Next Exit, Quarter Mile

by CW Browning

  He lifted the top to the coffee maker and took out the filter with the old grinds from earlier, dropping it in the trash. Now that he had calmed down and slept for a few hours, he acknowledged that suicide was the obvious conclusion. The police had no idea about the antidote and so, by default, no idea that someone would want Patrick dead. They also had no idea that a hit team had been sent after the only other scientist who knew about the antidote. Without those facts, Patrick's death did, indeed, appear to be an open and shut suicide.

  Which was precisely what the killer wanted.

  Michael shook his head as he put a clean filter in the basket and pulled out a bag of coffee. He began scooping coffee into the filter, his lips pressed together grimly. He blamed himself. If he had taken Viper's warning more seriously and actually believed in the threat, perhaps he would have gotten to Patrick before they did. Patrick might still be alive.

  Closing the top of the coffee maker, Michael lifted out the reservoir and carried it over to the sink to refill it. At least Viper didn't sound as if she blamed him. In fact, she didn't sound surprised at all when he called last night to tell her about Patrick. It was almost as if she was expecting it. Michael shook his head again. What kind of world did she live and work in that deaths like these were the norm? And what the hell would Dave say if he knew his baby sister was living the life she was?

  “Hell, you'd probably say it wasn't my business,” Michael muttered, “and you'd be right, except you made it my business when you made me promise to look out for her.”

  He carried the reservoir back to the coffee maker and replaced it, hitting brew. The question was purely an academic one, anyway. Viper no more needed someone to watch out for her than a pig needed wings to fly to the moon. If anything, she seemed to be watching out for all of them these days. If it wasn't for her, no one would have the faintest idea that bombs were being strategically placed along the East coast. He would never have gone to see Patrick and they would have no clue about the antidote. In fact, if it wasn't for her, this entire terrorist attack would have gone off without a hitch. Homeland, Secret Service, FBI...none of them had heard any chatter about an impending attack.

  Michael frowned, leaning against the counter as his coffee maker gurgled, popped and brewed behind him. That in itself was bizarre. Why hadn't they got any kind of advanced warning? Between their intelligence and that of their allies, they always knew when something large was being planned. So why hadn't anyone heard any chatter about this? It had the potential to be bigger than anything the world had seen yet. Where had the intelligence feed broken down?

  Michael's attention was pulled away from his thoughts when his cell phone started ringing. He sighed and went quickly out of the kitchen and back into the dining room to grab his phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Had a busy night last night, huh?” Chris asked.

  “You could say that.”

  “How are you? Doing OK?”

  “I'll be fine,” Michael said, turning to go back into the kitchen. “It was just a shock.”

  “Understandable,” Chris murmured. “I'm afraid I have another one for you.”

  Michael paused in the act of reaching for the coffee pot.

  “What?” he asked apprehensively.

  “Sgt Curtis is gone.”

  “WHAT?!”

  “He's been detained by the CIA for national security reasons,” Chris said. “At least, that's the official line. I went to see him this morning and he was gone. He was taken in the middle of the night, and all the staff who had contact with him have been quarantined.”

  “Quarantined for what?” Michael asked quickly.

  “They're saying Curtis contracted a highly contagious bacterial infection,” Chris announced, a tremor in his voice. “He's been taken to an undisclosed, secure location and the staff have been quarantined on Quantico.”

  A vivid image of Alina asking about Curtis came to mind and Michael's lips twitched. He told her he couldn't get him tested. Clearly, she'd found a way to do it herself. Michael supposed they were lucky Chris hadn't found Curtis with a bullet in his head instead.

  “Well, that's that,” he said, pouring out a mug of coffee and replacing the pot on the burner. “At least we don't have to worry about POTUS having a meet with him.”

  “I knew you'd look at the bright side,” Chris chuckled. “It's very frustrating, but at least he's someone else's problem now. Are you working from home?”

  “Yes,” Michael sipped his coffee and went back into the dining room. “I got a late start this morning, but I'm working now. I'll let you know how I make out.”

  “Sounds good,” Chris said quickly. “I just called to let you know about Curtis.”

  Michael grinned. Chris was obviously trying to be nonchalant, but Michael knew better. He knew Chris was itching to ask him for details, but couldn't because they didn't know who, if anyone, was listening.

  “I appreciate that,” Michael said, sitting down in front of his laptop. “Let me know if you need anything. I'm working until about six.”

  “Will do.”

  Michael hung up and set the phone down. His smile faded as he turned his attention back to Trasker Pharmaceuticals. It was time to get back to figuring out how terrorists managed to infiltrate one of the largest pharmaceutical companies in the country.

  Viper stood up and wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, surveying the past hours' work. The long command center under the kitchen almost vibrated from the hum of several computers, two servers and three plasma screens. When she wasn't actively working, most of the equipment was powered down and unplugged, leaving only her main server and two computers running for daily use. After Stephanie departed, however, Alina descended to reactivate everything. Running cabling and managing wires with zipties to keep them organized and out of the way was not a task for the faint of heart, but she was used to it. It was part of her life. The results were well worth the effort.

  The three plasmas hanging on the rear wall were now up and ready to start streaming whatever information Viper needed to constantly see. The second server was also humming away, ready to search national and international databases, as well as access satellite footage. Viper reached for her almost-empty bottle of water and finished it. Her command center was ready.

  Ready to find another terrorist.

  Her eyes fell on the framed photo, pushed halfway behind a computer tower, and her mouth tightened. Asad first, she promised herself grimly. Eliminate Asad, then you can concentrate on the assassin who killed him.

  Viper strode over to the picture and picked it up, looking at John's younger, smiling face.

  “The Lina I used to know still cared about people.”

  His words before the accident burst into her mind and Viper set the photo down sharply. She turned away to move toward the stairs and the kitchen, pushing John out of her mind. She didn't have time for this nonsense. She was who she was, and if John died thinking she didn't care, well, then that was on him. Not her.

  Viper hit the button on the wall to open the trap door and strode up the stone steps into the kitchen. She tossed the empty water bottle into a recycling bin built under the counter and opened the fridge to get a new, cold bottle. Somewhere, three men were preparing to detonate an unknown number of bombs and create mass panic. If it wasn't for John and his dogged determination, they would have no idea about the bombs. It was only sheer luck John listened to Lani and decided something was fishy with Dutch's accident.

  Now, he was dead.

  Viper slammed the refrigerator door shut so hard she heard the contents rattle through the heavy stainless steel. She couldn't even find comfort in the knowledge that she was going to kill the bastard responsible for his death because she had to find him first. While Asad certainly could have some knowledge of John's existence, Viper was damn near positive he hadn't ordered the hit on him. There was no reason for him to do so. Drs. Traeborne and Krupp, yes, but not a local Fed who was
street racing deep in the Pines. For the first time in her career, Viper was suddenly frustrated that her job was demanding her undivided attention.

  As if on cue, her cell phone began vibrating against her hip.

  “Yes?” she answered shortly.

  “I have news,” Charlie said. “Are you in a secure location?”

  “Yes.”

  “You don't have to worry about any other triggers out there. The one you brought me is the only one.”

  Viper's brows came together in a frown.

  “The only one?” she repeated.

  “Yes. According to our new resident, it was supposed to be delivered to Dominic, who would then hand it over to Asad. Asad would separate it out into the required dosage for each bomb. What you gave me is the whole amount for all the bombs.”

  “Then the bombs are worthless,” Viper said. “That's good news.”

  “Not quite,” Charlie replied grimly. “They have a plan B in case the trigger didn't make it.”

  “And?” she prompted when he didn't continue.

  There was a very faint sigh on the phone.

  “That's all I've gotten out of him so far,” Charlie said. “He's proven to be unusually resistant. They're still working on him.

  “We have to assume they'll go back to traditional detonation,” Viper decided, stepping into the opening in her kitchen floor and descending once again into her command center. “Asad will place them in heavily populated and trafficked areas. If we knew how many bombs there are, that would help narrow down possible locations.”

  “Nothing on that, yet,” Charlie told her. “It's debatable whether or not Curtis even knows. Asad may be the only one who knows the number.”

  “Oh, someone else knows,” Viper said grimly, pressing the button at the bottom of the steps. The kitchen island slid over the opening above her.

  “Who?”

  “The drivers. All we need is one. If we can find out how many drivers, how many trips and what they were hauling, we'll know exactly how many bombs are being assembled.”

  There was a short silence on the line, then Charlie chuckled.

  “That's an approach I wouldn’t have considered,” he admitted. “I've mentioned before that you would do well running ops for me.”

  “And I've declined before,” Viper retorted with a short laugh. “I'm better in the field.”

  “One day, you have to retire,” he pointed out, unfazed. “When that day comes, the transition would be easy. It's something you really should consider.”

  Viper paused, her head tilted. Funny. She had never given a thought to retiring. Somehow, in the back of her mind, she always just assumed she wouldn't live to see retirement. It was a sad but constant statistic in her very small, very exclusive field of expertise. She and Hawk had both already outlived the average lifespan of assets within the Organization. The fact that they were still around was evidence of their skill. However, it was bringing new and unique challenges for Charlie as their reputations grew and their anonymity faded. Eventually, they would be forced to retire.

  “I'll consider it when the time comes,” she heard herself saying after a long, thoughtful silence. “No promises.”

  “That's all I can ask,” Charlie agreed. “Harry can help find the drivers. He has resources that you don't.”

  “And I have two that he doesn't,” Alina said dryly. “I've got Special Agents Walker and Hanover working on the drivers. They're also trying to locate the bombs.”

  “The bombs will stay with Asad until he's ready to put them in play. That's how he works. You know that.”

  “Yes, but he will need drivers when he's ready to move them. Hopefully, we'll have at least one of them by then.”

  “Tell them to get on it,” Charlie told her. “I don't know how much time we have.”

  “How's Dr. Krupp doing?” Alina asked.

  “He's thrilled with his new lab. He was very confused over how we obtained his data and samples from his own lab, but once he realized he had everything and it wasn't contaminated, he got right back to work,” Charlie said. “He's really an amazing man.”

  “That's not quite the word I would use,” Alina murmured, her lips twitching, “but he is brilliant.”

  “He was very concerned about you,” he told her, a smile in his voice. “You made quite an impression.”

  “Hmpf.”

  “How's your arm?” Charlie asked.

  “He told you?” Alina frowned. “It's just a scratch. How did you get his samples and data? When we left, the place was crawling with goons.”

  “They called the local LEOs,” Charlie replied. “It was easy enough to stop them from contaminating the lab area. The words Biohazard and Ebola work wonders. The rest was human nature.”

  “Ha!” Viper snorted. “They were going to try to hang the body I left around Krupp's neck.”

  “They already had BOLOs and alerts out to the news and state troopers,” Charlie agreed. “That's all been taken care of now. He's settling in quite well.”

  “I'm glad,” Alina decided. “He seemed harmless enough. When can I go after Asad?”

  She slipped the question in pointedly.

  “Once I've gotten all I can from Curtis, and Krupp can tell me exactly what we're looking at with this virus,” he told her. “It's a very delicate game we're playing on friendly soil. Be patient.”

  “And the leak?”

  “Soon.”

  Viper swallowed an impatient sigh.

  “You will tell me when you find it?” she asked softly, dangerously.

  “I've already given you my word,” Charlie answered calmly. “You focus on finding those drivers and Asad's location. Let me handle the rest.”

  Hawk turned on the taps in the porcelain sink and picked up a bar of soap. He shoved his hands under the running water, watching as it washed off the blood. Dark red turned to a lighter pink as it swirled around the drain, and he began scrubbing his hands with the soap, glancing at his reflection in the mirror. A small amount of splatter had landed on his jaw and he frowned, lifting the soap up to rub it on his face as well. Lowering his hands back into the sink, he finished scrubbing his hands and arms before bending down to splash water over his face.

  Who would have thought it would have come down to this? His own mission was accomplished an hour after he arrived in Kutaisi, cleanly and with no fuss or alarm. It was only after he crossed the border into Turkey that everything went awry. Hawk's lips twitched faintly and he reached for a towel, mopping his face and neck first before drying his hands and arms. If this was how Viper's affairs usually went, he could see why she had a tendency to grow restless in New Jersey. It had been nonstop since he started this morning. One hell hole led to another hell hole, each one getting progressively more resistant than the last. Hawk hadn't been worried. In his experience, the more resistant would-be informants were, the more they knew. And the more they knew, the quicker he found what he was looking for and got the hell out of there. What he hadn't been prepared for was the sheer volume of people who knew something worth knowing about Asad Jamal.

  Hawk turned away from the sink, picking up the bar of soap and dropping it into a plastic bag. He bent down and picked up a blood-soaked towel and added that to the bag, along with a bloody, straight-edged razor. He stepped over a pair of prostrate legs and went out of the bathroom into the hallway. Bending, he picked up the glass shards of a broken bottle carefully, adding them to the bag.

  One by one, they led him here, like links in a chain. Hawk wondered if Viper was aware of how well-known Asad was in these parts. His lips twitched again as he retrieved his tactical knife from the throat of a corpse at the end of the hallway. He wiped it on the towel inside the bag before slipping it back into his leg holster. Of course she knew. That's why she agreed for him to come. She knew he could handle it and learn what she wanted to know.

  Hawk continued into the living room, collecting various debris as he went. When he arrived a little over an hour ago, the
room was a mess, littered with a strange mix of empty food cartons, Rolling Stone magazines, floor cushions and prayer rugs. Now, it was a war zone. Furniture was over-turned, rugs and cushions askew, and the glossy covers of the magazines were splattered with blood. Another body lay backwards on an over-turned chair and Hawk shook his head. There was no cleaning that up. His .45 had blown the back of his head off.

  Instead, he picked up one of the magazines and turned to go into the kitchen. Tying a knot in the plastic bag, he set it in the sink, then turned to the stove. A few minutes later, the gas line was pulled out and hanging free, pouring fumes into the kitchen. Hawk turned back to the sink, glancing at his watch. He dropped the plastic bag on the floor in front of the stove, then rolled up the magazine and stuffed it into the toaster oven on the counter. After checking to make sure the windows were closed tight, he set it on high and exited the kitchen quickly.

  A moment later, he was closing the front door to the apartment behind him, listening to the lock click into place. Hawk turned and jogged down the narrow stairwell to the ground floor and out of the building, stepping onto the busy street outside. A taxi laid on its horn as a small, dented old van cut it off and someone shouted a curse in Turkish. He turned and started up the sidewalk, breathing in the smells of Ankara. He made it halfway up the street before the explosion ripped through the building behind him, rocking the ground and blowing glass out of the windows and into the street below. Tires screeched and people screamed as panic ensued behind him. Hawk paused and looked back, glancing at the flames assessingly. He turned and began jogging with the flow of people running away from the scene of the explosion, satisfied. There was nothing left of that apartment and, more importantly, no trace of him or his DNA.

  He ran with the panicked pedestrians, covering the distance easily with his long legs. Viper wasn't going to be happy. Hawk now knew why it was so hard to peg down Asad and his bombs, and it didn't bode well for them. His lips twitched again. Then again, maybe she would welcome the news. Viper seemed to enjoy challenges.

  His brief smile disappeared and he rounded the corner at the top of the street, heading for the motorcycle he left parked a block down. At least now it all made sense.