Tears of God (The Blackwell Files Book 7) Page 3

  Nearly four months ago, NSA manager Ernesto Vega had recruited Alton and Mallory to act as “on demand” operatives, ready to apply their specific expertise in cryptology and forensic accounting as well as their general ability to ferret out the truth from vague clues when cases requiring their unique skillsets arose.

  “Yep,” replied Alton. “Vega said he’d call when he needed us, but why don’t we ring him up instead? He may be able to tell us what Creighton was working on, both back then and recently. Plus, I think he’ll want to hear about this. He may even want to start an investigation.”

  “If he hasn’t already,” said Mallory.

  “True. Only one way to find out.” Alton retrieved his cellphone and pressed a number on his “favorites” list.

  “Hello?” said the answering party.

  “Agent Vega, it’s Alton Blackwell.”

  “Blackwell! Good to hear from you.”

  Alton put his phone on speaker so Mallory could participate in the conversation. The three of them traded small talk for a few minutes before Alton broached the reason for his call. “Agent Vega, as good as it is to catch up with you, you’ve probably guessed I had a particular reason for calling.”

  “Yeah,” he replied with a chuckle. “I kind of figured that.”

  Alton could picture the looming figure of Vega, whose solid frame outweighed his by a good seventy-five pounds, shaking as he laughed.

  “Mallory and I had an interesting encounter with an NSA agent yesterday,” said Alton. He and Mallory described in detail the recent series of events, beginning with their encounter with Creighton at the party and ending with their conversation with Beverly a half hour earlier.

  “The first and obvious question,” said Alton, “is whether you know, or should I say knew, Max Creighton.”

  “I know his name,” said Vega, “but I haven’t worked with him before.”

  “Was he working for the NSA up until he died?” asked Mallory.

  “As far as I know he was—at least I hadn’t heard of his retirement. I’d have to check with HR to be sure.”

  “While you’re checking,” said Alton, “can you also find out what case Creighton was working on with Cutter Wilson fifteen years ago, and if there’s been any recent activity in that case?”

  “Yep. I was already planning to check that. Give me an hour or two and I’ll call you back.”

  “Sounds good,” said Alton, ending the call. He turned to Mallory. “We should probably start heading back to Washington. We both have to work tomorrow, and it’s a long drive.”

  “Okay, Sweetie. I hate to leave Mom like this…” She sighed.

  “I do, too,” said Alton, removing a few shirts from a drawer and placing them in a duffle bag resting on the floor. “All we can do is keep her in the loop.”

  Thirty minutes later, the Blackwells had said their goodbyes to Beverly with promises to keep her informed. Before driving off, Alton glanced over to his mother-in-law. She stood in the doorway holding her Maltese. Positioning her hand around Skipper’s front paw, she produced a goodbye wave from the canine. “That’s for Buster!” she called out.

  Hearing his name, the Labrador thumped his tail on the backseat in reply.

  Alton waved back. He accelerated the Explorer down the driveway and turned to Mallory. “I hope we’ll have some news for her…and for you.”

  CHAPTER 9

  An hour into the drive, Alton’s cellphone rang. He pressed the Bluetooth button in his car to answer the call. “Hello?”

  “It’s Vega. I have an update for you. Max Creighton was indeed an active NSA agent up until his untimely demise yesterday. But I can’t find any record of him working with Cutter Wilson on any case at all—ever.”

  “Really?” said Alton. He ran his fingers through his hair and listened to the noise of his SUV’s tires on the road for a few seconds. “Are you as surprised about that as I am?”

  “Yeah. I figured it’d be pretty easy to find the right case, especially since you told me the exact date Cutter died. I reviewed all the cases Creighton was working on in the two months leading up to that date. He had no joint cases with Army CID at all during that time or in the following month.”

  “Agent Vega,” said Mallory, “is there any chance the case files are restricted beyond your clearance?”

  Vega snorted. “I can see everything the President sees. I can assure you clearance is not the problem.”

  “Maybe we should approach this question from another angle,” said Alton. “Before he died, Creighton mentioned two names: Pasha Tech and Farid Safi. Probably, the first one is a company and the second one a person. But here’s the problem. We can’t dig up anything significant on either name using public search engines or the NCIC database. Can you take a look from your end?”

  “It’s worth a shot,” said Vega. “If a dying NSA agent used his last breath to communicate those names, you know damn well they must be important.”

  Alton ended the call.

  “While he’s working on that,” said Mallory, “why don’t I call Cynthia Delaney? She used to work for CID. Maybe she can drum up something from her end with her former contacts.”

  “Good idea,” said Alton. He and Mallory had worked under the leadership of NSA Agent Delaney four months earlier and had rendered lifesaving first aid to her after a savage attack. The agent would surely be happy to return the favor, and Alton would welcome the insight of her keen intellect.

  Mallory used the Bluetooth to place a call to Delaney, who had returned to work only a month earlier after nearly three months of grinding physical therapy following the attack.

  The three friends caught up for a few minutes and shared their mutual joy in Delaney’s recovery.

  “You know how happy we are that you’re better,” said Mallory, “but I have to be honest. I have an ulterior motive in placing this call.” She explained in detail the events of the last forty-eight hours. “So here’s where you come in,” continued Mallory. “Can you check with your buddies in CID and see if my dad was investigating an important case at the time of his death? Since Creighton mentioned ‘Pasha Tech’ just before he died, we think perhaps my dad’s case involved this company somehow.”

  “It’s the least I can do,” said Delaney. “I’ll do some checking and call you when I have any details.”

  “Thanks. We’ve been hitting one dead end after another. Hopefully something will turn up on your side.”

  Moments after Mallory ended the conversation, Vega called again.

  “Since Cutter Wilson and Max Creighton’s deaths presumably involve poisoning,” said Vega, “I played a hunch and talked with Nick Gilbert, my resident toxicologist. He didn’t recognize either Pasha Tech or Farid Safi. He said he’d look into them, but he didn’t seem too optimistic. He said he would have heard of them if they were significant players.”

  “We’ll just have to keep our fingers crossed,” said Alton, stealing a glance at his wife. Mallory was holding up well, especially considering the topic of conversation centered on the series of events leading up to her father’s death. “We’re working on another angle. Let’s keep in touch.”

  “Will do.”

  Several more hours into the road trip, Mallory’s cellphone rang again.

  “It’s Delaney. I think I have some good news for you.”

  “Do tell,” said Mallory, shifting in her seat.

  “The third guy I called, Andrew Hodge, had worked with your dad. He said he’s not really supposed to check old case files without a ‘need to know,’ but once I explained the situation, he looked up Cutter’s work.”

  “He found something?” asked Alton.

  “Yes,” replied Delaney. “A reference to Pasha Tech.”

  “Bingo!” said Alton, smacking the steering wheel in relief at finally catching a break, causing Buster to woof at the commotion.

  “Here’s the interesting thing,” said Delaney. “Cutter didn’t open an actual case file. That’s why the other
searches didn’t turn up anything. There are no online records of Pasha Tech at all. Hodge found the reference in a spiral notebook of Cutter’s, the last one he used before his death.”

  “What did the notebook say?” asked Mallory.

  “Hodge e-mailed me a scan of the sheet. It says, ‘Pasha Tech, Afghanistan.’ A few lines below that, he wrote, ‘Who is Killjoy?’ I don’t know whether or not the Killjoy statement is connected with Pasha Tech. He has other notes on this page that are clearly unrelated, so it could go either way.”

  “Yes, it sounds ambiguous,” said Alton.

  “The date at the top of the sheet is August twenty-eighth, just a few weeks before Cutter died,” said Delaney. “I can forward the scan along to you if you like.”

  “That’d be great,” said Mallory. “It’ll text you my e-mail address now.”

  They ended the call, and Alton turned to his wife. “We need to let Vega know about this. Why don’t you let me lead the call with him? I don’t want him discounting the value of our evidence because we’re talking about your dad.”

  She shrugged. “It’s fine with me, as long as he agrees to take a look.”

  Alton placed a new call.

  “Vega here.”

  “It’s Alton Blackwell. I think we have a lead in this case.” He and Mallory explained their several conversations with Delaney.

  “Something here doesn’t feel right,” concluded Alton. “Cutter Wilson, a CID investigator, writes ‘Pasha Tech’ in his notebook and dies a few weeks later. Then yesterday, the last words from an NSA agent’s lips are the same company. It seems too coincidental to just let it drop.”

  “I agree,” said Vega. Alton could hear the man exhaling a bit into his phone’s mouthpiece, presumably because he had begun to pace the room. “Agent Blackwell, with all due sympathy to you regarding your father’s death, I’m more worried about Creighton’s. It’s a pretty safe bet he was murdered. And if someone had the balls to assassinate an NSA agent, they must be hiding something pretty big, something going on right now.”

  “Agreed,” said Mallory.

  “So what do we do now?” asked Alton.

  “I’m going to open a more comprehensive investigation into the company and its background. Once we know what we’re dealing with, I’ll determine our next steps.”

  “Fair enough. You’ll keep us in the loop?”

  “Of course. You two know more about Cutter’s history and Creighton’s last moments than anyone else. Depending on what my research reveals, your involvement in this investigation may have only begun.”

  CHAPTER 10

  The Director drummed his fingers on the brilliant gloss of his massive office desk. It wasn’t like Vaziri to keep him waiting. But a good leader didn’t show impatience, at least not to those subordinates who produced good results.

  “Ms. Vaziri to see you,” came a voice over the intercom.

  The Director pressed a button on his phone. “Thank you, Suzie. Send her in.”

  Rala Vaziri walked—no, glided—into the room. Her supple movements concealed latent strength, like a coil ready to spring open. “You sent for me, Director?”

  He smiled. “Yes. Take a seat. As you can imagine, I’m anxious to know how the first field trial went.”

  Vaziri produced a tight smile. “I figured that’s why you asked me here. The field test went well. I would have called if I had hit any problems.”

  “Of course you would,” said the Director, anxious to placate his second-in-command. “I wondered in particular if the customers had any feedback.”

  She thought for a moment before speaking. “They were satisfied with the results. I think they would do business with us again if the need arose.”

  “Excellent. Happy customers—the key to success for any business. And now I need your advice.”

  “Yes?” The question seemed to have sparked Vaziri’s interest.

  “The staff has worked hard on this project. In addition to my thanks, I’d like to extend a more tangible form of gratitude.”

  “You want to give them a thank-you gift?”

  “Exactly,” said the Director. “What would you suggest? Extra pay? Watches? Electronics?”

  Vaziri didn’t hesitate to answer this time. “Give them money. Everyone likes that.”

  The Director nodded. “I’ll do as you recommend. Perhaps I’ll include a certificate of appreciation along with the notification of payment.”

  Vaziri shrugged. “Some people might like that.”

  The Director rose and paced over to the window. “One last question…the second field test is set to run on schedule, no?”

  “That’s correct. If all goes well, you’ll be hearing from me in a few days.”

  “Very good, Vaziri. Nice work. You can expect your own additional payment soon.”

  She nodded. “I thank you. But I’m not about to coast. The testing has just begun.”

  CHAPTER 11

  The afternoon of the following day, Vega called Alton, who had lost no time reengaging in his many projects at Kruptos, the cryptology firm in which he served as R&D Vice President.

  “Can you talk?” asked the NSA manager.

  “Yeah, just let me close my office door.” Alton rose and circled his tidy desk. He swung shut the door, muting the sounds of office chatter and typing from the hallway outside, and returned to his chair. “What’s up?”

  “I took the liberty of conferencing in your wife,” said Vega.

  “Oh, hey, Honey,” said Alton, eliciting a giggle from Mallory.

  “Hello yourself,” she replied.

  “I have an update on the mysterious Pasha Tech,” said Vega. “It was a tiny subsidiary of Sakhi Enterprises, a large holding company owned by the Afghanistan government. One of my analysts dug up a Sakhi internal memo from about fourteen years ago that references a phase-out of Pasha Tech. That was just before the US invasion. The CIA investigated Pasha Tech, but the NSA didn’t. And since the NSA never opened a case involving Pasha Tech, we don’t have any references to it in our databases. My analysts couldn’t find any Sakhi documents or references to Pasha Tech since its closure.”

  “That explains why Pasha Tech didn’t appear in NSA records,” said Mallory. “But why would Creighton mention a company that hasn’t existed for so long?”

  “There are two possibilities,” said Alton. “First, he may have simply discovered new evidence in your father’s case. But if that’s so, why would someone follow and kill him? That makes me think the second possibility is more likely.”

  “Which is…?” asked Mallory.

  “That Pasha Tech never ceased operations. Perhaps they saw that a US invasion was coming and went underground. They may have even left a false trail in the form of Sakhi’s ‘closure’ memo so everyone would think they didn’t exist anymore. Creighton may have discovered that fact somehow and went to you, knowing you had a personal stake in uncovering the truth.”

  The three investigators fell into silence for a moment, considering these possibilities.

  “Agent Vega,” said Alton at last, “did you learn anything about the holding company, Sakhi?”

  “Oh, yes,” replied Vega. “It’s an agricultural company. It still exists today. Before Pasha Tech supposedly disappeared, it developed fertilizers used to coat the seeds Sakhi cultivates. Back then, the CIA suspected Pasha Tech of using their chemical expertise to develop biological weapons, too.”

  “Were charges ever brought to the World Court?” asked Mallory.

  “No,” said Vega. “We never had enough evidence. Besides, it’s not like the Taliban would have cared what verdict the World Court rendered anyway. But we’re pretty sure the biological weapons research goes far back. When the Soviets occupied Afghanistan in the early nineteen-eighties, they began using chemical warfare. Afghanistan realized it needed to ramp up its ability to counteract the effects of chemical agents, so it created a state-run company, Pasha Tech, to do so. And it hid Pasha’s true purpose behind
the façade of Sakhi’s agri-business so the Soviets wouldn’t bomb the facility. For Pasha Tech to improve its antidotes to battlefield chemical weapons, it had to research the poisons being used.”

  “Once they started studying poisons,” said Alton, “what’s to stop them from making their own chemical weapons?”

  “What indeed?” said Vega. “Their research, supposedly focused only on defensive countermeasures, continued through the occupation of the Taliban and Al-Qaeda. During that time, the NSA received unconfirmed reports that those terrorist organizations were researching the development of offensive chemical weapons they hoped to deploy against western targets, especially the U.S. But none of the intel on these warnings included Pasha Tech, so we had no reason to suspect it still existed.”

  “Agent Vega,” said Mallory, “like Alton said, doesn’t it seem likely that someone killed Creighton because he came too close to learning about the current state of Pasha Tech’s research? I mean…the fact that they killed Creighton shows they presumably had something to hide.”

  “If they killed Creighton,” said Vega. “We don’t know that for a fact. But given that the company’s name was the man’s last words, it seems likely.”

  “So you’re going to open an NSA investigation?” asked Mallory.

  “Of course. Creighton’s assassination could indicate a resurgence of activity. We know many factions in Afghanistan have no love for the U.S. If Pasha Tech is developing chemical weapons, we don’t want to give the company time to deploy them.”

  “I’m just wondering,” said Alton. “Granted, there are factions in Afghanistan that don’t like the U.S. But we’re still on pretty good terms with the Afghani government. Since Sakhi is a state-run company, is there any chance of them supplying the information if we asked?”

  “Nope,” said Vega. “Frankly, if Pasha Tech is still developing chemical weapons, it’s splintered off from official Sakhi oversight by now. It would have been taken over by Al-Qaeda. Even if it weren’t, I don’t think we’d get anywhere asking the question.”