by Laura Scott
He glanced at her in surprise. “Not even if Bryn is inside?”
She gnawed on her lip. “What if it’s booby-trapped in a different way? If we trigger some mechanism, it could explode with Bryn inside. We can’t take that risk.”
“We can try our camera,” Sun offered. “I still have the equipment in the car.”
Jordan nodded slowly. “Okay, but it’s growing lighter by the minute. I don’t like being out here in the open.”
“But . . . we can’t wait until nighttime, it will be too late by then.” Diana glanced between Sun and Jordan. “We have to know now.”
“She’s right,” Sun said in a low voice. “Especially considering the deadline provided by Bryn’s kidnappers.”
Diana held her breath as Jordan considered their options. “Fine, but we can’t all three be out here, that’s too noticeable.”
“Allow me,” Sun said, her gaze on Jordan. “I will not be viewed as a threat the way you would.”
Diana could tell he didn’t like it but nodded in agreement. “I need to get in touch with my FBI contact anyway.”
“Good.” Sun gave a nod of satisfaction. “Let’s return to the vehicle.”
Diana had to force herself to step back from the doorway, a panel of wood that might be all that separated her and Bryn.
Hang on, baby, stay strong. We’re coming for you!
* * *
September 10 – 6:36 a.m. – Baltimore, MD
After Sun disappeared with the camera equipment to check the warehouse, Jordan used his disposable cell to call Special Agent Ray Pallone. It occurred to him that it had been twelve hours since he last tried to contact the guy, and even longer since they’d last spoken.
The phone rang several times before clicking off. There was no way to leave a message.
A sick feeling oozed in his gut. The inability to connect to the task force charged with infiltrating the terrorist cell was bad news. It meant his position was compromised or that Ray Pallone was dead.
Should he call Clarence Yates? The deputy director of the FBI trusted him, but he didn’t want to raise the guy’s suspicions. He was supposed to be undercover, not working on freeing his daughter from ISIS terrorists.
Even though he was beginning to believe they were one and the same.
He placed a call to Sloan, leaving a brief message. His partner returned his call in less than five minutes. “What?” Sloan sounded as if he may have been asleep.
“I need your help.” Jordan didn’t beat around the bush. “Time is running out, and my FBI contact is in the wind.”
“Okay,” Sloan responded slowly. “But just know we’re very close to getting a face-to-face with Viktor Azimov. If we leave now, we’ll lose whatever momentum we’ve gained over the past couple of weeks.”
Jordan sighed and massaged his temple. The Feds wanted Azimov very badly, believing he was still connected to the Russian Mob, but the guy had gone underground after the Fourth of July terrorist attack had been derailed. Sloan and his wife, Natalia, have been working undercover in an attempt to find him. “How close?”
There was a slight hesitation. “We have a meeting at eleven with someone claiming to have direct access to Azimov. Our goal was to arrange a meeting directly with Azimov for tonight.”
“Okay, fine.” Jordan avoided Diana’s pointed gaze. “Keep your eleven o’clock meeting. If it’s a no go for tonight, call me back at this number.”
“Will do,” Sloan agreed. “You think there’s a problem with Pallone?”
“Yeah, I’m afraid so.” He didn’t want to elaborate with Diana sitting right beside him. “Later, Sloan.”
“I’ll be in touch,” his partner confirmed.
Jordan slid the phone back into his pocket and reached for the satellite computer. After booting it up, he scoured the Washington, DC, news stories.
“What meeting is more important than our daughter?” Diana demanded.
Jordan tore his gaze from the screen. “Nothing is more important to me than our daughter. But even if Sloan dropped everything right now, what would we ask him to do? Sun is checking out the warehouse, and I’m trying to get in touch with someone who can help me get close to where Mustaf will be landing.”
“Sloan can help do both of those things.” Diana’s tone was stubborn. “We need all the help we can get.”
He didn’t know what to say to that, so he returned to the computer. There was a news story that caught his attention. The color drained from his face.
“What is it?” Diana asked, craning her neck to see the screen.
“A dead body was found in Rock Creek Park.” He met her gaze. “Identified as FBI Agent Ray Pallone.”
* * *
September 10 – 6:48 a.m. – Washington, DC
He tossed the newspaper aside. Idiots. He was working with nothing but a bunch of incompetent imbeciles.
Ray Pallone shouldn’t have been found this soon. What was wrong with his hired contact? What part of burying him deep in the park didn’t he understand?
His work cell number rang. His boss. Great. Just what he needed after being up half the night dealing with idiots. He drew in a deep breath, doing his best to swallow the rage that threatened to burst forth, and answered. “Yes, sir?”
“I assume you’ve seen the news.” Yates’s tone was sharp.
“Yes, sir, just now.” He tried to sound concerned. “Do we have any idea what Agent Pallone’s cause of death was?” If he was lucky, they’d arranged for his death to appear natural, like from a heart attack.
“Gunshot wound to the back of his head, execution style,” came Yates’s dry response. “You know anything about that?”
He tightened his grip on the phone. “Why would I? I haven’t seen him since our task force meeting yesterday at three in the afternoon.”
His boss didn’t respond. The prolonged silence was a trick, but an effective one. Good thing he’d been trained well.
“I need you and the rest of the task force in my office by eight thirty a.m.” His boss didn’t wait for a response but abruptly disconnected from the line.
He let out a series of curses, knowing that this was partially his fault. He should have hired better help. Someone intelligent who knew how to follow orders.
The dome of the White House seemed to mock him. He turned his back and glanced at his watch.
He had an important errand to run, one that might make him late for the meeting.
But damage control was his top priority at the moment. His boss and the rest of the task force would have to wait.
He had a loose end that needed to be cut off—permanently.
* * *
September 10 – 7:03 a.m. – Baltimore, MD
Diana wanted Jordan to get more help but was interrupted when Sun approached the vehicle, a somber expression on her face.
“What did you find?” Diana demanded.
“No prisoners inside the building,” Sun said. “It looked oddly like an office workspace, with office equipment inside. No signs of anyone being held there.”
“But what if she’s in one of those offices?” Diana wasn’t ready to let go of the possibility that they’d reached yet another dead end. “I’m sure your little camera thingy couldn’t see inside.”
“That’s true, but I watched for several minutes, looking for any sign of activity. There was none.” Sun lifted a hand to prevent her from interrupting. “And let’s face it, no guard on the outside of the building or near one of the office doorways? No way would they be holding Bryn there without someone keeping watch.”
“Thanks for checking,” Jordan said. “I’m glad we can mark that one off our list.”
Diana wanted to protest, but she knew it was no use. Sun was probably right. Why would the kidnappers have Bryn in an office without someone standing guard?
“Ray Pallone is dead,” Jordan added grimly. “It appears our contact with the task force has been severed.”
“That’s not good.” Sun�
�s normally impassive expression turned alarmed. “We need someone within the government to help us with this.”
“I know.” Jordan drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “I’ll have to try going directly up to Clarence Yates. I don’t see an alternative.”
Diana knew Yates was the FBI director himself. In her opinion, the higher up the better for all of them. She glanced impatiently between Sun and Jordan. “Okay, great. How do we do that?”
“Sun, we need to head back to DC.” Jordan actually slid out from behind the wheel. “I’ll make phone calls while you drive.”
Diana waited until Sun had gotten behind the wheel, with Jordan taking up residence in the back seat. She swiveled in her seat to face him. “Could Sloan get to Yates quicker?”
Jordan hesitated, then nodded. “Maybe.”
She settled back in her seat as Jordan made another brief call to Sloan. Within five minutes, his phone rang. She listened, hoping Yates was already on the line, but was disappointed.
“Okay, thanks for trying, Sloan,” Jordan said. “I’m sure Yates will call when he can.”
She strove for patience. “He left a message?”
“Yes. Knowing Yates, he’ll call back soon enough.”
But it wasn’t soon enough. Mustaf would land somewhere, hopefully in DC, in less than an hour.
They needed a plan. To get close to Mustaf and to find Bryn.
* * *
September 10 – 7:35 a.m. – Washington, DC
He waited impatiently in the coffee shop, their designated meeting spot. His contact better show—especially since he’d made a concerted effort to gloss over the monstrous error in judgment the idiot had made.
He sipped his coffee, then glanced at his Rolex again. The idiot was late. Much longer and he’d be just as late attending the task force meeting. Traffic at this time of the morning was ridiculous.
Did Rashid know that Pallone was found dead this morning? Or was he so far undercover the news hadn’t reached him yet? He hoped for the latter but knew enough to plan for the former.
Who would Rashid go to with Pallone out of the picture?
Only one possibility.
Yates.
He shifted in his seat, trying not to appear as impatient as he felt. He’d give his contact five more minutes before heading to the task force meeting. It could be that Yates would give them information that might help him find Rashid.
The door to the coffee shop opened, and his contact stepped over the threshold, his gaze nervously sweeping the interior, stumbling to a halt when their gazes collided.
He forced a smile and nodded, indicating his contact should join him. He had a cup of coffee ready for him, just the way he liked it—heavy on the cream and sugar.
His contact moved slowly through the shop, as if sensing he was about to meet his doom. “It wasn’t my fault,” the idiot said as he sat across from him. “I gave explicit instructions. I have no idea why they weren’t followed.”
He battled a wave of fury, lifting his cup and eyeing his contact over the rim. “Perhaps you should have taken care of the matter yourself.”
“Yeah, I know.” His contact played with the coffee cup for a moment before lifting the cup to his lips. “Trust me, I won’t make that mistake again.”
“I’m sure you won’t. But we need some damage control. I don’t want his cause of death to be leaked to the media.”
“Already taken care of. The news will be told he died of natural causes.”
Natural causes? Really? He was tempted to throw his coffee into the man’s face. “With a bullet wound in the back of his skull? Seems irrational. What I meant was that this needs to look like Rashid did the deed.” He needed Rashid out of the way, or at least out of Yates’s good graces.
“Oh, yes. Of course.” His contact took another nervous drink of his coffee. “I can do that.”
Actually, that was impossible, but that didn’t matter at the moment. “Call me when it’s done.” He casually stood and moved away from the table, leaving his contact behind.
He didn’t glance back until he was outside and even then just long enough to see the idiot was still drinking his coffee.
He smirked as he used his phone to call for a rideshare.
Drinking his coffee would be the last thing he’d ever do.
Chapter Twelve
September 10 – 7:55 a.m. – Washington, DC
Jordan stared out at the sea of cars crowding the highways leading toward DC. Even though they were skirting the downtown area itself, traffic was crawling.
At this rate, they’d never make it to Andrews Air Force Base in time.
Who was he kidding? Once they’d made it to the base, he had no credentials that would grant him access inside.
Come on, Yates, where are you?
“What are we going to do if the kidnappers find out we don’t have Mustaf?” Diana asked, a wobble in her voice. “They could hurt Bryn, or worse.”
“They gave us until eight o’clock tonight to bring him in,” he reminded her. “They won’t do anything yet.”
“Twelve hours,” Diana murmured. She shook her head helplessly. “We’re no closer to getting Mustaf or finding Bryn. You’re only guessing about him being brought into Andrews Air Force Base.”
She was right, it was an educated guess on his part. “It makes the most sense to have him land there. I need you to trust me on this.”
Diana didn’t respond, and he imagined her faith in him was wearing thin. He couldn’t blame her. It was as if the kiss they’d shared never happened. She was as aloof as when they’d first met.
For years he’d thought she’d chosen her family over him. Only now he believed that was wrong. Diana hadn’t turned her back on him. With a wry shake of his head, he turned his attention back to the computer. He’d been digging into Liberty Bell, the last property they’d found with the suspicious naming convention so far. But the weird doorbell on the building owned by United Secrets niggled at the back of his mind.
A bomb? Was this something that the terrorist group was using as a way to keep their operations secret? Anyone knowing about the booby trap would obviously be smart enough not to trigger it, but he wondered about those who were simply curious about what might be inside. He imagined a lot of people might be tempted to push the button to summon someone from inside. Salespeople, tourists, anyone.
Why blow up all the contents of the warehouse just because someone was nosy?
It didn’t make sense.
“Look, isn’t that a plane way off in the distance?” Diana had her face pressed against her passenger side window. “Do you think that’s Mustaf?”
Jordan scooted over to get a better view. It was still far enough away that it wasn’t going to be landing at eight o’clock. “Could be anyone, really.”
“Maybe Mustaf’s plane was delayed.” Diana’s voice echoed with hope.
He didn’t want to be the one to burst her bubble. After all, anything was possible. The pilot may have been bucking a headwind the entire trip. “Could be, we’ll know soon enough.”
Sun caught his gaze in the rearview mirror, showing disapproval. He looked away. Easy for her to be nonchalant about all of this, but it was his daughter’s life hanging in the balance.
Not hers.
Their car moved forward, hitting a whopping speed of twenty-five miles per hour, before Sun tapped the brakes again. The plane in the sky slowly grew larger. He could tell it wasn’t a regular passenger plane; it was boxy in shape, like a cargo plane.
His pulse jumped. It could be Mustaf’s plane.
The sign for Andrews Air Force Base loomed before them. They were getting close to the front gate. The plane hadn’t landed yet but obviously would in the next fifteen minutes.
He called Sloan again. “I really need to talk to Yates.”
Sloan sighed. “I’ll try again, but I’m sure the guy has stuff going on.”
“Nothing is more important than this,” Jordan insiste
d. “Please get someone’s attention.”
“I’ll do my best.” Sloan disconnected from the line.
There were several cars in front of them also trying to get onto the base. Air force employees and a combination of civilians he assumed.
Sun inched their vehicle closer. He stared at the disposable cell, willing it to ring. When it chirped, he instantly answered, “Hello?”
“Now what?” Yates sounded irritable.
“Sir, I need you to get me access to Andrews Air Force Base ASAP.”
There was a pause as Yates digested this. “How did you know Mustaf was being transported there?”
He let out a soundless sigh of relief that he’d guessed correctly. “More chatter, sir. It’s important for me to be there when Mustaf arrives.”
Another long moment of silence. “I don’t think that’s even possible, Rashid. And I need to tell you about Ray Pallone.”
“I heard about his death, sir. I assume he was murdered.”
“Yeah.” Yates sounded grim. “I think there’s a leak within the task force.”
They inched closer, only two cars ahead of them now at the gate. “I hate to say this, but I think you’re right about that. Is there further news on the US Marshal who was found in the Smoky Mountains?”
“Not yet. Still waiting on the preliminary autopsy. But that’s two unexplained deaths of government operatives in less than twenty-four hours. I don’t like it.”
Only one car ahead of them now. Jordan understood Yates was frustrated, but he knew, deep in his bones, that this was all connected to him, to Bryn, and to the terrorists. “I don’t like it either, and I suspect the terrorist cell is related to the murders of these two men. I have Sun Yin with me, and we’re nearly at the gate at Andrews Air Force Base. I need you to find a way to clear the way for us to get inside. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
Another moment of silence before Yates relented. “Okay, fine. I’ll get you in.”
Jordan momentarily closed his eyes in relief. “Thank you, sir.”
