Gabe (In the Company of Snipers Book 8)

by Winters, Irish

  Gabe completed the transfer. Good. Mark had returned. Connor and Rory were back, too. Sounded like Taylor, Maverick, Izza, and Steven, too.

  “Senior Agent Houston,” Mark corrected. “What do you want?”

  “It’s about time.” Benson nodded at Gabe. “Your office is occupied. Is there some place we could chat?”

  “Here’s fine.” Mark planted his feet, his hands on his hips while the other agents went to their desks.

  Chat? An interesting euphemism for browbeating.

  Gabe nodded to acknowledge his boss. Mark nodded back.

  One of the smartest things Alex did when he’d designed the work bay was to locate Mother and Ember’s workstation and customer service desk dead center of everyone else’s. The wagon wheel layout served a purpose. Every agent was now acutely focused on the unfolding power struggle between federal agents and private contractor. If there ever was a need to show these men and women exactly where Mark stood, it was now.

  Give ’em hell, Boss.

  “I’d prefer a more private—”

  “Here’s fine.” Mark cut the FBI agent off. “You want to chat? Chat.”

  “Have it your way.” Agent Benson glanced around the office. “Might as well let everyone know what happens when guys like you break the law.”

  Mark didn’t respond to the implied threat, but Gabe wanted to knock Benson down and out. Guys like you? He lifted out of Mark’s chair and went to stand with his boss, transferring the USB drive to Ember’s waiting fingers.

  “When did you become aware of Mr. Fallon’s association with Chaos Now?” Benson snapped.

  Ah ha, so he suspects one of us has been inside the FBI’s server, but maybe he can’t prove it. Gabe’s eyes scrolled to Ember. Had to be her. Good girl.

  “With what? Who?” Mark asked.

  “Chaos Now,” Benson repeated with a nasty twang to his voice. “Don’t play around with me, Houston. I have every reason to believe you’ve been investigating Mr. Fallon as a terrorist.”

  “Fallon’s a small part of an ongoing investigation. You think he’s involved in terrorist activities? Care to share?”

  Benson didn’t blink. “Where’s he got the isotope?”

  “What’s he need an isotope for?” Mark countered as quickly.

  “I’m not here to answer your questions.”

  “Then ask better questions. You and I both know the guys who handled the isotope are in FBI custody by now. Go ask them. They’re the culprits here, not us.”

  Benson danced around the real issue. Gabe had no doubt he wanted to know if Mark had an agent inside Chaos Now. He’d come fishing for information and determined to get into The TEAM’s psyche. And close to three strikes at the rate he badgered Mark. The man couldn’t win.

  “You know damned well they’re too sick to talk.”

  “That’s strange. Bukowski was talking plenty when I left. I called FBI Headquarters and told them everything he and I discussed. You ever think to check with them before you come barging into a private business?”

  “You talked to Bukowski?”

  Mark shrugged. “Why not? The police chief asked me to.”

  “Guess I need to chat with McDonald about proper protocol—not like it matters. Bukowski’s not the brains behind any of this. Neither is Fallon.”

  “Good to know,” Mark replied.

  Gabe’s ears perked up. If Fallon’s not the brains, who is?

  Benson shifted tactics, his sneer still in place. “If I was a betting man, I’d say you and your guys are running your own counter-terrorism operation. You’ve got Stewart’s wife stashed under high-security somewhere. You’ve been involved in two high-speed chases in one day. Now you’re caught chatting up a couple guys with severe radiation burns from weapons grade plutonium. Yeah. If I was a betting man, I’d say it’s not looking too good for you, Senior Agent Houston.”

  God, Gabe really wanted to pop Benson. Just once. Bully tactics. Pure unadulterated bully tactics. So far, he’d done nothing but threaten.

  Mark must’ve felt the same. He took a step toward Benson, his right fist curled and ready. “You haven’t caught shit, and you damned well know it. Want to put your money where your big mouth is?”

  Benson didn’t flinch. “That’s why the pipe bomb, huh? You guys were getting too close to Fallon for comfort, weren’t you? He’s trying to scare you off, isn’t he?”

  “So. Weapons grade plutonium, huh? Are you sure of that?”

  Benson stood his ground, radiating hostility and maybe a hint of regret for bragging and giving Mark intel he hadn’t already known.

  Gabe let a cautious grin split his face. Round over. Benson never had a dog in this fight.

  “Let me make this perfectly clear, Agent Benson,” Mark said calmly, his fist relaxed. “The pipe bomb that exploded this morning at Kelsey Stewart’s home in Alexandria was delivered by two ex-Army regulars. We discovered the extent of their involvement with Fallon only when we talked to Bukowski at the hospital less than an hour ago.”

  He took a step closer to his adversary. “I called the Bureau the minute I knew Fallon had a dirty bomb. I don’t know how or where his men got the isotope, neither do I know the strength of it. And until now, I didn’t know it was weapons grade plutonium. End of story. Check with Police Chief McDonald, but you’d better hurry. Bukowski and Stevenson are sloughing skin and muscle. They’ll be lucky to last the night.”

  Benson’s brows spiked. Maybe he believed. Maybe he didn’t have enough evidence to prove otherwise. The showdown ended when he turned on his heel and beelined to the elevator without a word.

  “Excuse me, sir. Umm, sir,” Ember called after him, the USB drive in her raised hand. “Did you forget something?”

  She would’ve gone after him out of the goodness of her heart, but Gabe lifted his arm to block her from being too damned nice. “No. He wanted ’em. Let him come get ’em.”

  Agent Benson had his dark glasses on by then, but Gabe stared him down anyway as he retraced his steps. The guy was a total jerk-off. Rude. Dismissive. Downright disrespectful to Ember and Mark.

  The second the elevator doors closed behind him, Gabe stepped into the inner circle of Ember’s workstation, raised his hands and clapped. “Yeah. Give it up for the Boss.”

  Mark downplayed the moment of appreciation, but every other agent had already joined in by then. Connor thumped his back. Izza whistled, two fingers to her lips. Yes! The TEAM was back, ready to rock and roll.

  “Listen, guys.” Mark lifted his voice over the applause. “Sorry. We don’t have time to celebrate. Not yet. Fallon’s really built a dirty bomb. It’s somewhere in D.C. We’re running on borrowed time. I need eyes on the Gangplank Marina. We’ve got to find Fallon and the bomb. Or bombs. There could be more than one.”

  “What else do you need us to do?” Gabe asked.

  Mark leveled his gaze, making eye contact with every single agent. “Get your loved ones out of the city.”

  Chapter Thirty

  She wanted to cry.

  Shelby left messages on her parents’ phone as well as her brother’s, frustrated she couldn’t talk to them in person. Gabe’s friends had barely taken time to arrange for their own families’ safety before gathering around Mark in tight military formation. Gabe wanted her to leave too, but she’d flatly refused. If he was staying, so was she.

  Mark had sent Shelby an evil, arched brow when he’d first spotted her in his territory, but he seemed okay with her now. Maybe because there wasn’t enough time to argue, not if the bomb was really going off tonight.

  A couple agents were at their workstations, but everyone else stood at the wall-sized map of Washington D.C., studying it for centralized locations where Fallon might place a dirty bomb for maximum impact. There were so many. Constitution Avenue alone provided a wealth of possibilities, running as close to the White House as it did.

  From what Shelby knew, the building was an armed fortress complete with snipers on the rooftop and
the ever-present Secret Service lurking in every shadow and behind every column. In no way could anyone get close to President Adams.

  Getting within range of any other federal building was just as difficult. The bombing of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City in 1995 made certain of that. Concrete barriers and balustrades prevented vehicular access everywhere.

  “Why kill the Vice President?” Shelby whispered to Gabe. “That doesn’t make sense. Why not the President?”

  He shrugged. “Why do any terrorists do anything they do? It’s all about power. Fallon must have a reason for wanting Winston instead of Adams. He doesn’t have to plant his bomb close to his target to make his point, whatever that is. Hell, we don’t even know if it’s in a vehicle.”

  “But a vehicle makes sense. A bomb would be easier to relocate on wheels,” Mark said, his index finger tapping the location of the White House on the map.

  Shelby winced, still not sure she had any business standing with Gabe’s team and listening in, much less offering her opinion or asking questions. No one seemed to mind, though, so she stayed close to Gabe.

  “You do know a dirty bomb isn’t an effective weapon of mass destruction,” the Chinese-looking man added.

  “True, but any bomb in D.C. will be devastating, David,” Mark said. “It’s summer. Tourists are everywhere. Congressmen and women. Ambassadors. Dignitaries.” His index finger slid across the map to the Mall. “Hell, the Veterans of Foreign Wars is holding a service at the World War II Memorial this coming weekend. Thousands of people will already be there. The vets’ families. Friends. Ember—”

  “I’m on it,” she said, already headed out the door. “I’ll check the VP’s schedule, see if he’s supposed to present anything tonight before the VFW service. The President’s schedule, too.”

  “Yes, but Mark, Chaos Now wants a revolution, not just a crater in the middle of D.C. They want mass terror for an extended period of time,” David said, his eyes fixed on the map as well.

  “Right,” Gabe intervened. “It’s the long-term effects these guys are looking for. Public fear. Radiation poisoning. That’s what this is really about.”

  “Who stands to benefit?” Mark asked quietly.

  “Who else? Fallon,” one of Gabe’s fellow agents, the tall guy with dark hair and deep blue eyes, answered. “We’ve linked him to Kelsey’s attempted murder.”

  “True, but I’m afraid I agree with Benson. Fallon’s not the mastermind. Then who is?”

  And there the conversation stalled.

  Shelby analyzed the problem along with everyone else. Until her car had exploded, she hadn’t thought anything could happen to her—certainly nothing like this. Her life had been orderly and controllable because she made certain it was. She’d double-checked everything. Played it safe. Never took chances.

  “You know, when this all started, I thought maybe Fallon was just one of those malcontents who needed to destroy everything related to Alex,” Gabe said, his gaze riveted to the map, his arms crossed over his chest and his right hand cupping his chin. “Like the cold-blooded law of the wild. Eliminate everything dear to the man you hate. Murder his wife. Kill his children. Burn his house to the ground, preferably while he watched. But no more.”

  He shifted closer to the map. “You’re right, Mark. Fallon’s nothing but a cold-blooded bastard like Charlie Oakes. He’s the go-to guy to get the dirty jobs done, but he’s not the brains. Someone more powerful has gotten hold of him and his goons. Someone with a plan we haven’t uncovered yet.”

  “Correct,” David agreed, “and that someone has the means to facilitate an attack on the country.”

  “And we still don’t know who it is,” Mark muttered.

  Shelby shuddered. These people should be on their way out of Washington D.C., too, yet there they were, crazy enough to think they could stand between good and evil. Gabe’s arm snaked around her waist, and oh, yeah. I’m in the company of snipers. That’s what heroes do. They jump in over their heads without thinking. They save people—like me.

  “So what now?” she asked, half-afraid to ask.

  “Now we do what we do best,” Gabe said. “We find Fallon and hope he leads us to his Maker. Come with me.”

  Shelby found herself swept up in the mechanics of a military-style operation. Mark dismissed everyone. Gabe ushered her into his work area and introduced her to Taylor Armstrong and Maverick Carson. They barely acknowledged her they were so engrossed at their computers.

  “Are you the one watching the marina?” Gabe asked Maverick.

  He nodded. “That and a couple other things. Hey, Boss,” he called out to Mark. “Fallon’s made some hefty purchases. Five brand new Cadillac Escalades seven months ago. Three F-150 cargo vans. One helicopter.”

  “A helicopter?”

  “Yeah. I thought that was weird, but it could do the trick.”

  “Find out which airfield he hangars it at. Track the vans.”

  “I’m on it.”

  Shelby’s head spun with the information flying back and forth. She leaned into Gabe. “Pretend I’m new here. What exactly is a dirty bomb?”

  He turned, bumping his knees with hers. “Sorry. I should’ve explained. A dirty bomb contains both conventional explosives and a radioactive agent, which in this case is weapons grade plutonium. You heard Agent Benson. With a regular bomb, you’ve got the initial blast zone. Anyone within range will die when it detonates. But add a radioactive agent to blow with the explosives, and you get a contamination zone that can reach out and touch a helluva lot more innocent people. How far it spreads depends on the force of the initial blast.”

  She could almost feel the blood drain from her face. Her heart leapt into her throat. “Oh, my gosh. Like a nuclear bomb? We’re all going to die?”

  He shook his head. “No. Atomic bombs depend on nuclear fission, not conventional explosives. They’re a helluva lot more powerful. The primary intent of a dirty bomb isn’t mass destruction. It’s fear and ignorance. Sure, in a city like D.C., thousands still might die from the initial blast, but the radioactive contamination is the real killer. After the fires are out, the whole District will be under a containment order. It’ll take years before anyone wants to visit again.”

  An icy finger of dread walked up her spine, frosting each and every vertebra on its way into her scalp. This is so bad.

  The semi-cute guy who’d creeped her out earlier with his less-than-discreet scrutiny jumped up from his chair. “Until three months ago, Fallon received fifty thousand in his bank account every week. Then the real money started to pour in. Someone’s dropping big bucks on this guy.”

  “How much are we talking about, Landon?”

  “One hundred thousand plus. The latest was five hundred K. Look at the date on that one.” He handed Mark a sheet of paper, pointing to the center of it. “See what I mean?”

  Mark scrutinized the findings. “That’s the day Alex was shot. Where’s it coming from? Who’s bankrolling him?”

  “Don’t know. Ember’s supposed to be tracking the donor,” Landon jerked his head in Ember’s direction. He sure had a snarky tone to his voice all the time.

  She piped up from her workspace, not fazed in the least by Landon’s offloading the focus to her. “Sorry, Mark. No luck. Each transfer originated from an offshore account under the name Smith. John Smith.”

  “Figures. Thanks guys,” Mark said. “Keep looking.”

  “What can I do to help?” Shelby asked Gabe. “Everyone’s busy but me.”

  He tugged the brim of her D.C. cap. “Sit there and keep me company.”

  The sexy blond guy from the adjoining workstation stalked over to Ember. “Can you run these photos through your facial rec program? They’re from the traffic cams by Raymond’s Kids shelter.”

  Her brows lifted. “Kelsey’s shelter?”

  He shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

  She accepted the papers from his hand. “Okay, Connor. It makes sense. Take a sea
t. It won’t take long.”

  “I need to do something,” Shelby insisted. “What if I ordered pizza or sandwiches? I’ll bet everyone’s hungry. Aren’t you?”

  Before Gabe could answer, Connor called out. “Got him! Mark. Everyone. Come see. You won’t believe who’s been stalking Kelsey.”

  Shelby jumped up along with Gabe to go see what Connor and Ember had found. It was him. That guy from the bridge. FBI Agent Sam Becker.

  Mark ended up beside Shelby. “So Becker was watching Kelsey before he took out Alex? What the hell for?”

  “And get this.” Ember zoomed in on the right chest area of Becker’s shirt. “He’s been using your name. See that?” She pointed at the nametag. “He’s Mark Houston.”

  “No shit?” Gabe asked, leaning over Ember’s shoulder to get a closer look. “My hell. He’s been masquerading as you?”

  “Then why the hell didn’t Kelsey recognize him?” Landon asked. “You’d think she’d know who worked there. God, it’s not like she works at RFK Stadium or something. How dumb is she?”

  “Who cares?” Shelby’s hackles lifted as her mouth engaged before she meant it to, but Kelsey wasn’t there to defend herself, damn it. He needed to watch what he said. “Maybe she didn’t know everyone at the shelter, but why would an FBI agent stalk her?” That doesn’t make sense. Unless... “Oh, my gosh, guys. What if he was there to protect her? What if he’s been keeping an eye on her this whole time?”

  A shiver wiggled up her spine. That actually made sense, and it fit with Becker’s demeanor last night on Kelsey’s back step. He might not be the most honest guy, but he hadn’t struck Shelby as mean enough to hurt a defenseless woman.

  “Protect her from who?” Landon had an annoying habit, as if he always needed to top whatever the last person said, and it was really starting to bug Shelby. “Give us a break, girl. Becker stalked her so his buddy, Fallon, could kill her. That’s all. You need to sit down and be quiet. Let us do our job.”

  Shelby bit her lip. Girl? Who does he think he is? Landon was a jerk, but he was right, too. She had spoken up when she probably shouldn’t have.