Search and Destroy by JT Sawyer (top non fiction books of all time .TXT) 📗

black hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail with seemingly every hair in place, and her white blouse and gray pants were neatly pressed.

With her confident gait and professional demeanor, Patterson always thought the woman looked like someone who would be just as at home navigating the contorted political topography of the White House as she was strolling through CIA headquarters. He was grateful to have her as the head analyst for his SD unit.

Twenty-eight-year-old Jessica Quinn seemed as energetic and bright-eyed as always, and Patterson could see why Vogel had put so much time into training her as a targeter for the SD units during the past year so Vogel wasn’t spread so thin.

“You wanted to see us, sir,” Vogel said, standing before his desk.

“Please.” He motioned to the leather chair to his right.

Vogel sat down, immediately adjusting a stack of books on the corner of Patterson’s desk so they were all evenly aligned before sliding back into the chair while Quinn remained standing.

“I know you and Cal have worked closely over the years, even if from afar the majority of the time. I also know you have to be wondering what the hell happened at the Burke place, like Cal and myself.”

“The Feds and media reports indicate a gas explosion,” said Quinn.

“Yeah, sure.”

Vogel cleared her throat. “What do you need me to do?”

“The Director of National Intelligence is breathing down my back to get answers, and I want you to quietly look into the events leading up to that gathering at Burke’s place. Scan through the security data from his electronic surveillance system. It was fried in the blast, according to the FBI reports, but they don’t have the type of accessing skills you possess. See what turns up, then review the satellite footage from that neighborhood. I want the comings and goings of the vehicles at that party.”

“Retrieving footage of that nature is going to leave a trail with the NRO,” Vogel said, referring to the National Reconnaissance Office, which was responsible for operating reconnaissance satellites then relaying pertinent intelligence to government agencies. “What should I tell them?”

“I’ll get a hold of my colleague there and let him know it’s for a training exercise for a new analyst,” he said, glancing up at Quinn. “When you’re done, look over the security footage and logs from the past week at Burke Enterprises to see if anyone or anything stands out between the two locations.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “And keep this between us. No one on Shepard’s old team or amongst the other analysts in your division needs to know about this.”

Both women nodded. Vogel folded her arms, muffling an exhale. “May I speak freely, sir?”

Patterson leaned back in his chair. She had been working for him for four years and still had a need to keep up a military formality between them; any suggestion to do otherwise only made her hold her head up more firmly.

“Go ahead.”

“I already looked into the other surviving member at the party, Reggie Sinclair. It appears he had $10,000 deposited into his bank account last week from an unknown Swiss account. He’s still in a coma at the hospital, but it would be worth questioning him when he recovers.”

He tapped his fingers on the desk, looking out the window to the right briefly then back at Vogel. A part of him felt like reprimanding her for such unilateral action, but at the same time he needed answers, and she had been trained to circumvent any intel obstacles in the way of data-gathering.

“So, you’ve dug deep on this already. Keep going and report back directly to me here when you know more—no emails or calls, just keep up the façade that you’re here for our usual briefings.” He glanced at both women then aimed a hard stare at Quinn. “And that applies to you as well, Jessica. I need both of you on this.”

“Yes, sir,” the young woman said.

Vogel stood, unruffling the sleeves of her blouse then walking to the door as Quinn trailed behind her.

“And Lynn, I know you’re just looking out for Cal, but next time, run things by me first.”

She gave a hearty nod. “Of course, sir.”

13

Washington, D.C.

The day seemed more overcast than it should have been given the light mist coming down as Ian Landis clutched the black umbrella closer to his body. Quickly walking past a hot dog vendor at the edge of the park, he avoided eye contact with everyone, not even noticing the two cute females jogging past him. His world had been reduced to tunnel vision and a churning stomach that felt like it was about to rupture from all the stress.

He glanced up nervously at each tree and scanned the rooftops of nearby buildings and apartment complexes, wondering if Shepard would leap from above or slide a scoped rifle out from a window.

He’s eventually going to piece all this shit together with his resources, and I’m not about to spend the rest of my days glancing over my shoulder. Landis clumsily kicked a twig out of his path as if it would restore some order to his world. That bastard…how did he survive the blast? Now I have to clean this up. Why couldn’t one of the secretaries have been outside the house when it blew instead of this fucking guy?

Landis veered off on a side path that led to a picnic table nestled in the maple trees. He aimed a pensive nod at the figure sitting down, trying to recall if the man had such a full wispy chin beard when they met last month in another park. Like before, the man’s face was partially obscured beneath a blue hoodie and sunglasses, only allowing Landis to make out the features from his nose on down.

And didn’t he have a scar on his cheek last time?

The stout figure leaned back, depressing the play button on a tape recorder.

“What the hell? Nobody said anything about recording this meeting,” snapped Landis, his