To Kaufman’s right was a photo of a hulk of a bald man with tattoos standing beside a man with his back to the camera.
Viktor Rousseau. Besides this name, the word “handler” and several stick figures were drawn next to that.
An image of a distinguished man in a suit had the name Deputy Director Alan Strickland written beneath the photo and a bright red circle drawn about the photo and name.
Notes across the bottom of the butcher paper read WEAPONS TRAFFICKING, BLACK OPS FUNDING, FRAMED and FIND PROOF.
With his cell phone, Rogue snapped a photo of the butcher paper, including all of the photos and all the notes.
This wasn’t the command center of a killer, but he’d process this information later. He wasn’t done looking around. He checked inside the duffel bag, where he found well-worn clothing, the kind you’d pick up in a thrift store, the cowboy hat, a brush and a toothbrush. Nothing else. Knowing he didn’t have much time before she returned, he looked beneath the pillows. Nothing. On the far side of the bed, he noted that one corner wasn’t as neatly tucked as he’d seen on the other. When he lifted the edge of the mattress, he murmured, “Bingo.”
He found a laptop and a flash drive.
His cell phone vibrated in his pocket, making him jump.
It was a text from Swede
Swede: Status on target?
Before Rogue could respond, he heard the squeal of tires outside the room. When he checked through the side of the blackout curtains, his heart sank to his knees. Two SUVs skidded to a stop in the parking lot. Four men dressed in dark combat gear dropped down out of the first one.
With only moments to spare, Rogue shoved a chair beneath the door handle, grabbed the laptop, shoved the flash drive into his pocket and ripped the butcher paper off the wall. He ran into the bathroom, climbed onto the toilet and shoved open the window. He tossed the laptop and butcher paper onto a bush just below the window, pulled himself up and through the small opening and dove out headfirst. He crashed into the bushes, rolled over the side, picked up the laptop and butcher paper from the ground and ran. He’d just entered the wooded area beyond the back parking lot when he heard a crashing sound and shouts. He kept going, circling back, giving the motel a wide berth until he reached the end of the street and ducked behind a vehicle parked at an auto repair shop. From there, he could just see the motel and hear the ruckus the guys dressed in combat gear were making.
He set the laptop on the ground, pulled out his cell phone, found the number associated with the burner phone Onyx carried and sent her a text, knowing it would be received as an unknown caller. He hoped she’d read it and pay heed.
Unknown: Enemy at your door. Keep moving...Not your enemy
He made his way back to his rental SUV and slipped into the driver’s seat. For the next few minutes, he remained hidden, watching the entrance to the motel.
A movement across the street from where Rogue watched caught his attention. If he hadn’t known what to look for, he might have missed the dark form slipping between buildings. Trained in stealth, aware of surroundings and escape routes. The figure clung to the shadows as it moved toward the motel, stopping far enough away to avoid detection, but close enough to witness the chaos caused by the men from the dark SUVs.
Guests ran out into the night, dressed in pajamas or boxer shorts. The guy in the office glanced through the window, a phone held to his ear. It wouldn’t be long before?—
Sirens wailed in the distance.
The two SUVs erupted out of the parking lot and sped away.
The ghostly figure crossed the street and ducked into an alley a block down from Rogue.
He started the engine, shifted into reverse and backed out of the alley, headlights off. He emerged behind the building and turned in the direction his target had gone. A single red taillight flashed as Onyx climbed onto her motorcycle and raced away from him.
Rogue followed at a distance until he was certain she was well away from the motel, the police and the goons in the dark SUVs.
Ahead of him, she made a quick right turn.
She must have seen him following her. By the time he made the same turn, she’d disappeared into the Austin night.
Rogue drove to a hilltop overlooking Austin, slowed to a stop and shifted into park. As he stared out at the Austin skyline, he opened Onyx’s laptop and discovered it was password-protected. He pulled his laptop out of his go-bag and turned it on. He plugged the flash drive into his laptop and clicked on a file named Doctrine.
It contained what appeared to be military-style training doctrine and operating procedures.
He found another file marked RECRUITS that contained a spreadsheet listing names, ages and physical characteristics of girls from ages six to mid-twenties.
“Holy shit,” Rogue murmured.
Onyx was a program. Not a person.
His heart beating hard in his chest, Rogue sent an encrypted message to Swede and Royce, with a copy of the pictures he’d taken of the butcher paper with the photos and names, a copy of the files from the flash drive and his own note.
