Mark watched David’s clever strategy as he very gently picked Dr. Jitar’s brain while Stevenson and Bukowski listened intently. David had a knack for storing vast amounts of useless trivia. For once, Mark was glad he did.
“You don’t think cobalt-60 or iridium-192 then?” David tapped his index finger to his chin.
“It is too soon to tell,” the doctor admitted. “It may not be a reactor type of isotope at all. It could be medical or commercial. I simply don’t know, but I had to initiate some kind of treatment. If these poor sick men could talk, I could treat them more effectively. It’s unfortunate. Their families need to be notified. Arrangements need to be made before it’s too late.”
Mark glanced from Bukowski back to Stevenson. By the time David got through with them, they were going to regret playing their doctor for a fool by pretending they couldn’t speak.
“They could still present with aplastic anemia?” David covered his lips as if trying to keep the conversation confidential. He blew out a long sigh. “That would be tragic.”
“Oh, yes. Without a doubt. It’s just a matter of time. Hematopoietic syndrome, the extreme drop in white blood cell counts, will eventually compromise every aspect of their recovery. I haven’t seen such a case since the Chernobyl reactor failure. I’m giving them vast quantities of fluids and antibiotics, but without knowing the source of their poisoning, it’s difficult to determine the best treatment.”
“You were at Chernobyl?” David’s brows lifted. “During or after?”
“Much later. I studied the long-term effects on the immediate population with the United Nations Task Force. Most unfortunate.” He shook his head. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Such an unnecessary waste of lives.”
David blew out a big sigh as he turned away from the patients, presenting his back to them while he lowered his voice. “What you’re telling me is this could turn from simple nausea, headaches, and diarrhea to seizures, lethargy, and death within a matter of hours? Is that right?”
Dr. Jitar shook his head sadly. “You know as well as I do that a dose as small as 6 rad will still cause cognitive impairment. Anything larger than 30 rad, and they’ll be dead in two days.”
“I’m afraid this is very bad, Mark,” David stage whispered across the room. “We’re too late. Radiation destroys soft tissue first. It’s already in their blood. Maybe their bones. Obviously their throats and vocal cords. Maybe we can locate their next of kin. That’s about all—”
“The hell I can’t talk,” Bukowski said hoarsely. “Catch that sonofabitch before he gets away. He never said nothing ’bout that crap being radioactive. Not even once!”
“Shut up,” Stevenson hissed from the other bed. “These guys are playing you and you’re falling for it. You’re an ass.”
“No, I’m not. You are. I ain’t gonna die for his stupid revolution. Not anymore.”
“I’m telling you for the last time. Stow it.”
Mark stepped over to Bukowski’s bedside, blocking his view of Stevenson. “Who did you handle the radiation for?”
“Fallon. That sonofabitch told us to move it down to the warehouse to where they’re—”
“Shut the hell up,” Stevenson ordered, leaning forward as far as his restraints would allow. “He’ll kill you if you say anything else.”
“In case you ain’t noticed, he’s already killed us,” Bukowski bellowed at his cohort in crime. “Did you hear what the doc said? Man, we’re gonna die and it’s gonna hurt when we do.”
“You’re playing right into their hands. For hell’s sake, why do you think they said all that stuff? They’re trying to scare you. They want you to talk,” Stevenson ground out, his voice edged with exasperation. “Shut up.”
“I don’t care and I ain’t gonna shut up, neither. I’m sick of laying here puking my guts up and filling a diaper. I don’t wanna die.” Bukowski’s rant descended into a desperate whine. “I need help, Doc. And you, guys. What do you want? I’ll tell you everything.”
“Where’s the warehouse?” Mark asked.
“Across the street from the Gangplank Marina.”
“Okay, I know the place. What’s the radiation for?”
“So help me. The minute I get out of here, I’m gonna cut your fat neck,” Stevenson threatened.
Bukowski’s eyes darted from Stevenson and back to Dr. Jitar before he settled on Mark. “Can you really help me, man? I mean, really? You won’t let Stevenson or Fallon get to me, will you?”
“No,” Chief McDonald stepped forward. “I’ll contact the FBI as soon as we’re done here. We can offer witness protection if you cooperate.”
“Bukowski,” Stevenson growled. “Not one more word.”
Dr. Jitar stepped over to his bedside with a roll of white surgical tape. “You must be quiet, sir. Your friend is trying to speak.” He placed a wide piece of the tape over Stevenson’s mouth before he turned back to Bukowski. “Now. What is it you needed to tell these good men?”
Mark nodded at the doctor in appreciation. At last, the man understood what was really going on. Stevenson too. He growled and grumbled, but he couldn’t threaten his buddy anymore.
“Fallon’s got a dirty bomb,” Bukowski blurted.
God, no. Mark’s stomach dropped. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. It’s how he’s gonna kick off his revolution. With fireworks and lots of dead bodies.”
“When?”
“Today. Umm, tonight, I think. Hell, I’m not real sure. Fallon don’t talk to me much.”
“Where’s the bomb now?”
“I don’t know. Fallon’s making it. Him and this other guy. Them’s the only two who know exactly where it’s gonna blow. I just delivered the stuff to the warehouse like I was told to.”
“What stuff?”
“SEMTEX, C4, and all that damned radioactive crap I been packing for weeks. I’m screwed, ain’t I?”
Mark pressed for more information. “How much plastic explosives?”
“Oh, gawd, I hauled crates of that crap. I don’t know how much there is. A couple hundred pounds maybe?”
“Surely Fallon can’t fund a revolution by himself? Who’s financing him?” Mark asked.
“Don’t know, but he’s got some rich guy jerking his chain. I think it’s the same guy who’s been sending the money. I don’t know who he is, though. Ain’t nobody else talked to him but Fallon,” Bukowski replied, his eyes wide with concern. “Oh, gawd! I ain’t gonna die, am I?”
Mark stepped closer to the frantic man’s bedside. “How’d you meet Fallon?”
“In the Army. A bunch of us were in Iraq back in ’91. I should’ve known he’d do something like this to me. He was a mean bastard back then, too.”
“Do you know anything about the radioactive isotopes you handled?” David asked. “Were there labels on the containers? Did you wear any kind of a dosimeter?”
“Damn it, man. What the hell are you talking about?”
David tapped his cell phone screen a few times before he lifted it where Bukowski could see. “It would’ve looked like this. A dosimeter measures exposure to radiation. Anyone handling isotopes should wear one.”
Bukowski took a quick look and dissolved into whining. “There weren’t nuthin. Oh, gawd! They just looked like big plastic boxes to me. Didn’t have no danger signs or nuthin’ on ’em.” He writhed under the sheets. “Man, he’s done killed me, and I helped him do it. Oh, gawd!”
David placed a hand on the worried man’s shoulder. “The faster we find the bomb, the quicker Dr. Jitar can help you. Time is of the essence. The radiation your body absorbed is eating away at your nerves and muscles as we speak. Is there anything else you can tell us?”
Bukowski rolled his eyes, blinking furiously and panting hard. “Wait. I heard Fallon talking to this new guy one time. They was talking real low and quiet, but all a sudden, Fallon blows up. He tells this new guy to mind his gawddamned business and go to hell. Said something about how the Vice President’s got a
thing or two coming to him, too.”
“The Vice President? As in Vice President Winston?” Mark asked to be sure. David’s daring hack into federal servers was spot on. Chaos Now’s target was Winston.
Bukowski nodded adamantly. “Yeah. That’s what he said. Oh yeah, he said something about Constitution Avenue, too. It was all gonna happen on Constitution Avenue. I remember now.”
“That’s where Fallon intends to start the revolution?” Mark asked, shaking his head at the magnitude of this new information.
The poor man’s head kept bobbing.
“When?”
Bukowski glanced at Stevenson before he shrugged his reply. “I don’t know. He don’t like me and Stevenson enough to share what he’s doing. We’re just grunts.”
Mark jerked his head at the door, signaling to David they needed to go. “Mr. Bukowski, you do what Dr. Jitar tells you, and we’ll find the bomb, okay?”
“Yes, sir, I sure will.”
That seemed to calm the big guy. Stevenson still strained and grunted, but his partner in crime appeared to have found some measure of peace.
“Hey, you,” Bukowski called to Mark. “Would you do something for me before you go?”
“You bet.” Mark came back to the bedside. “What do you need?”
The big man had tears in his eyes. “I know I don’t deserve any kind of help from you guys. Not after I blew up that little gal’s car like I did, but if I give you my boy’s number, would you please tell him to get my grandkids outta D.C. for me?”
“I’ll do my best,” Mark answered, his cell in his hand. “What’s the number?”
Bukowski rattled his son’s number off, and Mark placed the call on his way out the door.
The time had come. Trust them or not, the FBI and every other federal agency in D.C. had to be involved. Mark and Chief McDonald both notified the proper authorities the minute they hit the hallway.
“Contact Ember,” Mark whispered out of the corner of his mouth when McDonald stepped out of earshot. “The FBI will be at our office in minutes, and they’ll want everything. Tell her to give them only what’s related to the car bombing. Nothing more.”
“Not what we have on Becker?” David asked as they strode swiftly from the hospital.
“Nothing that relates to Alex’s murder investigation.” Mark’s mind flew over the wealth of evidence they’d accumulated, all the enhanced satellite images, the illegally obtained references to Eagle Two, and Steven’s spot-on analysis of Becker’s peculiar sniper rounds.
“Anything else?”
“Tell her to secure Steven’s workstation and your conclusions on the ME’s report. Tell her to put everything in the vault on level three. No one is to talk with the FBI. Only me.”
Mark’s angst rapped into high overdrive. He couldn’t get out of the hospital fast enough. The FBI would sweep through the office like a horde of locusts, devouring anything and everything in their path, possibly conducting intimidating interrogations as well. The competent men and women of The TEAM would be shoved aside and trampled underfoot as the very arrogant Feds took over and stole every last bit of intel, relevant or not.
They’d want Kelsey next. Not going to happen. Just the thought of her in their custody spilled more acid into his gut. Mark speed dialed Zack’s burn phone.
Zack answered promptly. “What’s up?”
“FBI is now actively involved. They’ll be looking for you.”
“What? Why?”
“Fallon’s built a dirty bomb. Maybe more than one. You need to move. Get Kelsey out of the city.”
“But, Mark—”
“No!” Mark roared. “Protect Kelsey. Get her out of here. Now!”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Gabe looked up from Ember’s monitor into the cold eyes of a man in a cheap black business suit, a shiny Federal Bureau of Investigation badge in his slimy palm. Damn. What’d the FBI want? More blood on their hands? Another bogus execution?
The man extended a hand over the counter by way of introduction. “Where’s your boss?”
Gabe kept his hand on the desk and didn’t return the courtesy. The Feds. Big deal. They caused more trouble than not. After what Ember had revealed, these guys were as guilty as sin. “Who wants to know?”
“Agent Benson.”
“What do you want?”
“Every. Last. Thing,” he hissed as he scanned the vacant office.
“As in what everything?” Gabe pushed out of his chair, his arms crossed and hell no in his heart. These guys were the bastards behind Alex’s murder. Fake or not, it made no difference. He was willing to bet they owned Sam Becker, too. Probably paid him a bonus to bring Alex down. Gabe didn’t owe them squat.
Ember glanced at him, her eyes wide though she didn’t speak a word. Not even hello. Must be Mark in her ear again. She ended the clandestine conversation with a barely noticeable tap on the device in her ear to signify copy that, the way covert operators communicated when they couldn’t risk speaking out loud.
Lifting to her feet, her shoulders squared and her head held high, she met Benson head on. Her chin might have been lifted up, but her fingers were hard at work below the edge of the counter, tapping away at the keyboard beyond Benson’s view.
His dark gaze skimmed over her upper body from the top of her head and stopping at her cleavage the way most men’s did. The girl had it. She flaunted it, and she knew how to use it to distract stupid guys, too.
Gabe couldn’t help that his fingers curled into a fist. Ember was another sister. Like Kelsey. She deserved to be treated with respect, no matter her cup size. Benson was an ass.
“You’ll have to be more specific, Agent Benson. I’m not giving you anything without a warrant,” she declared.
His upper lip lifted in a weak smile. Oatmeal had more spine. “I don’t need a warrant when I’m dealing with terrorists. Give me everything you’ve got on the pipe bomb at Stewart’s home this morning for starters. In fact, everything on Stewart’s murder, while you’re at it. His wife’s attempted murder, too. We’ll go from there.”
“We haven’t been investigating Alex’s murder,” she asserted patiently as only Ember could do. “Your buddy, Agent Kenny, clarified what happened to Alex. The ME agreed with him. Why would we dispute those expert conclusions? And as far as Kelsey Stewart’s accident, the sheriff ruled it closed. It wasn’t attempted murder. She over-corrected and her car went into the river. That’s all. Sheesh. Don’t you FBI guys ever talk to each other? Go to lunch together? Anything?”
Benson stared her down and resorted to bullying. “Liar.”
Gabe stifled the rising need to knock this guy on his ass. No need.
Ember could hold her own. Despite the nasty insult, she didn’t miss a beat. “Excuse me? Why would I lie to the FBI? You’re here, aren’t you? And if you’re here, you’ve already got someone inside my server, digging into anything and everything. What could I possibly have to hide and how would I do it?”
Gabe steeled his expression, sure her tapping fingertips were doing just that, securing The TEAM server before the Bureau’s finest hackers got in too deep. Damn. They didn’t stand a chance. If they were good, she was ten times better, and she looked good doing it.
“I’ll tell you what,” she offered. “Why don’t you have a chair while I copy all files activated since the date of Mr. Stewart’s murder. It will probably be just on the pipe bombing, though. Will that make you happy? That way you can tell your boss you got exactly what you came for.”
“Paper copies.”
She frowned. “Sorry, but no. We only work with digital. You’ll have to kill your own trees when you get back to your office.”
“Paper,” he demanded, his badge tapping the counter with sharp staccato emphasis. “I want both paper and digital copies, and I want them now.”
She folded her arms over her ample bosom, covering her cleavage and the red ruby. “Just because you Feds are digitally challenged, doesn’t mean we are. You’
ll make do with what I give you or nothing at all.”
He puckered his lips, as if he wanted to argue. “Fine. Make it quick.”
“Yes, sir,” she replied as cheerfully as if he were the pizza delivery guy. “Gabe. Can you and Shelby help me? I know David has some files on his computer. Steven and Mark, too. Let’s give this guy what he wants so he can L. E. A. V. E.”
Gabe nearly smiled at her insolence. He pulled Shelby to her feet and followed Ember to Mark’s office, the one that used to belong to Alex.
“Shit,” Ember murmured the moment they cleared the office doorjamb. “Fallon’s built a dirty bomb and it’s in D.C. The revolution begins tonight. That’s why Benson’s here. He wants all of our intel, including what we know about his buddy, Becker. Leave the door open. Let him watch. We don’t want to give him a reason to come back.”
“Are you sure?” Gabe sat at Mark’s desk while Shelby hovered over his shoulder. “A dirty bomb?”
Ember inserted a USB drive into the port on the side of the keyboard. “Oh, sure. Sixty-four gig’s big enough to keep our FBI friends happy. While you download these files, I’ll take care of everyone else’s. Move all files onto this USB drive. Can you do that for me?”
She ducked closer to Gabe, her face hidden by the curtain of her hair. “Yes, and it’s supposed to go off somewhere on Constitution Avenue. Mark thinks Benson is after Zack and Kelsey. I’ll give him what we know about Chaos Now, but nothing on Alex, Kelsey, or Becker,” she whispered.
Gabe complied, keeping his head low and an eye on Agent Benson, who now stood outside Mark’s office door and looking impatient to be off. Gabe brought Mark’s document files on the pipe bombing to screen, sorted them by date and performed a mass copy while Ember strolled past Benson and into the work bay. More like sashayed. The woman definitely had confidence and she knew how to distract a guy.
Benson’s cocky head swiveled to watch her backside. The elevator pinged and he turned his back to Gabe. “Mr. Houston. How nice.”
Gabe (In the Company of Snipers Book 8) Page 29