by Liz Wolfe
One of the men in fatigues lifted her into the helicopter and the others piled in. They rose in the air and Zoe looked out the window. The stone and glass facility was a mass of smoking rubble. Nothing was left standing. She turned to Ethan. “Maybe he made it to the tunnel. He could still be alive.”
January 19, Arlington, Virginia
Ali, Hasan, and Rashid sat quietly in the utility van. Ali’s hand had twitched for a pen when the lights cameon in the kitchen, and again when the bathroom window lit up. But there was no point in taking notes now about Isaac Jacobs’s routine. Because this was the last day of Jacobs’s life.
All they had to do now was wait.
Ali glanced at Hasan sitting next to Rashid. His elbows were propped on his knees, his fingers lacing together and separating rhythmically. In contrast, Rashid was still, his hands lightly clasped in his lap. Ali marveled at how calm Rashid appeared, then remembered that Rashid had prepared for this for over a year. He was obviously secure in the knowledge that he would accomplish his mission in less than thirty-six hours. Then Rashid would be in Paradise. Meanwhile his and Hasan’s mission would begin today. And then there would be other missions on other days before they went on to Paradise. If all went as planned.
The kitchen light went out and minutes later the garage door opened. Jacobs’s BMW rolled out, turned left out of the driveway, and motored down the street. Ali checked his watch and waited an excruciating five minutes. Then he forced himself to wait two more.
He opened the back door of the utility van that had the same logo as the company that regularly serviced Jacobs’s yard. The three men climbed out, taking rakes, shovels, and clippers with them. They followed the walkway to the front of the house and across theneatly manicured lawn to the gate that led to the backyard. This was the easy part. None of the neighbors would think anything of the men because they had seen two men do the same thing many times over the past few months. That there were three men instead of two wouldn’t be thought unusual. It probably wouldn’t even be noticed.
Ali punched in the code for the security system and opened the door that led from the patio to the kitchen. Inside, the men separated. Rashid went to the master bedroom and laid down on the bed, which Jacobs had made before he left for the day. Ali and Hasan moved through the house, making their regular rounds, checking that nothing had changed. Which, of course, nothing had. When they were done, they met in the living room and sat down to wait. Their entire day would be about waiting. Knowing that made it less frustrating.
After a few hours, Hasan checked the kitchen for something to eat, but found only cheese and bread. Refined, sliced bread in a cellophane package. But the cheese was good. A smoky provolone. He and Ali washed it down with water from the filtered spout on the kitchen sink.
And they waited more. Rashid remained upstairs. Ali assumed he was meditating and praying. He certainly would have been, knowing that his life wouldend in the next twenty-four hours. But Rashid was assured a place in Paradise, so he could be at ease. Of course, he still had his mission to accomplish tomorrow. But even if the mission failed, Rashid was assured of his place in Paradise as long as he did his part.
When the afternoon light faded with the sunset, Ali and Hasan moved into the kitchen. There was still an hour before Jacobs should arrive but they wanted to be ready. Even though he’d never arrived home before six fifteen, something could happen to make him early. They’d chosen the kitchen because that was where Jacobs would enter the house after parking his car in the garage. Hassan would use a garrote to kill him because it would be quick and noiseless.
They knew that Jacobs would lose control of his bowels when he died, and the tile floor of the kitchen would be easy to clean up. They didn’t want to spend the night in a house that smelled of offal. Ali had to smile at the thought of sleeping in the man’s home the night before they killed the infidels.
It was another sign from Allah that it was all so easy to accomplish. Jacobs’s two daughters lived far away and usually called him on Sunday. He wasn’t socially active so no one would be stopping by the house. Especially since they knew he would officiate at the Inauguration tomorrow. But when the kitchen clock showed 6:45 and Jacobs still hadn’t arrived, Ali worried.
“He should have been here by now,” Hassan whispered harshly.
“It is nothing. Perhaps he worked late.” Ali hoped it was something that simple. They were so close now, so very close. Ten minutes later, they heard the garage door open and Ali smiled. He had been right. Jacobs had only been delayed for a short time. Hassan positioned himself by the door that led to the garage and Ali stood about ten feet in front of it. Jacobs would be startled by the sight of Ali, Hasan would move behind him and tighten the garrote around his throat. It would all be over in minutes.
Hasan almost dropped the garrote when the doorbell rang. Ali saw the knob of the door to the garage turn and leapt toward Hassan, jerking the door to the pantry open. They squeezed into the small dark closet just as Jacobs stepped into the kitchen. He walked through the kitchen, laid his briefcase on the dining table, and continued to the front door.
“Good evening, Marion.”
“I made lasagna tonight and there’s so much left over, we’ll never eat it all. I thought you might like some.”
“Wonderful. I love lasagna. And I know that you make the best. It’s freezing out here. Come in.”
“Thanks, but I can’t. I have to get back to the house and help Ronnie with his science project. Enjoythe lasagna.”
Ali and Hasan waited until the door had closed, then eased out of the pantry. Ali motioned Hasan to stay behind him, then walked into the living room to stand before the fireplace. Jacobs stepped into the living room and turned on a lamp, the lasagna balanced in one hand.
“Mr. Jacobs,” Ali said to get the man’s attention.
“Who are you?” Jacobs jerked and turned toward Ali, the lasagna flying out of his hand and spilling on the carpet. “What are you doing in my house?”
Hassan stepped forward and slipped the garrote over Jacobs’s head. He crossed his hands and pulled on the wooden handles, watching the wire cut into the man’s neck. Jacobs’s hands clawed at his neck, trying to pull the wire away. Hassan tightened the garrote.
The stench of Jacobs’s bowels filled the room.
January 19, CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia
The debriefing hadn’t been as taxing as Zoe had feared. She’d had a shower and changed into jeans and a T-shirt that Robyn lent her and was settled on a sofa in Ethan’s office with a cup of tea.
“Congratulations, Zoe,” Ethan said. “You were instrumental in our success.”
“Did they find Logan?”
“No. There was no sign of him. They checked the tunnel. It’ll take some time to go through the rubble. But all the indications are that everyone died.”
She didn’t like to think of Logan dying after all he’d done. She wanted to hear that he was alive and well. But she’d wanted a lot of things in life that hadn’t turned out.
“I’d like to think that Logan survived, but I really don’t see how he could.” Drake walked in and sat next to her on the sofa. “He did a good thing, staying to try to shut it down. And I think he knew exactly what he was doing.”
“Yeah, I guess he did.” She swallowed the lump in her throat.
“What about Hemings?” Drake asked.
Ethan cleared his throat. “There’s no evidence that he was involved with the Order or that he did anything detrimental to the United States. The decision has been made to leave it at that.”
“Leave it at that?” Drake shook his head. “Ethan, tell me that’s your idea of a fucking joke.”
“Drake, there’s nothing we can do. Hemings has been questioned at length and he’s denied all affiliation with the Order.”
“So, Hemings just goes on and becomes president?” Drake asked.
Ethan held up his hands. “I believe Mr. Hemings is aware that he will be scrutinized clo
sely. We can only hope he keeps that in mind when he takes the oath tomorrow.”
Drake rolled his eyes and Zoe sighed heavily.
“I know you two must be exhausted after your ordeal and then the flight and debriefing. Zoe, I have a car waiting to take you home. I understand that Mira and Matteo are at your father’s home for a prolonged visit.”
“They are?”
“Evidently Matteo wanted to get to know his father, and Mira—well, she wasn’t willing to have the visitation be unsupervised. Now, I have a lot of paperwork to do to explain all this to our superiors, so if you’ll excuse me?”
“Sure.” Zoe stood and walked to the door, Drake right behind her.
In the elevator, she leaned her head against the wall. “This is going to be like going from one war zone to another.”
“That bad, huh?”
“You’ve seen them.”
“Maybe you could spend the night somewhere else.”
“I guess I could go to a hotel,” Zoe said.
“Or you could spend the night at my place.”
Zoe opened her eyes and looked at him. “You live in an apartment, right?”
“Yes.” He leaned down and kissed her neck above the too-large T-shirt.
“You have a guest room?” She shivered as his lips traveled up her neck and nibbled at her mouth. “No, it’s a one-bedroom.”
“Perfect.”
21
January 20, CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia
“I JUST WANT TO RUN in and check my messages,” Drake said as he pulled his car into the parking garage. “You want to come in?”
“Sure. I’ve only seen Ethan’s office, the debriefing room, and the showers.” Zoe unfastened her seat belt and followed Drake to the elevator. He took advantage of the privacy to nuzzle her neck, sending a flash of heat into her belly. When the door opened, he took her hand and pulled her down a hallway. He punched a code into a keypad and opened the double doors.
“Robyn, what are you doing working on a Saturday?” Zoe asked.
“Trying to get a location on that detonation device we put into an ink pen and gave to the terrorists. What are you guys doing here?” She glanced at Drake and back to Zoe, then grinned. “Maybe I shouldn’t ask.”
“An ink pen?” Zoe asked, ignoring Robyn’s comment.
“A white Waterman L’Etalon, to be exact,” Robyn said.
“Where was the last location you got on it?” Drake asked, leaning over to look at her computer screen.
“I tracked it from Iraq to France, then to London. Then I lost it.”
“Let me know if you find it again.” Drake patted Zoe’s butt and turned to go to his cubicle.
“So, what’s up with you and Drake?” Robyn asked.
Zoe shrugged. “I’m not sure, but I’m enjoying it.”
Robyn laughed and shook her head. “I don’t know. I hear that relationships started under extreme circumstances don’t last.”
“Really? I haven’t thought much beyond the next week. Or two.”
“Yikes! I think I’ve found it again.”
“The device?”
“Yep. Hey, Drake, I’m getting a location on the pen,” Robyn called.
Drake came out of his office and leaned over Robyn’s shoulder. Zoe stepped out of the way and focused her attention on the television set. She’d forgotten that today was the Inauguration. Zoe shivered at the thought of Hemings becoming president of the United States. The television showed a view of the
Capitol Building, then zoomed in on the arriving dignitaries.
“I can’t understand what you’re looking at,” Drake said to Robyn.
“The satellite is closing in on the latitude and longitude of the device. Those are the numbers you see flashing on the screen. When it locks in on an exact location, it’ll display more information.”
“Can’t you hurry it up?” Drake asked.
“Sorry, there’s no go faster button on this.” Robyn’s fingers flew across the keyboard. “It’s closing in. Just another few seconds.”
Drake stared at the computer monitor with an intensity that made Zoe think he was mentally willing it to work faster. She looked back at the television screen. A reporter was making her commentary of the occasion.
“Shit. I’m losing it!” Robyn typed in more commands and the computer screen flashed more numbers.
“Where is it?” Drake demanded.
“You’re not helping, Drake.” Robyn watched the computer screen. “There! It’s defining the location. Oh, God, it’s in the U.S.”
“Where?”
“Stop asking me that! It’s working,” Robyn said. Her fingers were still on the keyboard, and the three of them watched the computer as it displayed the location on a split screen. The left half changed from a map ofthe United States to the Eastern states, then closed in farther. The right half flashed letters and numbers so fast Zoe couldn’t keep up with them.
“It’s here,” Robyn said.
“Here where?” Drake asked.
“Here in D.C.” Robyn pointed at the map that had focused on the area. The right half of the screen flashed more data, then stopped on an address.
“Capitol Hill,” Robyn said. “It’s on Capitol Hill.”
“The Inauguration.” Zoe pointed to the television set.
Robyn picked up the remote and pushed the button to bring up the sound.
“We’re speaking with the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, Isaac Jacobs, who will swear in President-elect Jefferson Hemings as our next president.” The camera pulled back to include the Chief Justice in the shot. He patted the breast pocket of his coat and fingered a white cylinder.
“That’s it!” Drake ran down the hall to his office and came back with a white cigar-shaped pen in his hand.
“What’s that?” Zoe asked.
“It’s the pen the terrorists gave me to have the detonator put in. Robyn used an identical pen and I kept this one.”
“Chief Justice Jacobs?” Zoe asked. “He can’t be a terrorist.”
“Anyone can be a terrorist,” Drake said.
The news reporter asked Jacobs questions aboutthe event but he shook his head and patted his throat, shrugging apologetically. “It seems Chief Justice Jacobs has a throat infection and wants to save his voice for the ceremony.” The reporter smiled at the older man. “We understand, Mr. Jacobs. Perhaps we can have an interview later?”
Chief Justice Jacobs smiled and nodded, his right hand moving again to the white pen in his pocket. He pulled the pen out and rolled it in his fingers, then slipped it back in the pocket.
“That’s not him,” Zoe said. “It can’t be.”
“Like I said, anyone can be a terrorist.” Drake threw the pen down on Robyn’s desk and ran a hand over his head.
“No. That’s not what I mean. Look at his hands.” Zoe picked up the pen and tapped the television screen.
“What?” Robyn asked.
“His hands are smooth. No wrinkles. They don’t look like they belong to a man in his late sixties.” Zoe watched as the Chief Justice returned the pen to his breast pocket. The man’s face was flaccid with pronounced wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, yet his hands were smooth and supple.
“Robyn, don’t lose the satellite feed. I’m going to the Inauguration.” Drake pulled out his cell phone. “I’m dialing into your cell phone. Bring up the floor plans of the Capitol Building. And call Ethan.”
Robyn put her headset on, punched a button on her phone, and typed in the commands to display the floor plans of the building. Zoe dropped the pen into her pocket and ran down the hall behind him, sliding into the elevator just before the doors closed.
“No,” Drake said shaking his head.
“What?”
“You’re not coming with me.”
“Oh, I am absolutely going with you.” Zoe grinned at him. No way was he talking her out of this.
“Look, it might be dangerous.”
“I think I
can handle it.
“You’re wrong. This is serious, Zoe.”
“Besides, you might need help.”
“Need help?”
“I’m coming with you.”
Drake sighed. “Just do whatever I tell you. No questions.”
“Sure.” Zoe closed the car door and fastened her seat belt.
Drake ignored the speed limit and sped the few miles from Langley to Washington, D.C. But as they approached the city, traffic ground to a halt, every street choked with citizens wanting a glimpse of the Inauguration.
“We’ll make better time on the Metro,” Zoe said.
Drake turned onto a side street and wound his way to the White Flint Metro station. He stopped the car at the curb and jumped out. Zoe trotted behind him into the station.
The station was crowded, but Drake and Zoe elbowed their way through the crowd and onto the next train into D.C., garnering more than a few disgruntled glances. By the time the train pulled into Metro Center, they’d been shoved to the rear of the car and had to wait while everyone else exited.
Drake put a wireless earpiece on his ear and pushed people aside as he left the station. Zoe trotted along in his wake.
“Robyn, where do you show the device now?”
“It’s in the Capitol Building. Looks like the south end of the building.”
“What do the floor plans say is there?” Drake asked.
“The second floor has the president’s room in that location.”
“What about the first floor?” Drake asked.
“I’m still checking. And I couldn’t locate Ethan. Do you want me to call Bolton?”
“No. Not yet.”
Drake pushed through the throng of people and finally reached one of the ticket gates. He pulled out his CIA identification and showed it to the man at the gate. “We need to get to the Capitol Building. Now.”
“Do you have a ticket?” the man asked.
Drake leaned closer. “What part of a CIA ID do you not understand?”
“Yes, sir.” The man stopped the line of people and let Drake and Zoe through.
Drake broke into a run, and Zoe’s shorter legs pumped to keep up with his long stride. They had to stop twice more to show his ID before they reached an entrance to the building.