by Matthew Rief
FORTY
Jason pulled back on the throttle, easing the subway down to a leisurely five miles per hour. Letting out a long sigh, he regarded Charlotte who leaned against the dashboard beside him and was still catching her breath from the ordeal.
Jason closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her. “Scott mentioned you left Iceland.”
“Yeah, well, I couldn’t stand sitting back any longer.”
Jason noticed the fire extinguisher as it rolled forward beside them. “For a girl who specializes in digging up history, you sure made that look easy.”
“I wish I could’ve taken him down with my first attempt,” she said, wincing as she cradled her injured forearm.
Jason ran a hand over the reddened flesh and realized that fortunately no bones had been broken.
“Thank you, Charlotte,” he said, tilting back just enough for their eyes to meet. “This would’ve ended far differently had you not saved the day.”
Turning and focusing through the spiderwebbed glass around Haan’s body, Jason drove the line of cars past the platform at Penn Station. Once the front two cars were in the tunnel on the opposite side, he braked the subway to a stop and pulled down on the emergency lever.
Red lights flashed, and a low siren filled the air, broken up intermittently by a robotic voice requesting that all passengers disembark the train immediately. The doors opened, and the passengers flooded to the rear cars and out onto the platform.
Grabbing the cockpit phone, he placed an emergency call to police, requesting a hazmat unit to close off the scene. Jason and Charlotte kept the door to the cockpit locked shut, not wanting to risk potentially spreading any traces of the virus that may have spilled out onto him or any of the equipment. Grabbing a plastic bag from a nearby locker, Jason slid it over Haan’s head then taped it down around the dead man’s neck, doing everything he could to ensure that the virus remained secure.
Charlotte held out a first aid kit.
“You go ahead,” Jason said, motioning toward the archeologist’s forearm.
“Trust me, you look worse.”
Jason chuckled and grabbed the case. He took a peek at himself through the mirror, seeing the extent of the damage for the first time. His face was cut up and red, and his shirt was torn and partially soaked with blood.
As they waited for authorities to arrive, Jason leaned back and eyed Haan. Under different circumstances, he wondered at the life the man could’ve led. From his deep studies in international relations, he knew that from birth, Haan had been brainwashed by his oppressive government. And worse, it was a system that even if he hadn’t believed in it or wanted to escape, he couldn’t. For the man’s entire life, it had either been submit or die. Jason didn’t hate the man. He hated the circumstances that led to his actions.
They watched as police flooded into the terminal and onto the rear cars of the train. Within minutes, a hazmat team arrived and closed off the area. It took another half hour for them to fully inspect and clean Jason and Charlotte. A CIA agent approached and got them out of the questioning and normal protocols involved after such an incident.
“Any word from Scott and the others?” Charlotte said as the two stepped away from the army of detectives, police, and guys decked out in hazmat gear.
Jason slid out his phone as the two left the party early, heading for the stairs.
“Nothing yet.”
Jason’s body ached all over, and it took every ounce of remaining strength just to reach the top step and climb into an unmarked government vehicle alongside Charlotte. He was just about to place a call to Scott and the rest of the team, when their leader beat him to the punch.
“Sample in Heathrow is contained,” Scott said before giving him a quick rundown of what happened. “I hear you saw some action at Grand Central.”
“You could say that. The sample’s contained, as well. Any info on Kang or the final vial?”
“Nothing concrete yet, but we’ve got everyone on alert, and we’re currently tracking his aircraft.”
“What about the Chinese delegate in the Azores?” Jason said. “You heard anything from Finn?”
FORTY-ONE
Ponta Delgada, Sao Miguel
Azores
Zhao Song sat in a wooden chair in the living room of the apartment, his hands bound behind his back. The fifty-year-old Chinese diplomat had been held by the extremist group for nearly twenty-four hours, and it showed. He looked tired, his clothes ragged, and his hair messy. He eyed the three local criminals holding him hostage. One sat across from him, gazing at his phone, while another leaned into a refrigerator and pulled out a can of Sumol. The third paced back and forth near the door.
“What’s taking so long?” the pacing man said.
The biggest of the group cracked open the soda. “Relax, Cruz. No one knows we’re here.”
They’d driven into the biggest city on the island, parked in the garage, and escorted the Chinese politician without anyone noticing. The island’s authorities were far too occupied with the sunken jet to worry about some UNSC member from the other side of the world.
The anxious criminal checked his watch again, then turned his attention to their hostage. “Well, Zhao? Do you have anything to say?”
The dignitary remained quiet, staring back at the local thug.
“This job was supposed to be over hours ago,” Cruz added. “We were supposed to receive a call by now, get paid, and get the hell out of here.”
Zhao cleared his throat. “Plans change. You need to be more flexible.” His voice was calm and articulate, with no hint of worry. “And soon, we will get the call, and you and your men will be on your merry way . . . as they say.”
Cruz shook his head but withheld a rebuttal and resumed his pacing instead. Zhao looked at the clock ticking on the opposite wall. The criminals were right. It was taking longer than expected. But not for the call. Zhao had other plans in store.
Fifteen minutes later, Zhao’s true plan came to fruition as a swarm of cop cars descended on the apartment. Sirens filled the air, lights flashed, and handfuls of police officers stormed out of their squad cars and rushed into the downstairs lobby.
“What the hell is this?” Cruz said. “They can’t be coming for us. They have no idea we’re—”
“What the hell are we gonna do?” the big man grunted, finishing his soda and tossing the can into the trash.
“You need to hold them off,” Zhao said, trying his best to act surprised. His restraints allowed enough range of motion for him to slide his phone from his back pocket. “I’m bringing in backup. Just keep them out of the room for a few minutes.”
“A few minutes?” Cruz spat, gazing through the peephole in the door. He strode to the window and looked at the officers nine floors below. “We need to run. We need to—”
Zhao glared at him. “Run, and you don’t get paid.”
“That wasn’t the plan.”
“Like I said . . . plans change. Now hold them off!”
“How the hell are we supposed to—”
A fist pounded against the door. “Police! Open up!”
The three criminals knew the officers wouldn’t ask again. They’d barge right in there, guns drawn. They’d pin each of them down and lock them away for most of their lives.
Scrambling, Cruz looked around the room.
“What are we going to do?” the big man said.
Cruz looked to Zhao. “Backup’s on the way?”
“Just around the corner.”
Cruz nodded and withdrew his pistol. “Then we hold them off.”
The other two followed suit, removing their sidearms and taking aim toward the door across the living room. While they focused on the door, Zhao inched backward, moving himself out of harm’s way and toward a bookcase.
Another fist pounded on the
door, and another order to open up blared into the apartment. Cruz and his goons took cover, their pistols drawn. Seconds later, a metal-battering ram smashed into the door, splintering the slab free of its hinges. The officers came into view, and the criminals opened fire immediately, striking one of the officers in his vest before the police retaliated, blasting rounds into the apartment, punching holes through walls, and splintering cabinets. The criminal in front was riddled instantly and writhed to the floor. The other two slipped back behind their cover. Policemen barked and poured in, taking post down the short hallway.
“We have to surrender, Cruz!” the big man yelled.
Zhao crept his way to the bookcase as the police opened fire again, covering themselves. A bullet struck the big criminal in the leg, and he buckled, clasping the wound with his hands and losing control of his weapon. Peering back over his shoulder and feeling along the shelf, Zhao grazed a handgun. Gripping it with his hand, he jarred the chair around.
Cruz opened fire a second time before dropping back. “Hold on!” he shouted, then glanced back at Zhao. “Where’s the damn back—” The local criminal’s eyes sprang wide, and his mouth hit the floor. He tried to react—tried to spin around and train his weapon on the diplomat—but it was no use.
Zhao had his sights lined up and flexed his trigger finger, the hammer sparking the primer and sending a .45-caliber round bursting from the chamber and crashing into Cruz’s chest. Zhao discharged another round to ensure that the man was down, then fired again, finishing him off with a bullet to the head.
With the three criminals dead and police swarming toward him, Zhao dropped the pistol, letting the steel clatter against the old hardwood at his feet.
Officers quickly took over the scene, and after seeing that the apartment was clear of hostiles, freed the Chinese delegate of his restraints.
“You’re lucky to be alive,” one of the Portuguese officers said. When Zhao told them what had happened, the man added, “That was a brave thing you did taking these lowlifes down.”
Zhao shrugged, trying his best to act flustered. “It was the least I could do. But it was only possible because of you fine officers.”
Anna Johannsdottir appeared in the doorway. Zhao moved toward her, wrapping his arms around the beautiful Icelandic woman.
“I can’t tell you how good it is to see you,” she said. “When you disappeared back at the abandoned hotel, I thought you were a goner, for sure.”
“I thought the same thing about you,” he said, loosening his grip. “I only wish we could’ve been liberated sooner. I have info that could have helped us stop the terrorists before it was too late.” Zhao lowered his head.
“But they have been stopped,” Anna said. “I just received word of it. Both in New York and in London.”
Zhao fell silent for a moment, then snapped out of it. “How?”
She smiled and turned toward the door as Finn entered. “Him and his team. They figured everything out and immobilized the terrorists before they were able to release the virus.”
Finn introduced himself. “I wish we could’ve found you sooner. They did a good job keeping you hidden. Luckily, you were able to send that text off.”
Finn and Anna talked while Zhao remained quiet, and soon, the Icelander realized there was something on the diplomat’s mind. “Zhao, are you all right? You aren’t hurt, are you?”
Zhao cleared his throat. “I am . . . overcome with relief. And utterly exhausted.”
“I can imagine,” Anna said. “We have rooms booked at a local hotel. You can rest for a few hours, then we need to be on a plane to Washington, DC.”
“Why DC?”
“To meet with other members of the UN and various other agencies. Since the States were a major target for the attack, and the place where General Kang is believed to still be at large, it’s been chosen for the debrief and planning our next moves. We’re not quite out of the woods yet.”
Zhao stayed quiet for most of the trip to the Azor Hotel. The place overlooked a marina and the long stretch of seashore along the Atlantic. When Zhao made it to his room, he didn’t go straight for the shower, bed, or the room service menu. Instead, he stepped out onto the private balcony and withdrew a burner phone. Dialing a number he knew by heart, he listened to three hums before a voice answered.
“Is it just rumors, General, or is it true that you and your men have failed?” Zhao’s tone was as inviting as a bed of nails.
The General said, “I still have the final sample in my possession. This isn’t over.”
Zhao’s blood boiled, and he squeezed the phone. “You are a disgrace. Time and time again, you have been bested. Now this whole thing is down to its final hope.”
“It will still work, Zhao. I will follow through, as promised.”
“You will do exactly as I instruct you to do, General, like the puppet you are. Or do I need to remind you yet again what’s at stake?” The diplomat hesitated, letting his threat simmer. “They will die—all of them—if you let that sample get away from you.”
“It won’t get away,” the General snarled. “What do you instruct of me, Zhao?”
“Given our necessity to yet again change the plans, we will strike the United States through its heart . . . in the nation’s capital.”
FORTY-TWO
Washington DC
Two Days Later
Jason and Charlotte strolled hand in hand along Constitution Avenue, passing the capitol building, its white marble exterior lit up against the dark sky. They’d just wrapped up a brief with their team, as well as members of the NSA and CIA. General Kang still hadn’t turned up. Somehow, the North Korean general had managed to remain under the radar, out of sight, and out of mind in the States, even when every government agency was on the lookout for him.
With no leads, and with nothing to do but wait, Jason made reservations for them that evening at Fiola, a coastal, Michelin-star Italian restaurant they were both anxious to try. It’d been a while since either of them had had a proper sit-down meal, and Jason wanted to do something special since it was her last night in DC.
“I’ve been away long enough,” she said. “I keep away from my job for much longer, and I’m confident I’ll no longer have one.”
“You could always work with us on a permanent basis,” Jason said. “We could use someone with your expertise on the team. And you’ve proven yourself in Scotland, the Virgin Islands, Iceland. And not to mention that New York City subway.”
“I think I’ve read something about it not being the best idea to mix business and pleasure.”
Jason shrugged and brought her in closer. “Just an idea.”
“I’ll think about it. When you visit me in Boston, we can discuss it more.”
They continued along the reflecting pool, then onto one of the paths traversing the National Mall. Savoring each other’s company and the calm splendor of the June evening, they soon passed the National Gallery of Art and turned north into a narrow garden covered with flowers and flanked with old benches.
“It’s just two more blocks,” Jason said, directing her along the eastern side of the Smithsonian Museum and back toward Constitution.
“Now, there’s a place with quite the history,” she said. “You thought the bowels of the museum in Scotland was interesting . . .”
“You’ve been down there?”
“A handful of times. It’s like the ending of Indiana Jones.”
Jason smiled, the romantic idea of potential adventure twinkling in his eyes. “Maybe we’ll check it out sometime.”
Jason’s phone buzzed. He slid it out and saw a call from an unknown number. Stopping near the base of a sycamore tree, he answered, and a familiar voice came through the speaker.
“I heard you were in Washington,” Anna Johannsdottir said.
“The NSA pinpoints Kang to likely being somewh
ere in this area. What’s going on?”
“I think I might know where he is.”
Jason turned, letting a glow of moonlight illuminate his intrigued expression.
“Can you meet me? I’m at the Watergate Hotel. We should talk in person.”
“Everything all right?”
“Fine. I’m meeting with Representative Song, and he has new info that should wrap this thing up. But he wants you here. Room eleven oh four.”
After ending the call, Jason and Charlotte hopped into a cab and were dropped off in front of the Watergate five minutes later. The two entered the famous establishment and made their way to the eleventh floor and Anna’s west-facing suite at the end of the hall. Jason knocked, and the door opened moments later, revealing the Icelandic diplomat wearing her usual business suit with her blonde hair tied back.
“Thank you both for coming on such short notice. Come on in.”
Zhao, holding a glass of brandy, greeted Jason briefly, then eyed Charlotte. “I’m sorry . . . Miss Murchison, is it? Anna should have been more clear. This intel must remain in as few ears as possible. You understand.”
Jason crossed his arms. “I can vouch for her.”
“With respect, Mr. Wake, I have heard that more times than I can remember, and often—”
“No need to explain,” Charlotte said. She gave Jason a nod. “I’ll be in the lobby.”
She headed back down the hall as Jason shut the door behind her. “I’m curious why this wasn’t brought up with the others at the meeting,” Jason said.
Zhao cleared his throat. “Given the events of the past week, I don’t know who can be trusted. But you, Mr. Wake, you have proven yourself to be trustworthy.”
The three of them walked across a richly appointed living room with massive windows that offered a spectacular view of the Potomac.
“A beautiful sight, is it not?” Zhao said, gazing out over the water glistening in the moonlight. “We are right in the heart of the most powerful nation in the world.”
