Fowler turned off the car’s engine, and Ann climbed out. As she turned to retrieve her crutches, she was grabbed from behind. She just caught a glimpse of her assailant, a tall black male, who wrapped his hands around her and hurled her onto a small patch of lawn. The heavy man was on her instantly, jamming his knee into the small of her back while mashing her face into the grass with a plate-sized hand. She struggled to break free, then relented when she felt a gun barrel press against her temple.

“Don’t even breathe,” the big man said.

She heard Fowler cry out, followed by the dull thumping of a body being pummeled. A few seconds later, car keys jingled, and the Ford’s trunk was popped open. From the corner of her eye, Ann saw a second man carry something to the backseat of the Chrysler, then jump into the driver’s seat. The thug on her back leaned down and whispered into her face with foul breath. “Now, you lay nice and still for five minutes or else old Clarence will have to come back and hurt you.”

He eased himself off her, loped over to the Chrysler, and climbed casually into the passenger seat. The car shot forward with a chirp of its rear tires and sped down the street. Ann looked up to scan the car’s rear license plate, but it had been temporarily covered with a few strips of duct tape. Pros, she thought. They’d rip the tape off a block away, then meld into traffic, driving safely under the speed limit.

Ann jumped up and limped to the far side of the Taurus, where she found Fowler lying facedown next to the front wheel.

“Dan,” she cried, kneeling beside him.

He pried his eyes open and eased himself to a sitting position.

“I’m okay.” He rubbed his jaw. “Never saw that coming.” His eyes gradually focused on Ann. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m fine. But that was no random stickup.” She tilted her head toward the open trunk.

“Not the files!” blurted Fowler, struggling to his feet. Holding each other for support, they stepped to the rear of the car and peered into the open trunk.

Inside sat Ann’s travel bag. And nothing else.

Poseidon's Arrow _7.jpg

28

THE MEMORIAL SERVICE FOR JOE EBERSON WAS WELL attended by his fellow research scientists at DARPA, many of whom stepped to the Annandale Church podium and expressed their esteem for him. Sitting in a middle pew, Ann felt a bit uncomfortable because she’d been assigned to the agency only at his death. But clearly Eberson was a respected man, and that sharpened her resolve to catch his murderer.

Fowler sat at her side, a small bandage on his chin reminding her of the attack the night before. Alexandria paramedics and police had responded quickly to Ann’s residence and found no serious injury to either one of them. But the authorities also found no trail to the muggers. Ann alerted federal officials of the theft, and an alert was put out on the assailants’ Chrysler for the greater Washington metro area. By morning, it had been found in a grocery store parking lot. Reported as stolen the day before, it also had been scrubbed of any incriminating fingerprints and Heiland’s records as well. A special FBI team was assigned to the theft, but they had very little to go on.

“I’d like to pay my respects to Joe’s family,” Fowler said as the service ended. “How about I meet you at the car?”

Ann nodded, thankful that he had offered to drive. When they climbed into Fowler’s car a short time later, Ann commented on Eberson’s popularity.

“He had a lot of years in the business,” Fowler said. “Made a lot of friends. And also a few enemies.”

“What kind of enemies?” Ann asked.

“The professional sort. The typical DARPA research project parcels out work to different companies and universities. Then we tie everything together—and garner all the credit. The little guys who make the real breakthroughs often go unnoticed.”

He turned to Ann. “I don’t think that any research scientist knocked off Eberson and Heiland, if that’s where you’re headed.”

“Just touching all the bases,” Ann said. “I know we’ve talked before, but I want to ask again what the prospects are that a leak came from inside DARPA?”

Fowler frowned. “Anything’s possible, but I just don’t think that’s the case. There’s just a relatively small team here running the Sea Arrow program. Most of the work is farmed out. That’s where I think the real risk is—with our external subcontractors. Of course there are people at the shipyard with knowledge, and that’s an obvious focus.”

“Yes, that’s why we’ve already assigned a dedicated NCIS team to Groton.”

“It may not mean anything,” Fowler said, “but I find it somewhat curious that Heiland and Eberson were killed shortly after the President toured the shipyard. I wasn’t there, but I ran the security list.”

“Are you suggesting someone at the White House might be involved?”

“Not directly. But you know the White House is a sieve. Although this administration is better than most, it wouldn’t surprise me if details about the Sea Arrow were released to the wrong people.”

“Can you give me the security list?” Ann said.

“Sure, it’s in my office—if you don’t already have enough on your plate.”

“At this point we have to cast a broad net. I’d like to check the history of any recent technology thefts of a similar nature. Have you dealt with any foreign espionage cases?”

“Not since I’ve been at DARPA,” Fowler said. “Our issues are mostly lost computer disks and the like. But I’ve been here only a year. We had a few espionage cases while I was with the Army Research Laboratory, both suspected Chinese and Israeli spies, but we never had enough to prosecute.”

“The bagmen in this case seem a bit out of character for the typical espionage operatives,” Ann said.

“True, but you never know who’s footing the bill.”

“I suppose,” Ann said. “Any idea of the impact to the Sea Arrow program?”

“I’m not technically savvy enough to know, but apparently the program hinged on Heiland’s supercavitation model, which would totally transform the Sea Arrow’s capability. Now that his original research is lost, the program may be set back several years. No one believes they can duplicate Heiland’s work easily without his designs.”

“I can’t believe they robbed us of them in Alexandria. How could they have known?”

“Hard to say. Perhaps someone was tracking you after the incident in Tijuana. I’d have to think there was a third member of the party in Idaho, monitoring events. Somehow they arranged a jump on us here at short notice.”

He gave her a worried look. “Maybe you should check into a hotel for a few nights, just to be on the safe side.”

“No, I’m fine,” she said, her own safety not a concern.

“Still, I’ll follow up with the Alexandria police to make sure they patrol your town house on a regular basis.” He rubbed his jaw beneath the bandage. “I’d like to see those guys go down hard.”

Fowler turned into the parking lot of the DARPA headquarters building in downtown Arlington. Ann preferred to work at the DARPA site rather than her NCIS office across the river in Anacostia, having commandeered a small, windowless office next to Fowler. With her laptop computer, she could access nearly the same criminal resources while establishing relationships with the DARPA team working on Sea Arrow.

As she returned to her desk, she felt oddly energized. Aside from its importance to national security, the case had become personal. She shrugged off the physical and emotional drain of the past few days, motivated to dig into the evidence and discover who was behind the thefts and murders.

Her first call was to the FBI field office in San Diego. An agent named Wyatt was managing the local investigation.

“Have you heard anything from Mexico yet?” she asked.


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