by Cat Connor
Rick breathed in, and frowned. I figured he was listening to a voice in his ear. His eyes locked on mine and he spoke, “We got a clear radiation reading.”
“That means what?”
“Could be plutonium, it’s more radioactive than the HEU. You need less. About nine pounds of plutonium-239. ”
“HEU?”
“Highly Enriched Uranium.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah. My team are going back in – they’ll find it,” Rick said.
Andrews rejoined us. He and Rick shook hands like old friends.
“Good to see you. How’s the family?” Andrews said.
“All good. Yours?”
“Same,” Andrews replied. “We got it covered go find that crap.”
Man stuff over. Rick walked toward his command truck. Andrews went one way and Tony the other, both talking to their teams via whatever fancy comms system they were wearing. I walked the perimeter. There was no one standing around watching the commotion. The buildings stood silent, their corners bathed in security lighting or street lamps. No shadows concealed interested onlookers. I didn’t for one-minute think Chad wasn’t out there in the dark, watching, waiting. If his shipment of fissile material was in the theater, he wasn’t going to let us get it. Up until that point, I’d thought Chad was an intelligence officer working clandestine cases. No way did an intelligence officer make the shots that took Lee out. I headed for the SWAT command truck and knocked on the door. It opened.
A man smiled down at me. “Come on in, Agent Conway.”
I swung up the steps and in the door. Andrews swiveled in his chair and greeted me. The door banged shut.
“Something wrong?”
“Yeah, can you get a secure line from in here?”
Andrews nodded. He motioned for me to sit next to him, then handed me a phone receiver. “Go ahead.” He pointed to the keypad.
I pressed buttons and waited for Tierney to answer the phone on the desk in my office. He did.
“What was Chad’s position with the Agency?”
“Clandestine ops,” he replied.
“He didn’t do any wet work, did he?” Wet work was a euphemism for murder or assassination; the term amused me, in a perverse kind of way.
“We, ah, we, don’t do that kind of thing,” Tierney replied.
“Sure, of course you don’t.” Watch out for low flying pigs. “He’s more than an Intel officer, what’s his designation?”
“Protective Agent.”
“Protective Agent?”
“Yes.”
“So I’m looking for someone who has war zone deployment experience, strong knowledge of all facets of protective ops, leadership and management skills, and extensive medical experience?”
“Yes.”
“And he has extensive analytical skills?”
“Yes.”
Andrews leaned closer. “Probably military background, special operations.”
I nodded. “Or SWAT.”
“Military,” Tierney said.
At that moment, the door flew open and a heavily armed man charged up the steps. As the door banged shut, flashes of light and gunfire erupted on the street.
I hung up.
“Problem?” I asked the armed man.
“Ma’am, we’re taking fire.”
No kidding.
Andrews was talking to someone. I couldn’t hear him clearly.
My phone rang. It was Sandra.
“Make it quick and give me good news,” I said.
“Neighbors reported a car outside Tierney’s place. I tracked it through the traffic cameras. Possible location of Mrs. Tierney is the Rosslyn Metro station.”
I thought for a second.
“That works, timewise.”
“Analysis of the video suggests underground, so yeah.”
“Right, let Sam know. I’ll pick him up and we’ll go get her.”
“Be safe,” Sandra said and hung up.
I turned my attention on the man by the door with the assault rifle. He was blocking the exit.
“You are?”
“Jerry Dixon,” he replied without moving his eyes from the monitor across the walkway from him.
“Single shooter?”
“No, ma’am.”
Damn. I really hoped Chad was a solitary lunatic.
Dixon pointed at the screen. “See that? Our team is taking fire from three directions.”
“Crap.”
“I’ve called for backup – could be awhile,” Andrews said sliding his chair left and opening a cabinet under the desk space. “There’s another situation teams are dealing with. Busy night.”
“I need to get out of here. There’s a hostage, we might know where she is,” I said.
Andrews extracted a gun case and slid it across the steel floor to me. Steel on steel grated, setting my teeth on edge. I grabbed it and lifted it the rest of the way. He pulled out another case then shut the cabinet. I unclipped the latches on the case and opened the lid. Movement caught my eye, Andrews stood in front of me holding a Kevlar vest. I grinned and took it from him. As I fastened the Velcro, he passed me a dual in-ear headset.
Dixon looked up for a split second then went back to the monitor.
“Nice,” I muttered. “No throat mic.”
“Bone conduction technology. Captures the voice from your inner ear – much clearer. Plus these sets protect your hearing from gunfire and so forth while still allowing combat awareness,” Andrews said, attaching the unit to my shoulder and push-to-talk switch to the front of my vest just below my shoulder. He picked out a helmet from a long cabinet and placed it on my head.
“Do it up,” Andrews instructed.
I did and lifted the assault rifle from the case. It was a familiar weapon. SIG SG 551.
Dixon spoke, “Kris is pinned down.”
“Can you get to him?” Andrews asked.
“Yes.” He glanced at me. “You want me to escort Conway out of the kill zone?”
“Yeah, but go help Kris first.”
“You want me to wait here?” I asked, hoping the answer was no.
Andrews looked at Dixon. “Take Conway with you.”
He nodded.
“On my six, Conway. I move, you move.”
“Yes.”
“Keep your head down, Conway,” Andrews said and winked at me.
“Door,” Dixon said. We were moving as one until in a secure position. One deep breath and the door opened. Dixon nodded. We moved into the night.
Chapter Eleven
Too much of a good thing.
Dixon’s voice was super clear in my ear despite him being six feet in front of me, hard up against a building. “I need to get height. Kris is on our three. We’re going inside this building and up. From what I could tell from the angle of the shots fired at Kris, the shooter could be on this roof.”
I looked up. The building wasn’t very tall. Maybe only three stories.
“Okay.”
“Conway? Did you hear me?” Dixon looked at me, waved and pointed to his ear.
“Yes,” I replied, nodding my head.
He shook his head slowly from side to side and pointed to his ear again. I gave him a thumbs up, so he knew I understood he was having trouble hearing me. He was watching me so I reverted to hand signals, to let him know I understood exactly what he’d said.
I pointed to the building he’d talked about then made a sweeping upward motion with my hand, then held my left hand up and touched the top of my fingers with the side of my other hand. He gave me a thumbs up in return as he said, “Let’s do it. You’re number two.”
I signaled two then pointed to myself. He pointed at me, extended his arm, then bent his arm at the elbow bringing his arm toward him, and then pumped his fist. Come to me, double time.
I ran over to Dixon and stopped behind him.
“Saddle up, Conway, we’re going in.” I put my left hand on his shoulder in preparation for us moving. His job was to secure the righ
t-hand side and corner. Mine was to secure the left. We’d clear every room or lobby, stairwell, and finally the roof like that. With his comms out everything would be physical signals. Luckily for Dixon I regularly trained with SWAT and I knew all their signals, or used to train with them. I hadn’t since Carla died.
One squeeze of Dixon’s shoulder let him know I was ready for him to move. He nodded. We cleared the lobby and stairwell, then started our ascent. The stairs were dark.
“Lights,” Dixon said. I acknowledged his command by turning on the tactical light on my weapon. We were close to the wall and close to each other, moving quietly. I reminded myself to only move as fast as I could accurately shoot.
Dixon stopped before the last door with his finger to his lips. Silence. He cupped his ear with his hand. Listening. Then moved his index finger and thumb in a talking motion. Someone was on the roof and talking. Dixon pointed to me then tapped the top of his head and pointed to himself. He wanted me to cover him. I made the okay sign and took a breath. The door opened a crack.
Dixon paused with his hand cupped around his ear. Listening. He signaled there was one person talking. Then pointed in the direction he was going. I okayed him and readied to fire.
We both entered the roof space. Dixon crept to the left. I stayed close enough to cover him and watched both him and the space in front of us. There was a large enclosed shed in the middle of the roof; it probably contained the air conditioning plant. It provided cover for the Unsub and us. Dixon waved to get my attention; he was on the left side of the shed. I did a thumbs up and watched.
In the moonlight, his hands moved with slow precision. He held up his index finger then pointed while his thumb extended downward, rubbed the side of his face, then grabbed his own wrist with his hand, finally made a gun sign, then held his hands apart about shoulder width.
One contact, male, suspect, with a long gun. I replied with the okay symbol. Could be the shooter that had Kris pinned down.
Dixon continued. He pointed to me and then moved his arm as if going around a corner. He wanted me to go around the corner. He pointed to himself and indicated to the other corner. I okayed him. He held up three fingers. We were going on one.
Three seconds later, we could both see the Unsub. He was lying on the edge of the rooftop with an assault weapon. Dixon held his fingers to his lips. He wanted to take him quietly. He pushed his finger in the direction of the Unsub. I nodded.
We arrived together, one on each side and three feet away from the suspect.
“FBI. Put the weapon down,” Dixon said with quiet authority.
No fuss.
The male rolled with the weapon. Dixon fired.
I pressed the push-to-talk button on my vest. “Unsub down,” I said. “Roof clear.”
Andrews voice came back in my ear, “Kris can move. Good job people. Conway, is Dixon with you?”
I pressed the button again. “Yes, he lost hearing.” I heard Dixon speaking. He repeated what I’d said to Andrews.
I knelt down and photographed the dead Unsub then sent the photo to Sandra with a note to identify him.
“Let’s go,” Dixon said. “Better get you out of here so you can go find the woman.”
“Okay.”
We exited the same way we came in, together and carefully. Dixon and I stuck close to the buildings all the way to my car. We checked the car. It was clean.
There was still occasional firing from behind us. NEST was still inside the theater. The bomb squad were in their armored truck waiting.
I handed Dixon the rifle, helmet, vest, and comms gear. “Thank you.”
He gave it back to me. “Take it with you. You can drop it back in later and you’re welcome.”
“Thanks.” I opened the back door and placed the gear on the seat. Took the comms and handed that back. “This one works, yours doesn’t. Plus it won’t help me on the other side of the city.”
“Thanks.”
I waved as I pulled out.
Chapter Twelve
Borderline.
My first week back at work was definitely interesting. Sam was waiting on the side of the road out front of the hospital parking lot. I pulled over. He opened the passenger door and angled into the car.
“Lee?” I asked, checking my mirrors.
“Still in surgery. His dad rang from Dulles to say they had landed.”
“You see them?” I pulled out into the roadway.
“Not here yet. Tara is waiting for them.”
Sam’s hand brushed at something on my shoulder then rubbed his fingers against his thumb and sniffed at them.
“What?” I asked.
“Blood?”
Oh, right.
“Yeah. Check the backseat. It’s been a busy night.”
He turned his head. “SWAT. You been playing with Andrews again?”
“A little bit.” The closer we got to our target area the more traffic we encountered. “I think Lee was shot by Chad to get Tierney out of his safe zone and disrupt his efforts to locate Chad.”
“Why?”
“Chad’s gone rogue. He’s working with a terror cell he was supposed to be gathering Intel on. I’ve got NEST looking for fissile material in the theater we were in earlier tonight.” I glanced at my watch. “Make that last night.”
We crossed the river on Key Bridge and arrived in Rosslyn, Virginia.
I found a park.
“You wearing that gear?” Sam asked.
“I think so, I think Tierney’s wife is alone but can’t be sure.” Wouldn’t hurt to carry the assault rifle, as well as my Glock. Got the gear may as well use it. I popped the trunk release for Sam. While he took a bulletproof vest from the trunk, I wrestled myself back into the SWAT vest. Then dragged the rifle from the car, dropped the sling over my head and adjusted the position of the weapon. I checked to make sure I could comfortably and quickly reach my side holster and hand gun. All good. The last thing I did was pull on the Kevlar helmet. It didn’t hurt to try to prevent more scrambled brains.
The trunk closed. Sam stood next to me. I shut the car door and dropped the keys into a pocket on the vest, pressing the Velcro closed.
“Where are we going?”
“Down into the metro. She’s in there somewhere,” I replied.
“You sure it’s down and that she’s not in one of the offices or stores above ground?”
“It’s not an exact science. Sandra thinks down.”
He nodded. Down it was.
As much as I hated elevators, there was something worse: the ridiculously steep and long escalators leading to the platform in Rosslyn station. I tried the doors. Locked. Not ideal.
Sam pointed out the cameras and a security plaque. It was a monitored area.
I rattled the door again. There was a phone number on the plaque.
“How long do you think it will take for security to bring keys?”
“We’ve got keys …” Sam said, nodding at the shotgun in his hands.
Shotgun. Master key.
Yes.
“Tell me you have breaching rounds.”
“Chicky,” Sam replied with a grin. “Stand aside.”
I flipped off the camera and stepped aside. Sam’s grin widened. “Avon calling!”
Three loud blasts reverberated. Sam took out the lock and hinges then pushed the door inward. It fell with a thud. We walked over it and entered the building. As far as we could tell from the upper level, it was deserted. So much for security. No one had arrived.
The escalators were frozen in sleep. I don’t know what is worse, them moving or stationary. I peered over the edge. Steep. I reminded myself it was only an escalator not a rock face. That didn’t work. Rock climbing I love, steep steel steps leading to darkness and death by concrete, not so much.
“Down,” I said. My words echoed into the cavern below. I turned to Sam. “If anyone’s down there they’ll know we’re here.”
“Yep.”
“There’s no cover on
ce we start down those steps,” I said.
“I know.”
I held my right hand out. Our hands brushed across each other’s, fingertips catching.
“Alert and safe.”
“I’ll take point,” Sam said.
Sam headed down the steps in front of me. I was three steps behind, eyes focused on the platform below.
A slow measured descent, guided only by dim security lighting. I held a sigh of relief in check as we stood by a wall at the bottom of the vast escalators.
“To the platform?” Sam asked.
“Yes. I think there are supply rooms down here somewhere.”
We stood against the wall for a moment, getting our bearings and listening for sounds of life. A faint metal against metal noise.
“This way,” I said to Sam, leading the way. “I think.”
The same sound grew louder as we walked.
Two doors in the wall, six feet apart.
I tried the first door handle. Locked. Walked on to the second. Locked.
Standing on the platform between the doors, I looked at Sam.
The metal upon metal noise was clearer now. Something metal knocking against more metal. But it seemed to come from both doors.
Sam stepped forward and knocked on the door nearest him, then glanced over at me.
“What’s her name?”
“Mary Tierney.”
He knocked again. “Mary! Mary Tierney!”
Shuffling, knocking metal and muffled vocal noises came from the other door.
“Other door, Sam.”
Sam leaned an ear on the door. “Yep. Don’t think she’s close to the door. Hard to tell.” He inspected the door. Solid wood. “We could call in a specialist and use a shaped charge … or …”
“Or you could use the universal key.”
“Time frame?”
“We may not have time to wait for a tech. We’re already looking for bomb components. She could be attached to an IED.”
“Key then.” Sam banged on the door and called out. “If you can get to cover, do so. Breaching the door in three, two, one …” He fired three rounds at the hinges and one at the lock. Wood flew. Sawdust puffed into the air and the door fell with an almighty crash.
Sam was first through the door, he swept right. I swept left. The only person in the room was a woman attached to a pipe. Looked like a water pipe. My eyes followed her eyes to the ground. Damn.
