Imminent Threat

by Jeff Gunhus

His watch.

  There were no clocks in the room, purposefully done to disorient the person being questioned.

  But Scott hadn’t removed his watch.

  Why would Scarvan care what time it was? He was caught. The bomb secured.

  Unless . . . unless . . .

  Scott bolted up from his chair. He saw a flicker of alarm cross Scarvan’s face.

  “You son of a bitch,” Scott said.

  Scarvan smiled. “Is your beautiful daughter attending the gala?” he said. “I understand anyone who’s anyone was planning to be there.”

  Scott’s right hook connected with Scarvan’s face. It wasn’t his strongest punch; he wanted the man conscious. But it was enough to unleash the sudden fury he felt. With a satisfying crunch, he heard the man’s nose break.

  Scarvan. Father Spiros. Asset. Omega.

  They’d all played him.

  The attack was never going to be at the UN. There was no way they were ever going to get the bomb into the General Assembly hall. Getting it as far as they did, farther than anyone thought possible, made them all think they’d stopped the plot.

  They’d only stopped the distraction.

  Scott ran to the door. He had to call Mara.

  “It’s too late!” Scarvan yelled. “It’s all over!”

  “I set my watch fifteen minutes fast, asshole,” Scott said. “You haven’t won yet.”

  As he left the room, he heard Scarvan laughing. “Doesn’t matter. You’re still too late. It’s just like you said: everything happens for a reason. Do you believe me now? DO YOU BELIEVE ME?”

  Scott sprinted from the room, pulling out his phone and dialing.

  “Jesus, Mara. Pick up. Pick up your phone.”

  The call didn’t go through. Instead it ended in a recorded message: “I’m sorry, but your call cannot go through at this time.”

  They jammed the cell phones.

  Holy shit.

  Maybe the world was going to burn after all.

  CHAPTER 61

  “Mr. Ryker,” Mara said, holding out her hand. “We met in Paris.”

  Ryker turned from the two men he was speaking with, his expression blank for a second as he tried to place how he knew her. When he finally made the connection, it came with a satisfying grimace.

  “Ms. Roberts,” he said, accepting her hand. “Nice to see you again. Under better circumstances.”

  The two men he had been talking with took the hint and excused themselves. Mara smiled, wondering if Jordi could hear the conversation with her earpiece in her lipstick purse. She turned to look over the crowd. “Quite a gathering,” she said. “So many powerful people.”

  “Some of them are powerful,” he said. “Some of them just like to imagine they are.” He stepped in front of her so that she was looking right at him. “Which one of those are you?”

  Mara knew she shouldn’t enjoy getting a rise out of the man as much as she did, but she couldn’t help herself. Part of her still wanted to know who had tipped him off in France. Another part enjoyed the exhilaration of talking to one of the most influential people on the globe.

  “Under the right circumstances, I have the right kind of power,” she said. “Arresting people who’ve committed crimes, for example.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind if I ever commit one,” he said.

  “Is any billionaire really innocent?” she asked, knowing Jordi was going to like that line.

  Ryker waved at someone across the room, but his attention was on her. “You don’t really like me, do you?” he asked.

  She shrugged, enjoying the game. “I don’t think I’ve thought about you enough to form an opinion.”

  He pretended the comment stabbed him in the chest. “Ouch,” he said. “Playing on my ego like that. Do they teach you that at the Farm? Is that what they still call the school at the CIA?”

  Mara wasn’t surprised he’d pieced together who she was after her conversation with him in Paris. “You must have me confused with someone else. I never said I was with the CIA,” she said.

  “I have resources,” he said. “I think I can find out who shakes me down at my own airport.”

  Mara laughed. “Shake you down? If I ever shake you down, you’ll know it.”

  “Threat or promise?” Ryker asked. His phone rang in his pocket. His expression changed; all the playfulness gone. “I’m sorry, I have to take this.” He took the call and listened, nodding his head. Finally, he said, “Yes, I’ll come right away.” He hung up the phone and turned back to Mara. “My mother is ill. She was to come with me tonight, she loves this sort of thing.”

  “I hope it’s not serious,” she said.

  Ryker checked his watch. “I had hoped to see the president’s speech tonight. Looks like I’ll be watching it with my mother instead of with an attractive CIA agent. Some other time?” he said, extending his hand to her.

  “Of course,” Mara said, shaking it. “Give your mother my best.”

  Ryker slid past her, two bodyguards falling into step behind him. She reached into her pocket and reaffixed her earpiece.

  “ ‘Give your mother my best’?” Jordi said. “Did you just get run over by the Marcus Ryker charisma express?”

  “Shut up, Jordi,” she said. “I was playing it up for you.”

  “Sure you were. Just cozying up with a roguishly handsome billionaire. Nothing to see here.”

  “I’m going to take you out of my ear if you’re not careful.”

  “And he loves his poor, sick mother,” Jordi said. “What’s not to love?”

  Mara worked her way through the crowd as Jordi chirped in her ear, going on about Ryker’s good looks. She ignored him, knowing any response would just keep him going.

  Finally, he fell silent. “Are you done?” she asked.

  “For now.”

  “Good, then find Hawthorn for me,” she said. “As much fun as that was, I have a bad feeling about tonight.”

  “You have Scarvan in custody. Can’t we just enjoy the party?”

  “We’re working. Find Hawthorn. Please.”

  With Jordi guiding her, Mara found her boss in the exotic book collection, a space that had been turned into a VIP holding area. The president was inside so the cordon of security made it impossible for her to get in, even with her credentials. Fortunately, she knew one of the Secret Service agents and he agreed to go inside and pull Hawthorn for her.

  It was less than a minute before he came striding out.

  “What’s wrong?” Hawthorn asked.

  “Nothing yet,” Mara said. “I just have a feeling . . .”

  Hawthorn took her by the elbow and led her away from the agent that had retrieved him. “I feel it, too,” he said. “I can’t reach Scott.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked. “How long?”

  “Checking now,” Jordi said in her ear.

  “Only the last couple of minutes,” Hawthorn said. “But it’s not just him. I can’t reach anyone at the GCS site. Do you have Jordi online?”

  “He’s checking now.”

  “Confirmed,” Jordi’s voice said. “All coms are out at the GCS site. Nothing’s coming in or out. It’s a black hole.”

  She relayed the information to Hawthorn.

  “Let’s take a pause,” he said. “The com system at GCS is designed to restrict access. Prevent outside surveillance. A glitch would make the whole place dark.”

  “A glitch just when Scarvan is being questioned? Right before this thing starts?”

  Hawthorn bit his lower lip. She’d seen the distant look in his eyes before, thinking through permutations, playing red team offense against his own position, weighing odds, distributing resources a hundred different ways. All in a matter of seconds.

  “We’re going to talk to the president,” he said. “With me.”

  She followed, pausing only as the Secret Service detail briefly challenged his ability to wave her through. A more senior agent stepped in quickly and let them pass.

&
nbsp; In the room, Mara’s step faltered. The scene in front of her was surreal as the heads of state from many of the most powerful nations of the world milled around sipping either coffees or glasses of wine. She wasn’t one to get starstruck, but the assembled political power in front of her was unlike anything she’d seen before.

  “Mara,” Hawthorn said.

  She refocused and nodded that she was with him. As she turned, she saw Dreslan making a line toward them.

  “Can I help you two?” he asked.

  “I need to talk to the president,” Hawthorn said.

  Dreslan turned serious. “Is there a new threat?”

  “The communications are out where we’re holding Scarvan,” Mara said.

  “Shit,” Dreslan said. “What else?”

  “It’s too much coincidence, Mitch,” Hawthorn said. “I don’t like it.”

  “That’s all you have?” he said. “You can’t get in touch with whatever black site you guys are using for Scarvan, and you want to pull the president?” He pointed over to where President Patterson was speaking through a translator with the Russian president. “Christ, Jim. He’s a little busy right now.”

  “This doesn’t feel right,” Hawthorn said. “And I think you know it.”

  “Feel isn’t enough,” Dreslan said. “If there’s something even close to concrete, I’ll be the first person to get him the hell out. You know that. But now that we’re here, we can’t pull him without setting off a cascade effect to every protection detail in the building.”

  “We should at least let the president know our concern,” Mara said.

  “Your concern has been noted,” Dreslan said. “Thank you. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

  He turned and walked back to the president. Mara took a step forward to follow him, but Hawthorn put a hand on her arm to hold her back.

  “No,” he said. “He might be right. It’s not enough. Keep working. Where’s Rick?”

  “Dreslan put him in the stacks under Bryant Park,” she said. “Punishment for not sharing his source.”

  Hawthorn shook his head. “Could have picked a better time to make his point. Okay,” he said. “Let’s keep in touch.”

  Mara pulled out an additional earpiece from her purse and handed it to him.

  “I hate these things,” he said, putting it in. “Giving Jordi a direct line to my ear always has a downside.”

  “I heard that, Grandpa Jim,” Jordi said. “Mic’s working.”

  “Let’s go. Keep your eyes open. If something’s off, I’d rather err on the side of caution. If we’re wrong and cry wolf, we might get fired. But if it is a wolf . . .”

  “. . . we’ll be damn lucky it doesn’t kill us along with the rest of the sheep,” Mara finished.

  CHAPTER 62

  The dog smelled him from twenty feet away. Maybe it was because the stacks were hermetically sealed, specially designed to keep any mold or mildew from growing on the millions of pieces of paper stored there. That design, combined with a 360-degree air transfer system, scrubbed by the highest-end filters in existence, ensured the only smells in the massive area were that of paper, glue from the bindings, and leather from some of the older tomes.

  The smell of a man hiding in place for forty-eight hours, sweating, pissing into bottles, defecating into sealed bags, eating food, belching and passing gas, must have seemed like a fire alarm to the well-trained dog.

  The German shepherd’s handler was caught off guard. Either he was lazy, or he had zero percent expectations of finding anything on his routine search. Regardless, he did the thing that a K-9 professional never allowed and lost control of his animal.

  The dog tore down the narrow aisle between the bookcases, snarling and barking as his nails scraped on the linoleum floor. It stopped under Asset’s hiding spot, the top shelf of the stack, seven feet off the floor, in the space between the books facing opposite directions on different aisles.

  A quick look down the aisle confirmed his assumption: the K-9 handler and Rick were running toward his position, guns pulled.

  He had the option of climbing down the opposite side, landing in the next aisle over from his pursuers. The move would have bought him some extra time if he’d been discovered by the humans, but the dog made it trickier.

  Besides, he found it easy to kill men who were trying to capture him. He liked dogs a lot more. If there was a path that didn’t include killing the dog, even if it was as a little riskier, he’d take it.

  “Jesus, someone’s up there!” the K-9 handler shouted. “Hands up, motherfucker! Right now!”

  “Call off the dog,” Asset said, putting on a strong New York accent. “I aint hurtin’ no one here.”

  The German shepherd went ballistic on hearing the voice. A smell could mean someone used to be in a place, leaving behind odors even after they’d moved on. But a voice. Now that was the jackpot.

  “Hands where we can see them!” Rick shouted.

  “Easy, easy,” Asset said, working the accent. “I’m jus’ a guy lookin’ for a place to sleep is all. Not hurtin’ no one. Promise.”

  “Then get the hell down here,” the cop said, sounding a little less menacing now. Asset smiled. Could this asshole actually be buying his story?

  “I ain’t doin’ nothin’ ’til you call off your dog,” Asset said. “I ain’t stupid.”

  Asset watched the cop look to Rick for validation. Rick trained his gun on Asset’s location and nodded.

  “Texas. Return,” the cop said.

  Texas the German shepherd instantly obeyed, running back to his master, who retook control of the animal by grabbing its lead.

  “Now, get your ass down,” the cop said. “Slowly, no sudden moves. Let’s see your hands the entire time or Texas here will bite your nuts off. You got that?”

  “Yeah, man,” Asset said, knocking books off the shelf in front of him to clear the way to jump down. “I’m not gonna get arrested for this, am I? Not hurtin’ anyone. Jus’ finding a place to sleep is all.”

  His Glock was safely stashed into the waistband of his pants. The cop would discover it the second he started his pat-down. He was never going to get that far.

  “Hands!” Rick shouted as Asset turned to slide off the top rack on his stomach. As he fell the last few feet, he kept his hands high, palms toward them.

  Texas growled and barked at him, but the cop corrected him, and the dog fell silent. He licked his chops, no doubt thinking of the salty taste of blood that would be his with only one small command from his master.

  “Turn around!” the cop yelled. “Hands behind your head, fingers together. Now.”

  Asset didn’t like the idea of having his back turned on the dog. All it took was for the cop to have a bad attitude and a mean streak to send the dog at him like a missile just for a little sport. If he did that, Asset wouldn’t have time to react.

  Instead, he slumped his shoulders forward and held his hands out toward the cop. “If you’re gonna arrest me, I guess jus’ put the cuffs on me now. I got bad knees, you know.”

  “Don’t make me sic this dog on you,” the cop said. “Turn around.”

  “Take it easy,” Rick said. “This guy looks harmless enough. Here, let me hold Texas and you go cuff him.” The cop started to object. “My radio and cell phone aren’t working down here. Neither are yours. We need to get this guy into custody and get to where we can communicate with central command. This guy in here means there was a breakdown somewhere. We need to figure out where. Figure out how bad it is.”

  “I gotta take a piss,” Asset said. “Can we jus’ get on with things? Or do you want me to just go here?”

  The cop hesitated, but he handed Texas’s lead to Rick and then carefully stepped forward, gun still pulled. With his free hand, he pulled out his handcuffs.

  “Okay, let’s just take this nice and slow,” the cop said.

  Asset watched Rick tie the dog’s lead to the metal bookcase. Apparently, he was a dog-lover as well. It was nice to m
eet a kindred spirit.

  Kindred in more ways than one.

  “Officer,” Rick said. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name.”

  Asset found the confused look on the man’s face amusing.

  “Brody. Matt Brody,” he said. “Why? Are the radios working? You calling this in?”

  “No,” Rick said. “I just find it disrespectful not to know the name of the man you’re working with.”

  He shifted his outstretched hand six inches to the right, lining up precisely with the back of Officer Brody’s head.

  He pulled the trigger.

  There was an explosion of blood and brain that filled the air where the cop’s face had been only a split second earlier. The body remained upright longer than Asset would have thought, some trick of physics and anatomy. A wide flap of skin and tissue hung loose, attached just above the eyebrows, but flapping over a crater beneath that.

  After a full three seconds, Officer Brody fell forward. Texas yanked and pulled on his lead, barking and snarling. Everything about his training directed him to come to his partner’s aid. But it wasn’t meant to be.

  Asset nodded to Rick. “Saved the dog.” His tone and look conveyed that he appreciated the move as opposed to seeing it as some kind of weakness.

  “No such luck for Officer Brody,” Rick said. “Is everything in place?”

  Asset checked his watch. One minute ahead of schedule.

  “You were instructed not to ask for this duty in the stacks,” Asset said. “It could raise suspicion.”

  “Relax,” Rick said. “It was all Dreslan’s idea.” Then, as if considering something for the first time, “He’s not . . . you know . . .”

  Part of Omega, too? Asset thought. How the hell would I know?

  “I’m not allowed to share that information with you,” Asset said. “Other assets are not revealed unless they are told in advance. You should like that rule, it protects you as much as it protects me.” He pointed to the top shelf. “Since you’re here, you can help me get the bomb down.”

  Rick stepped back. “Not a chance. I can’t afford to have any potential for residue on me. Especially traces of radiation.”

  Asset didn’t bother arguing. Rick wasn’t under his chain of command, so he couldn’t order him to help. And the man was so close to the Alpha Team inner circle that he was just about as important to Marcus Ryker as Asset himself.