Vlad shook his blond head. “Vlad will be truthful. Mouse will not live. Honey Badger will use him against Harry, understand?”
He did. As long as Mickey was alive, he’d serve as leverage. Honey Badger had made that painful fact clear from the start. “Your boss has to be stopped.”
Vlad shrugged. “Who will stop him? Not Vlad. Vlad likes head on neck.”
He considered telling Vlad about the program he’d uploaded in the system, but held back. The Russian was a survivor and worked for the enemy. His trust in Vlad only went so far. He didn’t want his brother to be killed and, like Vlad, preferred to keep his head on his neck. But he’d sacrifice Mickey’s life, as well as his own, to stop the senseless killing.
Harrison looked to the muted TV and caught the chaos ensuing in the aftermath of the latest bombing. The caption beneath the tragic scene stated that nineteen people had already been confirmed dead.
Sickened that he’d been the triggerman, that he’d been the one to cause those deaths, he turned away. “He’s killing innocent people over a woman,” he said with disgust.
Vlad frowned. “What Harry talking about? Vlad watch press conference. Honey Badger does this for political gain.”
He could understand the Russian’s way of thinking. Honey Badger had gone on TV and made himself out to be sympathetic and torn up over the bombings. Then he remembered the reporter who had asked him about running for Senate and a possible presidential candidacy. A chill moved through him and settled in his chest. If that crazy bastard were to become president—
Harrison leaned forward. “Vlad, listen to me,” he said in a hushed tone. “He told me he’s doing this to draw out a woman. But I agree. I wouldn’t be surprised if his intentions were twofold. Consider this though, would you really want to see him in the White House?”
Vlad rolled his eyes. “The possibility is—”
“Real. Think about it. He has the money, he has political connections, he’s making himself out to be a hero fighting alongside the fellow Americans he’s killing in order to put an end to the domestic terrorism he caused and controls. He’s fucking crazy, Vlad. Don’t you give a shit about the people he’s killed?”
Remorse flickered in Vlad’s eyes. “It out of Vlad’s control.”
“It doesn’t have to be. We can stop him. We can put an end to this.”
Santiago came out of the back room, whistling. “Mickey’s awake, but he doesn’t look good. I’m going to get him something to eat and drink,” he said, heading for the kitchen.
“Can you give him something for the pain?” Harrison asked.
The Columbian stopped rummaging through the fridge and looked at him. “Don’t tell Honey Badger,” he said and pulled a pill bottle from the cabinet.
“Thank you,” Harrison replied, and after Santiago went back into the room carrying the pills, water and a banana, he quickly gained Vlad’s attention. “Work with me. Please. Help me stop him before more people die.”
Vlad shook his head. “No, Harry. Vlad illegal alien, not U.S. citizen. Going back to Russia not an option. Death not an option. Understood?”
Harrison leaned back into the couch and rested his head against the cushion. Thank God he hadn’t told Vlad about the program he’d uploaded. The Russian’s only concern was for himself. Given the chance, Vlad would likely turn on him in order to save his own Russian ass. Sliding his tired eyes closed, he asked, “If he hadn’t stopped you, would you have cut off Mickey’s tongue?”
“Yes.”
He winced. “If he orders you to cut me or kill me, will you do it?”
The Russian released a deep sigh. “It Vlad’s job,” he said, his tone weary. “Know this, Vlad wouldn’t like hurting Harry.”
“And if I find a way to escape?”
“Harry won’t, but Vlad hopes.”
Harrison opened his eyes and raised his head. “I’m going to die today,” he admitted what he’d been denying to himself since first arriving at the warehouse.
Vlad’s face and eyes softened with sadness as he slowly nodded.
“If you end up being the one to kill me, no hard feelings. I understand why you’re doing what you’re doing.”
Vlad’s sadness turned to anger. “Vlad hate killing,” the Russian said with vehemence, his eyes blazing with outrage.
“Then why do it? Why let him—”
“Vlad has no choice.”
“There’s always a choice,” Harrison countered.
“Not for Vlad.” The Russian leaned forward and pointed a finger at him. “Understand this, Harry, you pull trigger and blow up buildings to save the mouse. Vlad stay with Honey Badger to keep family alive.”
“So you’d rather be his bitch than put an end to his threats.”
The Russian’s face grew red and his eyes narrowed. “Vlad no one’s bitch.”
“Are you sure about that?” he taunted, hoping to latch onto Vlad’s conscience and reel him over to his side. “From where I’m sitting, you’re in the same position as me and Mickey. Only at least I’ll die today and not have to—”
Santiago opened the door of the back room. “Mickey isn’t a very good patient,” he said with a smile. “He acts like he’s the first person to be shot in the leg and stabbed in the eye.” The Columbian’s face hardened when he looked at Vlad. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” Vlad said. “Honey Badger arrives soon. We should have lunch for him and Harry should ready the next device.”
“Convenido. Especially if he’s still upset.” Santiago’s smile returned. “A pissed off Honey Badger is bad enough, but a hungry, pissed off badger is even worse.” He looked to Harrison. “And I’m sure your brother would like to keep his other eye safely in its socket.”
As the Columbian laughed and headed into the kitchen, Harrison swore if he had the opportunity, he’d kill the man. Unlike Vlad, Santiago didn’t have a sympathetic bone in his body and took pleasure in his and Mickey’s pain.
“Careful, Harry,” Vlad warned quietly. “The Columbian enjoys slitting throats of enemy.”
Harrison knocked his bangs off his forehead. “I’m already a dead man.”
“Dead man can’t stop Honey Badger.” A half smile tilted the Russian’s mouth. “Harry has time,” he said and followed Santiago into the kitchen.
The tiniest amount of hope crept into Harrison’s chest. Vlad was right. There was still time. Although he’d love more than anything to put an end to the bombings now, he knew he couldn’t, not with Mickey’s life on the line. Plus, he’d uploaded the program that would create a trail of breadcrumbs leading back to Honey Badger’s company’s operating system when he’d been in Bloomington, Indiana. Considering the devices were being set off in the same order they’d been planted, the Bloomington bomb wouldn’t detonate until four—three and a half hours from now.
He wasn’t sure how long it would take for the authorities to trace the digital footprint back to Honey Badger, but if he and Mickey could hold out until they did, they just might survive this. And if they survived, what then? He and Mickey would be labeled terrorists and traitors. They wouldn’t just go to prison. They’d go directly to Death Row.
Shifting his gaze to the carnage on the TV, he rubbed a hand along his forehead. Not only did they deserve to die, they deserved to burn in hell for what they’d done. Before that happened, he’d do his damnedest to bring down the man who’d brought them into this wicked game.
No matter the cost, Christian Hunnicutt would pay the ultimate price. Harrison had never physically hurt a soul, but thanks to Hunnicutt, he had murder on his mind.
*
Bloomington, Indiana
11:28 a.m. Central Daylight Saving Time
Vince reached for the ringing cell phone setting in the truck console. Anna. He quickly answered before turning into the parking lot of a small strip mall. “Everything okay?” he asked.
“Oh, my gosh. Did you hear what happened? What’s been happening?”
Hell, yeah, h
e’d heard, but hadn’t wanted to give his wife any added worry. “It’s pretty shocking?”
“Shocking? Try horrifying. Did you know Christian Hunnicutt gave a press conference?”
He’d heard about that, too. His supervisor had called him, along with the other drivers on the road, and had said that Hunnicutt had spoken with the FBI, Homeland Security and a bunch of other overpaid blowhards. Before the press conference, the owner of BH-Xpress had issued a companywide statement saying he’d been assured that these acts of terrorism were not solely directed at BH-Xpress, but had been random and made to instill fear into the heart of Americans.
Busy getting ready for work and helping with the kids, Vince hadn’t caught the morning news. He’d also been on the road when the other bombings had occurred.
“My supervisor brought me up to speed. Hunnicutt doesn’t think we have anything to be worried about,” he said, hoping to ease her concerns.
“Really? Did you know he’s grounded every company plane until they’ve been inspected?”
“It’s a precaution,” he said and reached for the tablet that held the day’s delivery schedule. Three boxes needed to be dropped off at the pet store in the strip mall. “Don’t worry about it.”
“But I am worried. I’ve been following the news since you left. No, Benny. That’s ca-ca,” she scolded their son. “Sorry, Ben was trying to eat Gus’s crayon.”
He smiled and climbed out of his seat. “Have you ever bit into one? Maybe they actually taste good.” He moved to the back of the truck in search of the packages he needed to deliver.
“I’ll serve you your favorite colors for dinner,” she said. “Seriously though, I am worried. Do you realize that the bombings are moving from west to east?”
After finding the packages, he noticed two were large and he’d have to make a couple of trips. Damn. That’d add extra minutes to his schedule that he didn’t have if he was to make it to the hospital by three. “No. Sorry, hon. I honestly haven’t heard all the details yet.”
“Well, let me clue you in. First—”
“Anna, baby, I’m trying my best to make it to the ultrasound on time. Can you tell me about this later?”
“That’s fine. I need to work with Gus anyway.”
As a former first grade teacher, Anna had decided to teach Gus herself rather than send him to preschool. While keeping Gus at home didn’t give her a break in the day, it did save them money. One of these days, when they had extra cash, he was going to sweep her away for a long weekend.
“I’m sorry,” he said as guilt filtered in and made him wish he could do more to give her some much needed alone time. “I don’t mean to blow you off, I just—”
“It’s okay, Vin. Really. I’ll see you at the hospital.”
“You bet.” He looked at the boxes and decided he’d use the dolly and deliver the packages in one trip. “Hey, I love you.”
“Love you, too,” she said, just as Benny’s cries came over the line. “Oh, boy. Gotta run. Bye.”
After he pocketed the phone and loaded the boxes on the dolly, he made his way into the pet store. A middle-aged woman greeted him with a smile. “Hi there. I wasn’t sure if you guys were going to come today,” she said and led him into the storeroom. “Can you believe what’s been happening?”
“Yeah, it’s unbelievable,” he answered and handed her the tablet. “Can you sign on the pad for me?”
“Makes you wonder where they’ll strike next, doesn’t it?” she asked as she signed her name. “Damn President should have this county under a state of emergency.”
“You think?” he asked while considering state of emergency a bit extreme. “I mean, if terrorists are behind this, wouldn’t they go after government office buildings or major companies and financial institutions? You know, try to cripple the country.”
After he finished stacking the boxes in the corner, she handed him the tablet. “A half hour ago I spoke with a friend who just left the grocery store. She said the place was packed and the shelves were nearly empty. People are scared and I think they’re preparing to hole up in their homes.” She shook her head. “These terrorist have crippled our country…with fear.”
On that ominous and melodramatic note, Vince bid the woman a good day and headed for his truck. While he understood the woman’s point and it disgusted him that people were dying, he couldn’t help worrying more about what was going on in his own little world.
Right now, his sole focus was on arriving to Anna’s ultrasound on time. This afternoon could end up being a defining moment and a major impact on his life.
He climbed into the cab and started the truck. He thought about what the woman had said about people clearing the shelves at the grocery store and shook his head. A bit extreme in his opinion. Terrorists, bombings…yeah, that was scary shit. But this was Bloomington, Indiana. Nothing bad ever happened here.
Chapter 10
CORE Offices, Chicago, Illinois
12:42 p.m. Central Daylight Saving Time
“THANK GOD YOU’RE here,” a petite, pregnant woman with short red hair said as she motioned for them to follow her. A ball of nerves, Naomi let Jake latch on to her arm and lead the way.
“Ian, Owen and Dante are waiting for us in the evidence and evaluation room,” the redhead continued. “Wait until you see what we’ve come up with.” She stopped, swiveled in her flats and held out her hand. “Sorry, I’m Rachel Malcolm, CORE’s computer forensic analyst.”
Naomi shook the other woman’s hand. “Naomi McCall.”
“Right,” Rachel responded, skepticism clear in her green eyes. “Nice to finally meet you. This way.”
Feeling as if she were being led into a hungry lion’s den, Naomi reminded herself that she could, at any time, leave. She owed nothing to these people. The only reason she’d even agreed to come to Chicago was because of Jake. She’d kept him in the dark long enough and he deserved an explanation. How much she’d actually explain would depend on his counterparts. If she didn’t think they could help her, she’d go back to her original plan and turn herself over to the murdering bastard.
After they walked down a corridor, Rachel opened a door. “Here we are.”
Naomi froze and shifted her gaze around the room. One wall was covered with TV screens, another with white boards and corkboards. Several large tables sat in the center of the room and were filled with computers and a variety of other electronic equipment. Three men sat at the table. Her focus wasn’t on them, but the TVs. Five of the six screens held a still shot from the bombings, while the sixth screen looked as if it had been synced to a computer. The search engine clear, the subject line unsettling.
Rose Wood.
Jake took her by the elbow. “Let me introduce you. This is Ian Scott, owner of CORE and a former profiler with the FBI.”
A man with a thick head of salt and pepper hair rose and shook her hand. His familiar blue eyes studied her and, for a second, she swore she saw recognition in them.
Before she had the chance to shift through her memory bank, Jake nodded to the other men. “This is Owen Malcolm and Dante Russo.” As she shook their hands, Jake added, “Owen is former U.S. Secret Service and Dante is a former Navy SEAL.”
“Any reason you’re giving out our resumes?” Owen asked.
Jake held a chair out for her. “I want Naomi to understand that CORE isn’t the average private investigation agency. She knows who’s behind the bombings. We need her to trust us and give us his name.”
“You don’t trust Jake?” Dante asked, his dark eyes held a hint of amusement.
She set her oversized purse on the floor. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
“Yet you won’t give up the bomber’s name.” Owen leaned back in the chair and raised his dark blond brows. “It’s going to be one o’clock in about ten minutes. Another bomb could go off and another after that at two. Aren’t you the least bit concerned for the safety of—?”
“Of course I am,” she said
louder than she’d meant and fought the tears brimming in her eyes. “How would you feel if you knew you were the reason people were dying?”
“Good Lord.” Rachel moved behind Owen and pinched his arm. “Way to break the ice.” She looked at Naomi. “Ignore him.”
“Actually, Owen has a valid point,” Dante said with a shrug of his broad shoulders.
“Agreed.” Ian nodded. “Why are you withholding information, Rose?”
Her skin prickled with irritation. She should have never come here. These people didn’t understand her fears or whom they were up against. She turned to the man who had revealed her identity. “You told them,” she said to Jake.
“No, I figured it out.” Rachel sat in front of a laptop. “All Jake said was to look for a rosewood connection. After some digging I found this.” She tapped at the keyboard. Within seconds Naomi stared at an old driver’s license photo taken the year before she’d changed her identity. Then Rachel revealed Naomi’s senior yearbook picture, then a copy of her old college ID. “You are obviously the connection. I suppose the why doesn’t matter, but who behind the bombings does.”
“Time’s flying by,” Owen added and looked at the clock on the wall. “Eight more minutes.”
She knew they were right, but couldn’t be sure they’d believe her even if she bared the truth.
You’ll never know unless you tell them.
Jake took her by the hand and held it under the table. “Make this stop,” he said, giving her a gentle squeeze.
“You won’t believe me, the FBI, the media…no one will believe me.”
“Thomas did,” Ian said.
She looked away from Ian’s piercing gaze as she finally remembered how she knew the owner of CORE. When Thomas had been in the FBI Academy, she’d gone to see him. At the time of her visit, he’d been taking courses hoping to eventually be part of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit—specifically BAU-1, which, ironically, dealt with counterterrorism and threat assessment. After taking several of Ian’s courses, Thomas had ended up requesting assignment in BAU-2, crimes against adults.
Ultimate Kill (Book 1 Ultimate CORE Trilogy) (CORE Series) Page 17
