Sam walked into his office, which looked like Mission Control. Every single light was on, the banks of computer monitors all lit, and four men were sitting around his desk. Harry, Mike and two guys he had no trouble at all identifying as Feebs.
All looking grim.
“Show me what you have,” Sam said, sitting down behind his desk.
Silence for a moment, then Mike stirred. “Nothing good. First let me introduce the two newcomers. They’re—”
“FBI,” Sam said. “Yeah, I could tell.”
Two bland looks. “It’s the shoes,” Sam explained. If they’d been from military security they’d have been wearing boots. If they’d been CIA, the footwear would have been top quality.
A moment’s silence. The taller one, obviously senior, nodded. “Special Agent Ross and this is Special Agent Vanzetti.”
Sam didn’t care if they were Special Agents Mulder and Scully. He’d never liked the Feebs. He just wanted them to cut to the chase.
“So give me the lowdown.” He looked each in the eye.
But it was Mike who answered. He’d been staring at a laptop screen. He turned it around so Sam could see it.
It was a page scanned from a military jacket. Prominent in the upper left hand side of the page was an unsmiling photograph of the man who’d broken into Nicole’s office.
The man was wearing a black beret, had a skull with two crossed knives flash on his shoulder. Ranger tab on the left sleeve.
Dishonorable discharge, for selling military arms off base.
It was all there, the massive threat to Nicole.
Sam’s jaw tightened and he bit down hard on his back teeth as he read carefully. The man’s name was Sean McInerny, 75th battalion. Saw action in Iraq and Afghanistan. Dishonorable discharge in 2005.
Sam looked up at the four men. “A Ranger, like you said.”
Special Agent Ross replied. “That’s right. We’ve been chasing him for a couple of years. After he got his discharge—”
“Dishonorable discharge,” Sam interrupted.
“Yeah.” Special Agent Ross’s jaw muscles jumped. “After he got his dishonorable discharge he simply dropped off the face of the earth. We suspect he’s become a contract killer. There was a partial found at the site of what was made to look like a mugging but was an assassination of a bank CEO. And a security tape caught a half profile at another killing. We were lucky this time, your tape caught him full face. We have no idea where he lives. There is no record of any Sean McInerny renting or buying a house or a car, or using credit cards or entering or leaving the country. We don’t know where he is. He’s off the grid.”
“You do know where he is,” Sam pointed out coldly. “He’s here in San Diego, obviously on a job. Have you checked the hotels?” He kept outwardly calm but inside he was raging. A Special Forces soldier as a gun for hire. The news couldn’t have been worse.
“We’ve done this before, believe it or not,” Ross said. “We’re making the rounds now with a photograph, because if he’s in a hotel, he’s using an alias. We want him worse than you do.”
I doubt it, Sam thought grimly. They were just doing their job, wanting to bag a bad guy. It would go on their record, maybe snag them a promotion. He wanted to keep his woman safe. Big difference. He opened his mouth to say something when his cell vibrated, three times in quick succession.
Every hair on his body stood up. He could actually feel them brushing against his shirtsleeves and shirt front, tiny little spears of terror. He froze, unable to move, unable to breathe, panic exploding in his head in a surge of white-hot light.
The two Feebs didn’t notice, though Harry and Mike were looking at him strangely. Sam shook his head sharply and they got the message. Not now.
Ross was checking something on the laptop, pointing to the screen and Vanzetti was talking quietly into his cell. He switched off and turned to his partner. “We’ve just checked all the hotels and motels in the metropolitan area. Nothing.”
Sam clenched his jaws. Even if they’d started checking immediately, they’d only had a couple of hours. The fact that they’d already checked with all the hotels and motels in the area meant that they’d called in local law enforcement officers, too. Probably the entire SDPF. This was a huge manhunt. All the more reason to get them out of his hair. Right. Now.
His cell was in his hand. He wanted to call Nicole with it so badly it felt like it was burning against his palm.
Sam stood and the two Feebs looked up, startled, then stood, too. A big, theatrical yawn as he stretched. He put on a sheepish look. “Didn’t sleep well last night,” he confessed to them. He’d slept maybe four hours in the past forty-eight, but he couldn’t sleep now if you pumped him full of a triple dose of Valium. Every cell in his body was on red alert. He wanted the two Feebs out on their asses, now. “Sounds like you’ve got an army out looking for this guy, this Sean McInerney. I’m sure you’ll get him real soon. When you find him, I have a few words to say to him.”
He knew what he wanted them to see. A genial guy who’d had a scare a couple of hours ago, but now only wanted to get back to his bed, where a beautiful woman awaited him.
There was no way for the Feebs to know that under that amiable persona was a man sweating with terror, guts cold and roiling because something was going down now.
Harry and Mike watched, baffled, as Sam subtly urged the two special agents to the outer door and saw them off with a brisk handshake.
“Sam,” Harry said uneasily when the door closed behind them. “Don’t you understand that the guy who broke into Nicole’s apartment is a—“
“No time,” Sam gritted. “Got a signal from my cell phone—means my home security’s been breached. Someone going out. Nicole’s on the move. No way would Nicole leave my apartment without telling me unless she was forced to.” He had Nicole’s cell phone number on speed dial. It was busy. Goddamn. “Harry!” he barked. “Triangulate this number for me, fast.” He rapped out Nicole’s cell phone number. Harry put his crutches to one side, sat down at one of the computers and bent over the keyboard.
Sam switched on a monitor connected with his home computer and saw the big, dark empty lobby of his own apartment complex appear.
“Shit,” Mike breathed. “You’re hacking your own building’s security.”
The cameras were high quality. It had been a condition for buying the apartment. No jerky stills every four seconds to save money. Sam went to ten minutes ago, when he’d heard the signal that Nicole was leaving his apartment. He could see everything, including the night guard behind his U-shaped desk. It was 0200 in the morning but the guard was alert, not reading, not dozing, checking in a regular loop the array of monitors glowing brightly on the desk.
Good man.
The guard must have heard something. He turned toward the bank of elevators, hand on his holstered weapon. And there she was, Nicole, looking desperate, nearly running across the lobby. She stopped just outside the huge glass doors, at the limit of the lobby cameras’ range. Sam watched her, shaking, slender arms crossed over her waist as if hugging herself for comfort as she waited for something impatiently.
Mike had drifted over to stand by Sam. Harry watched the screen, face sober.
Sam called her again. Busy. She wasn’t talking into it. She was keeping the line open because…he felt air leave the room. She was keeping it open because someone was keeping tabs on her.
Her head lifted as she saw something outside, then she ran out of the cameras’ range. A faint glow could be seen beyond the building’s gates. A light on top of a yellow vehicle.
“Outdoor cameras,” he ordered and Harry typed so fast his fingers were a blur. It was Harry’s building, too, and he knew the codes inside out. The outside cameras flashed onto the monitors, showed Nicole opening the passenger door of a taxi. The plates were in shadow.
Sam called again. Busy.
“Keep that cell phone triangulated,” he ordered Harry.
“On it.”
The only thing that would force Nicole out would be a threat to her father.
“Mike,” he said, striding to the gun locker hidden away in a coat closet. He punched in the code fast and opened the armored door. “Check on those two officers guarding Nicole’s father.”
“Roger that.” Mike was in uniform, radio mike attached to a loop on his shoulder. He spoke quietly into it, static cutting in and out.
Sam stared at the small arsenal he had. Don’t bring a knife to a gunfight. Match your weapon to your mission. Holy, sacred words that had been pounded into his head by every drill instructor he’d ever had. Matching your weapon to your mission was essential if you wanted to stay alive.
The mission was Nicole. But what was he facing here?
He tried to call her again, on the faintest hope that she’d closed the connection. Maybe now that she was in a taxi…
No such luck. Busy. She was following orders.
“Harry,” he called over his shoulder. “Where’s she going?”
“Heading out along the causeway. Maybe coming into town? No, she’s moving inland. Taxi’s moving real fast. Over the speed limit.”
Mouth grim, Sam turned back to the locker.
If you didn’t know your enemy, then you couldn’t go wrong with a long gun and a pistol. He chose an HK–91 with an already-mounted scope. He already had his Glock 19, good for close-in work. NVG. Three magazines for the HK, hanging off a belt. Who knew how much firepower he’d be needing?
He bent and put a small block of C–4 and three detonators inside a backpack. A lot of problems could be solved by C–4. Flashbangs, four grenades.
He had a full tactical suit in the locker, they all did. He stripped down to the skin and built a warrior from the skin out. Nomex suit, body armor.
Mike was stripping out of his cop uniform.
“Whoa, whoa, can’t come with me,” Sam growled to Mike as he zipped up. “You’re a police officer. This is an unsanctioned mission.” He met and held Mike’s eyes. “Internal Affairs will eat you alive if you come in with me. Stay out of this, it’s my fight.”
Mike lifted out his precious Remington 700. “Fuck that,” he said, picking up three 4-round magazines. “You’re not going in alone.” He met Sam’s eyes. “And I’m not going to let McInerney take that great woman down.” His jaws clenched. “No way.”
“It’ll cost you your job.” Mike loved being a cop.
“Fuck that,” Mike said and calmly suited up.
Mike’s head was made of concrete. Once he made his mind up, Sam knew, there was no changing it. Mike was risking his job, they were both clear on that, Mike above all. Knowing Mike couldn’t be talked out of it, Sam allowed himself a little spurt of relief. Nicole was more likely to come out of this alive if Mike had his six.
Armed, they both turned to face Harry. He was standing, barely upright, leaning heavily on the crutches, white-faced with the effort, yet quivering with desire to go with them. The three men looked at one another, understanding one another perfectly.
Harry couldn’t go. Sam knew that Harry would give a kidney to be able to go, but he couldn’t. In his condition, he’d only be a drag. Possibly get them killed. Sam knew that if Harry had been in even a slightly better condition, he’d have insisted on coming.
His two brothers. Mike, willing to give up a job he loved for him, and Harry, sick because he was too weak to help.
Harry made a low growling noise in his throat and sat back down at the computer. At least he could help that way.
Sam was closing the locker door when Harry called out. Sam turned his head. Harry’s mouth was tight, his pale, thin face drawn with worry.
“What?”
“Lost her. The cab drove to the parking lot of the Westwood shopping mall and then she switched her cell off. It’s completely dead. There’s no way to track her now.”
Sam strode over to the monitor and punched in the LoJack code. “Yes, there is. I put a micro LoJack in her portable hard drive. She keeps that in her purse. She has her purse with her, I saw it on the security tape.”
They watched as the system processed the new info.
“Boy, that really breaks the girlfriend rule. She’ll give you hell for that, if she ever finds out.” Harry shook his head.
“I’ll take it, as long as she comes out of this alive.”
The monitor flashed a map, the grid of streets around the south part of town. A bright point was moving steadily south. “She’s on the move again.” Nicole, honey, Sam thought, heart heavy. Where are you headed? Where the fuck are they taking you?
Mike was speaking softly into the shoulder mike on the shirt he’d discarded.
The bright point that was Nicole, or rather her hard disk, slowed and turned into the industrial area around the docks. “Now where the hell—”
“Sam.” Mike put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I just called dispatch. They couldn’t contact the two officers, so they’re assuming it’s an officer down situation. A patrol car is on its way to Nicole’s house, be there in five, but it doesn’t look good. I think they’ve been eliminated and I think this McInerney has Nicole’s dad. She’s heading straight for him.”
Sam stood, mind churning. He was known for thinking fast in the field but right now horror froze him. He never went into battle afraid. You couldn’t go into battle afraid, it was like signing your own death sentence. Warriors make their peace with death right from the start, and go into battle with a free mind.
Terror gripped him, made him clumsy and slow. McInerney had been to SERE school. It was meant to train soldiers to withstand torture, but it was run by sadists who loved their work just a little too much. And though soldiers were taught to resist, they were also taught how to beat information out of anyone, even the strongest man.
Sam knew the methods and he simply couldn’t bear the thought of them being applied to Nicole. To that soft, gentle, beautiful woman. Or—God—to her father. A sick, dying man. If this Sean had hired himself out as a contract killer, there wasn’t going to be anything stopping him, no moral line he wouldn’t cross.
Maybe the fuckhead might even enjoy it. Enjoy inflicting pain. Enjoy listening to Nicole scream…
Sam closed his eyes, sweat rolling down his face. He simply couldn’t deal with it.
He was a good strategic thinker, but right now he had the strategic IQ of a rock. His head was filled with clamoring noise, with visions of Nicole laid out on a table, being flayed alive.
Attached to electrodes. Being waterboarded. Fingernails pulled out one by one. Violently raped…
Sam turned swiftly and vomited into a trash can, emptying his stomach of its contents, but not his mind of its nightmares.
Mike frowned. “It’s bad, yeah. You really shouldn’t have sent the two special agents away. You could have had the resources of the FBI on your side and you just let them go.”
Sam wiped his mouth and picked up his body armor, the one without the Kevlar core to keep the weight down. He had no idea if he’d have to climb or maneuver. It was always a trade-off—weight against agility. Right now, being able to move easily trumped having a bullet penetrate the armor.
He started pulling it on. “Okay, so the Feds have enormous resources, but what’s their top priority? What’s the one thing they want?”
“Got it.” Mike’s jaw worked. “Sean McInerney.”
“Who’s ex Special Forces. He’s not going down without a fight. However much the Feds will try to make it go down without collateral damage, their number-one goal is McInerney. If we give them Nicole’s location, they’re going to go in with a full tactical team, no holds barred. Do the math. Maybe twenty men, one hundred rounds each, that’s two thousand rounds that might be fired in the space of a few minutes. There’s going to be a firefight, with Nicole and her dad caught in the crossfire. If it’s just me, I know what my priority is, and it’s getting Nicole and her dad out alive—” He stopped for a second and looked Mike and Harry in the eyes. “And offing this guy. I want him dead. I don’t want him to testify or to stand trial. I want him gone.” Sam turned to Harry. “Don’t take your eyes off that monitor. Where are they now?”
Harry leaned over and checked the monitor. “Still heading south.” Harry leaned over and touched the screen. “You can intercept them here if you hurry. Take the SUV.”
Hold on Nicole, Sam thought, moving out, moving fast. I’m coming for you.
New York
He looked out his thirty-fifth floor window, at the sweep of Manhattan at his feet. Night had fallen, the skyscrapers were lit up like a false dawn. Cars and taxis made their way through the streets like a restless, irritable, illuminated worm. Something was holding up traffic uptown and the northbound lanes were stalled. At street level, Muhammed knew, horns would be blasting, drivers and cabbies would be sticking their heads out the windows and screaming obscenities. Time was money and lost time was felt as keenly as the pickpocket’s nimble fingers filching your wallet.
The energy and the power of the city was like a strong wind. It could blow you away like a mote of dust if you didn’t know how to resist its lures.
Muhammed could. Easily. There was nothing here that didn’t fill him with hatred and disgust.
The women, in particular. Wall Street was full of them now, with their mannish ways and full-out aggression.
He had grown up in a culture where women dropped their eyes, never looking a man full in the face. He remembered vividly when he had turned from a boy to a man. How the street women who had yelled at him, cuffed his ears, suddenly avoided him, spoke to him softly, if at all.
The women in Manhattan would eat a man alive, if you let them. They were casual mothers and wives, discarding husbands and children like unwanted clothes, but deadly serious about money.
Monsters, not women. And Allah, through his servant Muhammed, was about to punish them.
His view took in the entire harbor, the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island and in the far-off distance, the slow swells of the Atlantic Ocean. The direction from which vengeance was coming, at sixty knots.
Each day was a gift from Allah, and it was a sin to wish a gift away, but Muhammed ached for the day after tomorrow. Only the sternest self-discipline kept his face placid with the bankers, hedge fund managers, CEOs he dealt with daily. Inside, he was exulting. He could see an empty, desolate Manhattan so clearly—smashed windows, grass growing up through cracks in the sidewalks, loose newspapers fluttering through the streets—it confused him that there was still traffic clogging the streets, people walking on the sidewalks, office buildings lit up with workers making deals far into the night.
Soon, so soon, it would all be over, the heart of the Great Satan punched out.
And he—Muhammed Wahed—would have done this. For his people and for his God.