by Seeley James
“Negative,” Carmen said. “Leave them. Go now.”
Ms. Sabel darted Verratti and I grabbed Marchisio as he regained his senses. We ran for the back room. We left the well-dressed man watching while the two employees followed us. We burst through the door into the courtyard behind the store, setting off an alarm. Miguel stood in a shooter’s stance, aiming behind us. I stumbled over a black-clad operator lying on the ground but kept my balance. We ducked around the first stone wall and stopped.
“Who are these guys?” Miguel asked.
The two employees babbled in Italian, pleading and accusing at the same time from the sound of their voices.
“They think we’re the bad guys,” Marchisio said. “They think someone worse is coming. The customer inside was warning them of a hit on Verratti moments before we came in.”
“Why would the Mafia warn them?”
Marchisio shrugged. “To avoid collateral damage. Even the Mafia cares about bad press.”
“He didn’t look Italian,” Ms. Sabel said.
Miguel peered around the corner. The burping noise of automatic weapons erupted inside the store.
Carmen’s voice came through the comm link. “Go north. Repeat, north on Via Gesú.”
“Roger that.” I pushed my way around Miguel. The narrow courtyard we were in led to a small alcove, closed on all sides. Miguel nodded upward to a ladder bolted to the wall that ran up four floors to the roof.
Mercury said, Stay frosty, homie. Watch your back, these mofos will hunt you down.
Holstering my weapon, I scaled the rungs with Ms. Sabel right behind me. Miguel and Marchisio covered us and we returned the favor when we reached the top. The Brioni boys decided to wait it out, flinching and trembling, on the ground level. Treading carefully across slick metal-sheathed roofs, we made our way north along the rooftops looking for a ladder down. We were looking into a restaurant courtyard when we heard rounds ricochet off the roof.
A figure stood at the top of the ladder behind us, an assault rifle in one hand.
Miguel and I drew and fired with more hope than expectation. Sabel darts are the longest range, non-lethal projectile available, but the accuracy squirrels as the distance increases. The lone figure dropped to all fours, his rifle clattering down the sloped roof. He scrambled to catch it before it fell to the ground.
We turned to see a third-floor balcony directly below us and a restaurant courtyard at ground level. With only a second before the killer found his weapon, we leapt to the balcony en masse. A loud crack had us looking in all directions until Marchisio pointed to the wall. Our perch was separating from the building.
A surprised elderly man in pajamas stared at us through French doors. Ms. Sabel gestured for him to open the door, but he stood immobile. She pouted and gave her best puppy-dog look. Nothing. She blew him a kiss. His face lit up. He shuffled to the doors, unlocked and opened them while Ms. Sabel muttered men under her breath. He threw open both doors with a warm smile. Ms. Sabel planted a big kiss square on his lips while Miguel, Marchisio, and I slid past. As the last foot left it, the balcony tore loose and crashed to the courtyard below.
My associates found the front door and cleared the hallway. Ms. Sabel brushed past me and we were out in the hall a second later.
We leap-frogged each other down the wrought-iron staircase to the ground floor and out to Via Gesú. Half a block south of us, two men in black scanned the street. Miguel and I spread out, aiming at them but holding our fire while Marchisio and Ms. Sabel ran to the corner and covered our exit. We reached the cross street to find Carmen holding two cabs. Miguel and Marchisio grabbed one, while I jumped in with the ladies. We sped off down the street.
“What just happened?” Ms. Sabel asked. “They followed us and killed him to keep him quiet?”
“I doubt that,” Carmen said. “No one outside the Gardens knew where we were going.”
“They were after Verratti before we were,” I said. “The guy in the store was the point man.”
Ms. Sabel said, “He had the same ethnic look as the guys in the woods last night.”
After the attack in the woods, Ms. Sabel had figured something out. Now I understood what it was: we had a traitor in our midst. Someone had tipped off the bad guys to our destination. Carmen came to the same conclusion.
We handed Ms. Sabel our phones. There was a mole in our midst and she deserved to know he wasn’t among her personal security detail.
She faltered a beat, then took them. “Sorry, I’ll have to suspect everyone, even you, until I can clear you.”
“We aren’t complaining. It’s the only course of action,” Carmen said.
Ms. Sabel checked my phone and handed it back. “You were with me and your phone log is clear. But you could have another phone, so I—”
“Understood,” I said and pocketed my phone.
She turned to Carmen. “Your call log is blank from when you left the Gardens until the Major called you to return. Where were you?”
Carmen took a deep breath. “I was with someone.”
“Um, ‘with’ as in friends?”
Carmen stared out the window. “No. It was just sex.”
Mercury said, Dude, do you know who it was? No, because you don’t pay any attention to Carmen. You should know everything about everyone in your cohort.
I said, They haven’t been called cohorts for centuries. They’re battalions.
Mercury said, Whatever.
Ms. Sabel stammered through a couple syllables without forming a word.
“Face it,” Carmen blurted, “I’m not the first girl the guys pull to the dance floor on Saturday night. I’m built like SpongeBob, for Christ’s sake. That’s why I liked the Army, I could play queen-for-a-year on deployment. Stateside, I have to be more aggressive. But I was involved in something last night that I’d rather not…” She glanced at me then rubbed her face. “I’ll explain it privately. You’ll understand.”
We drove the rest of the way to the airport with an uncomfortable silence draped over us. I kicked myself for not knowing her better. She’d saved my ass too many times to count and never once judged me. Yet I couldn’t tell you if she was single or married or what.
When we boarded the jet, Ms. Sabel pulled me aside. “What’s queen-for-a-year?”
“Five thousand men and twenty women on an Army base for twelve months. For some women, those odds—”
“Yeah, I get it.”
CHAPTER 18
Shady Grove Adventist was our first stop when we returned to DC. It smelled of the cleaners and chemicals that hospitals rely on to hold back the smell of death and decay. It lacked the comfort of family germs and pet smells and the dirt you ground into the couch yourself. It’s not a good place to heal. I wanted to take Tania home, prop her up with pillows, and spoon chicken soup into her.
The first thing I saw when I peeked in the isolation room was Tania’s dad, Jorge Ramos sitting in a chair by the window. He was lost in thought and didn’t notice me. Tania’s older sister was rotting in jail, having chosen the gangster path early in life. Her little brother suffered brain damage from a subway accident when he was eight. Her father’s last hope for the family’s future was Tania. Her illness hit him hard. I pushed the door open wider and tiptoed in.
He looked up with bloodshot eyes. After an awkward silence, he nodded at me and went back to watching Tania, his expression half angry and half heartbroken. I stuffed my hands in my pockets. The machines beeped and nurses walked by outside.
“Where’s mom?” I asked softly.
“Cafeteria.” He sighed.
“We’ll get the guys who—”
“The Major told me,” he said in his gruff Cuban accent. He adjusted his weight in the chair and softened his tone. “She was a Brooklyn Mako, compay. Eight years swimming with the club. Anchored the relay team.”
I eased my way around the curtain and studied her. Gray skin, faded lips…she looked dead. I said, “She talked me into doing the Che
sapeake Swim one time. By the time I’d made the first pylon, she’d won the women’s division.”
He chuckled twice before melting into tears.
“Ms. Sabel is here,” I said after he wiped his eyes.
She strode in and he jumped to his feet, smoothed his rumpled shirt, and stuck out a hand. She ignored it and gave him a long hug. The tough Cubano melted into her shoulder and cried again. They spoke in hushed tones for a long time. He told her how Tania had always been the smart one in the family. Ms. Sabel told him how Tania had pulled her from the Atlantic after pirates weighed her down and tossed her overboard.
Tania slept, feverish and trembling.
I stroked Tania’s cheek. My deepest regret in life was ruining my relationship with her. Ms. Sabel was a captivating woman, but only a fantasy for a guy like me. Out of my league in every dimension. Tania was different. Tania and I were broken souls, broken in the same places. We both served our country longer than we should have. Her reward for her service were long stretches of scar tissue, like badly welded steel, that ran down her thighs to her knees on both legs. Burns suffered on her last mission in hostile territory. In the prime of her youth, her marred beauty left her with endless insecurities beneath her brash exterior. When we were dating, I would hold her in my arms, trace her disfigurement with my finger, and say, “This is your Medal of Honor.” Other times, when I would wake up gasping for air, she would wrap her arms around me and tell me, “It’s OK. You’re home.”
As my knuckle ran down her cheek, her eyes fluttered open. We shared a long, wordless look. It was all I could do not to cry at the sight of her blue eyes.
Through parched lips, she whispered, “Is Jaz here?”
Her eyes rolled back in her head and closed.
Mercury said, Bro, you’re gonna need a new marriage option. Of course, you could always kill that pipsqueak.
I said, Jaz Jenkins is as good as dead.
Mercury said, Atta boy.
“Doctor Günter said she’s stable,” Mr. Ramos said. “I hope he’s…”
We stood still for a long time after his voice trailed off.
I sensed a presence on the other side of the curtain and leaned around it. FBI Special Agent Verges curled a finger at me.
Ms. Sabel followed us out of the room and down the hall.
Verges had shoes so new they squeaked when he walked. His slacks were expensive and his dress shirt still had out-of-the-package creases. He was serious enough about his new role to spend money on it. We made it to a waiting area before he lit into me.
“What the hell were you thinking?” Verges asked. “You don’t leave the country after a terrorist cell wipes out your lawyer and rattles the city.”
Before I could answer, Ms. Sabel grabbed his arm and spun him to face her. He leaned back. She took advantage of being two inches taller and leaned in until they were nose to nose. “You have a problem with where I go, you talk to me.”
“All right then,” he choked out, “why the hell are Kazakh terrorists trying to kill you?”
Mercury said, You hear that homeboy? Kazakhs. You know what that means.
“You have information about them and this is how you tell me?” Ms. Sabel asked.
“You haven’t been straight with me,” he said. “I caught a lot of flak for that attack. You need to tell me what this is all about. Did you stiff some terrorists?”
“Since when does Kazakhstan have terrorists?”
“That’s not an answer.”
“You asked a loaded question.”
Verges was leaning so far he was about to fall over. He stepped back. “I have to answer questions from the Attorney General about—”
“A friend of mine was shot to death in my car. You think I give a damn about who tugs your leash?” Ms. Sabel asked.
Verges started to speak, then thought better of it. He ran his fingers through his hair and glanced down the hall. “Look, you need to tell me what’s going on. Why did you go to Milan? Why did La Rocca come after you? Why did Kazakhstan invade Potomac?”
She hadn’t moved a muscle since she first grabbed him. Her eyes drove into him with brutal ferocity. Twice Verges gazed up at her, then muttered something before looking away. He said, “Are you going to answer my questions?”
“Not until I know who you work for.”
He met her gaze. “The Director of the FBI. And he reports to the Attorney General.”
I stepped in. “Yesterday, you told me the Director assigned you to help us. A moment ago, you said you had to answer to the Attorney General. Answer her question. Who do you work for?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, I’m stuck in the middle here. The Director is a friend of your dad and the AG is a friend of President Hunter. What the hell am I supposed to do?”
Ms. Sabel gave him a sympathetic look. “Who do you trust?”
Right before my eyes, the green FBI agent grew a backbone. It was like watching one of those comic book guys transition into a superhero. He stood up straight and squared his shoulders.
“Montgomery County has four Kazakh nationals in custody,” he said. “They’ll be arraigned shortly on illegal entry, weapons possession, and other preliminary charges. They don’t speak a word of English between them. They’ve asked for a lawyer and we can’t talk to them until someone’s assigned to their case.”
“How many crossed the border?” I asked.
“We’re not sure.”
“More than the four?”
“It would be wise to assume so.”
“Stop by the Gardens and see the Major,” Ms. Sabel said. “She’ll give you a vial we want checked for fingerprints.”
“I’m on it.”
Ms. Sabel headed toward Tania’s room.
Verges called to her. “Hey, that stuff about the Kazakhs is not public knowledge.”
I offered a fist bump to Verges. He turned back to me and bumped my fist. “If I get fired over this…”
“Can you cook?”
When I caught up to Ms. Sabel, she said, “Anatoly Mokin was a Kazakh commando.”
“We didn’t catch him last time because he disappeared into central Asia.”
“Let’s keep focused on the vials. I want Tania healthy before we do anything else.”
She took a call as we neared a small crowd outside Tania’s room. Doc Günter read charts, Alan Sabel rocked on his heels chatting with Jaz, sans cravat. Guess the fashion craze he was hoping for never materialized. Last in line was Otis Blackwell, speaking Chinese on a call.
She held the phone away from her ear and nosed at Otis. “Get rid of him.”
I glanced around. “I tried earlier, but he pointed out that it’s a public space. I can push him around.”
“That would be worse. I’ll handle him.” She went back to her call.
When she finished, she shoved her phone in her purse, and nodded at Doc.
He said, “We still don’t have a clue about causation. We know it’s a DNA virus like Ebola so we’re trying her on IV Zovirax hoping she’ll respond. Her liver is showing stress and her chest x-ray is showing patchy infiltrates, likely a pneumonic source of entry. We think she may have inhaled the virus. Knowing the source is a step in the right direction.” Doc waved his hands at the others. “She needs rest, so I’ve asked everyone to leave. That includes you.”
On his last syllable, Jaz stepped in.
“How can I help?” Jaz asked. He searched her eyes like a beefy hunk on the cover of a romance novel.
“You’re here,” Ms. Sabel said. “You’re a sensitive guy. That’s nice. Thanks, but the best thing you can do is go home.”
“But I’m offering my moral support, a quiet shoulder.” He smiled. “Just don’t call me a sensitive guy. Nobody likes a sensitive guy.”
Especially me. I use them for target practice. But I kept my mouth shut and gave him the back off look. He backed up.
Otis stepped in. “Pia, Tania has a deadly virus that—”
“Where did you learn Chinese?” she asked.
“The documentary. I was there for months. How did Tania contract—”
“I still owe you a call,” Ms. Sabel said. “Excuse me, gentlemen, I have a game.”
I gave the guys a shrug as she headed for the exit. Catching up, I asked, “Game? What game?”
“St. Muriel’s plays their first game of the season tonight. I promised I’d be there.”
“Whoa. You’re going to a soccer game? No. You can’t go. People were trying to mow us down with machine guns last night. We need to stay indoors, in a safe, controllable environ—”
“When someone tries to ruin your life, the best response is to continue living it. Show them your strength not your weakness.”
“But I haven’t made arrangements. I didn’t know anything about this.”
“It’s on your calendar,” she said and walked out to the waiting limo.
I dialed the only person who could help me.
When she picked up, the Major’s first words were, “Forget to check Pia’s schedule?”
CHAPTER 19
Night had closed in, leaving a cold bite on my cheek. Autumn leaves shook loose from their moorings and floated across the field, catching around my feet. Lights high above me draped an aluminum glow over the ground.
What I like about working with veterans is how they watch out for me. The Major had already deployed Miguel, Carmen, and a new guy. They had the area secured half an hour before Ms. Sabel and I arrived. I took the fourth corner of the field and patrolled casually, chatting with fans and players. Otis Blackwell set up his camera on a tripod up the slope. I waved to him and he waved back. A limo dropped Alan Sabel and Jaz Jenkins near the halfway line.
I heard “Pia Sabel” bubble up like popcorn in a microwave. Several Falcon’s players and parents crossed the field carrying soccer balls and markers, making a beeline for the boss. When the refs joined the parade, I stepped into their path and held up a hand. Ms. Sabel grabbed it and gently pulled it down.
“Goes with the territory,” she said. “Besides, it’s nice that someone still recognizes me.”
