by CW Browning
Stephanie nodded and sipped her coffee, watching as Ricardo's black Scion made the turn into the garage.
“Maybe they know something we don't,” she answered, setting her coffee back into the cup holder as the light turned green. “I'll take outside. I see a spot on the next block in perfect position with the exit.”
“Roger that.”
Stephanie pulled forward and rolled past the access road leading to the parking garage. Glancing in her mirror, she watched as Blake turned behind her, heading toward the parking entrance. She shook her head and continued down the road to the next block. The streets were quiet this early on a Sunday morning, and Stephanie was grateful for the low amount of traffic. She made a K turn in the middle of the next block and pulled into the empty spot on the side of the road, facing back towards the parking garage. While she didn't have an unimpeded and clear view of the exit itself, any vehicle leaving the parking garage had to pull into the road, and she wasn't going to find a better angle on that. From her position, she had clear sight regardless of which way they turned exiting the garage.
Stephanie shut off the engine and reached for her coffee again, staring at the casino in front of her. When she and Blake got into their cars this morning, they had no idea where they were headed. They decided last night that he would take Tito while she trailed Ricardo, and to that end, they went their separate ways. They met up again on the Atlantic City Expressway forty-five minutes later, amidst a mini convoy of high-speed sports cars.
Sipping her coffee, Stephanie shook her head. Atlantic City. Of all the places to meet and load up with explosive cargo, these fools picked a casino in Atlantic City. Blake was right. They were out of their minds. She watched as a cherry red Mustang with chrome spinners turn into the access road and grimaced. It looked ridiculous.
“They're going to the seventh level,” Blake reported. “I just passed them.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don't know yet,” he answered. “I'll figure it out.”
“You'd better figure it out fast. The red Mustang is on its way up and the blue Subaru is pulling in now,” Stephanie told him, watching as a dark blue Subaru BRZ pulled into the access road. “You know, I'm not sure how Dutch got away with running up and down the coast and not raising any flags. I mean, these are all modern cars. A '67 Shelby draws attention.”
“It draws attention, but only because it's ancient,” Blake replied. “These kids think the old cars are heavy and old-fashioned. I know the people I had watching the interstate would have noted it, but not thought twice about it being a high-speed contender. People who can afford to restore classics don't usually race them.”
Stephanie sighed and thought about John. He believed the Firebird was made to be run, not hidden in a garage and brought out only on weekends in good weather. Now the Firebird was totaled and John was gone. Perhaps if he thought more like the safe, classic car owners, he would still be alive.
“Any sign of the last driver?” Blake asked after a few minutes of silence, pulling Stephanie out of her reverie.
“Not yet.”
“It's almost eight-thirty.”
“They came over the bridge, so they're here somewhere,” Stephanie said. “Maybe they stopped at McDonald's for breakfast.”
“I wish we'd stopped for breakfast,” Blake muttered. “I'm hungry.”
Stephanie grinned.
“You're always hungry,” she retorted. “Here they come, right on time,” she added as a lowered white Honda Civic rolled through the light and turned into the access road.
“I'm heading back down to their parking level,” Blake said. “Time to rock and roll.”
Alina sipped her coffee as she read the newspaper article Hawk emailed along with the video. The headline proclaimed STABBING OUTSIDE WILLARD INTERCONTINENTAL with a blown-up photo of the five-star hotel. She scanned through the article, reading about the Gala taking place when the victim, Dominic DiBarcoli of New Jersey, was stabbed to death on the sidewalk outside. Police were asking for anyone with any information to come forward.
She closed the article and opened the video. Her lips pursed thoughtfully as she watched the short video. While the camera was unsteady, Damon still managed to encompass the whole scene and she tilted her head, pausing it when it moved over the blood-soaked torso. The wound was just under the sternum and she raised an eyebrow. Dominic was stabbed, but it was a very precise wound. The blade would have slid up under the breast-bone to pierce his heart. The attacker knew what he was doing, that much was clear. Alina hit play again and watched as the camera continued up to rest on his face before the video ended with the sound of sirens in the background.
Opening an email, she attached both items and typed in Frankie Solitto's personal email address. There was no message to go with them; none was needed. She hit send and sat back, cradling her mug in both hands. The email would arrive in Frankie's inbox with no traceable IP address, and no senders name. There was no need for anything else.
Alina was finishing her coffee when her phone rang, vibrating next to the laptop on the bar. She reached for the phone and raised an eyebrow when she saw Stephanie's name.
“Yes?” she answered, glancing at her watch.
“We're in Atlantic City,” Stephanie told her without preamble. “They're making the exchange in the parking garage of the Tropicana.”
Alina raised an eyebrow in amusement.
“In a casino?” she asked. “That's interesting.”
“It's crazy, that's what it is,” Stephanie retorted. “There are cameras everywhere in there!”
“Obviously they aren't worried about that,” Viper said thoughtfully. “Are you watching them?”
“No, I'm outside. Blake's in there, using his GoPro. We're wearing coms.”
“Ask him what he sees,” Alina said, standing up and carrying her empty mug over to the sink.
She rinsed it out while Stephanie repeated the question to Blake. There was a moment of conversation between them, then Stephanie spoke into the phone again.
“So apparently there's a large black van parked in the back corner,” she told her. “Tito just opened the back and is handing a cooler to each driver.”
Viper blinked.
“A cooler?” she repeated. “A camping cooler?”
“That's what he said,” Stephanie confirmed. “He says they look like they're about 48-quarts.”
Viper stared at the back-splash in silence for a long moment, her mind working quickly.
“That's big enough to take out a building,” she said. “Are they going into the trunks?”
“Yes,” Stephanie said after checking with Blake. “Are you sure? That doesn't seem that big.”
“I know these bombs,” Viper answered shortly. “If they're in plain camping coolers, they're going to be remotely detonated.”
“How do you know?”
“Because they're portable. If they had the trigger like originally planned, it wouldn't have gone into a cooler. He probably had a special case ready to go, one that had to be assembled on site.”
“What do you mean, if they had the trigger?” Stephanie demanded. “You think they don't?”
“I know they don't,” Alina told her, turning to go back to her laptop. “The trigger I found was the whole thing. It was supposed to be portioned out for each bomb.”
“Then....these bombs are harmless!” Stephanie exclaimed.
“I wouldn't call enough explosive to take out a building exactly harmless,” Alina said dryly. “They'll still cause a hell of a lot of casualties if they're placed strategically.”
“Point taken.” Stephanie sounded chastised. “At least we don't have to worry about an Ebola outbreak. How do you think they'll be detonated?”
“I don't know.” Viper shook her head. “It depends on where they're placed.”
“We don't even know where they're going yet,” Stephanie complained. “I feel like we're just spectators.”
Alina chuck
led.
“Not quite,” she replied. “We know they're going to Philly, DC, New York and Boston. That's all we need to know.”
“How do you figure that?”
Viper smiled.
“Once we see where it goes in Philly, then we'll know where it's going in the other cities,” she said calmly. “They'll all be going to the same type of location.”
“I hope you're right,” Stephanie muttered. “I don't like gambling with four bombs that can take out a whole building.”
“Don't think of it as gambling,” Alina retorted. “Think of it as stacking the odds. What's your plan for following them? There are five cars and only two of you.”
“We have a tracker on Ricardo and Tito, and Blake and I will each take one of the others,” she said. “We'll trail them long enough to see which direction they're heading. I'm getting pictures of the cars as they leave, so we'll have plates, makes and models. Once we know where they're headed, Blake can alert the Bureau. Rob's waiting to hear from him.”
“Good. Send the pics to me when you have them,” Alina said. “Damon's in DC. He'll take care of that one, but he needs to know which car. I'll send the photos to him.”
“Michael's already up and waiting in New York,” Stephanie told her. “Blake talked to him this morning. What are we doing about Boston?”
“Don't worry about that. You just worry about which car is heading where.”
“Easier said than done,” Stephanie muttered, hanging up.
“They're heading down to you,” Blake said, rousing Stephanie from her contemplation of a map of Center City, Philadelphia. “I'm coming down behind them. I'll take the red Mustang.”
Stephanie reached over and put the tablet on the passenger's seat, picking up her camera.
“Is the van leaving?” she asked, adjusting the lens of the camera and zooming in on the access road.
“No. I think it's empty.”
“Someone loaded it before they came,” Stephanie said thoughtfully. “We can pull the camera footage from the Casino.”
“I don't think it will do much good,” Blake told her. “All the camera's in that corner are facing the wall.”
“Well, now we know why they aren't concerned about security,” Stephanie muttered.
She watched as Tito pulled out into the access road and pressed the rapid-shutter button, taking multiple pictures of the Camaro pulling out into the road and turning to head in the opposite direction.
“The whole thing only took five minutes,” Blake commented. “They didn't talk much. Tito gave them all a GPS, put a cooler in his trunk, and they went on their way.”
The red Mustang pulled out next, turning towards Stephanie. She pressed the button on the camera again, watching on the screen as it captured the car, license plate, and even a shot of the driver as it came toward her.
“So they didn't know where they were going before they came,” she said. “The GPS is telling them where to go.”
“I'll tell you this, I'd have to be getting paid an awful lot of money to agree to drive somewhere without knowing where I'm going.”
Stephanie nodded in agreement, snapping pictures of the blue Subaru as it pulled out and came toward her.
“I wouldn't want to do it,” she murmured. “I'll take the white Honda. It looks like it's the last one coming out. Where are you?”
“Behind the white Honda,” he answered with a short laugh. “Which way did the Mustang go?”
Stephanie glanced in her rearview mirror.
“Turn right out of the access road,” she said. “It's stopped at a light two blocks up.”
The white Honda Civic pulled out and turned away from Stephanie. She finished getting the pictures, then started the engine quickly. Putting it in gear, she glanced over as Blake pulled out and headed in the opposite direction.
“Happy hunting,” he said, winking at her as he passed.
“You too,” she said, pulling out and following the white Honda Civic.
Viper glanced at the screen of her phone and hit the hands-free button on the Shelby's steering wheel.
“Yes?”
“I saw Charlie last night,” Hawk's voice filled the car. “We're all squared away with Boston. Harry is dispatching DHS agents.”
“Charlie called in Harry?” she asked, surprised.
“Apparently, Harry offered,” Damon replied. “I don't know how they're going to explain it to the FBI, but that's Harry's problem now.”
“Did you talk to him?” Alina asked.
“Briefly. He sends his regards.”
Viper smiled. Hawk wasn't going to tell her what Harry wanted when he called earlier.
“I sent you pictures of the cars,” she said, moving on.
“I saw. Which one am I looking for?”
“I'm still waiting to hear. They're trying to sort that out now.”
“I'm scrolling through them. Are they for real with the chrome spinners?”
Alina burst out laughing.
“I thought the same thing,” she admitted. “Hideous, aren't they?”
“I almost hope that's the one headed my way,” Damon muttered. “You realize the odds of pulling this off in all locations are not good, right?”
“Yes.” Alina glanced at the Nav system and switched lanes to take the next exit, following the red beacon on the GPS map. “It'll be a miracle if none of them detonate.”
“Where are you with Asad?”
“Close.”
“And Kasim?”
“I'll find him.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
“Yes. Let me do my job.”
Hawk burst out laughing.
“Understood,” he chuckled. “Keep me posted about the cars.”
“Hawk?”
“Yes?”
“Be careful,” Viper said, suddenly serious. “I don't like us being so exposed like this, especially with someone in Washington who seems to know a lot more than they should.”
“You just find Asad,” he replied after a moment, “and don't worry about me. They won't know I was ever here.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
Stephanie looked up as a black Challenger pulled into the parking lot. She was parked in one of the lots behind the Cherry Hill Mall, waiting. After following the white Honda Civic to the Maryland border, she turned around and came back, confident the Honda was heading to DC. That was over an hour ago. She hadn't heard from Blake until about twenty minutes ago when he called her cell phone to ask where to meet her. Pulling up next to her now, he rolled down his window.
“Well, that sucked,” he informed her roundly. “I just spent two and a half hours on the parkway and turnpike.”
“Welcome to Jersey,” she retorted. “Did you figure it out?”
“Yes.” He stretched behind the wheel. “I had to follow them all the way to New York.”
“Them?”
“Yes, them.” Blake yawned widely. “I followed the Mustang onto the parkway and, lo and behold, a few minutes later, the Subaru joined in.”
Stephanie stared at him with a frown.
“Why were they both....Oh!” Her brow cleared in sudden understanding. “One was going to Boston!”
“Bingo. The Mustang's making the long trip. The Subaru turned off at the Holland Tunnel.”
Stephanie reached for her phone.
“The Honda Civic went to DC,” she said, hitting speed dial. “I'll call Lina and let her know.”
“I already called Rob from the road,” Blake told her. “He's got the New York office mobilized. Boston is being handled by DHS. Rob got a call this morning.”
“What about DC?” Stephanie asked, listening to the phone ring.
“When I talked to my boss, he wasn't too happy,” he answered with a grin. “He's being held on stand-by. He doesn't know who's pulling rank. He thinks it's the DHS.”
Stephanie snorted and hung up when Alina's voice mail picked up.
“Better he think that than know who i
t really is,” she said. “Speaking of, she's not picking up. I'll send her a text.”
Blake watched as she typed on her phone, then glanced at his watch. It was noon.
“I'm starving,” he said. “Where are Ricardo and Tito?”
“Ricardo went back to his house and is still there. Tito is all over the place,” she said, finishing her text and looking up. “He went to the drug store, then Walmart, then the track, and now he's here.”
Blake raised an eyebrow in question and she jerked her thumb toward the mall.
“What the hell are they waiting for?”
“Got me, but they obviously have some kind of timeframe they have to work with.”
Blake sighed.
“Is there somewhere close to grab something to eat?” he asked.
“There's a Chipotle down the road.”
“I'm in! Let's go.”
Michael raised his eyes from his laptop as his mother walked through the living room carrying a tray with empty dishes, on her way from the upstairs bedroom to the kitchen.
“How is he?” he asked as she passed through.
“He's fine,” she answered, glancing at him. “Complained that there weren't enough cabbage rolls for lunch,” she added with a laugh.
Michael grinned sheepishly.
“Tell him I'll get pizza later to make up for it.”
His mother paused at the door to the dining room and looked at him, her brown eyes studying him.
“Why are you here, Mike?” she asked seriously. “Not that we don't love when you visit, but you know you didn't have to come all the way up here to check on dad. His surgeon said everything went well. He'll be back on his feet in a couple of days. You knew that.”
“Can't a son come make sure everything's OK?” Michael asked, sitting back on the couch and stretching. As he stretched, his sweatshirt pulled against the outline of his Beretta, tucked into the holster at his waist. Her quick brown eyes zeroed in on it and Michael grinned as she looked at him, a clear look of disbelief on her face. “Don't look at me like that. I carry it everywhere. You know that.”
“I also know that you got here at close to one in the morning, ate, and have been on that laptop ever since,” she retorted roundly. “I'm not stupid, Mike. I know what you do for a living, and I've known you all your life. I know when you're worried about something. What's going on?”