by David Archer
“Absolutely,” Allison said. “I gave him the list of names you gave me, of our allies within the organization. None of you will be touched, I promise.”
“I’m counting on it. It’s bad enough to know that our compatriots in the conspiracy would be happy to see us dead; I hate to think we might be targeted by the good guys, too. Seriously, Allison, what about Andrews? Was that Camelot’s work?”
“Now, you know how it works,” Allison said. “I can neither confirm nor deny any such action, nor the existence of any such operative.”
Holloway chuckled. “That’s good enough for me,” she said. “I’ll be in touch.”
The call ended and Allison hung up the phone.
* * * * *
“The meeting is scheduled to take place day after tomorrow at the Lincoln Club in D.C.,” Neil said. “It’ll be held on the rooftop patio, and the interesting thing about that is that the Club is housed in a three-story building that’s surrounded by buildings that range from five to fifteen stories tall.”
“Which means,” Noah said, “that I can have an excellent line of fire. What about weapons? If it’s happening in two days, that doesn’t give me a lot of time to get a rifle and sight it in.”
“According to Wally, that problem can be solved at the gun club in Silver Spring, Maryland. You go in and ask for Billy Daniels. When you’re told he doesn’t work there anymore, you ask whatever happened to his wife, Lynette. That’s supposed to be a signal that Wally sent you and you can be trusted. They’ll set you up with any weapon you need and you can take care of sighting it right there.”
Noah looked at him for a moment. “Show me the city grid around the building,” he said. “Let’s see if we can figure out the approximate range I need to work with.”
Neil called up a map and activated the Google Earth feature, then zeroed in on where the Lincoln Club was located. As he had said, there were several taller buildings scattered around it, and Noah pointed to one of them.
“What is that?”
“That is the headquarters of the Federal Employees Auto Insurance Group. Basically, it’s a seven-story office building. The first two floors are occupied by the group itself, and everything above that is rented out. Security should be very light. Hang on a moment—yeah, they’ve got a single security guard sitting at a desk in the lobby. All three shifts are covered, but it shouldn’t be that difficult to get past him.”
“Especially if I have a little help,” Noah said. “It’ll work. From the roof of that building, maximum range should be less than three hundred yards. All right, we need to move. Marco, start loading everything into the van. As soon as we’re all packed up, we’ll check out and go drop off the rental car, and then we’re on the way to D.C.”
Everything was loaded into the minivan within half an hour, the Nissan was dropped at the rental agency thirty minutes after that, and they were on the road by ten a.m. The navigation app on Noah’s phone said it would take almost twenty-four hours to make the trip to D.C., including stops for gas and food, so Noah decreed that they would take turns driving. He wanted to be in Washington as early as possible the following day, so that he had time to acquire a rifle and get it zeroed in.
They listened to the news on the radio as they drove, and the news stories slowly went from reporting the facts to expressing the opinions of the reporters. Some thought that Borden’s death was related to his recent votes against certain regulations desired by the far left, including special protections for certain minorities. Borden was an outspoken critic of special protections for anyone, and there was a lot of speculation that someone had targeted him for that reason.
Others, however, were quick to try to connect his death with that of the president. While the official line still claimed that President Andrews had died as a result of natural misadventure, the conspiracy theorists were having a field day with it all. A number of them were already publishing what they claimed were documents hacked from various government sources, some of which seemed to indicate that the CIA may have had a hand in the president’s death.
One of those documents had a strange reference to the fact that the president was allergic to bee stings, while the rest of it was devoted to a discussion of certain unpopular measures he had endorsed. Nothing in any of them actually made any statement regarding the subject of assassination, but the conspiracy theorists were happily explaining to various reporters that it was necessary to “read between the lines.”
“Can we turn that off for a while?” Sarah asked. Noah was driving at the time, and he reached up without a word to turn off the radio. “Thank you.”
“It’s just the beginning,” Noah said. “After the strike tomorrow, it’s going to get even wilder.”
“I don’t mind the news as long as it makes some kind of sense,” Sarah replied. “When they start talking about all these wild theories, though, it just starts to give me a headache. I mean, what’s the point? They come up with all these conspiracy theories that nobody can prove, and most people won’t even believe. Can you imagine what would happen if they knew the truth?”
“Yeah,” Marco said from the seat behind her. “They’d be hunting us down. We’d all end up on death row, somewhere.”
“Not if the whole truth came out,” Neil said. “If the people knew what was really going on, we’d probably all get medals.”
“I don’t want a medal,” Jenny said. “I just want to be able to go home and do my job.”
They made a stop in Little Rock for lunch around two, running through the drive up at a fast food joint and getting back on the road. It was close to seven by the time they stopped again in Nashville, but this time they all needed a break. They went into a truck stop and sat down to eat, and both girls said they were grateful for a seat that wasn’t moving, and the men agreed.
An hour later, they filled up the gas tank and were on the road again. Neil was behind the wheel at this point, and Noah and Sarah had moved to the rear seats so that Jenny could sit up front with him. Sarah quietly pointed out to Noah that the two of them were holding hands.
“Sometimes I wonder,” Sarah said softly, “how Neil can handle knowing just how violent she really is. Of course, then I remember who I’m married to, but it isn’t the same. She goes absolutely berserk on her targets, like what she did to Borden. You don’t do that kind of thing. Do you?”
“Only if I think it’s necessary,” Noah said. “If there’s a reason to send a particular message, or if I need someone else to be terrified of what might be coming. With Jenny, though, there’s an emotional component that I don’t have. I don’t know if she actually hates the people she kills so much, or if it’s just that she’s one of those who enjoys the rush that comes from killing.”
“Do you feel that kind of a rush?” Sarah asked.
Noah nodded. “To some degree,” he said. “Violent death tends to stimulate the sex drive, for some reason. Even without emotions, I don’t seem to be immune to that effect. After I’ve killed, I experience a great deal of sexual desire. From everything I’ve read, most people feel the same way after killing, sometimes after seeing someone die.”
Sarah was quiet for a moment, then slowly nodded her head.
“I guess it’s something built into us,” he said. “I remember feeling it, after I killed Andropov. I couldn’t wait to get you alone that night, remember?”
“Yes. I was expecting it.”
Jenny took over driving around midnight, and Neil took the shotgun seat. Noah and Sarah were fast asleep in the back, and Marco had stretched himself across the two bucket seats in the middle. He was happily snoring away as they rolled through West Virginia.
Jenny was yawning by four, so Noah took over when they stopped for gas. Jenny and Neil climbed in the back and went to sleep, and Sarah moved up front, but she fell asleep again after a pretty short while.
They all began to wake up around seven, when the sun was up and bright. They stopped in Wellington, Virginia for breakfast, having
eggs and bacon and sausage at a Waffle House beside the interstate. It took them less than half an hour, and then they were back on the road once more.
Noah let Marco take over, instructing him to go right through Washington and into Maryland. He wanted to get to the gun club early, and it would still take more than an hour to get there, though they had made good time. Even with the change in time zone that cost them an hour, they rolled into Silver Springs at just after nine, and found the gun club only half an hour later.
All five of them went inside, because Noah planned to buy more than just a single rifle. Each of them was to choose a handgun and take it to the range to get used to it. Neil, who normally carried a submachine gun when he had to have a weapon on a mission, said he wanted to find a compact thirty-two caliber automatic that he could hit the target with consistently.
Noah spotted the big, bearded man who seemed to be in charge and walked directly up to him while the others were staring at handguns in the display cases.
“Hey, there,” he said. “I was wondering if Billy Daniels might be around today?”
The big man looked at him and gave him half a grin. “Man, you must have been gone for a while. Billy ain’t been here in six years.”
“Wow, really?” Noah asked. “I was really hoping to see him. Hey, you have any idea whatever happened to his wife, Lynette?”
The grin got wider. “She ran off with some guy named Wally,” the guy said. “You know Wally?”
“Actually, I do. Good friend of mine, he’s the one who told me to stop in here.”
The grin turned into a smile and the fellow stuck out a hand. “I’m Stan Dorman,” he said. “Any friend of Wally’s is a friend of mine. What can I get for you?”
“I need a rifle, something that can handle a range of two to three hundred yards. Needs to be something takedown, something easily concealed.”
Stan nodded his head. “Got just the thing,” he said. “You ever seen the Paratus 16?”
“Yeah,” Noah said. “You got one handy?”
Stan motioned him to follow and stepped through the door behind the counter. Noah had to move around it, then followed and found Stan waiting for him in an indoor firing range.
“The Paratus 16 is one of the best takedown sniper rifles in the world today,” Stan said. He led the way through the range and into a separate section with a single lane, then stepped through yet another door and came out a moment later with what looked like a camera case for a medium-sized video camera. He set the bag on the shelf at the head of the lane and opened it up, then pointed inside. “Originally designed for SWAT teams and military, it’s one of the most effective and accurate takedown rifles I’ve ever seen. This is one of the brand-new ones we just got in a couple days ago. It’s chambered in .308 Winchester, there’s a box in the case. Load it up and see what you think.”
Noah stepped to the shelf and reached into the case, picking up the receiver and folding out the stock. He reached back inside and picked up the barrel, slid into place and screwed down the locking collar, then added the fore-guard and flipped the lever that clamped it solid. Last, he took out the Nightforce NXS scope and clamped it onto the top rail.
He laid the rifle down on the shelf and picked up the magazine, then opened the box of ammunition and quickly loaded twenty rounds. He snapped the magazine into place in the rifle and aimed through the scope at the man-shaped target hanging at the other end of the lane, then squeezed the trigger three times in rapid succession.
He lowered the rifle and looked at the target, and Stan touched a button on the wall. The target came rushing toward Noah, and he saw that all three rounds had penetrated just where the heart would have been.
“Again,” Noah said. The target zipped back to the other end of the lane and Noah snatched up the rifle and fired six more times. When he set the rifle down, Stan brought the target back again. This time, there were six new holes. One through each eye, one in the center of the forehead and three overlapping ones where the nose would have been.
Noah turned and looked at Stan. “This is sweet,” he said. “How much?”
“Sixty-five hundred,” Stan said. “It’s a special model, no serial numbers. If you lose it, it’s not going to come back on any of us.”
Noah nodded. “I’ll take it. I need another box of ammunition, as well, and a spare magazine.”
Stan went back into the other room and returned with a magazine and the box of bullets while Noah was taking the gun down and returning it to its case. Everything fit inside the case, and they carried it back to the front of the store.
The others were going in and out of the firing range, checking out the handguns they liked. Sarah had chosen her favorite Beretta nine millimeter, Marco had a very nice Kimber forty-five, and Neil was having a blast with the little thirty-two. Jenny chose a Colt 380 Mustang.
By the time they were finished, the total came to just over eleven thousand dollars. Noah counted out the cash without a word, and they got back into the minivan and drove away.
Chapter TWENTY-THREE
Allison was getting nervous. It had been two full days since Borden was killed, and the members of the Ascension Project were crawling all over her.
Of course, officially, she was unaware of the conspiracy. The senators and congressmen who were calling her constantly were part of the new committee set up to oversee E & E operations, and they were demanding answers about Noah and Team Camelot.
Unfortunately, Allison had no answers to give them. All of her reports agreed that Noah Wolf and his team had vanished, had taken advantage of the opportunity when she was arrested to disappear and start new lives of their own.
Solomon Perkowski wasn’t convinced, though. He had gotten hold of some of Noah’s previous after action reports and let it be known that he suspected Noah as Borden’s assassin. Allison argued that Noah would never have torn the man up the way he was found, and only thanked her lucky stars that they had not realized Jenny Lance was also missing. Allison had enlisted Molly’s help to scrub any reference to Team Cinderella from their records, and so far it seemed to be working.
She finally broke down and called Senator Holloway. “Barbara, it’s Allison,” she said. “Can we talk?”
There was a beep on the line, and then Holloway said, “Okay, I’m secure. What’s going on?”
“What’s going on is Perkowski,” Allison said. “I don’t know how, but he’s figured out that Noah is involved, which means he’s suspecting me. If he starts talking to the rest of them about his suspicions, this whole thing could blow up in our faces. Remember, you’re the one who vouched for me and got me back in my office.”
“Damn,” Holloway said. “Perkowski is trying to position himself to take over the project, now that Andrews is gone. The trouble is, I’m afraid he’s going to make it. Just about everybody else is afraid of him, because he knows where too many bodies are buried. And yes, I do mean that in the literal sense. Some of these people have skeletons in their closet that are still rattling, and a lot of them went to Perkowski to help cover up the messes. He ended up with an awful lot of power, simply because he knows enough to put some of them away forever.”
Allison leaned back in her chair, the phone clamped to her ear. “Then we need him gone. I can get a message to Noah and ask him to put Perkowski high on his list. That’s the only way I can see to nip this in the bud before it becomes a bigger problem.”
“Okay, and it’ll help throw the project into another uproar. By the way, there is some sort of meeting tonight among a few of the members. I don’t know for sure what it’s about, but it could have something to do with stepping up the timetable. Unfortunately, I’m not high enough in the ranks to be included in such discussions, so I’m hoping that Duckworth will be able to learn something. Gibbs is trying, as well, but he’s about the most junior member of the whole thing, right now. I’ll let you know if I learn anything.”
The phone went dead and Allison replaced the handset. She waited o
nly a moment, then pushed the button to ring Molly and asked her to come to her office.
“We need to send a message to Noah,” she said. “Senator Perkowski is starting to become a problem. He keeps asking for more information about Noah, and he’s asked me point blank several times if Noah was the one who took out Borden.”
“Then Perkowski needs to go soon? Okay, I’ll send it off. Hopefully, Neil will get it quickly and they can shut this guy down.”
“Go, make it happen.”
Molly left her office and Allison leaned back in her chair. She wondered how soon Perkowski could be eliminated, because she suspected he was getting close to having the same thoughts about her.
* * * * *
The meeting at the Lincoln Club was scheduled for six p.m., but Noah wanted to be in place before it ever got started. At five p.m., Jenny and Neil walked through the front doors of the insurance group building and smiled at the security guard sitting behind the desk.
“Hi,” she said brightly. “I’m Yolanda Rivers, a reporter for D.C. Interrogator, the TV show on the History Channel. I’m doing a story on the security guards’ union, and I’m going around to local buildings and speaking to their security guards. Can you give me a few minutes of your time to answer some questions?”
The security guard, a chubby, balding man in his forties, smiled back. “Why, sure, little darlin’,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
Jenny turned up the wattage on her smile. “Oh, that’s awesome,” she said. “I’ve been having a rough time getting any interviews. Well, at least getting any interviews with someone who would look good on camera. You don’t mind if my cameraman sets up, do you?”
The guard shrugged and kept smiling. “Fine by me,” he said. “I’m gonna be on TV?”
“Yep. This episode will air in about three weeks, so you want to tell all your friends to watch it.” She winked at him. “You never know, some TV producer might spot you and decide to make you a star.”