“Well, I can think of one thing right out of the gate,” Audrey replied.
“This ought to be good,” Chris said. “Okay, I’ll bite.”
She smiled. “I’d have paid more attention in self-defence class.”
“Funny.”
“Especially the one when they cover how to survive an attack from a garrote-wielding psychopath hiding out in a hospital basement. I definitely wouldn’t have missed that one.”
“Oh, I get it. What you’re telling me is that I let this happen.”
“You went after the guy without waiting for backup. So yes, I suppose I am.”
“Wow,” Hanover said, “I’m impressed.”
“With what?”
“How you’ve been able to amass such encyclopedic knowledge about police procedure - how to handle a high-risk takedown, in particular - all the while maintaining your full-time gig as a nurse.”
“Easy answer.”
“Shoot.”
“S.W.A.T.”
Hanover rolled his eyes. “How could I have missed that? It’s comforting to know your law enforcement expertise comes from watching television cop dramas.”
“Oh, I don’t watch S.W.A.T. to learn about law enforcement, or even police procedure for that matter,” Audrey Lane replied.
“Really? Then why? I mean, let’s face it. You could practically teach Psychopathy 101.”
“You’re so ill-informed.”
“Enlighten me.”
“Everyone knows there’s only one reason to watch S.W.A.T.”
“And that would be?”
“Shemar Moore. He can take me into custody anytime.”
Hanover started to laugh, then winced. “I’ll give you that. The man’s one hell of an actor. Good-looking guy, too.”
“Dreamy.”
“I wouldn’t go quite that far.”
“Dreamsville... dreamalicious.”
“You can stop now.”
Audrey applied a liberal amount of Ozonol to the wound to prevent infection and wrapped the injured area with medical gauze. “There,” she said. “That ought to do it. Now you can go back to chasing bad guys.”
“Thanks,” Chris said. “You know, you have a great touch.”
Audrey smiled. “Thank you.”
“Mind if I buy you a cup of coffee later?”
“As much as I’d like that, I can’t. Hospital rules. No fraternizing with the patients.”
“Then you leave me no choice.”
“Is that so?”
Chris nodded. “Yep. I’m going to have to take you out to dinner. For purely professional reasons, of course.”
Audrey laughed. “How is that?”
“You attend to Jordan, so there’s a chance you might have seen something. Better yet, someone.”
“And you think by taking me out to dinner I can be of help to you in your investigation?”
“One-hundred percent.”
Audrey smiled. “Then never let it be said I wasn’t willing to cooperate with the FBI.”
“Your government thanks you.”
“So exactly where and when is this interrogation to take place?”
“Tomorrow night. 8:00 P.M. The Palm.”
“Good choice.”
Director Dunn approached and spoke to Nurse Lane. “How’s Agent Hanover doing?”
Audrey winked at Chris. “On his way to making a full recovery.”
“Good,” Dunn replied. To Chris, he said, “I need to speak with you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Please let me know if I can be of further assistance, Agent Hanover,” Audrey said, excusing herself. “You can reach me here at the hospital.”
Hanover smiled. “I’ll be in touch.”
Dunn waited for the nurse to leave. “Carmichael’s here. He’s got the blueprints you asked for. I’ve requested two additional agents, Carter and Lehman.” Dunn motioned to the men conferring with Carmichael and Carnevale, reviewing the architectural layout of the hospital. “They’ll be assisting in the search of the building. So will LAPD. Since you and Carmichael are the only ones who know what this bastard looks like, I’m splitting you up. You’ll run point with Carter on Team One. Carmichael and Lehman will accompany Agent Carnevale on Team Two. I’ll stay with Jordan. LAPD will keep the place locked down. If the sonofabitch is in the building, we’ll find him.”
“Tell the men to watch their backs, sir. This guy’s a pro. He won’t hesitate to kill them if he gets the chance.”
Nurse Lane approached the two men. “Sorry to disturb you,” she said. She handed Hanover a slip of paper. “For the pain, in case it gets worse.”
“Thank you,” Chris said, pocketing the note.
Nurse Lane continued. “Director Dunn, Mrs. Quest says she’d like to speak with you when you have a minute.”
Dunn nodded. “Tell her I’ll be right there.”
“Of course.”
Carnevale called out to Chris, held up the blueprint, and gestured for him to join the others in the waiting room. Chris waved back. He winced as he turned his neck.
“You sure you’re okay?” Dunn said.
“Fine, sir. How’s Jordan doing?”
Dunn shook his head. “She’s tough as nails. The woman impresses the hell out of me.”
“Me too,” Chris agreed.
“I’m going to check in on her and see what she wants. Find this guy, Agent Hanover. He’s coming after Jordan for a reason. We need to know what that is. If you’ve got to put a hole or two in him in the process, so be it. Just bring him in alive.”
“Yes, sir.”
Dunn tapped his communications earbud. “Start the search. I’ll be on comms if you need me.”
“Copy that.”
As Chris headed to the waiting room, he read the slip of paper Audrey Lane had handed him. He smiled. She had given him her phone number.
Jordan was sitting up when Andrew Dunn entered the room. Nurse Lane adjusted her pillow.
“Better?” she asked.
“Much,” Jordan replied.
“Good. The CALL button is on the bed beside you. Press it if you need anything.”
“Thank you,” Jordan said.
Dunn waited until the door fell shut behind the nurse. “You asked to see me, Mrs. Quest?”
“I did,” Jordan replied. In her hand she held the necklace which belonged to the Directors daughter, Shannon. She placed it in her lap. “I think I know where to find your daughters.”
CHAPTER 26
BEEP… BEEP… beep...
The GPS tracking dot suddenly reappeared on Tasker’s phone. It had found Rigel. The contractor was less than two blocks away, moving in his direction. Tasker pressed the stereo MUTE button on the GT’s steering wheel three times. With a click, the passenger seat cushion popped up. From a secret compartment, Tasker removed a loaded Tec-9 machine pistol which he’d converted from its default semi-automatic mode into a fully automatic weapon capable of firing multiple rounds with a single press of the trigger, along with a spare clip, customized sound suppressor, shoulder harness, and two tear gas grenades. He pulled off the road, stepped out of the car, slipped the rig around his neck, affixed the silencer to the end of the gun, and drew back the bolt. After adjusting the harness for a comfortable fit, he grabbed his former Oakland A’s team jacket and ball cap from the back seat, put them on, and sat back in the car. The blip on the screen pulsed. Rigel was close.
Although the contracts he fulfilled for New York required substantial pre-planning, Tasker found his job as a contract killer remarkably easy. After receiving the electronic dossier from his handlers, he would spend a day or two researching the target. He observed their daily routine, noted drive routes to and from work, pick up times if their children attended school, the restaurants or bars they frequented, times of day they walked their dog, and assessed their personal protection detail (if they had one) for areas of vulnerability or weakness. He believed most of his targets deserved their fate for being
the self-important multi-millionaire assholes or business executives they were; men and women who had ruffled the feathers of the more powerful, only to learn just how unimportant they really were; the point being made by the delivery of a bullet to the back of the head.
Unless otherwise instructed by New York, Tasker was required to follow specific rules of engagement. Only the principal was to be eliminated, never members of their family. The death of a child was to be avoided at all cost (unless the child was the target). Only once in his professional career had this been the case. A fourteen-year-old microbiology and chemistry prodigy had made a game out of successfully circumventing the cash-cow patents of a major pharmaceutical company and selling the information on the Dark Web to the highest bidder. The firm, fearful of experiencing a catastrophic meltdown of its stock and mass exodus of its shareholders, contacted New York and ordered the boy’s termination. Although Tasker had been paid a staggering sum to fulfill the contract with no suspicion of foul play, it haunted him. Killing a man or woman and watching them die was one thing. But taking the life of a gifted kid was a whole different matter. Tasker had given the hit much consideration and refused to use bullets, poison, knives, electrocution, or suffocation. When the boy was not in his home-based lab hacking drug formulations, he loved to skateboard. To his detriment, he had a habit of not wearing a helmet. Tasker’s plan was simple but effective: slip into the family’s garage in the dead of night, loosen the bolts securing the rear wheel assembly to the kid’s board, remove and refasten the mounting platform using double-sided tape, and wait for the inevitable to occur. His plan succeeded. The following afternoon the local news reported on the boy’s death following a catastrophic head injury which he had sustained in a freak accident at a local skateboard park. The back wheels had come flying off the kid’s board as he raced down the half pipe on his first run of the day. He fell back, cracked his head open on the concrete form, and died at the scene. Tasker watched from a distance as the boy leaned forward and launched himself off the leading edge of the ramp, lost sight of him when he hit the ground, then observed the ensuing panic as fellow boarders ran to his aid. He was extradited from the scene fifteen minutes later by emergency medical personnel. New York congratulated him on the ingenuity he displayed in completing the assignment and extended the clients appreciation. Tasker stayed in town to attend a candlelight vigil held at the skatepark in memory of the dead boy. Weeks later, he was offered two more high-profile contracts involving tender age targets. He refused them both. Killing the boy had taken a greater psychological toll on him than he thought it would. One night, thousands of miles away from the skateboard park on the other side of the country, he was sitting in his hotel suite lamenting on the loss of his pro-baseball career, the muzzle of the Tec-9 pressed against his temple, his finger on the trigger. Disgusted with himself for not having the nerve to end his own life as unemotionally as he had those of dozens of targets in the past, he threw the weapon across the room. After falling asleep in the early hours of the morning, he woke to find the boys decaying corpse lying in the bed beside him, his skeletal arm draped over his shoulder. He could not move at the sight, much less scream. Summoning his courage, he jumped out of bed, retrieved the Tec-9 from the floor, swung around, and targeted the bed. As he prepared to riddle the hellish corpse with bullets, he suddenly realized that the boy was not actually there. He had pulled the sheets off the bed while experiencing a horrific nightmare. A loosed thread from his pillowcase lay where he had envisioned the boy’s remains. Filled with terror at the thought of returning to sleep, he packed his bags and checked out of the hotel. He hoped he’d left the boy behind.
The terms and conditions of his latest contract were crystal clear. The entire family was to be eliminated. There were to be no survivors. Michael Farrow, the principal target, and his wife, Mary, were already dead. The plane crash had seen to that. Only Farrow’s daughter, Jordan Quest, and her two children remained. Killing the daughter would be easy, the children not so much.
Tasker dropped the Mustang GT into gear and pulled away from the curb.
The light mist that earlier had swept in and covered the moonlit ground in a pearlescent dew had now turned to rain. Fat droplets splattered down on the windshield. Tasker checked Rigel’s GPS signal once more then glanced out the windshield at the low clouds. A bolt of lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the car’s interior.
A storm was coming to Los Angeles.
CHAPTER 27
BEHIND SHANNON, Zoe, and Lily the searchlights of the all-terrain vehicles swept through the forest, casting silver shadows over its dew-laden floor, startling its nocturnal inhabitants. A doe and its fawn raised their heads and sniffed the air, then bolted, the doe following closely behind its mother, their fight-or-flight instinct aroused by the snap of twigs breaking under heavy footfalls.
Lily called back to her new friends. “Quit stomping,” she said. “Roll your foot from heel to toe. The sound won’t carry.”
“Excuse me, Pocahontas,” Zoe replied. “Next time I’ll wear moccasins.”
“Or Sketchers,” Shannon added.
“A much better suggestion,” Zoe agreed. “Note to self: Make Sketchers footwear of choice for late-night run through woods.”
Lily disregarded the verbal jab. “We’ll be getting off the trail soon. Stick close. Blend into the shadows. Listen to the forest. Be one with the night.”
“One with the night?” Zoe said. “Please tell me you’re not going to go all kung-fu-Zen-master on us.”
“Quiet!” Lily hushed. “There… up ahead.”
“I don’t see a damn thing,” Zoe said.
“Me neither,” Shannon added.
“That’s the idea,” Lily said. “Follow me and don’t ask questions. We need to move fast.”
Lily directed them off the path. The racing engines of the ATV’s echoed through the forest. Uncle Emmett and his sons were closing in.
Lily pointed to a tree with a massive trunk. Its gnarly root structure snaked across the surface of the ground. “There,” she said. “Behind that tree.”
The girl ran ahead, slid to the ground, and began digging at the soft soil with her fingers. Shannon and Zoe stared down at her.
Lily looked up. “Don’t just stand there,” she said. “Dig!”
The women dropped to their knees. “What are we looking for?” Shannon said.
“The edge.”
“Of what?”
“A door.”
“A door?”
“Just do it already!”
Shannon and Zoe followed the girl’s instructions and explored the ground beneath their fingers until they felt the edges of the door.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Zoe said.
“Clear the dirt,” Lily demanded.
They dug a channel around the perimeter of the flat two-foot by three-foot metal door.
Lily located the recessed handle and pulled. The door creaked but wouldn’t budge. Time and exposure to the elements had rusted its hinge.
“I don’t suppose anyone thought to bury a can of WD-40 here too,” Zoe said.
“Grab the handle and pull,” Lily said.
“Move aside,” Zoe said. She tugged hard on the handle. With a heavy creak the stubborn hinge gave way. Zoe raised the door. A surge of air wafted up from within the structure. A steel ladder anchored to a concrete wall led down into darkness.
“Get in!” Lily said.
Shannon and Zoe exchanged tentative glances.
“You’re wasting time. Hurry!”
“You first,” Zoe said.
“I can’t,” Lily said. “I have to go last.”
“Why?” Shannon asked.
“I have to execute the countermeasures.”
“Countermeasures?” Zoe repeated. “Who the hell was your dad, Lily? James Bond?”
The ATV’s were fast approaching, the beams from their lighting system illuminating the forest canopy and surrounding trees. The smell of gasoli
ne and burning motor oil carried on the fog. A light rain began to fall.
They could hear voices now above the roar of the machines, instructions being issued. The ATV’s split off in different directions. The sound of one of the four-wheelers faded while the second machine, headed in their direction, grew louder.
“Go!” Lily yelled.
Shannon and Zoe descended the ladder. Lily followed close behind. Once inside the structure the girl pulled down the lever-lock on the underside of the door and flicked on the lights, casting the underground chamber in a pale-yellow glow. A thin wire pull-cord ran down the side of the concrete wall. Lily pulled down on its metal handle. Shannon and Zoe heard a muffled twang sound above the hatch door. The wire fell slack against the wall.
Zoe looked at Lily. “Countermeasures?”
Lily nodded. “There’s a huge net of pine cones, needles, and leaves suspended between the trees. Dad camouflaged it so that you could walk right under it and not see it. I released it. Everything fell to the ground. The hatch is covered now.”
“Where are we?” Shannon asked.
“Dad’s secret place.” Lily looked up. “Don’t worry, we’re safe now. It’s soundproof. They won’t be able to hear us, much less find us.”
Storage cupboards ran along the walls of the main corridor, each labeled according to its contents. Zoe opened the doors and peeked inside. In one she found a dozen cans of instant coffee and whitener, boxes of tea, a tall plastic container full of single-serve sugar packets, cartons of dehydrated ready-to-eat foods, canned beans and chili, powdered milk, dry pasta, shrink-wrapped cases of bottled water, soda, packaged nuts, dried fruit, and more.
The shelving units on the other side of the hallway were stocked with a variety of items: porcelain mugs, dinner plates, plastic cups, paper towels, toilet paper, soap, shampoo, a medical supply kit, kitchen cutlery, knives in self-sharpening cases, books, boards games, walkie-talkies, flashlights, batteries, topographical maps of the region, safety lighters, striking matches, boxes of beeswax candles, kerosene lamps, bottles of fuel, a portable stove, cans of Sterno camping fuel, two compasses, a hand-crank radio, and eight cans of bear spray. One section of the wall was outfitted with rock climbing gear. Miscellaneous camping items hung on hooks. Three large plastic storage containers sat on the floor. The first, labeled DAD, was full of clothes, a pair of hiking boots, several pairs of leather gloves, and a rain poncho. The label on the second tub read JUNE. The third, LILY.
Intruders (A Jordan Quest FBI Thriller Book 1) Page 11
