The Evolution of Evil (The Blackwell Files Book 6) Read online

  “It was more of a one-time…project.”

  Narcy laughed. “So you’re enjoying the extra Pilsener until the money runs out.”

  The man shrugged. “Yeah. But you never know. Maybe I’ll do this job again in the future. Then we’ll both enjoy the extra beer.”

  “If you do, can you ask your boss if he needs extra help?” asked Narcy.

  Diego snickered. “It wouldn’t be your kind of work, amiga. Trust me on that.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Early the following morning, Alton drove his Explorer past a nondescript sign with “National Security Agency” in brass letters mounted on a sky-blue background. After clearing the security post at the gate, he presented himself and Mallory at the reception desk in the sprawling complex’s main lobby.

  After a ten-minute wait, Ernesto Vega appeared. “Ahh…here’s the Blackwells. Right this way.”

  They turned to the right and entered a large corridor.

  “So, you are all set to fly out in a few hours?” asked Vega.

  “Yes, my boss is on-board with the plan, and Buster is staying with friends,” said Alton, referring to his Labrador.

  “Glad to hear it.”

  Vega led them through a series of hallways until Alton felt completely turned around. He leaned over to Mallory. “Is there a piece of cheese at the end of this?”

  Mallory laughed just as Vega slid his security card through a magnetic reader and ushered them into a spacious, dark-paneled conference room.

  Vega led Alton and Mallory up to three individuals who already occupied chairs around the room’s central table. “Alton and Mallory Blackwell, I’d like to introduce you to the members of the NSA team you’ll be joining in the search for Dr. Summit and her research notes.”

  “Wait, you’re not going?” asked Alton.

  “As the civilian mission manager, I’ll be coordinating overall efforts from here in Washington. Your in-country mission manager is Supervising Agent Cynthia Delaney,” he replied, gesturing in the direction of the closest team member.

  An African-American of short stature with intelligent, inquisitive eyes extended a hand to both Blackwells. “Nice to have you on the team. We’ll be counting on your expertise.”

  Alton and Mallory returned the greeting.

  “Agent Delaney is a former forensics analyst with Army CID, Criminal Investigation Command,” said Vega. “She knows her stuff. She’ll do an excellent job leading the on-site team. Next is Agent Arnold Gooch.”

  Agent Gooch contrasted with his supervisor in almost every way. A “Bass Pro Shops” hat capped a shock of red hair, and a smattering of freckles trailed off his nose. His tall stature complemented a wiry frame. A bamboo fishing pole, overalls, and straw hat would have completed the picture.

  “Don’t let the good looks fool you,” said the man with a smile. “I can be tough.”

  “He’s not kidding, you know,” added Vega. “The Gooch is former Special Forces. His primary mission is providing detail security.”

  “‘The Gooch’?” asked Alton.

  “Yeah,” replied the agent with a grin. “My platoon sergeant called me that, and the name kind of stuck.”

  “I can relate,” said Alton, remembering the nickname of “Al” his best friend David Dunlow had unilaterally assigned years ago. “Nice to meet you.”

  “The third member of your team is Agent Russell Cragmire,” said Vega.

  A dark-haired man sporting a plaid shirt and jeans lingered on his phone screen for a few more seconds before reluctantly switching it off and offering up a limp-fish handshake. “What are your names again?”

  “I’m Alton Blackwell. This is my wife Mallory.”

  “Well, good luck. I hope we don’t all get malaria down there.”

  “What’s your specialty, Agent Cragmire?” asked Mallory, ignoring the dour comment.

  “Probably the most important,” said Cragmire. “I’m a biologist. Assuming you can decrypt Summit’s research notes, I’ll be the one to interpret their significance. Although why I have to traipse all the way down to a bunch of islands in the middle of the Pacific is still a mystery to me.”

  Delaney rolled her eyes. “We’re a field investigative team, Cragmire, which means we have to go on-site to do our job. Besides, as a biologist, I would have thought you’d be more eager than the rest of us to visit the Galapagos.”

  Cragmire shrugged. “I’m not a scientific historian. Those islands are yesterday’s news. Someone with my qualifications should be focused on solving modern challenges, not admiring two-hundred-year-old relics.”

  Vega cleared his throat. Turning to Alton and Mallory, he said, “I’ve already briefed the team on your backgrounds, so we’re good on introductions.”

  “Agent Vega,” said Alton, “do you or the rest of the team have any theories on why Summit was kidnapped?”

  “Just the obvious. Someone could have been after her research.”

  “But if that’s true, why did Summit herself disappear?”

  Vega shrugged. “Collateral damage? Or the perps didn’t want her to identify them? Alternatively, they could have been after Summit herself. She’s a senator’s wife and a leading research biologist. Either one of those would be a sufficient reason for someone to kidnap her.”

  “Have there been any ransom requests?”

  “No,” replied Vega. “Not yet, at least. That’s one reason I’m needed here in Washington. If we do get a ransom note, we’ll need a team member to assess and act on it. And it’s also why the Secret Service advised Senator Jackson to stay here. They’re afraid this whole business could be a ploy to lure him down to Ecuador and kidnap him. The senator wasn’t happy about staying put, but eventually he realized there wouldn’t be much for him to do once he got down there anyway.

  “But these are just theories with no proof,” continued Vega. “Your job as a team will be to ferret out the truth. Now, let’s talk about logistics so you can get on your way. You leave on Avianca Airlines out of Dulles at twelve-thirty.”

  “We’re on a civilian flight?” asked Alton.

  “Yes. There are no scheduled military flights to such a remote location, and in a missing-persons case like ours, even a senator can’t wrangle a special military flight. You’ll change to another Avianca flight in Quito, Ecuador. The second flight will make a brief stop in Guayaquil, down in Southern Ecuador, then continue on to Santa Cruz Island in the Galapagos, the island where Summit’s facility is located. Did everyone bring their luggage as requested?”

  Everyone nodded in assent—except Cragmire, whose gaze was once again riveted to his cellphone as he scrolled with his thumb.

  “For Pete’s sake, Cragmire, can you give the social media a rest?” said Delaney.

  The agent lowered his cellphone to the tabletop but didn’t switch it off. “I don’t even know why I need to be on the deployment team. I can do my job just as effectively from here. I’m a biologist, not an investigator.”

  “Wrong,” said Delaney. “You’re an NSA agent, assigned to this team. Your specialty may be science, but we’re all responsible for tracking down Jan Summit and her research. You can’t help us do that if you can’t think outside the box of your academic background.”

  “Oh, I can think outside the box all right. I just didn’t sign up for that. I’ll have plenty to keep me occupied inside the box, assuming you can do your job and decode the files.”

  “Enough bickering,” said Vega. “While each of you has your own primary job to perform, I expect everyone to work together as a team to achieve the mission objectives. If that requires you to work outside of your specialty, then so be it. Your first priority is locating Summit. Your second is decrypting her files. Now, you all had better get going to catch your first flight.”

  At Dulles International Airport, the NSA team waited to board an Avianca 737. Alton sat next to Cragmire, whose eyes stayed glued to his cellphone.

  At last, he seemed to notice Alton’s presence. “You’r
e Army, right?”

  “Former Army, yes.”

  “Ever thought about going back to college?”

  “I completed a Bachelor’s in cryptology before I became an officer.”

  Cragmire’s bored expressed transformed to one of curiosity. “Cryptology, huh? That’s cool. Why’d you leave the Army? Couldn’t hack it?”

  “I loved it,” said Alton, “but I had to retire after being injured in a bomb blast in Afghanistan.” Alton wondered…didn’t Agent Vega say he had briefed the NSA members on his and Mallory’s backgrounds? As he watched Cragmire shrug and look down at his phone, Alton had a good guess where the scientist’s attention had been focused during the briefing.

  “So how does a biologist wind up with the NSA?” asked Alton. “Did you go to college here in the Washington area?”

  “Why does it matter where I went to college?” snapped Cragmire. “Maybe I didn’t go to some fancy school, but I’m just as good as those Ivy League snobs.”

  “Easy there, partner,” said Alton. “I’m just trying to get better acquainted.”

  “You don’t have to know my life story to work with me.”

  “True, but I’ve found that getting the best out of your teammates involves knowing their strengths and talents. That’s hard to do when you don’t know anything about them.”

  “Are you done, Dr. Freud?”

  “Apparently, I am.”

  An hour later, the NSA team found themselves on the Avianca flight, streaking over the Atlantic seaboard.

  Alton took out a photo of Jan Summit and studied it. The head shot didn’t show her entire body, but Vega had described the scientist as petite. Alton examined the face, striving to commit its detail to memory. The first hint of lines around her eyes conferred an air of keen intelligence, and the scientist’s medium-length, blonde hair fell into loose curls, professional and attractive. He slipped the photo back into a folder in his carry-on bag.

  Switching on his laptop, Alton opened the file containing Summit’s encrypted e-mail message but found his mind wandering. When he had departed from Afghanistan at the conclusion of his Army service, he had thought to never go back. The kidnapping of a close friend two months ago, however, had forced his return. During his time back in that war-torn country, he had experienced escalating PTSD episodes. For the most part, the attacks had subsided upon returning to the States, but at the encouragement of Mallory, he had sought out a stateside counselor.

  This would be Alton’s first investigation since returning from the rescue mission in Afghanistan. His counselor had predicted the PTSD episodes Alton had experienced in Kabul would not recur during future missions, but now would be the time to find out.

  Alton shook his head and refocused on discovering the cipher for Summit’s message.

  After changing flights in Quito, the capital of Ecuador, the team headed towards a brief stop in Guayaquil, the South American country’s largest city.

  Alton took in the terrain during the plane’s descent. Dilapidated yet colorful shacks covered the slopes of verdant hills, forming a curious juxtaposition of beauty and poverty. The brown waters of the Guayas River bisected the sprawling metropolis, and an abundance of palm trees and other lush foliage bore witness to the city’s tropical location.

  The plane landed, prompting the passengers to break into spontaneous applause. Alton wasn’t sure whether the celebration was a sign of dubious airline safety or just a local tradition. He hoped it was the latter.

  Within minutes, the plane had admitted several new passengers and ascended back into the air. In just under two hours, the team would arrive at its Galapagos destination.

  An hour into the flight, Delaney appeared in the aisle next to Alton. After steadying herself as a bit of turbulence rocked the aircraft, she lowered her voice to a volume only Alton could discern above the muted roar of the engines. “How’s the decryption coming?”

  “I’m making progress,” he replied, “but I haven’t cracked it yet. The cipher methodology Summit used is something I’ve rarely encountered before.”

  “‘Summit used’? She didn’t write the encryption program herself, did she?”

  “Not entirely, but she did use a program that lets the user set up the cipher algorithm.”

  “That doesn’t sound like something you’d pick up in Best Buy,” said Delaney.

  “It’s not. It’s much more sophisticated than what I normally see, hence the extra effort on my part. Normally, only IT geeks use this type of software. Summit must have been pretty determined to keep her files a secret to use a product like this.”

  “Think you’ll crack it before we get there?”

  “I doubt it,” said Alton. “I’m making progress, but this security wall is pretty thick. Summit isn’t giving up her secrets so easily.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Just prior to nine o’clock the next morning, the NSA team arrived at the entrance of the police headquarters on the Galapagos island of Santa Cruz. Like the other edifices in the coastal town of Puerto Ayora, the police building was constructed of colorful wood siding and surrounded with a scattering of palm trees. Outside the police station’s front door, a main road led downhill thirty or forty yards directly into the harbor, providing access for towed watercraft. Alton noticed a police speedboat lashed to a steel post at the water’s edge.

  Alton took a moment to listen to the ambient noises. The sounds of light traffic, the call of “langosta!” from street-cart lobster vendors, a Mariachi ballad wafting out of a tourist shop, and the laughter of children playing in a nearby playground mixed together in a delightful tropical recipe. The tangy scent of seawater invigorated him, calling up a surge of energy for the coming investigation.

  The NSA team entered the police building. Delaney approached a uniformed officer seated behind a small, walnut desk.

  “Me llamo Cynthia Delaney. Tengo una cita con el Capitán Rodrigo Fuentes,” said Delaney. “My name is Cynthia Delaney. I have an appointment with Captain Rodrigo Fuentes.”

  The policeman nodded and disappeared, leaving the Americans to wait in the cramped lobby. Fifteen minutes later, Captain Fuentes had still not appeared.

  “Jeez Louise,” said Delaney to no one in particular. “How long is he going to make us wait?”

  The desk officer chose that moment to reappear.

  “Vengan,” he said, directing them to follow. He strode a few steps down a hallway and opened the door to a small office.

  The five Americans crowded inside, where the room’s occupant gestured them to a short couch and two chairs. Alton cast a glance around the room as he took a seat. Another walnut desk, this one in the shape of an L, rested atop 1970’s-style linoleum. The room’s yellow walls contained citations and aging photos of the officer behind the desk as a younger man posing with a variety of rare animals in some and dignitaries in others. A freestanding fan provided a much-needed respite to the stuffy atmosphere but required the room’s occupants to speak up in order to be heard.

  “I am Captain Rodrigo Fuentes,” said the policeman in accented but excellent English.

  “I’m Agent Cynthia Delaney of the US National Security Agency. You knew of our coming, Captain Fuentes?”

  “Yes.” The captain didn’t bother to smile. He wore a brown uniform, somewhat similar to a United States park ranger, while an officer’s hat rested on the edge of his desk. The man’s salt-and-pepper hair and deep worry lines conveyed the appearance of one who had battled the odds and won, rising to the highest police rank in the Galapagos Islands.

  “Were you also informed of the purpose of our visit?” asked Delaney.

  “Governor Suero, my boss, explained to me yesterday. He said you are here to work on the investigation of Thursday’s break-in at Jan Summit’s research facility.”

  “That’s right,” said Delaney. She introduced the members of her team. Only the slightest of nods to each person in turn indicated Fuentes continued to listen. He ignored the Gooch’s question about the
best local fishing spots.

  “So, Captain,” said Delaney. “How would you like to get started?”

  Fuentes turned a sour face to the NSA leader, tapping a pen on the surface of his desk. Finally, he spoke. “You think we need your help? Guess what? We don’t. My men and I are capable of solving this crime on our own. Besides, this is our island. We’ve all lived here for years. If we can’t solve it, what makes you think you can?”

  Delaney looked the man in the eye. “To be honest, Captain Fuentes, I agree with you. I don’t think my team and I could track down the culprits behind this break-in on our own. But my government has sent me down here to investigate, so why don’t we make the best of this situation and work together? It can’t hurt to have more people working on the same puzzle.”

  Fuentes still looked skeptical, but most of the hostility in his countenance vanished. He emitted a long sigh of resignation. “Okay, we will see how it goes.”

  “Thanks,” said Delaney. “Concerning fingerprints—”

  Fuentes broke in. “Is better if we go to Summit’s research facility. A good investigator starts with the scene of the crime, no?”

  Alton, Mallory, and Delaney joined Captain Fuentes in his vehicle, a white Rav4 with Policía written across each side in blue letters, while the good-natured Gooch chauffeured Cragmire in the Americans’ rented Highlander.

  Fuentes led the convoy towards Summit’s research facility, traveling up a coastal highway for fifteen minutes, then heading inland for another ten. As they cruised into the island’s interior, the terrain transformed, the drier coastal climate giving way to the dense foliage of a tropical zone.

  Delaney perused the notes Fuentes had made during his interviews of several employees of the research facility. Occasionally, she read off key points for Alton and Mallory’s benefit. “Late-night attack…no prior warning or threats…more than one attacker…no trace of Dr. Summit.”

  “Captain Fuentes,” said Alton, “is there any chance a local gang mounted this attack?”