74

We left our Virginia Beach hotel thirty minutes later, loading our rental with our cheap-ass Soviet weapons. Taking Highway 460, we went west across the Norfolk peninsula, crossing the Lafayette River and entering surface streets. Initially, we saw nothing but giant condominium farms, one after the other, but eventually, with Jennifer calling out directions, we began to pass through the neighborhoods I’d seen earlier on street view, at least as far as I could tell by the porch lights.

Jennifer said, “Another hundred meters and you’ll get to a circle. Take the first right, and then your next left. The house will be at the end in a cul-de-sac.”

I hit the circle, much larger than I would have expected in a neighborhood, with a copse of trees turning it into a mini-park. It had clearly been built in the days when land was cheap and space was prized. I took the first right, passing a Toyota Tundra pickup truck entering the circle. It wasn’t until I was committed to the turn that I saw it was towing a trailer with three large Jet Ski–type watercraft—two parallel with each other and one in the front, perpendicular. I whipped my head around, trying to see who was driving, but it was hopeless.

Jennifer said, “What?”

“That truck is hauling Jet Skis.”

“We’re in a beach community. They’re all over the place. You want to follow it?”

I was torn, but ultimately said, “No. Let’s check out the house.”

Jennifer nodded and said, “Next right.”

“I’m going to drive straight past the road. Take a look down the street.”

I did so, and she said, “Streetlights up front, three houses on the left, three houses on the right going down the street. Cul-de-sac is dark. Couldn’t see anything.”

I said, “Knuckles, you get anything?”

“Same. Too dark to see to the end.”

To Jennifer, I said, “Check the map. Is there a road behind it? One we can stage on?”

She looked at her tablet and said, “Yes. Take the next right, then another right. It runs up against the river, and there’s a park. We can stage there and penetrate on foot.”

I followed her instructions, parking in front of a deserted basketball court, the Lafayette River beyond it, the dark water gently lapping the shore. Across the street was a line of trees protecting the backyards of the houses in the cul-de-sac.

I shut off the engine and called Kurt, giving him a SITREP. He told me the HRT team was inbound via helicopters.

I said, “Helicopters? Tell me they aren’t going to fast-rope onto the site. Please tell me they’re going to link up with me and do this with a little stealth. I haven’t even gotten eyes on. The whole thing may be a bust.”

He laughed and said, “They’re flying to the airfield at the Norfolk Navy base. You wanted quick. That’s what you got.”

“What’s the timeline?”

“Should be there in under thirty minutes. Figure they’ll have to sort out and cross-load into vehicles on Norfolk, they should be at your location in an hour.”

“How are they going to get to the target from the airfield?”

“I have no idea, but they have a plan.”

I said, “This oughta work out swell.” I gave him our location, telling him to relay the link-up location to the team. He said he’d do so, and I hung up.

I turned to the team and said, “Okay, Knuckles and I are going to enter those trees and get a look-see. I’ll figure out a vantage point for surveillance while we wait on the FBI to arrive. You two will coordinate with them. They’re coming to this location. Call when they arrive, and we’ll pull back and brief them, then turn the crisis site over.”

Knuckles broke out his nifty Taliban gun, and I did the same. We slipped out of the car, weaving between the illumination of the streetlights. We entered the tree line directly behind the house and took a knee on the outskirts of the backyard.

The house was dark. It looked deserted. I waited a bit, getting a feel for the area and listening for any signs that someone had seen us. I heard none. After about five minutes, I said, “I think this place is empty. You go left; I’ll go right. See if you can find any activity. Meet back here no later than ten minutes from now.”

Knuckles looked at his watch, nodded, then slipped into the darkness like a wraith. I followed suit, going the opposite direction, sticking to the tree line to hide my movement.

I scuttled up under a window then slowly rose, seeing nothing, the house pitch-black. Not even a digital light from a clock or microwave. I continued on, hitting the driveway. It was empty. I took a risk and peeked into the window of the garage door, the faint illumination from a streetlight showing me that it, too, was empty. I circled back to the link-up point, finding Knuckles already there.

I said, “You see anything at all?”

“No. I think it’s a dry hole.”

I looked at my watch. The FBI were still at least thirty to forty-five minutes behind, and if the terrorists were gone, we were losing the edge. I called Jennifer. “Koko, Koko, come forward with Carly. Tell her to bring a lockpick kit.”

“Say again?”

“Come forward with a lockpick kit. You bring an AKM. We’re cracking this thing.”

All I heard was “Roger.” Three minutes later, they were next to us. I said, “We think it’s empty, but we’re not sure, so here’s how this will go: Carly will crack the lock. Knuckles and I will pull security on the door. Jennifer, you pull security to the rear. We’ll enter, clear the first room we find, then repeat the procedure for each door that’s closed. We’re not blowing through this. No violence of action. It’s going to be slow and stealthy until we find a threat. Then, it’s game on. No threat, no noise.”

I went to each, saying, “Understand?”

They nodded, and I pointed to the back of the house, to a door next to the concrete patio. “Carly, that’s your target. You can pick a lock pretty well, right? That’s something they teach at the farm?”

She nodded, saying, “I could have taught that weak crap at the farm.”

I looked at Knuckles, and, apologetically, he said, “She didn’t have a stellar upbringing. She can crack just about anything.”

To Carly, I said, “Glad to hear it, but you listen to me, understand? You do what I say. No more lone-wolf shit. It’s not only your life in the balance.”

She nodded, and Knuckles and I slipped out of cover, closing on the door, him on the left and me on the right. We waited a few seconds, and when there was no reaction, I called Carly and Jennifer forward. Carly slid up beneath the knob and Jennifer rotated to the rear, finding a patch of shadow to conceal herself.

Three minutes later, Carly slowly rotated the doorknob, then turned and nodded to me. I nodded back, and she opened the door, letting it swing inward. Knuckles entered at a crouch, his weapon at the ready. I followed behind, entering a den. We took up points of dominance, then surveyed the area on a knee, finding nothing.

We continued through the house, repeating the Carly procedure at each closed door. Eventually, the house was clear, and it was most definitely empty.

I ceased the stealth, saying, “Get the lights on. Search this place. Knuckles, Carly, take the bedrooms. Jennifer, you get the den. I’ll check out the garage.”

Everyone scattered, and I went to the garage, flipping on a light. The place was clearly a rental, because there were no shelves, bikes, lawn tools, or anything else. I saw a small pile in the corner and went to investigate, finding snippets of wire, some electrical connections, and discarded paint cans, one three-gallon, another five. I picked one up and looked inside, finding a residue that wasn’t paint.

I scraped the edge and held it up to my nose, recognizing the scent. It was explosive residue. And the cans could mean only one thing.

My phone vibrated, and I answered, hearing Kurt exasperated. “The team is at your location, but the only thing there is an empty car.”

“Tell them to come to the target. We’ve cleared it. It’s empty.”

He said, “You did what?”

I said, “I’ll tell you the specifics later, but it was a good call. I’m in the garage now, and it looks like whoever was here was building shaped charges. They’re gone, which means they’re on the hunt.”

“Shit. You mean tonight?”

“Yeah. Worst case, that’s what’s going to happen.”

“Any idea of the target?”

“None. We need to get whoever runs the security here on high alert. Coast Guard, port authority, Navy, whoever. Get them moving. Get boats in the water.”

I heard Knuckles calling and said, “Stand by. Knuckles has found something.”

I ran back inside, and he said, “The place is pristine. Nothing but rental furniture. We found one thing in the trash.”

He held out a receipt, and I said, “What is it?”

“Bill of sale for three Sea-Doo watercraft and a trailer.”

I said, “From Richmond?”

“Yep.”

I put the phone to my ear and said, “Okay, sir, we figured out what that ‘random’ purchase was in Richmond. They bought Jet Skis using that bank account, which means they’ve turned them into manned torpedoes. Get a response going, right now. They’re on the move.”

He said, “Already working it. What do you have to go on?”

“Nothing. We passed a truck carrying three Jet Skis on the way in, and I’m thinking that’s them. Give the analysts our location and tell them to pinpoint every single boat ramp within a ten-mile radius. We’re going to have to go fishing.”

He said, “Got it. Link up with the FBI and give them the information. They have a maritime team as well. Maybe they can help.”

Resigned, I said, “Roger all, sir.”

He said, “That didn’t sound too confident.”

I hesitated, then said, “Sir, I think we’re too late. I should have ignored this house and hit that truck with the Jet Skis. I think I fucked up.”

“You haven’t yet. Work the problem. I’ll give you whatever you need.”