"I do. She's raising a cargo container."
"She's what?" Alan asked.
"She's in the crane operator's cabin and she's lifting a cargo container."
"It's her escape plan," Moss said.
Kaplan could tell the deputy knew something he didn't by the confident tone in his voice. "Talk to me, Moss. How the hell is she going to escape?"
"Assets are at the terminal entrance trying to clear the roadblock," interrupted Alan. "Looks like the FBI doesn't want to let them in."
"Roger that, Alan. Now let Moss give us his theory. We're all ears, Deputy."
"My guess is she'll drop down to the spreader and use the remote operator's controls to position the container over the water. She'll lower it until she's close enough to jump."
"Moss?" Kaplan said, "What the hell's a spreader?"
"It's a piece of loading equipment on the crane that attaches to the cargo containers."
"One day you'll have to tell me how you know all this crap."
* * *
A good assassin always had an alternative escape plan if things went awry.
Some plans were better than other ones and this time her choices were limited. It was a bad backup plan from the onset and now, her options had dwindled and she was forced to execute it.
She had failed to kill her target tonight although she knew there would be another opportunity. And soon. The unexpected arrival of the FBI and the explosion of the warehouse were unforeseen complications no assassin could have prepared for. Now her target was back on the grid and his movements would be easier to track. And she was like a hound dog following a scent. A week, perhaps as long as a month, she would stay on his trail until another opportunity presented itself. And when that time came, she wouldn't miss.
Now, her first priority was survival. Her only escape route was the water. Crossing the Hudson River in the middle of the night was not something she relished, however it was a necessity if she wanted to stay alive. And free.
She fired up the diesel generator on the gantry crane and activated the equipment. The network of trolleys, and pulleys, and cables tightened, lifting the spreader and the attached cargo container. While the container was in transit, she spun around and used her night vision scope to locate her opponents. Kaplan was still hiding behind the shed and she could see his signature intermittently peeking around the corner. In the distance she saw Moss limping toward her. He was making a straight-line attack as if taunting her to take another shot at him. He held his leg with one hand and with the other, his pistol. She had no ax to grind with the deputy marshal; he was not part of the deal.
In the distance, she saw more emergency vehicles arriving at the shipping terminal and an increasing interest in the activity where she was. Someone had noticed them and that meant cops and helicopters with searchlights and no telling what else. Too much attention, too soon, would come her way. She needed to get away while she had the chance. Ten minutes from now would be too late.
The spreader holding the container came to a stop a few feet beneath her. She exited the Plexiglas enclosed operator's cabin and climbed out on the catwalk until she was directly above the spreader. She grasped a cable with her gloved hands, and lowered herself to the top of the spreader.
Within fifteen seconds she located the remote operator's controls and then she secured her escape kit to the spreader with a locking carabiner so it wouldn't fall.
The first control moved the spreader away from the platform itself and out along the booms of the high-profile gantry crane that extended over the water. When the cargo container was extended along the outreach as far out over the water as she dared move it, she activated another control.
She considered herself a good judge of distance and height so she estimated she was nearly two hundred feet from the gantry and a hundred feet above the water's surface. She hastened her actions at the sounds of more sirens. There was a small window of opportunity to escape…and it was getting smaller.
The container slowly lowered her toward the water.
She removed her escape kit from its tether and unpacked the equipment—a small sea scooter. If she had to cross the Hudson River, she certainly wasn't going to swim. The sea scooter had enough charge to cross the river several times. And that was more than enough to pull her to safety.
She positioned herself behind a steel crossbar that spanned the length of the spreader and took aim at the shed with her rifle while the machine slowly lowered her toward the water. If Kaplan stuck his head around the corner of the shed again, she would not miss.
* * *
Kaplan noticed the cargo container shuttle across the outreach arms of the gantry crane until it was almost to the end. Then it slowly descended toward the water below. Moss was right; Valkyrie was going to attempt to escape by water. If, and when, she went into the Hudson, she'd already have a good two hundred foot head start.
He was a good swimmer. By most standards he would even be considered a strong swimmer. Swimming across the Hudson from New Jersey to New York would be much shorter than the last swim he had taken. That one was a nine-mile swim he had to take a couple of years ago when the bullet-riddled boat he was in sank off the northern coast of Spain. Being a strong swimmer didn't automatically relate to being a fast swimmer, which he was not. Unless Valkyrie tired, he might not be able to catch her before she reached the opposite shoreline.
Kaplan needed to get closer to the water's edge and the only way to do that was by leaving the protection of the maintenance shed to seek cover behind the massive tires on the base of the gantry itself. A thirty-yard run, minimum. The opposite corner of the shed offered more protection from the crane structure in the event the woman started firing again. If he weaved when he ran toward the crane's base, she might not have a clear shot at him. At least, that was what he convinced himself. If he was going to do it, though, he needed to move now before the cargo container descended low enough for Valkyrie to jump into the water safely.
Without any further hesitation, Kaplan made a break for it and, as he did, gunfire erupted around him. Valkyrie was pelting the ground with bullets chasing his every step.
Thirty yards to go.
Seemed more like sixty by the time he finally reached the crane. He took refuge behind one of the gantry crane's enormous tires. Bullets pinged and ricocheted around him, but even her rounds weren't going to penetrate his sanctum.
It was dark at this end of the shipping terminal, there were no ships and no lights except the dim red maritime structure lights lining the entire length of the loading dock itself, placed there only to prevent an accidental incursion with the dock.
Every time Kaplan attempted to look around the tire, more bullets fired his way. He was pinned down until the assassin made her move to escape.
At last glance, the container was still thirty feet above the water and he knew she would wait until it got closer. Then he heard everything come to a complete stop. The container had stopped and was suspended ten feet above the water. Moving across the top of the spreader was the shadowy figure of a woman.
Kaplan moved into position to take a shot when the shadow figure raised her weapon. He left his cover and was in the open by the edge of the loading dock with nowhere to hide and nowhere to run. He knew she had him locked in the crosshairs. Exposed, he was a dead man.
A shot rang out before he could fire his weapon. It wasn't from Valkyrie. He turned in the direction of the shot and saw Moss forty feet to his right with his weapon pointed in Valkyrie's direction. He looked back at the container and saw the woman stumble forward. She reached her hand out toward something, the container creaked, and with a loud metal clunk, the spreader released the container.
The spreader swayed from the sudden loss of weight and the figure on top tumbled from her lofty perch toward the dirty river below.
43
It felt a lot like the training simulator in Chicago except this time it was real life. Now Moss faced a decision much like that from th
e simulator. His new partner left the protection of the gantry crane in order to capture the assassin known as Valkyrie. The woman Moss had spent so much time with in the Crown Vic traveling the back roads of Arkansas was, in reality, hired to kill the man he had teamed up with now. It was a strange and ironic twist of fate. Kaplan turned out to be the good guy and she turned out to be the villain.
Villainess.
But Moss was a Deputy U. S. Marshal and she posed a threat to Kaplan's life. He knew Kaplan wanted her alive long enough to find out who had paid her to kill him. Then he would kill her. Moss wanted her alive, but if it came down to choosing lives, hers was expendable.
She hadn't seen him approach the loading dock and was so fixated on killing her target that he was able to walk almost to the edge of the water. The clandestine operative and the assassin exchanged gunfire allowing Moss to take aim at the assassin. When she got the drop on Kaplan, Moss took the shot.
* * *
Kaplan had many troubling thoughts as he watched Valkyrie fall toward the water. First and foremost, he needed to get to her before she escaped if he stood any chance of finding out who put the contract on him. If it was even him she was after. Even though Moss was convinced otherwise, Kaplan still had doubts and wondered if perhaps Tony might have been the intended target all along.
Then there was the falling container. If he waited for it to hit the water and the resulting wake to disperse, he would lose valuable time and distance getting to the woman. Moss had shot her, but how badly was she hurt? Could she swim? Was she still conscious? She clutched at her shoulder after the shot rang out and then the container fell.
He decided he couldn't wait for the wake to settle, the cost in time and distance was too great. He secured his weapon and readied himself to dive from the loading dock into the dark water.
The container splashed into the water, stopped, then settled and seemed to rise back to the surface before slowly slipping out of sight. Beyond where the container hit the water, he saw Valkyrie bob up and down in the wake. There was something else in the water and she was trying to swim toward it with one arm.
The wake was higher than he originally expected. As it reached the bulkhead, Kaplan dove over and past the main surge. Then the wake struck the bulkhead at the loading dock and reversed direction, which gave him a short-lived burst of speed through the water as he used the wake to his advantage.
He closed the gap as Valkyrie struggled to swim toward the object floating in the water. The wake had pushed it farther away from Valkyrie. Her determination to reach the floating object seemed undeterred as Kaplan closed in. His strong arms and legs gave him the advantage and he was certain he could catch the assassin.
But, he didn't.
She reached the object floating in the water when he was still ten feet away. She struggled with the object one handed, unable to use one arm, thanks to Moss. She finally flipped it over exposing two handgrips. Kaplan heard the whine of the electric motor and saw a shielded propeller starting to spin. It was a personal water propulsion device, a sea scooter much less powerful than the ones he'd used on some Special Forces missions. Smaller too.
It was cylindrical in shape with a pointed nose cone to reduce friction through the water. Roughly two feet long and eight inches in diameter, the plastic shell held an electric motor with enough power to pull Valkyrie through the water faster than he could swim. If she pulled away from him now, he'd never catch her.
With adrenaline pumping, he kicked and lunged forward in the water extending his strong right arm. As the device started to move Valkyrie through the water, he grasped one of her ankles. If he lost his grip now, she would escape. He felt the pull from the sea scooter dragging them both through the water.
She kicked her leg to free his grip and with her other foot jammed her boot into his wrist. He tightened his grip and refused to let go. He couldn't let go. If he did, she would be gone. He snagged her other foot with his free hand and pulled himself toward her with all his strength.
The combination of him pulling on her feet and the thrust from the sea scooter were too much for the injured Valkyrie. The scooter struggled to accelerate with their combined weight and within seconds Valkyrie lost her grip and the sea scooter floated away.
Valkyrie turned and tried to knee him in the groin but she hit the side of his leg instead. He balled a fist and struck her in the ribs. She groaned and slashed at him with an open hand. Her claws hit his face and he felt his skin tear under her fingernails. The instant burning sensation left no uncertainty that she had drawn blood.
He pushed her hand away and threw a southpaw hook to her jaw. He heard the crunch and felt her jawbone give under the impact. Her head went limp. He spun her around and pulled her to him. He wrapped one arm around her waist and used the other to collar her around the throat from behind.
"It's over," he said.
She elbowed him in the gut. "Let me go," she cried out.
He cinched his grip tighter around her neck. "Who's your target?"
"Go to hell."
Her hand disappeared beneath the water and then reappeared wielding a knife. Not just a knife, a poniard, a tiny dagger. Unable to fend off her knife attack in time, she plunged the small blade into his forearm. His grip loosened and she pushed herself free and moved toward the sea scooter.
He grabbed the poniard and pulled the blade from his forearm muscle. Hot intense pain shot through his arm. He had been in knife fights in the past. Too many to count. A stab in a muscle, though, was much better than having the muscle severed by a slashing blade.
He fought off the pain, tossed the poniard into the water, and lunged toward the escaping assassin, snagging a handful of red hair. He yanked her head backwards, spun her around, and slammed his fist into her face.
She pulled her arm back, made a fist, and swung at his face. He blocked the assault, clamped his hand on her head, and pushed her underwater.
And held her there.
He counted the seconds. She squirmed and kicked. After a full minute, he pulled her head out of the water. "Who's your target?"
"Screw you, asshole."
Without allowing her to take a breath he shoved her head back under. She writhed and grappled until her energy seemed to wane. He had water-boarded prisoners before but all of those were Middle Eastern men, most beaten before being tortured. He wasn't going to torture Valkyrie, but he needed answers so he kept her submerged long enough to let her panic.
He yanked her head out of the water. The Hudson around the shipyards had a foul smell and her hair felt slimy. She coughed and spit and coughed again.
"Who's your target?"
Nothing.
"Who. Is. Your. Target?"
Refusing to answer, he started to push her under again when she cried out, "All right. All right."
"Target? Tony?"
"No." She coughed and vomited into the river. "You," she said. "You are my target."
Moss was right. "Who hired you?"
"I don't know," she said. "I never met him."
"Give me his name."
"I don't know his name," she replied.
He shoved the weakened woman underwater again, counted to thirty, and then pulled her head out of the water by her hair. "Give me a name now or the next time I pull you out of the water you'll be dead."
"A code name," she said. She was gagging and spitting river water. "That's all I know. A code name."
"I'm listening."
"Shepherd."
"What?" He was taken by surprise.
"He called himself Shepherd."
"I’ll be damned," he muttered to himself. "Çoban."
He started pulling Valkyrie back toward the loading dock.
"Shepherd," she said. "What does that mean?"
"Two things,” he said. “First, you get to live. And second, it means I'm going back to Lebanon."
44
Two CIA assets were standing next to Moss when Kaplan reached the loading dock with the injured
Valkyrie in tow. They pulled her from the water and field dressed her gunshot wound. She had lost a lot of blood in her struggle with Kaplan so he decided to send her with the two operatives to a secure CIA site in Manhattan that also housed an agency run trauma medical unit.
According to Valkyrie, Shepherd got his information about Kaplan from a paid informant at the agency. Not only did the United States Marshals Service have a leak, so did the CIA.
Identifying the mole at the CIA could prove a challenge. Whoever was on the payroll of the Hezbollah Sheik had covered his tracks well…or her tracks. Kaplan knew the CIA's own secret version of Internal Affairs would soon be hard at work digging and prying into anyone who might have had access to Kaplan's movements. In a sense, its tactics resembled the infamous Nutting Squads of the Irish Republican Army more than it did Internal Affairs. The Nutting Squad was known for putting bullets, or nuts as they were called in Belfast, in people's heads if suspected of passing information.
Of course, the agency had its own official Internal Affairs, but that group wouldn't be involved in ferreting out this mole. There would be nothing official about this investigation. Nothing legal about the secret team's methods and procedures for getting to the truth either, although the end result was often the same as the Nutting Squad—death.
No one in the agency would be safe from the exhaustive approach. And the first one under the microscope would be the man who knew the most about Kaplan's movements, his handler.
Kaplan and Moss started the long walk back to the burning warehouse while the two assets hauled Valkyrie away. Kaplan's clothes were soaked. While Kaplan was still in the water, Moss had removed the belt from his leg and allowed one of the assets, the same one who treated Valkyrie, to clean and apply QuikClot to his wound. After applying a clean dressing, he secured it by wrapping duct tape around the deputy's calf. Moss barely showed any signs of a limp as he walked next to Kaplan.
Blown Page 21
