by Gary Ponzo
“Room 406. She may not look too good, but she’s going to be fine."
Nick got to his feet and lagged a half-step behind Matt, following his lead. He opened the lid to coffee and took a sip. “What happened to Ford?”
Matt pushed the button in the middle of two shiny, stainless steel elevators. He looked at Nick and shook his head. “Nihad Tansu was waiting for him at your house. He got the jump on him.”
They stepped into the elevator with a couple of nurses who were carrying on their own conversation. Nick spoke softly. “Tansu was at my house?”
“We think it was a coincidence that Ford happened to show up to take her to the safe house. Probably saved her life.”
Nick shook his head. Matt kept speaking to him and he nodded at seemingly appropriate moments, but his mind was already two career changes ahead. He couldn’t possibly put his family at risk any longer. His obsession to rid every terrorist from the nation had gotten his brother kidnapped and his wife hospitalized. He was prepared to hand over his badge and gun to Walt Jackson and flee for the serenity of a simpler life. He looked forward to seeing Julie’s face when he finally told her of his decision.
“Anyway,” Matt continued, as they exited the elevator and Nick followed him down a busy corridor, “Walt’s turned the War Room into a computer geeks wet dream. They’ve got the NSA, CIA, and FBI’s mainframes all linked together. Every tech who can type is down there banging keyboards and scrambling for info on KSF members in the U.S."
Standing at attention in front of room 406 was a stocky police officer. His eyes caught Nick and Matt heading in his direction and he slid his wide body in front of the door. He ignored Matt, but he held up a hand to Nick. “He’s been cleared, but I need to see some identification from you, Sir.”
Nick showed the officer his credentials and the uniformed policeman examined a clipboard with a list of names written across it. He saw what he was looking for and stepped aside. “Sorry, Agent Bracco, I’ve got my orders.”
“Don’t apologize, Officer. That’s my wife in there you’re protecting.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Nick opened the door with the precarious manner of a tipped-off recipient to a surprise party. Nick saw Dave Tanner and Carl Rutherford milling around Julie’s bed. They blocked Nick’s view of a couple of other people behind them. He thought one of them was Sal Demenci sitting on the only chair in the room.
The room was small and seemed eerily dark. A vital signs monitor sat next to Julie with one wire going to a probe attached to her fingertip, and black tubing extending down to a blood pressure cuff around her left arm. Julie sat upright with the aid of several pillows. Her head was wrapped with white rolled gauze and a clear tube hung from an IV bag which gravity fed sodium chloride to the vein in the crook of her elbow. Her left eye was dark and it looked like someone with long nails had scratched the side of her face.
Through it all there was a smile on Julie Bracco’s swollen face. With her good eye she managed a wink and Nick nearly wept. He was next to her instantly, holding her hand, mining her body with his eyes. “How are you?” he whispered.
When she spoke, her words were muffled, as if she had a mouth full of cotton. “I’ve been better.”
“Have you seen the doctor?”
“He just left. He said the surgery went well, and that I should make a full recovery.” She spoke evenly, but her eyes were distant.
“Nick?” she said.
“Yes.”
“He said I was shot in the back of the head.”
“You don’t remember?”
She shook her head slowly, as if she might grab a piece of the incident before she finished her answer. “No.”
Nick felt a rush of sorrow hit his nervous system and he had to look away from Julie to gather himself.
She clutched his hand. “Don’t be sad, Nick. I’m going to be all right. All I remember is running from the car.”
He wanted to run himself. Right out the door to rip Kemel Kharrazi’s heart from his chest with his bare hands. But he’d already decided. He hung his head in resignation. “I’m handing in my credentials, Jule. Enough is enough.”
“Don’t you dare,” she uttered in a clear, forceful tone.
Nick looked up. “Isn’t that what you want?”
“I did, but now it’s different. I’m not going to be able to sleep knowing someone like Kharrazi is out there, maybe sending someone back to finish the job. No, Nick, now is not the time for you to quit.”
It was a peculiar attitude for her to acquire and it alarmed him. “Are you sure?”
Julie licked her lips. “Nick, I want you to do something for me.”
Nick quickly glanced down and found the nurses button. “Of course. Anything.”
She pulled Nick tight to her chest and stretched forward until her lips delicately nestled up to his ear. She whispered, “Kill him.”
Nick lurched back and examined his wife, as if to be certain that it was her that spoke those words.
Julie’s bandaged head nodded confirmation. Her hands were wound into fists and her jaw seemed to lock her face into a maddening scowl.
Nick sighed. He wasn’t sure which was worse, the attempted murder of his wife or the pilfering of her benevolent heart. He looked down at the woman who’d taken in stray cats and fed them organic milk. Julie, the kindhearted wife who would find a cricket in the corner of the closet and cup it in her hands until she could free it outside onto the lawn. The same woman who was now ordering hits on fellow human beings like she was Don Corleoni.
Julie’s wounds were much deeper than could be seen on an MRI. Kharrazi had damaged the one thing that Nick loved more than her shiny, happy eyes, or her contagious smile. He’d broken her spirit.
He unraveled her fist and gently stroked her hand. “Get some rest.”
“I’ve never been more serious, Nick.” Her eyes blazed into him like a laser beam.
He realized that for the first time in their marriage they were on the exact same page when it came to his career. He nodded. “After that, we walk away. Buy that house in the mountains.”
She grinned briefly, then pain jolted her back into submission. But the smile lasted just long enough for Nick to see the relaxation return to her face. Just long enough for Nick to grasp the depth of his responsibilities. His new mission would be more important than ridding terrorists from America or saving the White House from destruction. Nick could restore the love to his wife’s soul.
Nick felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned, expecting to see Matt, but was surprised to see a man hunched over an aluminum cane, his arm strapped tightly into a sling against his chest. A tan adhesive bandage covered the entire left side of his face.
“Tommy?” Nick asked.
“At your service.”
Nick gingerly tapped his cousin’s arm. “How are you doing?”
Tommy hobbled past Nick to Julie’s side and said, “Question is—how is she doing?”
Tommy wiped a tear from Julie’s cheek and patted her hand. Nick always suspected that his cousin had a thing for Julie, but now, watching him bend over her and listening to the soft exchange of words between them, Nick realized that he was wrong. Tommy never really wanted any more than to include Julie into the family. He coddled her like a little sister. Tommy said something to her that widened her eyes, then just as quickly returned with a wicked smile. She stretched out her hand and gently stroked the side of Tommy’s face, where the bandage covered up the scars.
Nick almost felt voyeuristic watching them. He turned and greeted his fellow agents that were there for support. He knew they were overloaded with assignments, so the gesture meant even more. A hand patted his back and he saw Dr. Morgan.
“Doc, thanks for coming. I know it means a lot to Julie.” Nick shook Dr. Morgan’s hand.
“I’m not just here for her, Nick. I’m here because I know you’re in trouble.”
Nick looked over his shoulder and caught Dave Tanner avoiding eye contact with him.<
br />
“I see,” Nick said.
“You must realize that I can’t help you, Nick, unless you want to be helped. And part of that desire for help requires a healthy aversion to stress.”
Nick nodded. “I’m closer than you think, Doc. I’ve only got one more obligation to fulfill.”
Dr. Morgan frowned. “I feel like you’re staring at the Grand Canyon and telling me that you only need one more day of practice before you can jump it.”
Nick smiled. “I’ll prove you wrong, Doc. I promise.”
Julie closed her eyes and it appeared to be the cue for Tanner and Rutherford to get back to work. They said their goodbyes to Nick, seemingly unsure whether it was for a day or a lifetime. Matt and Tommy followed them out. Dr. Morgan implored Nick to see him soon, and Nick agreed.
Sal Demenci lagged behind and Nick realized that the room’s evacuation was more a direct order than an act of politeness. Sal, flexing his muscle with a simple nod of his head. Once they were alone, Sal led Nick into a corner away from Julie’s deep breaths. They stood by a window that overlooked a grassy knoll in front of the hospital.
Sal looked Nick in the eye. “I have to tell you something, maybe it’s important to you.”
“Shoot.”
Sal looked over Nick’s shoulder, back at Julie. He spoke softly. “There’s something I haven’t never told you guys. Something I was saving in my back pocket, in case Fisk didn’t want to play ball.”
Nick suddenly remembered. He pointed to a park bench in front of the hospital. “Down there,” Nick said. “You never told Walt the entire story about the blasting caps. Someone in your crew shot a KSF soldier.”
Sal was shaking his head. “It don’t matter who shot who. What matters is where the shooting took place. I’d say that it’s important because this guy was buying a shitload of batteries. Like the kind they use in making time bombs. You know what I’m saying?”
“Give it to me, Sal. All of it.”
Sal held up his hand like a traffic cop. “Hold it right there. I want something for this information. I ain’t just givin’ it away for nothin.’”
Nick took a breath, “What do you want this time, Sal?”
“Hey, wait a minute. I’m offended by the attitude. I’m being all patriotic and everything and you treat me like I’m a schnook. Forget I said anything.” Sal began to walk away.
“Sal.”
Sal turned, “What?”
Nick swallowed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you. Tell me what you want from me.”
Sal smiled. “That’s better.” He looked over his shoulder, then pulled Nick even further away from Julie’s bed. “All I’m asking for is an opportunity for revenge. That’s all. If I tell you where this shooting took place, I want a guarantee that I can send a few of my men to this place to sort of . . . you know—” He pointed his index finger and cocked his thumb. “Take care of some business.”
Nick placed his hand over Sal’s protruding fingers. “Please, don’t point that thing at me.”
Sal laughed. “What are you worried about—it ain’t loaded.” Then his expression changed. His eyes narrowed to slits. “We’re talking about what they did to your cousin. Are you forgetting about that? And what about this?” He pointed to Julie, her head tilted to the side, in the midst of an exhaustive sleep.
“I’m not forgetting anything, Sal. That’s why it’s important that you tell me where the shooting took place.”
“Not until I get your word.”
“You know I need to get this approved.”
“Listen, Nick, your word is gold. You tell me what I want to hear, and I tell you what you want to hear.”
Nick stared at his wife. “All right. I promise I’ll take one of your men. Just one. But it has to be Silk.”
“You gotta let him stay with you. What you know, he knows. And he gets the whole immunity thing like we’ve been getting.”
Suddenly, the door opened. Matt walked up to Nick. “Walt called. He needs me. Take care of your sweetie over there.”
“Where are you going?” Nick asked.
Matt furrowed his brow, sneaking a sideways nod toward Sal.
“It’s all right,” Nick said. “You’re not going there anyway.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re going with me to . . .” he looked at Sal and held out an open palm.
“Payson, Arizona,” Sal relented.
“Arizona? Why there?”
“Because,” Sal said, proudly, “that’s where we got rid of Rashid Baser.”
“What do you mean? Rashid Baser is dead?” Matt asked.
“Apparently,” Nick said. “And if it’s true. That’s where we’ll find the bomb-making facility.”
Matt glanced over at Julie. “What about her?”
Nick looked at the woman he loved, mangled in bandages and tubing. He still felt the chill that ran down his neck when she used the word kill in a sentence with only one other word in it. It was the subject of the sentence that bothered Nick, not the verb. If she wanted to kill time, or kill a volleyball, he didn’t have a problem. But ‘kill him?’” She was sleeping now, but he hoped that he was able to pull her out of her trauma, just like she did for him every day of their lives together. “The quicker I find Kharrazi,” he said, “the quicker she’ll begin the healing process.”
Matt nodded.
Sal said, “While you’re gone, you want maybe we give your wife a little . . . you know . . .” the finger gun returned, “protection?”
“What, you going to poke someone in the eye?” Matt deadpanned.
“Very funny Mr. G-man. You notice over in Sicily this kind of stuff doesn’t happen.”
“Don’t get me started, Sal.”
Nick stepped between the two men. “That’s enough. C’mon Matt, we’ve got to get going.”
“Don’t forget about Silk,” Sal said, reminding Nick of their agreement.
Matt followed Nick to the door. “Silk?”
As he passed Julie’s bed, Nick stopped for a moment to give her a peck on the bridge of her nose; the only bare spot between the tube in her nose and the bandage on her forehead.
She surprised him by whispering with her eyes shut, “Get him.”
Bending over her he said, “Just try and stop me.”
Chapter 24
As Kemel Kharrazi pulled up in his rental car, he could see the gravel parking area that stretched all the way to the bottom of the brick building housing the airfield’s office. There were only two cars in the lot and they were parked an abnormal distance from the front door. Kharrazi assumed that these were employees’ vehicles. He parked his car along a chain link fence in between the only two rental cars remaining.
It was a small complex with little security, yet he still scrutinized the facility for any sign of irregularity. There was none. Past the brick building, sitting on the solitary runway, was his chartered jet. It sat in the middle of the runway with the engine running and the door open. The airfield was so small that the diminutive jet was only thirty yards from the front door to the office.
While making his way on the cracked cement path toward the building, he reminded himself to hobble. He was a plump, old businessman and he had to walk the part. His right shoulder developed an exaggerated sag from the weight of his suitcase. As he approached the glass door to the office, he could see that it appeared vacant. He stopped. Why did he even have to bother going in? He prepaid for the return trip already. All he had to do was board the plane.
He walked the short distance to the idling plane and lumbered up the steps. He felt a presence as he got halfway and looked up to see a uniformed pilot reaching out to get his suitcase. The man said something to Kharrazi, but the loud drone of the jet engines drowned out his voice. Once inside he plopped himself down onto a wide, leather chair and huffed from exertion. The pilot secured his suitcase in an upright closet and returned to his seat in the cockpit. He took the copilots seat on the right, while the pil
ot on the left was busy with a pencil and a clipboard. He seemed to be marking off a preflight checklist and paid no attention to Kharrazi, which soothed any concern he had about his identity being discovered.
Kharrazi settled back in his seat and found a copy of the Baltimore Sun laying open on the secure tray next to him. It was nearly 9AM and he hadn’t had the time to scour the newspapers as he normally would. The front page displayed pictures of burning buildings from several states still suffering from the nightly bombings. A story about President Merrick’s approval ratings spiraling downward was below the fold. He flipped the pages impatiently until he saw the story about a Turkish National who was shot to death in the bathroom of a downtown bar. Kharrazi scrutinized every word searching for anything that could suggest the man was Kurdish, but there was nothing. The fake identification seemed to have satisfied the authorities and once the victim was dead they probably had no motivation to investigate further.
Kharrazi knew that Mustafa was a hot head, so it didn’t surprise him when his Baltimore crew was arrested last night and that Mustafa was the only one who ended up dead. He realized that an officer of the law must have gotten to Mustafa, and shot him after he became an unproductive suspect.
Satisfied, Kharrazi browsed further and tingled with excitement when he came to the story of Tansu’s deadly visit to the Bracco residence. The story confirmed the death of an FBI agent, but fell short of declaring Julie Bracco dead. It simply stated that she was at Johns Hopkins in critical condition. His grip on the paper tightened as he considered the possibility of Nick Bracco’s wife surviving an encounter with one of his best soldiers. He read the story again and began to fume.
He stood, hunched over, and shuffled to the back of the plane, where he pushed a button on one of the four cell phones that he would use just once, then dispose of after the flight.
“Yes,” a voice said.
“You told me that you were successful,” Kharrazi seethed in a low boil of a voice.
“I was.”
“Then why am I not reading about it this morning? I am leaving now, I have to ignite our operation, or I would deal with you personally.”
