Wired - Douglas E. Richards [57]
“Continue to follow your original road, but slower and from a lower altitude,” said Desh.
Griffin swooped in closer and did as instructed. Desh pursed his lips in concentration and studied the rapidly changing landscape. “Stop,” he barked. “Back up just a little.”
Desh pointed to an area of road that abutted a section of the tree line that had a break in it. A car could pull off at this point and circle back around without hindrance to a pocket-shaped clearing, about fifty yards away, that couldn’t be seen from the road. He only hoped that enough of the trees had retained their leaves to provide adequate cover. Since the satellite data was somewhat dated, it was impossible from the imagery to know for sure.
“Get the GPS coordinates for this break in the tree line and write them down for me while I make a call,” said Desh.
Desh lifted the receiver of Griffin’s phone. It was cordless but still a landline, which was what he needed. Cell phone traffic was far too easy to intercept. He had checked the phone carefully for listening devices previously and it was clean. He dialed Connelly’s scrambled line at his office at USASOC, praying he would be in.
It was picked up on the fist ring. “David?”
“That’s right.”
“I’m glad you called. And on my secure line at that,” added Connelly approvingly. “I’ve begun looking into this Kira Miller case more carefully and I’m hitting roadblocks that shouldn’t be there for someone with my clearance. I think you’re right. There’s a lot more going on here than meets the eye.”
“Colonel, I’ve learned more since we last spoke. Not enough to complete the picture, but enough to suspect you may have just kicked a hornet’s nest. I think you could be in danger. I recommend you leave your office immediately. Write this down,” he said. Desh gestured to Griffin who handed him the newly scribed GPS coordinates. Desh read them carefully to Connelly. “The coordinates I just gave you are to a short break in the tree line that parallels the road you’ll be on. Otherwise the tree line is unbroken for many miles. If you go off road there you’ll find a pocket in the woods, hidden from the road. Meet me there in as close to three hours from now as you can manage. First check your clothing and car for bugs and assume you’re being followed.”
“Roger that,” said Connelly, trusting Desh enough to follow his instructions without asking any questions.
“I’ll be with a friend: about six-five, 300 pounds, bushy beard. I’ll explain everything when I see you.” Desh paused. “Before we sign off,” he added, “has Smith contacted you yet today to explain what last night was all about?”
“Smith?”
“It’s an obvious alias. I’m talking about the person you asked me to call in when I found Kira Miller. Black Ops officer; short, wiry. Scar under his ear.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, David,” said Connelly in alarm. “Black Ops? I was told that number is to the private cell phone of my boss at MacDill: Brigadier General Evan Gordon.”
22
The army, navy, air force, and marines each had their own Special Operations Command, but all four reported in to the US Special Operations Command, or USSOCOM, at MacDill Air Force Base in Florida, headed by a four-star general. It made sense that this case warranted attention higher up the chain of command and that the contact information had been for Connelly’s boss.
Desh felt his skin crawl. The news that Smith wasn’t who he claimed to be significantly increased the chance that Kira had been right and Connelly was in imminent danger. This called into question the veracity of everything that Smith had told him. Desh knew he needed to consider the full implications of this new information and discuss this further with Connelly, but that would have to wait for another time. He ended the conversation quickly so the colonel could begin taking steps to protect himself.
“Ready to go?” asked Griffin when Desh was off the phone.
“Not yet. I need to think,” said Desh. He lowered his head for almost