Next Exit, Quarter Mile

by CW Browning

  Michael stared at his mother and a reluctant smile creased his face as she stared him down. The look in her eye was steely and she didn't miss a thing. Michael had the sudden thought that Alina and his mother would get along like a house on fire, at least until the topic of football arose. His mother was a faithful Giants fan, and Alina made no secret of her love for the Eagles. That was a rivalry for the ages. Almost as bad as the Eagles-Dallas rivalry.

  “There might be a situation brewing,” he conceded. “Nothing to worry about yet, but I'm glad you guys are laid up this weekend.”

  “What kind of situation?” she demanded, her brows snapping together. “Oh my God, is someone going to shoot the President?!”

  Michael shook his head, laughing.

  “No, mom,” he said. “No one's going to shoot the President.”

  “Well, that's OK then,” she decided, turning to continue on her way to the kitchen. “Not that I'm a fan of his, but I don't want to live through another Kennedy assassination.”

  Michael shook his head as she disappeared into the kitchen, the smile still on his lips. He was just going back to the file open on his laptop when his cell phone vibrated in his pocket and the email alert popped up in the bottom right corner of his screen. It was from Blake.

  Michael opened his email. The subject line was the message.

  Thought you'd like this.

  Michael raised an eyebrow and opened the attachment. He found himself staring at several shots of the same car, a blue Subaru BRZ. Michael zoomed in on the license plate and opened a separate tab to run the plates.

  “Gotcha.”

  Hawk stepped out of the coffee shop and turned to walk up the city street. The foot traffic was lighter than it would have been on a weekday, but this was still the nation’s capital. He joined the stream of people, just another person out enjoying his Sunday morning.

  Damon drank his hot coffee, his eyes scanning the faces around him out of habit born of long experience. It was one that saved him more than once, when a face had appeared too many times in the crowds.

  The crowd he was moving with came to a stop at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. Hawk waited with the rest, sipping his coffee, then stepped off the curb when the light changed, moving with the crowd. Before he reached the other side, however, his lips curved suddenly.

  “What are you doing out so early?” he asked out loud, not turning his head. “I thought you only came out after the sun went down.”

  A low chuckle sounded behind his right shoulder.

  “I'm not a vampire,” a voice said in amusement. “When did you know I was here?”

  “Before the light,” Damon replied, reaching the curb on the other side and stepping onto it. He turned to look at Charlie. “You were waiting in the alley past the coffee shop.”

  Charlie grinned.

  “At least I know you're on your guard, even here,” he said. “Good. Let's walk.”

  Damon nodded and fell into step beside his boss. He wasn't really surprised to see Charlie. When he left him last night, Charlie was in the middle of something else and Hawk got the distinct impression that he had more to say to him.

  “Have you heard from her?” Charlie asked.

  Damon didn't need to ask who he meant.

  “She sent me a photo of the car headed this way earlier.”

  “I have the Bureau standing down until I give them notice,” Charlie told him. “I want you out of there before they move in. Don't risk being seen.”

  “You're the second one to tell me that today,” Hawk muttered, and Charlie chuckled.

  “I would tell her the same thing,” he said. “There's something going on here and I would rather neither of you were anywhere near this city.”

  Damon glanced at him.

  “You know, then?” he asked.

  “That someone here is orchestrating everything?” Charlie asked. “Yes. The leak within the Organization is just the tip of the iceberg. Sgt Curtis made it clear there's someone much higher up on the food chain involved. But how do you know? I just found out last night.”

  Charlie looked at him and Damon found himself caught in a sharp gray gaze.

  “Viper made a new friend,” Hawk told him.

  “Ah.” Charlie nodded complacently. “I should have known. Is that friend still alive?”

  “I believe so.”

  “I thought I told her to lay low up there,” he murmured. “I must not have made myself clear enough.”

  Hawk was surprised into a bark of laughter.

  “I'm surprised she's been as quiet as she has,” he said. “She's been chomping at the bit for the past few days.”

  Charlie grinned reluctantly.

  “I’m sure it's been hard for her,” he said. “How is she? I know John Smithe died.”

  Damon shot him a sharp look.

  “She's avoiding it,” he answered bluntly. “She's focused on her target right now, but when that's done, she'll go after them.”

  “I expected that,” Charlie agreed calmly. “Harry was concerned it would affect her judgment. Has it?”

  Damon smiled despite himself.

  “Not at all,” he admitted. “She's just as clinical as ever.”

  Charlie nodded.

  “That's also what I expected.” He stopped in the middle of the block and held out a brown paper wrapped box. “When you go back to New Jersey, I want you to take her this.”

  Hawk raised his eyebrow and reached out to take the box from Charlie. It wasn't heavy. He was opening his mouth to agree when his phone vibrated against his hip. Damon tucked the box under his arm and pulled it out, swiping the screen. When he looked up again, Charlie was watching him.

  “Time to work,” he said simply and Charlie nodded.

  “Remember, I want you out of there before the others come in,” he told him. “Find it, neutralize it, and get the hell out.”

  “Understood.”

  Michael looked up when the front doorbell rang. He stood up to go, but his mother beat him to it. He heard her open the door and then the screen door. Low voices were unintelligible, then she called to him.

  “Mike, it's for you,” she said, leaving the door open and heading back toward the stairs.

  Michael frowned and went to the screen door. Standing on the porch were two men dressed in suits.

  “Michael O'Reilly?” one asked. Michael nodded and a smile creased the man's face. “I'm Agent Bryant and this is Agent McDonnell. It's a pleasure to finally meet you.”

  Both men held out their FBI badges and Michael's brow cleared. He opened the screen door and stepped out onto the porch.

  “Tommy, right?” he asked Agent Bryant, holding out his hand. “Blake told me about you last night.”

  “Yes, sir.” Tommy shook his hand. “Blake called me this morning and gave me the sit rep.”

  “Mark,” Agent McDonnell introduced himself with a grin. “Mark McDonnell.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  “We've been told you've got point on this,” Tommy told him. “We've got everything ready, and the bomb squad is on stand-by. Blake said you can't use your phone.”

  “That's right,” Michael nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. “It's a long story.”

  “We've got you covered,” Tommy said, handing him a box. “There's a phone and Bluetooth there, and both our numbers are programmed into it. Give us a call when we're ready to roll.”

  “I've got the photo of the car we're looking for,” Michael told them. “I'll forward it to you both. I'm already running the plates. It went through the Holland Tunnel about an hour and a half ago.”

  “Any ideas yet where it's headed?” Mark asked. “This is a big city.”

  “No.” Michael shook his head. “We're waiting to see where the first car goes. We're betting all the locations will be similar.”

  Tommy frowned.

  “I hope we get an idea soon. There's a lot of events today,” he told him. “If we're looking for a hi
gh traffic area, we've got plenty to choose from, and they're all some distance from each other.”

  Michael nodded grimly.

  “I know,” he said. “As soon as I have something, I'll let you know.”

  “Well, it's the best we can do given the options,” Tommy sighed, holding out his hand. “Send those photos over to the number in the phone and we can at least get those circulating.”

  “Will do.”

  Michael watched as they turned and jogged down the steps. They were halfway down the walkway toward the black SUV at the curb when Michael suddenly frowned.

  “Hey Tommy!” he called.

  Tommy turned around.

  “Yeah?”

  “Why so many events today?” Michael asked.

  Tommy grinned.

  “It's Palm Sunday! What kind of Irish Catholic are you?!”

  Michael stared at him, stunned.

  “Oh my God,” he breathed.

  He turned to go back into the house, waving to the two agents before closing the door behind him. Michael stared across the living room blindly. How the hell did he miss that it was Palm Sunday?!

  He ripped open the box Tommy had given him as he strode across the room to his laptop. Within seconds, he was dialing Blake's number.

  He knew exactly where they were going to position the bombs.

  “What do you mean what day it is?” Blake demanded with a frown, slowing to stop at a red light. “It's Sunday.”

  “It's Palm Sunday,” Michael told him.

  “Ok, so it's Palm Sunday,” Blake said agreeably. “I'm not all that religious, so you can't blame me for not knowing that.”

  “You're not getting it,” Michael said impatiently. “Do me a favor and use that brain in your head for a minute.”

  “What am I supposed to be getting?” he asked, hitting the gas as the light turned green. “It's Palm Sunday. What's so significant about...” his voice trailed off suddenly and Michael waited. “Oh shit!”

  “Exactly.”

  Blake glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was almost two.

  “Well, they're too late for services, so they're not hitting a Church,” he said slowly. “And parades aren't until next weekend for Easter. So what does that leave?”

  “I'm looking now,” Michael answered, “and there are three Church-sponsored fairs in New York this afternoon. Each one is expecting a huge crowd.”

  Blake whistled.

  “I'll have Steph start checking around Philadelphia,” he said. “I'm on my way south. Stephanie is heading into the city. Ricardo and Tito are on the move. I'm taking Tito.”

  “Look for any kind of Church-sponsored event,” Michael advised. “I could be wrong, but I don't think I am.”

  “No, I don't think so either. It's the day Jesus rode into Jerusalem. That's just the kind of celebration they'd pick,” Blake muttered. “I'll let Steph know.”

  He hung up and dialed Stephanie.

  “Mike just called,” Blake told her when she answered. “We think we know where they're going to target.”

  “Where?”

  “A church event.”

  Stephanie was silent for a minute.

  “Why a church event?” she finally asked.

  “Because it's Palm Sunday.”

  “Oh my God!” she exclaimed. “I totally forgot!”

  “I didn't forget, I just didn't know,” Blake said with a shrug. “Michael's eyeballing some big fairs up in New York that draw crowds. Anything like that in Philadelphia?”

  “I have absolutely no idea,” Stephanie confessed. “We'll know soon enough, though. Ricardo's pulling onto 676, heading for Walt Whitman Bridge. Where are you?”

  “On 295, heading South. Anything from the Black Widow yet?”

  “She acknowledged the text I sent earlier, but nothing since,” she replied. “I'll try again now. She should know what we're thinking.”

  “She'll need to pass it on to DC,” Blake agreed. “Who is in DC, anyway? Are they even competent?”

  Stephanie hesitated, then sighed.

  “Trust me. DC couldn't be in better hands.”

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Viper hooked her Bluetooth into her ear and pulled her cell phone out of her jacket pocket. Stephanie called again over half an hour ago but didn't leave a message. That was the third call in an hour and a half. Now was as good a time as any to call her back. She dialed with one hand and raised her military binoculars to her eyes with the other, studying the house in the distance. The single story rancher was set back from the country road by about half an acre, accessed by a dirt driveway. Surrounded by farmland, the house had the squat, solid appearance of a structure that had weathered many years of alternating care and neglect. The ground around it consisted mainly of dirt and patches of crabgrass mixed with scrub. Aside from a detached garage in the back, there was nothing to recommend it to a potential buyer. A quick search online revealed that it was a rental, and had just come off the renter’s market a month ago.

  Viper shifted her gaze to the left, a mile down the country road, and studied a dilapidated old factory with gaps in its roof and a sagging chain-link fence blocking the entrance. Graffiti marred the front of the building and nature was in the process of reclaiming the parking lot at the side and the walkway in front.

  “Hey,” Stephanie answered her phone. “I have news.”

  “Is it good news?” Viper asked, turning the binoculars back to the rancher.

  “Not really. Michael thinks he's figured out what they're targeting and, based on what I'm looking at right now, I'd say he's right.”

  Stephanie paused and Alina suppressed a sigh.

  “Do you want me to guess?” she asked dryly.

  “I was waiting for you to ask,” Stephanie retorted, disgruntled. “Do you know what today is?”

  “Sunday.”

  “Yeah, I didn't remember either. It's Palm Sunday.”

  Viper lowered the binoculars slowly.

  “They're hitting churches...or church-sponsored events,” she said flatly. “Hell, I should have realized that.”

  “That's what we're all saying,” Stephanie admitted. “Michael realized it and called Blake from the burn phone the Bureau gave him. When Blake told me, I was already on my way into the city, trailing Ricardo.”

  “Where's Blake?”

  “He's following Tito. We had to split up because they went in different directions. Tito's headed south.”

  “South?” Viper asked, pulling her tablet out of the messenger bag slung across her body.

  “Yes. Blake said they crossed into Maryland and they're heading into the country. I have no idea where he's going. Blake's concerned, though. He said Tito put one of the coolers in his own trunk. If he's got a bomb, then we have five to worry about.”

  While Stephanie talked, Viper swiped her tablet and opened her customized tracking software. She pulled up the two trackers she loaned Stephanie and inputted their serial numbers into the software. Within seconds, she had both trackers displayed. One was stationary in South Philadelphia, and the other was moving across the north central farmlands of Maryland. Viper's eyes narrowed and she looked up thoughtfully.

  “Where are you now?”

  “Across the street from Christ Church,” Stephanie told her. “This place is swarming with people. They have North American Street blocked off, but both streets on either side of the church are open. Ricardo's parked right at the corner. Someone must have been saving his spot because the closest I could park is two blocks away.”

  “Christ Church?” Alina said thoughtfully, opening a browser. “Why do I know that church?”

  “I've seen it in a couple movies,” Stephanie offered helpfully. “It's been used a lot.”

  “Benjamin Franklin,” she announced a moment later, staring at the church on the tablet. “He's buried there. That's why I know it...and that's why they picked it. It's not only the start of Holy Week, but it's also one of our Founding Father's final resti
ng place!”

  “Just fabulous,” Stephanie muttered. “I've called the bomb squad. I'm watching Ricardo now. It's weird. He's just sitting there. He's not getting out of the car.”

  Viper's eyes narrowed, her eyebrows drawing together.

  “Is there another car near him?” she asked.

  “No. There's a minivan behind him, but it was there when he pulled in.”

  “And there's nothing else around him?”

  “Nope. He's parked on the corner, so there's nothing in front of him except a food truck,” Stephanie said. “A lot of people on that side, though. There's some kind bouncy house set up for the kids, and games and food tents.”

  Viper sucked in her breath.

  “The bomb’s staying in the car,” she told Stephanie urgently. “He's not getting out because he was told to stay with the car. They're going to detonate the whole car!”

  “What?!” Stephanie demanded sharply. “That car is probably loaded with NOS. If the bomb goes off in it....”

  “You need to get him out of the car and get the bomb squad in there.”

  “They're on their way. ETA is three minutes. Should I get the people out of there?”

  Stephanie sounded breathless. She was running.

  “You can't risk it. If someone is watching, they'll detonate as soon as they see you evacuating,” Viper told her. “Right now, they're waiting for something else. Get him out of the car, but make sure it appears harmless.”

  “Then what?”

  “Pray your bomb techs get there in time.”

  Michael glanced at his watch and pulled the clean phone out of his pocket.

  “Anything?” he said by way of greeting.

  “Nothing,” Tommy Bryant told him. “Both Trinity Church and St. Paul's Chapel are clear. Broadway is blocked off for the procession from St. Paul's to Trinity, and there's no sign of the target anywhere.”

  “Same with St. Patrick's,” Michael said. “That leaves St. John's.”

  “We'll meet you there.”