The worry lines around Kali’s eyes faded and her face turned resolute. “They can take anything I own, Zeke, even my life, but no one else’s. Not Sean’s. Not yours. They crossed the line killing Annie.”
Rowe added Kali to that list. “We have two choices: outsmart Al-Zahrawi or kill him.”
“Either is fine with me.” She smiled at Rowe, eyes shining, as warm as he’d ever seen them. “Every day, you place country over self. You have no wife or children, no girlfriend. Is that the price of protecting our nation?”
Rowe swallowed. “Sometimes.” He wanted to tell her how badly he needed a family, how every time he fell in love the Universe slapped him down, how desperately he feared involving her in his life.
But instead, he got himself another beer. By the time he returned, she was asleep. He tucked a blanket around her and went to call James.
“Hey. You heard yet from your FBI colleagues or a Detective Cariole with the NYPD?”
“Walk out front.”
His safe house abutted the Flat Rock Brook Nature Preserve. At night, he was serenaded with a symphony of insects, grasshoppers clicking in the humid air, and coyotes calling to their mates. During the day, the creek babbled and dogs romped with their owners along the well-worn path. He could run until his lungs burned and still never reach another house. There was a spot off the hiking trail, a shaded stump where light filtered through the branches that met high overhead and shut out not only the sun, but the world. Rowe had never lived anywhere he loved more.
He handed James a beer. “Pleated chinos, a polka dot shirt with white buttons—”
“Australian pearl. I have a date. She gave me this after shave.” James leaned toward Rowe. “Do you like it?”
Rowe sniffed gingerly and shrugged as he pulled the fax out of his pocket. “Are these the magnetic signatures for America’s Tridents?”
James snapped a picture and forwarded it through a secure connection to a Navy contact. “Where’d you get this?”
“Grant, aka Al-Zahrawi. He wants Kali to locate them all in the next two days.”
James humphed. “If these are legitimate, even if Otto can’t find them, they expose every one of our submarines to extreme danger.” His face was pinched and tight. “You know the Navy won’t let Kali verify them.”
“I’ll come up with something. Just cover me.”
James took one deep breath and another. “How’d you run into the Feeb’s and locals in one night?”
When Rowe explained, James stared into the night. “I told Jones and Davis—clever names, huh?—you’re on assignment, but they think you’re stealing military secrets. Cariole considers you a person of interest in Fairgrove’s death. He asked if you were the jealous type. Your alibi—Kali—stinks.”
“I can clear myself by giving up Otto’s tape of the murder, but then your bosses are stuck explaining how the government spied on Americans. The fact Otto belongs to Kali will be irrelevant.”
Rowe waited as James processed the implications. He had time to decide that the guy down the street playing his music loud enough to be heard in the next city was a jerk. He was about to shut him up when James started.
“It should have taken hours—not minutes—to track the ping to Otto.” James rubbed his chin. “I reached out for background on Sam and Edik.” He paged through his notes. “Interpol-UN has a Special Notice out on Samantha Vitolska for crimes involving everything from drugs to human trafficking. She’s considered capable of anything. Edik—nothing. All filler. I think it has to do with Edik.”
Chapter 63
Thursday
Rowe paced a slow circle and willed the answers to come to him. The only reason to dump Fairgrove behind Kali’s apartment was distraction, to point the police at a jilted lover. Transparent, but it would delay Rowe a day. Or two. With the deadline only three days away, that might be enough.
Rowe awakened Kali early Thursday morning, made coffee, shared his limitless supply of Tigers Milk bars, and drove them to her lab. Now, as she worked, he mulled over the nugget of a plan that had surfaced last night, after James left and while Kali slept. It all relied on Otto.
For the fifth time in an hour, he asked how she was doing.
“I’m building an algorithm that directs Otto to filter for the Trident profile—size, shape, mass, protrusions, movement, and any other characteristics I can come up with.”
Kali made locating fourteen cigar tubes each shorter than three football fields, in eighty million square miles of ocean—70% of the earth’s surface— sound as easy as picking sunflowers from a bed of pansies.
It took most of the day. When she finished, all she said was, “Now we wait on Otto.”
While the AI analyzed and sorted, Kali studied Sean’s jail. This new one was different but the same—rough-hewn walls, no windows, no furniture, and a plank floor encrusted with dirt. Sean looked defeated. The impish curiosity that always suffused his face had disappeared, leaving a forlorn waif with soiled clothes, greasy hair, and yellow teeth, strumming his chest. A rat bigger than his hand scurried over to his foot, sniffed, and scooted away only when a voice off-screen bellowed. Sean never reacted.
Something tugged at her subconscious. She blanked her mind, trying to force it to the surface.
“Kali?”
What was she missing? His fingers… “His fingers, Zeke. Sean’s practicing the same notes over and over.” Kali instructed Otto to display what the boy was playing. Sean’s composition flowed across the monitor. “It’s an unusual sequence.” She uploaded it to a music composition program called Finale modified to respond to images rather than audio. When Sean’s song played, it was discordant. The flats and sharps came at odd intervals. The phrasing was off, with measures ending at peculiar spots.
“I might have the key wrong.” She tried all seventy-two keys, but it made no difference. What was familiar about this? She leaned back in her chair, stared into the middle distance for five seconds, and five more, mind working as her body went still, and then sat up. “Eitan?” His face appeared. “Can you decrypt this?”
Sun stabbed a few keys and announced, “It’s Musical Morse Code—GDR and 7439.” She should have thought of that. When Sean fingered his bass without bowing or plucking, he was sending a message. An eighth note was a dot and a quarter note a dash with a rest between each. “License plate for a Capri Blue S320.”
Rowe called James with the number and car’s description, and forwarded it to Cariole.
Her phone burred. Grant. She turned her back on Rowe, not wanting his input. “I located the subs,” she lied, “but first I talk to my son.”
Grant chuckled. “You are a fitting intellectual match, Kalian Delamagente. So we reach the endgame. I want the Tridents and you want your son. Whose desire is greater? I have no anger for Sean. He is polite. I would enjoy hearing him play the bass he so resolutely practices. I will contact you tomorrow.”
The connection broke, but her phone jangled again.
“It’s going to be OK, Kali. I know what Gunner really wants.” Cat. “You’re my dearest friend—I never wanted this to happen.” Her tone was happy, but tinged with the weariness of someone teetering on the edge of a rooftop who’s made the decision to jump.
Rowe grabbed the phone, “Don’t do that, Cat. Where are you? I’ll go—” but Cat hung up.
Two nights, and already Kali’s presence felt right. Like a painting pulls the eclectic pieces of a room together, the fragmented parts of his spirit inched toward familiar territory.
“What color will your patio be, Zeke? At your real house?”
“What color are patios?”
“Grandpa kept ours white. It felt clean and comfortable. Sean drew a crayon family in the corner one year and Grandpa wouldn’t paint over it until Sean promised to redraw it.”
As she talked, she straightened pictures, put dishes away, fluffed pillows, and started a load of laundry. Her scent wafted over him. Her grace calmed him.
“What’s
for dinner?” She asked.
“I’m a bachelor. I eat take-out.”
She chuckled. “Not tonight.” She pulled out baking powder, butter, and flour, and mixed them in a large bowl.
“Knead this for five minutes. When you’re done, roll it out with this…” she searched through his cupboards for a rolling pin, but found none. “…scotch bottle.”
While Rowe flattened the dough to a half-inch-thick square, she shredded cheese, uncovered a can of chili, folded it all inside the bread and created one of the best piroshky he’d ever eaten. He added white wine and she ended the meal with instant pudding mixed with whipped cream, a poor man’s mousse.
After dinner, he did the dishes while she showered, singing softly to herself. He didn’t want to interrupt so went outside to update James. When he got back, she was gone. He listened, but nothing. All the doors and windows remained locked. He pulled his Sig from the back of his pants and checked each room, crouching as he entered and swinging the Sig corner to corner. He found her curled under his blankets, arms wrapped around a pillow, breathing soft and measured.
Friday
The lively aroma of cinnamon woke Rowe. He stretched, his neck cracking from being bent all night. The bed was empty.
When he shuffled to the kitchen, Kali grunted at the coffee maker, fingers never slowing on the keyboard. He poured a mug and found scrambled eggs, toast and sausage in the microwave, still warm.
“Where’d you get this?” He asked between mouthfuls.
“Sean and I would starve if the grocer didn’t deliver,” she said without taking her eyes off the screen, and then leaned back. “I’m done with the changes Eitan suggested. If Cat’s plan doesn’t work, we’re ready.”
Before Rowe could ask what the Hell she meant, her phone rang.
“Kali. Gunner lied…”
“Cat!” Rowe jabbed the speaker. “Get out of there! These people will kill you!”
“He can’t. He’s dead.” Stockbury’s voice faded in and out. “He laughed when I gave him the cash. Said Daddy and I throw money at problems. I told him what green stuff didn’t solve, a 9mm did and I shot him.”
Stockbury yelped, followed by a crash and a new voice came on. “Stupid bitch. Why she think I trust her?” Feral hatred filled Borodnoi’s voice. “Bring Otto to my coordinates. Now.”
“Leave Cat out of this or I quit.” Kali’s voice could have frozen hydrogen.
“No you won’t. I have your son.” And a click.
“GPS shows he’s at Cap’s Corner. This must be a set-up, Kali.”
“Cat needs help.”
Chapter 64
Friday
“Is this Zeke Rowe?” The voice was a tense whisper.
“Cap, what’s up?” Rowe stomped harder on the gas.
“You told me t’ call if they came back. They broke int’ cabin #8, down by th’ black pines. Cap cleared his voice. “They got m-machine g-guns.”
“Cap, listen to me: Hide. They killed at least nine people who got in the way. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“O-OK. I’ll be in th’ office.”
“Are they in a blue Mercedes?”
“No, not this time. Somethin’ gray.”
As Rowe hung up, the phone burred in his hand. He would have skipped it except for the area code.
“Zeke? Joe Boyd.”
“Joe. I’m a little busy.”
“You’re about to be busier. The Monroe’s are fleeing, in a Mercedes, license GDR—”
“—7439. We’ve been looking for that car.” Rowe added James to the call.
“I trailed them to a place called Cap’s Corner. They met up with two guys carrying AK-47’s, one a burly blonde Russian I’ve seen at the Monroe’s.”
“That guy’s a mercenary. He’s bad news. Stay away.”
“They’re leaving. I’ll follow them.”
“Don’t do that, Joe. Bobby James has your coordinates. He’ll find you. Stand down.”
“The Bobby on the card? Good man? OK. Don’t worry ‘bout anything. Bobby and I got this covered.”
“I said—” but Joe was gone. “God damn Marines.”
“I’m calling the local police.” From James.
Rowe clenched his teeth so hard he heard something crack. Five minutes later, he skidded into Cap’s parking lot.
“Cat’s here. I’ll find her—”
“No.” Rowe cut her off. “We don’t know what’s down there.”
Kali chewed her lip, but didn’t argue, which felt like a victory. He tried Cap’s phone, but no answer. The office was dark.
“Do you have another gun, Zeke?”
He tapped the glove compartment. “If anyone comes, crouch down in the footwell.”
“Right, like I’m going to do that,” she muttered, but Rowe was already dashing toward the cabin, down the slope to a tight enclave of tall pines, stooping as he ran. Time slowed, his vision sharpened, and his breathing regularized. A lake breeze swished through the pine needles. Someone was boating, running their engine, enough white noise to hide his footsteps. The chronic ache in his knees receded as he snuck forward, stopping to listen, moving a few steps at a time until he reached the fire clearing surrounding the cabins.
There were three sets of fresh prints on the cabin’s dirt patio. Two work boots and the third like a woman’s flats. None matched Sean’s Nikes. If this were a SEAL mission, Rowe would have an M4, an M60, grenades, and claymores. Today, he had the 9mm and a spare clip.
He gave the cabin a final once-over, took a step, and sensed rather than felt the trip wire. He dove behind a black pine as the building exploded, splinters of wood flying as far out as the lake, slamming him into the ground and knocking the breath out of his lungs. There was a scream and then nothing.
He checked his body for damage, found a deep gash on his arm and scrapes on his hands from dragging over the rough terrain. When he peered around the tree trunk, an inferno burned where Stockbury’s phone had been. If she was there, she was dead.
As he considered what to do next, he felt a tap on his shoulder. One of James’s men. His lips moved, but all Rowe heard was a muted, hollow tunnel of words. He touched his ears and shook his head. The guy motioned toward the parking lot. Rowe scrambled up the hill as Kali raced headlong down. He snagged her as she flew by. He didn’t want her to see her best friend dead.
“Let James’ guys clear this. There may be more bombs.” She pulled up, eyes fixed on the rescue team. “Did you see anything?”
“A car left right after the explosion. Two people in it, I think.”
“OK. I have to find Cap. “Stay here until I come back.”
Rowe snuck up to Cap’s administration building. Its window had been shattered by the blast, but the flag still proudly waved. He peered in at the ancient registration desk and the two wobbly chairs. His hearing was almost back—he caught the crackling fire and the shouts of the rescuers as they searched for survivors, but nothing else. He dialed Cap’s phone and it rang inside, four times and went to voicemail. He elbowed open the heavy door and drew back at the sour stench of urine and excrement. He held his Sig in front as he snuck across the lobby to the desk and peaked around.
There, throats slit ear to ear, lay Cap and Kathy. Kathy’s eyes were wide with fright, mouth hanging in an O. Cap had slashes on his hands as he tried to defend himself. Rowe rubbed his eyes and breathed deeply. Despite Annie’s death steps away from his cabin, Cap had believed violence only happened to other people, not him and his young daughter. His arms reached toward Kathy trying to protect her one final time. Secured to his chest by a rusty nail pulled from one of the outdoor planters was a handwritten note: Follow me or your son dies. Bring Otto.
Rowe removed it and stuffed it into his pocket. This was not a message James needed to see.
As he searched for clues, a voice boomed from the smoldering cabin. “We found someone!”
By the time he backed out of the building. Kali was halfway to the charred remai
ns.
“Kali, wait!” She didn’t even slow. One of James’s team—Jimenez according to his tag—stopped her as Rowe caught up. “This is a crime scene.”
“What happened?” Rowe flashed his badge and the agent scowled.
“We’re supposed to keep you in the loop.” His eyes turned away. “The woman was shot, stabbed and left to die, but managed to drag herself out of the cabin before it exploded.”
“We can ID her,” and Rowe raced toward three paramedics frantically working on a half-clothed, bloody body. He shouted back over his shoulder, “There’re two dead up in the office, the owner Cap and his daughter Kathy.”
Kali ran ahead. “Cat! Let me see her! I’m her friend!” She wrestled her way to Stockbury’s side. Her face was a putty color and her chest moved in shallow tiny breaths. Deep gashes covered every visible part of her body.
“Move back. She needs a hospital.” The paramedics lifted Stockbury into the ambulance, and then left with sirens screaming.
“We have to go, Kali. I’ll explain later.” He dragged her stumbling and numb up the hill to his car and they sped off moments ahead of the arrival of the fire trucks. Once on the highway, Rowe told her about the message. She twitched, but nothing more, eyes on her laptop.
“Cat will be fine, Zeke. She’s a fighter. Now we find Sean.” Her voice was disturbingly calm. “He’s in a car.” She added a dent between her eyes to the dark rings underneath. “See his fingers?”
Before Rowe could respond, Borodnoi pulled the boy from the vehicle. In moments, Otto switched feeds and focused in on the new surroundings.
Rowe dialed James. “They’re at Albany Airport, trying to reach a Gulfstream, three stripes—baby blue between navy blue—Nellie 489 Golf Alpha”
“Joe and I are here. My guys surrounded them. OK. They’re pinned down.”
To Hunt a Sub Page 28