Gabriel spun in his chair and pointed a finger at his communications officer. “Get me the Pentagon.”
Four men remained standing around the conference room table. The events in the Middle East were being worked, but they were at least six hours behind the power curve. St. James stopped at the conference room door. “Sir, is there anything I can get for you? I have a runner heading downtown to pick up lunch for the crew, but I'm heading out to make sure the programmers are set up where you directed.”
Gabriel shot a quick glance in his logistics officer's direction. “Just grab the four of us whatever you’re getting everyone else. Oh, and would you please get a message to Olsen and Harvey that I want a rundown on Henderson, stat.”
“Roger that, sir. Oh, by the way, Augustine wanted me to tell you that detective is cleared into the building as per your request.” St. James tapped the doorframe. “And you need to check the batteries in your pager. Your secretary called and said they were probably dead. I told her I’d find you and have you call her. She said it wasn't urgent, just the paperwork dragon raising its ugly head again. I sure hope you know what that means.”
“Yeah, I do. Thanks.” Gabriel looked down at his pager and hit the home button. Of course, it was dead. He picked up his cell phone and flipped it open. The face did not illuminate. Of course, he hadn’t charged any of his devices last night. Too many irons in the fire and exhaustion was his only defense. He looked at Craig. Damn, he was running a fucking investigation and his people had to have a way to reach him immediately. “Call Daisy in D.C. for me?”
Craig flipped open his phone and made the call. He ignored the majority of the call. When McNair tensed, he glanced up. Craig’s eyes flashed to Gabriel. “When?” McNair stood up, and his eyes darted to the hallway. “I’ll have him call now.”
McNair ended the call and dropped his phone onto the conference room table. “The Deputy Director of the CIA wants to have a meeting with you. The timetable for the events in Israel has been pushed to the right. The Libyan threat has the FBI bouncing off the walls, and the CIA is shitting bricks.”
“Did Daisy say anything about Southerland calling?” Gabriel sifted through the papers on the conference room table. He had a strawman schedule for his teams and his operations. He factored in the mission in Israel. He just needed to settle down the powers that be in Washington.
“No. Nothing. She said the paperwork wasn’t urgent, but to call as soon as you caught a break.” McNair dropped into the chair across from Gabriel.
Gabriel started stacking the papers in front of him. Several shiny sheets of facsimile paper caught his attention. He looked at the cover sheet. The title on the top page read, Urgent. Response required on case notes and request for direction. He glanced up at the origination block. The fax was from Chance King. Craig stood and Gabriel dragged his attention away from the documentation in front of him. “Okay, we’ve done as much here as we can. Let me know as soon as we figure out a timetable for shifting the teams.”
McNair nodded. “A timetable is useless if we don’t get more people. Sooner or later we're going to be stretched so thin we’re going to break.”
“Trying to balance growth and missions has become precarious. We may have to scale back.” He pulled the three shiny sheets of fax paper from the stack and positioned them in front of him.
McNair snorted. “We could have two full teams out if we weren’t here in New Orleans.”
“Not going to happen. Jacqueline Brenner and Deacon Long deserve a modicum of peace. It’s become personal. I’m going to catch this guy if it’s the last thing I do.” Gabriel stood and rolled his shoulders. God, he was tired. The weeks of sleepless nights, worry, and work were starting to take their toll. He glanced at the clock and shook his head. Snaking his hand around the back of his neck, he rubbed it, trying to remove the worried knot that had formed. He read the top sheet of the fax and slid the paper to read the second. “Fuck, Chance found something. But... No, shit, something’s not right.”
McNair’s eyes snapped to Gabriel. He cocked his head. “Not right? What’s not right? You’re going to have to elaborate.”
Gabriel shook his head and held up a finger. He cursed under his breath. “If you were running a serial murder investigation and you were handed a possible suspect, wouldn’t you be briefing your higher-ups?”
McNair’s eyes narrowed, and he nodded slowly. “Yeah… What are you trying to say?”
“Why hasn’t anyone from NOPD contacted us about this suspect. Why hasn't Sutherland?”
“You mean the Deputy Director of the FBI? Why would he? We are clearing the CIA's mess, and they are doing a solid for the FBI. This case isn’t on his scope.” McNair looked at him like he had three heads.
“Not true. Why wouldn't Southerland call about the serial murder suspect? Why haven’t his agents informed him of this new development? Why isn't the Chief of Police knocking at our door?”
“You don’t know they haven’t. You’re making assumptions. That’s not like you.” McNair stood. “You should probably get some sleep instead of playing around all night long.” He attempted a playful smile but didn’t quite pull it off.
“Hold up.” He continued to scan the information Chance had written out. The thread he was following was... Holy hell.
“Sir?” Fowler, one of his seasoned communications specialists, stood in the doorway.
Gabriel snapped his attention to the door. Fowler strode in and handed him a cell phone. “I’ve got agent Harvey on the line.”
Gabriel snatched the phone from Fowler and plastered it against his ear. “Harvey, where's my brief? What have you found on Henderson? Did you get Chance's fax?”
“St. James just asked the same thing. Who the hell is this Henderson? What are you talking about? Chance hasn't faxed me anything.” The agent’s stressed voice sizzled over the connection.
“Last night, Detective Delacroix interrogated a suspect he apprehended across from our building, Gary Henderson; he’s local. Delacroix contacted you last night and briefed you. It was pretty fucking obvious you brought him in on the information we were going to keep under wraps.” Gabriel’s eyes swung to McNair. The man was just as dumbfounded as he was.
“Bullshit I did. Did Delacroix call you last night?” Gabriel heard Harvey shout across the room. A resounding 'fuck no' came back from Olsen. “I haven't talked to Remí in days. What’s going on? Who is this Henderson? What did Chance say? I gave him the information we built on the timings of the murders and gave him permission to drop our names to get information. A copy of all the case files are going to him today. Why in the hell would you think I'd tell Delacroix anything about what we discussed?”
“Damn it. Hold on.” Gabriel dropped his eyes to the file he was holding. “Son of a bitch. Chance did a background check on all of us. Starting the investigation from a blank slate, he vetted each one of us. Holy fuck. His juvenile record... killing small animals. Mother murdered when he was sixteen. Barely passed psychological evaluations to get onto the force.” Gabriel read the report aloud, and cold fingers clutched his gut in an icy grip. As if his brain were a puzzle lock, all the odd details of this case shifted, aligned, and with a click, King's report presented him with a clearly drawn image of a psychopathic killer who knew how to avoid the police, because he was a detective.
“Who?” Harvey shouted the words breaking Gabriel from the grip of the report.
“Delacroix.”
“Delacroix?” The shout came from both Harvey and McNair.
“King pulled favors from friends at NOPD on Delecroix’s background.” Gabriel looked straight at McNair as he talked to Harvey. “The motherfucker is in this fucking building.” McNair launched from the room. Gabriel was on his heels as he shouted directions to Harvey. “Check Delacroix’s employment records against the dates and times of the murders. Delacroix saw Henderson's attack on Anna as his way into the building. Deploy whatever assets you can reach to secure this building from the outsi
de.” Gabriel stopped in front of the security checkpoint. “Lock it down! Nobody gets to the top floor. Account for the principles.”
The man at the checkpoint spit out an immediate reply, “Mr. Long and Miss Brenner are in the apartment. Detective Delacroix requested access to the penthouse. It was authorized. Wall was assigned to escort him.”
An alarm sounded throughout the building. The communications earpiece he wore buzzed, alive with commands. McNair was doing what he did best. The man was a tactical wizard, and he deployed the Guardian specialists utilizing years of knowledge and skill.
Gabriel bolted behind the security checkpoint and pushed through his men. He grabbed a submachine gun from the makeshift armory and flew to the stairway. It took precious seconds to unlock the door. Legs pounding, he took the stairs two at a time straight to the alternate entryway to the penthouse. He waited until there was a break in the rapid-fire orders barked through the mic in his ear before he keyed on his microphone.
“I’m heading to the penthouse. McNair, sweep from the bottom up. Where is Delacroix’s escort? Where’s Wall?”
A disembodied voice came over the comms. “Sir, Wall is dead. I just found him in the stairwell below the 12th floor. His throat was slit.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck! Why had Wall been in the stairwell? Orders were to take the elevator for all escorts. The camera angles were better. Delacroix had to have pulled a weapon on Wall. There were no cameras below the sixteenth floor in the stairwell. The fucker could be anywhere on the lower floors. Gabriel closed his eyes for a second and ground his teeth as he spoke, “Craig, did you hear that?”
“Affirmative.” McNair barked out commands elevating the search, ensuring all his men knew of the threat.
“Find this motherfucker,” Gabriel ground out and unkeyed his mic. It was all that had to be said. Delacroix had taken down one of their own. His men were seasoned war fighters. Vengeance came easily, particularly when there was a debt to settle.
Gabriel slowed enough to open the penthouse apartment’s main door with his master key before he threw it open with a resounding crash. He stopped, slung the machine gun strap over his shoulder and slid the weapon behind him to free his hands. He shut the door behind him and slapped the six metal deadbolts, three on each side of the door, into position. The door itself was reinforced with metal. The bastard wasn't getting in that way.
Gabriel keyed his mic again. “Are the elevators stopped and cleared?”
“Yes, sir.” The response was immediate.
“McNair?” Gabriel demanded.
“Nothing yet.” The whispered reply filtered through the comms. Gabriel drew a deep breath to control his breathing. He needed to let his men work.
Chapter 26
Gabriel’s head snapped around as Deacon flew through the kitchen door of the Penthouse. “What the fuck crashed?”
“He’s in the building. Where’s Jackie?”
Deacon pulled up. “Who is in the building?”
“Delacroix is the killer.”
“What the fuck?” Deacon’s confusion played across his face.
“I’ll explain as soon as I get everyone secured. Where are Jackie and Anna?” His voice snapped with intensity.
“Jackie is in the den.” Deacon launched through the kitchen door and Gabriel followed on his heels.
“Anna?”
Deacon stopped his headlong rush into the den when he reached the door and could see Jackie. He turned to Gabriel, his eyes wide. “She went down to security to wait for Delacroix.”
Gabriel activated his earpiece. “All units, Miss Harriger is reported headed to the security checkpoint. Does anyone have contact?” His men’s silence answered his question.
“What? What happened to Anna?” Jackie’s worried question hammered him with the force of a battering ram.
“We believe a detective working the case, Delacroix, could be the person who has been after you.” Their shattered responses tore at his guts. He struggled to control the anger he felt at being duped, the sense of betrayal that coursed like acid through his veins. Fuck, he was trembling with repressed rage, but he couldn’t imagine the emotions Jacqueline was dealing with.
“Anna went downstairs to meet him.” Jackie crumpled into a tight ball against her boyfriend. Deacon wrapped his arms around her and murmured soothing words against her hair. He forced himself to interrupt Deacon as he soothed Jackie. Gabriel handed the man the machine gun he’d liberated from the armory. “We'll find her. I’m leaving this with you. Have you ever fired a weapon before?”
“A handgun, and I've used a rifle to shoot skeet.” Deacon’s voice was strong and sure.
Thank God. He needed an ally in this apartment, and the former professional football player was stepping up to the task. Gabriel examined the situation. Deacon’s girlfriend was a mess and rightfully so. He caught Deacon’s gaze, looked at Jackie and indicated with his head to move her further away. He nodded with understanding before he wrapped his arms around her and took her across the room. Deacon returned a moment later. He began his instructions in an undertone so Jackie couldn’t hear, “This is the safety. It’s on.” He pointed at a selector lever on the side of the weapon. “Slip it with your thumb to here. That’s off.”
He pointed to the far right of the room. “I want you to barricade yourself in this room. Do not open that door for anyone. When this is over, I'll knock on the door and say the safeword. If you do not hear that safeword come out of my mouth, you move this selector to fire, and you pull that trigger. Spray that motherfucking door. I don’t care who comes to that door. I don’t care what they say. If you don’t hear the word ‘Tiger’, you fire.”
“Tiger. I’ve got it.” Deacon looked up at him. “Help me move some of this heavy-ass furniture.”
He helped Deacon push the massive wooden furniture closer to the door. They left just enough room for Gabriel to squeeze out. He slipped through the door and listened as the heavy oak desk snubbed up against the wooden panel. He worked to set a perimeter for the apartment. All entrances and exits were alarmed and monitored. His teams were doing an upward sweep, and Craig was running the command center. They’d find Anna. If Delacroix had her, he’d keep her alive until he reached the penthouse. He’d need her to access the elevator system. His earpiece was extremely quiet. The professionals that worked for him limited transmissions and worked silently. Darkness gathered around him as he sat centered in the apartment, facing the elevator. The only sound from his earpiece came as his teams slowly and carefully cleared the floors below him. The entire afternoon had passed as he listened.
Keyed up and intently listening to any radio traffic, he heard a noise, a slight scraping from the kitchen or the game room. From his shoulder holster, he silently palmed his 9 mm. He backed into the shadows cast by the evening light and made himself a part of the room. Pressed against the wall, he silently crept to the archway that linked the foyer to the game room. He crouched, attuned to the sounds of the apartment.
Craig’s voice came across his earpiece. “All floors through the 15th cleared.”
That meant Delacroix had made it to the 16th floor. Where is that son of a bitch? Where was Anna? He cocked his head. A faint metallic scraping sounded again. Metal against metal. Gabriel closed his eyes. Where was the sound coming from? He heard it again. The kitchen. It had to be the kitchen. He lifted away from the wall and cautiously worked his way through the game room, his eyes on a swivel.
An inch at a time, he pushed open the swinging door that led to the kitchen and entered the empty room. When what seemed to be a small piece of metal dropped onto the marble tile somewhere to his right, he froze. Frantically, he worked through his memory of the kitchen to determine the origin of the noise.
He lifted his eyes to the ceiling and stared at the air duct. The mesh of metal that covered the vent was loose. One corner hung down, unsecured. He knew where Delacroix was. The bastard was in the ventilation system. He was making his way into the apartment by cra
wling through the air intake located in the kitchen. If he used his mic to contact his team, he’d also alert Delacroix. He crept around the corner and readied himself for the confrontation.
The distinct sound of the hammer on a revolver being pulled back sounded a millisecond before the ice-cold barrel of a handgun gouged into the back of his neck.
“That was far too easy. You’re boring in your predictability. I would have expected more from you. I would have thought you would have made the hunt worth the effort. Although I’m not sure why I believed you could be a challenge. You’ve gotten everything wrong so far.” Delacroix’s moist breath fell on his neck and cheek.
The man who held a weapon to his head wasn’t the insane frantic man he’d anticipated. Gabriel gave a small shrug. “Not really. We got the profile right. Law enforcement. Average intelligence.”
Delacroix laughed quietly and tightened his grip slightly. “Baiting the bear? Such balls you have, Gabriel. Did you think that would upset me? Get a reaction so you could overcome my distraught mania and save the day?”
“Apparently.” Gabriel searched the kitchen for a possible advantage.
“Right, and I have the average intelligence. Where is Miss Brenner?” Delacroix pushed the barrel of his handgun into Gabriel’s temple.
He lifted his hands, his weapon still grasped in his right. “She’s gone. We cleared her out after Anna was attacked yesterday. I wasn’t going to take any chances.”
“That is strike one, my friend. Miss Harriger told me she was up here. Resting, I believe she said.”
“Anna?” The question escaped immediately.
“Oh, yes. She’s an innocent really, which is unusual. Very trusting and easily manipulated. Nonetheless, I will include her on my list of trophies. Probably not today, she's not here and we are pressed for time. So… sometime in the future. Hunting is such an exhilarating sport. The thrill of the chase and all that.”
His weapon was wrenched from his grip before the man whispered, “So much fun.”
Gabriel (Guardian Defenders Book 1) Page 27