by Jan Coffey
William Hawkins filled his glass with more scotch and drank it down. The liquor produced the same warm feeling in his throat as the last three glasses. He and Bob were alone in the sitting room on the residential side of the White House.
“How are they going to make the connection with Hartford?” the President asked.
“Give our boys a little more credit. There’ll be so many clues that the investigators have to be blind to not stumble over them.”
“How soon?” Hawkins asked, starting to pace the room. “We can’t have people going to the polls tomorrow morning without knowing these results. We have to get some factual stuff to the press before the eleven o’clock news.”
“Relax, Mr. President. Everything is moving just like clockwork,” Fortier assured him.
Hawkins didn’t like clockwork. Clocks were too damn complicated. He liked things simple. He poured himself another scotch and downed half of the glass in one swallow. He’d been against this plot from the moment he heard about it, but Fortier had assured him that he had the right people lined up. The entire operation would be completed in less than twenty-four hours, and campaign soft money would finance the deal. Fatalities would be minimal. His campaign manager had argued that it’d be hell of a lot cheaper and easier to do this than invade some little piss-pot country.
He should have put his foot down and refused. Penn was too smart to let anything slide by. For the past year, the pompous ass jumped at every opportunity to get his face on television, always accusing Hawkins of lying or exaggerating the facts. The simplest plan for this election would have been to send a single person to take Penn out. It’d been done before. It could have been done this time, too. Penn’s running mate, Peter Gresham, was a nothing. He was no threat.
But what was happening now was a threat. To William Hawkins.
“What about the three they took to the hospital? Is there any reason to go after them?”
“We already talked about that, Mr. President. Everything is being taken care of,” Fortier said.
Hawkins found his tone condescending. He wanted specifics. He wanted an end to this. Pre-election jitters were bad enough. This was too much.
The phone rang and Hawkins almost dropped his drink. It was his private line.
Fortier reached for the phone, but Hawkins snapped it up. He was tired of hearing everything second- and third-hand. Fortier was starting to tell him only the short versions. Only what he wanted the president to know.
“Mr. President,” someone from the other end said.
Hawkins looked at Bob Fortier. He was picking up the other phone in the room without asking his permission.
“Speaking.”
“Mako here,” the voice said.
He and Fortier looked at each other. Barnhardt and the rest of his crew were supposed to be dead. He should have been in that airplane. Hawkins knew that much.
“Are you there, Mr. President?”
“I’m here.”
“I thought we had a deal.”
Fortier motioned to him to stretch the conversation as he pulled out his cell to dial another number. Hawkins watched him talk into it quietly.
“Of course we did. We do. What’s wrong, Ramsey?” Hawkins asked, hoping the use of the man’s first name would breed confidence.
“I’m done playing games, sir. You gave us specific instructions to do a job. My crew and I accomplished that goal. Now, instead of transferring the funds to my account as we agreed in your office, you blew up the plane that was taking us home. Does that sound like someone operating in good faith to you, Mr. President? Does that sound like an appropriate reward for loyalty, sir?”
“That was an accident. You can’t think that we’re responsible for that. I truly appreciate your loyalty, Ramsey, your personal loyalty to me and to your country. I cannot believe that—”
“A very convenient accident,” Barnhardt said sarcastically. “But I have no time to listen to any excuses or lies, so here’s the deal. You’ll triple the amount of the payment and the transfer has to take place by—”
“Now wait a minute, Ramsey,” Hawkins blasted, standing up. Fortier started motioning something, but Hawkins turned his back on the campaign manager. “I don’t see why I have to pay for your mistakes. Your job was to hijack and sink Hartford, making everyone think it was the work of foreign terrorists. Instead, you left a huge mess behind that we’re still trying to clean up. If anything, we should be cutting—”
Fortier’s hand slammed down on the phone, disconnecting the call.
“What the hell are you doing?” Hawkins turned angrily to his man.
“We know where he is, Mr. President.”
“Where?”
“New Haven. At the hospital. We’ll get him.”
~~~~
Chapter 65
Yale-New Haven Hospital
9:50 p.m.
“They expect us to go downstairs,” Sarah said.
“Then we should go up,” McCann suggested.
A line of patients and hospital workers were moving down the stairs in an orderly fashion. The fire alarm continued to buzz in the halls. They welcomed the alarm. It was a way to get people around them. There was safety in numbers. Bruce Dunn broke through the door near them.
“Where’s Brody?” McCann asked.
“Dead,” Bruce said under his breath. “Whoever this Kilo is, he was in Brody’s room. He’s armed.”
“I’m going back there.”
Amy reached around to grab McCann’s arm while Bruce blocked his path.
“You can’t. He’s got other help in the building,” Dunn said. “You would only be making his job easier. You must know something that you don’t even realize. That’s why they’re after you.”
“Please,” Amy added quietly, tugging on his arm again. “You’ll get them, but you have do it on your own terms.”
“They could be coming through that door any minute. We should hurry,” Sarah’s urging got them going again.
Amy tightened the blanket around her shoulder and followed Sarah’s path as she cut through the descending crowd. She glanced over her shoulder and was relieved to see Darius was right behind her.
“Let’s get out on the next floor,” Bruce suggested. “We can use a different staircase.”
At the landing, Sarah led the way into the hall. They followed her. The corridor was deserted.
“Does anyone know their way around this hospital?” Bruce asked.
“I know it a little. My father was hospitalized here for a week last year,” Amy offered. “What do you want to do?”
“I need to call for help,” Bruce said.
“Is there anyone out there that you can trust?” Darius asked.
“Good question,” Bruce said under his breath.
“I think we should get out of here first before deciding who to call,” Sarah told them.
“We have no car,” Darius said as he looked down the hallway.
Amy read the signs on the wall, trying to find her bearings. “I can get us to the emergency room. There’s a chance someone might have left their car at the entrance with the keys in it.”
“Lead the way,” McCann said.
A few steps away, through the small windows of a double door, Amy saw two security guards heading their way. They were opening doors and looking inside the rooms. Fear gripped her. A spike of adrenaline rushed through her body. She was back on the submarine again. People looking for her. Trying to kill her.
“Over here.” Bruce held a door open on their right. All four of them pushed into the small supply room. He turned a latch on the inside. With the door closed, total darkness surrounded them.
They waited, listening for any noise. Amy felt McCann’s hand on her shoulder. She took hold of it, needing his strength.
Footsteps approached. Someone tested the door. They all stared at the sliver of light under the door. McCann pushed Amy behind him. The door was tested one more time before they moved on.
A
my searched the shelves behind her. One of the stacks felt like scrubs. She took one and after a little struggle was able to pull it up her legs. She found the top on the same shelf.
“Those guards could have been harmless,” Sarah said quietly.
“We can’t be sure,” McCann said.
“Only a handful of people were told about you three being brought here,” Bruce informed them. “One of them must have leaked the information.”
Amy was able to pull the shirt over her head, but some of the bandages caught and came loose. She tugged at them, ripping the rest off.
“What’s the story with Barnhardt?” McCann asked. “Sarah said he was the one that called to warn you.”
“I can’t tell you. But he seems to know quite a bit about what’s going on.”
“Maybe he’s the one we should call,” Sarah suggested.
“Let’s get out of here first,” Bruce told them, opening the door. He looked down the hall first before motioning them to follow.
“You changed,” Darius said to Amy as the light poured in. “But what did you do to your head?”
Amy touched the stitches and pulled some of her hair over it. “They heal much faster exposed to the air.”
“With the scrubs on, you actually look official,” Sarah remarked as Amy led them through the labyrinthine hallways and down several flights into a different section of the hospital.
“Don’t let anyone pull me into surgery.”
The double doors that led to the emergency room were closed but not locked. No fire alarms were sounding in this section. Amy realized that Sarah was right—she did look official. A number of people they went by completely dismissed her, but they definitely noticed Sarah, Bruce, and McCann, dressed in their navy uniforms.
No one stopped them, and they soon found themselves at the sliding glass doors where patients were wheeled in from ambulances.
“You wait here. I’ll go outside and take a look,” Bruce instructed.
“No. You wait here. I’ll tell you when to come out,” Amy said, going through the door before anyone could stop her.
Stepping out onto the cold night, dressed only in the scrubs, she noticed that McCann was right beside her.
“I’m glad to know that I’m not the only one you don’t listen to.”
“No. I’m pretty even-handed when it comes to disobeying orders,” she said.
An ambulance backed toward the door with its lights flashing. A police car following the ambulance parked along the curb.
“Pretend that you don’t know me, will you?”
The ambulance came to a stop. Amy moved to the back door and opened it. An EMT stepped out of the ambulance and brushed past her. In seconds, he was pulling the gurney out of the back and another EMT followed, taking the head of the gurney. As it rolled out, the wheeled legs dropped into position. The patient already had an IV hooked up. There was blood all over his shirt. The two EMTs wheeled him in through the doors, and the two police officers followed them.
Amy looked over her shoulder at McCann and pointed to the police car with her head. He walked to the front of the ambulance. She took a couple of steps toward the ambulance’s rear doors and saw Connelly and Dunn coming out.
Amy opened the ambulance doors. The two agents climbed in. She closed the doors and went around to the passenger side.
“That was easy,” Dunn said as she got in. “Great job.”
“I think you’ve missed your calling, Amy,” Sarah said from the back as McCann steered around the police car and pulled out of the drive.
“Please don’t encourage her,” McCann said lightly.
Amy looked into the side view mirror to see if anyone was following them. No one seemed to be. The fire alarms were still blasting in other sections of the hospital. There was a crowd of people on the sidewalk and fire trucks were pulling in by the front doors. Everyone on the street focused their attention on what was going on in the hospital.
“Where am I going?” McCann asked.
Bruce’s cell phone rang. “Same number as the last time. It’s Barnhardt.” He answered it on the second ring.
“Yes, Captain.” There was a pause. “You were correct about that. But how did you know?”
McCann made a turn and another turn. He was circling the block to give Bruce time to decide where they should go. The hospital and attached medical school took up about twelve blocks of downtown New Haven. “You saw us leave?” Dunn asked, looking at Sarah.
Amy looked in the mirror again.
“You want us to pick you up?”
“It could be a trap,” Sarah whispered.
“Captain Barnhardt, why don’t I come and see you alone. Maybe—”
McCann slammed on the brakes as a car pulled out of a side street right in front of them. The passenger side window of the car was partially shattered and there were holes along the side that had clearly been made by bullets. The driver stepped out, holding a cell phone to his ear.
“Too late,” McCann said under his breath.
The driver was short and squarely built. Under the street light, a Yankees cap shadowed most of his face. Amy saw him stare at the ambulance as he continued to talk into his phone.
“He says they know what Mako’s driving. If we want accurate information on the hijacking, we have to take him.” Bruce brought the phone down. “What do you think?”
“We can handle him,” McCann answered.
Barnhardt didn’t appear to have any doubts that they’d take him. He started for the passenger side, and Amy scrambled through between the seats into the back. Sarah motioned to her to sit low. She did.
Barnhardt opened the ambulance door, took a quick glance inside at all the faces and climbed in without any greeting.
McCann glared at the older man, then gave him a cold nod of recognition.
“You might want to turn your cell phones off. They’re using them like a homing device to track you,” Barnhardt told them, following his own suggestion and turning off his phone.
Bruce and Sarah were the only ones that had a cell phone on them. They both turned them off.
Darius backed up the ambulance and drove around the car Barnhardt had been driving. A moment later, they were racing down the street in the direction of New Haven’s downtown. “Where to?”
“Where there are lots of people and hopefully tons of reporters with television cameras. I’d like to have a stage for my performance,” Barnhardt said.
He sounded ruffled.
“There was supposed to be a political rally on the green tonight,” Amy said. “But that was before all the craziness happened today.”
“Try it,” Barnhardt told McCann. “It’s worth a shot.”
“You keep referring to they,” Sarah said. “Who are you referring to, Captain?”
Barnhardt looked over his shoulder at them. “What I have to tell you will probably mean your death sentence. Are you sure you want to hear it?”
“They killed a sedated young man in his hospital bed ten minutes ago” Bruce challenged. “They were coming after commander McCann or Ms. Russell. I’d say the death sentence has already been issued.”
“You’re right. In fact, the crew left behind on Hartford was condemned to death the moment we sailed the sub away from that pier. Ms. Russell was included in that because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
McCann pulled the ambulance to the side of the road next to a boarded up mall and slammed on the brakes. All of them in the back were tossed around. Emergency apparatus and various supplies shifted and rattled. McCann lunged at Barnhardt, grabbing him by the throat and practically breaking the passenger side window with the man’s head.
“You commanded that operation,” he barked. “You killed members of my crew.”
The older man tried to reach for something at his belt, but McCann was faster. He took the gun and held it to Barnhardt’s head, his other hand still wrapped around the old sub driver’s throat.
“There’
s no reason to lose your temper, Commander McCann,” Barnhardt rasped. “I called Commander Dunn. I climbed inside this ambulance of my own accord. I came to you to tell the absolute truth. I am voluntarily telling you everything I’ve done…and everything I know.”
McCann’s hold on the man’s throat didn’t ease a bit. “Nine of my crew members are dead. A billion dollar submarine is in danger of sinking to the bottom of Long Island Sound as we speak. A number of targets were hit using Hartford’s weapons. There are fatalities. How the hell can you say there’s no reason to lose my temper?”
Barnhardt didn’t flinch. He looked directly into McCann’s eyes. “You’re too emotional and loyal to be in this line of business, Commander. Sub drivers like us don’t see people. Death has only one dimension, and that dimension doesn’t touch us. We can’t afford to have friends. We’re given a job, and it’s our responsibility to obey our overarching orders, sometimes ignoring the gutless calls of paper pushers in a moment of crisis. We do what we have to do, no matter what the consequences.”
“Under whose orders did you take Hartford,” McCann asked.
Barnhardt tried to look down at where McCann’s hand squeezed his neck. “Commander Dunn, your friend is changing my mind about what I’d like to contribute to your investigation.”
“Regardless of what Commander McCann does,” Bruce told him, “you will contribute what you can, Captain Barnhardt. I believe you’ve been given the same death sentence and you’re looking for a way to save your life.”
“If my life was all that I was worried about, I’d be out of the country by now,” Barnhardt said. “No. I’m looking for a way to get even. But if you don’t get moving soon, none of us are going to live long enough to even any scores or solve any investigation. We’re sitting ducks here, and they’re going to spot us, sure as hell.”
McCann let go of the man’s throat and handed the gun to Bruce. The ambulance pulled back onto the road.
“Are we going to play games or are you going to start answering some of our questions?” Sarah asked.
“I want to make a deal first.”
“What do you want?” Bruce asked.
