by Liz Wolfe
“I take it you’re familiar with that brand?”
“Of course.”
Drake sighed. “I’ll help you.”
“Thanks, but it’s not necessary.”
“You’ll never manage it alone.”
“That might be true. But I won’t be the one rescuing him.”
January 13, Iraq
Ziyad couldn’t stop himself from examining the podium while he waited for Ayman to join him. It was perfect. Constructed in France in 1792, it was just the sort of podium Thomas Jefferson would have stood before to take his second oath of office. And fortunately there were no cameras then, so no one could prove that he hadn’t. The Presidential Inaugural Committee had accepted the documentation he’d provided through the mysterious Mr. and Mrs. Randall as authentic.
He ran his hands over the smooth polished surface of the top and underneath where the hidden compartment had been constructed. It was flawless. Thecompartment, originally constructed to hold a book or sheets of parchment, had been enclosed and would soon contain the Neurotox that would kill and disable the governmental leaders of America. Ziyad was tempted to open the compartment but knew he had to wait for Ayman. He didn’t want to take the chance of marring the elaborate piece.
“You are pleased?” Ayman asked as he entered the room.
“Yes. Very pleased.” Ziyad could hardly contain his excitement. “Show me how it works.”
Ayman crossed the room and placed his hands under the compartment, silently pulling it forward to reveal an empty space. Ziyad eyed the device that had been attached for testing.
“This is where the canister will be attached?”
“Exactly,” Ayman said. “And insulation will be packed in to prevent extreme cold or heat from reaching it.”
“I almost cannot believe we are so close to achieving our goal. It is a dream come true.”
“Has the canister been shipped?” Ayman asked.
“Yes. And the insulation that you requested. Will it really keep the temperature steady?”
“Enough for our purposes,” Ayman assured him. “Our agent will attach the canister here, and pack the insulation around it. The podium will ship to France tomorrow and from there to America.”
“And you are certain our agent will be able to handle the installation?”
“It will be delivered to the Capitol Building and stored in the basement until the Inauguration. I have a man in maintenance there. He will receive the podium and has already stashed the device and insulation. He assures me that the temperature of the basement is well within our target range of ten to twenty-six degrees Celsius. The day before the Inauguration, it will be brought up and kept inside the building until the morning of the Inauguration. On the day of the Inaugural celebration it will be placed outside on the portico early in the morning, but the insulation will provide more than enough protection from the early morning chill.”
Ziyad sighed with relief. “This is the prototype of the actual canister?”
“Yes. And when the device is detonated, this lever releases, which turns this wheel.” Ayman pointed at the parts. “Then the Neurotox is sprayed into the air here.” He indicated what appeared to be a normal wormhole in the wood but actually hid the nozzle that would deliver the Neurotox to America’s leaders.
“We shall test it.” Ziyad pulled the white pen from his pocket. Keeping his eyes on the apparatus attached to the side of the hidden compartment, hetwisted the cap of the pen and pulled it off.
The lever clicked up, a small wheel turned, and Ziyad imagined he could hear the hiss of the Neurotox being sprayed into the air. The sound of success.
January 14, Florence, Italy
Zeke rolled over the top of the stone wall and dropped silently to the ground. He slipped along the side of the wall, keeping to the shadows, until he came to the window with the wood stacked underneath it. He stepped onto the stack, smiling at his daughter’s thoughtfulness. His nimble fingers felt around the window casing to make sure Zoe had disabled the electronic sensors. She had. Not that he expected her to be less than perfect, but double-checking was as natural to him as breathing. He took a moment to consider what he was about to do.
Rescue his son. His son! And after that, he’d get his hands on that bitch, Mira. He had more than a few words to say to her about stealing his son. He reached for the window, saw his hand tremble, and pulled it back. He worried that the Parkinson’s would cause him to make a mistake. He forced his thoughts to the task at hand. Get in. Get Matteo. Get out. He regulated his breathing and let his thoughts fade away.
He slid the window open, braced his palms on the sill, and hoisted his lean body up and over the ledge. Even though he’d stopped thieving years ago, he’d kept up his training. He was still good. Even with the Parkinson’s. Still there was the nagging worry that he might not be up to the job. He stopped that thought immediately. Worry precipitated failure. How many times had he told Zoe that? Plan your work and work your plan. That was the path to success. He’d planned as well as he could with the limited information available. The rest he’d have to trust to fate.
Zeke padded silently down the hallway and turned left. He paused beside a potted palm to assess the area. He could see the entryway bathed in moonlight that filtered in through the floor-to-ceiling windows on either side of the arched double doors. At the other end of the hallway he saw the door that would lead him downstairs. To his son. He moved down the hallway, eased the door open, and padded down the stairs. He opened the door a crack and looked out. The fluorescent ceiling lights were turned off, leaving the room lit only by a series of low-wattage canister lights. Just enough light to see by. He slipped out and closed the door behind him.
Prying the case off the keypad to the security system, he aimed his penlight inside and located thewires. He pulled the white and yellow wires together and took the wire cutters from the fanny pack. His hand fumbled and the cutters dropped to the floor.
Zeke froze. The noise sounded deafening to his ears. He glanced around, waiting for someone to appear. After a moment, he forced himself to breathe normally and concentrated on relaxing his muscles. No one was around. Probably they were so sure of their security system that they hadn’t posted night guards. Especially with Zoe out of town on a job. Who else would be interested in rescuing Matteo de Luca? Who else even knew he was here? He chuckled to himself. Their security system, good as it was, wouldn’t be good enough.
He picked up the wire cutters, located the white and yellow wires, and snipped them. Then he snipped the red wire and twisted it together with the yellow wire. He said a little prayer as he pushed on the door handle. The door opened. No sound. No alarm. He still had it.
He considered the four doors before him. All he knew was that it wasn’t the second door from the right. That left three doors. He chose one on instinct and performed the same wire snipping and twisting. The door opened and for a moment he couldn’t even take a breath. He just looked at the long, narrow form lying on the bed, covered with a white sheet and a thin blanket.
Zeke slipped a thin plastic card between the doorand frame to prevent the lock from engaging and moved across the room to the bed. He let his penlight dangle from the cord around his neck and lifted the sheet.
His son was beautiful. A strong jaw and prominent cheekbones, dark eyebrows and thick lashes. Zeke almost chuckled. He’d bet this one had broken a few hearts, even at such a young age. He touched the soft dark curls that fell over his son’s forehead. Just like his mother’s hair. The bitch.
He unzipped the fanny pack and pulled out the prepared syringe. Calder had assured him this would counteract the drugs they had given Matteo. Zeke wasn’t at all sure he trusted the man, but he knew he could never carry Matteo far enough to effect their escape. He removed the plastic cover from the needle and pulled Matteo’s arm out, hoping to find a prominent vein. He was in luck. His son’s inner arm was traced with the pale blue lines he sought. He plunged the needle into his son’s arm just the way he’d been
shown and depressed the plunger. Always careful to not leave any evidence, he replaced the plastic tip and shoved the syringe into his fanny pack.
Matteo’s eyes fluttered open, then shut again. Zeke shook his shoulder gently.
“Matteo. Wake up.”
“Huh? What?” Matteo’s eyes opened. “Who are you?”
“It’s not important. I’m here to get you out. Come with me.” Zeke pulled his son’s arm to help him sit up.
“What the fuck happened?” Matteo muttered.
“There’s no reason for language like that.” Zeke pulled Matteo to his feet. “Can you stand? Can you walk?”
“Oh, sure.” Matteo took a step and his legs crumpled under him. “Oh, shit. Maybe not.”
“Sit,” Zeke instructed. He waited a moment, hoping Matteo would improve. Instead, he slumped back on the bed, his eyes closed.
Zeke pulled the second syringe from his pack and removed the plastic cover. Calder had told him the adrenaline would work immediately. He’d also told him that a second shot might be necessary. Not knowing exactly how drugged Matteo would be, they had sent two smaller doses. He pulled Matteo’s arm out for the shot, then he heard footsteps in the hallway. He tossed the sheet and blanket over Matteo and leapt to stand behind the door.
“Just take me a second,” a voice said as the door handle moved and the door opened. The plastic card fell to the floor and Zeke held his breath. But the man’s voice covered the sound of it hitting the concrete floor and his booted foot covered the card when he stepped into the room. The man held a syringe similar to the one in Zeke’s hand.
Dear God. The last thing he needed was to have more drugs in his son. He knew he could take this man down, but what about the other one in the hall? No, it was too risky. The man peered at Matteo, shrugged, and turned back into the hallway.
“He’s still out. Doesn’t need another shot.”
Zeke waited until the last second to grab the door handle and caught it just before it latched closed. He picked up the plastic card and slipped it between the door and frame again, almost sticking himself with the exposed needle. He listened to the men’s footsteps as they left. He was too old for this crap.
After catching his breath and calming his heart rate, he moved back to the bed and turned Matteo’s arm to expose the inside of his elbow. He found the vein and inserted the needle, depressing the plunger again.
After a few seconds Matteo gasped and sat up. “What the hell?” His breathing was rapid and shallow.
“Again with the language,” Zeke muttered. “Come. We must leave.”
“Where’re we going?” Matteo asked.
“To see your mother.”
16
January 14, Prague, Germany
“THAT’S A JOKE, RIGHT?” DRAKE asked.
“What?” Zoe double-stepped to keep up with his long-legged stride down the street. Drake stopped and grabbed her arm.
“Are you serious? You sent a man in his—what, sixties, seventies?—to rescue your brother? I mean, I know you just met Matteo, and I can understand if there’s no love lost between the two of you, but really, isn’t that just feeding him to the wolves? Along with your father?”
“I sent Zeke Alexander to rescue him. That’s not exactly the same as sending a man in his sixties or seventies.”
“So how old is he? Your father, I mean.”
“Fifty-six or so.”
“Same as sixty,” Drake said. “They’re both dead by now.”
“You’re full of shit.” Zoe hitched her backpackover her shoulder and stomped off. Drake caught up and walked beside her in silence the last five blocks to the Institute of Physics.
“Over here.” He guided her across the street to a bench.
Zoe pulled the miniature floor plan from her backpack and studied it, her forehead creasing in concentration.
“Are you worried?”
“Worry precipitates failure,” she said. “Plan your work. Work your plan.”
“What’s that? An old thieves’ saying?” Drake asked.
Zoe grinned at him. “Pretty much.” She looked across the street. “The Institute closes in an hour. Let’s go.”
They entered the Institute and followed the signs to the public exhibits. After wandering through a series of rooms, the museum patrons thinned out, and eventually, they were alone in one of the back rooms. Zoe looked at Drake and then glanced at the cameras mounted in the corner of the room.
“Yeah, I saw them. We need to get to the back hallway anyway.” He left the room and headed down a vacant hallway, then pulled Zoe into a small closet.
“Where are we?” She tried to move away so she wouldn’t be shoved up against his chest, but the shelves pressed into her back.
“Janitor’s closet,” he replied. “They don’t start cleaning for two hours after the doors close to the public.” He pressed a button on his watch to light up the face. “We have half an hour until the doors close.”
Zoe settled down on the floor underneath the shelves, straightened her spine, and closed her eyes. She monitored her breathing, forcing herself to take slow, deep breaths. Thoughts of her father, mother, and brother vied for attention, but she let them drift away. She felt the muscles in her neck and back relax and concentrated on that feeling.
“What are you doing?” Drake asked.
Her eyes flew open. “Trying to relax,” she snapped. She repeated the process, and felt the relaxation down to her thighs before he spoke again.
“Does it work?”
“Only if you stop talking.” She tried again, but it was marred by wondering if Drake was going to start talking. Finally, she unfolded her legs and stood up. That put her in contact with Drake again. This time, his back.
“We should head for the basement now,” she said.
“A few more minutes. Just to be sure.”
“It’s stuffy in here,” she argued.
“Well, that’s a relief. For a minute, I thought you just didn’t like being close to me.”
“Ever occur to you I was just being polite?”
“Not really.”
They waited in silence for what seemed an eternity to Zoe, then Drake turned the doorknob. “Let’s go.”
The hallway was dimly lit and silent. They hurried to the ancient wood door that led to the basement. Zoe dropped to her knees and pulled her lock picks from her fanny pack. In seconds the door opened and they crept down the dark, narrow stairwell. The door at the bottom of the stairs was unlocked, and they stepped into a cavernous room filled with old equipment, displays, and office furnishings. Zoe pulled a flashlight from her pack and shone it across the room. At the far end stood a massive Peltz safe. She breathed a sigh of relief. They’d had no information on the type of safe that contained the crystal lens they were after. It could easily have been a modern safe with an electronic lock. Which would have prevented her from getting the lens unless Drake was packing one of his CIA gizmos.
Not that she had any intention of giving the crystal lens to The Order. Unless something went wrong with her father’s planned rescue of Matteo. In that case, the lens would be her only bargaining chip.
“So far, so good,” she whispered.
“Yeah. Almost seems too easy.”
Zoe turned and scowled at Drake. “You never say that to thief. It’s like wishing an actor good luck.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“It’s a superstition. You’re supposed to say break a leg.”
“I always thought that was stupid.”
“Let’s just get the damn lens and get out of here.” Zoe trotted to the safe. She spun the large dial a couple of times to get the feel of it. The snick of the drive pin thrummed against her fingertips as she detected each wheel in the wheel pack. “This ought to be quick. There’s only four wheels. I’d expected a lot more.”
“Just how do you do this? Can you hear the lock working?”
Zoe shook her head. “I just have a knack for it. I can feel
the vibration when the drive pin touches the wheel fly.” She continued turning the dial slowly, picking up the wheels until all four were lined up. The fence dropped and she turned the safe handle sliding the bolt free. The heavy door swung open silently, revealing shelves stacked with papers, small boxes, and other stuff that she couldn’t identify.
“It’s supposed to be in a box about six inches by four inches,” Drake said.
Zoe shined her penlight into the safe, then reached in and handed Drake a box. “Check that one.” She pulled out a similar size box and opened it. Nothing. She replaced the box carefully and selected another one.
“I don’t know what this is, but it’s not a lens.”
Drake tipped his box so she could see the small instrument inside. She opened another box.
“This is it.” Zoe showed him the lens, resting on a piece of foam. She replaced the foam-padded box lid and tucked the box into her fanny pack.
“What’s that?” Drake asked. “What?”
“I hear sirens.”
Zoe tilted her head. “They’re getting closer.”
“Did we trip an alarm somewhere?”
“No. I checked every door.” Zoe closed the safe door and looked up at the window close to the basement ceiling. “Here. Help me up on top of the safe.”
She stepped into his cupped hands and he boosted her up to stand on top of the three-foot-high safe. The sirens were even louder now. She peered out the small window to see a fire engine pull up to the curb. A flash of light drew her eye to the building across the narrow alley.
“The building next door is on fire.” Within minutes, two more fire trucks, an ambulance, and several police cars had arrived. Zoe hopped down from the safe and glared at Drake. “See, this is why you never say it seems almost too easy. Because it never is.”
“Well, at least they aren’t here for us.”
“We won’t be able to leave until they’ve gone.” She nodded at the windows near the ceiling. “That’s ouronly way out. And there’s too great a chance we’d be seen with all those people around.”
Drake turned to look at the other side of the basement. No windows. “What about upstairs? Aren’t there any windows we could use?”