Hard Wired: A Jon Reznick Thriller (Jon Reznick series Book 3)

by JB Turner

  Reznick thought he was going to pass out. His heart was beating so hard. Burning lungs. He couldn't move.

  He felt his vision go.

  Reznick knew he was going to die. With his last breath, he willed himself to move. He began to crawl through the gas, rifle sights tight to his burning eye. He crawled as the coughing and pain in his back burned.

  He crawled. Yard. By yard. Back down the tunnel.

  A figure emerged, gas mask on, handgun pointing to the ground.

  Reznick was shaking. Sweating. He wanted to scream as he was burning from the inside. But he peered through his tears. Then he pumped the full magazine into the figure.

  Lights exploded all around, the sound unbearable. The man collapsed five yards or so from Reznick, blood oozing onto the floor.

  Reznick slumped to the ground as the darkness engulfed him

  SIXTY THREE

  Meyerstein watched, as the reinforced tungsten door was burned open by Rimmer's team. "Get in there quick!"

  The SWAT team kitted out with gas masks rushed in, night vision glasses and powerful flashlights, then strafed the inside of the tunnel. Dust, dirt and gas.

  The minutes seemed to drag.

  Meyerstein's earpiece crackled into life.

  "Ma'am," Rimmer's voice shouted, "it's a mess in here."

  "Where is Reznick? Where is Sazegara?"

  "That's a negative."

  "Find them!"

  Meyerstein waited with the rest of the FBI team. She paced back and forth. Her stomach churned. Stay calm. Focus.

  The time dragged. Seconds became minutes. And still nothing.

  "Talk to me, Rimmer!"

  No response.

  "Rimmer, where the hell are you?"

  A moment later. "We got something!" It was Rimmer's voice on the radio.

  "What is it?"

  "I think it's him?"

  "Who, goddamit!"

  A voice in the background shouted. "He's dead. No pulse."

  Meyerstein thought she was going out of her mind.

  "Rimmer, identify who is dead, do you copy?"

  A long silence opened up before he spoke. "He's is dead, under a pile of rubble. We're bringing him out."

  "Who is dead, Rimmer?"

  Rimmer was coughing down the line. "It's Sazegara. He's dead."

  "What about Reznick?"

  "Nothing so far."

  Meyerstein's heart was beating hard. A few minutes later the dust and blood covered body of Sazegara, was dragged out. An FBI photographer stepped forward and took over a dozen photos of the dead man. "I want this formally ID'd by Forensics ASAP!" she said to the photographer.

  "Ma'am, I'll send them right now."

  "Do it."

  Rimmer's voice in her ear. "Ma'am . . . there's a lot of rubble. I don't think . . ."

  "Don't think. Find Reznick."

  "What I've got a visual on something. Bear with me . . . We're trying to get to . . ." A long sigh. "Ma'am, we're through."

  "Tell me what is going on!"

  Silence.

  "Special Agent Rimmer, what the hell is going on? Will you please answer me?"

  "It's the woman. Dead."

  "Reznick?"

  "We've found him."

  "And?"

  "Reznick isn't . . . ma'am, Jon Reznick isn't breathing. No pulse."

  Meyerstein turned her back on the other agents to compose herself. "FBI Medics?"

  A voice in her ear said, "They're working on him, ma'am."

  "Do not give up on him! Do you hear me?"

  The other agents stared at her but said nothing.

  Meyerstein paced the area. Come on, come on, come on.

  A few moments later the Mexican's body was brought out, photographed and laid beside the Iranian.

  Meyerstein prayed Reznick's body wouldn't be next. Time seemed to have stopped.

  She felt tears well up. She dug her thumbnails into the palm of her hand to take her mind off Reznick. She thought of her father.

  Never let them see you cry. You're a woman. Crying will confirm you're weak.

  "They're working on him . . ."

  Meyerstein was snapped out of her thoughts by Rimmer's voice down the radio. "What?"

  "They've given him a shot of adrenalin . . ."

  Meyerstein heard a female medic in the back shout, Come on, Jon, come on. Wake up! Do you hear me! I will not goddamn give up on you do you hear me?

  Meyerstein felt faint. "Rimmer! What the hell is going on?"

  "Ma'am, we have a slight pulse . . . We need to get him out of here."

  It seemed like an age before Reznick was carried out on a gurney, covered in blood and dust, oxygen mask on, attached to a drip. She thought her heart was going to burst. She wanted to go and hug him. But she didn't. She went over, kneeled down and clasped his hand. "Jon, you're gonna make it, do you hear me?"

  His eyes remained closed throughout.

  "Goddamit! You get him to hospital now, do you hear me! Chopper straight to San Diego!"

  The team rushed to the waiting chopper and in less than five minutes, Reznick was strapped in and on his way.

  Meyerstein rode in the helicopter with Reznick. She closed her eyes, as he lay on the gurney, strapped into the back seats, medics still working on him.

  Do not give up.

  Meyerstein kneeled down beside him and held his hand, covered in blood and dust as the paramedics worked frantically.

  A paramedic said, "Goddamn, we're losing him! Blood pressure dropping!"

  Meyerstein squeezed Reznick's hand tight. "You will not die on me, Jon, do you hear me?"

  The words were out before she realized what she had said.

  The hours that followed were like a blur for Meyerstein. Reznick was rushed in to the University of California San Diego Medical Center as soon as the chopper landed. He was fighting for his life as the surgeons operated.

  The hours dragged right through till dawn when a surgeon emerged from the operating theatre.

  "Assistant Director Meyerstein?" he asked.

  Meyerstein got to her feet. "Yes doctor, how is he?"

  The doctor sighed. "He is critical. But . . . he is alive."

  "Alive. Alive is good. Thank God."

  The doctor smiled but said nothing.

  Meyerstein slumped back into the chair with relief.

  "We have operated on his gun shot wounds. Miraculously, it has missed the spine and major organs. But he has lost a lot of blood. He had gone into cardiac arrest, but I think the FBI Medics have saved him."

  Meyerstein nodded.

  "He's conscious. He's very drowsy with the sedatives. But we think he's going to pull through."

  "I need to see him?"

  "That's not possible."

  "I said I need to see him."

  The doctor said, "He needs to rest."

  "I just want to see him."

  The doctor took a few moments before he relented. Meyerstein was handed a gown and was escorted through to the ICU. She walked over to his bed by the window and pulled up a seat.

  Reznick's eyes were shut.

  Meyerstein felt tears spill down her face. "Jon, I'm so sorry."

  Slowly he began to open his eyes. Blue, pupils like pinpricks. A smile, or maybe it was a smirk, crossed his face.

  Meyerstein wiped her eyes. "Good to see you, Jon."

  Reznick said nothing.

  "And thank you."

  "For what?"

  "For being the most stubborn sonofabitch I've ever known."

  Reznick smiled at her for what seemed like an eternity. "Did I get them?"

  "You got them, Jon."

  And with that, he closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep.

  EPILOGUE

  Six long months later, as the sun set over Rockland, Maine, throwing tangerine ripples across the water, Meyerstein stepped out of the SUV. She saw Reznick at the far end of the breakwater, staring out over the water. His hands were thrust deep into his pockets. She walked o
ver the granite slabs towards him. He turned around and stared at her.

  "Meyerstein?" he said.

  Reznick seemed genuinely surprised. "What brings you up here to Maine? You're miles out of your comfort zone. "

  Meyerstein ran a hand through her hair and smiled. She sighed. "Hello, Jon. When did you get out?"

  "Just over a week ago."

  "You should've called."

  Reznick said nothing.

  "How are you feeling?"

  "I'll live."

  Meyerstein reached into her pocket and handed him a sealed white envelope with the Presidential stamp on it.

  "What's this?"

  "Open it and find out."

  Reznick stared at the envelope. "From the President, huh?"

  Meyerstein shrugged.

  Reznick whistled and ripped open the envelope. He pulled out the letter and read the handwritten note from the President.

  "They want you to go to the White House," she said. "A special ceremony."

  Reznick looked sad as he stared out over the water.

  "What is it?"

  Reznick said nothing.

  "A personal invitation."

  Reznick sighed. "I can't accept it."

  Meyerstein hadn't seen it coming. "I'm sorry I don't follow. Why not?"

  "'Cos it's bullshit."

  "Jon, this is an invitation from the President. He wants to thank you in person."

  Reznick's gaze flickered round the bay. "I don't need his thanks. I don't need anyone's thanks."

  Meyerstein was taken aback by his response. "I thought you would be pleased."

  Reznick looked again at the letter. "They want to honor me? For what?"

  "For your courage. For tracking Sazegara down. You did it. You took them down."

  Reznick sighed.

  Meyerstein moved closer to him. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you would react like this or I wouldn't have sprung this on you."

  Reznick pointed over to the island in the distance. "My father used to take me out on his boat every day in the summer, no matter the weather."

  Meyerstein said nothing.

  "Served his country too. You know what he got for his trouble?"

  Meyerstein shook her head.

  "He got a lousy government pension and a shitty job in a sardine packing factory. The bravest man I've ever met. They didn't give him a thank you. Left him to sink into alcoholism, and an early grave."

  "Jon, can't you accept it for him?"

  Reznick looked at her and bowed his head, letter crumpled in his fist. He dropped it in the water and it floated out into the bay. "I don't like politicians."

  "Neither do I. But this is the President."

  Reznick said nothing.

  "Well, no matter . . . for what it's worth, I don't much like the President either."

  Reznick smiled. "He's an asshole."

  "They're all assholes."

  "You sound like my father."

  Meyerstein turned and saw her Feds watching from the shore.

  Reznick looked over towards them. "You got company."

  "I've always got company. Never a moment to myself."

  "You drive all the way up here?"

  "We flew."

  Reznick nodded.

  "How's Lauren?"

  "Costing me a goddamn fortune. She got into some liberal arts college in Vermont."

  "Bennington?"

  "Yeah, Bennington. How did you know?"

  "I know a lot of stuff."

  Reznick smiled.

  "Well, that's fantastic news. Thought she was lined up for Princeton."

  "She was. Changed her mind."

  "You must be really proud."

  "I would be if I knew what it goddamn well meant."

  Meyerstein smiled. "Can I ask you something?"

  Reznick shrugged.

  "I was looking back through the files a few days ago. And the timeline shows that it started with a call from Charles Burns. And you headed down to Miami, and from there it all just snowballed."

  "True."

  "I don't know many people would've done that for someone who wasn't their flesh and blood."

  "Meyerstein, that's where you're wrong. We are flesh and blood. He was like a brother. All of them were. They were all mean bastards in their own way. But we were a family. We fought together. And sometimes we spilled blood together. But we were always family. Always will be."

  The sun had turned the water a pale red. "You're never going to leave here, are you?"

  Reznick said nothing.

  "I don't blame you. It's beautiful."

  Reznick nodded. "It's changed a whole lot since I was a kid."

  Meyerstein stared out over the water. "It's got something we seem to have lost along the way. I don't know what it is. But Rockland has it."

  Reznick looked at her and smiled. "It gets harsh in the winter mind you."

  "So does Chicago."

  Reznick cocked his head. "You wanna walk."

  "You got anything in mind?"

  "There's a great place . . . clam chowder and cold beers like you wouldn't believe."

  Meyerstein smiled back at Reznick. "That'd be nice."

  Reznick stood in silence for a moment before they walked back along the breakwater to the shore, the silhouettes of the Feds in the distance.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I would like to thank the following people for their help and support:

  Many thanks to my agent Carrie Pestritto in New York for her hard work, enthusiasm and belief in this book. Special mention must go to Angela D Bell, FBI, in Washington DC who was my first port of call when I began the research into the Jon Reznick series of books. She assisted my numerous questions with good grace and impeccable professionalism.

  Last, my family and friends for their encouragement and support. None more so than my wife, Susan, who offered excellent advice, as each draft developed, coupled with no small amount of patience.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  JB Turner is a thriller writer. His latest book Hard Wired is the third in the acclaimed Jon Reznick political/government thriller series. He also wrote the two ‘Deborah Jones’ investigative crime thrillers, Miami Requiem and Dark Waters. He is a former journalist. He is married with two young children.