Morning traffic was no more than Jed expected. People moved about in an odd sort of dance known only to large cities. Crowds walked, hustled, and shuffled around each other, crossing traffic, carrying coffee, engaged in conversations on their phones. Cars moved along at a steady but slow pace. Pedestrians and vehicles mingled with perfect timing so both could inhabit the street.
Jed crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair, observing his surroundings, picking up on patterns: the light cycle at the corner of Arapahoe and Sixteenth, the rhythm of the bus schedule.
He watched people, their movements, how they were dressed, what they carried in their arms or on their backs. He noted the way they walked, tilted their heads, shifted their eyes. The way they moved in and out of traffic, whether they were distracted or alert.
Murphy didn’t give an exact location of where the meeting would occur, just to meet at the tower. But there were plenty of places around the tower for a meeting to take place in broad daylight. Jed had arrived early not only to survey the area but so that he could determine the location of the get-together. They’d have to come to him. The table where they sat was in an open area, surrounded by normal city activity. Their meeting would be in view of every passerby, every businessman and store clerk and restaurant waiter making his or her way to work.
Jed had no intention of handing over the files unless Abernathy could convince him that Murphy was indeed who he claimed to be and that his intentions were pure and trustworthy. Instead, Jed had formulated his own plan. Multiple plans actually. He’d mentally listed every scenario that could happen, everything that could go wrong, and had devised a response for each. The key to survival was to be alert and to be prepared. For anything.
Jed reached across the table and took Karen’s hand. “You okay?”
She forced a smile and nodded. He could tell she was nervous by her stiff posture and the way she eyed every man or woman who passed on the sidewalk. “As long as we’re with you.”
“You know what to do, right?”
“If things don’t go as planned?”
He dipped his chin.
“Yes, I do.”
He knew she didn’t like the plan they’d developed, that she had her doubts about her own ability to carry it out, but it would be the only way. Her and Lilly’s safety had to come first.
Then Jed took Lilly’s hand. “How’re you doing, kiddo?”
To anyone passing by, she would appear calm and relaxed, but Jed could tell she was uneasy by the tightness of her jaw and set of her brow.
She shrugged. “I’ll be okay. God is still with us.”
She was right, of course. Her faith was strong and unwavering, Jed never doubted that, but the way she said the words, the inflection in her voice, the higher pitch caused by the tension in her jaw, betrayed her. She’d spoken the words more to remind—or maybe convince—herself than to comfort Jed.
Finally, with fifteen minutes to spare before the established time, Jed spotted a man, tall, broad in the shoulders, hair cut close to his head and neatly trimmed. He wore jeans and a khaki blazer with a collared shirt loose around the neck. The man walked past the tower, paused on the corner of Arapahoe and Sixteenth as if he would cross the intersection, then turned and approached the tower again. He stopped in front of it, looked around, shoved his hands into his pockets, then surveyed the area across the street.
His gaze found Jed.
• • •
They called him Red Devil, but his real name was Stepan Levkin. He’d emigrated from Russia fifteen years ago, become an American citizen, and was immediately recruited by the agency to do their dirty work. In Russia, he’d developed a reputation and was somewhat revered for his skills until the team he’d been working with was disbanded and one by one his teammates died unfortunate deaths. Accidents, they called them. Accidents. But Stepan knew better, and before they could get to him, he escaped to America and had no problem blending in with its culture.
He’d received the call last night. The agency needed his services. Usually, that’s how it happened. The agency had assigned him to the high desert region and set him up in an apartment in Durango, Colorado, where he spent most days watching TV or surfing the web, ready to be activated within only a few hours’ notice when needed. He hated his assigned hometown, hated the mountains, the desert, the darkness at night. He’d grown up in Moscow and thrived on the motion of the city, the nightlife, the action, the lights, traffic, people, women. In Durango there was none of that. At least, not to his liking.
Sitting in the window of his third-floor Denver hotel room, Stepan watched as Patrick arrived and sat at a small outdoor table across the street from the tower. He had his family with him, his wife and daughter. Stepan’s handler had prepared him for that possibility. He’d been given directives for each option: if Patrick came alone or if he came toting his family. Stepan had never met Patrick, but the man’s reputation was enough to garner a measure of Stepan’s admiration. From two blocks away, observed through the lens of a rifle scope, Patrick didn’t appear to be intimidating or dangerous. He wasn’t impressive in size. He had no distinguishing characteristics that would instill fear in a combatant. Yet the stories Stepan had heard of Patrick’s accomplishments and skills were more than inspiring.
And besides, Stepan couldn’t hold Patrick’s unassuming appearance against him. Stepan himself displayed no features that would separate him from the rest of mankind. He was unpretentious and used that to his advantage. Obviously Patrick possessed the same skill.
Stepan thought about how he would take the shot. He was directed to wait until Murphy and his men arrived and got themselves comfortable. He was there to cause chaos, and the more the better. His shots were to be carefully placed at even intervals. There were to be two casualties, one lethal, one to injure.
• • •
It had to be Murphy’s man. He moved against the flow of the foot traffic, disrupted the rhythm of the morning motion. And the way he’d stared at Jed, it was a look of recognition.
Moments later Murphy rounded the corner of the Sixteenth Street Mall, flanked by two large men. The man across the street approached as well. Murphy wore a pair of blue khakis and a white polo shirt, sunglasses, and a plain blue ball cap. He lifted a chair from one of the other tables and placed it at the table where Jed sat with Karen and Lilly.
“Morning,” he said, smiling. He reached out his hand to shake Jed’s.
Jed ignored his hand and said nothing.
“Oh, c’mon, Patrick,” Murphy said. He withdrew his hand. “We’re on the same side. We both want the same thing. Right?”
“I know what I want,” Jed said.
Murphy tapped the table with an open palm. “And I want that too. You need to trust me, Patrick.”
“Where’s Abernathy?”
Murphy sat back in the chair and laced his fingers across his lap. He stared at Jed for a long moment as if considering how to tackle the question. “He’s not coming.” He removed his sunglasses and squinted his eyes at Jed. “He got sick last night, the flu of some sort, fever, vomiting, the works.”
Jed shifted in his chair. An uneasy feeling crept up his spine. He kept his eyes on Murphy but was acutely aware of the three men standing around them. “Is that right? Well, please tell Roger when you see him again that I wish him a speedy recovery.”
“I’ll be sure to do that. Now, do you have something for me?”
Jed reached into his pocket and retrieved the thumb drive he’d been keeping there. He held it briefly before sliding it across the table to Murphy. “I can trust you, right?”
“Absolutely.”
“You’ll get this into the hands of the right people?”
Murphy gripped the drive in his fist. “It’s in the hand of the right person now.”
“What will you do with that information?”
Murphy didn’t hesitate. “Bring down Centralia. Every last piece of it. We’ll go as deep and as high as we need to, overturn
every rock, shine a light into every corner. We’ll go to the White House if the trail leads there. This is a cancer that needs to be eradicated once and for all.”
Karen squirmed. “And what happens to us now? Where do we go?”
“We’re working on that. For the moment, we’ll get you set up here in Denver under assumed identities. My agents will assist you with the paperwork and arrangements. I think they have an apartment ready for you. And when everything is finalized, we’ll move you to a new location where you can start over.”
“Just like that,” she said. “Start over again.”
Murphy slipped the thumb drive into his pocket. “I know it isn’t ideal, Mrs. Patrick. But it’s the best we can do.”
“And what if they find us there?”
“If you’d like,” Murphy said, “we can arrange for living accommodations overseas. Would that help?”
Karen looked at Jed, confusion in her eyes. There was nothing he could do. Maybe an overseas arrangement would be best. At least for a while, several years, until Lilly finished her schooling.
But before Jed could reply, the man standing behind him jerked upright and fell forward, landing next to Jed on the ground, eyes open and blank. Blood oozed from his head. Immediately, one of the other two agents spun around, grunted, and grabbed at his chest.
At once, chaos took an ax to time. Pedestrians screamed and scrambled. Someone hit Jed from behind and knocked him off his chair. Karen hollered his name. More shots came, ricocheting off the table, the chairs, the sidewalk. Jed found himself facedown on the concrete, bullets spitting around him. He put his hands over his head.
If only he knew where the shots were coming from . . .
If only he could find some cover . . . roll over and get to his ankle holster . . .
. . . If only . . . Karen and Lilly . . . Where were they? Had they been able to get clear of the area? Were they safe?
Thoughts swirled in his head, plans, counteractions, options, but none of it held even a chance while he was under fire. He was pinned down and too exposed. Either the sniper was a terrible shot or the misses were deliberate, intended only to keep him immobile.
The shooting, scrambling, screaming, pandemonium lasted only a few seconds, then ceased. People murmured, cried. Jed rolled over and climbed to his feet. He turned in a circle, surveying the area. His heart thumped fast and hard. They were gone. All of them. Karen, Lilly, Murphy and his men. Only one remained, the dead guy with the blank stare and hole in his head.
Jed began to sweat. He could feel his pulse from his temples to his fingertips. A lump swelled his throat.
The plan was that if anything went wrong, Karen was to take Lilly and get out of there, take the truck and go, find Kennedy. Now, he could only hope and pray—Please, God, keep them safe—that she got out of there with Lilly. Most of the fire seemed to be concentrated around him, so she would have had a chance to escape without being harmed.
In the distance, sirens wailed. Jed began to move but noticed a phone left on the table. He picked it up and slid it into his pocket. Then, leaving the dead guy behind, he bolted down Sixteenth Street to Champa Street, where he made a left and walked briskly against the flow of traffic.
The phone in his pocket rang. Jed fished it out and punched the Talk button.
“Are you okay?” It was Murphy.
Anger burned in Jed’s chest and climbed to his neck and cheeks. “Was this your doing?”
“No, Patrick, absolutely not. I lost a good man out there. Are you okay?”
Jed kept walking. “Yes. Where’s Karen and Lilly? Did you see them?”
There was a brief pause. “Patrick, we need to talk. We need to meet.”
“No, we can talk now. Where are my wife and daughter? Did you see them?”
“We were able to get Lilly to safety. Your wife got herself away in the confusion.”
“If you lay one hand on her—”
“Your daughter is perfectly safe. We extracted her to keep her safe. Our Denver locations have been compromised. We’ll need to meet at a more secure facility.”
Jed breathed, then determined to tip his hand a little. They’d deduce the truth soon enough anyway. “I sent Karen away for her own protection. I’ll need new transportation.”
Murphy paused for just a fraction. “Head to Nineteenth Street and hang a right.”
“What is going on?”
“At the corner of California and Nineteenth is Holy Ghost Catholic Church—”
“Murphy! I want answers.”
“There will be a car there for you, black Ford Focus. Start driving toward San Francisco. I’ll be in touch soon with further instructions.”
“Murphy!”
But Murphy was gone, the line dead.
EIGHT
• • •
Karen sped along Interstate 76, tears blurring her vision of the road, not paying attention to her speedometer. Her pulse banged in her head and neck; she could even feel it beating through her abdomen. Sweat wet her hands, and her mouth suddenly felt as if it were lined with cotton fabric.
This was the plan. She kept reminding herself she’d done the right thing. She glanced at the passenger seat. Only she should have Lilly with her. The plan was that she and Lilly would take the truck and drive east, drive to Harrisburg, find Joe Kennedy, and get his help. But it was just her. She’d messed it up; she’d left her daughter behind.
God, take care of my baby.
And the worst part was that she didn’t even know what had happened to Lilly. When the man fell and the second shot hit the other agent, she instinctively dropped to the ground. By the time she got her head about her and looked up, Murphy was gone and so was Lilly. She’d scrambled around, fearing for her life with all the ricocheting bullets, looking for Lilly, but it was useless. She was gone. Jed was on the ground, pinned down. Karen knew she had only a small window to do her part, so she fled. If she hadn’t, she knew she might not be alive.
Now, though, the guilt had settled in. She’d left her family. She ran like a coward. No, she ran like Jed had said she should. He said no matter what happened or what it looked like was happening that she should get out of there. That was the most important thing. Take the truck and go. She wasn’t supposed to worry about him.
But she did. She now worried about him. As she ran, she’d looked back and the last image she had was of him pinned to the ground with bullets spitting all around him. She didn’t even know if he made it out of there alive. And she worried for Lilly. Her baby girl. Her only hope was that Murphy was who he said he was and would take care of her. She prayed that her little girl was in good, safe hands.
• • •
The men were rough and mean. The one held his arm close to his side and cursed loudly. Lilly was shoved into the backseat of the Jeep and squeezed between the two big men.
Tires squealed as the Jeep lurched ahead. She tried to sit forward, see where they were going, but the man who wasn’t bleeding put a big, thick hand on her chest and pushed her back.
Mr. Murphy, seated in the front, turned around. “You okay, Fisher?”
Fisher cursed again and grimaced. “I’ll be fine. What happened?”
“Ambush,” Mr. Murphy said. “Sniper.”
The other man rifled through a bag on the floor and pulled out a large piece of cloth. He handed it to Fisher.
Fisher took it with a bloody hand and pressed it against his arm. The smell of sweat and blood in the vehicle was enough to make Lilly sick to her stomach. She shivered.
“Who?” the other man said.
A frown touched Mr. Murphy’s lips. “Not sure. Must have been Centralia. They know we’re on to them.”
“How?”
“We got a mole, that’s how,” Fisher said. “Someone tipped them off.”
“Probably thought we’d have Abernathy with us,” Mr. Murphy said. “Thought they’d take him out too.”
The Jeep took the next turn hard, pressing Lilly against the other ag
ent. He smelled of sweat and cologne. The man looked at her but did not smile. He had a kind but stern face; worry darkened his eyes.
Lilly sat back and shut her eyes. The Jeep rocked and leaned as the driver navigated the city streets. But Lilly’s thoughts were not on the road or the Jeep or the other occupants. She prayed for her mom and dad. She had no idea what had happened to them; she was snatched up and taken from the scene so quickly. Her last glimpse was of them on the ground, people running all around, screaming, crying. So she prayed. It was all she could do for them now.
And she listened for the voice.
The Jeep rocked hard to the right as the tires chirped, pushing Lilly into the large man beside her again. She opened her eyes and craned her neck to see out the front window.
In the rearview mirror the driver glanced at Lilly and held her gaze for just a second. Cold fingers tickled the back of her neck. There was something about the man’s eyes she didn’t like, didn’t trust. They were dark and lifeless and unblinking, like a shark’s.
She settled back between the two men and listened for the voice again. It wouldn’t be audible, not like any other voice; this one spoke to the heart, to the part of her that no other voice could reach.
But there was only silence, and as much as she tried not to, as much as Lilly told herself that she had not been abandoned, she couldn’t help the feeling of loneliness that seeped into her soul like a dense fog and colored everything in a drab gray. The voice had always been there before. Always. Even in the deepest corners of the underground bunker, even in the most painful and frightening moments, even when she was physically as alone as any person could be.
Tears built behind her eyelids. She pressed them shut, knowing that if she opened her eyes, it would be like knocking down a levee and allowing the floodwaters to flow. And she didn’t want to cry in front of these men. Especially not the driver with his shark eyes.
Eventually, the even rhythm of the tires on the highway lulled Lilly into a semi-sleep state, and a few minutes later it wooed her the entire way into that land of dreams.
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