The Kill Order

by Robin Burcell

  Lisette thought about that. “As you said, a man like Parker Kane is not going to let any numbers he’s using be connected to W2.”

  “He wouldn’t,” Izzy said. “But . . .” He typed, waited a second, then said, “Maybe Mr. Stiles is not as careful. Maybe he’s thinking that the Parker Kane’s phone is a throwaway, and can’t be traced to either of them.”

  “Which helps us how?”

  “I look up the calls to Stiles’s phone the few days before . . . and the few days after . . . Looking for patterns, any repeat numbers, and, more importantly, any that show calls made both here and in South San Francisco . . .”

  A list of numbers popped up on the screen. He filtered out those that didn’t match his criteria, then ended up with one. “Here you go. Your smoking gun.”

  “Not quite,” Donovan said. “We still need to know who is on the other end of that phone.”

  “Right. I knew that . . . Now we just need to turn it into a microphone. We catch Kane using it, and hopefully in the midst of some very incriminating conversations . . .”

  “You know how to do that?” Lisette asked.

  “Are you kidding me? Ever since I heard the freaking FBI use this technique all the time to spy on the Mafia, it was like— It’s not hard, if you know what you’re doing.”

  “How much time do you need?” Donovan asked, his attention back to the other monitor.

  Izzy looked at it. “Yeah . . . We’re going to need a serious distraction. I’m going to need more than ten minutes. They are so on their way here . . .”

  “Me,” Piper said.

  “No.” Lisette shook her head. “Absolutely not.”

  “I’m the one they want. So why not? I run out there, they chase after me, and Izzy can keep doing what he needs to do.”

  Lisette turned to Marc, hoping for a little support. But what he said was “Actually, I think we can make it work.”

  Piper smiled.

  Lisette narrowed her gaze. “Are you insane? This is way too dangerous.”

  “Hear me out, cara mia. This may be the perfect plan. For one, they aren’t about to harm the girl they believe is their most valuable asset on the face of the planet right now.”

  “And what about the military? Where are they?”

  Izzy brought them up. “About two minutes behind Parker’s guys.”

  “See?” Lisette said. “Because if I’m not mistaken, they consider her the most dangerous threat on the planet right now. Or are you forgetting the other group that was searching for us at the airport in Rome?”

  “We’ll cross that bridge—”

  “When they start firing?”

  “Not to worry. I have a plan.”

  “I already don’t like it.”

  “When you hear it, I’m sure you won’t. But it is the only way I see of buying us time.”

  She looked out the window, saw the cars pulling in, the headlamps bouncing off the parked vehicles. “Well, whatever it is, we need to do it now. They’re here. So what is the plan?”

  “Since we know Parker Kane is not going to shoot Piper, we send her out as a decoy.”

  48

  Pocito, Arizona

  Griffin and Sydney were with Rico’s wife, Charlene, in her trailer, when Griffin happened to look out the window and see the headlights at the top of the hill coming down the main road. Not one, but two vehicles. “We have less time than we thought.”

  Charlene looked that direction. “I’d say five minutes. Curvy road. Gotta take it slow.”

  Crack!

  Griffin drew his gun, ran to the door. Sydney tossed the files she’d found onto the table, drew her gun, and joined him. They heard another shot.

  “Status?” Griffin commanded.

  “Okay, but trapped.” It was Tex. “On the chicken coop. Weapon down.”

  “Carillo?” he radioed.

  “Fine,” Carillo said. “Up on the hill. Can’t get to Tex, and can’t get to our vehicle without breaking cover. Got a shooter on the west side of the house. Can’t tell if it’s the wife beater or Quindlen.”

  “We’re on our way,” Griffin said.

  But as he and Sydney started out the door, Charlene put her hand on Griffin’s arm. “Don’t underestimate them. They’re both dangerous.”

  He nodded, then slid out the back door, Sydney right behind him.

  They edged around the west side of the trailer. And just as Carillo had said, the gunman was across the road, on the front porch of the house. It was too dark to see if it was Lee or Quindlen. Whoever it was, he was leaning out, aiming his weapon toward the goat pen—whether at Tex or Carillo, he didn’t know.

  Griffin fired two rounds, and the man jumped back, then ran into the house. Every light was off, the windows pitch black. The full moon, high over the south side of the house, cast shadows across the ground, which might offer some concealment if Griffin could get across the road. What he couldn’t see was the second gunman, and he wondered if the man knew Tex was unarmed, and intended to press the advantage. “If I can cross over, I can get into that bunkhouse doorway. Have a chance of saving Tex.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Cover me. Fire a couple shots to make sure the gunman in the house doesn’t come out. And then I want you and Carillo to get to the car.”

  “We’re not leaving you.”

  “If something happens, you get that file to McNiel. If nothing else, it’ll clear you and Carillo, and the rest of the ATLAS crew.”

  She nodded, then maintained her position at that corner of the trailer. Griffin worked his way back to the other side, knowing she wasn’t happy, but there was little he could do about it. He didn’t know this other man, but he knew Quindlen and what sort of training he had, what he would do or have his partner do. Head to the east side to take Tex out, because that direction would shield him from Carillo up on the hill.

  When Griffin reached the front of the trailer, he radioed, “Now.”

  Sydney fired a volley of shots.

  Griffin ran. He made it to the front of the bunkhouse across the road. Now all he had to do was work his way toward Tex. That wouldn’t be easy, since he didn’t know where the second gunman was. He soon found out when he saw the man’s moonlit shadow on the ground, elongated, making him look like a ten-foot Frankenstein, not an ordinary human.

  But it also told him that this was Lee, not Quindlen. Quindlen would have been cognizant of his shadow telegraphing his position. This man might be dangerous, but not in the same way, and the last thing Griffin wanted to do was announce to Quindlen exactly where he was. He needed the element of surprise. Take out this man without Quindlen knowing. In other words, no gunfire.

  He pressed himself into the siding of the bunkhouse, feeling the rough wood against his back, then heard the slow, deliberate steps of someone attempting to mask the sound, but not being successful. Griffin hoped that meant the guy had enough alcohol and pot in his system to slow his reaction times. He could use a break.

  The shadow man stopped. Whether because he sensed Griffin’s presence, Griffin didn’t know. But soon it was creeping forward again, like a specter on the ground, gliding over every rock, every pebble, and Griffin watched as a shadow knife appeared on the ground, swordlike. It swung toward Griffin. But Griffin waited until Lee cleared the building before he jumped out, threw his arm up to block the thrust of the knife.

  Lee was quick on his feet. He slashed his knife at Griffin, the blade glinting in the moonlight. Griffin blocked the blow with the gun barrel, metal hitting metal. The knife went flying, skittered across the coarse ground.

  If this guy was good at anything, it was hand-to-hand combat. Lee got a couple of decent blows in and one kick. But the alcohol had dulled his senses, and Griffin managed to sidestep the next blow. Lee stumbled forward. Griffin grabbed him by the shoulder, hit
him across the face with the gun butt, then slammed his head into the ground.

  He wasn’t dead, but he wasn’t moving, either.

  Close enough, Griffin thought, then stopped short as the woman came running out of the house, toward them. She dropped to the ground. “Lee. Oh my God! What’d you do to him?”

  The next thing he knew, she was drawing a gun on him.

  And then Charlene came out of her trailer across the way. “Jesus, Hilary. The guy’s a piece of shit. Had this man killed him, he woulda done you a favor. Now put the gun down.”

  “But—”

  “Put the gun down. We got bigger problems.” Then to Griffin, she said, “Yut is on the other side. Got your friend at gunpoint.”

  Griffin ran between the buildings. Sure enough, Quindlen was standing there with a gun pointed toward the chicken coop, where Griffin could just make out the top of Tex’s head. Quindlen must have been hoping Tex would make a break for it.

  “What are you waiting for?” Griffin called out, his gun pointed at Quindlen.

  “For my boys to come down the hill. Should be here any second.”

  “Tell you what. You lower your gun, and I’ll let you live.”

  “You kill me,” Quindlen said, “and you’ll never survive what Brooks brings down on you.”

  “Brooks or Parker Kane?”

  “They’re one and the same,” Quindlen said.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Same reason as Parker. For the good of the nation. The thing is, I’m willing to die for my country. Are you?” he asked, aiming at Griffin.

  Griffin fired. “Not today,” he said as Quindlen dropped to the ground.

  A few goats brayed. Then came the sound of car tires rolling across the graveled road as Parker Kane’s men arrived on the scene.

  49

  Washington, D.C.

  Charles Gilroy telephoned Parker Kane the moment he arrived at the ATLAS safe house. “We’re here,” he said, then waited to hear what Kane wanted him to do.

  After a long stretch of silence on the other end of the phone, Kane finally spoke. “You’re sure this is the right place? The girl is there?”

  Gilroy looked at the apartment building through the binoculars. “We believe so. I assume the orders are the same?”

  “There’s been a change of plans,” Kane said. “The president has rescinded the kill order.”

  Gilroy could have told him that would happen. Election year. Last thing you want out is that you’re killing U.S. citizens. Especially young ones. “That makes it easier for us, then. We have the same goal as the military.”

  “Actually it changes things. I can’t take the risk that the military finds her first. Kill her before they get to her.”

  “What about Stiles? And the program?”

  “If I’m arrested, Stiles is going down. I’ll make sure of it. Don’t call me until she’s in a body bag.”

  Gilroy rubbed at the bridge of his nose, tired from the long day’s surveillance and constantly looking through the binoculars. If he had his way, he’d force entry into the building. It was a ten-story structure, bordered by an alley along the back, and on the sides, a mix of old office buildings that were being gutted and converted to condos and lofts, at least according to the billboard advertising the possibility of future sales. The target building was accessed with a security key in the front, which opened a set of glass double doors, and a side door. There was an entrance in the back at the alley, a wrought-iron rolling gate, accessed by remote, but apparently it wasn’t used except on Thursdays when the trash was picked up. Right now he had visual of the front and a partial view of the side. Enough streetlights kept the area lit up so that they didn’t need night vision goggles.

  “They’re leaving the apartment.” The transmission was from Jeffries. He was parked down the street opposite Gilroy and had a better line of sight to the front doors, where a delivery van was currently parked, blocking Gilroy’s view.

  “As in all of them?” Gilroy asked.

  “The two agents.”

  Gilroy adjusted his binoculars. Damned delivery van. “Is the girl with them?” he asked.

  “Doesn’t look like it. Should we make entry?”

  He was parked about four hundred feet away, just down the street, and when the vehicle came into view, he watched the pair through his binoculars, trying to decide what steps to take. “Doesn’t make sense . . . Has to be someone there with her.”

  “Who?” Jeffries asked. “The two agents leaving the building look like the ones in the surveillance photos from Venice. Unless it’s a trap.”

  The possibility certainly existed, but he doubted that they’d leave her alone. She was too valuable an asset. “Jeffries, follow the car. Halford, likewise. I want to know where they’re going. Make sure the girl’s not in the car with them. Do not lose them.”

  “Copy.”

  The vehicle pulled out, then drove south. A moment later, Jeffries’s car followed, then Halford’s. Unfortunately that left only Shipley, who was on the opposite corner.

  The apartment was on the third story, the windows facing the front. What if she wasn’t in there? The curtains were pulled, and he couldn’t see a thing, he thought as a familiar-looking SUV drove past, then on into the apartment parking lot. “Shit. Tell me that vehicle doesn’t belong to one of General Woodson’s men?”

  “What vehicle?”

  “Black SUV, just pulled in the drive.” He focused on the plates. Government issued, military. “Definitely one of Woodson’s guys.”

  “Military? Here?”

  Gilroy ran his hands through his hair. “Shit!”

  “You said that already.”

  “That’s because they’re under orders to bring her in. Our op has changed. We are no longer bringing her in alive. We have the kill order.”

  “Sir? The military vehicles?”

  He focused in on the vehicle, saw it contained two men. He thought he recognized the passenger. Their presence all but confirmed that the girl was there. At least they were acting on the same intelligence. “Engage them,” he told Shipley. “Go up, pretend you live there, whatever the hell it takes.”

  Halford came on the radio. “They’re driving into a shopping center. Parking . . .”

  It took him a moment to switch gears. Halford. Following the two agents. “Stay on them.”

  “They’re both getting out of their car, walking into the store.”

  “Check the car,” he said, keeping his eye on the SUV, wondering what the hell they were up to.

  “She’s not in there.”

  A movement from the third floor window caught his eye, and he aimed his binoculars that way, only to see the curtains dropping, as though someone had been looking out. When he turned his attention back to the SUV, he realized one of the men had gotten out, was pointing up.

  Shit. They were going to get her first.

  “Shipley. Get on that SUV. Ask for directions, bump it, do whatever it takes.”

  A burst of static hit the radio as though Shipley’s transmission was cut short. But a moment later, he was back on the air again. “Someone’s coming out the side door.”

  Gilroy turned his binoculars that way, catching Shipley’s car as he drove to the front of the building. Gilroy didn’t have visual of the door, since it was inset. There was a narrow cement walkway that led through the landscaping of rocks and low shrubs and a few patches of gray snow where the sun never hit. But a moment later, he saw a hooded figure exiting. Female. Every nerve in his body screamed that she was the one. “I’ll check it out. Get on that SUV.”

  “Copy.”

  He pulled forward, slowly, watched the girl looking around as though waiting for someone. A bit of dark hair was just visible beneath the hood—short, dark hair, and when a gust of wind blew, catching at her hoo
d, he saw a flash of pink. It was everything he could do not to hit the gas and race over there, spooking her, alerting the military and anyone else in the area. She stood there a moment, then started walking toward the alley. Finally, something working in his favor.

  “It’s her,” he said.

  Shipley radioed back. “You want me over there?”

  “Negative. You keep them engaged. I do not want them coming this direction.”

  “Copy.”

  “Halford, Jeffries, forget the two agents. Get back here. Now!”

  He watched as she strolled toward the alley, her hands in her pockets. And then he glanced toward the front of the building, where Shipley was pulling up to the SUV, hopefully drawing their attention. Last thing he needed was for them to discover the girl. Or discover him. He’d be dead, and she’d be in custody.

  He wasn’t about to let that happen.

  A car approached from the street adjacent to the alley as he was about to make a right turn, and he wondered for an instant if someone else was on the hunt. Didn’t look like a military vehicle. Green compact sedan. When it kept going, the driver, a blond woman, not even noticing the girl, he relaxed, made the turn, cruised slowly toward the alley.

  The girl turned into the alley, and he pulled his foot off the gas pedal, letting the car idle.

  This was going to be beautiful. There was no one back here. He reached over, unsnapped his holster, then steered in. She looked back, saw him, her eyes going wide, and then she bolted.

  Gilroy stepped on the gas, was nearly to her when she darted to the right, through a catwalk between two brick warehouses under construction. “In the alley,” he called on the radio. He hit the brakes, screeching to a stop, threw the door open, ran after her. Damn, she was fast. When she reached the end of the catwalk, she turned left. Out of his view. Her footsteps echoed between the buildings, then suddenly it was quiet.

  Gun drawn, he emerged from the catwalk, and realized why the sound had stopped. There was a chain-link fence blocking her from going farther.