And what had she done with all those prudent warnings? Nothing. She’d followed her heart.
And the result? His rejection had hurt her in a way Blake’s lying and cheating never had.
“Hey.” Gage nudged her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Something’s bugging you.”
She didn’t want to share her real thoughts, so she switched to the topic that had been on her mind during her four-hour shift behind the wheel.
“You know,” she said, “for years I’ve worked with cops and detectives and people who have devoted their careers to law enforcement. For the life of me, I can’t understand how Trent could do this.”
“You mean go to the dark side?”
“Knowingly help someone who wants to kill innocent people.”
Gage shook his head. “My guess is money.”
“That’s just so . . . disgusting,” she said, for lack of a better word.
“Money makes the world go ’round.”
“But doesn’t the FBI take notice if one of their agents suddenly gets rich? I mean, isn’t that how that CIA caught that spy? He started living large and driving a Mercedes.”
“Maybe he plans to sock it away somewhere. Or leave the country. Who knows.”
“And for a scientist to do it . . . that’s almost as bad. It makes me sick.”
“Yeah, I think Spurlock’s motive was a little different, though. Mark said he spent his career developing the anthrax vaccine. You ever read about the doctor they eventually charged with the letters? He was working on the vaccine, too, and the research program was in trouble. Funding was about to disappear. The theory was, he wanted to draw attention to how vulnerable we are to bioterrorism and how much the government needed to fund his program.”
“Again, it boils down to money.”
“But maybe that’s a good thing. Money’s traceable,” Gage pointed out. “And a couple of corrupt bureaucrats—that doesn’t keep me up at night. I’m worried about Ramli.”
Gage pitched his coffee cup in a trash can. Kelsey spotted a restroom sign.
“I’m going to make a pit stop and change into these clothes.” She fished a plastic bag out of her purse that contained Gage’s meager supply of toiletries. “Don’t forget to take your pill,” she said.
She slipped into the restroom and spent a few minutes cleaning up. The euphoria she’d felt over their little shopping excursion had faded, and her shoulders were again tense with worry.
What if Marissa Ramli was a dead end? What if her brother carried out his plan?
And on a more personal note, what if Gage really did get arrested and charged with murdering a federal agent? She tried to imagine him sticking around to be put on trial by the government he’d devoted his career to defending—the same government that now seemed intent on ruining his life. She couldn’t imagine it. If it came down to that, what she could imagine was him disappearing into the wind, and her never seeing him again.
She emerged from the bathroom and looked around. No Gage. She walked closer to the food court and scanned the people standing in line for coffee and breakfast sandwiches. She didn’t see him. She glanced over her shoulder at a store that sold sports memorabilia. Her pulse picked up as she did a slow turn, looking at every storefront.
Finally, she spotted him in a hair salon and walked over to join him. He stood in the middle of the waiting area, oblivious to the curious looks he was getting from the hairstylists as he gazed up at a TV mounted on the wall.
Kelsey glanced up at the screen. A newscaster stood on the White House lawn, and Kelsey read the headline scrolling beneath her: ANTHRAX ATTACK.
CHAPTER 19
“Are you watching this?” Ben asked as soon as Kelsey picked up the phone.
“We just saw it.”
“Two people dead,” he said. “Both postal workers who fell ill over the weekend. The letter was addressed to the president’s chief of staff, but it never made it past the sorting center. The terror threat level’s been elevated and there’s a run on antibiotics at D.C.-area pharmacies.”
Gage unlocked the SUV and tossed their packages in back. Clearly, he intended to drive the next shift. The question was, where were they going?
“What’s Mark think?” Kelsey asked, keenly interested to hear what a world-renowned profiler thought of this latest development.
“He’s standing right here. You can ask him yourself.” She heard the phone being handed over as Gage started the car.
“Mark? What do you make of this?”
“It’s definitely bad,” he answered, “especially in terms of timing. We’d hoped to have days, maybe weeks more to investigate, but this signifies that he’s exited the planning stage and is now focused on execution.”
Kelsey bit back a sarcastic comment. She was no profiler, but it was obvious to her that he’d entered the execution phase when he chased them into the desert with an assault rifle.
“What do you think this means in the scheme of things?” she asked. “Is this really the big attack? A letter?”
“I’d say that’s doubtful. This doesn’t strike me as nearly spectacular enough for him.”
She glanced at Gage behind the wheel as he turned out of the mall parking lot. “That’s what Gage thinks, too.”
“First of all, it lacks originality. We had letter attacks more than a decade ago. Also, this is a relatively low body count, considering the weapon he has at his disposal.”
“Gage and I were just discussing that.”
“I was expecting a subway attack. In an enclosed space like that, the pathogens don’t disperse as quickly as they would outdoors, and they’re not vulnerable to the sun’s ultraviolet rays. Commuters enter the contaminated space, breathe the deadly material, and then get whisked away so another batch of people can be infected. It’s like a lethal assembly line.”
“Does anyone know where the letter was mailed?” Kelsey asked Mark. “Headline News didn’t have a lot of details.”
“Salt Lake City, postmarked Wednesday,” Mark said. “That’s unconfirmed, but that’s what Gordon got from someone he knows at Quantico. And I’m inclined to think it’s right because it fits the timeline of Ramli’s suspected whereabouts.”
Kelsey relayed the details to Gage as he entered the on-ramp to Interstate 10 west.
“I’d bet money this is just his opening move,” Gage said. “He’s a demo man. You saw the video. Killing off postal workers with a tainted letter doesn’t have nearly enough bang for this guy.”
“Gordon’s about to board a plane to Washington,” Mark told her. “He’s convinced it’s the site of the next attack.”
“What do you think?” Kelsey asked.
“I’m not sure. It could just as easily be New York, Boston, any city with a subway system or major airport would be my guess. We need intel on his whereabouts. Are you still on your way to the sister’s?”
“We still are.” Kelsey glanced at Gage, who was driving exactly the speed limit. The last thing they needed was to get pulled over.
“Good, because we just got a new update on that Facebook page. The message is about a Braves and Astros game at five tonight at the park.”
“Is there really a game tonight?”
“Ben says yes, but it’s at seven o’clock, so this is worth checking out. It’s conceivable that he could have mailed that letter and traveled to San Francisco by now. He could be meeting up with his sister to get money, documents, who knows.”
“Sounds like kind of a long shot,” Kelsey said.
“Gordon said the same thing, but he’s sending an agent up there to help with surveillance. I’ve got a number so you guys can coordinate.”
As Kelsey rummaged for a pen, he recited a number with a San Antonio area code.
“What’s his name?”
“Her name is Elizabeth LeBlanc.”
“LeBlanc. I’ve never heard of her. She’s out of Blake’s office?”
“
Shit, you’re kidding me,” Gage said. “They’re sending LeBlanc?”
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “You said you wanted more agents. She can help with surveillance.”
“I think she’s new,” Mark told her. “But she was up there already pursuing a lead, so she’s available.”
“And we’re assuming ‘park’ in the message refers to the park near Marissa’s house? Sandburg Park?”
“Could be Minute Maid ballpark in Houston,” Mark said. “That’s where the actual game is being played tonight. But if this is a meet-up, we obviously don’t want to miss it. Can you get there in time?”
“We should, barring any unforeseen disasters—which, given our recent track record, means maybe.”
“Keep us posted.”
She got off with Mark and looked at Gage. “Gordon’s headed to D.C. He’s convinced he’s planning something big against a political target. He’s focused on Washington.”
“I bet he’s also focused on getting his family out of the city.”
“Can you blame him? Anyway, there actually is a Braves game tonight, so this could turn out to be nothing. What’s your problem with this LeBlanc woman?”
“She’s green as grass.”
“Well, at least she’s available. If we see anyone who looks even remotely like Ramli, she can help us tail him.”
“That’s not happening. This woman’s FBI Barbie. He’ll spot her in a minute. She tried to tail me from San Diego to Piney Creek, and I lost her in no time.”
“She’s that bad?”
“She sticks out. That’s really all they’ve got?”
“All they’ve got for us. This feels like a token effort, because Gordon’s convinced he’s in Washington. Which would actually be better news, because they’re much more equipped to handle a threat like this.”
Gage shook his head. “Let’s hope he’s right.”
• • •
Elizabeth hurried along the sidewalk, looking for Bay Area Bread Company. She spotted it—a redbrick building with yellow awnings, just as he’d promised. Also as promised, there was a white pickup parked in the alley beside the building.
Elizabeth opened the door and slid in.
“You’re late,” Gage said flatly.
“Something came up.” She pulled the door shut and gazed across the street at the postage-size patch of real estate known as Sandburg Park. Several boys were tossing a Frisbee. A group of old men sat at concrete tables playing chess. “What happened?”
“He’s a no-show,” Gage said. “Same with the sister.”
“What about cars?”
“Nothing suspicious. If he’s still in a white four-door, we haven’t seen it. Marissa drives a yellow Mini Cooper, and we haven’t seen that, either.”
“Where’s Kelsey?” Elizabeth asked, scanning the park benches.
“I put her on overwatch.”
She gave Gage a questioning look, and he nodded across the street at a redbrick building about eight stories tall.
“That’s apartments?”
“Ground floor’s retail,” he said. “The rest is residential. She slipped in behind some people an hour ago and made her way to the terrace on the roof.”
Elizabeth eyed the rooftop. She couldn’t see Kelsey, but anyone up there would have a clear line of sight to the building two blocks north, where Marissa lived with her daughter.
“Not a bad setup,” Elizabeth said.
“Yeah, Gage didn’t want her too close to the action.”
Elizabeth shot a startled look at the cell phone in the cup holder. She hadn’t realized it was on speakerphone.
“Nice outfit,” Derek Vaughn said. “Thought you were coming as a jogger.”
“Like I said, something came up.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Where are you?”
“Park bench, southwest corner. You should recognize the Bears cap.”
Elizabeth spotted him lounging on a park bench. He had a Bluetooth hooked to his ear and was once again eating. It looked like a hot dog this time.
“What came up?” Gage asked, pulling her attention back to the case.
“I was just over at Berkeley following up on a lead. This originated with Kelsey, actually. From the notepad she left in her uncle’s cabin.”
Elizabeth pulled out her own notepad and flipped it open. “A UC Berkeley phone number. Turns out Blake Reid had several conversations with one of their faculty members, a Dr. Shamus, the Friday before he died.”
“Microbiology?” Gage asked.
“That’s what I thought, too, but his doctorate is in civil engineering. He’s on vacation right now—his honeymoon, actually—so I talked to one of his colleagues in the engineering department. Aside from teaching, Shamus does consultations for major urban projects. His biggest project to date is the recent redesign of the Washington-area Metro system.”
She paused to let the implications of that sink in.
“So, Gordon’s theory is gaining ground. Ramli might be targeting the capital. The FBI believes he’s there now, most likely setting up surveillance of the target.”
Gage looked at her for a long moment. He picked up his phone.
“You catch all that?” he asked. “Let me let you go. I need to call Kelsey.” He clicked off and dialed a number with his thumb. “Hey, it’s me. Come on down, you need to hear this.”
• • •
Adam picked up on the first ring.
“The money’s late,” Trent told him.
Pause. “Is this a secure line?”
“What do you think?”
“The money will be there. I’ve had to make some changes to the plan.”
“That part of the plan isn’t changeable.” Trent peered through the binoculars. “You might be interested to know I’ve got my eye on your sister’s house. You were supposed to pick up the package today.”
“Someone else took care of it.”
“That wasn’t part of the plan, either. Bolton doesn’t like surprises.” Trent shifted the binoculars to the front door of the building. “I’ve been seeing your niece around. Cute girl. What is she, four? Five?”
No response.
“Been seeing some other people around, too. People like Gage Brewer.” He waited for a reaction. “You said you took care of him in the desert.”
“Brewer won’t be a problem.”
“He’d better not be, or it’s on your head.”
Again, no response.
Trent lowered his binoculars and stepped away from the window. He checked his watch. “It’s nine A.M. in Hong Kong. You’ve got exactly three hours to make that transfer, or we’re pulling the plug.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s a fact. We’re done fucking around, and we have a long reach. You might be able to slip away, but they won’t. Three hours.”
Dial tone.
Trent stuffed his gear into the backpack and slung it over his shoulder. He crossed the empty apartment and opened the door slightly. The hallway smelled like cooked fish. Trent checked for nosy neighbors, then made a beeline for the elevator bank, where a hunched old woman stood leaning on a cane. She’d already pressed the down button, and Trent avoided her gaze as he pulled off his unseasonably warm leather gloves and stuffed them in his pocket. The elevator doors dinged open. He waited impatiently as she hobbled on. Someone in the corner reached over to hold the door for her.
“Thank you, dear.”
“No problem.”
Trent stepped in behind her, and the doors started to close.
• • •
Kelsey’s gaze met his. For a split second, shock. Then adrenaline took over and she lunged through the closing doors. Her jacket snagged. He had her. She let out an ear-piercing shriek as she twisted free of the fabric and raced down the hallway. A muffled curse behind her as the elevator thudded shut.
Her heart skittered with relief, but it was short-lived as she glanced up and down the corridor. What floor was she on? Where were the stairs
? Behind her, at the far end of the hallway, an exit sign. She bolted for it. She shoved the door open and found herself in a concrete stairwell. A door banged open below. Footsteps echoed through the chamber like gunshots as Trent sprinted up.
She took the steps two at a time and shoved through the door at the very top. The rooftop terrace. She raced to the wall and peered down at the neighboring building. Fear zinged through her now as she realized she’d underestimated the drop.
A door squeaked open. Footfalls, coming fast. Kelsey scrambled over the wall and dropped onto the adjacent building, landing hard on the concrete. She scampered to her feet and sprinted past a row of planters to the door.
Locked! She saw the keypad beneath the doorknob. She cupped her hand and peered through the glass. A workout room. Treadmills. Weight machines. Every damn one of them empty.
She glanced over her shoulder. No Trent. Did he know she was here? She scampered around the side of the building and hid from view as her breath came in shallow gasps and she tried to get her bearings. Terror gripped her as she looked around and saw nothing but rooftops and clouds.
A muffled thud. The rapid slap of footsteps.
She rushed to the far wall and looked over. Another building, thank God, but it was at least a ten-foot drop. She glanced around desperately. A metal utility ladder led down. She made a run for it. In the corner of her eye, a dark blur.
She lunged for the ladder and practically slid down the rungs, cutting her hands on the rails as she went. She glanced around. This building was older. No plants, no workout room up here—only a giant vent and a cinder-block structure, which she fervently hoped had an access door. She sprinted to it and dashed around the corner. Relief spurted through her as she spied the door. No keypad this time, but it was locked. She peered through the dusty window.
Footsteps.
On a burst of panic, she jerked the cap from her head and used it to protect her fist as she punched through the glass. The shattering noise sent a shot of terror through her as she stuck her arm inside and groped for a latch.
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