by Ed James
And Layla’s choice of clothing is perfect for it, my preppy look matching a few guys standing around. A sign points to the congressional investigation in the main auditorium. Place is empty, though. A busted flush from that news story.
He walks toward the security guard, swinging his ID badge. “You know that me using my ID is dangerous, right? They’ll be searching for me.” He stops in the middle of the floor, clenching his jaw. “The FBI are looking for me.”
“Which means you’ve got to make sure we get our answers quickly, Senator.”
Holliday gave him the side eye. “Of course, you’re trapped in here. I could let them catch you, let them interrogate you.”
“If this goes south, Avery dies. Besides, I know you want to avoid the feds, Senator. What dirty, dark secrets are you hiding? You know if any of this gets out it’ll end your career, don’t you?”
He knows.
Holliday wipes some sweat from his forehead and walks over to the guard’s post, casually, like this is normal and he isn’t being threatened.
The guard looks up, so obese the only thing he’s catching is type 2 diabetes. “Senator.”
Holliday hands his badge over, and the guard checks it. Then he hands it back and looks at me. “Need to see some ID, sir.”
Holliday coughs. “John Mason is, uh, my new assistant.”
The guard gives me a once-over, taking so long that I think he’s on to me, mentally altering the composite photo the cops issued, subtracting hair and beard to get what I look like now. He reaches down for something, and I’ve got my cell phone in my hand, ready to call Layla and tell her to get out of there, let her decide whether to kill Avery or not. I figure I can get out front before any of the guards catch me. They’re not the FBI, they’re not the cops.
But he slides a clipboard over the marble. “Sign here, sir.”
My breathing slows as Holliday starts filling it in. I even get a nice little badge:
MR. JOHN MASON, PERSONAL ASSISTANT
Holliday swipes his ID through an office door and the lights flicker on. A big windowless room, piles of boxes on either side. That stale smell of old paper. “This is where the investigation is happening. Much cheaper in Seattle than DC.” He goes over to a desk in the middle and pulls out a three-ring binder. “What was the date?”
“October second.”
He flicks through the pages, slowly.
Is he playing me? Buying time before the guards appear? Even if they’re all donut-munchers, I’m still stuck inside this building. Ten swipes of his ID to get this deep into the building. Be at least half of that to get out.
I should’ve stayed outside, waiting for him, trusting him on a long leash. But I can’t trust him. Even though I’ve got his daughter’s life hanging over his head, he’s the kind of dog who’s liable to turn at any moment.
I need to get out of here, and fast.
But we need that information.
“If I don’t check in by the hour—” I raise my cell, high enough that he can see it. “Then Avery dies. Okay?”
Holliday looks over at the clock, and his eyes bulge. “I can’t work that fast! I don’t know what I’m looking for!”
“If you get somewhere, then I’ll call in and extend the time. Just don’t think you can stall me and let the FBI save her. Okay?”
He shakes his head as he starts shuffling through the file again. Guy has a sweat problem. It’s dripping on the floor, soaking into the carpet. He tears at the binder. “I can’t—”
Something behind us clicks. The card reader switches from red to green. The door opens.
“Chris?” Xander J. Delgado stands there, the congressman leading the investigation, his thin fingers wrapped around a paper coffee cup, his platinum wedding band catching the light. I voted for this guy. Looks like his suit’s wearing him, hanging off his runner’s frame. “Chris, what are you doing here?”
And this is what heading south looks like.
Holliday drops the binder. “I need something.”
“And you didn’t think to ask?” Delgado frowns at him. “Isn’t your kid in the hospital?”
“You know me, Xander. I can’t focus on that. I need to distract myself, and my new assistant here isn’t cutting it.”
I scan the room, looking for options. The boxes might work as a weapon, if they were heavy enough, but it’s too slow, too far away. There’s a mail system by the window, with a brass letter opener lying on the “In” tray.
Bingo.
I take a step toward it.
Delgado shuffles over to Holliday. Still hasn’t looked at me. And to think I voted for him. “Dude, Megan needs you right now.”
“Megan never needs me.” Holliday’s head hangs low like he actually means it.
Delgado takes a sip of coffee and looks at me for the first time, then back at Holliday. “Oh?”
“She’s not coping with this very well. Pushing me away, trying to deal with it on her own, like she does with everything. I can’t sit around in a hospital, so I’ve come here.”
“Doing what?”
Holliday huffs out a sigh. “I lost Mandy. She’s working for that schmuck Duvall.”
“Tough break.”
“And then Duvall calls me, says he needs something like yesterday. And you know what he’s like about stacking up favors like he’s playing Texas hold ’em?” Holliday waves over at me. “I’d ask John here, but he’s new and…”
Delgado tilts his head at me. “This your new boy Friday?” He holds out a hand to me. “Xander Delgado.”
I shake it. Guy’s got a tight grip. “John Mason. A pleasure, sir. I voted for you.”
“Then the pleasure’s all mine.” Delgado took a slug of coffee, grimacing like it was fine whiskey. “So what’s Duvall looking for?”
“He, ah, asked John some questions.” Holliday picked up the binder again. “John called me up and I thought so what, you know? Something about an exercise in Seattle on October second, last year, at some school.”
“Tang Elementary.”
Delgado looks at me, his eyes narrowing, but he doesn’t say anything.
Holliday holds up the binder. “Thing is, I can’t find anything on it. Any chance you could—”
“This isn’t your investigation, Chris.” Delgado sets his coffee down. “You can’t just bring people in here.”
“He’s on the level.” Holliday wipes a hand across his brow. He’s thinking on his feet, improvising, but he’s good at it. Covering lies with lies, building a house of cards that’s all glued together, one that’ll stand strong. “John’s good people. After Duvall hired Mandy, I needed a new assistant, and he’s helping with some work here in my home state. You know there’s always blowback on senators from an investigation of this size.”
Delgado doesn’t seem to relax, instead finishing his coffee and crumpling the cup. “Chris, I should call Duvall right now, get him in here.”
“Be my guest.”
Delgado takes another long look at me, tilting his head to the side. “What explicitly was Duvall asking for?”
I give him a smile. “He said a woman has been calling up his office, asking him to investigate the exercise at Tang Elementary on that date. Kept talking about GrayBox.”
“Seriously?” Delgado’s nostrils flare wide. “Chris, I sent you a summary of our work to date last Tuesday. I told you that we raided a ton of stuff from GrayBox.” He looks at me, eyes narrow. “Next thing I know, you’re turning up with this douchebag?” He trains his glare back on Holliday. “Chris, is he working for GrayBox?”
“What? Of course not.” Holliday tosses the binder on the desk. “He’s on the level, Xander. I picked him personally. Vetted by two private detectives. He’s just here to help me with admin.”
I take a couple of steps closer to Holliday, and crucially toward the letter opener.
Delgado doesn’t seem to notice me as he settles back against a wall of boxes. He folds his arms then shrugs. “Chris, you�
��re a piece of work, you know that?”
“Just help me and we’ll be out of your hair.”
“Fine.” Delgado picks up a box and thumps it down on the desk. “The problem is, whatever Duvall’s looking for, it all checks out. Far as I can tell, GrayBox ran an exercise at that school on that date, under the cover of Operation Opal Lance.” He tore the lid off the box. “Hence me asking Richard Olson at the congressional hearing this morning.”
I hold his gaze, the first time he’ll let me since I shook his hand. “What did he say?”
“That was the only question that douchebag answered, other than his name and occupation.” Delgado laughs. “Olson said he can’t comment on the grounds of commercial confidentiality.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“Quite the expert, huh?” Delgado picks up the binder and flicks through, then takes a file out of the box and blows the dust off. “There was an exercise at the school on that date. GrayBox operatives supported US Army soldiers to evacuate the school. Supposed to be preparation for the event of an invasion.” He reaches in and gets out some more files, tossing them onto the desk. “These are witness statements from businesses and residences near the school. Ten people saw soldiers enter the main building. Minutes later, they started bringing the kids out, all organized. Then they start involving our witnesses, closing their stores and securing them too.”
I realize I haven’t been breathing. “What about the sports hall?”
Delgado sneers at me. “What do you know about that?”
“Did anyone go in there?”
“Chris, what is he talking about?”
Holliday gives him a shrug. “It’s what Duvall is looking for.”
Delgado shakes his head again. “That douchebag should’ve come to me.”
“It’s not how he likes to run things, you know that.” Holliday gives him a broad smile, impressive given the stress he’s going through. “But the way you’re talking about it, it’s like something happened and you know what.”
“It’s probably nothing, but we’ve got two witnesses who saw three soldiers running across the football field, said they entered the sports building.” Delgado licks his finger and eases it through the file. “Strangest thing, though—they later recanted their testimony.” He sifts through a box and gets out a page. “These weren’t US military operatives, Chris.” He held up a wad of black-and-white photos, circling the armbands on some masked soldiers in combat fatigues. “They were GrayBox.”
Holy shit.
My fingers are actually tingling.
All along, I’d focused on the hunt, the mystery, and ignored the emotion, dulled it down until I couldn’t feel any more. I never stopped to think what knowing I was on to something would feel like.
We’re on the right track. Our first answer.
“Have you got—”
A siren blares out, accompanied by a robotic voice: “This is a security announcement. The building is on lockdown. Please stay where you are and remain calm until further notice.”
I snatch up the letter opener and grab Delgado, pointing the blade at his throat. “Get us out of here. Now.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Holliday
“Keep ahead of me, Senator. Hands where I can see them.” Mason still had a knife on Delgado, sticking into his suit jacket as they walked close together. “That’s a good boy.”
Treating me like a dog.
Holliday walked slowly, adrenalin pumping, carrying a box file, full of the evidence they needed. That Mason needed. Whatever his name actually was. He stopped by a locked door, still no decision made either way.
Delgado swiped through a reader, then glanced at Holliday as he put his ID away, sheer terror in his eyes. Holliday had brought him into this world, and he couldn’t process it. He had no skin in the game he’s been forced to play by this lunatic.
Join the club.
Mason gestured for Holliday to open the door. “Come on.”
Holliday stayed standing. “Don’t you need to check in?” His mouth was drier than in the Iraqi desert. “You need to tell your accomplice that it’s okay… so they don’t kill Avery.”
Mason smiled at him. “I texted them. It’s all good.”
Holliday stepped into the dark garage, full of oil smells. The silent alarm was on, lights flashing, their footsteps echoing.
“My car.” Delgado pointed at a silver Lexus parked against the far wall.
“Okay, Xander. Here’s what’s going to happen.” Mason pressed the knife back against Delgado’s throat. The madman’s face was blank, like he was a robot going through steps of his programming. He’s not getting any pleasure or satisfaction out of our misery. Maybe he is telling the truth. “You’re going to give your keys to the senator here. Then you’re going to get in the passenger side and we’re going to drive off. If we don’t get out of here, then I’m going to slice your throat open. Using a letter opener will be excruciating, but be under no illusions that it won’t do the job. Are we good?”
Delgado just nodded as he held out his keys, the Lexus logo catching the flashing lights.
“Chris, I know you’re cool with this.” Mason tossed over the keys.
Holliday caught them. Not that I’ve got any choice. He pressed the unlock button and the lights flashed. He stowed the box file on the floor behind the driver’s seat then got in front.
The passenger door opened, and Delgado sat next to Holliday. “What on earth is going on, Chris?”
Before Holliday could answer, the back door opened and Mason’s face appeared in the rearview, eyes darting around, surveilling the space. “Drive.”
Holliday thumbed the ignition and stuck it in reverse. He arced around, the engine whirring, then slid it into drive and took it slowly, but not suspiciously so.
Mason switched the blade to Holliday’s throat. “You know where you’re going, Senator?”
“Been here a few times. It’s just up and out.” Holliday swallowed, feeling the cold metal touch his skin. “There’ll be a guard. At least one.”
“I’ll deal with him if and when.”
Holliday turned onto the up ramp, a spiral curving left.
Delgado looked over at him. “Sure this isn’t for your friend Richard’s benefit?”
In the rearview, Mason’s eyes focused hard on Holliday. “You know Richard Olson?”
“He’s a campaign donor.” Holliday’s voice sounded fake, thin and high-pitched, like even he didn’t believe it. “My campaign manager handled it all. I have no idea how much he’s given.” He cleared the ramp and navigated the car down a lane, bare concrete on both sides. Ahead, the security barrier was down.
“Play it cool.” Mason took the blade away from Holliday’s throat and sat back, out of sight of the rearview. “You know the cost.”
Holliday stopped by the barrier and rolled down his window.
The guard was tall, and built too. H. Linskey was stitched on his pocket. “Sir, the building’s on lockdown. Orders from the Federal Bureau of Investigation.” He snarled, like he’d just been forced to swear. “Can’t let anyone out.”
Think fast.
“I need to get to the hospital. My son’s been shot.”
Linskey frowned at them. “These are orders from the FBI, sir, I can’t just—”
“Didn’t you hear me? My son’s been shot! I need to be with him!”
Linskey nodded. “Lemme call it in.” He trudged over to his little cave and picked up a phone handset.
Holliday caught a glimpse of Mason, crouched outside the car. He turned around—the back seat was empty. Didn’t even notice him getting out.
Delgado grabbed Holliday’s sleeve. “What on earth is going on?”
“I haven’t got a choice, Xander. That madman kidnapped Avery. He was there when Brandon got shot.”
“I didn’t know.” Delgado’s anger twisted into confusion, then he slumped against the seat back and shut his eyes. “Are you okay?”
&nb
sp; “Oh I’m just peachy, Chris. Just peachy.”
Linskey reappeared. In a flash, Mason wrapped his arms around the guard’s head, one over his throat, the other clasping his forehead. Linskey’s arms windmilled for a few seconds, then slowed, then stopped. Mason slowly rested him down on the floor. He’d put the guard to sleep in seconds.
Holliday grabbed Delgado’s arm. “Do you recognize him?”
Delgado took a fresh look then shrugged. “I don’t, but he’s kinda distinctive. Those scars look painful. And that tattoo? You think he’s a marine?”
Mason was over by the barrier, bending down to grab Linskey’s pistol, stuffing it in his chinos as he stood. Sure had the posture of a marine. He reached over to the guard’s station and the gate opened, then he waved them through.
Holliday put the car back in drive and rolled through the barrier, stopping the other side.
The back door thumped shut and the gun kissed Holliday’s neck. “Go.”
He pulled off and drove out up to street level.
To the left, a squadron of FBI SUVs hurtled toward them, lights flashing, sirens wailing.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Carter
Elisha slowed to a halt outside the Federal Building, almost invisible through the heavy rain, the other Suburbans pulling in behind them. The street traffic was light, just a car zooming off to get through a gap behind a bus.
Carter hopped onto the soaked pavement before the car fully stopped. He could barely hear anything above the blaring sirens, so he reached in to hit the button on the dash and cut most of the noise. He made his way up the steps.
A big black guy in uniform stood by the entrance, enough stripes on his arm to be their guy, the security chief. His badge read Richardson. “You Carter?”
With a nod, he showed his shield. “You got Holliday?”
Richardson glanced at Elisha as she joined them. “Not yet.” His left eye twitched. “Come with me.” He led inside, their feet squeaking off the mirrorlike marble. “My guys are searching the entire building. Room by room. We’ve followed his security credentials through the building. We’re hunting him down now.”