by Leigh Barker
“Not a rifle that would break down into an attaché case.”
He shook his head and waited.
“How would the shooter get it out of the building?”
“Maybe he just left it,” Mancini said. “I would.”
She shook her head. “This guy expected to shoot Ethan and walk away. He wouldn’t be expecting to leave his weapon.”
“He won’t leave it. He can’t know for sure it doesn’t have something to tell us,” Ethan said. “DNA maybe.”
Mancini nodded. “Yeah, I get that. But so what?”
Kelsey stood. “I saw a guy putting fishing gear into a van.”
“Fishing gear?” Ethan closed his eyes for a moment and tried to get his head around it. “In Washington?”
“People fish here,” Mancini said. “Not me, but people.”
Kelsey gave him a double take but left it and turned back to Ethan. “Long-handled keep net, the works.” She gave them a moment. “And an oversized fishing-rod case.”
“Tell me you got the van’s plate,” Ethan said, and stood up beside her.
She smiled at him. “Of course. It’s one of those annoying things I do. When I see something that doesn’t look right, I save it away.”
“Just one annoying thing?” he said, and walked after her as she headed for the door. “Where are you going? He’ll be long gone.”
“NCIS headquarters,” she said. “They have a loveable geek with a computer.”
Ethan looked down at Mancini. “You’d better go help the boys in blue make the right deductions from the shooting.” He saw him get the idea. “Right. Make sure they see what a hero Rayford was, saving SecAF from the shooter.”
He turned to follow Kelsey, stopped and looked back. “And let’s keep Dryer informed. But only what he really needs to know.”
“Ten-four,” Mancini said, and raised his eyebrows.
“Ten-four?” Ethan shook his head. “You suddenly become a beat cop?”
“If only. Life would be much simpler.”
“Says who?”
“Yeah,” Mancini said, standing up. “I guess everything looks rosier when you’re not the one up to your neck in shit and gang-bangers.”
“Ten-four,” Ethan said, and headed for the parking lot.
Ethan sat back in the SUV’s passenger seat, closed his eyes and processed the day.
Kelsey glanced at him, then concentrated on getting across town through the midday traffic.
He opened his eyes for a moment as they passed the White House, grunted and closed them again.
“What?” she said.
“I was thinking I’d like a house like that when I retire.”
She laughed, short and loud.
He opened his eyes again. “You don’t think I could get a house like that?”
She glanced at him and shook her head. “Not in a million years. But that’s not it.”
He raised his eyebrows and waited.
She gave him a long look, then watched the road before they ran over somebody. He didn’t seem to get it. “You retire?”
“Comes to us all.” He sat up in the seat. “Everybody gets old.”
“Not you.”
“Hey, thanks.” He smiled.
“You’ll be dead in some shitty alley long before then.”
“Oh, thanks.” He thought about it. “Yeah, you’re right. But it’s better than smelling of pee and drooling.”
She raised an eyebrow and gave him a look. He leaned forward and gave himself a long sniff.
“Okay so far,” he said.
“You say.”
He took another sniff. “Smelt better. Smelt a whole lot worse. Getting nearly killed makes a man sweat a bit.” Another sniff. “No pee though. Thank God.”
She laughed quietly and concentrated on threading through the traffic and off the freeway onto Virginia Avenue.
“We there yet?” he said.
She ignored him and a few minutes later turned off M Street and into the Navy Yard.
They went through security without a hitch, but this was home ground for both of them.
“This is Ed Simon,” she said, and pointed at the young man sitting at a computer and staring at her boobs.
“He’s the geek?” Ethan said.
“Geek?” Ed said, looking up at Kelsey and seeing her squinting at him. “Err… I… err… thought there was a… err… bug on your shirt.”
She continued to fix him with a hard look until he’d squirmed enough to teach him not to stare. “Can you find a van for me?”
Ed nodded eagerly, glad not to be dead. He knew Kelsey and what she was capable of. Once she’d—
“Well, will you find it?” she said.
“Yes.” He repeated his energetic nod. “Any particular van?”
Kelsey shrugged. “No. Just a van. I’m planning on hauling some junk this weekend.”
He frowned, then saw her expression. “Oh.”
She handed him a page from her notebook. “That’s the plate. It was outside the Marriott Hotel about an hour ago.”
He took the paper and turned back to his computer with a sigh of relief. A moment later he leaned towards the screen. “It’s a rental.”
They knew that.
“Rented from Alamo at Dulles a week ago.”
“That’s very interesting,” Ethan said, without much enthusiasm. “How many vans d’ya think they rent?”
Ed looked back over his shoulder. “Lots. Hundreds.”
Ethan smiled a parental smile. “Let’s try something radical.” He waited for the geek to frown. “Can you do that thing they do on the TV cop shows?”
That didn’t help.
“He means get the footage from the hotel entrance camera,” Kelsey said.
Ed glanced quickly at Ethan and turned back to his computer. “Why didn’t he say that, then?” he mumbled.
A minute passed, then the hotel access road came on screen with traffic coming and going.
“Can you wind back a couple of hours or so?” Ethan said.
Ed looked back at Kelsey. “Wind back?” He shook his head. “He thinks this is video tape?”
She nodded.
“What car do you drive?” Ed said. “An old Ford pickup, I bet.”
“Don’t have a car.”
Kelsey turned to face him. “No car?” Then she saw his half smile. “Right. What is it?” She snapped her fingers. “Motorcycle, right?”
She got the full smile.
“No, don’t tell me.” She put her hand on her chin. “A classic. Harley? No, British.”
He nodded once. “Sixty-nine Norton Commando.”
“Nice wheels,” Ed said, and pointed at the monitor showing a bright red Norton.
“Yep. Mine’s yellow,” Ethan said.
Kelsey was watching him, waiting for the punchline. It didn’t come.
“You really ride a yellow motorcycle?” she said, with a slow shake of her head.
“It’s not a yellow motorcycle,” Ethan said. “It’s a classic motorbike.”
“Oh, that’s okay, then.” She flicked her finger towards the monitor. “Shall we get back to work?”
Ed took a last look at the bike, then returned to the camera feed. “Hang on while I rewind.”
“Cool,” Ethan said, and looked across at the racks of electronics lining one wall while Ed gave him another of those looks.
“Hour and a half,” Ed said. “Right, there it is.”
“Can you track where it goes?” Ethan said.
Ed switched from the hotel camera to the first traffic camera at the intersection outside the hotel. Then followed it as it headed south down Sixteenth Street until it turned left into U Street and then a right onto Fifteenth.
“Where’s he going?” Ed said, and leaned closer as if that would help answer his question.
Ethan and Kelsey exchanged a look, and she shook her head.
“He can’t be.”
Ethan shrugged. “Looks like it.”
“Looks like what?” Ed said.
“Keep going,” Kelsey said, and put her hands on the back of his chair.
The white van took a right at the end of T Street, and Kelsey straightened up and glanced at Ethan. “He’s going to your hotel.”
He didn’t answer.
“How would he know where you’re staying?” she asked.
He gave her a little shrug. “Same way he knows pretty much everything we’re doing.”
“The mole,” she said.
“The mole.”
“He pulled into the hotel,” Ed said. “He’s still there.”
“Let’s go,” Kelsey said, and started to move.
“No point,” Ethan said. “If he’s as good as I think he is, he won’t hang around waiting for us to show up.”
“There’s no way he can know we’re tracking him,” Ed said.
Ethan chuckled. “If he watches TV, he’ll know.”
Ed gave a long, resigned sigh. “Yeah, they’re spoiling everything.”
“What are you thinking?” Kelsey said.
“He’s leaving,” Ed said.
“Can you follow him?” Ethan said.
“Do you know how many cameras there are in DC?” Ed asked.
“No,” Ethan said. “How many?”
Ed shifted uncomfortably and returned to watching his monitor. “Lots.”
“So?” Kelsey said.
“He’s looking for me,” Ethan said.
“Yeah, seems so.”
“I’m guessing it’s more than his professional need to complete his contract.” He smiled. “I think I’ve hurt his pride.”
She sniffed. “He’s a hit man. He won’t have pride to hurt.”
“Oh, he will. He sees himself as the best. The best of the best. He screwed up this hit, so he’s out to put it right.”
“But that would be stupid.”
“Yes, it would be,” he said. “I’m counting on it.”
“How so?”
“Can you get to the FBI computer-thingy from here?” he said.
Ed looked back quickly, but kept quiet.
“Yes,” Kelsey said, and smiled. “I can. And I can log our location.”
“Do that,” Ethan said. “Somewhere quiet.” He crossed the cluttered technology office to an old-fashioned map on the wall by the door. A curiosity, probably.
“Here.” He tapped the map. “Rock Creek Park.” He looked back at Kelsey. “He’s a city warrior. If I take him on in the city, I’ll be on his turf.” He tapped the map again. “This urban forest is as near to jungle as we’re going to find anywhere close. And that’s my turf.”
Kelsey sat in front of one of the many terminals in the small office and logged onto the FBI extranet.
“Be careful with that,” Ed said. “I’ve got sensitive information on that system.”
“Yes, I’ve seen the link,” she said, and concentrated on navigating to the case log.
For a moment, Ed looked like a rabbit caught in a truck’s headlights, then turned quickly and started flipping through traffic cams. “He’s stopped at a diner.”
Ethan stepped up behind him and looked at the crystal-clear image of the white van stationary in the corner of the diner’s parking lot. “It’ll take him a while to think about trying the FBI link.”
“If he has a computer,” Ed said.
“Oh, he has one. Count on it,” Ethan said. “You got decent coffee here?”
Ed waved towards the door, and Ethan saw the coffee pot and the pile of used mugs. He picked one of the less disgusting mugs and tipped the remains of old coffee into the one with a picture of Homer Simpson. “Coffee?” he said.
Kelsey looked up and nodded. Then saw the origin of the proposed drink. “No, you go ahead. Luckily we’re close to medical help.”
“Drunk worse than this.”
“Yes, I’m sure you have. I hear jarheads drink their own urine.” She was smiling.
“It’s an acquired taste,” he said, and poured thick black coffee into the stained mug, lifted it to eye level and admired the Yogi Bear image. “You’re into cartoons, then?”
Ed glanced over distractedly. “They’re the only people you can trust.” He turned back to the monitor, and Ethan and Kelsey exchanged a look.
“He’s moving,” Ed said.
“That was quick,” Ethan said, and stood behind Ed’s chair. Because it made the geek feel uncomfortable.
“Looks like he’s taken our bait,” Ed said, and shifted his chair a few inches to the left away from Ethan.
Ethan followed and slurped his coffee.
“Time to roll?” Kelsey said.
“Time to roll,” Ethan said, and put the empty mug on Ed’s chaotic desktop.
Ed picked up a plastic fork and pushed the mug up to the edge of the desk.
“You shouldn’t torment the boy,” Kelsey said.
Ethan glanced back and smiled. “Passes the time.”
“He may not look it, but that kid’s a super-genius.” She nodded. “A real one. IQ off the scale. Up there with… Einstein probably.”
“That’ll be it, then.” He saw her puzzled expression and shrugged. “Brain can only process so much stuff. Fill it with geniusness and there’s no room for common sense or people skills.”
“Geniusness? Eloquently put.” She tapped the side of his head. “What was your IQ again?” She made a show of thinking. “Ah yes. One-forty-seven, wasn’t it? That explains a lot.”
“Having it and using it are two different things.” He held the door open so she could go first and warm up the SUV.
She stopped a little way down the corridor and turned. “Where are you going?”
“There’s an armory here, right?”
“Of course.”
“I need some hardware.”
She came back. “You can’t just stroll in and ask for a rocket launcher.”
He frowned. “I’m a marine. This is a naval base.”
“If only it worked like that.” She took his arm. “Come on.” She led him through the door to the stairs. “Be nice to the armorer. He’s an old man.”
“Always nice to the old and the infirm,” he said, and followed her down the winding stairway.
The armorer was really old, probably knew Methuselah’s dad. He looked up as they approached the small countertop that separated him from the world. “Can I help you folks?”
Did people really talk like that? Ethan decided they must do, because the old guy just had. He guessed it was an affectation for the tourists.
“Have you got an HK MP5 SD?” he asked.
The old man stared at him for a moment. “That’s a hell of a gun.”
“It is.” Ethan rested his hands on the countertop flipped down on the lower half of the split door. “You got one?”
The old man looked him in the eyes. Then nodded once. “Yeah, I guess you can handle one. Marine?”
“Was.” Ethan thought about it. “Guess I still am. Got redrafted.”
“Yeah, it happens,” the old man said, and disappeared behind the steel racks lined with weapons of every sort.
Kelsey leaned closer to Ethan. “What’s an… HK MP…?”
“Best submachine gun ever produced.”
“A submachine gun?” She stared at him. “In Washington? Are you out of your mind? You’ll have every lawman in the city jumping on your ass before you can get off a second shot.”
“The SD’s got an integrated suppressor.”
“Oh, that’s okay, then.” She shook her head. “Lawmen. Your ass. Mark my words, Master Sergeant. Mark my words.”
The armorer returned and laid the Heckler & Koch on the counter with gentle reverence. “This is the—”
“N2,” Ethan said, and picked it up. “Beautiful condition.” He nodded his appreciation at the old man, who shrugged as if it was nothing. But it clearly was something.
“I’d like it back in the same condition, Master Sergeant,” the armorer said, and gla
nced towards Kelsey. “Your partner’s voice carries.”
“Tell me about it.” He took the four magazines the armorer had decided he’d need. “You’ll get it back cleaned and oiled.”
“Yes, I will,” the armorer said, turned and went back to his guns.
“How’re you planning to get that out? You can’t walk around with that under your arm.”
A black canvas carrying case bounced off the counter and landed at Ethan’s feet. He chuckled, scooped it up and pushed the weapon into it.
“He’s parked up off Beach Drive, north of the golf course,” Ed’s voice said over the speaker.
“How far?” Ethan said.
“We’re there.” Kelsey pulled the SUV off the road and drove across the picnic parking to the shelter of the bushes. “There’s a few of these spots around here. Could be on any of them.”
“Ask the boy genius.”
“I heard that,” Ed said. “I’ve got you about a hundred yards south of his position.”
“Copy that,” Ethan said, and reached down and pulled the gun case up onto his lap.
He looked around at the deserted picnic area and unzipped the bag. The first rain of the day pattered on the windshield. He pushed open the door, stopped and gave Kelsey a big grin. “Wish me luck.”
“Don’t need to,” she said, opening her door, “I’m coming with you.”
Ethan closed his door and turned in his seat. “Hey, I get it, you’re a highly trained federal agent and this is your case.” He raised his hand. “I do, I get it.” He leaned towards her. “Kid, you’re welcome to come with, but this guy’s going to be carrying some serious firepower. Fifty cal, remember?” He smiled with an effort. “So, yeah, come. But only if you’ve got one of these.” He patted the MP5.
She squinted at him. “You know I don’t have one of those… submachine guns. You only asked for one.”
“Hey, you could’ve asked.” He opened the door again. “Stay here. I’ll call if the bad man frightens me.”
He got out of the SUV and put his hand on the window. She nodded once, but her expression promised retribution. If he lived long enough.
He fastened his woolen overcoat and squinted into the rain that was now tumbling out of the dark sky in drifting curtains. He should’ve dug out his waterproof service jacket, and the camouflage would’ve come in handy, but he didn’t have it, so wishing was just a waste of time.
