by Stephen Frey
“Why is that so shocking?” Gadanz shrugged. “The CIA worked with the Colombians in the late seventies and early eighties to flood the U.S. inner cities with cocaine to try and kill criminals. Does the name Freeway Ricky Ross ring a bell?”
“Sure.”
“Ricky Ross was one of the biggest drug dealers in Los Angeles at the time, and he had close ties to the CIA. They worked together until the CIA turned on him. What’s so shocking about Shane Maddux coming to me?”
Gadanz was right, Sterling realized. When people really wanted something done, they went to an expert, irrespective of the side of the law that person was on. “Nothing, I suppose,” Sterling answered. “But you told me Red Cell Seven was responsible for killing your brother, Jacob. And you’re partnering with one of the cell’s leaders. How does that square?”
“Sometimes priorities make for strange bedfellows, don’t they, Liam?”
For a second, Sterling thought he’d caught an odd gleam in Gadanz’s eyes, but he couldn’t read it. A billion dollars was getting in the way.
“Like the CIA and Freeway Ricky Ross,” Gadanz continued. “My partnership with Maddux is more on a personal level than an institutional one, as is my hatred of the people who killed my brother. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Maddux claims Troy Jensen was directly involved with Jacob’s death. That Troy was one of the individuals who arrested and assaulted Jacob. I want Troy dead, along with his father and brother. But first I want him to suffer the ultimate dilemma first.” Gadanz took a deep breath. “So?” he asked in a leading tone after a few moments. “What is your decision?”
A billion dollars, a billion fucking dollars, Sterling thought to himself. He gritted his teeth again, harder. Still . . . “I don’t know, Daniel.”
Gadanz shook his head. “What happened to the man who told me he could execute any mission? Where is that man right now? Because I can assure you, he’s not standing in front of me.”
“Is that all?” Sterling asked gruffly, standing up. “Are we through here?”
“No, there’s one more thing.”
Of course, Sterling thought to himself ruefully. There was always one more thing with Daniel Gadanz. “What is it?”
Gadanz picked up a small glass vial from the table beside his chair. It was filled with an amber liquid. “Take this,” Gadanz ordered. “You’re going to need it to earn that billion dollars.”
“DON’T GO in to work today,” Baxter muttered into the phone. “In fact, don’t go in the rest of the week.”
“Why not?”
“Just don’t. Stay in your house. Don’t go out at all. Have your wife go out if you need something.”
“We have important business this week, several extremely high-profile cases.”
“I don’t care. Figure something out. Come down with a convenient case of the flu. Do you hear me?”
“How’s it going to look if the chief justice nominee doesn’t go in to work his first week after being nominated?”
“A lot better than he would dead,” Baxter answered candidly. He could almost hear Espinosa’s heart racing at the other end of the line. “I can’t tell you any more than that, Henry. Now, do you understand?”
“Yes,” Espinosa murmured.
“Good.”
Baxter ended the call and eased back into the chair. He’d received the message to warn Espinosa late last night that there was a plot in the works to assassinate the nominee. Apparently, there were some very powerful people who were not happy about David Dorn’s choice to lead the high court. So unhappy they were willing to kill Espinosa.
Baxter wasn’t sure who’d sent the message, but he had a pretty good idea. Maybe Maddux was still working with him after all.
Bottom line: Baxter and Dorn could not lose Henry Espinosa at this point. They’d worked much too hard to get a chief justice in place who could be easily manipulated.
ESPINOSA STARED at the phone lying on the desk of his home study. He’d just wanted to lead the most important court in the land, as he’d dodged the drug pushers on his way to school in East New York. That was all. He’d wanted to do good, and now all that was compromised.
What the hell was that phone call from Baxter about? he wondered as he gazed at the same phone that held the video that was slowly but surely driving him crazy. Was Baxter really trying to protect him? Or was he making certain a target stayed in one place and was therefore easier to hit? But that made no sense if, as Espinosa assumed, Baxter had something to do with Bolger’s death.
He stood motionless in the study for a few moments longer, trying to decide.
Finally, he headed for the door. He needed to tell the waiting driver he wouldn’t need a ride into Washington today.
STERLING SAT in the driver’s seat as the twenty-four assassins climbed onto the bus he’d rented in Charles Town thirty minutes ago, after his meeting with Gadanz. They nodded to him in turn as they scaled the steps, just before they turned left to take their seats in the back.
Gadanz would have made a tremendous psychiatrist, Sterling realized as he closed the bus door when the last assassin was on board. How could anyone turn down a billion dollars? It wasn’t really what you could do with it, he’d finally decided. It was simply being able to say you were a billionaire that mattered.
As important, how could he ignore the challenge Gadanz had thrown down in that motel room at the end of their conversation? Where was that man who could execute any mission? he’d asked smugly. The combination of the carrot and the stick had worked perfectly.
Sterling clenched his jaw. He wasn’t about to let that challenge go by unanswered, especially with a billion dollars in the balance—even if his mind was screaming to run away from all this as fast as he could.
But it was too late now. Once again he was fully committed to Operation Anarchy.
CHAPTER 36
JACK KNELT behind a boulder on the steep, densely forested West Virginia hillside, a quarter-mile west of the Virginia border, and peered down through the leaves and underbrush at Route 340, which was only twenty yards away. At this point 340 hugged the Potomac’s south shore as the river passed the White Horse Rapids, which were less than a mile downstream from Harpers Ferry.
The winding road was by far the most direct route from Harpers Ferry to Washington, DC. That had been of paramount importance to Troy as they’d studied maps of the area on the trip down, though he wouldn’t explain why.
They’d driven here from New Jersey through the dawn hours, stopping only to refuel and drop off Little Jack with a friend of Cheryl’s who’d met them at an exit on the north side of the Capital Beltway. The woman had asked no questions. She’d just taken the boy and taken off, and that was that. Jack wished so much they could have dropped Karen off, too.
He shut his eyes and exhaled heavily, hoping he’d awaken from this nightmare. Troy was convinced they’d find Karen. At least, that’s what he’d said several times on the way here. He’d sounded sincere, too, and he knew his brother well enough to know when he was overselling.
Still, Jack wasn’t anywhere near as sure. He had an awful, haunting suspicion he’d never see Karen again.
Troy was a hundred yards east of this position, making certain the roadblock was set up on 340. It was to be manned by a combined task force of West Virginia and Virginia state troopers who’d been told some, though not all, of what was going on, according to Troy, who was playing everything very close to the vest. Troy said he wasn’t going to show himself to law enforcement on his recon hike. He was going to stay up in the woods while he made sure the cops were in place. But again, he wouldn’t explain why.
Jack had no idea how the roadblock had happened, who Troy had contacted, or what had been conveyed to make it happen, and he didn’t care. He just wanted to get back to finding Karen.
Finding her by himself was
a long shot at best. He had a much better chance of finding her and finding her fast if Troy was with him, because Troy was trained and skilled in these kinds of operations. But Troy had made it clear on the drive from New Jersey that stopping the Aussie in Harpers Ferry was more important than anything else—even finding Karen—which had angered Jack so much he’d almost gone at his brother physically.
What could possibly be more important than finding Karen, he’d demanded. What was the Aussie doing that had them ignoring Karen? Troy wouldn’t say—another thing that had infuriated Jack.
But Troy’s mind was made up. They were going to Harpers Ferry, and there would be no changing his mind.
Jack just wanted to hold Karen again. To whisper in her ear that everything was all right as he cradled her in his arms.
He clenched his jaw and shook his head. He’d failed her in New Jersey. He’d been so close to catching that Explorer on the dirt road. But the bastard who was driving had escaped.
As he crouched behind the boulder and stared down at the road, a strange feeling began to creep up Jack’s spine. Perhaps it was the raw, misty rain that had begun to fall on the Appalachian Mountains that was causing the eerie sensation to seep through him—the temperature had plummeted fifteen degrees overnight—but he didn’t think so.
As he rose up and whipped around, he reached for the pistol in his belt. But that seemed pointless as he quickly counted from left to right. He was face-to-face with ten individuals—all clad in black sweatshirts and camouflage pants—who’d snuck down the hillside soundlessly and were spread out before him in a tight line. Out in front of the formation was an attractive young woman with her dark hair pulled back behind her head.
Ten of them, but still, he had to try something. They didn’t look like allies.
“No.”
A hand clamped down tightly on his wrist as he went for the gun.
“They’re friends.”
“What the hell?” Jack demanded when he realized it was Troy, back from his recon. “What’s going on?”
Troy patted Jack on the shoulder, then moved to where the young woman stood. “Hello, Commander. It’s good to see you.”
She nodded as they shook hands. “You, too.”
“Meet Commander McCoy,” Troy said, as he moved back to where Jack was standing. “She’s with us.”
“You know her?”
“I know of her, Jack. Commander McCoy is one of the most skilled and trusted assassins in the entire United States military.” Troy turned toward Jack so the men standing behind Skylar couldn’t hear him. “Red Cell Seven has been considering making her the first woman ever initiated into it,” he explained. “Dad had mentioned her name to me before. She’s very highly regarded all the way up the chain of command.”
“What’s she doing here?”
“I heard from Dad last night. It was right after I got that ‘dive deep’ message. Before we started out for New Jersey from Brooklyn, I spoke to him while you waited in the truck. I told you I needed to take a—”
“And you didn’t bother telling me he was alive?” Jack asked incredulously.
“I’m telling you now.”
“Oh, well, thanks for that,” he said sarcastically. “Glad you finally got around to it.”
“Focus on the task at hand, brother.”
Jack winced. He still hated being schooled by his kid brother. “What’s she doing here?”
“I’ll spare the details for later when we’re one-on-one, but Commander McCoy and Dad met last night. Apparently, President Dorn was going on offense. He was trying to destroy Red Cell Seven by waging civil war on us, by murdering us.” Troy nodded back at Skylar. “Commander McCoy was leading the attack.”
“Jesus,” Jack whispered.
“Fortunately, Dad was able to convince her of what the real story was. That she was on the wrong team if she was fighting for President Dorn. Even more important,” Troy continued, “Dad discovered what was going on here in Harpers Ferry.” He gestured upriver toward the town. “Daniel Gadanz is planning another major terrorist attack.”
“What kind of attack?”
“He’s planning to assassinate multiple federal officials starting sometime in the next day or two. The target list starts with the president and goes down through the Cabinet to Congress all the way to the intel and law enforcement agencies. And with the kind of money Gadanz has, the threat must be taken very seriously.”
For a few moments, Karen’s fate slipped from Jack’s mind as the enormity of what Troy had just described hit him full force. “How did Dad find out?”
“He’s been with Shane Maddux since he disappeared,” Troy answered. “They were both laying low in a cabin in the woods of western New York. They were worried Dorn was coming after them, and they were right. But I guess Maddux wasn’t just laying low. Like Dorn, he went on offense.” Troy shook his head in disbelief. “Shane was working with Gadanz on this plot, which they called Operation Anarchy. Maddux was feeding Gadanz highly classified information, along with details on how to execute Operation Anarchy so they could kill as many of the targets as possible.”
“So Maddux is trying to wipe out opposition from the left wing to cells like the one we’re familiar with.”
“That’s exactly right,” Troy said. “Anyway, Dad sent Commander McCoy down here to help us. I’m not sure how much he told her about us, but I’m going to assume, at least for now, it wasn’t much.”
“My God.” Jack spoke up loudly as the realization suddenly struck him. “Is it possible Maddux was in on having Little Jack and Karen kidnapped?”
“It’s not just possible,” Skylar said as she reached into her jacket pocket and produced the small notebook Bill had found in Maddux’s bedroom closet at the cabin. “There’s no doubt about it. He was definitely in on it.” She handed it to Troy. “It’s all in there.” She pointed at the notebook.
“Why?” Jack asked. “What could possibly be Maddux’s motive for having my wife kidnapped?”
“I don’t know,” Troy said. “I agree, it doesn’t make much sense.”
“Well, you were right about it being an inside job,” Jack muttered. “That’s how Jennie knew you were in Spain six weeks ago. Maddux could have known and could have told her. He could have gotten those pictures of you and then handed them off. And it’s why Jennie thought . . .” His voice trailed off.
He’d been about to say it was why Jennie had accused Troy of killing Lisa Martinez. Maddux was one of the few people who knew the young woman had been murdered and would have pinned blame for her death on Troy to manipulate Jennie—which, apparently, had worked.
Troy glanced over at Skylar. “How did my father convince you that Dorn was wrong? How did he convince you not to kill—” He interrupted himself as he pointed down the slope at the road. “Here we go, people. There’s a truck.”
AT THE bottom of the hill from The Fisherman’s Inn, Sterling turned the bus left onto Route 340 and headed east for Washington, DC. He’d waited until the coast was completely clear both ways—which hadn’t taken long, as there was very little traffic this far out in the country even at noon. He wasn’t accustomed to driving such a large vehicle, and the roads were slick from the light rain that had been falling for several hours, so he was being extremely careful. He could have no incidents of any kind during this trip.
As he guided the bus over the bridge across the Shenandoah, he glanced left, downriver toward the confluence with the Potomac. For a moment something seemed strange, and he couldn’t place it. Then he realized what it was. No cars had been coming the other way for some time. And then, as he peered ahead through the mist, he saw flashing lights and too many police cars for a simple traffic stop.
As he brought the bus to a sharp stop behind an old pickup truck, his breathing went short, and a violent panic wave surged through his chest. He’d known better,
but he’d let his ego get squarely in the way of his common sense. Guiding principles were never to be violated, yet he had.
“Oh my God,” he whispered as everything became clear.
He slammed open the bus door, rose up from the driver’s seat, turned around, and gazed back at the twenty-four expectant faces, his heart pounding crazily. “I regret to inform you that we have a situation,” he said as calmly as he could. These people didn’t have their hunting rifles, but unless they were stupid, they had handguns. And they’d need them if they were going to survive. “It’s everyone for themselves, people. Godspeed!”
JACK WAS the first of the team to spot people spilling from the bus like rats from a sinking ship—the truck Troy had spotted three minutes ago had turned out to be a false alarm. The bus had just come to a jerking stop at the back of the traffic line, and maybe the mass exodus was innocent, maybe there was an emergency on the bus and the panicked rush to exit was completely innocent. Maybe this was a false alarm, too.
But it sure didn’t look like it.
“Troy!” Jack shouted over his shoulder, pointing frantically as he took off down the hillside, pistol leading the way. “Come on!”
He sprinted down the steep slope, dodging trees and boulders as best he could while fighting to keep his balance on the wet ground. Still, Skylar and Troy quickly raced past him like deer and hurdled the last ten feet down to the road beside the cars that were waiting to be allowed through the roadblock a hundred yards to the east. The bus was fifty feet away, and men and women were still spilling out of it and sprinting off in every direction as Jack’s boots hit the pavement.
For several strides he followed Skylar and Troy as they raced along the roadside toward the bus. But when a man who’d just jumped off fired at them, Jack ducked in front of a late-model sedan being driven by an elderly man with a terrified expression on the other side of the cracked windshield.
The mass exodus from the bus wasn’t innocent at all. The bus had been taking assassins to Washington.
