The Carolina Coup: Another Rwandan Genocide? (The Jeannine Ryan Series Book 4) by James E. Mosimann Page B
Authors: James E. Mosimann
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FBI?”
“No, not just the FBI, they’re others involved too.”
Static filled Aileen’s ears as the line was broken.
She hurried to leave.
***
In her office in Chantilly, Virginia, Denise Guerry, picked up the secure phone. She called SÉGAG’s office in Paris’s arrondissement 2.
Her uncle answered. He gave no greeting.
“What?”
“An American contact may be compromised.”
“Which one?”
“The muscle man, Byrd. He’s in security at the Torbee. He has lost an NSA security token as well as important documents, including RadGuard’s report on Plant 47 and Strontium-90.”
“You have a list of all these documents? Is Gutera’s plan safe?”
“Of course I have the list, and yes, Gutera’s plan should be safe. All of his messages are Vigenère -encoded. Byrd had copies, but no keywords.”
“Denise, GES must not be linked to whatever Hamm stole. Byrd is the only connection to us. You must silence him. He’s a government agent, so be careful. He should disappear, or make it look like suicide.”
“But?”
“Do not question me. Henri is assigned to you. Use him for this.”
“Click.”
Denise Guerry glared at the phone.
He thinks I’m a killer!
She dialed again. It was a U. S. number, but the man who answered had a French accent.
“Henri, where are you.”
“In North Carolina, Wilmington, like you told me.”
“I want you there a few more days. Have you visited the farm yet?”
“Yesterday, it is well stocked.”
“Did you check on the phony turtle lab and my new electronic equipment.”
“Not yet.”
“Then don’t. Smets is there. You stay in Wilmington. There are important developments. I may need you, entendu ?
“I understand.”
“Click.”
Denise sat at her desk, hand on her chin. She had not mentioned Byrd.
I am not a killer and that oaf Byrd might still be of use.
She needed time to decide his fate.
***
Hugh Byrd was stuck in traffic on I-95 south of Woodbridge, Virginia, when his cell phone vibrated. It was Tom Holder in Kinston, North Carolina. Byrd spoke.
“You’re waiting in Kinston, like I said, right?”
“I’m here, but I have news for you. Our contact in Camp Geiger did some checking. Ryan visited the quarters of a Captain Hume. She left her car with him when some guy picked her up. They left right away.”
“A guy?”
“His car had Maryland plates. I checked. He’s from Rockville. His name is Wayne Johnson.”
“But where were they going?”
“The guard saw that the passenger had red hair, and was a looker. The car turned south. It had a ‘TI’ sticker on the rear bumper, ‘Topsail Island.’”
“OK, if the traffic lets up, I’ll be there in four hours. Meanwhile have the office check on this ‘Johnson.’ Find out if he owns property on Topsail.”
“Click.”
Hugh Byrd pressed the accelerator and squeezed between two eighteen wheelers.
Ryan, you can run, but you can’t hide!
***
Driving on Highway 17 in North Carolina, FBI agent Stew Marks watched as his partner, Jack, spoke on the phone. When Jack hung up, Stew spoke.
“Jack, did the resident agency in Wilmington have anything new for us?”
“Not really. There’s no trace of Ryan since that clerk saw her in Wilson, and nothing at all on Hamm. They think he’s in North Carolina too, but I think they’re guessing because Ryan is here. We know as much as they do.”
“Great. Now we’ve lost both Ryan and Hamm.”
Jack was about to answer when his phone buzzed. He picked up and listened.
He turned back to Stew.
“That was Wilmington. We have a lead. A farmer found Hamm’s rental, an Accord. It’s burned out, but there’s no body in it.”
“Where?”
“In some pine woods, west of Brown Town.”
“Brown Town is on 17. It’s not far. Hang on.”
The car lurched forward.
***
Somewhere in North Carolina, Bill Hamm, prostrate on a hard floor, stirred once again. His
“No, not just the FBI, they’re others involved too.”
Static filled Aileen’s ears as the line was broken.
She hurried to leave.
***
In her office in Chantilly, Virginia, Denise Guerry, picked up the secure phone. She called SÉGAG’s office in Paris’s arrondissement 2.
Her uncle answered. He gave no greeting.
“What?”
“An American contact may be compromised.”
“Which one?”
“The muscle man, Byrd. He’s in security at the Torbee. He has lost an NSA security token as well as important documents, including RadGuard’s report on Plant 47 and Strontium-90.”
“You have a list of all these documents? Is Gutera’s plan safe?”
“Of course I have the list, and yes, Gutera’s plan should be safe. All of his messages are Vigenère -encoded. Byrd had copies, but no keywords.”
“Denise, GES must not be linked to whatever Hamm stole. Byrd is the only connection to us. You must silence him. He’s a government agent, so be careful. He should disappear, or make it look like suicide.”
“But?”
“Do not question me. Henri is assigned to you. Use him for this.”
“Click.”
Denise Guerry glared at the phone.
He thinks I’m a killer!
She dialed again. It was a U. S. number, but the man who answered had a French accent.
“Henri, where are you.”
“In North Carolina, Wilmington, like you told me.”
“I want you there a few more days. Have you visited the farm yet?”
“Yesterday, it is well stocked.”
“Did you check on the phony turtle lab and my new electronic equipment.”
“Not yet.”
“Then don’t. Smets is there. You stay in Wilmington. There are important developments. I may need you, entendu ?
“I understand.”
“Click.”
Denise sat at her desk, hand on her chin. She had not mentioned Byrd.
I am not a killer and that oaf Byrd might still be of use.
She needed time to decide his fate.
***
Hugh Byrd was stuck in traffic on I-95 south of Woodbridge, Virginia, when his cell phone vibrated. It was Tom Holder in Kinston, North Carolina. Byrd spoke.
“You’re waiting in Kinston, like I said, right?”
“I’m here, but I have news for you. Our contact in Camp Geiger did some checking. Ryan visited the quarters of a Captain Hume. She left her car with him when some guy picked her up. They left right away.”
“A guy?”
“His car had Maryland plates. I checked. He’s from Rockville. His name is Wayne Johnson.”
“But where were they going?”
“The guard saw that the passenger had red hair, and was a looker. The car turned south. It had a ‘TI’ sticker on the rear bumper, ‘Topsail Island.’”
“OK, if the traffic lets up, I’ll be there in four hours. Meanwhile have the office check on this ‘Johnson.’ Find out if he owns property on Topsail.”
“Click.”
Hugh Byrd pressed the accelerator and squeezed between two eighteen wheelers.
Ryan, you can run, but you can’t hide!
***
Driving on Highway 17 in North Carolina, FBI agent Stew Marks watched as his partner, Jack, spoke on the phone. When Jack hung up, Stew spoke.
“Jack, did the resident agency in Wilmington have anything new for us?”
“Not really. There’s no trace of Ryan since that clerk saw her in Wilson, and nothing at all on Hamm. They think he’s in North Carolina too, but I think they’re guessing because Ryan is here. We know as much as they do.”
“Great. Now we’ve lost both Ryan and Hamm.”
Jack was about to answer when his phone buzzed. He picked up and listened.
He turned back to Stew.
“That was Wilmington. We have a lead. A farmer found Hamm’s rental, an Accord. It’s burned out, but there’s no body in it.”
“Where?”
“In some pine woods, west of Brown Town.”
“Brown Town is on 17. It’s not far. Hang on.”
The car lurched forward.
***
Somewhere in North Carolina, Bill Hamm, prostrate on a hard floor, stirred once again. His
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