by Stephen Frey
“Then they’ll kill you!” she screamed as her rant turned maniacal. “They’ll rip you apart limb from limb for this!”
When the little boy’s wrists were snapped tightly to the copper pipe, Maddux’s gaze rose triumphantly to hers. “‘They’?” he asked as he stalked to where she sat and leaned down close again. “Who do you mean, ‘they’?”
“I didn’t mean it,” she hissed before she spat in his face. “I misspoke, you animal.”
“I don’t think so.” He smiled sadistically even as he calmly wiped her warm saliva off his skin. She probably assumed he’d strike her after spitting on him that way. So it would scare her more when he didn’t. “I know exactly what you meant. You meant the men who killed all those innocent people at the mall in Tysons Corner yesterday.”
“What people?”
He chuckled as he moved back to where the little boy stood. “Don’t give me that, Imelda. Talk to me, or your son dies.”
“Get away from him!”
“Mommy!” the boy shouted as Maddux skinned a long knife from the sheath hanging off his belt. “Mommy, help me, please.”
The long, serrated blade glistened in the light of the lone bulb dangling from the ceiling. Maddux stepped behind the boy, grabbed him by the hair, pulled his chin up, and placed the blade at his tiny throat. “Talk to me, woman. Tell me what you know.”
Her rage evaporated as the tip of the blade punctured her son’s soft skin. “Don’t kill him.” Blood seeped from the wound and dripped down his neck. “Oh, God, don’t kill him. Kill me instead.”
“Mommy! Mommy, help me!”
“Talk to me!” Maddux shouted, raising his voice as his predatory instincts reached the surface and his blood boiled. “Tell me everything.”
“I can’t tell you anything. I don’t know anything.”
“I’ll give you one more chance, Imelda.”
“Mommy, Mommy. I’m scared!”
“I swear I know nothing.”
“Mommy, I—”
Maddux drew the razor-sharp blade deliberately and deeply across the boy’s throat. The boy gurgled for a few moments as he mouthed words soundlessly. Then he exhaled heavily one final time, his tiny chin fell to his chest as Maddux let go of his hair, and his body crumpled to the floor—twisted in an awkward way around the pipe.
The woman’s tears began to flow like swollen rivers running to the sea. “You, you…you are the devil.” It was all she could gasp. For several moments she hyperventilated, unable to speak as she barely maintained consciousness. “I hate you.”
“Get in line.”
“You will pay.”
“We’ll see.” She probably wished she could pass out, but she wouldn’t. Her breathing was already turning more regular. “Now you’ll talk to me,” he whispered as he moved behind her, bent down, and put his lips to her ear. “Now you’ll tell me everything I want to know.”
“You can do anything you want to me now.” Imelda sobbed loudly. “I don’t care anymore about anything.”
“Yes you do, sweetheart. Oh, yes you do.”
“You really are the devil,” she whispered. “No person could be this evil.”
“The term is committed,” Maddux said. “No one can be this committed. And yes, I am. Now, who carried out those attacks yesterday? Who killed all those people in Tysons Corner?”
“I will tell you nothing.”
He moved in front of her again. “You know, don’t you?”
“Maybe,” she whispered, “but you’ll never get it out of me. You think you’re committed to your way of life, but you have no idea.” She glanced down at her dead son. “I won’t trade what I know for anything. Nothing you could do would change that.” She nodded at the boy’s body. “I’ve already proven that.”
For a few moments Maddux stared at Imelda in complete and utter awe. The mother-child relationship was the strongest bond in nature as far as he was concerned. No other came close in terms of loyalty and sacrifice. But she’d watched her son die—her most critical life’s work had been snuffed out in front of her, and she could have saved him. But she hadn’t.
Maddux’s awe turned to fear. It was an emotion he rarely experienced. Now he knew how committed these people were to their objective; now he understood what they intended to do. They meant to change America’s way of life forever, to reverse the freedoms its people had enjoyed for hundreds of years. They meant for everyone to fear for their lives every moment of the day. They wanted to turn the idyllic American existence into a nightmare ruled by paranoia, and they didn’t care what it took to do it.
What made this all so powerful for him was that he suddenly realized they might succeed. These were people of unprecedented will. They would do anything for their cause. The proof of that had unfolded right here in front of him. They would sacrifice their sons and daughters for the cause, even watch as they died. For them the whole was so much more important than any of the pieces.
In America that wasn’t necessarily true anymore. Many of the pieces believed they were infinitely more important than the whole. Perhaps that incredibly selfish me-first and live-for-the-moment attitude that seemed to dominate American society was the bellwether signal of the nation’s ultimate and unavoidable demise. Maybe now he understood what the country was up against. Maybe the enemy wasn’t these people. Maybe the country’s true enemy was itself. He blinked several times. And how did you fight that?
“Have you ever heard the name Jack Jensen?” he asked as once more he leaned down with his hands on the arms of the chair so his face was very close to hers. It was time to end this. He had to get to North Carolina.
“Maybe.” Her tone was hollow now, almost robotic.
“Tell me the truth and I’ll make sure you die quickly. You won’t suffer.”
“I’ve heard the name.”
“Did your people kill him?”
The woman stared straight back into Maddux’s cold eyes. “I won’t tell you. You can do anything you want to me, but I won’t tell you.”
CHAPTER 14
“HELLO, DAD.” Troy was just pulling away from the hospital in the backseat of a cab headed for Dulles Airport. He needed to get back on the G450 and get farther south. The other two men accompanying him on tonight’s mission were probably already in North Carolina. “How are you?”
“Busy.”
The number that had come up on Troy’s phone was his father’s private cell—Bill carried two at all times; however, not many people had the digits to this one. Still, Troy assumed Bill was calling from his corner office that overlooked Wall Street from ten floors up. He had a First Manhattan board meeting later this afternoon.
Last night on the flight up from DC, Bill had admitted that the funeral and all that was going on with Red Cell Seven hadn’t given him much time to prepare. He was worn out, physically and emotionally, so his drive to prepare wasn’t what it should have been. After they’d taken off from Reagan Airport, he’d reviewed a few files covering the bank’s performance but then quickly closed the laptop and shut it off. Typically, Bill used every spare minute to get things done, so it was unusual to see him do that, especially with the board meeting looming.
First Manhattan meetings weren’t chummy, softball-question-only affairs like they were at some big, publicly held companies. Bill had packed the board with tough independent thinkers. And the culture of striving for perfection from the top down was reflected in the firm’s consistently strong earnings. First Manhattan had become Wall Street’s gold standard, and Bill had driven the firm to that level with his unparalleled work ethic and steadfast determination. But the quarterly meetings were still stressful. He was held accountable by that board.
“I’m sure you are busy, Dad. I know those board meetings are tough.”
“Thorough,” Bill said tersely. “Did you hear about the latest attack?”
>
Troy grimaced. “No.” What was it this time? “I just left the hospital in northern Virginia. I saw that young woman who survived the Tysons attack. Now I’m heading for—” Troy stopped himself. “Well, you know.”
“Uh-huh.”
“So, what happened? They hit another mall?”
They’d discussed this possibility last night on the plane after Bill had turned off his computer. They’d both assumed the death squads wouldn’t wait long to strike again. Apparently, they’d been right.
“No. This time they attacked an elementary school in a quiet suburb of Springfield, Missouri.”
“Bastards,” Troy whispered. “They’re making a statement, Dad. They’re telling the world that everyone in America is vulnerable.”
“This is as bad as it gets.”
“What happened?”
“First and second graders were eating lunch when three guys in ski masks entered the cafeteria from a hallway and opened fire with automatic weapons. It was the same story as the malls except this was a school.”
“Was there a guard?”
“He was killed, shot through the back.”
“He was running away?”
“Yes.”
Troy gritted his teeth as he imagined the terrible chaos and the carnage. These were well-trained killers with automatic weapons. Some poor security guard with a pistol was no match for them. You really couldn’t blame the guy for running. “Anyone caught?”
“No. Apparently, these guys aren’t just excellent killers. They’re escape artists as well. Every individual attack is meticulously planned. They have lots of vehicles they’re willing to abandon, which don’t give us any clues when we find them. They must have plenty of places to hole up, too. My guess is they aren’t using hotel or motel rooms, because they’d be easy to spot at those places. They’re using apartments or, more likely, stand-alone houses they’ve been living in for a while, so people around them don’t notice anything different now that the attacks have begun. They may even have families with them who have no idea what’s really going on, or are plants and are in on it. Either way, it helps these guys camouflage themselves. The only positive I can come up with in all of this is that it’s a fairly big operation, which means there’s a meaningful money trail somewhere. There has to be.”
“There always is with something big.”
“And I’m in a uniquely good position to find it,” Bill pointed out. “I’ve already got people on it.”
“Have you talked to the chairman again?” Troy asked, using the code they always used—on landlines or cells—to refer to President Dorn.
“No,” Bill answered curtly. “And I don’t see any reason to. As always, we’ll go our own way. If he wants to talk, he knows how to reach me. Otherwise we stay independent, as we always have.”
Troy wanted to push. He wasn’t convinced David Dorn had really changed his view on Red Cell Seven the way he claimed, especially after Stewart Baxter had slammed them so badly yesterday in the residence right after word of the initial attacks had come down. Plus, Dorn had pushed so hard on the specific whereabouts of the original Executive Orders Nixon had signed. Dorn had claimed he wanted to make sure the cell wasn’t vulnerable. But his agenda could easily be exactly the opposite.
Troy wanted to push, but he held off. His father already had a full plate today. And cell phones could never be trusted.
“I bet the chairman’s meeting with his guy right now. I bet he’s telling his guy everything you told him yesterday. That guy’s a snake. Truth be told, I’m not so sure about the chairman, either.”
“Easy,” Bill cautioned. “We don’t want to assume anything.”
“Dad, I—”
“I hear you, son, and I’m running some deep-water G-2 lines as we speak. He did it to us. Now it’s our turn to do it. If anything’s down there in the depths, we’ll find it—and at the appropriate time, use it. I promise.”
“I don’t trust that guy or the chairman. I know I should because of who he is and where my loyalties should lie, given what I do. But I don’t, Dad. I fully understand and appreciate the oath I took six years ago. But I’ve got a bad feeling about all this, and I trust my gut.”
“As you should, son. What about your visit to the hospital?” Bill asked, switching gears. “How’d that go?”
Troy glanced out the cab’s window at the airport tower in the distance, aware that he’d hit a sensitive topic for his father. You were always loyal to the president as far as Bill was concerned. Full stop—which was what made that question he’d considered asking a few moments ago so compelling.
“It was kind of strange, in a couple of ways.”
“How?”
“The doctor said something interesting.”
“What?”
“He said the woman was shot in the back from point-blank range.”
“That’s ridiculous. Those attacks were spray-and-away deals. We know that.”
“That’s what I told him.”
“But?”
“She has two bullet wounds, one in her shoulder and one in her back. The doctor figures the wound in her shoulder was caused by a bullet fired from an automatic weapon during the initial burst. But he thinks the second one, the one in the middle of her back, was made by a bullet from a pistol that was literally pressed against her body when it was fired.” Troy waited for a response or a reaction from the other end of the connection, but nothing came. “Dad?”
“Yeah, was there anything else?”
“The doctor said the wound in the middle of her back came from a one-in-a-million shot.”
More dead air from the other end. What the hell?
“What did he mean by that?” Bill finally asked.
“That the wound should have killed her. Several vital organs are located right around the area where the bullet entered her body, but it didn’t hit any of them. It was like the bullet had eyes in terms of avoiding anything life-threatening. Hell, he said I’ll probably be able to talk to her in a couple of days.”
“Huh.”
“I put bodyguards outside her room. I don’t want the terrorists sneaking into the hospital to finish the job.”
“Good idea.”
“Who knows, Dad? Maybe she saw something that’ll help us catch the bastards.”
“Did you tell the guys you put in there to shoot to wound if there’s an attempt?”
“Absolutely. They get it. We’ll want to interrogate that guy immediately, and they understand that.”
“Did you tell them to get the guy out of there fast? We don’t want local authorities or any of the Feds getting him, because they won’t use the right techniques to assure answers.”
“The guys I put there to protect her understand, believe me, Dad. They’ve got a van in the hospital parking lot, and they know exactly who to call and where to take anyone they snare.”
“So, what’s his name?”
“Who?”
“The doctor.”
That was an odd question. “Uh, I think it was Harrison. Why?”
“I may want to talk to him.”
“Why would you want to—”
“You said there was something else,” Bill kept going. “You said your visit to the hospital was strange in a couple of ways. What was the other thing?”
Troy hesitated. The airport was getting close. Maybe now wasn’t the time to go into this.
“Son?”
“The woman who was shot,” Troy answered hesitantly.
“What about her?”
“She…she reminds me of Lisa.” Troy took a deep breath. “She actually looks like Lisa.”
“Don’t beat yourself up, son. I know where you’re going with this.”
Troy hadn’t expected that. He’d been ready for a tough response or no interest at all. “I
’m not. It’s just—”
“There’s nothing you could have done for Lisa. You were on a mission for your country. You were thrown off the Arctic Fire. You were fighting for your own life. You couldn’t have saved hers. You were thousands of miles away when she was killed.”
“She was killed because she knew me, Dad. I can’t ignore that.”
“We don’t know that for sure.”
“I do.”
“She could have stepped in front of a bus on Fifth Avenue, Troy. People die in many ways for many reasons. It was her time. I know you think it was Maddux, but it might not have been. We simply don’t know for sure, and you can’t assume anything. It could have been just a random act of violence. Her neighborhood wasn’t great.”
“Come on, Dad.”
“You can’t get mired down in the emotion of it. It wasn’t your fault. You have to put it out of your mind.”
“Yeah, but…”
“But what?”
Troy heard impatience creeping into his father’s voice for the first time, but he had to say this. He had to hear himself say it. “I loved Lisa.”
“You barely knew her.”
“I barely know anyone, Dad.” The words had come from his mouth without his even thinking about them. “I don’t have time. I never stay in one place long enough.”
“Son, you’ve got to—”
“We had a connection. It was real. I…I was actually thinking about asking her to marry me, and not just because of L.J.” The cab slowed down as it pulled up to the Dulles main terminal. This was the hard part. “I told her I was completely committed to her before I took off. But I…well, I was with a woman in Mexico before I went to Alaska.” He hated himself for that. “I can’t believe I did that.” The silence was deafening. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that.
“I know how you feel,” Bill finally spoke up quietly. “I understand. In fact, I more than understand.”
Unbelievable. Troy had never gotten that kind of compassion out of the old man—or that kind of subtle though clear admission to committing a wrong himself.
“Troy?”
“Yes, sir?”
