by L. T. Ryan
She turned left and walked at a steady clip.
He mirrored her movements.
The luggage carousels divided them.
Every time she glanced over, the man stared back. There was no doubt why he was there. But why hadn’t he acted yet?
She couldn’t dwell on that. Thinking would only slow her down and reduce her reaction time.
An opening ten feet ahead provided her with an opportunity to escape. The man would have to circle around to reach the same hallway. Leaping over the railing into the baggage claim area would only draw the attention of the airport law enforcement.
She made her break, picking up her pace and using a store that opened up to the main lobby. From there, she turned right and hurried toward the other end of the room. She stopped and scanned the area, looking for the man. Figuring that he’d enter the lobby from the far end, she went back the way she came.
The gamble paid off. She returned to the baggage claim area and did not see the guy. And she didn’t see Beck. So she headed toward the exit.
Stepping out onto the sidewalk, she saw a sky lit with artificial light. Traces of orange, red and pink colored the horizon. Exhaust and heat and humidity surrounded her, pressing down on her chest and causing her lungs to scream. Cars and taxis lined the curb, idling. Trunks popped open. People shook hands, hugged and kissed, saying their hellos and goodbyes.
She looked left and saw the man standing a hundred feet or so away. Her stare lingered a second too long. He felt it, presumably, and turned her way. Beyond the bubble of orange light, the sky was dark. But it didn’t matter. It could have been noon where she stood. Recognition flashed on the guy’s face, and he moved toward her.
Clarissa turned and weaved her way through the people coming and going. The level of activity astounded her, but she realized that most people lived busy lives Monday through Friday. The weekend came and they did whatever they could to wash away the taste left in their mouths after a week of soul crushing work.
Tires squealed next to her. She looked over as the window rolled down. A voice shouted her name. She kept moving. The car followed. The man shouted her name again. She looked over, but his face was hidden by the roof. She leaned forward.
“Get in,” Beck shouted.
She turned toward him. He hit the brakes, then leaned over and opened the door. She swung it wide and jumped in.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
She looked back, pointed at the man twenty feet away and reaching for his sidearm. “Him! He’s been following me.”
Beck didn’t wait for her to put on a seatbelt or close the door. He punched the accelerator. The tires took a few seconds to grip the asphalt. The car fishtailed and swerved toward the sidewalk. A couple of travelers jumped back. One extended his middle finger and shouted something. Secured by the seatbelt, Clarissa pulled her door shut as Beck corrected and raced toward the exit.
Past the confines of the airport, Beck said, “I can’t believe they found us that quickly.”
“How?” she asked.
“It had to be the phone. I made a call. They must’ve decided to watch anyone I know.”
“Get rid of it.”
“Already did. Tossed it in the trash after using it. But we should probably get rid of all of them.”
She still didn’t know if Beck and the man who chased her knew each other. Getting rid of the phone was eliminating the last lifeline she had if things went downhill. She tried to process the possible outcomes. Most left her in a position where the phone would be useless. If she ended up alone and on the run, she could pick up a phone.
Beck rolled down her window. Warm air rushed in, overpowering the rental car’s air conditioning. She pulled her phone from her pocket, took one last look at it, then tossed it onto the highway shoulder. In the side mirror she saw it bounce twice before disappearing into the dark.
He handed her two more and asked her to dispose of them. One at a time, she tossed them. She knew that if the phones were being tracked, they’d give away their initial position. Her concerns were settled when Beck exited I-395, then took Suitland Parkway to I-95. He took the northbound ramp and merged in with the thick Baltimore-bound traffic.
Thirty minutes passed. She wondered if Beck played the situation over in his head, or if he was using the time to clear his mind.
“Where are we headed?” she asked.
“Boston,” he said.
She calculated the distance and time it would take to reach the city. They’d arrive around four or five in the morning.
“Why there?”
“A hunch.”
“Guess that’s better than anything I’ve got.”
Beck glanced over and smiled.
For a moment she forgot about her concerns and put her trust in him. “If that’s where you think we should go, I’m on board.”
Alternating hands on the steering wheel, he said, “It’s a solid hunch, Clarissa. Hogan left the country on vacation a few days ago.”
“Really?”
“Convenient, right?”
“Very.”
“Well, he’s on his way back tonight. Paris to Boston. His flight is due to arrive around six in the morning. We’ll be there to greet him.”
“Did he take his family with him?”
“Yeah, but he left them behind. He’s coming back because of the McCormick situation.”
She nodded. “Do you think this puts him in the middle of it?”
“I think his reaction to seeing us will provide the answer to that question.”
“Who gave you this information?”
“I can’t say. If this got back to him in any way, it would cause problems you couldn’t imagine.” Beck paused for a beat. “But what I can tell you is he’s solid. If we can’t trust him, then we might as well turn ourselves in because we’re as good as dead anyway.”
She leaned her head back, rolled it toward Beck. “I’m sorry I doubted you.”
“What?”
“Throughout this whole thing, Beck. I couldn’t help but feel you were involved at times. I’m sorry. You were and are the only one who has my back. I’m with you until we get this thing figured out.”
There was nothing else to talk about after that. Beck drove for three hours while Clarissa slept. Before she took over so he could catch a nap, they stopped at a 24-hour superstore and purchased two suitcases and two laptop backpacks to give the appearance of travelers. They also purchased a couple pay-as-you-go cell phones with the intention of using them to communicate only with each other unless an emergency arose.
As they approached Boston’s Logan International, the first traces of sunlight hadn’t yet reached the Boston Harbor. The edge of the water shimmered under city lights. The further her eyes scanned, the darker the water grew, turning black on the horizon.
She reached over and tapped Beck on the shoulder. He leaned forward, stretching his arms out, as the car burrowed into the tunnel, the last stretch of road before they reached their destination.
She glanced at the clock. It was two minutes after five a.m. In an hour’s time, everything would change.
Chapter 47
The first few minutes would dictate whether Beck’s source had sold them out. The man knew their destination. All he had to do was place a call and a team of local, state and federal law enforcement would be waiting to take them down.
They ditched the rental car in long-term parking, exiting the vehicle after a discussion on whether to retain their handguns. In the end, they decided to remain armed despite the problems it would pose if they were stopped. All an officer had to do was dislike the way they looked, or notice that they lingered without any intention of flying, and it’d be over. To minimize risk, they decided to enter through separate entrances, then remain close, but hide the fact that they arrived together.
Clarissa split off from Beck before they reached the sidewalk in front of the terminal. She went left. Beck went right. The lone officer out front seemed to
ignore her as she wheeled her suitcase and pretended to talk on her cell phone.
She fought the urge to look back and locate Beck. They’d set the phones so that a single button-push would dial the other. If it rang and he didn’t answer, then she knew everything was wrong, and she should leave.
Entering the building, she turned right. The majority of the self-check-in kiosks were empty. People lingered near windows and in line at the various airline counters. She kept moving forward until she spotted Beck. They made eye contact for a second, foregoing any other sign of acknowledgment.
Clarissa purchased a cup of coffee and a paperback. She tucked the book under her arm and carried the coffee over to a table near the arrival’s gate. It didn’t give her the best view, but that didn’t matter. She only had to be nearby. Beck was going to watch for Hogan, using the excuse that his presence was required because of the threat. From where she was seated, she had visible contact with Beck. A hand signal would relay his initial thoughts to her.
They counted on Hogan being aware of what happened to Banner and Polanski. Either he’d been told, or he’d been involved with their killings.
She alternated looking at the paperback, the clock in front of her, and at Beck. She counted down the minutes to Hogan’s arrival, wondering if his flight had been delayed.
Six came and passed. She looked in Beck’s direction more frequently now, and shifted in her seat to face the man. When he placed both arms behind his back, she’d know that Beck had spotted Hogan.
At quarter after six, she saw the sign.
Clarissa rose, grabbed her bag, opened it and placed the book inside. She tossed her half-full coffee cup into the trashcan. A small crowd gathered in front of the arrival’s gate. Not enough to shield her. Hogan might accept Beck being there. If he saw Clarissa, he’d know something was wrong and do what he could to alert the authorities. She had to move forward, though. She was the surprise element in the plan.
Lowering her head, she kept moving closer. Every few seconds she looked for a change in Beck’s stance and hand placement. Both hands in front meant things were moving as planned, and he’d be heading her way. One hand behind his back meant Hogan balked. She’d then have to be ready for the man’s next move.
Hogan emerged from the tunnel alone. He looked up and down the wide hallway. Clarissa held the phone to her head, blocking his view of her. Her hair hadn’t been short the only time the two had met, but she didn’t want to take any chances.
Beck swung both arms forward. He stepped away from the small group of people waiting in front of the gate. Hogan stopped. Beck let both hands drop. Clarissa waited to see where they went next.
Hogan said something. His eyes were narrowed. His posture suggested he didn’t trust Beck being there. Was that because he feared Beck knew of his involvement? Everything to this point had been supposed by Clarissa and Beck. Despite Banner’s damning statement, they lacked proof. They’d need for Hogan to be carrying evidence, physical or digital, or to confess. And alone, away from the airport, they could get him to.
Beck’s hands moved forward again. The men approached each other. They shook hands. Clarissa spun as Beck extended his arm toward her. She kept her phone to the side of her head, blocking her face. After the men passed, she’d follow close behind. Outside, away from the building, she’d approach. Before Hogan could react to the situation, she’d have her gun planted in his lower back.
The glass she leaned against felt cold through her shirt and against her skin. She almost relished in the feeling after two days of heat and humidity and sweat. When she turned her head, she saw the reflections of those behind her. Beck and Hogan were close. She waited until she could no longer see them, then turned her head to the right. The men passed by. She fell in line behind them, remaining fifteen feet away until they stepped outside.
The first rays peeked over the parking structure. For the first time, it felt cool out. The humidity was low. Sweat still formed on her brow and around the spot where the pistol pressed against her lower back.
As they crossed the street, Clarissa quickened her pace. She reached behind her back, retrieved the pistol. She used the backpack to cover it. The garage was close. She’d abandon her luggage there.
Beck guided Hogan forward. The man asked him something, but Beck said nothing.
Clarissa was only a few feet away now.
The men stepped into the garage. Early morning light turned into orange haze. The air felt heavy, filled with exhaust. Headlights swung around in front of them as a car parked in an empty spot. Clarissa scanned the parking level. Aside from the car, there was no one else around.
She made her move.
Chapter 48
Clarissa rushed forward as high beams caused Beck and Hogan to turn their heads to the side. Hogan turned his far enough that he saw her approaching. His gaze shifted from her face to the pistol in her hands. He stopped, reached out for Beck. But Beck pulled away while reaching for his own weapon. His concern did not appear to be with Hogan, though. He was focused on something ahead of them.
The first shot that rang out sounded like a tin can slapping the street. The impact it had was far greater.
Hogan’s body jerked, became rigid. His eyes were wide open, fixed on Clarissa. Before she realized what had happened, another shot was fired. Beck cried out in pain and dove to the side. Hogan fell where he stood, blood pooling around his head.
Clarissa spotted the shooter, although it was impossible to make him or her out in any detail because of the flood of white light coming from the headlights. She darted to her left as the third shot was fired. It hit the structure behind her, sending shards of concrete flying.
She dove in front of a vehicle. Behind her was a waist high wall. She could hop it as a last resort.
Loud cracks rang out and echoed throughout the garage. The bright light coming toward her disappeared. She peeked around the car’s fender. Beck had shot out the headlights. She tried to locate him, but was unable to. She saw a man duck into the car and put it in reverse.
Following Beck’s lead, Clarissa rose and fired at the dark sedan, shooting out the passenger side tires before the car disappeared behind other parked vehicles.
“Stay down,” Beck called out.
She ignored him and began running toward the sound of his voice, while keeping an eye on the escaping vehicle. The sedan rounded the first corner. The driver would do one of three things, she figured. Escape, go for her, or go for Beck.
The driver eased the vehicle to a stop. The door opened. She saw the long barrel of the rifle poke into the air. Clarissa fired a shot, hitting the front windshield, but missing the man. He continued to rise. As his head emerged, Clarissa recognized him.
Sinclair.
“Get down,” Beck called out.
Sinclair turned toward Beck and raised the rifle, using the doorframe to steady it. Beck fired, but missed high. Sinclair’s shot followed. Clarissa couldn’t tell if it hit Beck. The SIG drowned out all other noise.
Sinclair fell forward, hitting the door and collapsing to the ground.
Clarissa approached cautiously, looking for any sign of movement. She rounded the front of the vehicle with her pistol aimed at the ground. Any doubt that Sinclair had survived was erased at that moment.
“Is he dead?” Beck said from behind her.
She nodded without looking back. She didn’t want him to see her crying. She pulled stale air in through her mouth and let it fill her lungs.
“I think I’m gonna need a doctor.”
She turned around. Beck had been hit. Blood ran down his arm in streams. She looked for her backpack, thinking she could use the spare t-shirt as a tourniquet.
Blue and red lights bounced off the ceiling and walls. A couple blips of a siren followed. Several officers on foot came running toward them, guns drawn and shouting.
Clarissa tossed her pistol, then lowered herself to the ground, arms spread out wide. Beck got to his knees and held his hands out.
Neither of them said anything. She knew Beck would get it cleared up as soon as he could.
As the officers pulled Clarissa to her feet, she caught one last glimpse of Sinclair. A single thought ran through her mind. Why? Why had he done this? No one benefited from it. Not even him. Or did he? She doubted she’d ever find out.
Chapter 49
The following Monday Clarissa waited on the steps leading up to the Capitol. The dome blocked the sunlight, but it didn’t matter. It was a perfect early summer day. The temperature was in the seventies, and the humidity was nonexistent.
She and Beck were detained in Boston for less than a day. They’d brought both of them to the hospital. Him for the obvious gunshot wound. Her because she claimed she’d hit her head and needed to be treated for a concussion. The last thing she wanted was to be separated from Beck.
The cops declined to take her to the hospital. But after seeing Beck’s credentials, and following the call he placed to the president, they deviated from their original plan.
While in the hospital, she found out that Beck’s source had been President Rhodes. The things he knew, combined with what Beck told him, led the president to believe that Hogan was involved. But they couldn’t send a team without being sure. He trusted that Beck could detain the man and bring him back, where they could question Hogan without anyone outside finding out.
It hadn’t turned out that way. And up to this point, no one could tell them why.
They left Boston late that night by helicopter. Sunday morning she was debriefed and told that there would be no charges pressed against her, and they would not be performing any further investigation into her actions. Despite her waffling feelings, it turned out that having Beck around had been the best thing for her.
A man she’d never seen before, and expected to never see again, escorted her out of the Treasury Building after the meeting. Her footsteps rose loudly off the empty sidewalk, drowned out by the sound of an approaching vehicle. The car pulled up to the curb next to her. She glanced over and saw Beck leaning over the passenger seat. With a smile, he invited her to take a drive.