Krystal Scent (Krystal Vibration Series Book 2) Page 5
Karen had to hold back tears upon seeing Maya sleeping, her face covered in bandages. Karen clamped her hand over her mouth and turned to Moshe. He held out his arms. They hugged.
Karen whispered, “Tell me what happened.”
In barely a whisper, Moshe began. “We heard the sirens. We always hear them. We go down into the basement and wait for the all-clear.”
“You were in the basement when the bomb hit?”
“We had just taken the day’s food out of the freezer. We didn’t know how long we’d be downstairs. We didn’t want it to spoil. So we decided to cart everything back. It took time to pile it up on the freezer shelves. We were a little slow that day. We were on the last load when the rocket smashed through the roof and exploded.”
Moshe’s eyes began to well up. “Mom and Dad must have died instantly. When I came to, I was being carted away on a stretcher. I could see others carrying Maya. They were holding rags on her head and face. I couldn’t see what had happened to her.”
Moshe stared at his sister and said, “They put us in an ambulance and brought us here. They had to amputate my leg just above the knee.”
Karen reached for Moshe’s shoulder and whispered, “I’m so sorry.”
Moshe whispered, “It’s worse for Maya. Part of her face is blown away. She’ll be disfigured for life.” Moshe began to weep. “She’s only twenty-eight. She’ll never be married. She’ll never bear children.”
“You don’t know that. They work wonders with plastic surgery.”
“We don’t have the money for that.”
Karen grabbed hold of Moshe’s arm and said, “But the family, the Krystal family does.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your uncle, my father, always said that if anything should happen to his brother that I was to make sure you two were provided for.”
“It’ll take hundreds of thousands of shekels to fix Maya’s face.”
“The family has the money. It’ll be done. And for you, too.”
Moshe began to cry.
Karen reached out and held him. Tears of empathy ran down her face. But then, anger cut off the flow. Her face reddened.
Damned terrorists. Maybe it’s time to call Etheridge.
***
On the flight back from Tel Aviv to the United States, Karen’s emotions continued to build and her anger swelled. Terrorists had been operating for years. But most recently, her life had been turned upside down by their actions.
Terrorists. They’re like mosquitoes or cockroaches or rats. They keep multiplying, destroying things and harming humans. They serve no purpose for humanity.
Karen wanted nothing more than to avenge the ISIS assassination of her father, avenge the massacre at the Labyrinth, avenge the deaths of her aunt and uncle, and avenge the maiming of her cousins. Karen Krystal wanted revenge
Little did Karen know that, while she was flying back across the Atlantic, U.S. National Intelligence had determined she would be an asset to their organization.
***
Karen raced from the airport parking garage and soon turned onto route 650 just before Cobb House and then took a right onto an unpaved road. She drove her twelve-piston engine Jaguar through the woods, churning the surface of the trail into dust. The vortex created by the vehicle’s speed, swirled the dirt into myriad dust devils. The grime would eventually settle onto the leaves of the bushes that reached out alongside the route.
Within moments, she was racing along the edge of Swan Nest Pond. Frogs splashed into hiding. A squadron of ducks scurried across the water. Two swans at the far side of the lake stretched their long necks to watch, and a bluebird poked its head out of the small, man-made wooden house that sat prone on a metal pole near the south edge of the reservoir.
On the far side, off to the right in the woods, inside a camouflaged shack, a lone man listened to his headset as Karen unlocked the door and dropped her bag onto the wooden floor of the cabin.
“She’s home,” he said.
“Keep listening and watching. We want to know what she says and where she goes. But be careful, if she discovers you, you won’t know what hit you until it’s too late.”
CHAPTER 9
Somewhere in Mogadishu, Somalia
Mohammed Ally Atwah and Ahmed Fadhil, the terrorist general, met at an undisclosed location to bring each other up to speed on what they had been doing.
“You keep mentioning this Karen Krystal. What’s so special about her?” Fadhil asked.
“I used to know her. And if she becomes involved, she’ll ruin our plans, whatever they are,” Atwah said, gritting his teeth.
“How do you know her? And how could she?” Fadhil asked, lighting a cigar.
“We worked on a few projects together.”
“What kind of projects?” Fadhil asked, tilting his head back, blowing, and watching the smoke rise to the ceiling.
“Architectural and electronic security,” Atwah said, crossing his arms.
“And?”
“Last year, she got in the way of the efforts of a radicalized American al-Qa’ida cell.”
“You were part of it?”
Atwah nodded.
“You don’t look to have been too affected by it.”
“I was lucky. Just barely. Others weren’t.”
“So, you blame her? One person? I think there’s more to this. We can’t have any personal vendettas. They’ll get in the way of our success.”
Atwah nodded slowly and stared off into the distance.
Fadhil said, “Okay, you’ve warned me about her. But you didn’t answer how she’d be able to affect us.”
“We know from a reliable source that Homeland Security is seriously thinking of recruiting her for their counterterrorism efforts.”
“So, she’ll just be another inept agent that we can execute if she gets in the way.”
“She’s different.”
“How? What does she look like? Do you have a photo?”
“Not with me, but she’s five-seven, attractive, athletic-looking, and super-intelligent.”
“Why would she join Homeland Security?” Fadhil asked.
“Her father was said to have been killed by ISIS execution.”
“Any other information?”
“She has a sister. Younger.”
“That may be of use. What else?”
“She has a residence in Virginia, alongside a pond. A cabin.”
“Is she there?”
“Yes. We have a makeshift lookout shack in the woods on the other side of the pond. We’re using the FBI bugs to listen to her conversations. But we think she’ll move back to her family home in Middleburg, Virginia.”
“Is that all? It doesn’t seem that she’s much of a threat.”
“Her senses are almost superhuman. That makes her very dangerous.”
“I still don’t understand your obsession with her. Are you in love with her?”
Atwah almost choked on his drink. “I hate her,” he said.
“Why?”
“I’m telling you, if she becomes part of Homeland Security, we’ll be at risk. The head of it’s making noise about asking her to join the force.”
“Let me know when he does,” Fadhil said and walked away relighting his cigar.
***
The cabin at Swan Nest Pond, Virginia
The evening was bringing with it cooling temperatures, so Karen lit a fire in the firebox of the living room fireplace. She then turned to her computer to research ISIS and learn all she could about their movements and how she could avenge her father’s death.
Karen glanced through the window. She remembered the electronic listening devices planted throughout the cabin.
She knew one of the U.S. government’s agencies was listening. But she didn’t know that the terrorists were also listening. It was easy to tap into the FBI’s surveillance. There were only about 3,500 frequencies used for bugging. Using their computer, it only took minutes for the terrorist
’s computer-controlled radio to zero in on Karen’s conversations inside the Swan Nest Pond cabin.
Karen walked out to the porch and sat down on the steps. In the moonlight, she could see the swans floating across the pond.
She looked at the water and thought of Aunt Edna, then her father. Because of the constant pressure from the government to secure the Labyrinth, she had little time to herself. Now, she would be able to spend the time finding out what happened to her father. She still wondered why there were no personal items: no money, no identification, and no wedding ring.
Dad never took it off. Even after Mom died. Yet the coroner never retrieved it. It must be still on his finger. Unless it was stolen.
Karen walked back into the cabin and grabbed her gun. She then stepped through the doorway, walked down the treads, and began a slow, determined trek down the Oxeye-Daisy-lined path to the pond. She stood on the shore, holding the Smith & Wesson, pressing the laser light on and off.
She set the pistol on the ground, and began stripping off her clothes. When finished, she stood there in the moonlight unaware of the man in the shed in the woods watching her with his night-vision binoculars.
Karen began walking into the pond. The water was cold and her skin reacted, raising goose bumps. She looked down at her breasts and then quickly dunked them beneath the surface.
She casually swam to the other side and back. She then turned and increased her speed. She raced across the reservoir as she did in college competitions. Three more laps and that was all she decided to do.
She surged out of the pond, grabbed her clothes and weapon, and ran back to the cabin, slipped through the door, closed and locked it, shivered and scurried to get a towel. She then returned to soak up the warmth from the fireplace.
Karen heard her cellphone ring. She left the warmth of the fire and walked to the counter to answer the call. She looked at the screen. Unknown.
She answered and listened. “Yes, sir,” she said.
The caller disconnected.
Within seconds, the phone rang again, and with a certain amount of uneasiness, she answered it.
“Karen, this is Carl Etheridge. I just spoke with President Burke and told him I hadn’t heard from you. He told me to wait ten minutes and then give you a call.”
Karen gave a courteous response and walked to a darkened section of the cabin.
“I’d like you to come to my office tomorrow at 2:00 pm if that’s convenient,” Etheridge said.
Although she felt it was very inconvenient, Karen said, “At the Homeland Security offices at 2:00. Right, I’ll be there.”
Etheridge disconnected.
Karen stood for a few seconds trying to decide what she wanted to do—have a glass of wine for sure. But sit in front of the fireplace or on the porch steps. She poured the last of the Pouilly-Fumé she had purchased, wrapped the towel around her body and walked out to the porch, and sat down on the stairs.
She decided she would stay as long as she could to bask in the quietude of the surroundings. She set her glass down, placed her hands behind her and laid back. She closed her eyes. She tried to concentrate on nature’s smells and sounds.
The aromas of the sanctuary wafted beneath her nose: pine, wildflowers, and fresh air; the smells of grass, wild chives; and the smells of fish, worms; and the fragrance of lilacs a mile away. She could discern them all. Karen’s senses were filling her mind.
She listened. The songs of chickadees, finches, wrens, sparrows, and nuthatches along with a cardinal’s occasional melody mixed with the scratchy bowing of crickets and the throaty, bass notes of frogs. She could hear the shuffling of leaves in the forest as two deer walked around the pond, reluctant to expose themselves until the twilight had faded into obsidian.
She could hear the claws of a raccoon piercing the bark of a pine tree as it climbed. She heard the slithering of a snake near the edge of the water.
Karen could feel the slight breeze against her skin. She smelled skunks deep in the woods and the exhaust fumes of the vehicles on the highway a mile away. She didn’t know if her heightened senses were a curse or a blessing.
She heard breathing. She smelled cigarette smoke. She opened her eyes. She listened. She remembered that she had been watched before.
Did they see me naked in the pond?
She decided it was time to shower and climb into bed.
What did Etheridge want? Something to do with the Labyrinth? Or is he again offering a position? Why would I take it? Moshe and Maya? My aunt and uncle? My father?
Karen showered and climbed into bed. Her head was spinning. But soon, she drifted off to sleep.
***
Mogadishu, Somalia
“Well, what I was afraid of has happened,” Mohammed Ally Atwah said to Ahmed Fadhil as they walked toward an abandoned warehouse.
“And what’s that?” Fadhil asked, shifting his cigar to the other side of his mouth.
Atwah thrust out his chest and said, “U.S. Homeland Security has called Karen Krystal and asked her to come to their offices. Probably to join them and become one of their agents.”
“I think you’re in love with her?”
“I told you I hate her guts. But she has exceptional abilities. She has almost super powers. And Homeland Security wants to use her to combat terrorism.”
“Is she dangerous enough that we need to worry about her?”
“She’s dangerous enough that we should find a way to get rid of her, permanently,” Atwah said, staring off into the distance.
“Do you know her habits?”
“Pretty much.”
“Do you have a plan?”
“Yes.”
“Leave no trace,” Fadhil said, taking a puff and blowing the smoke across the alleyway.
Atwah left Fadhil and called the lookout in the woods in the shed opposite Karen Krystal’s cabin at Swan Nest Pond.
CHAPTER 10
Swan Nest Pond, Virginia
Karen tossed and turned beneath the covers of her bed in the cabin at Swan Nest Pond. Her closed eyes fluttered. Her legs kicked.
She quickly sat up. The sheets were soaked, and her body was drenched. Her heart was racing. She felt all over—no bullet wounds. It was a dream. The gun battle wasn’t real. The terrorists weren’t real. Her father’s throat being slit wasn’t real.
But it really was. President Burke told her he had been assassinated.
She tried to clear her mind and go back to sleep.
When morning came, Karen felt like she hadn’t slept at all. She lay there thinking about her father and the information she’d received from her father’s friend, Thomas Masada, of the U.S. State Department prior to her trip to the Labyrinth.
She decided to get dressed and reread the information to see if anything came to mind that could help her discover who killed her father. She wanted the assassin’s name. She was bent on revenge.
She pulled up the images of the file and read them again but more slowly this time.
Krystal family entered United States prior to Civil War. 1861, Frederick C. Krystal joined Perkins Rifles of Syracuse, New York. Fought for Union Army. Leonard Krystal’s father, Martin Krystal, served in Korean War—counterintelligence—wrote counterintelligence reports for CIA.
Leonard Krystal, Karen Krystal’s father—
“Son-of-a-bitch, that’s right, I’m in the CIA file.” She continued to read:
joined twenty years ago, began working as analyst—perusing reports, documents, letters, speeches from all countries. Ten years ago, before selling Krystal Vision, Leonard—status: ‘Operative,’—began training for overseas work
Leonard Krystal engaged in discovery mission—determine weaknesses in N. Syria ISIS forces, determine key positions of command posts, military leaders. Float between Turkey and Syria, pose as tradesman, sell carpets, jewelry. Make friends with ISIS militants—gain trust.
Send information to U.S. outposts to disclose location for pinpoint, drone attacks.
Operative under deep cover. No further information.
Nothing about his murder. Nothing about his body being recovered.
She fought back the tears as she remembered his casket being lowered into the ground at Arlington.
Karen ran her fingers down the computer screen and closed the file.
While she straightened up the cabin, she thought about her next move. She washed the dishes from the night before, and then went out and swept the porch. The whole time, she thought about how she could find her father’s killers. She looked at her watch. It was time to dress for her meeting in the District with Carl Etheridge of Homeland Security. She set her computer on the counter so she could grab it on the way out the door.
***
The man in the lookout in the woods across from the pond answered his phone. “Yeah, she’s leaving soon for an appointment in the District at Homeland Security,” the man said.
“She always takes the same route: 50 to I-66. Do you have the code and the equipment ready? The car’s got a front and rear camera,” Atwah said.
“If she likes to drive fast. This’ll give her the ride of her life.”
“Good, but one other thing. Contact the media. I want them to broadcast it so we can see it over here. Call the station now. Convince them that they don’t want to miss this. Give them a description of the car and the route,” Atwah said.
The man in the forest blind agreed and disconnected.
***
Karen cruised along Route 50 at a reasonable speed, staying with the traffic flow on her way to I-66 that would take her into the District. She noticed a WTTG TV news helicopter flying a little ahead of her, then moving behind, and then alongside. She glanced at the time on her Jaguar’s LCD/touch-screen monitor. It flashed. She took a double take at the message on the display: