Page 40 of Always Been Mine (Always #2)

The crates were unloaded from the tractor trailer. Inside were boxes of canned ground coffee from Colombia, except three of the boxes contained cocaine. Three of those cans were the ST-Vyl virus in powder form.

Frank Wilkes nodded to a skinny, bald man wearing spectacles.

Dr. Devlin, or Dr. D as he was known, was the brilliant scientist who created the Berserker serum and now the ST-Vyl virus. Soon, the D in Dr. D would be known as Death for there was no question of how lethal this new virus could be.

The Russians would be pleased and could settle their war in Ukraine once and for all.

The internal wars within Syria and Iraq with ISIS should be the focus of the CIA, but the mess in Ukraine was taking away much needed resources.

ISIS (Islamic State of Iraq and Syria) was a new jihadist terror group known for its extremely brutal methods.

Dr. D lifted the marked cans from the box and transferred them to a biological containment chamber that resembled an incubator.

Using gloves attached to the chamber, he lifted the plastic cover and punched a hole through the cylindrical container to retrieve a sample.

As he was conducting the efficacy tests on the virus powder, Zach Jamison strode into the warehouse.

He was followed by Domingo Ventura and his men.

When Zach reached Wilkes, he said, “All done. We’ve amended the record of this shipment on the manifest, eliminating the three boxes.” He inclined his head toward the Fuego leader. “Ventura will escort the cargo back to the destination warehouse. Everything is settled there, too.”

Ventura would get his drugs and everyone would be happy.

Dr. D turned to the three of them and gave Wilkes the thumbs up.

Wilkes looked at the Fuego boss. “You understand we can’t do business for a while. With Jamison out of the senator’s office, there is not much we can provide you now.”

“I understand. This shipment should last us a while,” Ventura replied. “It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Wilkes.”

Ventura ordered his men to re-seal the open boxes, returning them to the crate. After loading them back into the semi, the truck pulled away from the warehouse. A roar of motorcycles joined the rumble of the transport outside as the shipment of drugs and coffee left the vicinity.

“How soon can you manufacture the virus?” Wilkes asked Dr. D.

“It should take me a day to set up my new laboratory and another two days to produce the samples.”

“You’re still going ahead with the auction?” Zach asked.

“I told you, Zach, the auction needs to happen,” Wilkes said. “In exchange for getting rid of Porter for you, you’ve agreed to oversee the transfer of the virus vials to the bidders.”

“Why do you need the auction sales? I thought the Russians are buying the whole lot of them.”

“It’s a million dollars and they can spread the news on the Black Plane about the availability of this bioweapon. Once Dr. D can synthesize ST-Vyl, we will have infinite opportunities.”

Zach didn’t say anything.

“Are you backing out, Zach? Don’t you want to avenge Crowe?”

“Of course I do,” Zach snapped.

Wilkes raised a brow at his outburst. The other man lowered his gaze. “I’m sorry, sir. What about Sullivan and Porter’s daughter?”

“Sullivan could still be a problem, but if I could get rid of the admiral, I’d have no use for his daughter any longer. I’m not a mindless murderer, Zach.”

“Well, you have the location of their safe house,” Zach said. “It was easy enough to put a tracker on Doug Keller’s car. So when are we going to do this drop?”

“I’m sending out a private message to the five I’ve chosen. The drop is going to happen in Culpeper, VA. I shall communicate with you on IP-MESH.”

Zach inclined his head, turned, and walked out of the warehouse.

“He doesn’t know of the ISIS threat?” Dr. D asked when they heard a car leave.

“It increases the risk of the drop. I don’t want to spook him.

He’s an analyst, not a soldier,” Wilkes said.

“I may be many things, Dr. D, but I’m still a patriot.

The whole purpose of this drop is to capture the ISIS operative looking for a bioweapon.

We’ve already identified who he is on the IP-MESH.

The other four will be picked at random.

There’s a strong possibility that ISIS intends to release the virus on U.S.

soil as retaliation for our involvement in their war in the Middle East.”

“Isn’t it too risky? What if he gets away?”

“That’s why you’re manufacturing a killed virus.”

Dr. D looked miffed. “This was not our agreement.”

“It is now,” Wilkes told the scientist. Dr. D was a difficult asset to manage. He was a brilliant scientist and knew it. He desired to see the result of his work even when it translated to death. Wilkes had pegged him as a megalomaniac. He was dangerous.

“No one is getting out of that drop,” Wilkes continued. “I’ve got my own paramilitary unit ready to apprehend every single one of them. All, except the ISIS agent, are considered collateral damage. If they resist, they will be killed.”

“Very well,” Dr. D sighed. “When will your Russian associates need their stash?”

“How many vials does a single can produce?”

“Hundreds.”

“Excellent.” With weapons sales to Colombia drying up, the shift to bioweapon sales to the Russians could prove lucrative as his last hurrah before he went into retirement.

Wilkes had no intention of selling it on the Black Plane, not knowing if it could find its way back into the United States.

He was lying to Zach. He had recruited Jamison to be a sleeper agent to be inserted as necessary to keep tabs on the agenda of targeted politicians.

Their association had been beneficial. Zach recruited his lover, Philip Crowe, who had become Wilke’s best double-agent.

When Porter killed Crowe, Zach had slowly come unhinged and had been filled with a singular mind for revenge.

Wilkes, being the opportunist, harnessed Zach’s thirst for vengeance to further his schemes, but now that Zach’s cover was blown, he had become a liability.

The auction meet could be the perfect excuse for an accident involving Zach Jamison.

It was too bad he had to get rid of Benjamin Porter.

Wilkes’s man had a bead on the admiral in the last couple of days.

Porter had been seen in Washington DC, as if taunting Wilkes to nab him.

He could put a sniper on him, but he felt the man deserved a face-to-face meeting.

Wilkes respected the admiral in a worthy adversary kind of way.

Porter wasn’t a sanctimonious prick like the others in the agency.

The admiral was willing to get his hands sullied to get the job done, but unlike Wilkes, he’d never done it for personal profit or cut a large swath of collateral damage.

Wilkes only cared about the homeland. Screw the rest of the world.

Beatrice curled up on the sofa and studied the report Doug had brought in this morning.

She hadn’t left the house in ten days. Gabe rarely left her side.

He only did so when he had to take care of Rhino, otherwise he was always in her face.

Thankfully, they had not killed each other yet, because she was getting stir-crazy with this isolation.

She was very much a city girl. Washington DC was her playground.

Living in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by woods, was not her idea of a sabbatical.

Beatrice sure hoped her dad tracked down Zach Jamison soon or this Redrook guy.

He called Gabe once a day to keep them updated, but so far there was no solid lead.

Gabe seemed to have no problem adjusting to this change of pace.

He said he’d done time as a sniper. In training to be one, you were required to stay motionless, under cover, staying alert, and attune to every change to your surroundings for hours.

It freaked Beatrice out sometimes when she’d be working behind Gabe, and he would make comments as if he had eyes in the back of his head.

He said it was the minuscule sounds she made, the rustle of fabric that alerted him to what she was doing.

Her sanity was also helped by the presence of Sam Harper, a relatively new recruit of BSI.

He was one of the few employees of the company who was not from the military.

His background was mixed-martial arts and security for high-end clubs.

Sam was coming off a security detail for a French dignitary—a deal brokered by Beatrice for BSI.

“How did you like Europe, Sam?” Beatrice asked.

“Fine,” he said shortly. Then a lop-sided smile softened his serious face. “Hated wearing suits.”

She laughed. “Most of the guys do. Limits their movement. Although,” she angled her eyes at Gabe, “didn’t you wear suits all the time when you were the other guy?”

Gabe chuckled. “Yes, but it was a bitch to keep my weight down.”

“Muscles, you mean?” Beatrice looked appreciatively over her man’s delicious body.

“Yes, muscles,” Gabe muttered. “Muscle weight is heavy. It slows you down, and wearing a suit doesn’t help. I’ve been experimenting in some training methods. The thing is, my body needs a lot of calories and I’ll be damned before I starve myself.”

“How much cardio do you do?” Sam asked

“I normally run six miles every day and then lift weights,” Gabe said. “I need a sparring partner for mixed-martial arts.”

“We use the gym on the first floor of the building where BSI is located,” Sam said.

“I have privileges there because I’m affiliated with BSI and can get you in,” Beatrice said. “Well, once this whole mess is over,” she added in a grumble.

Sam’s phone buzzed. He looked up at Beatrice and Gabe. “Travis says he and Caitlin are coming over. They’ve got something.”

Beatrice sat up straighter. This could be it .

Twenty minutes later, Caitlin breezed through the door with Travis. She already had her laptop open.

Without much greeting, she said, “Redrook sent me a message. Tomorrow night is the meet.”

“What? That doesn’t give much time for preparation. What if his buyers are not in the country?” Beatrice asked.

Caitlin shrugged. “I know. It’s take it or leave it. It’s as if this meet is not the major event but a precursor to something.”

“Where’s the drop?” Gabe asked.

“Coordinates are pointing to an area in Culpeper,” Travis said.

“Let’s go into the control room and pull up satellite images,” Gabe said. The group marched down the hallway into the communication and control room as he took out his phone to call Porter.

The admiral answered on the second ring.

“Porter.”

“Admiral, Caitlin made contact. Meet is tomorrow night.”

There was a long stretch of silence. “I’ve a strong suspicion that the meet is a distraction.”

“What?”

“I have reliable sources that say Redrook has already made a deal with the Russians.”

“What is this meet for then?”

“Not sure, but I don’t think Redrook is going to show up. He’s our priority.”

“Shouldn’t stopping this virus from getting into the hands of the bidders be our priority?”

“Look, Commander, I’m in the middle of something—”

“Goddammit, Ben. Stop keeping us in the dark,” Gabe growled. “What the fuck is going on?”

“Trust me,” Porter responded. “Plausible deniability, Gabe. What I’m doing is unsanctioned and entirely clandestine. I don’t want to bring you down with me if shit hits the fan. Give me the time and coordinates.”

Seething, Gabe punched in the information in his phone and sent it.

“Okay, got it,” Porter said. “Have you guys figured out where it is?”

“Culpeper.”

“Okay, we’ll do this. I’ll pick you up two hours before the meeting. I suggest you recon the area via satellite if you can.”

“Already on it.”

“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”