by Jack Mars
“What makes you think that?” Zero asked, keeping his voice even.
“They have a man on the inside,” Carver continued, “named Raulsen. He’s a former SEAL and the special agent in charge of protective detail; basically the head of security for Pierson. He’s the closest one to him, and I know they’ve gotten to him. Seems like the most obvious culprit. If they create some sort of distraction, it wouldn’t be hard to make it look like Pierson went down while Raulsen was trying to protect him.”
Zero thought back to his visit to the White House and the Secret Service members he’d observed there, recalling the man who seemed to be running the security show. “About six-three, maybe two-thirty, dark hair, clean-shaven?”
“That’s him. Would you know him if you saw him again?”
Zero knew which boat they would be taking as soon as he saw it. It was twenty-eight feet long and only seven feet wide, with a deep gray planing hull that was made of carbon fiber, if he had to guess. The platform was long and narrow, the bow stretching into a sharp V.
It was a cigarette boat, or to those in the powerboat racing game, a “go-fast boat.” He knew the design; two engines with a combined two thousand horsepower, capable of top speeds in excess of a hundred miles an hour on calm seas. These types of boats had been based on the rumrunners of yesteryear that had been created specifically to avoid interception by the Coast Guard. They were fast, they were agile, and they were difficult to pick up on radar.
And Zero had never ridden in one before. The tingle of excitement that crept up his spine was only slightly dulled by the fact that he wouldn’t be the one driving it.
He tossed Maria the boat key and then tossed the bag of gear down into the small cockpit, barely large enough for the three of them.
“We should be able to get to New York in just over an hour,” Watson said. And with the added benefit of no traffic lights, no speed limit, and no concern of cops, they would have nothing but open water between them and the city.
“And when we get there?” Maria asked.
“We’ve got just over an hour to figure that out,” Zero told her. “You think you can drive this thing?”
Maria nodded emphatically. “Oh yeah. But you’ll probably want to hang on to something.” She started up the engines; they roared powerfully, the entire length of the boat rumbling. They left the dock slowly and made their way into open water, a few hundred meters out from the marina.
Then Maria pushed the throttle forward.
The whine of the twin engines screamed in Zero’s ears as the boat lurched ahead with enough momentum to send him scrambling to grab hold of the railing to keep himself from tumbling right off the stern. The wind tore at his jacket as the powerboat cut a swath through the Atlantic Ocean as easily as a razorblade across paper.
They were on their way. But Carver’s troubling prediction weighed heavily on his mind. Even if he managed to stop the assassination attempt, even if they were able to ascertain and apprehend the loftiest perpetrators of the plot, how many others would still be out there? How deep did this hole really go? How would Pierson ever be able to trust anyone close to him again?
One thing at a time, he told himself. Because if you can’t keep him—or yourself—from getting killed, you won’t have to worry about all that anyway.
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
“What?” Zero shouted over the roar of the speedboat’s dual engines. Maria, at the helm, had yelled something over her shoulder, but he hadn’t heard a word.
He maneuvered closer to her—they’d been on the water for about thirty minutes, and he was finally getting used to the inertia of the rocketing boat—and put his ear close to her mouth.
“I said, we’re not going to get within a mile of the bridge on this thing!” she shouted in his ear. “There’s going to be Coast Guard, police, probably helicopters. So what’s the plan?”
“We’re going to head up the East River to the southern tip of Roosevelt Island,” he yelled back. “That’s probably the closest we’re going to be able to get. There’s a tram that runs every eight minutes to the Manhattan side of the bridge.”
“And from there?”
“We get on the bridge and save the president.” Zero shook his head in exasperation. “You do realize I’m making this up as I go, right?”
Maria grinned. “That’s why you try to do all this alone, isn’t it? So no one notices that you have no plan?”
“There’s no such thing as a mistake if you’re improvising.” He knelt in the small cockpit, now that he was seaworthy enough to no longer require the railing as a handhold, and unzipped the black bag from Strickland’s trunk. There was a lot of gear in there; it looked as if either Strickland or Bixby had stuffed a bag with whatever was in the vicinity. He found three pistols, spare magazines, fragmentation grenades, flash-bangs, tiny disc-shaped EMP grenades, binoculars, a skullcap and a ball cap in the same shade of black, and a first-aid kit, among other things. It was much more than he needed and certainly more than he could carry.
We’ll need to be inconspicuous. I won’t be able to carry a bag of weapons onto the bridge. They would have to be picky about what they took with them; only smaller items that could be easily concealed and ditched if necessary.
Zero looked down at his injured right hand and had an idea. He took the Ruger LC9 out of his jacket pocket and compared it to the thick gauze wrapping. It was small enough to fit… And though four of his fingers were immobilized and splinted, his ring finger was unbroken and could bend, even though it would be painful.
As Maria continued racing forward with an open throttle, Zero set about unwrapping his hand.
*
They slowed on their approach to Roosevelt Island, the narrow islet on the East River with Manhattan to its west and Queens to the east. The Queensboro Bridge stretched over the island’s center, due north of them.
Zero had rewrapped his hand, stowed a few pieces of gear in his pockets, and just for good measure had even put on the black pack that Bixby had given him, concealed beneath his jacket. Better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it, he thought wryly.
As they made their way up the rocky shore, Zero found himself glancing left and right, looking for any sign of Carver. He had told him to meet on Roosevelt Island, but he hadn’t specified a precise point.
“All right, here’s the plan,” Zero said quickly. “Maria and I will go up to the bridge level. Watson, I want you to stay down here on the island. If things go south, someone needs to know the truth and carry on. Get a good vantage point atop one of those buildings. Record it if you can.” He passed him the bag that held the remaining gear.
For a moment, he wondered if he should mention Carver. He was, after all, Watson’s former partner. But he decided against it. He needed Watson to stay focused on the task at hand.
“Got it.” Watson clapped Zero once on the shoulder. “Godspeed, both of you. And in case you don’t make it out of this…”
“We don’t say goodbye, John.”
“I know,” Watson told him. “I’m not. Just be careful, Reid.” Watson hefted the bag and headed north on the two-mile-long island at a trot.
“Let’s go,” Maria prodded, and the two of them set off at a brisk pace toward the tram that would take them up a series of lengthy cables to the Manhattan side of the Queensboro Bridge.
“Hey,” he said as they walked. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For not telling you sooner that I got my memory back. For accusing you of lying to me about us being together.”
“It’s okay,” Maria murmured. “And I’m sorry too. For everything. I’m sorry that you had to send your girls away again. I’m sorry about what happened to Kate.” She paused meaningfully before adding, “I’m not going to lie to you. When this is over and you’ve got some time to process all these newfound memories, there’s probably going to be some unpleasantness. Some things you wish you didn’t know.”
Zero didn’t slow his pace, but he frowned deeply. What does that mean? Why did she feel the need to mention Kate?
Cartwright’s final words flitted through his mind again. They didn’t know the truth. They were following an order, just like I was. We’ve all been lied to.
Those words came only moments after Zero had demanded to know about his wife’s murderer. And while he hadn’t considered it before, Zero was suddenly keenly aware that he had said “they,” rather than he or she.
Was he trying to tell me something about Kate’s death?
“Hey. Wait a second.” Zero grabbed Maria’s elbow and gently pulled her to a stop. “Why did you mention Kate just now?”
Maria’s brow furrowed, her gaze searching his. “Because… because it was a terrible thing, Kent. She didn’t deserve it. You and your family didn’t deserve it. And I’m sorry that it happened.” She turned and continued on rapidly toward the tram.
Zero trotted after her, but now his mind was racing. It was the last thing he wanted to think about, but once it was in his head he couldn’t seem to get it out.
Does Maria know the truth about what happened to Kate?
Did she have something to do with it?
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
“Let’s go over this one more time.” The female police officer looked exasperated, sighing heavily and pinching the bridge of her nose frequently.
Maya and Sara sat in uncomfortable plastic chairs on the other side of the desk in the precinct of Sumner, Nebraska. It was a small place, just an expanse of tiled floor with a handful of desks, a few closed office doors, and a corridor in the rear that Sara could only imagine led to jail cells.
Luckily, despite Maya having been caught with a beer can in her hand by the female officer and refusing to answer her questions, they weren’t in one of those cells, nor were they handcuffed.
“You can’t tell me where you live,” the officer said. The name tag over her left pocket said Pettit.
“No,” Maya said coolly.
“And you can’t tell me your names.”
“No.”
Sara’s foot bounced anxiously on the tiled floor.
“You can’t?” Officer Pettit challenged. “Or you won’t?”
“Pick one,” Maya retorted. Sara had no idea how her sister was able to keep such a cool head in the face of being arrested. Her own heart was practically pounding out of her chest. She had to imagine that anger and sarcasm was Maya’s natural reaction to the situation—much like her own had been to run off into the woods with Ethan.
“Look, you seem like nice girls,” Pettit said. “But you need to tell me who you are and where you live. This is a small town. I don’t know you, and I know everyone. I’m not going to just let you walk the streets. I’ll ask you again: is there someone we can call?”
Sara gulped. Pettit had already asked them that at least twice now. But neither of them knew the number to reach Mitch. They couldn’t give their real names, and they couldn’t just tell the officer about the cabin. It seemed like there was nothing they could do but sit there and deny.
“Fine,” Pettit sighed. “Then you’re just going to sit here until someone comes to claim you.” The phone on her desk rang. “Excuse me. Sumner Police, Officer Pettit speaking.” As Sara watched, the officer’s gaze rose from her desk to the two of them. “That’s right.” Pettit’s brow furrowed deeply. “Yes. I have them right here, sitting across from me.”
Mitch? Sara thought. Is he looking for us?
“I will. Thank you.” Pettit replaced the phone on the cradle and folded her hands on the desk before speaking. “I’m going to give you girls one more opportunity to tell me who you are, and what you’ve done,” she said somberly.
Maya frowned. “What we’ve done? What are you talking about?”
“That was the FBI,” Pettit told them. “Looking for two teenage girls, a blonde and a brunette, ages fourteen and sixteen. They’ll be here in about five minutes.”
Sara’s breath caught in her throat. The FBI? Why? How did they find us?
But Maya’s mind was already two steps ahead. “Listen to me, please,” she said quickly as she leaned forward. “That was not the FBI. It was a group called the Division. They’re mercenaries that are looking for us. They already came to our house and pretended to be agents. You can’t let them take us.”
Pettit stared at Maya for a long time. “Do you think I’m stupid? I know we might be a small town and a small precinct here, and I sure as hell haven’t ever gotten a call from the FBI before, but I wasn’t born yesterday.”
“I’m not trying to trick you!” Maya pleaded. She glanced over at her sister and saw Sara’s panicked expression. “Fine,” she conceded to the officer. “I can’t tell you our names because we’re in hiding. Our father is a CIA agent who is trying to stop a war from breaking out in Iran, and…” Maya trailed off. She must have realized how ludicrous the story must sound to the cop.
Pettit rubbed her temples with her fingertips. “This was so much easier when I thought you were just drinking in the woods.”
Sara cleared her throat and spoke for the first time since entering the precinct. “If you let them take us,” she said quietly, “we’re dead. No one will ever see us again.”
Pettit stared at Sara. It wasn’t a hard stare; there was some compassion behind her eyes. It seemed that Sara’s words had made her think twice. Pettit shook her head. “I don’t know what to do here. The chief of police is off today, but I’m going to give him a call and get his take. You two sit right there and don’t move.” The officer took out a cell phone, rose from her desk, and made a call. “Chief? It’s Pettit. Look, we’ve got a bizarre situation on our hands here…”
As Pettit meandered away from the desk, Maya shook her head in dismay. “How? How did they find us? We don’t have phones. We didn’t use our real names.”
But Sara already knew. There was only one way, one possible way the Division could have discovered their location. “That boy,” she admitted in a whisper. “Ethan. He took a picture of me. He must have posted it somewhere.”
Maya sighed in disappointment. “Sara.” She squeezed her sister’s arm, and then glanced over her shoulder. Pettit was across the room, speaking in low tones, her back to them. “We’re going to make a run for it. Get outside and don’t stop. Follow me and keep running. Ready?”
Sara’s legs felt like jelly, but still she nodded. “Yeah. Ready.”
“Go!” Maya jumped from her seat and hurtled toward the exit. Sara followed, almost stumbling off the mark.
“Hey!” Pettit shouted after them. “Hey, stop!”
Maya reached the door first. Her hands were on it when it swung open from the other side. A man in a beige uniform filled the doorway, looking just as surprised to see Maya as she was to see him there. She couldn’t stop herself in time and bounced into him. The officer stumbled back a step, but Maya tripped over her own feet and sprawled to the floor.
Sara stopped in her tracks.
“Don’t let them leave!” Pettit shouted.
The male cop, still bewildered, at least seemed to understand that much. He put out his arms and blocked the door.
Sara didn’t try to get past him. Instead she helped Maya up from the floor. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Maya muttered, rubbing her elbow.
Pettit stepped in front of them, her cheeks flushed with anger. “Innocent people don’t tend to run,” she said. “Now you two are going to sit in those chairs, and you’re not going to move a muscle until the FBI gets here!”
“FBI?” the male cop asked, puzzled. “Pettit, what’s going on here?”
“A headache, Reynolds. A big headache.”
Sara glanced over at her older sister. She knew that expression; Maya was thinking quickly. Before Sara knew what was happening, Maya balled one fist and swung it out in a wide, fast arc.
The blow connected with Pettit’s cheek and sent her stumbling right into the arms of the
male cop, Reynolds.
For a moment, there was only silence. Pettit stared in stunned fury. Reynolds looked absolutely bewildered. Sara stopped breathing.
“Okay,” said Pettit. “Okay then.” She grabbed Maya by one elbow and yanked it upward at an angle, high enough to make her wince. With her other hand she grabbed onto Sara’s left arm. The female cop was stronger than she looked; her grip was tight and painful.
“Let’s go,” Pettit growled. She half-dragged the girls along as she marched to the back of the station and down the corridor, where three small holding cells awaited. Without another word, Pettit shoved them both through the door and yanked it close.
The jail cell locked with an echoing clank.
“That was your plan?!” Sara shouted at her sister. “To get us locked up?”
“We’re safer in here than we are out there!” Maya argued.
“And now they know exactly where to find us!”
“Hey, none of this would have happened if you hadn’t run off with that kid!” Maya paced the small cell, her hands on her head. “Just shut up a second, let me think.”
Sara sat heavily on the small cot. Any moment now the man who had claimed to be from the FBI would be there to get them. Where will he take us? Will he be alone? What if we told Officer Pettit our real names?
Her last thought stuck in her mind. If they told Pettit who they were, she could make some calls, verify it… but what good would that do? No one would openly confirm that their father was an agent with the CIA.
“Watson!” Sara said suddenly. “We could call Watson. He’ll know what to do. He’ll tell her the truth. He’ll—”
“Shh!” Maya hissed. She craned her neck at the bars as a new voice echoed down the corridor.
“Officer Pettit? I’m Agent Hargreaves, FBI. We spoke on the phone.” He sounded cordial, almost friendly, but an icy shiver still ran down Sara’s spine at the sound of his voice. “Do you still have the girls in custody?”
