by Bob Mayer
Kincannon put a hand on Ducharme’s shoulder. “Listen. From Casablanca: ‘You might as well question why we breathe. If we stop breathing, we’ll die. If we stop fighting our enemies, the world will die.’ Don’t go Rick on me. Go Lazlo.”
Ducharme smiled. “Someone’s got to stand fast, right?”
“Not just stand fast, but fight back.”
The chopper touched down, Pollack at the controls. Ducharme and Kincannon threw their gear in the cargo bay, and then climbed in, sliding shut the cargo door. The chopper was airborne within seconds and heading southwest.
************
Burns followed Turnbull out of the Hoover Building. The senior agent got into an armored Town Car with darkly tinted windows. Burns grabbed one of the ‘ready’ cars parked in front of the building after flashing his badge. The keys were in the ignition. There wasn’t much traffic this late and Burns had no problem following.
He quickly caught up to Turnbull’s car on Constitution Avenue, then dropped back as four black Suburbans abruptly swung onto the road, falling in behind the Town Car—not FBI. Spooks of one sort or the other, government or more likely contractors. Who the fuck knew and at the moment it didn’t matter to Burns.
Burns kept Turnbull in sight through Washington to the on-ramp for the Theodore Roosevelt Bridge. Traffic was a bit heavier now as they were on I-66. Then Turnbull’s car immediately swung off onto a little used exit. There was no way Burns could follow and not be spotted. He slowed down, staying parallel, earning the ire of drivers behind him, keeping pace with the Suburbans and Town Car on the service road to the right.
A sign indicated it was the exit for the Theodore Roosevelt Memorial.
Brake lights flashed in the night. Right next to the footbridge that led to Theodore Roosevelt Island in the middle of the Potomac. Burns sped up as men in black piled out of the Suburbans. The island was uninhabited, lots of trees and walking trails, and a plaza with a Memorial to the former President. An easy place to keep secure.
Burns continued on the GW Parkway and took a left exit, then another left, driving until he was opposite the stopped vehicles, with the GW and Jeff Davis Parkways separating them. He parked illegally, went to the trunk and pulled out a set of night vision goggles. He walked into the trees until he could see a vantage point. He took off his fedora and pulled on the night vision goggles. He could see the Suburbans, Town Car and armed guards at the footbridge. A line of dark figures was crossing the bridge onto the island.
Burns settled in to wait.
***********
Evie opened and closed her fingers repeatedly, trying to keep the blood circulating. She knew asking to have the pressure of the cuffs reduced would be a fruitless exercise. The Blackhawk was somewhere over Maryland. The Surgeon was seated facing her. Her short sword was across her knees. The air of confidence she projected pissed Evie off.
“He’ll never give up the disks,” Evie yelled over the sound of turbine engines and blades cutting through the air overhead.
The Surgeon looked at her. “You underestimate yourself.”
“I do?”
“Men are foolish creatures,” the Surgeon said. “Your Colonel is not thinking straight.”
“You’re wrong,” Evie insisted, but she had a moment of doubt, remembering how Ducharme had acted at times. It wasn’t about hormones like the Surgeon thought, but because of his brain injury. Then again, she thought . . .
“You people keep telling me I’m wrong,” the Surgeon said, “but I have fourteen of the disks.”
“You could have all the disks,” Evie said, “and it still won’t be enough to find the Allegiance.”
The Surgeon shrugged. “But having them will stop you from finding it. Just as killing you and Ducharme would achieve the same thing. I already took care of the other two.”
“You’d have destroyed the disks and killed me if you believed that. Whoever’s controlling you wants the Allegiance. You’re just a puppet being used by the Cincinnatians.”
The Surgeon gave a cold smile. “No. I’m using them for my purpose.”
“Right.” A vision of Ducharme drawling the same word in his unique accent flashed through her mind. “You have no idea what you’re messing with. It’s--“ Evie stopped speaking as the Surgeon lifted her sword.
The steel flashed toward Evie’s face and she flinched, expecting to feel the sharp pain of sliced flesh. Instead, the flat side of the sword slapped against the side of her face once more.
Evie glared at the other woman. “Easy to hit someone who is chained up.”
The Surgeon nodded. “You’re quite correct. And I could care less about the Cincinnatians.”
“What?” Evie was confused. Then she saw the look the Surgeon’s eyes and realized that all of this was just part of some twisted sickness in the woman’s head. She’d seen the same in some of the CIA field agents, the ones who reveled in places like Abu Ghraib rather than be repelled by them.
The Surgeon hefted McBride’s briefcase. “Should I read what your Chair wrote on his computer?”
“It doesn’t say what the Allegiance is.”
The Surgeon shrugged. “I could care less.” She tossed the briefcase to the floor with a thud and Evie flinched as much as she had when the sword had been coming for her. Looking past the Surgeon, Evie could see a bright glow on the horizon. The Washington Monument, well lit by ground lights, appeared out to the front left. The helicopter arced around the restricted flight zone of Washington until it was over the Potomac near Georgetown.
The pilots dropped altitude to just above the water. Evie could see the lights of downtown Washington to the left and the headlights of cars on the GW Parkway to the right. A line of trees suddenly appeared in front and the aircraft lifted slightly, clearing them. And just as quickly, descended to a paved plaza in the midst of the trees and landed.
A ring of armed men dressed in black surrounded the helicopter and beyond them, a statue, one hand raised.
“Teddy Roosevelt,” Evie said, as the whine from the turbine engines wound down and the blades slowed overhead.
The Surgeon slid open one of the side doors. Then she un-cuffed Evie. “Let’s go,” the Surgeon said, pointing with her sword toward the men gathered in front of the 17-foot high statue of the former president. There were four stone monoliths surrounding the plaza.
“Do you know,” Evie said, “what it says on one of those stones?”
“I don’t care,” the Surgeon said, gesturing once more with the sword for her to get off.
“You should care,” Evie said. “Roosevelt said: ’If I must choose between righteousness and peace, I choose righteousness.’ I think Colonel Ducharme is going to bring some righteousness down on you shortly.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Pollack was flying low and fast, staying off radar and making up time they’d lost refueling at Fort Dix. Ducharme checked the GPS. They were fifteen minutes from Washington. His satphone buzzed and he pulled it out, pressing it tight against his ear in order to hear over the sound of the helicopter.
“Yeah?”
“It’s Burns. Are you chasing a Blackhawk to DC?”
“How’d you know?”
“I saw it land on Roosevelt Island. There’s a shitload of contractors there too. Along with Turnbull. I wouldn’t advise going there.”
“I don’t plan on it. Did you see who was on the chopper?”
“Negative. They landed at the Memorial and trees block the view. The only way onto the island is via a footbridge and it’s well guarded.”
“I’m going to force them to move to Ft. Myer. Make a trade.”
There was silence for a little while. “A trade?”
Ducharme glanced over at Sergeant Major Kincannon who was leaning back against the back wall of the cargo bay, weapon on his lap. “Yeah. Listen, we might need some back-up.”
“I’m your man.”
“Let me know when and how they move.”
“All right.
”
Ducharme turned the phone off. He moved closer to Kincannon. “Sergeant Major?”
“Yes, sir?”
“We’re going to meet this Surgeon at Fort Myer to set up an exchange of our disks for Evie.”
“’Evie’?” Kincannon smiled, then shook his head. “You thinking straight? There’s gonna be no exchange. They’re going to come in guns blazing.”
Ducharme nodded. “That’s where we need some help if you don’t mind making a call or two.”
After telling Kincannon his plan, Ducharme opened one of the plastic cases and pulled out a military issue computer. He accessed the Defense Department’s Interlink. He needed intelligence on the target and the layout of a building.
*************
The presence of the contractors made Lily uncomfortable—she preferred working alone. And Turnbull had taken charge of the prisoner as soon as she got Tolliver off the chopper. He had her near the central fountain in the plaza under heavy guard. She had left the briefcase in the chopper, a possible bargaining tool if Turnbull turned on her like he had the contractors.
“Sir.” Lily tried not to stand at attention, but she knew no other way to approach someone of higher rank.
Turnbull turned his ice blue eyes on her. “Yes?”
“Are you really going to give Tolliver to Ducharme for the disks? We can destroy the Philosophical Society once and for all tonight.”
“And what purpose would that serve?” Turnbull asked.
Lily was surprised. “We would finish off our enemies. It’s a maxim of military strategy to—“
“This is not a military problem,” Turnbull interrupted. “This is a political issue. The disks are more important than the people.”
“Yes, sir, but—“ she stopped as her satphone buzzed. She turned it on. “Yes?”
“Hey, missy.”
She squeezed the phone the way she’d like to squeeze Ducharme’s neck, but she kept her voice level. “I’m waiting for you.”
“Don’t want to keep a lady waiting,” Ducharme said.
“Bring the disks to—“
“You don’t listen very well.”
She stifled a sharp retort, feeling Turnbull’s eyes on her. “What do you want?”
“My friend.”
“Give me the disks.”
“I will.”
“Come to Roosevelt Island and—“
“You really don’t listen,” Ducharme cut her off. “You’re sitting there with a bunch of gunmen, waiting for me to stick my head in the trap.”
She looked about. They had a traitor in their midst. Or Ducharme had just made the logical deduction. She rubbed the side of her head. “Where then?”
“Get in your helicopter with Tolliver. Everyone else stays there. Once you’re airborne, I’ll give you the grid coordinates where we’ll meet.”
“You need Tolliver back,” Lily said.
“I want Tolliver back,” Ducharme said. “You need to do what I say.” The phone went dead.
“Yes?” Turnbull asked.
“Ducharme wants me airborne with the prisoner,” Lily said. “He’ll give me the coordinates of the meet once I’m airborne. He knows your men are here. He wants none to leave. He might have someone watching us.”
Turnbull inclined his battered head ever so slightly. “Ah. Officer Burns. Very enterprising. Go. Do the meet. Negotiate. Don’t worry about what he wants. Take six men. Haggle over Tolliver. Can you do that?”
She stiffened at being talked to in such a manner. “Yes, sir.”
“Go.”
*************
The Blackhawk lifted just as the satphone buzzed. “Burns.”
“Chopper in the air?”
He recognized Ducharme’s voice. “Yeah.”
“The merks moving?”
Burns looked at the bridge and the vehicles. “Negative. Not yet at least, but I couldn’t see who got on the chopper.”
“Turnbull will be sending muscle on it. Keep an eye on him. Can you?”
“He’s got a lot of firepower, but I’ll do what I can.”
“Thanks.”
Burns watched the footbridge through the night vision goggles. “Where is the meet?”
“Fort Myer. Ord and Wietzel Drive. There are some old warehouses off to the right. Go past them and there’s a field adjacent to Arlington. That’s where the party will be.”
“You sure it’s going to be a party?” Burns asked.
“It’s time to fix bayonets.”
Burns saw people crossing the footbridge toward him. “Yeah, it is.” He drew his pistol and headed toward the highways separating him from his ‘supervisor’.
************
The Huey touched down in a snow-covered field, leafless trees surrounding it. The blades created their own minor snowstorm, which subsided as the chopper powered down.
Ducharme leaned between the seats and tapped Pollack on the shoulder. “Get ready to start up quick. Also, can you get clearance from military air traffic control to go up to twelve thousand feet? Offset from DC’s restricted airspace, right on the northwest edge.”
She nodded, casting an anxious glance toward Kincannon who was stepping off, submachine in hand.
“I’ll watch out for him,” Ducharme promised.
“And who’s going to watch out for you?” Pollack asked.
“He will,” Ducharme said. “We’re a good team.”
She lifted her hand off the cyclic and extended it. “We’re a good team.”
He grasped her hand in his. “We are.”
*************
“Officer Burns.” Turnbull put away his satphone.
A half-dozen heavily armed men in black surrounded Burns, but he focused on his nominal superior, who acknowledged the pistol in Burns’s hand with a single arched eyebrow. “Going to take us all on?”
“If need be,” Burns said. “I am the law. I have no idea what you are and I know they—“ he indicated the mercenaries—“aren’t the law.”
“The gun won’t be necessary,” Turnbull said. “Things will be solved peacefully.”
“They haven’t been so far,” Burns said. “Body count keeps rising.”
“Not my fault,” Turnbull said. “One can only control a free agent so far.”
“You’re saying the Surgeon doesn’t work for you?”
“You know her code name.” Turnbull didn’t seem impressed. “We’ve tried to keep her under control, but I’m afraid she’s gone off the grid.”
The FBI agent went still. Even though he had feared it, the confirmation of betrayal still struck deep. “You want me to do your dirty work.”
“I want you to do your duty,” Turnbull said. When he got no response, he added: “What do you want?”
“To keep you from interfering with the trade.”
“So you’ve thrown your hand in with Ducharme,” Turnbull said. He shrugged. “I have no plans to interfere with the trade. I want the trade to happen as much as Ducharme does.”
“Who is on the Blackhawk with the Surgeon?” Burns asked, pulling out his satphone.
“Professor Tolliver as requested.”
“And how many of your hired guns?”
“Six,” Turnbull said. He opened the driver’s door of the Town Car. “Why don’t you use my car and join Ducharme and his friend Kincannon? Give them a hand.” He stepped away from the car. “I’ll be right here, waiting to hear what happens.”
Burns hesitated, then got in. The keys were in the ignition. He cranked the engine and headed away, punching in a speed dial on his satphone at the same time.
************
“You’ve got six mercenaries on board the Blackhawk along with the Surgeon and Tolliver.” Burns’s voice was strained.
Ducharme threw an infrared chem light out into the field, in front of the Huey, to mark the landing zone. “Figured as much.”
“I’m en route to your location by ground.”
“And Turnbull?”
“Says he’s waiting to hear what happens.”
Ducharme paused from checking the magazine in his submachinegun. “That doesn’t sound like him.”
“Actually,” Burns disagreed, “it sounds exactly like him. He’s playing this from every angle, letting everyone else get their hands dirty.”
“What’s the angle he wants?”
“The disks,” Burns said.
“He’s—“ Ducharme heard the sound of an incoming helicopter. “Got to go. See you shortly.”
He glanced to his right where Sergeant Major Kincannon stood tall, weapon at the ready. The landing Blackhawk sent a flurry of snow in their direction. As the large helicopter’s engines wound down, a single figure dressed in a long black cloak stepped out of the left side cargo bay door.
Ducharme kept the muzzle of his weapon lowered and took a few steps forward. “Close enough,” he called out when the Surgeon was about ten feet away.
“The disks?” the Surgeon demanded.
“Tolliver?”
The Surgeon flicked her hand up and the other side door on the Blackhawk opened. A figure was roughly shoved out, followed by six heavily-armed men. Evie struggled to her feet, hands cuffed behind her backs, receiving no help.
“I have what you want,” the Surgeon said, “and I have the power to make you give me what I want.”
“You’re wrong,” Ducharme said.
The Surgeon’s hand drift inside her coat, going toward the handle of her sword. “Give me the disks and take your woman.”
They both turned as a set of headlights carved down the dirt road leading to the clearing. Three of the merks turned their weapons in that direction while the other three kept theirs trained on Ducharme and Kincannon. An armored Lincoln Town Car pulled up, forming the third point in a deadly triangle. Agent Burns exited the driver’s side, his pistol at the ready.
“We still have the firepower,” the Surgeon said. “Give me—“
