“You are out of your minds if you think I’m going to send my whole unit in there so you can all die together. Absolutely not. You’re an important resource to the FBI and the country. You simply can’t all go in there.”
“I’ll go alone.” Meg’s tone was backed by steel. “Craig, we have ten seconds to make this call. We can’t just let some woman die in my place because we’re cutting it too close. We’re not that kind of coward.”
“Jennings, stop pushing. I’m giving you all an order. Stand down.”
Several beats of silence passed as Meg stared at the words “SSA Craig Beaumont” displayed on her screen. To disobey his direct order was to risk expulsion from the FBI. More than that, it was possibly a death sentence. But could she live with herself if she simply stood back and watched as the building imploded and an innocent woman died? Could she risk the life of her dog, because she sure as hell couldn’t do this without him?
An image of Deuce filled her mind at that moment—huddled with him in the pouring rain in a dark alley, the blood from his gunshot wound warm on her hands as he bled out. As he died in her arms. Taking Hawk inside that building could mean his death as well.
She looked down at Hawk, who stood stock-still beside her, staring up at her with trust, loyalty, and love. As if sensing her thoughts, he gave a wag of his tail, as if to say, Come on, we’re wasting time. That’s when she knew she didn’t have a choice. Not for either of them.
“I’m sorry, Craig. I can’t live with your decision.”
She pushed the phone into Brian’s hands. He frantically fumbled at it before his fingers locked around it and he stared at her, all the fear he was feeling shining in his eyes. Because he knew her too well.
“Hawk, come.”
They sprinted for the front door and toward the darkness of death.
CHAPTER 16
Remote Surveillance: On September 24, 1861, Professor Thaddeus Lowe ascended more than one thousand feet in a tethered balloon named the Union, near Arlington, Virginia. He was able to observe and provide intelligence on the position of Confederate troops near Falls Church several miles away. His information allowed the Union Army gun crews defending the Capital to aim and accurately fire at an enemy they could not see. Soaring over flat landscapes, balloons provided a surveillance and intelligence platform for military commanders. Although some balloons could ascend to five thousand feet, threats were often concealed by mountains or within buildings.
Saturday, May 27, 10:24 AM
Teller and Sons furniture factory
Gettysburg, Pennsylvania
“MEG!”
Even at a run, Meg could hear the tinny sound of Craig’s shout exploding from the phone’s speaker, but she ignored it. He’d made his choice and so had she; this was no longer in his hands. She paused for a moment in the factory doorway, looking back one last time. Brian was flanked by Lauren and Scott, who had him in a death grip by both upper arms as Lacey frantically barked and tried to get between them as he struggled to free himself and follow.
It’s not your place.
She raised one hand in farewell to him, heard his bellow of “NO!” and then she was through the doorway and into the dim interior. She yanked the leash out again, giving Hawk the scent one more time. “Find her, Hawk. Quickly find her. We can do this.”
Hawk put his nose down, scenting the planks and then trotted across the floor, weaving back and forth around wooden pillars and explosive-wrapped columns, stepping carefully over yellow detonation cords, trying to find a single trace of that one particular odor. Another cell phone duct-taped to a column caught Meg’s eye as she jogged past it. Not the only one. When this place comes down, it’s going to come down hard. Her heart pounding so ferociously she could feel the frantic thump in her temples, she forced herself to take a breath, hold it for a moment, and then exhale. She needed to be calm for Hawk. Her fear would only transmit directly to him, throwing him off his game, and that would be the end for all of them.
She saw the moment he caught the scent trail as his tail curved high and his whole attitude suddenly intensified. “That’s it, boy, that’s her. Find Karen.”
She followed him across the cavernous first floor, the scratch of his nails against the wood and the thump of her boots echoing in the empty space around them. Unerringly, he ran to the far end of the floor, where an ancient wooden staircase and banister led up to the second floor in one direction and down in the basement in the other. Hawk didn’t hesitate, heading straight toward the basement. Meg pulled out her flashlight and shone it down into the inky darkness. The wide wooden steps showed their age, the middle of each step worn into a smooth curve by decades of work boots, but they looked solid. The construction was minimal—simply the steps and twin runners to support them between banisters buffed to a dull shine by the touch of thousands of hands. The second step was spray-painted orange, likely one of the weak spots Duncan had noted.
“Go on, Hawk. Find her.” She shone the light down along the staircase to light their way and he gamely started down the stairs. She stepped onto the first tread, but then whipped back toward the factory door at the sound of shouting. She resolutely turned away from the sound. Her dog was nearly at the bottom of the steps and her place was with him. She skipped over the second step, and then ran down the rest of the stairway.
Unlike the factory floor above, the outer perimeter of the basement was constructed of less expensive local fieldstone. The air was suddenly heavy and damp, and a quick flash around showed moisture running in rivulets over stone and mortar to puddle on the floor, where patches of black mildew bloomed. Walls of mismatched brick partitioned the space into individual rooms, which would make the search longer. Some of the walls abutted heavy brick columns, identical to the ones upstairs, and Meg spotted a cell phone mounted on the nearest pillar.
Hawk was undaunted by the more complex search area, his nose down, letting the scent lead the way. He confidently started back toward the far end of the building, giving doorways a cursory sniff, but then moving on without a second glance. Meg had to assume the basement had the same footprint as the first floor, but the hallway before them melted into blackness at the edge of the flashlight’s beam. It was a big area and time was running out.
“Karen? Karen, I’m from the FBI, we’re here to help you. Can you hear me?”
The faintest of noises met her ears.
“Wait! Hawk, stop.” They both stood stock-still. “Karen? Karen, if you can hear me, make a noise.”
There was no mistaking it this time—the sound of a muffled female scream. Hawk’s ears perked high and he took off at a run toward the sound, Meg right behind him, trying to angle the bobbing flashlight to light their way. Hawk cut abruptly into the last doorway on the left and pulled up so fast, Meg nearly fell over him.
A woman lay on her stomach at their feet. Her mouth was gagged and her wrists and ankles were zip-tied; even now as they stood over her, she was struggling, trying to pull her hands free of the restraints, leaving meaty gouges behind as blood rolled down her arms and soaked her sleeves. She rolled sideways to look up at them, blinking in the light, and Meg felt the blow above and beyond the additional signs of vicious abuse. Blue eyes, pale skin, long black hair. She’s me again. She only had one eye open; the other was a deep charcoal-magenta and swollen shut, the lashes nearly lost in the puffy tissue. Her jaw sported a large misshapen lump, and the neckline of her shirt showed a long ragged tear, giving a glimpse of black bra beneath. Behind her, in the dirt floor, was a clear trail, at least twelve feet long: He’d beaten, bound, and gagged her, and left her to die. However, she wasn’t about to go without a fight. She had dragged herself along the floor toward the scant light filtering down the stairs into the basement. She would never have been able to make it on her own, but she was going to die trying.
Not anymore.
Meg dropped to her knees beside her, dragging the pack from her shoulder and rooting quickly through a front pocket. She pulled out her fo
lded knife, the blade popping free at the touch of a button. “Karen, we’re going to get you out. Hold still so I can cut off the ties.”
The woman instantly stilled, allowing Meg to slip the tip of the blade under the tie, a quick flip of the wrist slicing through it. She groaned, partly in relief, partly in agony, as she quickly grasped one bloody wrist with the other hand. Then, as Meg dealt with her ankles, Karen yanked the gag out of her mouth, spitting cloth bits into the dirt.
“Can you walk? We literally only have minutes before this place blows.”
Karen formed the word “yes,” but nothing came out of her parched throat. Meg jammed the knife into her pocket, shouldered the pack again, and held out her hand to Karen. The woman grabbed on tight, forearm to forearm, and let Meg haul her to her feet. She was unsteady and weaving almost drunkenly—likely the residual effects of the ketamine—but her jaw was set and determination flashed in her eyes. Meg slipped an arm around her waist, even as she shone the beam of the flashlight out the doorway. “Lean on me if you have to. We have to move fast. Hawk, out.”
Hawk shot through the door and Meg half jogged after him, dragging Karen with her. The other woman was trying hard to help support her own weight; and with each step, she grew steadier, although the stiffness in her body told Meg she was in considerable pain. In less than thirty seconds, they reached the stairs and Karen half crawled up them, collapsing to her knees at the top, once more in daylight.
“Can’t stop,” Meg panted, hauling her back to her feet. “Any second, it’s going to go. Come on!” She took her hand, grasping tight, and ran toward Hawk, who stood halfway down the floor, pointing toward the open door. “Talon, outside, GO!”
Hawk showed no hesitation—the use of his “don’t mess with me” name was deeply ingrained in him for instant obedience. He galloped for the open doorway and sunlight.
Meg sprinted full out, Karen at her side, showing a burst of adrenaline that pushed her to match Meg stride for stride. Meg kept her eyes locked on her dog—Come on, come on, faster!—then losing sight of him as he burst out into sunlight. Keep going, get clear of the building, can’t stop. The doorway was looming larger and larger; blinding sunlight was spilling into a path to guide them.
They burst out into fresh air, leaping over the threshold to land in the dirt of the yard. Karen stumbled and nearly toppled, but Meg yanked her upright and kept her moving. “Keep going.” She could barely breathe, her lungs burning with lack of oxygen. “Have to . . . clear . . . perimeter.”
Screams and shouts attracted her attention, and she focused on the sound to see Brian, Scott, and Lauren a good two hundred feet away, waving their arms. “Hawk, go to Brian!” The words were meant to be a shout, but came out half strangled. But Hawk, thirty feet in front of them, angled toward the group, Meg and Karen following.
The deafening boom! of the explosion suddenly rocked the building behind them, rolling the ground under their feet. Meg had a microsecond to think, Not enough time, before the shock wave hit, sweeping them all off their feet to carelessly toss them into a maelstrom of heat and light and chaos.
CHAPTER 17
Emergency Medical Services: The first documented use of specialized, dedicated ambulances by the military occurred after the Battle of Spires (French Revolutionary Wars) in the late 1790s. Unfortunately, the concept of professional, dedicated ambulance services was not in place at the start of the American Civil War. After the first Battle of Bull Run on July 21, 1861, more than one thousand wounded Union soldiers were left to fend for themselves on the battlefield as empty ambulances led the retreat to Washington, D.C.
Saturday, May 27, 10:32 AM
Teller and Sons furniture factory
Gettysburg, Pennsylvania
Meg woke to light behind her closed eyelids and a frantic voice in her ear. “Meg! Wake up! Meg!” A hand slapped her cheek, then incongruously pushed hair back from her face tenderly. “Goddamn it, Meg. I’ll let you win all the races we run for the next year if you wake up.” The voice broke to a whisper. “Please wake up.”
“I’m so going to hold you to that, because loser buys coffee.” The words were a hoarse croak, but Meg heard Brian’s sharply indrawn breath at the sound of her voice. With difficulty, she cracked open her eyes. Brian loomed over her on his knees in the dirt. Behind him was all blue sky and fluffy clouds.
So bright. Meg closed her eyes again for a moment, trying to clear her head of the cobwebs and pain.
But Brian wouldn’t let her go back into the dark. He tapped her cheek again. “No, stay with me.”
“Would you stop knocking on my head?” Meg growled. “I have a headache and I’m feeling a little dizzy, but I’m fine.”
“No wonder. You escaped that explosion with just seconds to spare, but you were close enough to the blast zone to get tossed a good twenty feet by the shock wave.”
With that, memory flooded back in a rush. She jerked upright, trying to raise herself up on her elbows. “Hawk!” The sudden change in position made her head spin and she clamped her eyes shut, fighting nausea.
Brian grasped her shoulders, steadying her. “Whoa, whoa, slow down. Hawk’s okay. He got thrown too, but he was farther away, so he fared better. He’s over with Lauren and Lacey. Rocco and Theo are with him too. Right there.” He pointed to her right and she carefully turned her head to find her dog surrounded by the loving concern of his team. He was covered in gray dust, but was on his feet, standing under his own power. His tail was low and motionless, and he kept trying to look over his shoulder, no doubt searching for her. Lauren held him still as she ran her hands over him, looking for any sign of injury. “Give Lauren a chance to check him out. We don’t want him bolting over here on a broken leg.”
Meg lowered herself back down to lie on the ground again in exhaustion. “No, we don’t.” Then another memory struck and she started to struggle upright again. “What about Karen?”
Brian pushed a hand against her shoulder to keep her flat on her back. “Give yourself a minute. Karen is fine— well, fine considering what she went through. He beat her pretty bad. Scott’s with her now and the ambulances are on their way.”
Meg glared up at him. “Ambulances? Plural?”
“You both need one.” When she tried to push up again, Brian foiled her attempt by pinning her shoulder with a single index finger. “See what I mean? You’d normally clean my clock if I tried that, and now you can’t even sit up. You’ve probably got a concussion from the blast, and the ambulance team will want to check out your neck and back, so stay down, for God’s sake.” He let go of her shoulder and collapsed into the dirt beside her. He yanked off his jacket, balled it up, and slipped it under her head so she was somewhat cushioned against the packed dirt. “You really had me scared. The way that explosion just tossed you into the air. You landed like a puppet with all its strings cut, totally limp. I was sure you were dead.”
“It would take more than that to kill someone as ornery as me.”
“You know, you’d think I’d remember that with all the times you get into these life-or-death situations. But no, every time it’s all new.”
She reached for his hand and squeezed it. “I’m sorry I scared you. I’m sorry I left you behind. But it wasn’t your fight and it wasn’t your time. You understand why I did it? That I couldn’t leave her there to die?”
Brian loosed a tired breath, his body sagging as the air left his lungs. “Yeah, I get it. But you know I would have gladly gone with you.”
“I know,” she said simply. “But I wouldn’t ask that of you. That’s not a sacrifice you need to make. Neither does Ryan.” She turned her head sideways to look at Karen. She was sitting up, partially supported by Scott, who sat with her in the dirt, holding her hands, keeping her bloody, mangled wrists out of the worst of the dust.
“You should have seen her—she was magnificent. He met his match this time. I think that’s why he beat her, because she fought him. She was in the basement, in one of the farthest ro
oms. He zip-tied her ankles and wrists and left her there. She was dragging herself across the floor toward the light, struggling all the time to break the ties on her wrists.”
“That’s why they’re such a mess. I shudder to think of how many stitches she’s going to need.”
“We’ll leave that to the experts. But I bet she’s going to carry the scars from it for the rest of her life.”
“Not the kind of memory you want.”
“I’m not so sure. She wasn’t going to let him win. With more time, she would have freed herself. That kind of strength should be celebrated. We just helped at the end.” She craned her neck a little farther to look at the remains of the building. The pile of rubble was a blow to her solar plexus, temporarily stealing her breath. “There’s nothing left.” The words came out as a shocked whisper. That could have been her grave.
Hawk’s grave.
It was what she hadn’t allowed herself to focus on before, couldn’t have allowed herself to, because it would have paralyzed her.
“There really isn’t. The demo crew made us pull back even farther than originally required. Duncan was really worried the building wouldn’t come down as planned, since he no longer knew the setup.”
“I saw several additional cell phones on other columns as I went farther in. And there was at least one down in the basement itself. If it set off a chain reaction, the building may still have come down in close to the original order.” For a moment, all she could do was stare at the rubble, dust still floating in a cloud above it. “Shit, Brian.”
“You’re only figuring that out now? We had that nailed down from the moment you shoved your phone into my hands and took off like you were trying to break the record in the hundred-meter dash.”
“How wonderfully poetic. You really should try your hand at writing someday.”
“On my ‘to do’ list, at approximately number 3,200,006. Being verbally poetic is good enough for me. Everyone loves a snappy handler after all.”
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