7:09 a.m.
Special Agent Cruz took a sip from her coffee mug before guiding it back into the cup holder on the console of her black Dodge Charger. She nearly spilled the coffee when a black Chevy Tahoe barreled onto First Street. Thinking the SUV was going to sideswipe her car, she swerved to the right to avoid a collision. “Jerk.” She navigated her way up First Street toward Washington Hospital, watching the Tahoe in her side view mirror. She pressed a button on the dashboard, placing a call from her cell phone through her vehicle’s onboard computer.
Agent Harper answered after the first ring. He had remained at the hospital, so Cruz could get a few hours of sleep. “Cruz, I just left you a message. Four guys from DHS were here and they took Hardy.”
“What?” Cruz turned left onto Hospital Circle NW and accelerated toward the front doors to Washington Hospital. Her voice grew louder. “And you just let them?”
“They said it was a matter of national security, and that they had orders from the Deputy Secretary of DHS to transfer Hardy.”
“When did they take him?” Cruz jammed her foot on the brake pedal and brought her vehicle to a stop, tires skidding and screeching.
“They just left. Where are you now?”
“I’m out front.” She rolled out of the vehicle. “I’ll be right in.”
“Stay there. I’m on my way out.” A few moments later, he rushed out the front door.
Cruz stuffed her phone into her pocket. “What did they look like?”
“Four men in dark suits—Hardy was in a wheel chair.”
There were a couple parked vehicles nearby, but neither one contained Hardy. They were about to search the building when Cruz stopped and stared at the sidewalk.
Harper whirled around. “What is it?”
She moved her open hand an inch above her head as if she was rubbing it. “Did one of them have a crew cut and a thick neck?”
“Yeah, he appeared to be the one in charge.”
“Come on, let’s go.” She darted toward the Charger. “I think I saw them.”
Harper barely got his second foot inside the vehicle before the Charger squealed its tires, fishtailed around the circle and headed toward First Street. The rapid forward movement shut the door for him.
Cruz’s vehicle accelerated down First Street, heading south. She pointed at the windshield. “Look for a four-door black Chevy Tahoe. It was moving in this direction.”
Driving along First Street, Harper scanned the area to the right, while Cruz took turns watching the road ahead and the area to the left. When they came to Michigan Avenue, she saw a black SUV on Michigan, veering to the right onto Franklin Street. She cranked the steering wheel to the left and sped toward Franklin, passing slower vehicles. Once on Franklin, she noticed the SUV stopped at a red light on Franklin and Fourth Street. “This is our chance to catch them.” Cruz rocked her right foot forward and steered the Charger into oncoming traffic.
Harper’s eyes moved in all directions, trying to find anything solid to grab, while his partner sped past Glenwood Cemetery. They almost crashed with an oncoming car that had turned onto Franklin. He clutched the console and gritted his teeth. “Hey, Cruz, how about we try not to die today?”
The muscle car raced toward the intersection of Franklin and Fourth. Cruz glanced at the traffic light. “Stay red, stay red.” A white truck turned left from Fourth Street and headed straight for them. Stepping on the brake pedal, she spun the steering wheel to the left to avoid another head-on crash. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Harper’s dress shoe planted on the glove box, his leg pushing his torso deeper into the seat. The Charger went over the curb. She yanked the steering wheel back to the right and punched the gas pedal. Cruz brought her Charger to a halt on an angle, directly in front of the SUV. Harper disengaged his seat belt and was on his feet before the tires stopped rolling. Relieved to be upright and in one piece, he approached the driver’s side of the Tahoe with his right hand on the butt of his service weapon. Cruz hurried around the front bumper and closed the distance between her and the SUV. She had thrown back the right half of her blazer, the fingers of her hand tickling the weapon on her belt.