Next Exit, Quarter Mile

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Next Exit, Quarter Mile Page 23

by CW Browning

She entered the master bedroom and side-stepped an overturned lamp stand to skirt through the debris, heading for the adjoining bathroom. If the trigger wasn't for Asad but for the Cartel, the situation would be just as dire. There was no scenario where Dominic won without the trigger. His driver took it, and he killed that driver before finding out where he hid it. Viper shook her head as she scanned the bathroom before moving to the closet. Idiot. Why kill Dutch before finding out what he did with the trigger? And why on earth would he risk exposing his terrorist affiliation by using a shrapnel bomb with all the earmarks of Al-Jibad's bomb-maker?

  Viper paused in the closet, pursing her lips thoughtfully. In Dominic's defense, what were the odds of local law enforcement recognizing a signature on a small bomb that took out a street racers’ tire? What were the odds of them even looking close enough to see that it was a bomb that caused the accident? Her lips tightened. In fact, if it weren't for an FBI agent asking questions, no one would have thought twice about the accident that took Dutch Baker’s life.

  Alina strode out of the master bedroom and moved across the hall to the next room. How many of these things did Dominic have access to? Had Asad been running whole bombs up from Cancun through the driving network? That would be reckless, and didn't add up with what Viper knew of Asad Jamal. He was careful and well-trained, and knew better than to entrust his precious bombs to strange infidels in America. So how the hell did Dominic end up with not one, but two of them?

  Viper spent the rest of her search puzzling over how the bombs ended up in Atco, but by the end of it, she was no closer to figuring it out than when she pulled into the driveway. There was no sign of Lani or of any struggle anywhere in the house, nor was there any trace left behind of the people who had so thoroughly searched and destroyed. Back in the living room, Viper tucked her gun into her holster and looked around thoughtfully. She bent down and picked up a shattered frame of a photo of Dutch and Lani standing in front of the Shelby. Viper looked at it for a moment, then dropped it onto the side table, turning toward the door.

  Lani was the only one who could locate the trigger. She had to find her quickly.

  And Viper suddenly knew just how to do that.

  Michael walked out of the gate at the airport and straight into his boss. He never even saw him, his head bent and eyes on his phone as he typed a text to Viper.

  “Ooof!”

  Michael instinctively reached out to steady the man he barreled into, but his exclamation turned to a grin when he saw Chris's face.

  “Chris!”

  “Whoa, no need to run me over,” Chris exclaimed, steadying himself.

  “What are you doing here?” Michael asked, tucking his phone into his pocket and turning to walk with Chris towards the exit. “I was going straight to the office.”

  “I wanted to meet you alone,” Chris replied. “I have my car. We can talk freely inside.”

  Michael glanced at his boss, a frown creasing his face.

  “We can't talk freely at work?” he queried, raising an eyebrow.

  Chris lifted his shoulders in a slight shrug.

  “I don't know anymore.”

  Michael came to a dead stop in the middle of the commuter crowd, facing Chris.

  “What happened?”

  “Someone rifled through my office,” Chris told him. “I swept it and found two bugs. I'd rather not take any chances.”

  “What the...someone went through my office as well,” Michael said, “the day you came back from vacation.”

  “Did you find any bugs?” Chris asked sharply.

  “No, and nothing was missing.”

  “What were you doing in Cancun?” Chris asked as they stepped outside into the brisk Spring air. “I know you didn't go all that way to check up on an agent who didn't report in for a few days. So what was it? When I told you to go on vacation, you indicated that you would rather stay and work.”

  Michael grinned.

  “I was working,” he assured his boss. “I was just doing it in a more exotic location.”

  “Well, you didn't stay long enough to get a tan, so you must be telling the truth,” Chris said with a short laugh. “Does this have to do with your suspicions that another attack is being planned?”

  “It does.”

  “Then I'm glad I came to meet you here,” Chris said, nodding to an airport police officer as they walked up to his black sedan, parked in a reserved spot near the front of the terminal. “Thanks, Ron. See? I told you I'd only be a few minutes.”

  “For once, you weren't lying,” the officer retorted with a friendly grin.

  Chris beeped the car unlocked and circled around to the driver side. Michael got into the passenger seat and tossed his overnight bag into the backseat.

  “Let's start with what led you to Cancun,” Chris said, getting behind the wheel and starting the engine.

  “It was more of a whom,” Michael muttered, reaching for his seatbelt.

  Chris glanced at him, a faint frown between his eyebrows.

  “Your not-so-rogue agent of days past?” he asked. Michael nodded and Chris groaned. “It's as bad as that?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  There was no trace of amusement in Michael's tone and Chris sighed, pulling out of the spot and into traffic.

  “I was expecting this,” he admitted. “I liked Paul. He was a good agent. Tell me what was important enough to get his throat slit.”

  “The FBI are running a joint investigation with the DEA into what they believe to be a smuggling operation run by the Casa Reino Cartel,” Michael said, leaning his head back. “The Agent in Charge is an old Corps buddy of mine. He mentioned to me that high-speed, precision drivers are running something up and down the East coast. Then he showed me a business card that's been popping up at known hand-off locations. It had Riviera Gardner Cancun, handwritten on the back.”

  “So you think there's a link between whatever the Cartel's running up and down the coast and the crackpot, hippie group that fund-raises in Cancun?” Chris asked. “Ok. I'll run with it. Where does your rogue agent come in?”

  “She's not a rogue agent,” Michael muttered irritably. “Why don't you just call her the Black Widow like everyone else?”

  Chris let out a bark of laughter.

  “Is that what she looks like?” he demanded.

  Michael shook his head, regretting his words. Chris didn't know anything about Viper except that she was a target of theirs last year and she’d been vindicated by the agency that employed her. Michael managed to keep it that way for almost a year. Clearly, he was more tired from his trip than he realized.

  “There's some resemblance,” he admitted, his lips twitching despite himself.

  “Hmm. Well, her boss is intimidating enough, so I suppose it's only natural for his employees to be bad-ass.”

  Michael glanced at him sharply.

  “You met her boss?”

  “He bought me a beer,” came the unexpected answer. “Seemed friendly enough. Very concerned about you, as a matter of fact. He was worried you'd end up in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “You never told me this,” Michael exclaimed.

  “Didn't I?” Chris glanced at him. “It was last fall when you went and got yourself embroiled in that mess up north.”

  Michael was silent for a minute, digesting this unexpected news.

  “What was he like?” he finally asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

  “Let's just say I don't ever want to be on the wrong side of him,” Chris murmured. “If your Black Widow was trained by him, I imagine you know what I mean by that.”

  “Well, that's not something I need to worry about,” Michael replied, a grin curving his lips.

  “I'm very happy for you. How does she tie into Cancun?”

  “She passed me some intel,” Michael said slowly, choosing his words carefully.

  “What kind of intel?”

  “The kind you don't ask where it came from,” he replied d
ryly. “Three men, possibly terrorists, left Africa traveling under Turkish passports and headed to Cancun.”

  “Terrorists? For whom? That covers a very large area, Mike,” Chris pointed out. “Who are they?”

  “She didn't say.”

  Chris glanced at him incredulously.

  “She didn't say?!” he repeated. “And you went traipsing off to Mexico anyway?”

  “Chris, you have to understand what these people do,” Michael said tiredly. “They don't talk. They don't share information. I'm lucky if I get a complete sentence out of her most of the time. Frankly, I think the only reason I got the sketchy intel that I did is because she's using me to get the information for her.”

  “Why would she need you?” Chris asked after a second of thought. “If she's feeding you intel on terrorist movements, what can you offer in return?”

  “Boots on the ground.”

  Chris's brow cleared in sudden understanding.

  “Ah.” He glanced at Michael's profile. “Well, at least we know where you stand. So what did you find? Besides Paul's body, that is.”

  “Three men traveling under Turkish passports,” Michael replied dryly. “They arrived, stayed about a week, and left.”

  “Left to go where?”

  “I have a friend in Border Patrol checking for me, but the Black Widow seems convinced they're heading here.”

  “That's it?” Chris demanded. “Three men traveling under Turkish passports arrive at a resort in Cancun, stay a week, and then leave. That's all we've got?”

  “Look, I know it doesn't sound like much,” Michael said, turning his head to look at his boss. “I spent the flight home trying to convince myself that this is all a wild goose chase and Paul got his throat slit by some guy over a bad poker hand, but I couldn't do it. My gut tells me this is all connected somehow.”

  Chris was silent, thinking, and Michael turned his head to stare out the window at the bumper-to-bumper traffic around them. Chris knew that Paul was onto something before he was killed in Cancun. Michael knew his silence was not because he thought the trip was a waste of time, but because he was trying to think of a way to convince the President the threat was real. Unfortunately, Michael couldn't tell him the main reason he was convinced three terrorists were on their way to Washington was because Viper had marked them as targets.

  “I can't go to POTUS with this,” Chris finally broke the silence. “I'm with you. I think this is a real threat, but I know they won't change anything without more credible information. You can't prove these men were anything but tourists. Even if we could convince them otherwise, we can't prove they're headed East. They could be visiting the Grand Canyon for all we know. How long before you hear back from your friend in CBP?”

  “Soon. He knows it's a priority.”

  “Keep working it,” Chris told him. “I'll try to buy some time, but we need answers yesterday. Are you in contact with the rogue – Black Widow?”

  Michael threw him an amused glance.

  “Yes.”

  “I never thought I'd say this, but good,” Chris said. “Tell her to get us something we can use.”

  Michael's lips twitched.

  “I'll be sure to pass the message on,” he murmured with only the slightest tremor in his voice.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Viper glanced at the flashing light on her phone and pressed the button on the steering wheel to answer the incoming call.

  “Yes?”

  “Go secure.”

  Charlie's voice filled the Jeep and Viper reached out to type a code into her phone.

  “Secure.”

  “Where's Asad Jamal now?”

  “My best guess? On his way to the Washington area, if he's not already there,” she answered.

  “When did he leave Mexico?”

  “At most, two nights ago.”

  There was a short silence and Viper glanced in her rearview mirror before turning her attention back to the long, lonely stretch of road before her. Pine trees stretched along either side of the two lane highway, protecting miles of forest and lakes. She glanced at the Nav system, the red line on the map highlighting her course, and returned her eyes to the road.

  “Where are we with the package?” Charlie asked.

  “I hope to have it by nightfall,” Viper answered shortly. “What do you want me to do with it?”

  “Notify me and hold it until further instruction,” he answered. “We need to know exactly what we're dealing with.”

  “Any way to get hold of the Sergeant who made it?” she asked caustically.

  “Not in a way that would do us any good,” Charlie replied dryly. “He's protected at all levels. We can't get near him without alerting every agency in DC. I have an alternative in play, though. We'll find out what it is. Just find the package.”

  “Where are we with that leak?” Viper asked, accepting her role with the trigger without question.

  “Closer than we were.”

  “I'm the only one who can positively identify Asad and his companions,” she reminded him. “I can't do that from here.”

  “I'm aware of that,” he told her. “I'll release you to go after them, but only after you have the package and we know exactly what their plan is. Understood?”

  “Understood.”

  “You have seventy-two hours to find out what they're planning.” Charlie paused, almost as if he was considering his next words. “You're cleared to use all means necessary. Make it count.”

  “Copy that.”

  Alina pulled through an old gate in an even older twelve-foot high wire fence surrounding a sprawling, automotive graveyard. This was where old cars and trucks came to die. Forgotten by time and abused by the elements, the once proud beasts were fading and rusting, sinking into oblivion. According to the GPS chip from Dutch's Shelby, this was his last stop before returning home after that last run for Dominic. This had to be where he hid the trigger.

  Alina scanned the hollowed out carcasses as she rolled past row after row, steadily moving deeper into the old junkyard. There was no building structure behind the fence, just rows of cars as far as the eye could see. No sign of life was anywhere, but the gate was unlocked and open, so someone was here.

  Viper came to a stop and sat for a second with the Jeep idling before throwing it into park. She opened the door and stepped onto the running board, standing to look over the door at the area around her. The ground was hard-packed, dry dirt and she scanned it, looking for any tell-tale tire tracks. After looking hard for a moment, a faint smile crossed her lips and she swung back behind the wheel, putting the Jeep in drive as she closed the door again. She rolled forward and turned right two rows up, following tracks barely visible on the ground. After a few minutes and three more turns in the labyrinth of vehicles, she was rewarded by the sight of a gun-metal gray CJ, pulled to the side up ahead.

  Lani was here.

  Pulling up behind the older Jeep, Alina cut the engine. There was no sign of Dutch's sister. She climbed out and looked around before closing the door and walking over to the other Jeep. A glance inside revealed no keys and no trace of Lani. Viper looked down, examining the ground for a moment, before turning away from the Jeeps and moving through the sea of rusting, rotting shells. She had gone about 50 yards before a head popped up from the other side of an ancient pickup.

  “Raven!” Lani exclaimed, glancing back toward the distant Jeeps. “What are you doing here?”

  “Same thing as you, I imagine.”

  Lani looked at her sheepishly.

  “I didn't figure it out until after you left and I re-read the letter one more time.”

  “What IS this place?” Alina asked, circling around the bed of the truck to join Lani on the other side.

  “An old junkyard my dad used to run,” Lani answered, wiping her hands on her jeans. “It was the random reference to him in the letter that tipped me off. We used to come up here on the weekend, me and Dutch. Dad would let us play out here wh
en we were kids. As we got older, Dutch used it for parts. He used to say if you couldn't find the part you needed here, then it didn't exist.”

  “Your dad lived up here?”

  “After the divorce, yeah,” Lani said, turning away from the pickup and looking around. “When mom died, he came back to Atco. He died when I was sixteen.”

  “When was the last time you were up here?” Alina asked, glancing around and wondering how the hell they were going to find the trigger in this sea of cars.

  “A few years now,” Lani replied, starting to walk through the cars. “Dutch stayed in touch with the new owner, but I didn't have much need to come up here.”

  “Do you have any idea where this insurance policy might be stashed?” Alina asked, tiring of the small talk.

  Lani glanced at her.

  “You know more than you're saying. What is it?” she asked. “What the hell did Dutch get himself into?”

  Viper glanced at Lani and saw a cautious and stubborn glint in her eyes. She wasn't going to tell Alina anything until she got some answers of her own. Honestly, Viper couldn't fault her for that.

  “The less you know, the better off you'll be,” she told Lani, meeting her look squarely. “This isn't something you want to be involved in.”

  “I'm already involved,” Lani retorted. “Dutch involved me when he sent the letter. I have a right to know what kind of mess I'm in.”

  Viper stopped and leaned against an early-eighties Cadillac, crossing her arms over her chest and studying the other woman silently for a moment. Again, she couldn't fault her for wanting to know what was going on, but Viper hesitated to tell her anything. The more she knew, the more Lani would be at risk. More importantly, the more she knew, the more she could be made to share against her will. However, Lani was already involved, whether either of them liked it or not.

  “Before I say anything, I want to make one thing very clear,” she said slowly, her dark eyes steady on Lani's. “I don't think Dutch had any idea what he was doing in the beginning. I think when he found out, he tried to stop.”

  “And got killed for it.”

  “Yes.”

  Viper continued to study Lani, weighing how much she should tell her against how much it would take for Lani to be completely comfortable handing the trigger over to her. Lani crossed her own arms and stared back.

 

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