“If you think I’m going to confess to you at this goddamn diner you’re crazy, Agent Kershaw. Besides, what do you think is waiting for you out there?” Cam motioned toward the parking lot and the world that extended far beyond it. “After what happened today, you think the CIA is gonna let you off the hook?”
Cam covered his breakfast in syrup and began cutting away with his fork.
“I’m a federal agent, Cameron. I’m not in danger. Or is this all just part of your escape plan?”
Cam found amusement in the bluff. He leaned over his plates and spoke in a low tone. “I’m a former Navy SEAL. Hell, I trained some of the fiercest fighting machines the world has ever known. Do you really think you have me here? I’m one punch away from never seeing you again.”
The death stare sent shivers down Rand’s spine.
With that, the two adversaries continued eating their breakfast without revisiting the subject—or any subject for that matter. Instead, they each contemplated their next move in silence. For Cam, it was how to get rid of the pesky agent. For Rand, it was how to bring his prisoner in without getting himself killed. They were at a crossroads.
After their meal, there was a delicate standoff at the Tahoe.
“I’m driving. It’s my truck,” Rand finally snapped.
“Fine, but I’m still hot,” Cam threatened with a tap of his waistband.
It was the first thing they’d agreed on since the shootout. Rand toiled with the idea of heading straight for the Philadelphia field office—a mere thirty minutes away—but instead chose to pull the SUV aimlessly out onto the street, with no clear destination in mind.
“I need a convenience store,” demanded Cam.
“For what?”
“A phone.”
“Okay, but I thought you said no phones? Mine’s in your pack.”
“Not our phones. I need a burner.”
“Fair enough,” replied Rand. “Ya know, at some point within the next ten minutes, I’m going to call in to my team. I can’t just let you walk away from this, Cameron. There’s too much at stake.”
“Like what?”
“Like my entire career.”
At the next red light, Rand jerked the Tahoe into a gas station and pulled into an open space. Cameron jumped out and hurried inside, silently hoping the agent would simply pull away and disappear forever.
He marched to the counter and paid cash for a prepaid flip-phone. He grabbed his change from the cashier and broke left toward the bathrooms, then slipped out the back exit. As the metal door closed behind him, Cam made his way beyond a dumpster to a narrowly wooded area.
He flipped open the phone and dialed James’ number. C’mon…c’mon!
“Hello?”
“James!”
“Cam, where the hell are you?”
“I’m fine. I’m in Mexico,” he lied. “I just wanted to—”
“They came, Cam.”
“Who came?”
“Two local detectives. Except I don’t think they were local detectives, if you know what I mean.”
“They weren’t. What did they want?”
“Exactly what you said, they asked when we had last spoke and if I had any idea where you or Michael were. I knew you were with Michael, you liar!”
“Listen to me, James. These men are very dangerous and—”
“Then why did you drag me into this?” James scolded.
“I didn’t know where else to turn.”
A brief silence followed, only to be broken by James’ update. “The photos you sent. I don’t know if you noticed, but there’s one man in particular who’s in all of them.”
“No, I didn’t catch that,” Cam replied with concern.
“Well, he is. The link you attached to the National Archives photo, it was taken in the White House. So, I checked the visitor logs for that day, February 3rd, 1960.”
“How the hell did you do that?”
“It’s public record, moron. Of all the men scheduled to meet with Eisenhower that day, only one of them wasn’t a cabinet member or Pentagon official.”
“Who?”
“Dr. Marco Damion, an Italian physicist, worked on a lot of US government projects in his late-twenties and thirties. I looked him up, it says he’s living in France now. Retired.”
“James, you’re a fucking genius!”
“Listen, I’m out. You can’t call me again, do you understand?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t be sorry, bro. Just be safe. Take care of Michael and for Christ’s sake do the right thing—whatever that may be.”
“I will, I promise.”
“Be careful, Cameron.”
“Bye, James.”
Cam had never intended to put James in danger and instantly regretted ever calling him in the first place.
It was time to break free from his FBI friend. As he turned to creep further into the shrubs and over to a library behind the store, he was met by Rand—standing firmly against a tree with a .40 caliber aimed at his forehead. Damnit, I left my bag in the truck!
“Going somewhere?”
“Jesus Christ,” Cam complained.
“This is it, Cameron. Toss the gun on the ground.”
“Or what?”
“I’ve put a year of my life into this moment. Don’t think for a second I won’t put holes in your kneecaps and drag you back to Vegas. The fun’s over, drop the gun.”
Cam knew the agent had him. The fun was indeed over. He was out of options and maybe, just maybe, the FBI gave him a better shot at survival than anything else. He slowly reached for his 9mm, and for a split-second considered squeezing off a quick round at Rand. But his better judgment prevailed, and he dropped the pistol onto the ground at the agent’s feet.
“Good,” Rand said, as he leaned down to pick it up. “Hands behind your back.”
Cam followed the agent’s orders and allowed the zip ties to be secured around his wrists behind him. The pair made their way around the building and piled back into the Tahoe.
Rand yanked the burner phone from Cam’s pocket and held it in his hand as he pulled away. He immediately dialed the Las Vegas field office—Steve Brodsky’s line.
“Steve, it’s Kershaw. I’ve got Cameron Lyle in custody.”
“Jesus, Rand, what the hell is going on out there?”
“It’s been crazy. I pulled Lyle from a standoff with another team, we think it was CIA. A firefight ensued and I lost all my comms. I’m heading to Philly now.”
“Damn right you are!” Brodsky sounded good and pissed off. “Get your ass to the local field office immediately! And yes, that was the CIA. They’ve got agents swarming our offices. You are to bring Lyle in and hand him over to them. This is officially out of our jurisdiction.”
“You have to be kidding me!” Rand shot back. “This is our guy, Steve!”
“Well, apparently, he’s their guy, too. They’ve had him under surveillance for months in connection to an international gun-smuggling operation. You’ll get your shot at him, but he’s theirs for now. Nothing you can do.”
“That’s all bullshit, Steve. I’m bringing him back to Vegas and we’ll get the brother, too.”
“It’s not happening, Rand. This is a direct order, and it’s not worth me losing my job over. Take Cameron Lyle to the Philly office immediately!”
And before the frustrated agent could argue further, the line went dead.
Rand knew better. His mind spun through variou
s options and potential next moves. Rand Kershaw the FBI agent was bringing Cameron Lyle in and handing him over to the CIA. But Rand Kershaw the human being was not about to send a decorated war veteran to his certain death. He peered over at Cameron, who sat quietly next to him, staring out the window as the world passed by. Rand had read his military files—the man had saved lives, risked everything for his country. He was a hero.
And in that moment, the Wynn and Hamilton heists meant a little less to Rand Kershaw—the human being.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Michael caught the first glimpse of his train cornering the overpass above Sorrento Drive. An anxious curiosity started to run over him. He hadn’t spoken with Cam since leaving the States and did his best to assume that all was going according to plan.
He stood passively as the train’s doors parted, then stepped off the ledge and onto DART #33 along with a dozen commuters. The train set out and took him along the scenic cliffs overlooking the Irish Sea. Beyond his window, Michael took note of the sparkling water, dancing beneath the hovering sun. It was his first moment of calm since arriving in Ireland.
As his mind drifted, he caught the intercom announcement for Blackrock Station, where he got off and observed the passengers who disembarked with him. The stop at Blackrock was no more than counter-surveillance tradecraft.
Michael rested on a bench and awaited the next train, which would take him to Connolly Station before a short bus ride to Dublin Airport. It was time to go home.
. . .
As the minutes passed, it was clear Rand had no destination in mind. He was frozen in his thoughts. The Tahoe wandered aimlessly through the outlying communities east of Philadelphia on the New Jersey side of the river.
“Let me guess…CIA’s waiting for me in Philly?” Cam reasoned. “Your ass is on the line, and you’re trying to figure out what to do with me. Am I close?”
“I’m bringing you in,” Rand assured. “Why did you do it, Cameron?”
Cam grunted. “I have no idea. We were hired to steal it off the ship and return it to its rightful owner, who I now believe to be dead.”
“Michael was in on it, too, wasn’t he? Where is he now?”
“Someplace safe. Far away from here.”
“What about Trip?”
Cam took a moment of pause. Hearing his friend’s name sent shivers of guilt down his spine.
“He’s dead,” the soldier finally confirmed.
Rand closed his eyes with regret. “I’m sorry to hear that. Where did he die? I didn’t think anyone was killed aboard the freighter.”
“It wasn’t the freighter,” explained Cam. “He was killed when we were ambushed at the handoff.”
“And the thing you stole?”
Cameron hesitated. “Well, how about before you turn me in, I show it to you? Turn left.”
Rand gave him a pensive stare, then bucked the Tahoe left off Hadden Avenue and pushed north on 676 until they crossed the Delaware River again, back into Pennsylvania.
“Pull over here,” Cameron directed.
Without argument, Rand banked the Chevy into a gravel parking lot. It was dusk and a painted sunset cast a glow above the Philadelphia skyline. It would be dark soon and Cam was intent on staying mobile. Surely, he was the subject of a multi-state, all-points bulletin by now. And the last thing he wanted was for Rand to receive backup.
They parked in a lot behind the Electric Factory, a standing-room music venue that was starting to fill with patrons. Rand cut the zip ties from Cam’s wrists and the two men slipped out of the lot and made their way on foot down 7th Street. It was a pivotal moment for Special Agent Rand Kershaw. He paused on the sidewalk and turned around to take one last look at the parking lot behind them. The weight of the world seemed to press down on his tired shoulders. He was taking a huge risk following Cam into the concrete jungle of Philadelphia, but he wasn’t about to let his suspect slip away.
They continued their walk below the 676 interchange, southbound through Franklin Square and several blocks further until they reached Chestnut Street. From there, they broke left and marched another block before coming to a halt.
“Why here?” asked Rand.
“I just wanted to see it one more time.”
The two men stood in the shadows of Independence Hall. The last of the tourists had shuffled out and were now meandering around with maps and cameras in hand. Cam stood straight with his arms at his sides, staring across the street with childish pride. The Liberty Bell glared back at him from behind her glass encasing.
She’s beautiful, he thought.
For the next minute, they stood in silence. It was a moment of brevity they both sorely needed, and the great symbol of freedom and independence did not disappoint.
Rand had never seen her in person. Cam, however, had spent countless hours of his youth standing in this very spot. There was a connection he could not explain. He had been recruited at a small Navy office not far from here. He remembered it like it was yesterday—the day he signed his life away to the US government, grabbed a hot dog from a street vendor on Walnut, then walked into the Liberty Bell Center and placed his hand on her copper side. He’d returned many times in his life. But now, as he stood in her presence yet again, he wondered if it would be their last moment together.
Cam silently bid his old friend farewell and moved up the sidewalk. With Rand hot on his heels, he hailed a cab at the corner of Independence Hall East and Chestnut.
“Where to?” the young driver asked.
“The airport. International terminal,” replied Cam.
“No!” Rand corrected from the sidewalk. “We’re not doing this!”
“Get in, Special Agent Kershaw. I’m going to show you what all the fuss is about.”
Rand reluctantly got in the backseat. “I can’t let you flee the country. Please don’t make me shoot you,” he pleaded under his breath.
“I promise no one is getting shot. And I’m not fleeing the country.” The lie felt easy to Cam.
“If you put me in danger, I’ll kill you.”
“Fine.”
After a few passing minutes, Cam took stock of his situation and thought of his family. He needed to know if Hannah made it out with the girls. He needed to know they were okay.
“Give me the burner,” he finally asked. “I need to make a call.”
Rand reached into his pocket and handed over the small phone.
Cam dialed a number by heart.
“Hello?” a concerned voice answered.
Cam’s eyes began to well. “Hannah, it’s me.”
“Cam! Oh my God! I’ve been so worried. Where are you, baby?”
“I’m okay—”
“No one’s been up here. We’re safe and sound. The girls are safe.” She was crying now.
“I love you so much,” he granted. “I never meant for any of this, I promise.”
Cam finally broke down. He was gasping for air, doing his best to hold back the tears.
“I know, baby. It’s okay,” she sobbed. “We just want to see you.”
Cam clenched his eyes closed. “I miss you and the girls so much. Can you put Abigail on?”
“Of course.” Hannah shuffled the phone around as tiny footsteps drew closer to Cam’s ear.
“Daddy?” the small voice said.
“Hey doodle-bug, it’s me. Are you having fun at the cabin?”
“Yeah, but it’s boring without you,” she replied. “I wanna go fishing, but Mommy doesn’t fish so good.”
“No, she sure doesn’t,” he chuckled. “I’ll
be there soon and we’ll do some real fishing.”
“Okay, Daddy! Are you on your way?”
“Not yet. I need to go help Uncle Michael right now. But we’ll try to get there soon, okay?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Can you put your sister on the phone?”
The phone muffled yet again and seconds later the six-year-old began breathing heavily into it.
Cam’s smile spoke a thousand words. “Hi Lindsay, it’s Daddy.”
“Hi, Daddy.”
“Is everything going good up there?” he asked in a sweet, fatherly voice.
“Yes.”
“Good. I miss you.”
“I’m scared,” she mumbled into the phone.
“I know, honey, but there’s nothing to be scared of. Mommy won’t let anything bad happen to you, I promise.”
“Okay. I caught butterflies today. The pretty yellow ones you like.”
“Oh, that sounds fun. I wish I was there to see them. I love those yellow butterflies.”
“Yeah. Me too,” she giggled.
“I love you so much, Lindsay.”
“Love you too, Daddy. Here’s Mommy.” And without a goodbye, she handed the phone back to her mother.
“You girls go outside and play,” Hannah was heard telling them. “Cam?”
“Yeah?”
“When can we go home?”
“I’ll let you know something soon,” he replied.
Hannah understood. The escape plan that took her and the children to the mountains was only to be executed in the most dangerous of situations. Surely something terrible had happened.
“Honey, is everyone okay?” she asked.
“Michael’s traveling, but he’s fine. We lost Trip.”
Hannah closed her eyes and bit her lip. “Oh, Cameron, I’m so sorry. Am I ever going to see you again?” she whispered.
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