Part 3 (2/2)
”Pretty well. Scott let us out of the yard for a few hours while he runs errands. I just checked my account at Protekt. It appears you were right about getting out of the house right away. Someone broke into my house no more than two hours after we left.”
Protekt? That's right. Home security monitoring. He'd recommended the service to Jon a few years ago. s.h.i.+t. ”I forgot about Protekt. Can you step away from your laptop? Preferably a few tables over. And please whisper.”
A few seconds pa.s.sed before Jon spoke in a hush. ”Did I screw up?”
Stuart might not have the time to explain. ”How did you log in?”
”From my laptop, through a Wi-Fi signal.”
”How long ago?”
”A few minutes.”
”Good. Where are you, precisely?”
”At a Starbucks in Missoula. I screwed up, didn't I?”
”It's not a matter of you s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up. It's a matter of Cerberus having unlimited resources and zero scruples. If they discovered the security system, they probably hacked into Protekt and installed a log-in trace, which would give them the Starbucks IP address.”
”I'm pretty sure they discovered the system,” Jon said. ”Protekt stopped receiving data several minutes into the break-in.”
”That was sloppy of them.”
”Not as sloppy as me.”
”Maybe we can take advantage of this. They know you're in Missoula. We know where to find them.”
”That doesn't sound like good odds.”
”I brought an a.s.sociate.”
”Someone you can trust?”
”I let him marry my daughter, so that puts him at the top of that list,” said Stuart, glaring at Blake. ”Though he's been getting on my nerves, and we're barely an hour into the drive.”
”Does he have the skill set necessary for this kind of thing? I'd hate to get your son-in-law killed. I feel bad enough dragging David and you into this.”
”He spent six years in the Marine Raiders, followed by a two-year stint with the CIA's Global Response Staff. I introduced him to Carlie when he got out of that line of work.”
”h.e.l.l. We might slow him down.”
”I suspect we will,” said Stuart.
The Global Response Staff was a little-known CIA unit recruited exclusively from the special operations ranks. They provided on-site security for CIA case officers and installations located in high-risk locations worldwide. The work had a burnout rate close to 50 percent, with most members leaving voluntarily within a year. Two years was a long tour of duty with that outfit. Too many of Blake's friends left involuntarily-in body bags.
”Here's what I need you to do, Jon. Leave the laptop on the table and get out of there. If they traced the laptop, they'll ping the Wi-Fi antenna, turning it into a homing beacon. I'd say you have forty-five minutes to an hour before they arrive, unless they already have an a.s.sociate in Missoula. Then you've got between five and ten minutes. Call Scott and find a clean place where he can pick you up.”
”What do you mean by clean?”
”No surveillance cameras. The side of a road or the back of a parking lot would probably be your best bet. Stay out of sight until he's close to picking you up.”
”Got it,” said Jon.
”Give me a quick call when Scott picks you up, so I know you didn't get nabbed. I'll plan to meet with you tomorrow morning-nowhere near Starbucks.”
”I don't know how Scott is going to feel about that. I might send Leah back with him and stay at the town house. I can't ask him to drive me back into town tomorrow. Not with Cerberus around.”
”Sounds like the right thing to do,” said Stuart. ”If we drive straight through, you can expect us around zero eight hundred hours. We'll come straight to the town house.”
”Drive safe, Stu, and thank you again for all of this. I can't . . . uh-” Jon sounded like he was choking up.
”Don't get soft on me, Jon. I need Sergeant Major Fisher in the game for this one.”
”He never left the game, my friend.”
”Good to know. Now get the f.u.c.k out of there,” he said, ending the call.
Blake's expression had changed from mischievous to pensive. ”You think they made it to Yuma?” he asked without taking his eyes off the road.
Stuart shook his head slowly back and forth. ”No. I don't.”
CHAPTER 6.
Jon Fisher held Leah close, taking in faint traces of her favorite lavender-scented shampoo. They pressed tightly together, motionless except for the synchronized rhythm of their breathing. He tensed at the sound of the slow approach of Scott's Jeep, the parking lot gravel crackling under its oversize tires, then melted back into his wife's arms. Jon hadn't felt this way since his last wartime deployment. Like he needed to drag out the farewell as long as possible, because the homecoming might involve an honor guard delivering his casket. Leah squeezed him tighter. She understood the stakes, too.
”I guess this is it for a little while,” he said.
”I suppose so,” she responded, looking around them. ”Not exactly your best send-off.”
They had walked a few miles south of Starbucks along Reserve Street, taking temporary refuge in a ma.s.sive parking lot attached to Retz Brothers RV and Marine Showcase. Scott had directed them to the business, seemingly well aware that cameras didn't monitor the place. Rows of recreational vehicles and motorboats swarmed the lot, creating the perfect barrier from prying eyes. The tan Jeep appeared between two nearby mobile homes.
”Do you have everything you need?”
”Satphone. Pistol with three mags. Wallet with cash. I'm good,” he said, kissing her forehead.
”What's the plan?”
”Get our boys and their families to safety,” said Jon. ”That's it for now. We can worry about the rest later.”
She nodded, a painful smile on her face. ”Can you try him one more time?”
<script>