by Laura Scott
“W-what have you done?” He gaped in surprise.
Her smile didn’t reach her dark almond-shaped eyes. “These changes will ensure that my face matches that on my passport issued under the name I provided to you. I want to be sure that there is no chance I’ll be stopped by TSA.”
He felt foolish for not realizing the implication of her name change sooner. “I understand. You escaped Geneva by using this disguise and the fake passport.”
“Yes.” Her gaze was serious. “Jarek, you should know that I’m not entirely sure this identity hasn’t been compromised. Going on this flight may set off alarm bells in the intricate network of the regime.”
All thoughts of a possible vacation evaporated like the mist over Lake Michigan. “Maybe we should drive instead, the way we originally planned.” He wished he’d never purchased the two plane tickets, especially under her fake name.
“No, that will take too long.” Hana rested her hand on his arm. “I’m sure we will be okay until we reach Washington, DC.”
Apprehension swirled in his gut. “What happens once we reach DC?”
Hana didn’t answer for a long moment. “I will fill you in later. Just know we will need to be on alert for any trouble when we land at Reagan International. Come, let’s have dinner.”
Jarek’s appetite had disappeared, but he obligingly walked with Hana to the nearest airport restaurant.
He reminded himself that every moment with Hana was a precious gift that he planned to enjoy to the fullest.
But he hadn’t anticipated that being safe would only last until they were in Washington, DC.
Would he have a chance to meet his daughter, Sun, before danger struck again?
* * *
January 19 – 3:59 p.m. – Washington, DC
“Okay, how do we find Dimitri Palov?” Mack asked as they gathered around the satellite computer back at the hotel. They’d filled Jordan in on the lead they’d uncovered from Morris.
Sloan and Natalia glanced at each other. “I think we can try searching for boat registrations, which in turn would provide an address.”
Mack didn’t waste any time booting up the computer and beginning to search. Deep down, he knew this Dimitri Palov was a long shot, after all, there had to be hundreds of Russian men who owned boats.
Yet there was no denying that Morris had also overheard the scuttlebutt about the Russian nuke that had been brought into the city. Mere rumor?
Or was there a kernel of truth to the chatter that had been picked up?
“Jordan, did you find anything steering us toward the correct Allan?” Sun asked as Mack worked the keyboard. “It’s the only other lead we have other than this Dimitri guy.”
“Not yet,” Jordan said with a scowl. “As usual, Yates has been difficult to get ahold of.”
“In the meantime, Sloan and I will head over to the other Russian tavern, see if we can find anything new,” Natalia said.
“I’ll come with you,” Sun quickly offered.
Mack’s body tensed, and he glanced up from the screen. As irrational as it sounded, he didn’t want Sun going off without him. Sloan and Natalia weren’t helpless, but logic didn’t seem to have much to do with it. He thought quickly. “What if I find something on Dimitri? You okay if I head out to investigate him on my own?”
Sun hesitated, clearly torn between wanting to be a part of both leads. Finally, she relented. “Okay, I’ll stay here for now. Sloan, call the minute you learn anything that might help us.”
“Will do,” Sloan agreed before he and Natalia left.
Mack relaxed and went back to his search. Now that he’d managed to convince Sun to stay with him, he needed to find this Palov dude before she got another lead to follow up on.
“I don’t understand why we don’t know which Allen might be involved,” Sun complained to Jordan. “Maybe we should just go ahead and set up meetings with each one of them.”
“And what if they’re followed and killed the way Chandler was?” Jordan asked.
“It’s a risk, but so is a nuclear bomb,” Sun retorted. “And it’s not our fault Chandler was murdered. We need to find whoever is behind all of this.”
“I know, but I don’t want more dead agents either,” Jordan argued. “The Feds are paying us to help find this thing, not to eliminate their agents one by one.”
Mack listened while he worked, somewhat reassured to hear Sun arguing with Jordan the same way she did with him. It was just her ornery nature, which he still found oddly endearing.
Maybe he was the one who was insane, rather than Sloan.
He focused on the boat registration database he’d hacked into and let out a whoop of excitement. “I found him!”
“Dimitri?” Sun rushed over to peer over his shoulder. Her hand was warm on his back, and it took a moment for him to remember what he was doing.
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat, hoping she didn’t notice how hoarse he sounded. “Looks like an address here in DC.” He frowned, then added, “Interestingly enough, the location isn’t all that far from where we found your murdered informant.”
“Let’s go.” Sun was ready and raring to go, but he hesitated, glancing at Jordan.
“What do you think?” The idea of putting Sun in more danger didn’t sit well.
“I say go and see if you can find him, or better yet, his boat,” Jordan said. “If you find any evidence he’s the one who brought in the nuke, we’ll call the Feds to take him into custody.”
“Come on, Mack,” Sun said impatiently. “Traffic is getting more congested by the second.”
He nodded and shut down the sat computer, unplugging it from the wall. “Let’s bring this along, just in case,” he suggested.
“Fine.” Sun was already halfway out the door, leaving him to follow.
As she nosed the SUV into a steady stream of traffic, he tried to relax. To remind himself they were both well trained, armed, and dangerous.
Yet he felt certain the Russians were equally so and had far less scruples.
He and Sun wanted, needed information. But the Russians were just as likely to shoot first and ask questions later, if bothering to ask at all.
The image of the informant’s slashed throat was etched in his mind.
Mack swallowed hard, knowing he’d just have to work twice as hard to make sure Sun was safe.
* * *
January 19 – 4:09 p.m. – Washington, DC
It had been over two hours since he’d heard from his injured contacts. With steely resolve, he made sure the office would be empty for the next ten minutes, before he reached for his throwaway phone.
A new one, since the old one had been compromised. A fact that still irked him.
“It appears I will need additional assistance,” he said when the fixer answered the other end of the line. “And time is of the essence. I need this task accomplished before the end of the day.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line. “That tight of a timeframe will require double the fee.”
Double? He managed to hold back a spurt of anger. “Of course. Half now, the rest when I receive proof the deed has been done.”
“Fine. Who is the target?”
“Two targets, Macklin Remington and Sun Yin-lee.” He paused, then added, “I want this to look as if the North Koreans took them out.”
“North Koreans?” The fixer didn’t sound happy to hear the additional news. “That will add a layer of difficulty.”
“Just do it,” he snapped, losing his temper. He was already paying a ton of money for this job, and so far he had nothing to show for it.
“Careful,” the fixer warned in a low, threatening tone. “You are not in a position to make demands.”
An icy finger of fear slithered down his spine. He reached up to loosen his tie, needing to breathe. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long day.”
Another long pause. “Apology accepted. Add ten percent to the fee for this North Korean angle and wire the mone
y to this account.” As the fixer rattled off the bank information, he hastened to write it down.
The minute the fixer disconnected from the line, he put the phone back in his pocket and fought the urge to throw up.
There would be time to take care of the fixer permanently, once Remington and Yin-lee were eliminated from the equation.
Until then, he’d continue to deal with the devil while desperately trying to avoid getting burned.
* * *
January 19 – 4:17 p.m. – Washington, DC
Sun maneuvered the SUV through bumper-to-bumper traffic, slowly making her way to the area of the city where most people didn’t go even during daylight hours.
It was all too easy to remember the last time they’d gone there, only to find their informant brutally murdered.
But the remote possibility that this Dimitri Palov had been involved in bringing the nuke into Washington, DC, made this trip absolutely essential. They desperately needed some idea of where this nuke might be located.
Or even proof that such a bomb was armed and located here in the city. With that much, they should be able to convince Yates to pull the plug on the entire inauguration ceremony.
Yet that didn’t mean the bomb wouldn’t still be set off at another place and time.
Her phone rang, and she handed it to Mack who quickly answered. “What’s up?”
She thought she recognized Sloan’s voice but couldn’t be sure. “Who is it?” she whispered.
“Hey, Sloan, thanks for the information. I’ll let Sun know.” Mack disconnected from the call and sighed. “They didn’t get anything out of the other Russian tavern. The place was boarded up, and there’s no sign of the owner anywhere.”
She grimaced. “Well, I’m glad we have this lead to follow up on.” She glanced at Mack. “How on earth did Sloan and Natalia get there so fast?”
“Beats me.” He returned his gaze to the computer. “I found something else on Palov, looks like he’s done time for assault and battery.”
“So? That’s hardly a surprise. In fact, I’d be shocked if he didn’t have a criminal rap sheet.” Sun tapped the brakes as vehicles abruptly stopped in front of her. At this rate, they’d never get to Dimitri’s place while it was still light out.
Not that she was afraid of the dark, in fact, it may work in their favor.
One thing about working for Security Specialists, Inc. is that they didn’t necessarily have to follow the same rules as law enforcement. Not that she wanted to jeopardize a case, but if they needed to get into Dimitri’s place to find the proof they needed, that’s exactly what she’d do.
If they’d get through this traffic jam any time in the next century.
* * *
January 19 – 4:28 p.m. – South Bend, IN
Hana forced herself to eat, although deep down, her nerves were stretched past the breaking point.
Going through TSA security seemed an overwhelming task—a hurdle of monstrous proportions. Her fake passport had worked fine getting out of Geneva, but that seemed like days ago rather than hours.
Still, she didn’t want Jarek to pick up on her nervousness, so she daintily patted her napkin against her mouth and smiled. “Shall we go?”
“I’m ready if you are.” Jarek had mostly picked at his food, and she sensed he was on edge as well. After he paid the tab in cash, she stood and walked once again like the hunchbacked old woman with arthritis she was pretending to be.
She could sense Jarek’s discomfort as they approached the TSA checkpoint. She held back a flash of annoyance. He wasn’t the one traveling under a fake passport, so what was he worried about?
On the heels of that thought came the realization that his fear and worry was likely for her, not for himself. Because that was the kind of man Jarek was.
She didn’t deserve him.
The security line was seemingly endless, which didn’t help settle her nerves. Still, she managed to keep a serene expression on her face, making eye contact to avoid being viewed as suspicious.
Silently praying for God to continue guiding her, she moved forward until she and Jarek were next in line.
“Relax,” she whispered. “Don’t attract undue attention.”
She could feel Jarek attempting to loosen his muscles as they were waved forward by the TSA agent. Hana met the man’s gaze and offered a weary smile as she handed over her boarding pass and passport.
The TSA agent looked from the passport photo back to her as if checking the resemblance. Since the photo was of her in this same disguise, she wasn’t concerned about that. She was more worried that her fake name had been somehow flagged in the system and half expected a slew of TSA agents to descend upon them.
The TSA agent handed her passport and boarding pass back to her, then took Jarek’s passport and boarding pass. She was a bit surprised to see his passport, but then remembered he’d been about to fly to Geneva, Switzerland, to find her.
God must have been watching out for them, that they hadn’t passed each other on different flights in the air.
“Have a safe trip,” the TSA agent said, returning Jarek’s passport and boarding pass.
Breathing a small sigh of relief, they went through the process of taking off their shoes and going through the body scanner. When they were finished, Jarek put a hand beneath her elbow and guided her down toward the gate.
“Piece of cake from here, right?” he said with a lopsided grin.
“Yes.” At least, she hoped that was the case.
One thing she’d quickly learned in her undercover role was to never relax her guard.
Never.
* * *
January 19 – 4:56 p.m. – Washington, DC
“The drugstore is up ahead,” Mack said, subtly wiping his damp palms on his dark jeans. Now that they’d arrived at their destination, the sense of impending doom had returned full force. “We should park there again and go the rest of the way on foot.”
“We need to find a different spot to leave the SUV,” Sun argued. “Don’t forget, they had eyes on us through using the street cameras the last time we were here. We wouldn’t want to be predictable in case they have the system up and running again.”
“I don’t think they could have isolated and eliminated the virus that fast,” Mack said, although she had a point about being too predictable. He mentally envisioned the area. “Okay, how about the grocery store about a half mile from here?”
“Good idea.” Sun turned onto the street that would take them straight to the store. “You know where Palov is from there?”
“Yes.” He had the map of the area on the computer screen and turned it so she could see for herself. There was always the slim chance they might become separated. “He lives here, on the ground floor.”
Sun parked the car in the grocery store lot, then turned to peer at the screen. He knew she had the location memorized the same way he did. She gave a nod and pushed open the driver’s side door. “Let’s go.”
Mack stashed the sat computer under the seat. Even though he’d rather keep it close, he couldn’t risk being encumbered with it when they might need to fight their way in or out of the place.
Granted, the computer had prevented him from being injured earlier, but it had likely slowed his response time too. Which in turn had caused Sun to be hurt.
Sun took the lead, moving quickly. He was glad to see she took an indirect route to Palov’s apartment, just in case they had indeed been followed.
The grocery store parking lot was roughly a mile and a half from their destination. As they grew closer to the apartment, it occurred to him that Morris may very well have warned Dimitri of their likely arrival.
When Sun ducked behind a tree within a stone’s throw of the apartment, he put a hand on her arm to stop her.
“Now what?” she hissed.
“We need to be careful, Morris could have tipped Dimitri off.”
Sun’s annoyance faded, and she responded with a curt nod. “Okay, bu
t we still need to get inside, unless you have another idea.”
He wished he did, but he didn’t. For a long moment he stared at the apartment building, in time to notice the curtain moving at the front window.
Was Dimitri inside? If so, was he alone or with someone else?
“I’ll take the front,” Sun whispered. “You go around back.”
He tightened his grip on her arm. “I don’t like it. Someone inside was peering past the curtain.”
“Well, we can’t sit out here all day,” Sun said in a clipped tone. “Ready?”
He didn’t see much choice but to do what she’d suggested. “Give me a minute to get around and in position.”
“Two minutes.” Sun glanced at her watch. “Go.”
He sprinted out from behind the tree and ducked around the apartment building to the rear doorway. He had almost twenty seconds left when he heard the sharp sound of gunfire.
No! Sun! He pulled his weapon and kicked through the flimsily locked back door to the building, hoping and praying that Sun was the one shooting. That Sun hadn’t been hit.
Or worse, dead.
Chapter Sixteen
January 19 – 5:16 p.m. – Washington, DC
The gunshot had missed her by a fraction of an inch, but Sun didn’t hesitate. She used a jumping snap kick against the apartment door that had been opened just enough for the barrel of a handgun to poke through.
There was a muffled sound as her kick hit its mark. Somersaulting through the opening, she rolled and landed on her feet in time to face the rough-looking man standing behind the door.
“Drop the gun,” she said, holding her weapon steady.
For a moment he stared at her. In a heartbeat, she knew he was going to shoot, so she did another diving somersault toward his left side, his nondominant hand. Only this time, when she rolled to her feet, she lashed out with a kick perfectly aimed at his ear.
He howled in pain and tried to swing his right arm toward her to take another shot. But she was already in motion, striking his wrist with her hand and using her elbow to clip him under the chin.
