by James Phelan
“Copy that, sir, thank you,” Murphy said.
“Look, Mr. McCorkell,” Levine said. “With due respect, we have orders from our—”
“I have the Secretary of the Navy on the other line, Agent Levine,” McCorkell said. “He’s been waiting all this time that I’ve been talking, listening to Bach. He’s in Hawaii at the moment. You know the time in Hawaii right now? Early. And he’s waiting with a phone to his ear, listening to the Bach waiting music—waiting, because he respects me, and he takes what I say seriously. Would you like me to patch him through to you?”
“Sir,” Levine said, “our immediate superior, Assistant Director—”
“Grant is fully aware of this,” McCorkell said. “I briefed him not twenty minutes ago. He has orders from the Secretary, along with Admiral Thompson of the Joint Chiefs, to follow my every instruction on this matter. Do you need me to have him patched through to you too? Or you’ll only listen to Grant on this? The Secretary may be a little pissed, I’ve got to say, with your need for someone about a hundred and fifty titles below him to give you new orders.”
“No, sir,” Levine said after a pause. “We’re fine. We’re headed for the Hyatt now.” She punched the hotel into the car’s sat-nav system. “We’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
“Good,” McCorkell said.
“Thanks, Bill,” Walker said from the back seat. “Let’s talk again from the hotel. And get that list of Team Six names to us.”
“Somerville will be waiting for you at the hotel,” McCorkell said. “By the time you’re there, that list will be too.”
•
Grant boarded the first plane to St. Louis. It was 09:45 in San Diego, which made it 11:45 in Missouri. At 17:30 the country was going to witness a show that would put everything in perspective. He looked at the Washington Post carried by the guy ahead of him, its front page screaming out a landmark deal to bring Ukraine into NATO. For Grant, that was code for letting Europe do the work that the United States should be doing. Grant was not one of those pundits who thought that US foreign policy should go back to pre-World War Two thinking, all about internal and regional matters. Far, far from it.
The way he saw it, the United States was a power because of its power, and because it wasn’t afraid to use it. Interventionists be damned. He was going to make a cause that would have the whole country rallying to arms. Debts would be paid today, and this event would become what 9/11 should have been: a rallying cry, not just of this nation but of the world behind it.
81
Walker liked St. Louis. He had been here once, as a kid, a road trip with family. He’d been seven or eight. They’d gone to the top of the Gateway Arch and looked out at the view. The people below had looked like ants. The Mississippi had seemed impossibly big—they’d taken a boat ride that had included lunch on the way south and dinner on the way north back to their hotel. They’d been to a Cardinals game, against the Eagles. Philadelphia won that day. It was a good day.
He saw the Hyatt up ahead. It bordered onto the Jefferson Memorial Park, flanked by the Old Courthouse and wide green avenue that led down to the Gateway Arch on the banks of the Mississippi.
Somerville was waiting outside, with three suited FBI agents who wore dark sunglasses and in-ear radio sets. She looked a world away from him and the crew pulling up—she may have been up through the night too, but she’d not been through and seen what they’d all seen. Levine parked away from the valet station, and Squeaker pulled in next to them. The FBI agents formed a loose perimeter, looking out.
“Walker,” Somerville said, looking first at his muddied outfit and then his tired face. “You look like death warmed up.”
“Thanks, Fi, right back at ya,” Walker said. Fact was, she was clean and made up and he could smell her perfume. “This is Charles Murphy.”
The two shook hands.
“And his family,” Walker said, pointing to the sleeping kids; Murphy, his wife and Squeaker each carried one.
“And our two NCIS agents, Levine and Woods,” Walker said.
“Hey,” Somerville said. Levine shook her hand. Woods gave a half-hearted wave as he checked his phone for messages. “Okay, follow me.”
Walker stayed next to Somerville at the start of the procession. They went through the revolving glass doors and across the granite lobby. Probably local granite. He hoped so; there was nice granite in these parts. That said, the 1970s-looking brick hotel had clearly undergone a recent refurb, and it was probably cheaper by a significant margin to import granite from China. Progress. Back in the day, this city, as a gateway to the west of the nation, had been a major trading hub as a port on the mighty Mississippi. It had been the backbone of the growth of America, right from the start. What was it now? What would it become if they failed today?
“Where do we start?” Somerville asked as they neared the elevators.
Walker said, “McCorkell told us you had decent security assets here?”
“For protection of the Murphys, five agents,” Somerville said. “These three will stay in the lobby and security room. This place is a secure building, it’s why I chose it. The other two will be in the hallway. And there’s St. Louis PD in the street, and they have SWAT on a ready-go and can be here in ten minutes flat.”
“Okay,” Walker said.
Somerville hit the lift-call button. The door pinged open immediately.
Walker stood back to allow Somerville and the Murphys and Squeaker and the NCIS agents in first, then he squeezed in, eyeballing the concierge at the desk who looked down his nose at the sight of Walker and Murphy, all mucked up from their antics in the forests. The doors shut, and Somerville hit the sixth-floor button.
“Murphy and I both need a change of clothes; Squeaker too,” Walker said.
“Sizes?” Somerville asked.
Walker looked at the two of them, each carrying a sleeping child. “Extra large, large and small should do it. Casual, muted tones.”
“Got it,” Somerville said.
“And breakfast.”
Walker looked at Levine, who was facing him in the cramped elevator, no more than a foot between them. For the first time he saw her front on, in the light. She was prettier than he’d thought in the dawn light, and younger: late thirties, dark hair, dark eyes, olive skin. Her eyes were tired—she’d worked through the night, like he had. The top of her head was at Walker’s mouth level, which made her about five foot eight. She wore a black suit over a charcoal fine-knit turtleneck, no jewelry. Maybe this was just her work uniform. She’d look great in a dress, Walker thought.
“So,” Woods interrupted Walker’s thoughts. He was behind Levine, her back to him. “What kind of ex-Air Force and CIA guy gives orders like this to an FBI agent? I mean, am I the only one in here who thinks this is more than a little odd? Levine?” She turned to face him. “I mean, we’ve got to talk to Grant about this. For all we know, that McCorkell guy was bluffing about the Secretary of the Navy thing before. I mean, really? He was waiting on the phone, for twenty minutes, from Hawaii, listening to Bach? Like, really?”
The elevator pinged at the sixth floor. The doors opened. No one got out, though—for that to happen, the 230-pound mass that was Jed Walker would have to alight first.
“Stay in the hallway,” Walker said to Woods. “Call your boss. Call whoever you need to. But I’m telling you: if you get in the way today, Somerville here is going to arrest you under some kind of Patriot Act clause, and you’ll get to enjoy the most thorough cavity search this side of the Mississippi. Gloves, lube, cameras and clamps, all the trimmings.”
“Is that right?” Woods said, his tone trying to make light of the threat. He looked to Somerville, saw something harder, then dropped his eyes.
Walker led the way out of the elevator and headed up the hall toward the two waiting FBI agents.
82
The Murphy family were squared away in a two-bedroom suite, each bedroom containing two large beds and opening onto an en suite. A
s soon as Jane and the baby were settled in a bed, safe and warm, Murphy went to shower. Squeaker was in the other en suite, putting the two older kids in a bubble bath. Walker could hear the laughter spilling out from the room. To them, this was an adventure. The eldest would remember it; probably the three-and-a-half year old too. Walker had memories from that age, a trip with his father to New York City: mainly about food—eating a chocolate ice-cream while on a ferry going around the Statue of Liberty; a parmigiana in the Empire State Building cafe. The view from up top, looking down, his face pressed against the bars, seeing cars below and tiny dots that were streams of people. That view had all changed now, he’d heard—it was glassed in, and you couldn’t get as close to the edge.
“Ten minutes to freshen up, then we shake what we can out of Murphy,” Walker said.
“Agreed,” Somerville said.
“What are you thinking?”
“We’re not staying here long,” Somerville whispered to Walker. “We’ll move the family to a more remote site in a few hours. Out of the city limits, to be safe.”
Walker nodded.
Room service arrived. Two hotel staff stood in the hallway outside, each with a cart loaded with trays of plated food covered in silver cloches. The agents tipped the staff and they left the carts behind. One agent clattered a cart inside the Murphys’ suite. Somerville had ordered for everyone: cheeseburgers, fries, salads and sodas, cakes and coffee.
Somerville motioned to Walker and they both left the room. In the hall she pointed to a door opposite, and they entered via a plastic keycard. The NCIS agents remained behind in the Murphys’ room, leaning against the bench in the small kitchenette, sipping coffees and looking momentarily helpless.
Walker saw that this room was exactly the same but in a mirrored layout. They had their own room-service tray waiting for them, and Walker poured himself a coffee from the insulated pot. It wasn’t a great brew, but it was hot and it was strong. Somerville settled onto one of the two large couches with a burger. Walker looked through the overpriced minibar and then, with the thought that the UN was picking up this tab in mind, helped himself to a miniature bottle of Johnnie Black, pouring it into his coffee.
Somerville looked at him; no judgment, nothing really. Just a look. Walker liked her. She was mid-forties and a career Fed with a pedigree to match, her father a legendary agent who’d spent his time busting mobsters back in the day when the Kennedys were in the White House. Walker would be happy to work with her anytime, anywhere, as long as they were in or near civilization. There were a couple of places, such as those lonely mountains of Afghanistan and the mean streets of Iraqi cities, where he’d prefer someone like Murphy standing next to him. A different kind of animal.
“You know,” Somerville said, eating the pickle that came with the burger, “I remember a time when I used to think minibar prices were expensive.”
“They are.”
“They were,” she said, picking up a handful of fries. “But they’ve hardly changed. Think about it. Ten years ago that might have been what, eight bucks instead of ten? Maybe eight-fifty?”
“And?” Walker took a burger. It had looked big on the plate, and huge in Somerville’s hands, but in Walker’s it was tiny. The bun was dry and the patty was disappointing, but it was protein and fat and sugar, and he knew he’d need all those things today.
“You go to a bar, it’s similar prices,” she said. “But ten years ago? Bar prices were probably half what they are now.”
“Progress?” Walker said.
“Something. I’m not sure.”
“It’s probably the rising rents on bars,” Walker said. “Wages. Maybe liquor license fees went up a lot. Utilities. Public liability insurance.”
Somerville shrugged.
“Maybe we’ll spend some time trying to figure it out after we’ve prevented this terrorist attack?” Walker said with a mock-sarcastic tone, then ate half his burger in one bite.
Somerville raised an eyebrow and smiled. “So, we’re here. Murphys are safe. Now what?”
“I need to spend more time with Murphy, as soon as he’s done powdering his nose,” Walker said.
“You could do with the same,” Somerville said, gesturing to his jeans and boots, covered in mud and muck, and his jacket and shirt, stained with the blood of several men.
“Where are Hutchinson and McCorkell?” Walker asked, the only reaction to Somerville’s comment being that he sat on the edge of a couch and undid his boots. They were caked in mud and moss from the Ozarks. His socks were soaked through, and he pulled them off and stood. The carpet was soothing underfoot, plush but firm. Every step and movement massaged and dried his waterlogged skin.
“McCorkell got stonewalled on the list, so he’s in DC to see a man about a thing.”
“We need that list.”
“He’s working on it.”
“Time’s ticking.”
“He knows that too.”
“Okay. And where’s Andy at?”
“Hutchinson’s there too.”
“Holding McCorkell’s hand?”
“Probably the other way around, given that Hutch is the one in the arm cast,” Somerville said. “And once the list is with us, they’re going into the Homeland Security HQ to quarterback our actions here.”
Walker checked his watch. Six and a half hours to go.
83
“Tell me, beat for beat, by the numbers,” Walker said, sipping his drink and adding more coffee. “If we make something, what assets do we have in play here today?”
“Fourteen in total from the Bureau,” Somerville replied, “and up to—up to, there’s no guarantee until the time we need them—twenty uniformed from St. Louis PD, and that was a nightmare because they’re stretched to a thin blue line right now. Then—best case—I can call in maybe ten from the DEA out of Kansas City if we need them.”
“That’s it?”
“Maybe twelve. But that’s it. Remember, Walker, in their eyes? This afternoon’s attack is still just a theory, based on something you overheard in the forest,” Somerville said. “If we somehow get a credible threat, then I can press a button and things will go nuclear at Homeland Security and we’ll get all kinds of boots on the ground.”
“Right. Hence we need that list.”
“McCorkell’s working on it. Your NCIS buddies too.”
“We should have had it days ago. Right from the start.”
“Maybe you haven’t met the military?” Somerville said. “They’re a part of the government? You know, bureaucracy and all that?”
Walker let a tired smile break through. “I’m familiar with the concept.”
“Look, we’ve also got a Homeland Security office five minutes’ walk from here. It’s more like a mothballed operations center, and it gets staffed from Kansas City in the event of an emergency, so I’ve had it activated.”
“With what? Desk jockeys?”
“Yeah.” Somerville checked her watch. “They should be set up within the hour. I figure I’ll set up over there and be your eyes and ears as needed—they’re linked in to every CCTV camera and security service in town and then some.”
“Okay, fine. Sounds good. I guess.”
“It’s the best we can do with what we’ve got, Walker.”
“And prep those DEA guys,” Walker said. “We’ll need them. The more boots on the ground, the better.”
“It’ll take a few hours for them to get here.”
“Then get them moving.”
“Sure thing, boss—you want the National Guard activated?”
“That might help.”
“I was being facetious. On both counts—the boss thing, and the Guard.”
“I know. And even if we could, we can’t have a battalion of uniformed grunts in Humvees roaming the streets—you know this can’t be visible. We’ve got to let these guys show their hand.”
“Because of Zodiac.”
Walker nodded. “Any news on my father?”
“The elephant in the room.”
“You say so.”
“No, nothing. Disappeared again.” Somerville watched him for a moment before she continued. “Are you really sure about this attack here, today?”
“You got any intel that points to any other threat?”
“Nothing other than dead SEALs.”
“Exactly,” Walker said. “Look, with this kind of cutout cell, we need this attack to be something like what went down in New York.”
“So, close enough to make the news,” Somerville said, “but not so close that we can’t stop it in time to save lives.”
Walker nodded.
“That’s beyond dangerous.”
“Welcome to the major league.”
“Eagles got beat by the Pats last night.”
“Why do you want to hurt me like that?”
“Look, Walker, if we let anyone in the Bureau or Homeland know your intention—about how close a call you want to make this attack—hell, they’d lock us up, thinking we’re nuts, or that we’re part of the attack.”
“It’s the only way we keep this rolling, keep the chain unbroken.”
“Yeah, well, have you thought that this time you’re so far behind the eight ball it’ll play out to the end and you’ll be too late?”
“We’ll get them.”
“You’re confident.”
“We’ll get them,” Walker repeated.
“When you get that list.”
Walker nodded.
“What’s that,” Somerville asked, “a hunch?”
Walker shrugged.
“I like your enthusiasm, Walker. But it’s odd. Dangerous. You’re playing with fire if you let them get close enough for the media to report it as an attempted terrorist attack.”
“It is what it is,” Walker said. He went to the window. The sky was blue and clear, the kind of day that was crisp and cold but warm in the sun. What was the demonstration? Of something bigger to come? A small-scale explosion, to prove something bigger was in the works? Would they have demands? Would they reveal themselves?