Chapter 51
June 16
Pennsylvania
The night wore on as Morgan drove west on I-78. They stopped at a gas station near Bridgewater, where Morgan took the gun from the trunk and gave it to Lily. As the tank was filling up, he ran the bug detector under the bumper. It beeped as Morgan swept the rear right wheel. He ran his hand under the car until he found what he was looking for.
He pulled the device off the chassis, to which it was magnetically attached, and examined it. It was definitely a tracker, black with a blinking LED light. Bastards. Apparently the distrust was mutual. Morgan walked over to a truck that had come from the opposite side of the highway and stuck it to the inside of the truck’s rear bumper.
As he drove off, Morgan wondered where they would stop. Farther would be better, but he couldn’t afford to be too far from the action—he might be called on to do something on short notice. He took the phone that Conley had left in the car and fingered it.
“Do you have anyone you’d like to call?” Morgan asked McKay. “The call would be untraceable.”
“No, I’d rather not,” said McKay. “There’s nobody that I’m very close with. I’d just as soon not risk talking to anyone.”
“Lily?” he asked.
“I’m good.”
Morgan looked at the clock on the dash. It was past 2 A.M. Jenny would be sleeping by now, but.... He dialed his home number.
“Hello?” Her voice was sleepy and slightly hoarse.
“Hi, honey, it’s me. Sorry to call so late.”
“That’s all right,” she said. “I’m glad you did. Is everything all right?”
“I’m okay,” he said. “But Liberty Island has been attacked. It’s on the news.”
“Oh, God,” she said. “I haven’t been watching TV today, and all the computers are off. Where are you, Dan?”
“I can’t tell you. But I’m safe. I won’t be coming home tonight, though.”
“I figured,” she said.
“Now, I don’t want you to be scared,” he said, “but I want you to stay home tomorrow. You and Alex need to stay indoors, okay? I can’t tell you why, but please, just do it.”
“Okay,” she said. “I’d better tell Alex, she might get up earlier than me.” He heard her footsteps, and the creaking of the bedroom door.
“Dan,” she said, her voice panicked. “Dan, where is Alex?”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“She’s not here, Dan.” He heard her running downstairs. “Her motorcycle’s gone.”
“Oh, God. Let me call her,” he said. “I’ll call you right back.” He hung up and dialed his daughter. She picked up before the second ring. “Alex?”
“Dad? Is that you?”
“Alex, is everything okay? Where are you? Your mother just found your bed empty and your motorcycle gone—”
“Dad, I need to talk to you.”
“Alex, things are a bit crazy right now, I can’t really talk. But you have to call your mother. She’s worried sick about you. You should be with her right now, she needs—”
“Dad, you gotta listen to me. There was an explosion. At the place you go. Where you work. Someone planted a bomb.”
“I’ve already been—how do you know where I work?”
“I—I followed you one time.”
“You what?” he said. “You—We’re going to have a very serious talk about this, young lady.”
“Fine, Dad, I don’t care, just listen. I was watching the street, and I saw this van go into the building.... They tossed a bomb or something.”
Morgan struggled to contain his anger. This was no time to lose his cool. “Are you safe? Were you hurt?”
“I wasn’t hurt,” she said. “I—I just saw it happen. But, uh . . . I’m not so sure I’m safe.”
“What do you mean?”
“I followed them. The people who blew up the place.”
Jesus Christ, the reckless child. “Followed them where?”
“Somewhere off 287. Here, I’ll send you a pin.”
“You’ll send me what?”
“A pin, Dad. My location on GPS.” Conley’s phone vibrated, announcing that it had received whatever it was she’d sent.
“Are you still where they are?” he asked.
“In the woods, just out of view. Look, Dad, that’s not all. There’s a landing strip here, out in the middle of nowhere. Also a plane. It looks like one of those military cargo aircraft. They’ve loaded something into it. A big box of some kind. Something’s happening here, Dad.”
Oh, God, the EMP. “Get out of there, Alex. I’ve got the location. I’ll take care of it.”
“Dad, no.”
“Alex, get out of there.”
“Something might happen. I need to be here. Look, I’ll keep out of sight. No one is going to see me. But I’m not leaving.”
She was as stubborn as he was. Arguing would accomplish nothing. “Okay. Fine. But stay out of sight. And don’t do anything. I’m on my way. I’ll be there in no time.”
“Dad, it took me four hours to get here.”
“I’ll be there in two.” Then he added, “And Alex? Call your mother.”
Chapter 52
June 16
Washington, DC
Smith was waiting in the underground hotel parking garage when he saw Ken Figueroa’s car pull in and find a spot about fifty feet away.
Smith checked his Kel-Tec P-32 in its holster attached to his left ankle, and then stepped out of his car and walked toward Figueroa, who was already stepping out of his. Smith hated meeting in person at a time like this, but certain protocols had to be followed. With Zeta out of commission, Lambda was the only resource he had left on the East Coast. As the head of Lambda, Figueroa was the man to see.
“It’s time to declare a state of emergency,” said Smith. “Things are out of control. We need to get top-level officials and the Aegis board to secure locations. I’m going to need your help with this, Ken.”
“I know,” said Figueroa. “Procedures are already underway. There’s only one thing missing.”
With veiled trepidation, Smith reached into his inner jacket pocket and produced a folded printed list of names on heavy paper stock. He had never held a more valuable piece of paper in his hands. It was the single biggest secret that Smith, a man of so many secrets, was privy to.
“Here it is,” said Smith. “The list of board members of Project Aegis.”
Figueroa took the list from Smith and unfolded it, looking at its contents. Smith could swear that a smirk played on Figueroa’s face, a disturbing smile of triumph, or perhaps even glee. But Smith’s attention was diverted to a subtle movement around Figueroa’s waist.
Smith heard the gunshot before he saw the gun, which had been concealed in Figueroa’s blazer pocket. Sudden sharp pain made him clutch his torso, and he toppled to the ground, falling first to his knees and then sideways against his right arm. In the darkness, he saw only the gray of Figueroa’s pants leading to his polished brown patent leather shoes.
“It’s hard for me to express exactly how goddamn tired of you I am,” said Figueroa. He waved the gun, and Smith thought he might shoot to kill this time, but he didn’t seem to be done talking. “I’m sick of all your secrecy bullshit, your orders, and this goddamn mystique you put on about yourself.” He kicked Smith in the shoulder. A sharp pain reverberated through his body. “So goddamn self-serious. So mysterious. The ridiculous name you chose for yourself.”
Smith’s mind went to the tiny pistol in its ankle holster. The garage was dark, and he didn’t think Figueroa had seen it. He resisted looking at it—it might just draw Figueroa’s attention. But so would reaching for it.
“You’re a power broker, Smith,” spat Figueroa. “That might sound big, but it just calls attention to the fact that you have no power of your own. You might move the pieces here and there. And men like me are forced to live in your shadow.”
The foot swung again, this
time hitting Smith in the gut. Smith doubled into the fetal position on the ground. It was almost too much to bear.
“But I know your secret,” said Figueroa. “You’ve actually got no power. You give orders, you act like the boss, but you’re middle management, Smith. You’re an errand boy.”
As the pain wafted away, Smith took note of his position, his back arched, legs bent to protect his abdomen. All he had to do was reach.
“After all this, Smith, all you are is an impotent, ineffectual—”
Smith stretched his left arm until his hand wrapped around the handle of his semiautomatic. It took the space of two words for Smith to draw the gun from its holster and align the sight with Figueroa’s head. He pulled the trigger. The bullet entered Figueroa’s brain through his eye, killing him mid-sentence. He fell heavily backward.
That was that.
The shot reverberated in the parking garage. Smith gritted his teeth against the pain and looked at his wound, which was gushing blood. It looked bad. He wondered if it might be fatal. He crawled over to Figueroa’s corpse to check for a phone. Just moving this small distance nearly caused him to cry out in pain. He found the phone, but it was password-locked. No use.
Smith looked at his car, where his own phone was. It was only about twenty yards’ distance, but it seemed impossibly far away. He couldn’t walk. He could hardly move from the pain. It might have been useless even to try. He might very well die halfway there.
Doing his best to stanch the wound with his left hand, Smith crawled, inch by inch, toward the car.
Chapter 53
June 16
New York State
Morgan drove into one of the small towns bordering the highway and got McKay a room at a motel. He did the registration himself so that she wouldn’t be recognized, then handed her the key and a slip of paper with the number to his cell phone written on it.
“If anything happens, call this number, and only this number. Stay put. Nobody knows you’re here, so you’ll be safe. I need to go take care of my daughter, but I’ll be back for you, or I’ll send someone I trust. I promise.”
She looked at the number. “Thank you, Morgan. Thank you for saving my life.”
He and Lily walked back to the Corolla and took off once more, streaking down the highway toward the coordinates Alex had given him. They drove side by side, silently, the whole way, and made the turn into the dirt road in just under two hours. He drove slowly until he caught sight of the floodlights Alex had described to him. He took the car off the road, finding a spot that would hide it well enough in the dark, about a hundred feet away. He and Lily took out their guns and walked out.
“I would kill for some proper shoes right now,” Lily said. She was still in her high heels.
“Or a flashlight,” said Morgan. They stumbled in the dark toward the light in the clearing, all the way to the tree line.
“Dad!” It was a loud whisper. “Dad! Over here!” Morgan saw Alex’s faint silhouette some twenty feet away and walked over to her.
“Young lady!” He hugged her. “We’re going to have a talk when we get home.”
“Dad! This is important. Look!”
Morgan examined the plane and the two vehicles parked near it.
“And the box is inside already?” Morgan asked.
“I saw them carry it in,” said Alex. “Look! That guy! I think he’s the leader or something. They all seem to take their orders from him.”
The features and the bulk of the man were familiar, even from far away. “That’s Fleischer,” said Morgan.
“Who’s Fleischer?” she asked. “Do you know that man, Dad?”
“Weinberg’s definitely behind this,” said Morgan, ignoring her. Another of the men had gotten into the Jeep and was maneuvering in into the airplane cargo hold through the ramp.
“Bastard. This is Lily, by the way,” said Morgan.
“Nice to meet you, kid,” said Lily. “You wouldn’t happen to have an extra pair of shoes on you, would you?”
Alex looked at Lily’s high heels and frowned. “You two aren’t exactly dressed for a top-secret mission, are you? Were you at a party or something? Were you on a date?”
“Undercover,” said Morgan. “But at a party, yes. Turned out the hors d’oeuvres were no good. Plus, these men came along and shot half the guests.”
“What?” Alex asked.
“We’re thinking it might have something to do with these guys,” said Morgan. He watched the men as they talked on the edge of the ramp to the airplane. “It would really help if we knew what they were saying.”
The words were barely out of his mouth when Alex took off, running along the tree line.
“What the hell—”
He saw her shoot out of the light toward the men. He clutched his gun, ready to run out and help her, when he saw that the angle at which she was running kept the van between the men and her. She reached the van and stood flat against it, ear cocked.
“I have to hand it to you, Morgan,” said Lily. “That is one hell of a girl you raised.”
“That she is,” he said with grudging respect.
They watched as Alex listened to the men’s conversation. This lasted a few minutes, until the men walked onto the airplane. Alex ran back to the darkness of the trees, then back over to Morgan and Lily.
“That was—” Morgan began angrily.
“Awesome, I know,” said Alex. “Listen, they were talking about something. ‘The weapon,’ they kept calling it.”
“That would be the EMP,” said Morgan. “The box you told us they carried into the plane earlier.”
“Okay,” she said. “Well, they had a plan that they kept referring to. Said they had to get the timing just right.” The engines of the plane came to life with a roar.
“Timing for what?” asked Morgan, raising his voice to be heard above the noise. “What else did you hear?”
“Something about an aircraft,” Alex said. “Bringing it down. That targets ‘one’ and ‘two’ would be on it.”
“Oh, God,” said Lily. “Morgan. The attack on Liberty Island. The government would go into a state of emergency. In a situation like that, they’d definitely airlift the President out of DC. He’s going to be in the air. It’s Air Force One. They’re bringing down the goddamn Air Force One.”
Morgan took Conley’s phone out of his pocket. “Lily, I want you to take this phone and call Peter Conley. It’s in the phone’s memory as the last call made. Then call Smith—that should be in the phone’s memory, too, by name. Tell both of them what we heard here. And stay with Alex. I need you to get her to safety. Get her to where we left McKay. Here are the keys to the car. Will you do that for me?”
“Count on it,” said Lily.
“Where are you going?” asked Alex, alarmed. He didn’t answer. “Dad?”
“I’m going to stop them,” he said. “I love you, Alex, and I’m proud of you.”
He ran straight for the plane, jumping onto the ramp as it was closing. He pulled himself up and into the plane. All the passengers were in the seats near the cockpit, which were turned forward. No one saw him as he slid down the ramp and crouched behind the Jeep, bracing for takeoff.
Chapter 54
June 16
Washington, DC
Hoisting himself onto the driver’s seat of the car was the hardest part. Smith’s legs were hardly working. Pulling himself up felt like a screwdriver was tearing at his insides. Blood flowed freely as he used both arms to hoist himself. But with gritted teeth and purpose of mind, he managed.
He reached a slumped position on the driver’s seat, with his face near the hand brake. Pressing against the wound with his right hand, he picked up the phone and tried Bloch, but hers was apparently off. He tried a few numbers for Zeta, but they wouldn’t go through, either. He was thinking of other numbers he could dial when the phone rang so unexpectedly that he nearly dropped it.
“Who is this?” said Smith, doing whatever he could to
keep his voice steady
“This is Lily Randall.”
“The British agent?” he asked.
“Is this Smith?” she demanded.
“This is he.” Smith was holding his breath now to keep from screaming in pain, and it slowed his speech.
“Are—are you okay? You sound awful.”
“Just—say what you—called me to—say.”
“Cobra says the EMP is meant to for the President,” she said. “It’s going to take out Air Force One tonight.”
Goddamn it. That is bad. “Is—that—all?” he asked, with the painful pauses in his speech.
“That’s it,” she said.
“I want—you to call—a number for me. Tell them—what you told me. Explain—everything. Can you—do that?”
“Yes, yes, of course,” she said. “Just for God’s sake tell me who to call.”
He gave her the name and number as fast as he could.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll call now.”
Hanging up, he turned on the interior light of the car and looked at the bullet hole. It couldn’t wait for an ambulance. He reached for the glove compartment and pulled it open. In there was a special first aid kit he’d put together for this kind of emergency.
First, he cleaned the area with a gauze pad. Then he took out a packet of chemical hemostat, which should help control the bleeding, and applied it to the wound. He couldn’t hold back the howl of pain. He opened three more packets of gauze and pressed them against the bullet hole, then took a roll of bandage and rolled it around his torso, pulling as tight as he could. He held it in place with a thick piece of surgical tape.
He pulled himself up again, so that he was sitting upright in his seat. Feeling himself weakening, he used all the will he could muster to hold out against unconsciousness. He tested his feet, and found that he could move them enough to operate the gas pedal with his right and the brake with his left. He turned the key in the ignition.
He pushed the accelerator too far backing out, and crashed against the car behind him. He shifted the car into drive, turned the steering wheel, and let go of the brake, applying the least pressure that he could. The car lurched forward. He managed to get it to move in the right direction. He scraped the entire right side of the car turning a corner a little further ahead, but in this stumbling style, he managed to leave the parking garage and get out into the street.
Black Skies Page 26