by L. T. Ryan
"It wasn't a tripwire," Brett said. "This place is wired to blow if that door opens."
Chapter 91
Washington, D.C.
"HANG ON, MIA," Jack said, his cheek pressed against the door.
Brett followed each wire as far as it went. They all disappeared into the floor or behind the walls.
"Someone planned this well," Brett said.
"Or took advantage of what someone had already done," Jack said.
Brett shrugged as he considered this. "Regardless, they wouldn't put her in there with no way to get her out. She's their meal ticket. They have to keep her alive for a while. Even if they planned on killing her, it had to look natural. I'd say that blowing up in a former secret CIA office building doesn't qualify."
"I'm sure there's a way, but that doesn't help us." Jack looked up at the drop ceiling. He turned and walked toward a desk. "I'm going up and over."
They dragged two desks and placed one against the wall, then stacked the other on top. Jack climbed up. He knocked a ceiling tile out of the way.
"Not much room," he said as he stuck his head through. "Dammit, it's walled to the roof."
"Christ. I told you, that room was used for discipline at times. Guess they figured it might have to be used to detain someone, so they locked it in."
Jack hopped down. "Let's check the other side."
They moved the desks, stacked one on top of the other again, and Jack climbed up. He pushed a tile out of the way and stuck his head through the square opening. Again, he found that the wall extended to the ceiling.
"Maybe roof access?" he said after he hopped down.
Brett shook his head. "Doubtful. Why wall the room to the roof if only to allow someone to move in and out?"
"I can think of a few reasons, but none that make sense under the scope of the agency's plans here."
They stood there, staring at the wires protruding from the wall.
"You think it's bullet board?" Jack asked.
"One way to find out, but that's probably not the best idea."
He was right. They could have Mia get down on the floor, but one deflected bullet could end her life. It wasn't worth the risk.
Instead, Jack kicked the wall. It gave a bit, cracked a little, but that was it. It wasn't going to break.
"The device, if there's a device, is on the inside." Brett knelt down and inspected where the wires went in. "This could be old. Might have nothing to do with this. They left her here, so I'm betting they didn't plan on being found."
"Then there's only one thing left to do."
Brett slid out of Jack's way as he flew forward with a kick that landed inches to the side of the handle. The door bowed inward, but the lock held. Jack kicked again. The door flung open. The room didn't explode.
In the middle of the room was a wooden table with four chairs pushed under. He looked past it. Saw Mia, in the corner, huddled with her arms around her legs and her face buried against her knees.
"Mia," Jack said.
She wouldn't look up.
"It's me, Mia. Jack."
She cried softly as he approached. He knelt down and ran his hand through her hair.
"Did they hurt you?" he asked.
She looked up, big blue eyes, tears streaking down her cheek.
"They killed my mum," she said.
Jack nodded. "I know, Mia. I know."
Brett said, "Jack, we need to get her out of here. I know some guys we can have watch the building. Let's get her to safety."
Jack scooped Mia up and rose. She clung to his left side. He held his pistol in his right hand. Brett let them out, then checked under the table to see if any effects had been left behind.
"Be right out," Brett said.
Jack continued forward, toward the first hallway door. A few feet from it, it swung away from him. Stunned, he stopped.
So did the man on the other side when he saw Jack carrying Mia. The guy scrambled for his holstered pistol.
Jack could've told the guy to stop or freeze or get down or hands up.
He didn't.
The gun went off. The bullet slammed into the guy's forehead, between his eyes. He fell to his knees, then collapsed forward.
Brett ran past Jack, stepped over the body and went into the hall with the MP5 at the ready. The corridor must've been free of danger, because he turned back and looked down at the body, the question of who was the dead guy forming at his mouth.
"Monaco," Jack said.
Chapter 92
Northern Virginia.
THEY LEFT TOWN with Mia in the back seat. She fell asleep before they hit the interstate. With no safe house to go to, they pulled into a parking lot and both men started working their phones. Neither Sasha nor Brandon had any information on Frank.
Brett, however, had better luck.
"You'll never believe this," he said.
"What is it?"
"The agency absorbed Frank. Not only that, he's been put in charge of Special Activities SOG."
"Son of a bitch cut a deal."
"Most likely, and now he's untouchable."
"Not to me."
"Yes, to you, Jack. Jesus, you got Mia. You've ended their attempt to take her, and steal her money. I think you need to let this go."
Jack looked in on his daughter, still sleeping in the back seat.
"Would you?" he said.
"Honestly? No. But I'd be smart about it. You try to pull that off now, they'll know it's you."
Jack reached into his pocket and wrapped his hand around the cell phone he swiped off Monaco. The only one who had answers now was Frank. And Jack was intent on getting them out of the man. The cell had buzzed twice already, presumably because they had set times to communicate, and Monaco was M.I.A.
It wouldn't be long until Frank paid a visit to the abandoned building.
Or sent a team.
On the chance Frank was tracking the device, Jack switched it off. Although, he thought there might be a chance the agency could still track it down. In a way, he welcomed it.
"So, what now, Jack?"
He looked over at Brett. "Guess you're off the hook. But I wonder if your professional credentials are ruined now."
Brett laughed. "Most will never hear about this. In fact, I think most who have are dead now. With the dissolution of the SIS, and the termination of some of the top black ops operators, I'm assuming they've pulled up stakes. Moved on. You know?"
Jack did. He assumed the same. He could go on, and they'd never realize he was alive. There was one problem with that. Mia. To protect the girl, he had to be out in the open, at least until he had her taken care of.
"I do have a proposal, though," Brett said.
"I'm listening."
"Been thinking about expanding my business. Maybe take on a partner. I know you and Bear have pretty much gone your separate ways, at least in business. So, if you're interested, I'm officially offering."
The life would never leave Jack. He knew that. But he had to make an effort to leave it. For a while, at least.
"Appreciate it," he said, glancing over at Mia. "But for now I have to pass."
"You seriously going to play daddy with her?"
He shrugged. "Don't know if I'll make the best father. But until I have her settled, I have to do what's best for her."
"Perhaps afterward, then?" Brett extended his hand.
Jack reached out. "I'll never say never, so, perhaps."
A red Jeep Wrangler pulled into the parking lot, flashed its highs, and pulled to a stop.
"That's my ride." Brett handed Jack the car keys and a slip of paper. "Take the car. On the paper is my secure phone, email account, and messaging terminal. Reach out any time. About the business opportunity, or for any other reason."
Jack nodded as Brett walked past. Wondered if they'd ever cross paths again. If so, he hoped it wouldn't be because one of them had orders to kill the other. The Jeep drove off.
Lingering in the parking lot seemed a bad idea, so Jack
got inside the car and started the engine. Mia stirred in the backseat.
"Jack?"
"Yeah?"
"Where are we going?"
"Someplace safe for a few days."
He checked the glove box. Brett had left behind a roll of cash and an extra pistol.
Jack left the parking lot, headed west. He stopped at the next shopping center he found. Inside the general purpose store, he purchased a tent and a few other camping supplies. Two hours later, he had a spot at a state park outside Charlottesville, Virginia.
He wanted to stay there with Mia for a month.
That couldn't happen.
There were things he still had to take care of.
Chapter 93
Washington, D.C.
SIMPLE, YET EFFECTIVE. That was how Beck had sold the plan to everyone involved. With the inside information Paolo and Hood had provided, gaining access to the compound would be a hundred times easier. They knew the locations of the scouts. They knew the communication channels used to alert inside personnel. They'd started watching the outer perimeter armed guards, taking note of switch times, when new sentries would come from the compound to relieve those who had been on duty.
The opportune strike time, according to Beck. The compound would be at its weakest. Guards positioned at the entrances would be expecting those outside to return from their shifts. They would not be as vigilant when FBI and Secret Service, dressed as Charles's armed guards, approached with full knowledge of the compound's layout and entry procedures.
When the meeting adjourned, Howell tapped Clarissa on the shoulder. As she glanced back, he nodded and gestured toward the hall. She rose and followed him to the stairwell where they were out of earshot.
"Harris is dirty as hell, but I can't prove it," Howell said.
Clarissa cast a look to the meeting room. Harris stood outside the room, arm propped against the door frame. Coffee in his other hand. Shelton stood next to him, arms crossed, engaging the detective in conversation.
"And now he knows our plans." Clarissa's pulse quickened at the thought of betrayal.
"Which is why I suggest you guys detain him."
Clarissa caught Beck's gaze and motioned him over.
"What is it?" Beck asked.
"Harris," Howell said. "I don't have enough to get the guy kicked off the NYPD or tossed in jail, but I can tell you that his relationship with Charles goes way beyond informant. After all, Charles is well past that stage. No point in meeting with the guy if there isn't some kind of exchange going on."
Beck looked up at the ceiling as though it held the answer.
Howell reached into his pocket and produced a device smaller than a cell phone. "It's a sweeper. You run it past him, and if he has a recording device on him, it'll light up. But, Beck, listen to me. You better be able to detain him until we're done with all parts of this. If he gets out of this building and relays that information, we might as well pack it up."
"He's not going anywhere." Beck took the device and started toward Shelton and Harris.
The look the FBI agents shared told Clarissa they were more than convinced by what they had discovered.
Time seemed to slow down. The vent above piped out cold, stale air. It chilled the sweat that had broken out on her forehead.
Harris had a lot to lose. And when men were in that position, Clarissa knew they could react unpredictably. Armed, the detective might choose to kill himself after taking out as many of them as he could.
"Detective," Beck said. "A word before you go?"
Shelton took that as his cue and backed up a few feet. Beck reached out like he wanted to shake hands with Harris. Instead, he waved the device in front of the guy. It went off near Harris's chest. The detective backed into the wall, arms out to his side. He could go either way from there.
Clarissa reached for her pistol. Howell did the same.
"The hell is going on here?" Harris said.
"What's in your shirt pocket?" Beck said.
Clarissa and Howell moved forward. Shelton had positioned himself on the other side of Harris. The detective was pinned. Nowhere to run unless he managed to bust through a few walls. And with bulletproof drywall, that wouldn't be too effective.
Harris grabbed his shirt.
Clarissa and Howell both stopped and drew their firearms. The look on Harris's face as his head swiveled toward them was unclear. Panic? Fear? And if fear, why? Because he knew he'd been busted?
"See," Harris said. "Nothing in there."
Beck grabbed Harris's shirt with both hands and yanked outward. Buttons flew and bounced on the hard floor. And taped to the detective's chest, right over his heart, was a small black box.
"Has that been transmitting?" Beck said.
Shelton moved in and disarmed the detective.
Harris said nothing. The panic and fear had vanished. His cheeks were red. Lips drawn tight. Nostrils flared. Brows arched down toward his nose.
Beck ripped the device off Harris's chest. He tossed it to Clarissa. "Take this down to Miriam and have her figure out its capabilities."
They placed Harris in cuffs as she passed. She could see in his eyes that he knew she'd been the one to question his motivations. He'd been the one to send the men to D.C. to attack her. She bit down the anger and continued to the elevators.
AN HOUR LATER, Beck knocked on her office door.
"Miriam just emailed me," she said.
"What's the verdict?"
"Had the entire meeting recorded." She looked away. "We would have walked right into a trap had we not looked into him."
Beck lowered himself into a chair. A whiff of his aftershave blew past her. He leaned forward and draped his arm along the edge of the desk.
"Things go like that," he said. "You've seen firsthand how it can happen. Money and power corrupt. I'm sure Harris is just the tip. Who knows how many are on DeCosta's payroll? Cops. Judges. Politicians." He looked back at the empty hallway. "Federal agents."
She glanced over his shoulder. It wasn't the first time she'd considered the possibility that someone in the Secret Service could be turned. She'd undergone a battery of psychological tests, in part to determine if she was susceptible to doing just that. Every five years she'd have to go through it again. If she stayed with them that long.
"The device had no broadcasting capabilities," Clarissa said.
"Suspected as much. He'd have guessed at the curtain we have around the place. Any data he tried to broadcast out would have flagged. Busted for sure."
"Think he knows someone on the inside?"
Beck waved her off. "Doubtful. He's likely aware of the precautions taken now. That's all."
She licked her lips and swallowed hard. "Did you ask about -"
"The men who attacked you?" He paused and waited for her to nod. "He wouldn't talk, period. You and I both know he had something to do with that. At some point, he'll trade information, and we'll get that out of him. Even if only to drop a few charges against him and get the attackers' names in exchange."
Beck rose to leave. He stopped in the doorway. "You and I will be leading the raid on DeCosta's office in Manhattan. We're going to leave early, so make sure you get some rest tonight."
She forced a smile. Rest hadn't come easy the past few nights. Perhaps it never would again. Not as long as she teamed up with Beck.
Chapter 94
Washington, D.C.
THE HARDEST PART had been trying to find somewhere for Mia. Even harder than that, was that he had failed to. So Jack brought her back to town.
The best decision?
No.
But the situation couldn't linger any longer. He had everything in place. Sasha had flown out that morning and was set to meet them soon. She'd take Mia.
Brandon had wormed his way into the phone Jack took off Monaco and now made it look like he was somewhere other than outside the unmarked agency building on the west side of D.C.
He'd switched the phone on a few hours ago.
Placed a couple calls to dummy numbers. It worked, because after the second call, Frank called.
Jack ignored it.
Too soon.
But not for Brandon. He locked on Frank's signal tight enough that he could tell when the guy dropped his pants to his ankles to take a crap.
The other cell phone Jack had in the car rang. He reached for it. Answered while looking back at Mia. She sat in the back seat, coloring, headphones on listening to a kid's CD mix he'd picked up when he purchased the camping gear.
Brandon said, "Jack, he's on the move. Gone from his floor down to the parking garage."
"OK. Let me know when he's approaching the street. I'll standby."
There was a long pause. Brandon's wheezing breath overtook the line. The guy had problems with humidity. Wherever he'd moved to, Jack figured it was on the east coast somewhere. Maybe a bit further south than Pennsylvania, where he'd lived when his house burned down.
"All right, he's on the move. Closing in on the street."
A Cadillac appeared from the side alley. Frank sat behind the wheel. He checked for oncoming traffic, then pulled out, crossed the road, and headed away from Jack.
"I got him," Jack said. "I'm gonna trail, but hang back. You be my eyes, OK?"
"Yessir."
For ten minutes, Brandon relayed Frank's turns as he continued west, out of the city and into Virginia. Sasha beeped through on the line. Jack ignored it. He had to, at least until they had determined Frank's destination.
The man continued on, deeper into the country. Did he know Jack was on his tail? When Frank turned onto a dirt road, Jack could only presume so.
This was his only chance, and it was about to be blown.
Jack checked his mirror and confirmed Mia was buckled in. Then he hit the gas, made the turn, raced toward Frank's Cadillac.
Red brake lights lit up. Jack slammed into the right side and turned the other car parallel. He hopped out, pistol aimed at Frank's door. But the guy wasn't upright.
Jack pulled the door open. The maneuver had caused enough of a jolt that Frank whipped forward and slammed the bridge of his nose into his steering wheel. Blood poured from the cut and his nostrils. His face had already begun swelling.