunned him. “You asked if I was interested in doing a job for you. Think of the fact that I’m sitting here as my resume.”

  “The Ripper?” Just saying the name sent chills up his arms and neck.

  “I’ve been called that. Please, have a seat.”

  A hand movement indicated the reading chair opposite the one in which The Ripper sat and Max found himself moving automatically toward it.

  Max sat down. “Two nights ago, my daughter was murdered.”

  “I know.”

  Thankful that there was no banal offering of sympathy, Max allowed a hint of the rage he felt into his voice. “Are you familiar with the details of my daughter’s murder?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let me be clear. Even if the FBI arrests him first, I want Jillian’s killer dead. Can you do that for me?”

  “Yes.”

  The timbre of The Ripper’s voice seemed to drop the room’s temperature. It might have been his altered state of mind, but Max McPherson couldn’t shake the feeling that, had there been more light, his breath would have been visible. None of the industry titans whom he’d spent the last twenty years rubbing elbows with projected as powerful a presence as the man seated across from Max right now. All his doubts had been erased. This was the one.

  “Name your price.”

  “Two million dollars plus expenses, payable upon successful completion of my mission.”

  The killer’s answer surprised Max. “Nothing up front?”

  “I never accept payment before the job is finished.”

  Max swallowed, then leaned forward trying to get a better look at the weapon he was about to launch at Jill’s murderer. Despite the way the moonlight-splashed bay window backlit The Ripper’s face, Max thought he glimpsed a red glint in those dark eyes.

  The Ripper stood and looked down at him.

  “Agreed,” Max said. “I’ll have my security chief escort you out through the front gate.”

  Max rose to his feet to stand facing the man he’d just hired. He extended his hand and felt the raw power in the hand that gripped it. Then, as Max raised his cell phone to speed-dial Thorn, he found himself wishing he was calling Jill’s killer. He’d dearly love to whisper something in that man’s ear.

  Get ready, you bastard. Hell is coming to dinner.

  CHAPTER 14

  Wearing a multicolored Tori Richards shirt, black jeans, and flat-toed motorcycle boots, Jack climbed out of the chartered Beechcraft 400A onto the tarmac at Lee’s Summit Municipal Airport, looking southwest at the anvil-topped thunderheads gathered there. The weather service had issued tornado watches for Kansas City and the surrounding area beginning at
2:00 P.M. central time and continuing throughout the afternoon and evening. From the look of those storm clouds, those watches were likely to turn into warnings.

  His loose-fitting shirt concealed a holstered undershirt that secured his 9mm HK P30S against his lower back. A black Gerber Guardian dagger hung inverted in a custom sheath along his right side. With what Jack intended to do, it was unlikely that this weaponry would go unused for very much longer.

  Aware that Janet and the rest of the NSA team were already on the ground in the San Francisco Bay Area, Jack had decided on a very different approach, one designed to bring himself to the attention of Jamal’s kidnappers. If Admiral Riles wanted to use him as bait, Jack would make sure the bait couldn’t be ignored.

  Jack walked into the Heartland Executive Aviation office, made arrangements to have the Beechcraft jet refueled, and retrieved the car keys that had been left for him at the front desk.

  In the parking lot, he spotted the silver Mustang convertible in the third parking space to his right. It was 12:33 P.M. and the temperature was now hot enough that Jack thought about putting the top down, but a glance at the gathering clouds talked him out of that notion. While it was no fun to be caught in a hard rainstorm without overhead protection, these big Midwestern storm clouds usually contained a mixture of rain and hail. He didn’t really want to have to stop under an overpass to put the top up.

  Jack tossed his duffel in the trunk, climbed in, and turned the ignition, rewarded by the engine’s deep rumble as he guided the car onto Lee’s Summit Road and then onto I-70 west. He’d decided to fly into Lee’s Summit on the southeast side of Kansas City and make the forty-five-mile drive to Kansas City International Airport for security reasons. It made his arrival far less visible and provided ample opportunity to lose any pursuers prior to his departure.

  As Jack took exit 13 onto I-29 north, his thoughts turned to the hostile reception he’d gotten from Janet Price in Baltimore. Even though he hadn’t expected a hug, her ongoing anger had surprised him. Maybe it shouldn’t have. After all, two months ago he’d come extremely close to getting her killed. Worse than that, he’d confirmed her doubts about his mental stability. His mental stability. Now there was a funny thought.