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  “I’m making this offer with the concurrence of the President and the Secretary of Defense. The Joint Chief of Staff and Secretary of the Air Force are being told you’re being detailed to the NSA to work as liaisons on a highly classified program under Executive Order.

  “Lower levels will be told you are taking part in a study examining security arrangements for USO celebrity performers. Anyone who is aware of the events of last week will assume it is a reward for your work at LakeTahoe.”

  The Director fidgeted with the solid gold ink pen that he always carried in his inside jacket pocket—a gift from Ronald Reagan when he left the presidency. The Director rarely fidgeted, and considered it a sign of insecurity or indifference in those who worked for him. “I’ve been planning to restructure Black Star for quite some time…This incident with Eichner is a good opportunity to formalize the field team that was unintentionally created at Lake Tahoe.

  “I want you to assume command of the team…and along with the assignment, you’ll be promoted to full Colonel…The 0-6 Selection Board had already picked you for your wings…This will simply accelerate the process.

  “Airman Davies, I reviewed your records with the Secretary of the Air Force and we agree you are well-prepared to assume sergeant’s stripes…However, I would not want your military rank to be a cause of potential conflict with other operatives in our agency. Therefore, I am offering you a position with the pay grade of GS-12 and the title of Investigative Specialist. You’ll get retirement credit for your military time and could eventually retire under Civil Service guidelines. Would that be acceptable to you?”

  “Wow, that’s really generous, sir. Honestly, I’d take the job for what I make now, just to be able to work here.” But I’d really appreciate my pay almost tripling.

  The enthusiastic remark brought smiles from everyone in the room, especially the Director. “I try to take care of my people…As for you, Jake, your service has been exemplary with the Air Force and occasionally with the NSA…Upon your acceptance, you would assume the grade of GM-13 and the title of Investigative Supervisor with the same provision of return to Air Force service at your request…Would that fit in with your plans?”

  “Nicely, sir, thank you.” Jake would also see his pay nearly triple. He had focused so intently on his career in the Air Force that he felt a little hesitant. But, I’ll be serving all branches of the military.

  “Agent Benson will be Assistant Director of the group and liaise with other NSA sections…Other details of your assignment can be worked out as we go. This is a test program that I hope will result in the successful placement of other teams in the future.”

  The Director continued. “There are some things you don’t know and we’ll bring you up to speed as quickly as possible. I’ll need an answer from you very soon, although I know you may need a little time to absorb the offer. Mrs. Winfield, I believe you worked for the Air Force Office of Special Investigations?”

  “Yes, sir, nine years as a Technical Services Specialist,” she replied. “That was early on in Bart’s career when it was much easier to arrange assignment transfers. Our needs didn’t always match those of the Air Force, so I quit to become a freelance writer, since I can do that anywhere.”

  “Yes, I imagine you can, but your technical background could come in very handy, especially with your experience in surveillance.”

  “Well, I may be a little rusty, although I’m sure the basics are still the same…Wait, are you offering me a job, too?”

  “Yes, madam, I am. The seven of you would be working together as a cohesive team. You would be hired at the GS-12, Target 13 level as a Senior Investigative Analyst. Your previous service would be credited toward retirement and you would be assigned to my office…if that is acceptable to you.”

  “That would be fine, assuming Bart and I accept your offer.”

  “As I hope you will.”

  There was a firm knock on the door of the conference room. Mary Benson answered it as Bob Harmon placed himself between the door and the Director. An aide placed a note in Mary’s hand and whispered a message. Mary closed the door and walked down to the as–yet–unidentified man sitting at the opposite end of the table from the Director. He read the note and stated simply, “Director, there is an urgent matter that requires my attention, if you’ll excuse me.”

  “Certainly, John.”

  He stood and moved toward the door, but turned back to the room as his hand touched the knob and addressed the group. “Sorry I won’t be able to talk with you at the moment. My name is John Banner and I’ll talk to you all after you return from lunch.” He closed the door behind him and the meeting participants settled back into their seats.

  Bart used the interruption. “Excuse me, Director.”

  “Yes.”

  “Earlier, you referred to the seven of us…Who’s the seventh member of the group?”

  “I’m not prepared to say at this time. However, I think you’ll find him to be a valuable asset and you’ll have the option of declining when his identity is revealed.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Good, now shall we convene for lunch?”

  Bart spoke up again, “Not to be rude, but I still haven’t gotten an answer to my earlier question…Why do you need a quick answer? It’s not like Eichner’s gonna come back from the dead, is he?”

  “Well, that’s where the problem lies…We don’t exactly know where to find him.”

  “Wait just a doggone minute…I thought he ended up at the bottom of a ravine in a fiery crash. Are you telling me he isn’t dead?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

  Bart and his team were stunned by the revelation and nobody spoke for a few seconds. Jake recovered first and leaned forward on the table, “But news reports said the local Medical Examiner identified him from dental records…How do you explain that?”

  “Because we had our people switch his dental records for the corpse we planted…an easy task for trained operatives.”

  Jake sat back to contemplate the answer and Bart spoke, “Guess that’d be easy…but why create the illusion he’s dead?”

  “So he’d relax and let his guard down, since he probably still has the devices with him. We lost his trail in Susanville and hoped he’d relax if everybody thought he was dead, so we could track him through some of his known resources.”

  “Is it working?”

  “It is…We have a couple of solid leads on him and one of them involves you.”

  “But Eichner doesn’t know who I am, does he?” The remark was met with hesitant looks and before they could answer, Bart went on, “All right, first things first…You said you’ve been able to track him?”

  Mary answered, “Sort of…We intercepted a message from him to someone we’ve had under surveillance. Eichner was pretty cryptic about his plans.” She smiled at her unintended pun. “He indicated he reached a safe-haven far enough away from our search parameters that he felt comfortable. But instead of staying hidden, he’s made plans to come back to this area, as his message put it…‘to finish my business with that asshole Winfield’.”

  “Impossible, I never told him who I worked for…Told him I was with security…never mentioned the Air Force. How does he know who I am?”

  The Director answered, “You know better than anyone what sources are available to trained operatives…It could be a deep-cover spy from the Cold War era or even a current member of an intelligence agency…Or there could be some freak coincidence that allowed him to discover your identity. It doesn’t matter…The fact is he knows and it’s one of the reasons I asked you here today…At the very least, I thought you should be aware of the possible threat, so you can take the necessary precautions.”

  “Appreciate that, Director…Not used to having that kind of target on my back…Have to think about what kind of precautions to take against somebody like him.”

  “Rest assured, Colonel, no matter what you decide, you won’t be left
out in the cold. I can offer you the extensive resources of the NSA. For instance, with your permission, a state of the art intrusion alarm system will be installed in your home and vehicles.”

  “Uh, you may not be aware of it, but one of my vehicles is a forty-foot long bus.”

  “And it looks like the two of you are doing a bang-up job of converting it into a recreational vehicle. My technical people have some ideas and I hope you’ll find the equipment they want to add to be helpful. The security and communications capability would be brought up to the level of a classified command post and the work would be done post haste…I believe you have an RV Rally coming up soon.”

  “Be more than glad to sit down with your people…Be interesting to see what ideas they have, especially if we decide to work for y’all.”

  “As I hope you will…You would represent a definitive step forward in the revitalization of our Black Star Investigative Services Division…But your home and vehicles will be outfitted with the security equipment at our cost, regardless of your decision.”

  “That’s more’n generous of you…Sure do appreciate it.”

  “Well, now that we’ve clarified that, shall we adjourn to the restaurant? I’ve worked up a considerable appetite with all of this talk.”

  “I think we all have, Director.” Bart took Nora’s hand and the led the group toward the door.

  ***

  CHAPTER 6

  NSA HELICOPTER

  OVER OAKLAND BAY, CALIFORNIA

  “Nice ride, isn’t it? Jake leaned over and commented to Joanna as the others settled into their seats. “Lot different than what I’m used to,” was the only thing she could think of to say as she sat back in the luxurious seat.

  It was more like an upholstered armchair and the opposite in comfort of the webbed-canvas seats of the military aircraft she usually rode in. The helicopter bore no external markings and could have been any corporate aircraft, although it more closely resembled the news helicopters seen on television since it had a camera pod mounted under the nose for surveillance.

  Jake leaned toward her again. “Notice the hidden gun ports and machine guns mounted underneath? They did a beautiful job disguising them.”

  “Guess they expect some serious trouble, now and then.”

  She sat back and drank in the interior of the cabin. It was comfortably appointed with leather seating and padded walls for soundproofing. The last two seats had been replaced with a high-tech communications console and a variety of automatic weapons were mounted on brackets above the communications gear.

  Her silence during most of the meeting in the conference room was because she preferred to let others speak. Besides, questions could always be asked later if something bothered her.

  She reenlisted a few months ago, so no decision about her career was required for the next four years, or so she had thought. Cross-training into another career field had been an option, but liked the challenges of law enforcement too much to leave. It was thoroughly ingrained in her being and the work of protecting her country and its citizenry satisfied her. Besides, the routine in Security Police changed often enough to keep her from becoming bored out of her mind.

  “What do you think about the job offer?”

  “Sounds amazing. Never imagined myself doing top-level intel work, and didn’t know the Colonel had. I mean, I’d follow him into combat anytime…he’s a true warrior. I just don’t know much about the NSA or what they do.”

  “Did some research a few years ago, after working for them in the P.I. They’re pretty much like any spy agency…They collect data and sift through it to look for anything out of the ordinary.”

  “Guess I don’t see where security police fit into their plan.”

  “They also do investigative work, pretty much like us…I even thought about moving into an Investigator position in the squadron…Thing is, in Security Police it’s mostly a desk job…I’d miss the action. And I feel the same way about the Colonel…he’s the best I’ve ever worked for.”

  “I hear that.”

  HANSON’S CAMPGROUND AND RV PARK SEAWIND BAY, CALIFORNIA

  ONE MONTH BEFORE

  The aging hippie’s name was Bill Harris, and he was an undercover agent for Customs and Immigration. At the moment, Bill was waking up with the worst headache he had ever experienced. His first attempt at rising from the bed was met with nausea, mixed with the realization that something was terribly wrong. His senses began to rumble to life and he realized he had awakened to the smell of smoke. Not the pleasant kind that signaled a campfire waiting for marshmallows on a stick, and not the kind that came from a stone fireplace in a rustic log cabin.

  No, this was the evil kind that issued forth from his possessions burning in the ancient RV that was part of his cover story. Melamine and plastics of various kinds were dripping hot lava from cabinets with a sizzling pop as they landed on the worn old Formica countertop in the kitchen. Gonna be a problem…Fire’s between me and the door…Won’t take long to become a blast furnace.

  He made another attempt to stand and managed to make it as far as a sitting position on the bed. A glance to his left revealed the red emergency latch on the window. Pop the latch and crawl out, Dummy. A quick tug at the latch proved unsuccessful. He pulled harder and the latch came apart in his hand. The loosened screws that once held it together bounced off the bed and disappeared into the matted, lime-green shag carpet. He looked down and blinked his watering eyes. No way to find those…Not with the smoke getting thicker…What now?

  As if to answer his question, a loud hollow pop came from the other end of the trailer as the old TV on the counter lost it’s ancient vacuum picture tube to the increasing heat. He knew his options were becoming more limited as each second went by. Must be some way out…Like they taught in school…“Stop, Drop and Pop”…No, ”Plop, Drop and Hop”…Why can’t I think straight? Try again…“Stop, Drop and Roll”…In here? Barely room to drop…Rolling’s out of the question. Tears began to roll down his cheeks as desperation and smoke blinded him.

  They said to stay low…Most breathable air near the floor. Falling to the floor was the easiest thing he’d done since waking up and took little effort. He moved toward the door as the layer of air on the floor yielded slowly to the acrid smoke above it.

  It was getting harder and harder to breath and his mind and body screamed for pure sweet air to replace the vile mixture he was drawing into his lungs. He moved along the floor like a crab, blinded and desperate, until his head made contact with the built-in dinette at the other end of the RV.

  Door’s next to it. He touched the aluminum-clad door. It seared his hand and he reflexively yanked it back. He groped blindly for the latch, tugged on it and pressed against the door even as the flesh on his hand was melted by the contact. Why won’t it open? He tried again, in spite of the searing pain, but the door wouldn’t budge. Something or someone was blocking it. Each attempt drew more life-ending smoke into his lungs and starved his brain of reason.

  Out of options, he laid down on the floor and curled up into a ball. Can’t take…any…more…Mama…Need you…Where are you…Mommmeee… His last words were mere whispers as he faded away.

  NSA HELICOPTER OVER OAKLAND BAY

  “You okay?” Jake lean in toward Joanna again with an expression of genuine concern. “Thinking about the attack on the Alert Pad…Why, was it showing?”

  “Well, I can see something’s wrong…Wanna talk about it? Might help.”

  “Don’t know…Keep going over it, again and again…I killed that guy.”

  “It was a you-or-him kind of thing, wasn’t it?”

  “More like a him-and-him kind of thing…Sprayed my guard shack with a MAC-10. I’d have been toast if I hadn’t hidden in the ditch.”

  “Glad you did.”

  “Wasn’t gonna let him kill me…But that wasn’t it…”

  “What wasn’t it? You lost me.”

  “Wasn’t worried about me…It was all the people o
n base he could’ve hurt or killed…Even thought about you.” A slight blush colored her face.

  He offered a goofy grin. “Really? You were thinking about me?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Not that way. Thought about you coming to back me up…If I let the guy get away you’d be a sitting duck.”

  “Closer to the truth than you might think. If you hadn’t shouted out a warning on the radio that RPG would’ve hit me right smack in the face.”

  “And if you hadn’t slammed on the brakes and rolled out of the car you’d be toast.”

  “Guess what we’re saying is our training saved us?”

  “Sort of…Although, when you stop and think about it for a minute, it wasn’t just the military training. Push comes to shove, it was our martial arts training that saved our butts. It’s where you learned to shoulder roll.”

  “And jujitsu taught you how to use a knife…Can’t believe you took him out with just a knife.”

  “Not much choice…If I shot him with my sixteen his buddies might have noticed the difference in sound and come running back…figuring he needed help. That’d mean more of them to deal with…Had to take him out so no one heard.”

  “Glad you did…Kept a lot of people safe.”

  “Just doing my job.” And found out that putting myself on the razor’s edge makes me feel alive…I want more.

  “That’s what pros say when it’s above and beyond the call of duty.”

  He startled her out of her reverie, “Oh, oh, I see that look again…Now what?”

  Talking with him is easy. “Thinking about John…how this job’ll affect us.”

  “My relationships usually end up being flushed because of the job. People who aren’t cops don’t understand.”

  “It’s more than that. We’ve been coming apart for a long time and it’s not just one thing…It’s a whole bunch of little things.”

  “I hear that. Wish they’d scream at me or or something… anything to show some fire. Instead, I get home and they’ve packed up and left and there’s a note saying they’re sorry things didn’t work out.”