SEVEN

•   •   •

Jed and Karen and Lilly left Idaho a little after noon and drove straight to Casper, Wyoming, stopping only for food and gas at out-of-the-way filling stations, and once to empty their bladders at a rest stop along Interstate 90 right outside Billings, Montana. They found an abandoned drive-in movie theater lot outside Casper and parked there for a few hours of sleep. By 3 a.m. they were back on the road.

They arrived in Denver at the Daniels and Fisher Tower at seven. He had an hour to spare before his meeting with Murphy and Abernathy. Jed had planned it this way. As a Special Ops sniper he’d learned to survey an area, get a feel for the terrain, the traffic patterns, usual activities. He’d learned to be patient, to wait, to watch, to feel. It came naturally to him now, as if he’d been born this way, born to observe first, then plan, then act.

The threesome sat at a patio table belonging to an indie coffeehouse across Arapahoe Street from the tower. From there he could get a view of both sides of Sixteenth Street, the tower, and Skyline Park to the north. The sky was clear and blue, the air dry and cool. Most of the tower and surrounding area were still darkened by the shadows of the skyscrapers that loomed overhead. The Daniels and Fisher Tower might have been the tallest structure in the west at one time, but it certainly wasn’t anymore. Modern architecture rose four hundred feet above the Daniels and Fisher Tower, more than double its height.

Morning traffic was no more than Jed expected. People moved about in an odd sort of dance known only to large cities. Crowds walked, hustled, and shuffled around each other, crossing traffic, carrying coffee, engaged in conversations on their phones. Cars moved along at a steady but slow pace. Pedestrians and vehicles mingled with perfect timing so both could inhabit the street.

Jed crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair, observing his surroundings, picking up on patterns: the light cycle at the corner of Arapahoe and Sixteenth, the rhythm of the bus schedule.

He watched people, their movements, how they were dressed, what they carried in their arms or on their backs. He noted the way they walked, tilted their heads, shifted their eyes. The way they moved in and out of traffic, whether they were distracted or alert.

Murphy didn’t give an exact location of where the meeting would occur, just to meet at the tower. But there were plenty of places around the tower for a meeting to take place in broad daylight. Jed had arrived early not only to survey the area but so that he could determine the location of the get-together. They’d have to come to him. The table where they sat was in an open area, surrounded by normal city activity. Their meeting would be in view of every passerby, every businessman and store clerk and restaurant waiter making his or her way to work.

Jed had no intention of handing over the files unless Abernathy could convince him that Murphy was indeed who he claimed to be and that his intentions were pure and trustworthy. Instead, Jed had formulated his own plan. Multiple plans actually. He’d mentally listed every scenario that could happen, everything that could go wrong, and had devised a response for each. The key to survival was to be alert and to be prepared. For anything.

Jed reached across the table and took Karen’s hand. “You okay?”

She forced a smile and nodded. He could tell she was nervous by her stiff posture and the way she eyed every man or woman who passed on the sidewalk. “As long as we’re with you.”

“You know what to do, right?”

“If things don’t go as planned?”

He dipped his chin.

“Yes, I do.”

He knew she didn’t like the plan they’d developed, that she had her doubts about her own ability to carry it out, but it would be the only way. Her and Lilly’s safety had to come first.

Then Jed took Lilly’s hand. “How’re you doing, kiddo?”

To anyone passing by, she would appear calm and relaxed, but Jed could tell she was uneasy by the tightness of her jaw and set of her brow.

She shrugged. “I’ll be okay. God is still with us.”

She was right, of course. Her faith was strong and unwavering, Jed never doubted that, but the way she said the words, the inflection in her voice, the higher pitch caused by the tension in her jaw, betrayed her. She’d spoken the words more to remind —or maybe convince —herself than to comfort Jed.

Finally, with fifteen minutes to spare before the established time, Jed spotted a man, tall, broad in the shoulders, hair cut close to his head and neatly trimmed. He wore jeans and a khaki blazer with a collared shirt loose around the neck. The man walked past the tower, paused on the corner of Arapahoe and Sixteenth as if he would cross the intersection, then turned and approached the tower again. He stopped in front of it, looked around, shoved his hands into his pockets, then surveyed the area across the street.

His gaze found Jed.

•   •   •

They called him Red Devil, but his real name was Stepan Levkin. He’d emigrated from Russia fifteen years ago, become an American citizen, and was immediately recruited by the agency to do their dirty work. In Russia, he’d developed a reputation and was somewhat revered for his skills until the team he’d been working with was disbanded and one by one his teammates died unfortunate deaths. Accidents, they called them. Accidents. But Stepan knew better, and before they could get to him, he escaped to America and had no problem blending in with its culture.

He’d received the call last night. The agency needed his services. Usually, that’s how it happened. The agency had assigned him to the high desert region and set him up in an apartment in Durango, Colorado, where he spent most days watching TV or surfing the web, ready to be activated within only a few hours’ notice when needed. He hated his assigned hometown, hated the mountains, the desert, the darkness at night. He’d grown up in Moscow and thrived on the motion of the city, the nightlife, the action, the lights, traffic, people, women. In Durango there was none of that. At least, not to his liking.

Sitting in the window of his third-floor Denver hotel room, Stepan watched as Patrick arrived and sat at a small outdoor table across the street from the tower. He had his family with him, his wife and daughter. Stepan’s handler had prepared him for that possibility. He’d been given directives for each option: if Patrick came alone or if he came toting his family. Stepan had never met Patrick, but the man’s reputation was enough to garner a measure of Stepan’s admiration. From two blocks away, observed through the lens of a rifle scope, Patrick didn’t appear to be intimidating or dangerous. He wasn’t impressive in size. He had no distinguishing characteristics that would instill fear in a combatant. Yet the stories Stepan had heard of Patrick’s accomplishments and skills were more than inspiring.

And besides, Stepan couldn’t hold Patrick’s unassuming appearance against him. Stepan himself displayed no features that would separate him from the rest of mankind. He was unpretentious and used that to his advantage. Obviously Patrick possessed the same skill.

Stepan thought about how he would take the shot. He was directed to wait until Murphy and his men arrived and got themselves comfortable. He was there to cause chaos, and the more the better. His shots were to be carefully placed at even intervals. There were to be two casualties, one lethal, one to injure.

•   •   •

It had to be Murphy’s man. He moved against the flow of the foot traffic, disrupted the rhythm of the morning motion. And the way he’d stared at Jed, it was a look of recognition.

Moments later Murphy rounded the corner of the Sixteenth Street Mall, flanked by two large men. The man across the street approached as well. Murphy wore a pair of blue khakis and a white polo shirt, sunglasses, and a plain blue ball cap. He lifted a chair from one of the other tables and placed it at the table where Jed sat with Karen and Lilly.

“Morning,” he said, smiling. He reached out his hand to shake Jed’s.

Jed ignored his hand and said nothing.

“Oh, c’mon, Patrick,” Murphy said. He withdrew his hand. “We’re on the same side. We both want the same thing. Right?”

“I know what I want,” Jed said.

Murphy tapped the table with an open palm. “And I want that too. You need to trust me, Patrick.”

“Where’s Abernathy?”

Murphy sat back in the chair and laced his fingers across his lap. He stared at Jed for a long moment as if considering how to tackle the question. “He’s not coming.” He removed his sunglasses and squinted his eyes at Jed. “He got sick last night, the flu of some sort, fever, vomiting, the works.”

Jed shifted in his chair. An uneasy feeling crept up his spine. He kept his eyes on Murphy but was acutely aware of the three men standing around them. “Is that right? Well, please tell Roger when you see him again that I wish him a speedy recovery.”

“I’ll be sure to do that. Now, do you have something for me?”

Jed reached into his pocket and retrieved the thumb drive he’d been keeping there. He held it briefly before sliding it across the table to Murphy. “I can trust you, right?”

“Absolutely.”

“You’ll get this into the hands of the right people?”

Murphy gripped the drive in his fist. “It’s in the hand of the right person now.”

“What will you do with that information?”

Murphy didn’t hesitate. “Bring down Centralia. Every last piece of it. We’ll go as deep and as high as we need to, overturn every rock, shine a light into every corner. We’ll go to the White House if the trail leads there. This is a cancer that needs to be eradicated once and for all.”

Karen squirmed. “And what happens to us now? Where do we go?”

“We’re working on that. For the moment, we’ll get you set up here in Denver under assumed identities. My agents will assist you with the paperwork and arrangements. I think they have an apartment ready for you. And when everything is finalized, we’ll move you to a new location where you can start over.”

“Just like that,” she said. “Start over again.”

Murphy slipped the thumb drive into his pocket. “I know it isn’t ideal, Mrs. Patrick. But it’s the best we can do.”

“And what if they find us there?”

“If you’d like,” Murphy said, “we can arrange for living accommodations overseas. Would that help?”

Karen looked at Jed, confusion in her eyes. There was nothing he could do. Maybe an overseas arrangement would be best. At least for a while, several years, until Lilly finished her schooling.

But before Jed could reply, the man standing behind him jerked upright and fell forward, landing next to Jed on the ground, eyes open and blank. Blood oozed from his head. Immediately, one of the other two agents spun around, grunted, and grabbed at his chest.

At once, chaos took an ax to time. Pedestrians screamed and scrambled. Someone hit Jed from behind and knocked him off his chair. Karen hollered his name. More shots came, ricocheting off the table, the chairs, the sidewalk. Jed found himself facedown on the concrete, bullets spitting around him. He put his hands over his head.

If only he knew where the shots were coming from . . .

If only he could find some cover . . . roll over and get to his ankle holster . . .

. . . If only . . . Karen and Lilly . . . Where were they? Had they been able to get clear of the area? Were they safe?

Thoughts swirled in his head, plans, counteractions, options, but none of it held even a chance while he was under fire. He was pinned down and too exposed. Either the sniper was a terrible shot or the misses were deliberate, intended only to keep him immobile.

The shooting, scrambling, screaming, pandemonium lasted only a few seconds, then ceased. People murmured, cried. Jed rolled over and climbed to his feet. He turned in a circle, surveying the area. His heart thumped fast and hard. They were gone. All of them. Karen, Lilly, Murphy and his men. Only one remained, the dead guy with the blank stare and hole in his head.

Jed began to sweat. He could feel his pulse from his temples to his fingertips. A lump swelled his throat.

The plan was that if anything went wrong, Karen was to take Lilly and get out of there, take the truck and go, find Kennedy. Now, he could only hope and pray —Please, God, keep them safe —that she got out of there with Lilly. Most of the fire seemed to be concentrated around him, so she would have had a chance to escape without being harmed.

In the distance, sirens wailed. Jed began to move but noticed a phone left on the table. He picked it up and slid it into his pocket. Then, leaving the dead guy behind, he bolted down Sixteenth Street to Champa Street, where he made a left and walked briskly against the flow of traffic.

The phone in his pocket rang. Jed fished it out and punched the Talk button.

“Are you okay?” It was Murphy.

Anger burned in Jed’s chest and climbed to his neck and cheeks. “Was this your doing?”

“No, Patrick, absolutely not. I lost a good man out there. Are you okay?”

Jed kept walking. “Yes. Where’s Karen and Lilly? Did you see them?”

There was a brief pause. “Patrick, we need to talk. We need to meet.”

“No, we can talk now. Where are my wife and daughter? Did you see them?”

“We were able to get Lilly to safety. Your wife got herself away in the confusion.”

“If you lay one hand on her —”

“Your daughter is perfectly safe. We extracted her to keep her safe. Our Denver locations have been compromised. We’ll need to meet at a more secure facility.”

Jed breathed, then determined to tip his hand a little. They’d deduce the truth soon enough anyway. “I sent Karen away for her own protection. I’ll need new transportation.”

Murphy paused for just a fraction. “Head to Nineteenth Street and hang a right.”

“What is going on?”

“At the corner of California and Nineteenth is Holy Ghost Catholic Church —”

“Murphy! I want answers.”

“There will be a car there for you, black Ford Focus. Start driving toward San Francisco. I’ll be in touch soon with further instructions.”

“Murphy!”

But Murphy was gone, the line dead.