“Then what? You kill him?”
“If it comes to that, yes. Remember Agent Quest, this is a matter of national security. We’ll do whatever we have to do to end this. If it makes you feel any better, I’m sincerely hoping Commander Egan will surrender peacefully. He is first and foremost a decorated soldier.”
“Who’s being hunted by the very people who created him and trained him to kill.”
Hallier was taken aback. “You’re not defending his actions at the University, are you?”
Jordan shook her head. “I’m just pointing out the obvious.”
“Which is?”
“You went too far.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“That perhaps some things are best left alone. Maybe we don’t need super-soldiers like Commander Egan after all.”
“Spoken like a true civilian, Agent Quest,” Hallier replied. “I can assure you that if you knew what I know you wouldn’t feel that way. Do you have any idea how many foreign operatives are at work in this country as we speak, trying to undermine our way of life? Tens of thousands. I won’t tell you the actual number because you probably wouldn’t believe it. The only way we’ll ever win the war against this type of subversive intelligence is to stay one step ahead of our enemies. Developing and deploying assets like Commander Egan enables us to do just that.”
“The problem is he’s no longer under your control, is he?” Jordan countered. “Which is exactly why we find ourselves here, right now.”
Hallier folded his arms. “Let me ask you a question, agent. Do your children sleep well at night?”
Jordan nodded. “Like babies.”
“Do you know why that is?”
“I’m sure you’re going to tell me,” Jordan replied.
“It’s because people like me make sure they have nothing to worry about. They’ll get up in the morning, have breakfast, go off to school… all without a care in the world. If you knew how many times we’ve come within a breath of losing that peace you’d probably shit yourself. You wouldn’t let your children out of your sight ever again, not even for a minute. Creating soldiers like Commander Egan isn’t just an ego stroke for DARPA, it’s become mandatory; a necessary evil if we’re to maintain our position as a world power.”
Collins called out to Hallier. “Sir, we’re good to go.”
Hallier acknowledged the operative with a wave of his hand, then returned his attention to Jordan. “Make a call, Agent Quest. Talk to your kids. Let their voices be a reminder to you why this mission is as important as it is.”
The colonel walked to the van, turned, looked back. “I’ll give you one minute,” he said. He opened the door and seated himself in the vehicle.
Jordan made the call.
Despite repeated attempts to reach Marissa her calls went to voicemail.
An uneasy feeling came over her.
Something was wrong.
CHAPTER 24
MARISSA HEARD THE SIREN, saw the flashing lights of the police car in her rear-view mirror, and pulled the car over to the side of the road. In the center console her cellphone rang for the third time. The display read JORDAN. Answering the call would have to wait. Dealing with the police was the immediate priority. She would call her back in a few minutes.
“What’s wrong, Marissa?” Emma asked.
“I have no idea, sweetie,” Marissa replied.
The police car slowed to a stop. The officer remained in his car, watching her.
“I’ll bet you were speeding,” Aiden said.
“No, Aiden. I wasn’t speeding,” Marissa replied.
“Busted!” the boy teased.
“That’s enough,” Marissa said. “You two both have your seatbelts on back there?”
“Yes,” the children replied in unison.
“Good. Keep them on. I don’t want the officer to think you weren’t wearing them.”
The black SUV that had followed them from the school was nowhere in sight. Strange, Marissa thought. Over the years she had become so accustomed to the security detail following her everywhere she went with the children that she now found it unusual not to be tailed by the two-man team.
In her side mirror, Marissa watched the policeman exit his vehicle. He was dressed in plainclothes. An undercover officer, perhaps? A detective? He approached the car slowly, stopped at the back of the vehicle to inspect the taillight, then walked to her door and motioned for her to lower her window.
Marissa complied. “Good afternoon, officer,” she said.
The officer smiled. “Afternoon ma’am.”
Once more Marissa glanced in her side mirror. Still no sign of the security detail. She was beginning to worry. The officer’s mannerism and tone weren’t sitting right with her. Something about the situation felt off.
“License and registration, please,” the officer asked.
“Certainly,” Marissa said. She opened her purse, removed the two pieces of identification and handed them to the officer. “Why am I being stopped?” she asked. “To my knowledge I wasn’t speeding.”
“No ma’am,” the officer replied. “That’s not the issue at all.” He offered no further explanation.
The cryptic conversation was starting to annoy her. “I’m going to need a reason,” Marissa said.
“You have a light out.”
“Excuse me?”
The officer was spending an unusually long period of time examining her identification. “One of your back lights is out.”
She had taken the car in for its regularly scheduled maintenance two days ago. It was certainly possible the light bulb could have blown out in that short span of time, but the odds against that were high. “Which light is it?” Marissa asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Is it my left, center or right brake light? Turn signal indicator? I’d like to know which one is out.”
The officer hesitated. “Brake light, right side,” he replied.
Marissa shifted in her seat, slid her foot over the brake pedal, then glanced at the children in the rear-view mirror. “You guys okay back there?” she asked.
“Fine,” Emma answered. She was glued to her phone, as usual. She looked up. “Can we go soon?”
“In a minute, honey.”
“We’re all going to jail,” Aiden stated emphatically.
“No one’s going to jail, Aiden,” Marissa answered. She tapped the brake pedal lightly and looked in the rear-view mirror. The brake lights beamed bright red against the windshield of the police car. There was nothing wrong with any of lights. All were functioning normally.
“Where are you headed?” the officer asked.
Marissa stared at the policeman. “Why do you ask?” she said.
The officer’s friendly tone began to change. “I suggest you answer my question,” he said.
“And I suggest you show me your badge,” Marissa replied.
The officer pointed to the Crown Victoria, its service lights flashing red and blue behind its front grill, dancing left to right with strobe-like effect. “Is there something about a police car you can’t quite comprehend? Lights and siren not good enough for you?”
“Why did you refer to it as a police car?” Marissa asked.
“Excuse me?”
“I’ve never known an LAPD officer to refer to his vehicle by any term other than ‘unit.’”
“That’s it,” the officer said. “Step out of the car now.”
“I’m not leaving my vehicle until I’ve verified your credentials.” Marissa said. She held out her hand. “This is the second time I’ve asked. I won’t ask a third. Show me your badge.”
“You’re quite a piece of work, aren’t you?”
“That’s it,” Marissa replied. She picked up her cellphone.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” the officer asked.
“Calling 911,” Marissa replied. “If you’re not prepared to present your identification…”
Before s
he could place the call, Elton Mannafort grabbed her outstretched hand, pulled her against the doorframe, removed the stun gun from the small of his back, jammed the device against her chest and pressed the trigger. In an instant, 40,000 volts of electricity shot through Marissa’s body. She shook momentarily then slumped in her seat, unconscious.
Elton turned to the children. Emma and Aiden stared at him, too terrified even to speak.
“Get out,” Elton said. “You’re coming with me.”
The children did as they were told.
Elton issued a warning. “If you scream, I’ll kill you. If you try to run, I’ll kill you. But before I do that, I’ll kill her.” He pointed to Marissa. “Nod if we understand each other.”
The children complied.
“Good,” Elton said. He pointed to the police car. “Get in the back seat.” He nudged the boy, pushed him forward.
Aiden took Emma by the hand. “We’re going,” he said. “Just don’t hurt my sister.”
Elton shoved the stun stick into his back. “Shut up and move!” he said.
CHAPTER 25
EGAN AND HERNANDO stood at the main gate of the orphanage and watched as Marcella and the children walked single file along the side of the road in the direction of the daycare centre. “At least they’ll be safe there,” Hernando said. “Mendoza won’t suspect we’ve moved them.”
“They’ll be coming soon,” Egan said. He turned to his friend. “You should leave. I can handle Mendoza and his men by myself.”
Hernando shook his head. “I’m staying. After what I did to Mendoza’s men, he’ll want me dead. I’m a danger to the children if I’m anywhere near them.”
Egan looked around. Other than the main building, the grounds of the orphanage offered little protection against the inevitable attack they soon would be facing. “We need to fortify this place,” he said. “You said you have no weapons whatsoever on the premises?”
Hernando shook his head. “None.”
“All right,” Egan said. “Then we’ll have to improvise.” He pointed to a pile of pressurized lumber stacked behind the rear of the main building. “We need to move that to the front gate, block their vehicles from entering.”
“That wood was delivered by truck,” Hernando said. “The fencing company off-loaded it using a forklift. Took them four trips. There’s no possible way we can move it by hand.”
“Who said anything about moving it by hand?” Egan replied.
“I don’t understand.”
“Remember how I helped little Teresa?” Egan said.
“Yes,” Hernando said. “You healed her with your hands.”
“That was nothing.”
“What do you mean?”
Egan smiled. “You’re going to see something now that you won’t believe, Hernando. But before I do this, you need to promise me one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t have a heart attack.”
“Why would I have a—”
Egan turned and faced the enormous stack of lumber and raised his hands. His palms began to glow, rose-red.
Hernando watched in disbelief as the pile of wood began to vibrate, then lift off the ground. The old man crossed himself. “Santa Maria!” he said. “This isn’t possible!”
Egan directed the pile of wood across the grounds and set it down in front of the main gate. He lowered his arms. The strange glow dissipated. Within seconds his palms had returned to normal. He looked at Hernando. “You okay?”
Hernando looked at him, slack jawed. “How did you—”
“It’s a long story,” Egan replied. “Let’s just say I’ve had an upgrade or two. Remember, you promised me you wouldn’t freak out.”
“I promised I wouldn’t have a heart attack,” Hernando replied. “I said nothing about not freaking out!” Hernando was still trying to recover from the incredible telekinetic display he had just witnessed. “That pile of wood must weigh a thousand pounds,” he said. “You moved it with your mind… like it was nothing.”
Egan smiled. “Cool, huh?”
“How can you be so blasé?” Hernando said. “That was miraculous. What else can you do?”
“To tell you the truth, I don’t think I have any limitations,” Egan replied.
“Can you fly?” Hernando asked.
Egan raised a finger as if pointing out a fact. “You’ve got me there. Nope, can’t fly. I guess that makes it Superman 1, me 0.”
“What do you plan to do with the wood?”
“I’ll figure that out when the time comes. Right now, we have other preparations to make.”
“Such as?”
“We need to move the van into the center of the compound,” Egan replied.
“I’ll get the keys,” Hernando said.
“How is the facility heated?”
Hernando pointed to two large white tanks at the back of the property. “Propane,” he replied.
“Are they full?”
“Should be. They were topped up last week.”
“Good,” Egan said. “We can work with that.”
“Anything else?”
“The supply shed back there. What’s in it?”
“Tools.”
“Can you be a smidge more specific?”
Hernando shrugged. “The usual, I guess. Handsaws, hammers, a drill, screwdrivers. Whatever I need to take care of odd jobs around the place.”
“Collect it all. Bring it into the main building.”
“You’ve got it.”
Egan looked up at the bruised-purple sky. “We’re losing daylight,” he said. “My guess is they’ll make their move when darkness falls.”
“That’s what I would do,” Hernando agreed.
Egan put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “There’s still time for you to leave. Go down the road to the daycare. Join Marcella and the children.”
Hernando shook his head. “Not gonna happen,” he replied.
“You sure you’re ready for this?” Egan asked.
“I’ve never been more ready for anything in my whole life,” the old man replied.
CHAPTER 26
DIEGO MENDOZA RETURNED to his office, opened his desk drawer, removed the Glock 22, checked the clip, chambered a round and slipped the weapon into his waistband.
He turned to Matias. “I didn’t think the old man had it in him,” he said, referring to the two dead enforcers Hernando Diaz had killed and whose bodies lay in the freezer. “That took balls.”
Matias nodded. “Perhaps he’s better equipped to handle himself than we’ve given him credit for.”
“That not what concerns me.”
“Oh?”
“The guy at the orphanage,” Diego said. “Have you seen him before?”
Matias shook his head. “Never. Why?”
“Don’t you find it rather unusual that he suddenly shows up out of nowhere?”
“You thinking he’s a pro? Protection for hire, maybe?”
“Possible, but unlikely,” Diego replied. “Diaz wouldn’t know the first thing about finding a pro, much less hiring one.”
“It wouldn’t be hard. The country’s full of them. But he’d need to know who to ask.”
“And that would be?”
Matias thought for a moment. “Tomas Consuelos.”
Consuelos was head of the Cabeza de Muerte, a high-level street gang. The crew had come to Mendoza’s attention recently when the news that Mara Salvatrucha, more commonly known as MS-13, had expanded their operation from El Salvador into Costa Rica and begun recruiting poor Costa Rican teens into their fold. Word had also come down that MS-13 had set its sights on taking over Diego’s cocaine empire, and that Tomas Consuelos had already set a plan in motion to make that happen.
“I should have put a bullet in that bastard’s head years ago,” Diego said.
“It’s not too late,” Matias said. “Perhaps we should pay him a visit. Find out what he knows.”
“He’s too well protec
ted,” Diego replied. “We’d never get near him.”
“What if he thought you were willing to make a deal?”
“Meaning?”
“Tell him you know what he has planned and that you’re willing to discuss forming an alliance.”
“He’s not stupid. He’ll figure he’s being set up. When he does, we’ll be at war.”
“We’ll be at war soon enough,” Matias said. “Right now, what you need to know is whether Diaz’s man is part of his crew.”
“An American working for Consuelos?” Diego said. “Not likely.”
“You have a better theory?”
“No,” Diego said. He paused, considered the suggestion. “If we’re going to do this it needs to be one-to-one. And the invitation needs to come from me personally.”
Matias agreed. “Do you know how to reach him?”
“No,” Diego said, “but I know who does.”
He picked up his desk phone, placed a call.
“Hello?”
“Pérez, it’s Diego Mendoza.”
Alonzo Pérez’s company, Sun Tropic, was the largest distributor of fresh fruit in Costa Rica. He also provided the ground transportation for Diego’s cocaine supply across the country in his specially outfitted trucks.
“Diego,” Alonzo said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I need you to set up a meeting.”
“With?”
“Tomas Consuelos.”
Pérez paused. “Do you have a death wish, my friend?” he asked.
“I’m just looking for information.”
“Concerning?”
“An urgent matter.”
Pérez laughed. “You’re being evasive, Diego.”
“No, just careful.”
“If that’s the case, are you open to taking advice from an old friend?”
“Depends on the advice.”
“Stay as far away from Tomas as you can,” Pérez warned. “Nothing good could come from a meeting with him where you are concerned.”
“I’ve heard the rumors.”
“They’re not rumors, Diego. He is making plans.”
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