Papa Jack Chapter 3
On his daily sweep, Jack discovers a bug on an outside wall near the room he uses as an office. He doesn't recognize the configuration. He's been away from the agency long enough that they've developed a new generation – or several generations – of devices. However, it might also have come from a less innocuous source. He remarks on it out loud, in a spot where he knows an agency bug will pick up his musings. If it's one of theirs, they'll know he's found it. If it isn't, they can look into it. They won't want unfriendlies listening in on assets, even long inactive ones.
Jack has a matter much closer to his heart to worry about. Richard is graduating from high school soon. His early success at publishing his stories earned him scholarship offers from several Ivy League schools. Due as much to its proximity to the New York publishing world as its prestige, Richard chose Columbia. Unwilling to wait until Fall to begin his college career, the young man will be attending a summer writing seminar in which the students will be turning out novels. So far, Richard hasn't written anything longer than a novella, and he's looking forward to taking his next step.
Up until the moment he found the bug, Jack was glad that Richard had decided to live at home, a short subway ride from Columbia. But since he found the questionable device, he's not as sure about keeping his son around. Still, nothing threatening has reared its ugly head in 17 years. There is little reason to be paranoid about one little bug. Yet the uneasiness in his gut refuses to retreat.
Since the American jackal killed her husband and consigned her to a Chechen prison, Anna Volkov has been stubbornly working toward her escape and the opportunity to take her revenge. Day by day, with jagged remnants of her fingernails and battered fingers, she's labored on her tunnel under the prison building and the wall surrounding it. It's been almost 19 long years, but she finally reached her goal. She broke through the thin remaining layer of soil and escaped into the surrounding woods.
It took Anna another week to arrive at an ancient drop, but the contents were still there: weapons, money, and codes to enter a safe spot to contact her people. After that, it took little time to find transportation to an unguarded stretch of the U.S. coastline. On the isolated shore of Fisher's Island, she met up with members of her husband's old cell, hungry for vengeance not only for their comrade's death but for the many missions the American agent had thwarted. They had the intelligence and technology to make their nemesis feel the worst anguish before his inevitable death. The operation was already in motion.
Jack watches with fatherly pride as Richard accepts his honors at his graduation. The teen isn't the valedictorian or even the salutatorian. While his skills with the English language are unsurpassed in the student body, he never made it to the highest levels of mathematics. Still, he has the English award, a gold seal on his diploma, and, most importantly, his free ride to Columbia. The University will be covering tuition. He has a Regents scholarship to pay for his books and expenses and will be staying rent-free at home. Were it not for the niggling feeling at the base of Jack's skull, the evening would be perfect.
Richard won't be returning to the apartment with Jack. He'll be celebrating with his classmates and Veronica, his newest girlfriend. She, too, plans to go to college in the city, but at CUNY in Queens, not Columbia. Still, they should have time together on the weekends and school holidays. Jack would just as soon that they don't have too much time together. Much as Jack treasures his years as a father, he doesn't want Richard to have to take on that kind of responsibility this early in his life. College and writing will keep him more than busy enough.
"What is it, Mason?" the senior agent in charge, Daltry, asks.
"Intelligence on the listening device Hunt discovered, Sir. We traced it to a newly reactivated cell operating off the coast of Long Island, and we picked up chatter that they've tied up with Anna Volkov."
"Anna Volkov? Didn't Hunt put her in a Chechnian prison?"
"She escaped two weeks ago and apparently made her way here."
"As I recall," Daltry says, "her husband was trying to blow up a nuclear plant before Hunt took him out."
"According to Hunt's file, correct. By killing Gregory Volkov, Hunt prevented a catastrophe of massive proportions. But it looks like Anna Volkov may be holding a grudge."
"If she's after Hunt, it could provide us with the opportunity we need to take her out, along with the reactivated cell. Put a team on it," Daltry orders.
"What about Hunt?" Mason queries. "He's Anna's target."
"Send him a coded message to watch his back. He knows how to take care of himself. We need to concentrate our resources on Anna and eliminating that cell."
Hunt has just let himself in the door of his apartment when an alert flashes on his personal computer. He uses the PC primarily for his work for Hill and Schwartz and never sets it for alerts. Yet, Hunt recognizes the code instantly. He's the presumed target of an attack. In a way, that's a relief. He'd been expecting something to crawl out of the woodwork. Now he can face the trouble head-on – fortunately, with Richard busy enjoying himself away from the danger zone. Hunt activates his heat and motion detectors and unlocks the hidden compartment holding his weapons stash. Whatever and whoever is coming to get him, he'll be ready.
"It's starting to rain. If you want to stay undercover, I'll go get us a cab," Richard tells Veronica as the after-grad party at Pizzoni's Pizza Palace breaks up. As usual, the presence of precipitation, even a light drizzle, seems to make taxis magically disappear. Richard squints down the street, half-blinded by oncoming headlights. He hears footsteps behind him and smells honey. Then the world goes black.
For much of the night, Hunt's been prepared for an assault, but other than the soft patter of the rain, he's heard nothing. The jangling of the phone comes almost as a shock. The agency calling with an all-clear? An enemy trying to place him within firing range? In the second case, the gambit wouldn't work. The windows are all covered, and even if they weren't, the phone isn't in direct line with any of them. He picks up the receiver. "Yeah."
"Jackal, it is Anna Volkov. You remember me, yes? I remember you. I've been waiting a very long time to see you again. You will come to me now."
"And why would I do that, Anna?" Hunt queries.
"Because I have a young man here. He is wearing a blue suit and a gold tie, and oh yes, he has a little brown mole on his left jawline. I doubt I have to tell you his identity. There is a car waiting for you outside. I will see you within a half hour, or I will slit the throat below that mole." A click ends the call.
Dropping the receiver, Hunt runs for the door.