Tasker froze. Was the fallen stool a diversion? Had Rigel staged the scene and hidden himself away in the shadows, waiting for Tasker to take the bait… the proverbial mouse to the cheese?
It was then he noticed the small room.
Tasker trained the Tec-9 on the door but stopped short of pulling the trigger.
The teenager.
He remembered Rigel shoving the kid through the doorway when he invaded the house. What if the kid was in there, bound and gagged, unable to call out, or being used as a human shield? Were other members of the family in the room as well?
This was a war between professionals. Tasker saw no good reason for civilians to be caught in the crossfire. He yelled at the door. “Let the boy go. He doesn’t need to die today.”
No response.
“Now, Rigel.”
Movement within the room. The sounds of shuffling, coughing. The chemical cloud produced by the exploding canisters had seeped under the door, found its way into the small room.
As he suspected, the room was occupied. A voice called out. “It’s me.”
“Me who?”
“Tim… Crawford.”
Tasker leveled the Tec-9 at the door. “Come out… slowly.”
“I can’t,” the teen replied. “Fucking asshole locked me in here.”
Tasker noticed the deadbolt on the doorframe. It had been engaged from the outside. Which meant it would have been impossible for the teen to have locked himself in the room in this manner. Still, maybe this was another ploy to distract him. Perhaps Rigel was still in the room, hiding where Tasker could not see him, ready to surprise him at the opportune moment, shoot him in the back, then murder the boy and his family, lock them all in the cellar, and leave it to the fire to consume them and reduce their bodies to ash.
Tasker investigated the open basement. Except for the furnace, there were no major obstacles behind which Rigel could hide and not be seen.
The teen coughed again. “I smell smoke,” he yelled.
“That’s because your house is on fire.”
“On fire?” the kid replied. “Jesus Christ! Open the fucking door!”
Tasker shuffled to the door and released the latch. The teen was on his knees, choking on the smoke and chemical fumes. He looked up at Tasker. “Who the hell are you?”
“LAPD,” Tasker lied.
The kid wiped his face. “My dad’s LAPD,” he said, coughing into his sleeve. “You don’t look like LAPD to me.”
“Undercover narcotics,” Tasker replied.
“Right,” the kid said. He rose to his feet and pointed at the Tec-9. “I suppose you’re gonna tell me that’s standard issue?”
“I was driving past your house, saw the fire, broke down the door, and found you here.”
“Bullshit.”
Tasker ignored the remark. “You’re welcome. Now stop talking and get out of here.”
“Who’s Rigel?”
Tasker didn’t reply.
The teen pressed. “Before you opened the door, you called me ‘Rigel.’ Is that who locked me in here? This Rigel guy?”
Tasker pointed to the stairs. “Just leave, kid.”
In the faint light of the room the embedded glass shards glittered on Taskers black face and hands. Tim noticed the screws and nails sticking out of his jacket and pants. “Jesus! What the hell happened to you?”
“It’s nothing,” Tasker said. “Go.”
The kid began to walk toward the stairs. “All right,” he said. “Come on.”
Tasker leaned against the wall. “No,” he said. “I’m done. Leave me here.”
“The hell I will.”
Tasker shook his head. “I won’t make it halfway up the stairs.”
“Yeah, you will,” Tim said. “Lean on me.”
“Look, kid…”
“You tellin’ me you’d prefer to die down here?” Tim said. “What do cops say… ‘Not on my watch?’ No way, mister. Not gonna happen. You saved my life. Now I’m gonna save yours.”
Tim helped Tasker to the foot of the stairs. “Wait here,” he said. Tasker leaned against the wall. The kid ran to his father’s workbench, pulled a fire extinguisher from its wall bracket, then ran back and cradled Taskers arm over his shoulder. “We’ll be out of here in a minute,” Tim said. “You ready?”
“Just get me to my car,” Tasker said. “Black Mustang, parked across the street.”
At the top of the stairs they heard the sound of sirens. Emergency vehicles were closing in on the burning house. Tim blasted the hallway with a heavy blanket of foam and extinguished the flames blocking their path. He referred to the sirens. “They’ll be here any second.”
“I can’t be here when they arrive,” Tasker said. “No cops, Tim.”
“No shit,” Tim replied as he helped Tasker out the front door. “I never would have guessed.”
CHAPTER 35
THE FBI escort team pulled into the main entrance of Angel of Mercy Hospital and exited the three Chevy Suburban’s. Hanover and Carnevale met with S.W.A.T. Commander Alexander Callum and mapped out their route to the Farrow Estate. Callum spoke to his team. Within minutes, Marissa, Emma, Aiden, David, and Paula Quest had been safely transferred to the armored vehicles.
Dunn heard Callum’s status report in his earbud and acknowledged the Commander. “Copy that,” he said. He turned to Jordan. “Your family’s secure, Mrs. Quest. Time to go.”
Dr. Paul Tremaine was conferring with Audrey Lane at the nurse’s station. Jordan walked to the desk.
“Thank you for trying to save Keith’s life,” Jordan said.
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Tremaine said, shaking her hand. “You have our deepest condolences.” Jordan hugged her nurse. “Good luck, Mrs. Quest,” Audrey said.
As Jordan and Director Dunn waited for the elevator the events of the day flashed through her mind. In less than twenty-four hours she had lost her husband, Keith, her parents, and Rock Dionne, whom she witnessed sacrifice his life to save hers. She had lived through the experience of the plane crash and narrowly missed being killed by the tractor trailer as it slid over her on the highway and slammed into the jet, killing its driver, her family and the flight crew. She recalled the onset of the vision prior to the occurrence of the tragic events; a warning provided by her mysterious gift. Not being able to stop the flight would haunt her for the rest of her life.
Suddenly, Jordan was again struck by the Gift. She closed her eyes, connected with the vision, and saw the man; tall, black, athletic build, standing in the aircraft hangar beside her father’s jet, a tool of some kind in his hand, wearing a fire department uniform. The man had two faces, which meant to Jordan that another soul was connected to him in death. The faces morphed, first the black man’s face, then the face of the second man. He had been responsible for taking this man’s life. This feeling was strong, and she learned long ago that when she felt this way she was never wrong. The dead man’s spirit was trying to come through, to connect to her, speak to her… possibly even warn her. Jordan tried to understand the message, but the symbolism confused her: the man, dead, in the trunk of his car; a horse in full gallop; the three-star tattoo on the hand of the man who had attacked her in her room, a fierce battle between the tattooed man and the killer of the man in the trunk. But perhaps the most prominent aspect of the vision was the feeling it gave her that the men were near. Despite assurances from the FBI that she was safe, Jordan intuitively knew the danger to her and her family was far from over.
Andrew Dunn spoke. “Are you okay, Mrs. Quest?”
Jordan hesitated. “I’m fine.”
Dunn could see she was worried. “Your apprehension is understandable. But you can relax. Your family is under our protection. We won’t let anything happen to them. The agents waiting downstairs are highly trained. They’ll have you and your family home before you know it, safe and sound.”
“Thank you, Director.”
The elevator doors opened. Jordan and Dunn st
epped inside.
As the car descended Jordan was struck by a sensation of impending danger.
Lights cutting through the night…
Engines racing…
A subterranean room…
Gas masks…
Three figures in motion… two adults, one child.
Jordan waited for the vision to end. “I connected with Shannon and Zoe,” she told the Director.
“Where are they?” Dunn asked.
“In hiding,” Jordan replied. “Somewhere below ground. Wherever it is, they’re safe. At least for now.”
“You said earlier you saw a ranch house with stables and shackles hanging from the ceiling. Should we still be looking for that?”
“Yes. I don’t sense that’s changed. I’d know if it had. That building is still important.”
“Could one be connected to the other? Are they being held in the basement of the ranch house?”
“It’s possible.”
The Director heard the desperation in his voice. He was too close to the case and he knew it. He should never have allowed himself to become involved in the investigation. Had the circumstances been different, had this happened to any one of his agents, he would never even have permitted them access to the file, much less participate in the resolution of the case. Personal involvement led to poor judgement, poor judgement led to unnecessary mistakes, and mistakes to lost lives. It was much easier on the other side of the desk. He had been in situations like this before with undercover agents who had been pulled out of deep cover, their operation blown, but not before their families had been kidnapped, tortured, or killed. He’d watched them fall apart, no longer useful to themselves or the Bureau. Some had been unable to live with the guilt and taken their lives, while others threw their loyalty to the Bureau and the justice system out the window, and taken matters into their own hands, sought out the killers, and exacted their revenge. He was standing in their shoes now. He understood how they felt. How could he not get involved? His daughters were missing. All he wanted was for them to be alive and safe, and if that wasn’t to be the case, then he too would tender his resignation and perpetrate righteous justice on the person or persons responsible for invading his world and harming his children, because no human need is greater than that of a parent to protect their child.
The elevator door opened. Chris Hanover stood in the lobby. Grant Carnevale waited at the front entrance. Both agents held their weapon at their side.
“All clear, Director,” Chris said. “We’re in the lead car. Jordan’s family will follow in the second unit. The assault team will ride in three.”
“Intersections?” Dunn asked.
“LAPD’s got us covered all the way to the estate. We’re good to go.”
“And the advance team?”
“Carter and Lehman are on their way. Ms. DeSola gave them the entry codes for the gate and the residence.”
Jordan said, “Before we leave I want to speak to my children.”
“Of course,” Dunn replied. “Agent Hanover will walk you out.”
Hanover opened the back door to the Suburban. Emma and Aiden leaned forward and gave their mother a hug.
“How are you guys doing?” Jordan said.
“Scared,” Emma said.
“Me too,” Aiden replied.
“I know, babies,” Jordan replied. “But we’re going to go to Grandma and Grandpa’s house now. We’ll be safe there.” The day had been as hard on them as it had been on her. She was proud of her children for the strength they had shown under such difficult circumstances.
“Want to know a secret?”
“What?” they asked in unison.
“Grandma and Grandpa wanted to tell you themselves, but I guess I’ll have to do it for them. You guys both have your own rooms now.”
“Really?” Emma asked. “Cool!”
“I know!” Jordan shared in her jubilation. “Because we both know how loud your brother is when he snores!”
“Hey,” Aiden said. “I don’t snore!”
Jordan teased him. She winked at her daughter. “Like a freight train, right?”
“More like two freight trains… full of honking geese.”
“Three freight trains, full of honking geese… playing the bagpipes.”
Aiden crossed his arms. “Very funny.”
Jordan gave him a friendly poke. “Just kidding, buddy.”
“Was not!” Emma said.
Jordan smiled. “You two be good. Uncle Grant’s going to ride with you. Listen to him and do exactly what he says.”
“Yes, mom,” the children replied.
“All right. I’ll see you soon.” Jordan closed the car door.
She turned to Director Dunn. “I want to ride with my kids. They’ll be more comfortable if I’m with them.”
Dunn shook his head. “Not happening. It’s clear that whoever is trying to harm your family has made you their primary target. We need to separate you from them as much for their safety as yours.”
“And if we’re attacked en route?” Jordan asked. “What happens then?”
“We break off. LAPD will provide cover until we get to safety. But don’t worry. It won’t come to that.”
“Forgive me for saying, Director, but I don’t share your level of confidence. Whoever is coming after my family was able to take down the jet and get close enough to me to try to kill me in my room. I wouldn’t underestimate them.”
“Agreed.”
“One more thing.”
“Yes?”
“If we come under fire you’ll give me a gun. No questions asked.”
The Director shook his head. “That’s not a very good idea, Mrs. Quest.”
“You carry a Glock 9-millimeter, correct?”
Dunn nodded. “It’s standard issue.”
“A G17M to be exact,” Jordan continued. “Safe action trigger, 17 rounds per clip, twelve- to eighteen-inch wound penetration effectiveness depending on the size of your target and whether your round hits center mass, the chance of which will probably be no more than twenty percent after factoring in heightened awareness, adrenaline, and the fact that your target will most likely be moving, not stationary.”
Dunn smiled. “You’ve had small arms defense training.”
“Honest answer?”
“Please.”
“I’m probably a hell of a lot more proficient with that weapon than you are.”
Dunn smiled. “Considering how effectively you were able to defend yourself earlier tonight that wouldn’t surprise me one bit.”
Commander Callum opened the door to the lead vehicle. “Advance teams are on their way, Director,” he said. “Time to roll.”
Jordan and Dunn stepped into the vehicle. Callum closed the door behind them.
Next stop, Farrow Estate.
CHAPTER 36
ZOE REMOVED one of the handguns from its hook in the hidden compartment, racked the weapon, caught the bullet in mid-air as it jumped out of the breech and checked the clip. “Full,” she said. She fed the ejected round back into the magazine, readied the weapon and slipped the gun into her waistband.
Shannon inspected the second gun. “Same here,” she replied. “Walther PPK’s,” she said. “.32 caliber, eight-round capacity. Nice. How are we for ammo?”
Zoe held up a single box of bullets.
“That’s it?” Shannon said.
Zoe nodded. “Afraid so. How much do you want to bet Uncle Emmett and his boys are gun freaks? Which means they’ll be heavily armed.” She poured half the box of bullets into Shannon’s hand and pocketed the remaining rounds. “If you have to take the shot…”
“… make it count,” Shannon finished.
“Exactly.”
Shannon turned to Lily. “You told us you needed to be last through the hatch because you had to engage countermeasures, right?”
Lily nodded and pointed towards the ladderway. “I released the leaf net.”
“Are you sure it wo
rked?” Zoe asked.
“My father and I tested it a dozen times. It’s foolproof.”
“Not that I don’t trust you,” Zoe said, “But I’d prefer to see that for myself.”
“You can,” Lily replied.
“How?”
“Using the periscopes and night vision cameras.”
Zoe looked at Shannon and threw her hands in the air. “Sure, why not? Because who would think of building a nuclear fallout shelter and not install periscopes and night vision cameras?”
“Not me,” Shannon said.
“Me neither.” Zoe continued. “While I was at it I’d probably throw in a few more goodies, like maybe a Jacuzzi.”
Shannon shrugged. “I’m more of a lap pool girl, myself.”
“Why not both?”
“I could work with that.”
“And a bowling alley.”
“Five or ten-pin?”
“I’m not fussy.”
“Mini-putt?”
“Absolutely. And a batting cage.”
“Most definitely.”
“Home gym?”
“There’s room for a Bowflex.”
“Basketball court?”
“Now you’re talking.”
“Hilarious,” Lily said. The girl rose from her chair and walked across the room. “This,” she said, tapping the side of a six-inch wide metal tube which extended two feet down into the room from the ceiling, “is a periscope. The second one is in my parent’s room. This one rises twelve feet above ground, the second twenty. Dad painted them to look just like tree trunks. They even have branches attached to special collars so that when the periscope turns the branches don’t. It’s ingenious.”
“Your father was one smart dude,” Zoe said. She lowered the periscope handgrips and looked through the eyepiece. “Hmm,” she muttered.
“What?” Lily asked.
“Good thing you’ve got a second one. This one’s broken. I can’t see a thing. Just darkness.”
“That’s because it’s nighttime,” Lily said. “This is a basic periscope. Which means light needs to reflect off its mirrors in order for it to work.” She glanced at Shannon and rolled her eyes. “I thought everybody knew that. Duh.”
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