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Viper lowered her binoculars, her lips curving coldly. She dropped onto her stomach and lowered her eye to the scope, adjusting the sight. She was on a slight rise about 500 meters from a bend in the road, waiting. The black Camaro was on its way.
Stephanie didn't have any idea why Tito was driving through Maryland, but Viper was perfectly aware of the reason why the man was crossing across farmlands in North Central Maryland. She knew because she did the same thing a couple hours ago.
Tito was going to meet Asad Jamal.
Viper was surprised when she tracked the terrorist down into the country in Maryland. While they were undoubtedly beautiful, the rolling farmlands weren't very convenient for a hit and run attack on the main cities of the East coast. Alina was expecting to find him concealed in a city, not a rural suburb. Now, here was another surprise. Asad was notoriously reticent. Why would a street-racer from South Jersey with no prior ties to Al-Jibad or Asad be heading to the rental property in Carroll County where he was hunkered down? And, just as baffling, how did Tito know where to go? Dominic was the one with all the connections, not Tito. Did he even know who was going to be there when he got to his destination? Or was Tito under the mistaken impression that he was just making a drop out in the country?
Lifting her head, Viper considered the road beneath her. It took an extreme amount of self-control yesterday not to kill Tito Morales when she had him helpless and incapacitated with pain in the garage at Atco. He not only admitted to planting the bombs that killed both Dutch and John, but bragged about it. Viper frowned. That was the closest she ever came to losing her clinical objectivity during an interrogation. It was unacceptable. Personal emotion had no place in her job. She should never have allowed him to get to her. She did, however, and as a result, it was only due to his size and his healthy heart that he didn't die. When she left, he was unconscious but stable. Barely.
It was just plain bad luck that Blake and Stephanie followed him to Urgent Care and learned about his unusual injuries. Seriously, what were the odds of that? At least Stephanie seemed to buy her dominatrix theory. Alina's lips twitched despite herself. Better for her old friend to believe Tito had unusual sexual tendencies than know that Viper had systematically subjected him to excruciating levels of pain to get information out of him. Stephanie could be funny about things like that. She had a very well-developed sense of ethical behavior.
Viper glanced at the tablet laying on the grass next to her. Tito was just beyond the bend in the road now. She lowered her eye back to the scope and slid her finger over the trigger.
A few seconds later, the Camaro rounded the bend, traveling at high speed along the deserted country road. Viper calmly adjusted the sight slightly, then squeezed the trigger once. The front right tire blew apart and the car pulled violently to the right. It said something for the skill of the driver that the Camaro didn't spin completely out of control, but instead veered off the road, its high speed carrying it over the grass until progress was halted abruptly by the trunk of a large tree. The force of the impact crumpled the front of the Camaro, forcing the hood open and pushing the entire front of the car back until it looked like something out of a drunk driving ad. Viper lifted her head as the sound of the crash reached her and she looked at the wreckage dispassionately. Tito's pride and joy was totaled.
Viper sat up and lifted her rifle, disassembling it with rapid, sure movements as she kept one eye on the road in the distance. She knew Blake wasn't far behind, and she worked quickly to get her rifle put away in her soft carrying case before swinging it across her body. Picking up the tablet, she slid it into the inside pocket of her jacket as she turned to leave.
Less than a minute after Tito's Camaro hit the tree, Viper was gone, the rise was empty, and there was no indication that anyone was ever there.
Blake slammed on his brakes and jumped out of the car, taking in the scene before him. The Camaro had swerved off the road and traveled across a stretch of grass verge before slamming into the tree. He started toward the car, looking for some reason for the accident. There were no animals, nothing in the road, and no reason that he could see for Tito to suddenly veer off and hit a tree. In fact, there weren't even skid marks to indicate that he slammed on his brakes. Blake scowled and stepped onto the grass.
The explosion was deafening, shaking the ground and throwing Blake backwards off his feet. He just had time to take a breath before he landed on his back in the road. Heat from the ball of fire rolled over him and everything seemed muffled and almost in slow motion. Finding himself staring at thick black smoke pouring over him, Blake struggled to sit up. A strange humming filled his ears and he couldn't hear much else. He automatically took a deep breath, instantly regretting it as acrid smoke filled his lungs. Blake started coughing and his eyes burned from the fumes as he struggled to his feet, backing away from the immediate plume of smoke pouring from the wreckage.
Once he stopped coughing, Blake stared through streaming eyes at the ball of fire engulfing the Camaro, stunned. What the hell happened? Did the bomb detonate from the accident? Or was it scheduled to detonate?
Blake glanced at his watch, struggling to focus on the face through the burning tears flowing from his smoke-irritated eyes. 2:54 seemed an unlikely time to detonate a bomb. Shaking his head, he pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed. Regardless of what happened, he needed emergency services now. The fire was burning too hot for him to even attempt to get Tito out.
Charlie looked up as a shadow fell across his quiet corner table.
“A little late for lunch, isn't it?” Harry asked before seating himself across from his old friend.
“I never come during the lunch rush,” Charlie replied with a faint smile. “Have you eaten?”
“Not yet.” Harry raised a hand to gain a waitress’s attention. “I was too busy trying to coordinate a response to the Boston debacle you dumped on me.”
A waitress approached and Harry ordered a diet coke and hamburger. She nodded with a smile and looked at Charlie.
“How's your turkey club?” she asked cheerfully.
“Very good, thank you,” he answered.
“Wonderful. I'll be right back with your coke,” she told Harry before turning to disappear toward the kitchens.
“I hunted you down to tell you Boston has been handled,” Harry said once they were alone again. “The driver is in custody.”
“What happened?”
“He was stopped on a parade route through downtown,” Harry told him. “Did you realize it's Palm Sunday?” Charlie looked at him and Harry grinned. “Of course you did. Well, there was a procession down Washington Street to kick off Holy Week. Lots of faithful congregants, priests and the like carrying palms.”
“And the driver?”
“I'm told he had no idea there was a bomb in his trunk,” he replied. “The bomb technicians got to it just in time. It was set to detonate at 2:30. They disabled it at 2:28.”
Charlie finished his sandwich and wiped his mouth with his napkin.
“They're all accounted for, then,” he said, reaching for his glass of ice water. “Hawk took care of the one here in DC. He located and neutralized it. The FBI did the rest.”
Harry nodded.
“What do we know about Philadelphia and New York?”
“Both contained.” Charlie sat back in his chair, his gray eyes studying Harry. “You could have called to tell me about Boston. What's on your mind?”
Harry grinned ruefully.
“I just got some news,” he admitted. “You may already know, but I thought I'd better come and make sure.”
Harry fell silent as the waitress appeared and set his hamburger down in front of him. She took Charlie's empty plate with a smile and disappeared again. When she was gone, Charlie raised an eyebrow and looked at him expectantly.
“Well?”
“There was an explosion in Maryland about half an hour ago,” Harry told him. “It sounds like another bomb.”
Charlie nodded.
“I got the call a few minutes ago,” he confirmed. “It was in a car driven by the man they think put the bomb in John Smithe's wheel. He died in the flames.”
Harry stared at him.
“What the hell was he doing out in farmland?” he wondered. “Does she know?”
“Not yet. She's working. I can't contact her.”
Harry raised an eyebrow.
“She found him?” he asked, the fifth bomb forgotten.
Charlie smiled.
“Yes.”