Wired - Douglas E. Richards [60]
Desh smiled. “Why don’t you tell me what you learned about Kira while I was asleep,” he said.
Griffin was five minutes into his report when Desh’s cell phone went off. He pulled it from his pocket and eyed the screen warily. It was Connelly. And given the call was unsecured, it had to be urgent. Connelly’s cell, like Desh’s, was untraceable, but it paid to keep the communication short and to the point.
“Yes,” snapped Desh as he answered the call.
“I’m tracking non-stop toward our rendezvous point, with an ETA as planned,” said Connelly. “Managed to flush out some company. I think I lost them but can’t be sure.”
“Understood,” said Desh. He paused in thought for a moment and then added, “Stick with the original plan. I’ll monitor your perimeter after you arrive.”
“Copy that,” said Connelly, ending the connection.
Griffin eyed Desh questioningly as he put his phone away.
“The colonel detected a car following him,” explained Desh. “But he thinks he lost them.”
“Thinks he lost them?” said Griffin nervously.
“We have to assume he hasn’t.”
“But I heard you say, ‘stick with the original plan.’ Why would you do that if you still think he might have been followed?”
“Because we need information and this might be our best chance to get some.”
“How?”
“By setting up an ambush for any unwanted guests,” responded Desh gravely.
Griffin shook his head vigorously. “No way!” he croaked, his lofty vocabulary invariably coming down to earth when he was scared or angry. “That’s not what I signed on for. You may thrive on all this macho military bullshit, but I’m not interested in any of it.”
Desh let out a heavy sigh and frowned deeply. “Me either, Matt,” he mumbled wearily. “Me either.”
23
David Desh glanced impatiently at his watch once again and frowned. He was hidden from view behind a large tree trunk at the outer edge of the clearing, which was roughly the size of a basketball court, waiting for Connelly’s arrival. He and Griffin had picked up a cab in Emporia. After instructing the driver to drop them off a quarter-mile from the meeting point they had finished their journey on foot. Desh had the tranquilizer gun in one pocket of his windbreaker and two spare clips for his .45 in the other.
Griffin was waiting twenty yards farther into the woods. Few of the trees were totally bare, while many of them held full compliments of leaves that hadn’t even begun to change color. Given the significant number of evergreens added to the mix, the woods provided adequate cover as Desh had hoped, with a thin cushion of colorful, newly fallen leaves on the ground.
Desh came to full alert! A car was approaching.
He relaxed slightly as it came into view and he recognized the colonel behind the wheel. Connelly carefully chose his route over the hardened ground, which hadn’t experienced any of the rain that had fallen to the north, trying to minimize any evidence of the passage of his car. He killed the engine and cautiously got out, alert for anyone following. He was wearing civilian slacks and a heavy green knit sweater. Judging from his bulk, Desh guessed he was wearing a vest as well.
Connelly surveyed the tree line methodically. When his eyes reached Desh’s hiding place, Desh moved his head into Connelly’s line of sight and nodded meaningfully. The colonel caught his eye and gave him an all but imperceptible nod of acknowledgment in return. Satisfied that Desh was in place as expected, Connelly scooped up an arm-full of fallen leaves and returned to where his car had exited the road, placing the leaves strategically so they would hide any visible tracks but would still look random.
He then carefully returned to the clearing and stood by his car as if waiting for someone.
Desh knew it was possible that Connelly had lost whoever was tailing him, but if these followers could authorize satellite time this would be little consolation. It was also possible that whoever had been following the colonel had no intention of taking any hostile action, but Desh had no choice but to assume otherwise.
Desh quietly made