by Ty Patterson
He looked at Beth who had hunched forward, listening to some recording in her headphones.
‘I’ll make you an offer, Carter,’ Yefremov gathered himself. ‘Leave while you’re still alive.’
Zeb didn’t reply. He watched as the younger twin scrawled rapidly.
This system records everything in the panic room. He made a call a few minutes back. To Boulder City. Someone called Vasily, who’s heading here with shooters.
Zeb nodded and showed the writing to Bear who grinned. The big man knew what to do. He would call Sarah Burke who would ensure a SWAT team would surround the hostiles.
Bwana returned and gave a discreet thumbs up.
House isn’t wired to blow.
Engineers? Zeb wrote
With Larry and Zack, outside. Unharmed, his friend scrawled.
‘What are you doing there?’ Yefremov asked angrily. ‘There’s no point negotiating with me.’
‘Tell us where Duan Shuren is and who the shooters are tomorrow. Where they’ll be and I’ll see whether my government can give you some leniency.’
‘So, you don’t know everything,’ the spymaster sneered. ‘No deals, Carter.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘Go,’ Zeb told Bwana, Broker and Roger who shot the cameras on the stairs and started climbing up.
‘What are they doing?’ Yefremov called out from his panic room.
‘You said no deal.’ Zeb shrugged.
‘That’s correct. There’s nothing you can do to me. The cops will have heard the shootings. Someone would have seen those burning vehicles. My embassy will get alerted when the news breaks out. I’ve got diplomatic immunity, Carter. I bet you didn’t know that.’
Zeb didn’t. ‘That means nothing. Not when you are responsible for hundreds of killings.’
‘Me?’ Yefremov scoffed. ‘What did I do?’
Bear returned and murmured Burke’s on the job. She didn’t tell us but she had a team on standby in Boulder City.
‘What? What’s he telling you?’
Zeb ignored him. ‘Can you move this call to our screen?’ he asked the twins.
‘Give us ten,’ Meghan punched keys. ‘That’s what we’re working on. Creating our own network and transferring everything to it.’
‘We’re done on the highest floor. We’re moving down, now,’ Bwana, in their earpieces. ‘We will need ten minutes.’
‘Larry, Zack?’ Zeb called out.’
‘We’re here,’ Pilgrim replied.
‘Move your dogs out. What do you want to do with the destroyed ones?’
‘Leave them here. They’ll be irretrievable once you’ve finished with what you have planned.’
‘CARTER!’ Yefremov raged, his face red. ‘WHAT’S GOING ON? WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?’
‘Shuren and shooters. Tell us where they are.’
‘NEVER.’
‘In that case, you’ll have to see what will happen.’
The Russian drained his alcohol in one suck. His eyes turned small, mean. ‘That attack on you in New York. I organized those.’
‘You need to hire better people.’
‘YOU GOT LUCKY!’
Zeb looked up when footsteps sounded on the stairs. Broker gave him a thumbs up and held up the remotes for the C4 detonators. Beth held up five fingers. She folded one as Meghan rose and packed their gear. Three fingers.
‘WHAT IS SHE COUNTING DOWN TO?’
Two fingers. Bwana, Chloe, Broker left the house.
One finger. Zeb helped Beth with her screens and when she left, he headed to the exit.
‘Give us a second,’ he told Yefremov.
Outside, they sprinted away from the house. Bwana and Bear easily carrying the gear that Meghan had packed.
‘CARTER!’ Yefremov yelled in their earpieces.
Zeb grinned in the dark. Meg and Beth, they’ve patched him on our channel.
‘Missing me?’ he asked the Russian.
‘Where are you going?’
‘You told us to leave while we were alive.’
That stumped the spymaster. He went silent as Zeb slowed down and raised his hand to stop his team.
Hundred yards, he lipped at Bear who nodded.
It was sufficient.
They helped the sisters set up their gear, patch into Yefremov’s video call, and there he was.
‘Where are you?’ the Russian squinted.
‘About a hundred yards from the house.’
‘Why?’
‘Give us Shuren’s location and tell us about the shooters.’
‘Nyet!’
Zeb signaled with a hand. Bwana and Broker pressed their remotes and the ground rumbled as a tremendous explosion tore into the night.
The operatives knew what to expect, but they too were silenced as the highest floor collapsed onto the middle floor. Concrete blocks fell to the ground, windows shattered and dust filled the air.
‘CARTER!’ Yefremov screamed. ‘WHAT’S HAPPENING?’
‘We brought down that top floor, Sidor,’ Zeb adopted a friendly tone. ‘But you don’t need to worry. You’re safe in the panic room. No one can touch you. That’s what you said, right?’
The Russian looked wildly at his screens. He tapped his monitors.
‘Only one of them will work,’ Beth said in their comms channel. ‘The one that’s on call with us.’
‘WHY?’
‘You know why, Sidor. You aren’t giving us what we want.’
Yefremov opened his mouth but Zeb cut him off coldly. ‘Don’t count on Vasily to save you.’
He smiled grimly when the Russian looked startled. ‘Yeah. You didn’t know that Boris recorded everything that happened in the panic room, did you? We got your call, tracked it back, made a call of our own. Your friends should have a welcoming party from the FBI soon. Last chance, Sidor. Where’s Duan Shuren hiding? Who are the DC killers? How do we find them?’
‘No,’ Yefremov said fiercely.
‘That’s a shame, Sidor. Here’s what’s going to happen. We are going to detonate that second floor too. Bring down the house on you. Then we’re going to warn the local and state police and the FBI to keep everyone away from this place. You know what that means?’
Yefremov didn’t reply. He was breathing harshly. Standing. Looking like a cornered animal.
‘You’ll be safe in your panic room. But trapped beneath that rubble. That’s a big house. Lot of concrete on you. You can’t dig out alone. You’ve got food and water to survive. Fresh air? I don’t know about that. Your circulation system will probably be blown out too. How long do you think you’ll live, Sidor? Beneath the ground, no one to hear you.’
Still no reply from Yefremov.
‘I’ll count down from three, Sidor,’ Zeb said and with that Broker and Bwana came into the Russian’s view and held up their remotes.
‘Three.’
Yefremov screamed in helpless fury.
‘Two.’
Broker and Bear placed their thumbs on the buttons.
‘On-’
‘WAIT. HE’S IN HONG KONG. IN THE INTERNATIONAL CONFERENCE CENTER. ON THE NINETIETH FLOOR. ENTIRE FLOOR IS HIS. IT’S WHERE HE LIVES. WHERE HIS OPERATIONS ARE. ONLY THE CHINESE PREMIER KNOWS WHERE HE IS.’
‘This is Duan Shuren’s location?’
‘DA. DA. I TOLD YOU.’
‘What about tomorrow’s killers?’
‘MIKHAIL, DENIS AND LAURENCE. AT ONE PM.’
‘Do you have a go signal for them?’
‘NYET.’
‘Are you sure?’ Zeb frowned. ‘We listened to the call you had with Ahmed. You were going to coordinate tomorrow, all three of you.
‘DA. THAT WAS WHAT WE AGREED. BUT I CHANGED THE PLAN AFTER AHMED’S CALL. I MESSAGED SHUREN. ONLY HE KNOWS. THE KILLERS WILL ACT AT ONE PM.’
‘What’s Shuren’s number?’
Yefremov slumped in his seat and recited it to them.
‘Describe these killers
. Where will they be?’
The spymaster had no fight left in him. ‘Mikhail will be to the right of the White House, where there’s only foot traffic. Denis will be in the center, coming out of Lafayette Square. Laurence will be at the left, on the corner of Madison Place.’
‘What do they look like?’ Zeb prodded him.
‘Mikhail is Russian, Denis is Middle Eastern, Laurence is French. All look similar. Short, dark hair. Dark eyes, your height. Lean. They will be dressed in suits since it’s a working day. Mikhail’s got a small scar over his left eyebrow. You can’t miss them,’ Yefremov said wearily. ‘They will be alone. They have to be, to get a clear field of fire.’
‘Where are they right now?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Sidor,’ Zeb’s voice hardened.
‘I DON’T KNOW.’
Is that description good enough? Zeb looked away, thinking furiously. It would have to be, he answered himself bleakly.
‘CARTER?’
‘I’m here.’
‘GET ME OUT OF HERE,’ Yefremov screamed. ‘I TOLD YOU EVERYTHING.’
Zeb looked unseeingly at the Russian. At his friends. Dark circles under Beth and Meghan’s eyes. How did we survive tonight? The assault in Colorado? He shook his head. He didn’t know. Both operations were two of the worst-planned he had ever been on, but they had no choice. Time had been against them. He felt tired. So much killing. So many innocents.
‘CARTER!’ Yefremov shouted on their screen. He thumped his table in anger. ‘WHAT ARE YOU THINKING? FREE ME.’
Zeb looked at Broker and Bwana who waited expectantly.
‘Bring it down,’ he told them.
Meghan shut down the screen as the house detonated and buried Sidor Yefremov in hundreds of tons of rubble and concrete.
Chapter One Hundred Two
They didn’t leave immediately.
Bear, Bwana and Roger poured out the last of their coffee and distributed it. The engineers accepted the drinks gratefully. They were pale, shivering, and kept to themselves. They didn’t meet the operatives’ eyes and answered in monosyllables at questions directed at them.
They’re just as culpable, Zeb considered them bleakly as he brought out his phone.
‘Ma’am,’ he called Clare. ‘Yefremov’s out. All programs,’ he looked at the sisters who nodded reassuringly, ‘are decommissioned. The engineers are with us. Hyde is dead.’
‘It’s over, then?’ his boss sighed. She didn’t ask what Zeb meant by out. She knew her lead agent long enough to know what that word implied.
‘Not quite, ma’am. There’s going to be an attack in DC tomorrow. In front of the White House, at one pm.’ He explained rapidly. ‘And we need to go study these programs in more detail. And Shuren-’
‘What about him?’
‘We haven’t found him yet. Then-’
‘Zeb!’ the Agency Director interrupted him sharply.
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Three FBI teams are heading your way. SWAT, in choppers. Y’all will return to DC in one of those birds.’
‘But, ma’am-’
‘I am not asking you, Zeb.’
‘Yes, ma’am. Larry and Zack, their job is done. They need to return to Denver.’
‘They’re the researchers? I’ll arrange a state police escort for them. They could have taken one chopper but there are too many of those robots.’
‘The engineers?’
‘FBI will take them in.’
‘Ma’am there are some hostiles in Boulder City.’
‘Burke checked in with me. They are in custody.’
‘What’s in DC, ma’am?’
‘The White House.’
* * *
At three-thirty am, the first FBI chopper touched down. A SWAT team jumped out. Two more birds landed soon after. A crew-cut man looked their way and headed to them.
‘Zeb Carter,’ he looked at them searchingly.
‘Me,’ Zeb stepped forward.
‘Ross Kinlay,’ he introduced himself. ‘Commander of these SWAT teams. We’ll secure this place. Take custody of your prisoners. That bird,’ he pointed to the first helicopter, ‘will fly you back to DC.’
Zeb thanked him and went back to his team who picked up their gear and loaded it into the chopper. Burt and Pilgrim hugged them and said they would wait for their transport.
‘It’s over?’ Burt asked.
‘For you, yes,’ Zeb replied.
The researcher’s face dropped. He shuffled his feet awkwardly. ‘Next time you need us, just give us a call.’
Meghan removed an access card from her wallet and handed it to the scientist. ‘That’ll get you into our office in New York. Next time you get to the city, drop in.’
Burt and Pilgrim’s grins lit up the night.
They were in the air when a drawl came over their earpieces.
‘Howdy folks,’ Goring chuckled. ‘You can hear us?’
‘Loud and clear,’ Beth smiled. ‘I thought you had disconnected and gone to bed, like other good people.’
‘Who said we were good?’ Anderson huffed. ‘We’re still in the air. We kept circling, well away from your line of sight. You know, just to see what was happening. That was quite a show. Y’all good? Any injuries?’
‘Not even a scratch.’
‘Never heard of an operation where that happened.
‘A first for us too,’ Beth said feelingly.
‘Aren’t you disobeying orders? Still flying?’ Zeb asked.
‘About that,’ Goring said quietly. ‘You remember Travis Garrity? The shooter in California.’
‘Yes,’ Zeb replied. ‘He shot into a big-box store, didn’t he?’ He rubbed the bridge of his nose, remembering. It felt like such a long time ago.
‘Yeah. My sister-in-law died in that.’
Meghan gasped. Beth froze. Zeb didn’t know what to say. He kept quiet.
‘Thank you,’ Goring said and ended the call.
Chapter One Hundred Three
Clare didn’t meet them in DC. She had vehicles waiting for them which deposited them at the Jefferson Hotel on 16th Street Northwest.
Eight individual rooms for them.
Zeb called her when the others were checking in. ‘We’re here, ma’am. When do we meet you?’
His jaw dropped when she replied.
‘You don’t. I want all of you to catch up on your sleep today. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.’
‘But, ma’am-’
‘Again, Zeb, I am not asking. Give the phone to Meghan.’
‘Yes, ma’am?’ the elder sister spoke. She listened for a long time, her face expressionless and then thanked their boss and hung up.
‘What did she say?’ Beth demanded.
‘She said we should rest today. That’s what she told you, too?’
Zeb nodded.
Meghan turned to her sister. ‘Remember we threatened Larry and Zack with that washing toilet bowls thing?’
‘That was you,’ Beth exclaimed, backing off.
‘Well, Clare said, if you and I spend any time on our screens today, we’ll end up washing dishes in Alabama.’
She grinned ruefully when Bear and Bwana exploded in laughter. ‘What do you think she wants of us?’ she asked Zeb when they had quieted.
‘She’s got something in mind, for which she wants us fully rested.’
‘But what about those shooters?’ Chloe clutched his arm.
‘I think Sarah will be doing something about them.’
All eyes turned on Broker who turned his cell phone towards them.
A message from Burke. I’m in DC. Will be busy till tomorrow. Just letting you know. Not that you seem to reciprocate.
‘You really didn’t tell her where we were?’ Zeb asked his friend.
‘Hey!’ Broker said in an injured tone. ‘I got involved –’
‘You’re going to get the silent treatment,’ Chloe smirked at him. ‘We spoke.’
‘I th
ought you were my friend.’
‘I am hers too.’
‘What do you think she wants of us?’ Meghan asked Zeb as they went up the elevator to their rooms.
‘I’ve no idea,’ he shrugged.
I think I know, but we can wait for one day to find out.
* * *
Mikhail arrived at Pennsylvania Avenue at twelve pm. He was dressed in a dark suit, wore shades, carried a briefcase and a gym bag. There was nothing unusual about him. He strolled to the edge of the pedestrian walkway that went across the front of building. No traffic allowed there.
The crowd was already large and noisy by the time he reached it. Placards and signs waved in the air. Noisy shouts and chants. Do Something, Stop the Killing, were the most frequent slogans on the boards.
The shooter’s AR-15 was in his workout bag. He could unzip it, fire two quick bursts and run down the Avenue, towards Seventeenth Street where he had a getaway vehicle.
He was feeling uneasy, however. The size of the crowd was off-putting. The police were out in numbers. He knew if he went down the walkway, there would be sniffer dogs who might give the contents of his bag away. Because he had explosives too. Mikhail had no intention of getting caught and had quite a few tricks up his sleeve.
He thought of contacting Igor, but what would he say to him? That he could not complete his job? He had already received his advance, a sizeable amount.
Mikhail stood at the periphery of the walkway and repeated a few slogans mechanically as he figured things out.
He would hang around until one pm, and fire only if he could make a getaway. He didn’t care if the other shooters opened up or not. He didn’t know who they were and Igor had said nothing about coordinating with them.
Decision made, he raised his right fist in the air and shouted loudly. ‘DO SOMETHING. STOP THE KILLING!’
He was lowering his hand when he felt a presence behind him. He started to turn but felt a strong grip on his shoulder. His feet were kicked apart roughly, his gym bag and brief case relieved. His hand was lowered and metal bracelets went around his wrists. It had happened so swiftly, so smoothly that he had no time to react.
He was turned around to face a woman in an FBI jacket. Other agents by her side, training their guns on him. She was blonde, was wearing shades, a triumphant note in her voice when she addressed him. ‘Mikhail, you are under arrest,’ and she proceeded to read him his rights.
