by David Wood
CHAPTER 15
El Paso, Texas
It started in Mexico….
Tam Broderick gazed across the narrow ribbon of muddy water that separated the United States of America from Los Estados Unidos Mexicanos. Somewhere on the other side of that sluggish river and the invisible international border, twenty-two innocent university students had been massacred, the first victims of the Dominion’s latest offensive. A lone survivor had escaped, splashing blindly across the river, carrying a tale of woe and a cryptic message.
The time for Destiny has come.
What did that mean?
“Not much to see,” remarked Marcus Waller, Director of Field Operations for the US Immigration and Customs Enforcement division. “Waste of time coming out here if you ask me.”
Waller, who had accompanied Tam and Greg to the site, was a handsome African-American man in his mid-forties. His looks were of little consequence to Tam, but the mere fact of his racial heritage counted in his favor, not because it was something they shared, but rather because it almost guaranteed that he was not a Dominion double-agent.
That was about the only good thing Tam could say about him. From the moment they entered his office, he had made no secret of his irritation at the intrusion, parceling out information about the cross-border incident like a miser opening his piggy bank for charity. She assumed the underlying reason for his thinly veiled contempt was jurisdictional protectiveness, but the fact that he was marginally more deferential toward Greg made her wonder if the shabby treatment might have more to do with her gender.
No matter. She had been swimming up that stream all her life, and in spite of men like Waller, she had done pretty well for herself.
She tolerated the ICE officer’s condescension only because she had no idea where to begin looking. They had come here, rather than heading straight to Juarez, because Tam hoped to get a somewhat unbiased American perspective on what had happened. Waller’s reluctant assistance would seem magnanimous compared to the stonewalling she expected from the federales in Mexico, especially given their reputation for corruption and the very real possibility that law enforcement officers were involved in the attack on the students.
“They took the hostages and brought them way out here,” Greg said, evidently thinking out loud. “Why? They could have gone anywhere, but they chose this place. Is there some special significance to that?”
“A lot of illegals come across here,” replied Waller. “Maybe they wanted to make sure that someone found the bodies. You know, I could have told you all this over the phone.”
“Why would they want the bodies to be found?”
A shrug. “Who knows? They’re practically animals.”
“You mean the cartels?”
“Sure.” The answer was laced with sarcasm. “Look, it’s just the way it is out here. Sometimes things heat up a little, and that’s bad news, but that’s why ICE is here. To keep the wildfires from crossing the river. We got it covered.”
Tam rolled her eyes. “Just help me wrap my little ol’ brain around this. The drug cartels, for no apparent reason, kidnap a bunch of students at a bogus police checkpoint and drive them all the way out here to the boonies to murder them, because they want the bodies to be found. There’s no particular reason for it except ‘just because.’ Have I got that right?”
“Pretty much.”
“Why target these students? Was someone trying to send a message?”
“Possibly. The students were part of a program funded by a businessman in Juarez—Esperanza’s his name. Guillermo Esperanza. He’s a NAFTA success story. Decent enough guy. Trying to make the world a better place. You know the type.”
“Would that draw fire from the cartels?”
“Economic stability weakens their power base. People with real jobs aren’t as desperate to work as drug mules, or pay coyotes to get them across the border.”
That was a plausible enough motive if the crime really was the work of narcotraficantes, but Tam still couldn’t see how the Dominion benefited from it. Still, it was a place to start. “Maybe we should talk to this Esperanza guy.”
“Good luck with that. You’d have better luck getting an audience with the pope.”
“Why is that?”
“He’s become a bit of a celebrity over there. Especially after this. A lot of people seem to think he’d make a good president.” Waller shrugged. “Take more than one guy to clean that mess up.”
“When are their elections?”
“Not for a few more years. The last election was in 2012, and their president serves a single six-year term. But President Mendoza has been a big disappointment. Corrupt. Ineffective. This latest incident has thrown gasoline on the fire. Things are bad over there. People want him out, and if he resigns or is somehow removed from office, it would be up to their congress to appoint his successor.”
Tam glanced at Greg, saw him nod. He was thinking the same thing she was. Overthrowing the government of America’s closest neighbor definitely sounded a little more like a scheme worthy of the Dominion—the Russians, too, for that matter—especially if this Esperanza was already in their pocket. The brutal attack on the students could easily have been a false flag operation, a final straw to break the back of the Mendoza administration.
She still could not see how any of it connected to Patton or the Spear of Destiny, but it was a place to start.
Stone would say that it fit the pattern.
CHAPTER 16
Washington D.C.
Up until the moment that he heard the scream, Billy Sievers had remained uncertain about almost every facet of the situation in which he now found himself. He did not doubt that each small group of CIA officers and assets was who he claimed to be, but that fact by itself did not make them trustworthy. If anything, his knowledge of the Agency and its penchant for elaborate conspiracies in pursuit of an agenda that did not always put America’s best interests first, actually increased his suspicions. The story of a major terror plot, somehow relating to mythical relics and the writings of a World War II general did not enhance their credibility. The fact that the whole affair had begun with the escape of Gavin Stone, a man who was clearly an enemy of the nation that Sievers had sworn to defend, was also a strike against them. Indeed, he had only acceded to Stone’s request in order to keep an eye on him. His colleagues at EmergInt had questioned his decision. His phone had about a dozen text messages directing him to deliver Stone back to the black site, ASAP. He had spent the idle hours wondering why he had not done exactly that.
The scream changed his focus, if only because it appeared to validate at least some of what Stone’s friends had told him. He still did not trust any of them, but the cry could only mean that someone was threatening the cute little historian, and that meant the threat was real.
The others—the Korean girl and Stone—exchanged a glance, confirming what they all knew, and then both sprang into motion. Despite his immediate alertness, Sievers was caught off guard by what Stone did next. Instead of heading for the nearest staircase, Stone ran to the edge of the balcony that looked out into the reading room as if hoping to catch a glimpse of what had befallen Avery.
In addition to the ornate railing, an eight-foot tall, transparent, noise-reducing barrier stretched across the overlooking balcony, physically separating tourists in the gallery from those wishing to conduct research in peace and quiet on the floor below. It was immediately apparent from the turned heads and questioning expressions of the people on the floor of the reading room that the scream had been heard, but there was no other sign of a disturbance. Sievers was already starting to turn away in preparation for a dash to the nearest staircase, when Stone did something that left him completely stunned.
Seemingly without even a moment’s hesitation, Stone reached up for the top of the curving window and then heaved himself up and over. He dropped down the opposite side, and then as if he had rehearsed the move a dozen times, side-stepped to the end of the balcony. He grasped hold
of the ornately decorated capital atop one of the massive three-story high vertical columns and worked his way hand over hand until he reached the central pillar. Sievers saw him wrap his arms and legs around it, and then Stone was gone.
Sievers glanced at Kasey in disbelief. She shrugged then glanced up at the top of the barrier. “Give me a boost?”
“You’re not serious.”
She didn’t ask again. Instead, she ducked around him and, gripping his shoulders, hoisted herself onto his back. Before he could even think to stop her, she was over the window and scrambling after Stone.
Who are these people?
Sievers knew what he had to do. Throwing both caution and incredulity to the wind, he bent his legs and launched himself at the glass partition. It was just like climbing a fence or wall, something he had done hundreds of times in his military career. The only difference was that this was no obstacle course at a training facility. This was a public building in the nation’s capital. He tried to ignore the shocked expressions of tourists who had been passing through the gallery. Some of them were taking pictures and videos which would probably go viral on the Internet in a matter of minutes, others simply pointed and stared. Forty feet below him, a smaller but no less stunned audience watched as Stone and Kasey ran across the floor of the eerily silent reading room. Muttering a curse, Sievers made his way to the nearest marble column, mounted it like it was the world’s fattest firepole, and slid down, using his palms and the soles of his shoes as friction brakes.
The pillar did not go all the way down but rested upon a similarly imposing plinth of darker stone, at least twelve feet high. He lowered himself down, dropping the remaining few feet to the floor and then whirled around just in time to see Kasey rounding the central desk, heading for the main exit on the opposite side of the circular room.
With the inertia of disbelief finally overcome, Sievers held nothing back. He sprinted across the floor of the reading room, oblivious to the frantic shouts and threats of the staff, and reached the exit just a few steps behind Kasey. He regretted now not having paid more attention to the floor plan. Kasey evidently had; she moved without pause through an anteroom and into the corridor beyond. A couple of turns later, she skidded to a halt in a small room furnished with rows of tables upon which sat bulky looking machines that looked to Sievers like computer monitors from before the days of flat-screen technology. Stone was already there, standing motionless near the center of the room, but aside from the three of them, the place was empty. There was no one behind the assistance desk and no sign of Avery.
“Where is she?” Kasey asked.
Stone’s head shake was almost imperceptible, but then he burst into motion again, darting across the room and bending over to retrieve something off the floor. He stood up, holding a smartphone in his hand. “This is hers. They left it behind so we couldn’t track her.”
“Who left it?” asked Sievers.
“Who do you think?” snarled Kasey.
Stone raised his other hand, silencing her. He tapped the phone’s screen a few times, staring at the display, then shoved it into his pocket. “Think,” he said, the word seemingly self-directed. “They can’t just manhandle her out the door. Too many witnesses.” A pause. “No, that’s the wrong question. How did they find us? How did they know we’d be here?”
Sievers had no idea why that was important. The only course of action was to call the cops and lock down the building if it wasn’t already too late.
“They might have followed us from the airport,” Kasey suggested.
Stone nodded. “They didn’t have time to plan this. A couple hours at most, but they knew that Avery was by herself. A target of opportunity.”
His eyes were flashing back and forth as the wheels turned in his head. “But why come after us at all? They already have the diary. Do they know we have the real Spear?” He shook his head. “No. Wrong question again.”
He looked up, snapped his fingers then ran over to the evidently abandoned assistance desk. Sievers followed and saw that his initial assessment was wrong. The library staffer assigned to the microfilm room had not exactly left his post; he lay crumpled in a heap behind his workstation. Stone stepped over the stricken man, not stopping to see if he was even alive, then bent over the computer terminal on the desktop and started clicking the mouse.
“Stone,” Kasey snapped. “You want to share?”
Sievers was glad that he wasn’t the only one completely in the dark.
“I’m doing a search of all the reader identification cards issued since we arrived.” Stone pointed at the screen. “There. Those are the men who have Avery.”
Sievers looked and saw a list of names with accompanying thumbnail-sized photographs. He spotted Avery at the top of the list. The next two cards, which had been issued within a few minutes of each other and just eight minutes after Avery’s, belonged to a pair of men who Sievers immediately pegged as wanna-be operators, the kind of guys that were always trying to sign on with EmergInt. Even their names looked sketchy.
Stone was already moving again, running for the exit. “Come on. We can still catch them.”
“We don’t know where they’re going!” Kasey’s shout evidently went unheard. Stone was already gone.
Kasey growled a curse and then she too was running. Sievers followed, his confusion and ire growing exponentially with each passing second. The Library complex was a maze of corridors and alcoves, and the men who had abducted Avery could have gone anywhere. They all needed to stop, assess the situation and come up with a strategy, not run around like headless chickens, but Stone seemed to be calling all the shots.
Sievers caught up to Kasey again on the stairs right outside the microfilm room, the same stairs they had climbed after arriving through the tunnel from the Madison building, but this time they were heading back down. Stone reached the bottom mere seconds ahead of them and immediately veered into another tunnel, adjacent to the one they had come in through. A sign on the wall indicated that this passage led to the John Adams Building. The tunnel appeared completely deserted. The Adams building was evidently not as big an attraction as the other structures that comprised the Library.
Stone seemed to gain new urgency as he headed into the tunnel, sprinting like an Olympic athlete, and it was all the others could do to keep up. Sievers’ gut was telling him that this was a mistake, that they were running in the wrong direction, that there was no way Stone could possibly know where Avery’s kidnappers had gone, but before he could voice these concerns, he spied movement in the distance, perhaps fifty yards away.
Two men, walking briskly in the same direction, clearly in a hurry to reach their destination. With their backs turned, there was no way to tell if they were the two men whose pictures he had seen a few moments before, but they clearly were not carrying a captive Avery between them. Then he realized that one of them was pushing something ahead of him.
A wheelchair!
Of course. They could not have smuggled in weapons with which to threaten their hostage or compel her to cooperate, and trying to manhandle her through the public building would have been equally problematic, but no one would look twice at someone in a wheelchair. In fact, people tended to unconsciously look away as if embarrassed by any display of interest in the disabled. The chair itself was strictly no frills, with the words “Property of the Library of Congress” stenciled across the back; a courtesy wheelchair, available on request for elderly or infirm visitors overcome by the daunting task of roaming the endless halls of the institution on foot. They had probably knocked her out with a sleeper hold, and then simply rolled her into the elevator, ridden down to the ground level, and headed down the lightly traveled tunnel, congratulating themselves on the brilliance and efficiency of their improvisation.
Yet Stone had figured it out in just a few seconds. That, or he was damned lucky.
The man pushing the chair broke into a run, but his partner wheeled around to face them. It was definitely one of the
men from the pictures. He struck a fighting stance, fists raised, and waited to meet Stone’s charge.
To Sievers’ amazement, Stone did not slow. Instead, as he closed with the kidnapper, he cut to the man’s left side, grazing the wall and rebounding like a ricocheted bullet. The man made a grab for him, but Stone had timed his move perfectly to avoid such an attempt. The man’s hands closed on air, and Stone kept going.
Before the man could recover his footing, Sievers and Kasey closed with him. Sievers slowed his pace, readying himself to meet the man’s next attack. He was certain Kasey would follow Stone’s example and attempt to evade rather than engage the man who outweighed her two-to-one, but to his complete astonishment, she charged ahead like a guided missile. Then, at the last instant before contact, as the man got his feet planted and his fists up, she dropped to her knees, hunching over into a protective curl, as her momentum carried her the rest of the way. She crashed into his left leg like a bowling ball, with roughly the same effect. The man flipped forward and crashed face down, right in front of Sievers, who had to leap into the air to avoid being tripped up.
Kasey was back on her feet in an instant, sprinting down the tunnel. Ahead, Stone had almost reached the man with the wheelchair. Sievers wasn’t sure what his former prisoner planned to do once he caught up. Stone was hardly an imposing specimen, physically speaking. He had incapacitated John Bowers with a couple of lucky shots, but that had more to do with Bowers’ overconfidence than Stone’s skill. Nevertheless, Sievers drew up short and whirled around to deal with the fallen kidnapper who was already trying to get back in the fight. He cut short those plans with a sharp knife-hand blow to the base of the man’s skull.
The remaining man, evidently realizing that escape was no longer possible, abruptly wheeled around, chair and all, to face his pursuers. As expected, the chair contained the unmoving form of Avery Halsey. She appeared to be unconscious, slouched back in the chair and mostly covered by a long blanket, which probably concealed tape or ropes that bound her in place.