The team leader crouched next to the reinforced metal door and removed a grenade from his vest, pulling the pin while Guthrie slid a note card from one of his pants pockets. He entered the sixteen-digit code into the touch screen above the team leader’s head and stepped back to make room for the second operative. The locking mechanisms activated the moment he pressed the last number, the reset code instantly bypassing the screen’s menu. The door immediately swung inward, the team leader backhanding the flash bang deep into the safe room.
The grenade blast temporarily deafened him. Guthrie had underestimated the grenade’s sensory impact just outside the vault. Having only one direction to escape, the thick metal walls sent all the sound waves toward the opening, giving the team a slightly dampened taste of their own medicine. The team leader took a few seconds to recover his senses before rushing inside with the remaining BRAVO operative.
The team leader yelled something back to him, but Guthrie caught only the words “wrong” and “nobody.” His hearing was severely degraded by the flash bang miscalculation.
“Say again, BRAVO,” he said over the radio net.
“Nobody’s here!”
Impossible. He stepped in front of the opening to see for himself. What the hell? The space was entirely empty except for a bookshelf set against the far wall.
“Search for hidden compartments,” he said, before stepping out and activating his radio. “All teams. Stay alert. The safe room—”
A long string of unsuppressed gunshots from the other side of the house interrupted his transmission, followed by pandemonium on the radio net. He demanded information, but the two team leaders kept talking over him. A few seconds later, he finally got through.
“Klinkman just started firing at us,” said one of the team leaders. “I have one KIA.”
“Is Klinkman still there?” said Guthrie.
“Negative. He’s gone.”
More suppressed fire erupted from the house.
Guthrie swiveled to face the wall-to-wall bank of sliding doors with his rifle. “Klinkman’s on the deck!”
DELTA’s team leader reacted swiftly, grabbing a handful of the curtain and running it halfway across the room before the leftmost slider shattered—one of the crouched operatives stumbling backward into the hallway. Everyone scrambled as a second bullet punched through the center glass pane, dropping it to the carpeted floor.
“Shut the fucking curtain!” said Guthrie, taking cover inside the bathroom doorway.
A third bullet thunked into the doorframe a few inches above his head. He dropped to the marble floor and rolled left as the curtain raced back across the slider. Somehow the team leader made it all the way. Guthrie rose to a crouch and peeked into the room to check the status of his men. The three remaining members of DELTA team lay pressed against the wall on the far left, rifles pointing toward the billowing curtain. BRAVO team leader poked his head out of the safe room.
“Anything?” said Guthrie.
“I can’t find—”
The man vanished from sight in a cloud of black smoke, his body ripped to pieces by an explosion inside the safe room that sprayed human spaghetti and steel fragments across the room directly in front of the vault door—splintering the canopy bed and blowing the glass slider and curtain onto the deck. Guthrie stumbled backward and fell onto his back, unsure what he’d just witnessed. The safe room had basically torn the two men apart and ejected them like a tree shredder. He’d never seen anything like it.
DELTA’s team leader knelt next to him, yelling into his ear. He could barely hear him over the ringing.
“It’s a trap!” he yelled, the words coming out muffled.
Guthrie nodded. “Get your team out of the house! I’ll coordinate the withdrawal.”
The mercenary helped him to his feet before leading his team down the bedroom hallway. Guthrie tried to follow but faltered, his sense of balance disrupted by the blast’s overpressure effects on his ears. He grabbed the doorframe and steadied himself as DELTA reached the end of the long corridor—and disappeared in a blast that knocked Guthrie flat on his back.
He lay there for a minute, covered in drywall chunks, splinters, and blood, before pulling himself together enough to stagger down the smoke-filled, debris-littered hallway. A small fire danced on top of what looked like a charred corpse. DELTA team had been ripped to shreds. A third explosion rattled the house, stopping him in his tracks. He cleared his voice and pressed the radio button.
“CHARLIE. ECHO. Report.”
Nothing. Guthrie tried again, with no success. He felt for his headset, discovering that it had been torn from his vest by the explosion. Stepping over the crumpled, dismembered bodies that had once been DELTA team, he reached the turn in the hallway that led to the kitchen and living areas of the house. The black lacquered cabinet was gone, replaced by a smoldering crater in the wall. Judging by the fragmentation pattern along the hallway walls, he now understood what had happened.
Rich had lured him into the house under a false sense of security—strategically detonating hidden Claymore mines to cut his team down to a manageable size. He raised his rifle and turned the corner, expecting a counterattack at any moment. A figure dashed across the hallway leading out of the kitchen. Guthrie snapped off a quick burst and retreated behind the blast-shredded wall. A frenzy of return fire kept him in place for several seconds, finally dying down to a slow trickle.
He crouched low and peeked with his rifle, catching a quick glimpse of one of the shooters before they vanished through the opening that led to the dining room. Shit. That was ECHO team. Not wanting to take a bullet to the face or chest from a member of his own assault team, Guthrie gave them time to move on before stepping into the hallway. A fourth explosion shook the walls, a billowing cloud of dust and smoke filling the house ahead of him. ECHO was gone. So was CHARLIE, given the silence that had overtaken the house.
Instead of trying to navigate the house of horrors his tormentors had constructed, Guthrie returned to the master bedroom and stepped through the curtains onto the deck, hoping for a bullet. There was zero point to continuing. Even if he managed to somehow escape the estate, he couldn’t return to APEX. Two mission failures in a row, making essentially the same mistake, meant one thing: termination. And not the kind where you sign a noncompete agreement. The kind that ended with a boiling lye bath in the back of a nondescript warehouse two states away—the resulting slurry poured down an industrial drain. He wasn’t going out like that.
When a bullet didn’t come, he removed the satellite phone from the pouch on his vest and called Dalton, who answered before he heard any indication of a ringtone.
“Everything went to shit on the radio,” she said. “What the hell happened?”
“It was a setup. The whole thing,” said Guthrie. “Everyone’s gone.”
“What do you mean ‘everyone’s gone’?”
“I mean I’m the only one left alive. I think. I don’t know. Maybe a few survived. I really can’t say,” he said. “It’s that bad over here.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, James. We underestimated Sanderson’s people.”
“Yeah. Just slightly,” said Guthrie. “And if I had to guess, I’d say they weren’t finished with APEX. Not by a long shot.”
“I’m going to let you go now,” said Dalton, ending the call.
And just like that, APEX was done with him. He put his back against the brick wall next to the open slider and slid down to the glass-covered deck, taking a few moments to enjoy the blue sky and fluttering leaves before unsnapping his pistol.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Senator Steele sat in the dirt against the concrete foundation of her house, the deck a few feet above her head. Caz and Rich knelt next to her, one on each side, their weapons ready. Whatever they had done to her house seemed to be over. The shooting stopped after four distinct explosions had shaken the ground and foundation, raining dust down on her head.
When Rich had said the house
would require extensive repair work when this was finished, he hadn’t been kidding. From the sound of things inside the house, she wouldn’t be surprised if it had to be demolished. Maybe that was for the better. Sitting under the deck had triggered a painful flood of memories.
Her husband had taken his life not too far from here, the kidnapping and murder of their daughter, Meghan, kicking him into the dark hole he’d circled for years. She could feel his presence in the cool, musty darkness under the deck. It would be hard to say goodbye to this house.
“What’s the holdup, Scott?” asked Rich, waiting for a reply over the radio net.
She couldn’t hear Scott’s answer, but it clearly annoyed him.
“This guy’s taking forever. Ten more seconds and you put him out of his misery. I hear sirens.”
When Steele arrived at the house, she had no idea how much thought had been put into what had transpired over the last several minutes. The more she learned, the more she understood why Karl had recommended this group. For a small, inconspicuous team, they packed an oversize punch—and they were thorough to a fault. About ten minutes ago, while waiting inside the safe room, she’d been told that a sniper team had been watching her house for the past two days. Thermal-imaging cameras installed months ago by Rich’s people had identified an odd pattern of use at the house across Weems Creek over the past several weeks. They’d been watching it closely ever since.
Meanwhile, Rich identified the safe room’s reset code from the very beginning as a possible vulnerability, taking measures to ensure it couldn’t be used against her. He had taken a trip to meet with the security company that constructed and installed the room, convincing their chief security officer that no amount of money was worth betraying the senator and that she should notify Rich immediately if any attempt was made to acquire the code. A call from the company a few days ago had set this entire plan in motion, Rich and his team building onto it as other developments unfolded.
The plan had been solidified well in advance of Steele’s arrival at the house. While she and Caz hid in the safe room, Jared had “taken care of” the sniper team. Afterward, the women had slipped out of the room and under the deck, where Scott, one of the operatives she’d met in Rockville, watched over them from the house.
“What are we waiting for?” she said quietly.
A single gunshot somewhere above them caused her to flinch.
“That,” said Rich. “We’re clear to move.”
He nodded at Caz, who waded into the seemingly impenetrable wall of rhododendrons directly in front of them, Steele catching a glimpse of the shimmering water as she pushed through.
“Follow closely behind Caz, and don’t look behind you,” said Rich.
“Because you don’t want me to see what you did to my house?” said Steele.
“No. Because you might take a bad step and sprain an ankle,” said Rich. “You’ll see what we did from the boat. There’s really no way to hide it.”
“I’m not opening my eyes until we’re on the Severn,” she said, before fighting her way through the fragrant bushes.
Halfway to the long pier, the Hinckley picnic boat’s engine started with a deep thrum, Jared seated at the helm in the covered cockpit. When they reached the boat, Caz helped her on board, while Rich loosened the docking lines. He tossed the bowline on board and worked his way aft to the stern line.
After a few seconds of making no progress on the line, he glanced across the creek and yelled, “You want to swim back?”
Steele got up and leaned over the side, quickly loosening the line from the cleat and giving Rich a hand into the boat.
“First time on a boat?” she said.
“Now I got you busting my chops, too,” said Rich, grinning. “Get us out of here, Jared.”
“Are we picking up the squid?” asked Jared.
“I suppose we don’t have a choice,” said Rich.
The luxury yacht roared to life, speeding dangerously fast across the narrow stretch of water. Jared immediately put it into reverse, nearly throwing Steele out of her seat.
“Have you driven a boat like this before, Jared?” she said, already on her way toward the cockpit.
“I have, but it’s been a while,” he said, sharing a knowing look with Rich.
“Do you mind if I take over?” she asked. “I know these waters better than anyone.”
Jared hopped down from the captain’s chair and slid into the seat next to it. Steele settled into the cushioned seat and eased the throttle forward, bringing them alongside the short pier. Scott grabbed one of the cockpit roof handrails and jumped onto the portside deck, quickly swinging into the salon. When he was seated, she backed the boat just past the pier and cut the wheel left, pointing them toward the Severn.
“You make this look easy,” said Jared.
“I grew up on the water,” she said, pushing the throttle forward. “Tough life. I know.”
The bow rose with the sudden influx of power, the thirty-seven-foot luxury boat rapidly picking up speed.
“Someone has to live it,” said Jared.
“I guess so,” she said, before taking a quick look across the water at her house.
Wisps of black smoke exhaled from the missing master bedroom and kitchen sliders, drifting over the roof and dissipating above the house. Compared to what she’d heard while hiding under the deck, the damage didn’t look that bad from here. She was sure that wasn’t the case.
“It’s way worse than it looks,” said Rich, as though he were reading her mind.
“That’s what I figured,” said Steele. “What’s in the coolers?”
“Drinks. Shrimp cocktail. Cheese plate. More drinks,” said Rich. “I figured we may as well enjoy the remainder of the afternoon. The rest is out of our hands, anyway.”
“When will we know if it worked?” said Steele.
“A few hours from now. Maybe sooner,” said Rich. “If the upload hasn’t happened by then, it probably won’t happen.”
“It’ll happen. I have a good feeling about this,” said Steele as she eased the boat into a lazy starboard turn, headed for the open water of the Chesapeake Bay.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Ryan Decker stood side by side with Pierce near the top of the C-123’s short ramp, steeling himself for the jump. At twelve thousand feet, the landscape almost looked stationary, creating the illusion that the aircraft was barely moving. Only the occasional turbulence-induced rattle reminded him they were in fact humming along at a brisk one hundred seventy miles per hour.
He scanned the monochromatic high-desert panorama of tan and beige. Classic Nevada landscape. The only distinguishable topographic feature in sight was a distant mountain range. The target site was about as isolated as it gets—for a good reason. If Senator Steele’s new friends were right, APEX would want to keep this place as far from prying eyes and electronic snooping as possible.
Under a unique set of circumstances, which the team in DC intended to compel, the site represented a potentially lethal vulnerability to the organization. If they succeeded, Decker and Pierce would be in place to pound the final nail in APEX’s coffin. At the very least it would severely cripple the Institute, forcing them to reconstruct the very foundation APEX had been built on—information.
The aircraft slowed and the jump light above the ramp turned red. They were a minute out, with Bernie bringing the airspeed down for the jump. Decker turned to check on Harlow, who sat in the farthest seat away from the ramp with her eyes closed. Pam tapped her knee and pointed in his direction. Tightening her death grip on her harness, Harlow glanced up at him and forced a smile. He winked at her and mouthed, “I love you.” She briefly nodded and closed her eyes again.
Harlow had been through the wringer on this trip, spending more time in the air than on the ground—the back-to-back, gut-wrenching experiences probably cementing her fear of flying. He’d have to make up for this by driving her down to Cabo San Lucas for a few weeks of vacation.
The aircraft’s crew chief swiveled his seat to face Decker and Pierce. He gave them a quick hand signal. Thirty seconds. He gave Randy a thumbs-up before facing the ramp. Decker gave himself a once-over, more a nervous habit than anything. Pierce and Decker had spent thirty minutes checking and rechecking themselves and each other, under Randy’s close supervision. The explosives, electronics gear, and weapons were cinched tight in firmly attached bags specifically designed for military skydiving.
The light switched from red to green.
“See you on the ground!” said Decker over engine noise and wind.
“Not if I see you first!” said Pierce, before walking down the ramp and diving headfirst out the back of the aircraft.
Decker stole one more look at Harlow before diving after Brad. She surprisingly met his glance and gave him a thumbs-up. He kept that image in his head as he hurtled toward the ground at two hundred feet per second.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
Tim shut his laptop, closing the book on the gruesome affair they’d undertaken at Senator Steele’s house. He typed a quick text message on his satellite phone and sent it to Rich.
Police stormed house. Captured three.
Rich responded with a picture taken from the boat. It looked like they were drinking beers.
Wish u were here.
Seriously? Another text quickly followed.
That was Scott. Nobody drinking beers. Yet. Any word from Nevada?
He typed a reply.
They’re all set.
Decker had called him a few minutes ago to report that they had arrived at their target and assembled the electronics gear required to detect the incoming satellite signal.
Advise when drone mission complete.
He swiveled his chair to face Anish, who was fiddling with one of the drone’s remote controllers. Just the sight of him with the controller in his hands made Tim nervous. Each drone was fitted with a one-pound, remote-detonated C-4 charge.
“Please don’t blow us up,” said Tim. “How are we looking?”
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