Dean Atwood [Atwood - The Secret Target

ALSO BY DEAN ATWOOD

AGUA DE VALENCIA

THE RETREAT TOWER

THE SECRET TARGET

Dean Atwood

Copyright 2018 by Dean Atwood

All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be produced in any form without permission.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Acknowledgements

Thanks to my wife Robin and my children Seth, Blake, Ashley and Tyler for encouraging me to continue writing.

A special thanks to Seth for providing technical assistance.

Chapter 1

Q uinton Target wasnt the jealous type, but he was suspicious by nature. Womens unpredictability unsettled him. Of course, it didnt unsettle him enough for him to avoid the opposite sex. Quite the contrary, he loved women with all their intricacies. After numerous failed relationships, he thought hed finally found the perfect woman but he was beginning to have second thoughts.

He lay on the bed with his eyes wide open, observing Blaire, who was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, brushing her blonde hair.

She glanced at him and said, Are you watching me?

Not on purpose. I opened my eyes and there you were.

Oh, I see. Its an accident youre looking at me that way.

What can I say. Im a voyeur. I like watching you.

Good thing for you Im an exhibitionist.

One of the many things I love about you.

I didnt mean to wake you.

Where are you going so early? You didnt get to sleep until three this morning.

Whose fault was that? she said with a smile.

Ill take credit for the last half hour, but you didnt get home until around two.

I know. Im sorry I havent been around much, lately. She turned her back to him and added, Its been crazy at work. I have another meeting early this morning.

I understand, he said, although he didnt really understand the change that had come over her recently.

I should be back to a more normal schedule within a couple of weeks.

Good.

After she finished getting ready, she sat on the bed next to him, laid her hand on his chest, and gave him a peck on the cheek. Go back to sleep.

He closed his eyes momentarily and then opened them to watch her walk toward the stairs. Are you going to be late again tonight?

She stopped and shrugged her shoulders without turning around. Im not sure. Ill call you later.

When Blaire reached the bottom of the stairs, he heard her phone ring. He could tell the volume had been turned down, but he recognized her ringtone.

In a loud whisper she said, I told you not to call me when Im at home ... I dont know what time the meeting will get over ... Yes, Ill have lunch with you. Now hang up. We can talk at work.

After Quinton heard the downstairs door shut, he rolled over and closed his eyes, but the gnawing feeling in his stomach was preventing him from falling asleep. He tossed and turned a couple of more times before accepting the futility. He climbed out of bed, went through his morning bathroom routine, put on his clothes, and headed out the door.

Like most mornings, he walked down the red brick walkway of the downtown mall in Charlottesville, VA. Blaire and he had moved into their nearby townhouse six months ago, and until recently, things were going quite well from his perspective. He was an FBI agent, and she was an NSA cyber analyst. Because of security protocols, they couldnt always share information about their cases, but they had an appreciation of the demands of each others job. When one of them had to stay late at the office or disappear out of town for a few days, the other didnt question it. The frequency of Blaires business trips had increased during the past two weeks, and after each trip she seemed a little more distant. There was nothing overt. They were cordial to each other, didnt argue, and still had sex. But, something beneath the surface had changed, and it bothered him that he couldnt pinpoint the cause.

Many of the quaint shops and restaurants on the downtown mall were closed at seven in the morning, but the Mudhouse Coffee Shop was open. As Quinton approached it, he saw a woman standing by an outside table. She was wearing army green shorts, a camouflage shirt with first lieutenant insignias, and a UVA baseball cap. From a distance, she was very attractive. She had high cheek bones, bluish green eyes, and shoulder length, auburn hair. Although her features were still striking up close, they were overshadowed by her personal hygiene. Her hair was tangled, her complexion was oily, and there was a hint of perspiration odor beneath her deodorant.

Good morning, he said in a cheery voice.

QT, I need to talk to you right away. She looked around nervously to see whether anybody was watching them.

Im going to get coffee. Why dont you join me?

Wheres your lady friend today?

Who, Blaire? She had to go to work early.

Good, I dont want big brother listening to us. The NSA would love to find evidence of my whereabouts. Those bastards have eyes and ears everywhere.

Quinton had grown accustomed to the womans paranoia. Hed met her five months ago on the way to get his morning coffee. Shed appeared to be homeless, although he didnt know that for sure. Hed struck up a conversation with her and bought her breakfast. Since that time, whenever hed seen her, hed offered to take her to eat or join him for coffee. Even though she was often disheveled, her teeth were always pearly white, which was an indication she wasnt a drug addict. And, hed never smelled alcohol on her breath. He assumed her problems were related to mental illness, perhaps PTSD. He wasnt sure how shed come into possession of the lieutenants shirt. She could be ex-military, the shirt couldve belonged to an ex-husband, or she couldve bought it at Goodwill.

Lets go inside and get some coffee. Im buying, Quinton said.

The woman scanned the area again and said, OK, but I want the seat facing the window.

Quinton ordered the coffees and they sat down at a table that gave her maximum visibility to the vicinity.

Are you ready to tell me your real name? Quinton said.

Ive already told you to call me Lieutenant Mad.

That sounds more like a psychological condition than a name to me.

I like you QT. Youre one of the good guys, but youre part of a corrupt government. If I gave you my full name, your curiosity would get the best of you. Youd run it against your databases. Itd be flagged, and the FBI, NSA, CIA and God knows what other clandestine agencies would be all over me. After they took me in for torture and questioning, theyd eliminate you and your girlfriend because you inquired about me.

I wouldnt want that, Quinton said, acquiescing without believing a word she said. Tell me whats so urgent this morning, Lieutenant Mad.

I was near your townhouse last night and I saw a man in an SUV watching your place.

Playing along, Quinton said, Were you close enough to get a description of him?

Yup. The windows were tinted, but he had the drivers side window open.

Whatd he look like?

He looked like a hitman to me. Hes probably a contract killer, not a company man.

What makes you think that?

He wasnt polished enough looking to be a company man. Besides, most of the government vehicles are black. His SUV was white. If it were me, Id drive something a little less conspicuous, but maybe hes using reverse psychology. The good cowboys always ride white horses, right?

Can you be more specific about his appearance? Was there anything distinctive about him?

He had black hair and a dark complexion. A handsome guy, except for a three-inch scar shaped like a lightning bolt, gouged into his left cheek. At least, I think it was a scar. It couldve been a tattoo or a birthmark. I cant say for sure.