by Laura Scott
“Get him to the closest hospital, then, to have an expert examine him,” Sun said sharply. “Tell him he needs to do this for me.”
“I’ve been telling him that, but so far it’s a no go. He insists he’s going to wait until you and Mack find the bomb.”
Sun raised her gaze up to the slightly lightening sky as dawn emerged slowly and surely over the horizon. “Can’t my mother convince him to see a specialist? What if the nerve damage is permanent?”
“She won’t go either,” Jordan said on a sigh. “It’s like dealing with two stubborn teenagers, only they’re adults, so I’ve given up trying to get them to comply.”
“Okay, fine. But, Jordan, if we don’t find this thing in the next hour or two, I want you to force them to get out of DC, along with you and Sloan and your respective families. Traveling by subway would be best at least initially, because if this thing blows, the air will be contaminated for at least a hundred miles in all directions, maybe more. With a head start, you should be able to get far enough away to be safe.”
“I’ll do my best,” Jordan promised. “At least as far as your parents go. But I’m not leaving you and Mack behind.”
She’d almost reached the next vendor. “You have a family to think about, Jordan. Bryn deserves to grow up in a safe place with both of her parents and so does your unborn child. Sloan and Natalia and their baby too.”
“Just find the idiotic thing, okay? Then we won’t have to worry about it.”
“We’re not twiddling our thumbs here, we’re in the process of checking all the sidewalk vendors. Any ideas after that are more than welcome.”
“Keep trying,” Jordan said. “Listen, I have to go, Yates is on the other line.” Before she could respond, he’d disconnected.
As Sun checked the vendor cart, she prayed Yates would pull the plug on this fiasco.
Canceling the event and evacuating the area may be the only thing that would save them, especially since they hadn’t found the nuke. If there was a nuke.
She glanced at the time, feeling slightly sick to her stomach. There were already so many people here milling around, and it wasn’t even fully light out yet.
How much time would they need to evacuate the area? An hour? Two hours?
And what if even more people showed up? Might it take even longer?
Sun jogged back to Union Square, searching for Mack. They didn’t have until noon to find the bomb.
They only had as much time as it would take to evacuate the entire National Mall.
* * *
January 20 – 7:28 a.m. – Washington, DC
Mack silently admitted defeat. The bomb hadn’t been smuggled in via one of the vendor carts.
It wasn’t hidden in a garbage container or on any of the rooftops nearby.
Maybe it didn’t exist at all.
Mack turned to scan the gathering crowd. There were even more people swarming around, and he felt certain he’d never be able to find the blond guy, if he even showed up. And really, why would he if he knew there was a potential nuke going off?
The thought made him frown. Whoever had planned this would have to come up with some sort of escape route, right? Otherwise, they risked being nuked along with the current president, the president-elect, the current vice president, the current vice president elect, along with other members of Congress.
Considering the crowd that would likely only grow worse as the time of the actual inauguration approached, he wondered what that escape route might entail. Getting from point A to point B in the crush of people wouldn’t be quick or easy.
His phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. “Hey, Sun, find anything?”
“No. Meet me in Union Square, we need to come up with another plan.”
“Okay. While you’re trying to come up with a place to hide a nuke, think about what the escape route might be for the blond guy, if he’s the one involved in this.”
“Good point. See you soon.” Sun disconnected from the call.
He retraced his steps to Union Square, the trek taking longer than earlier thanks to the crowd of people. He must have said excuse me a hundred times before he made it to Union Square.
Finding Sun wasn’t easy, she was so tiny he couldn’t pick her out of the crowd. When she came up behind him, he pulled her close so they could talk without being overheard.
“I’m fresh out of ideas,” he murmured.
“I know,” Sun agreed, her gaze somber. “I told Jordan to get his family and Sloan’s, along with my parents, out of here if we don’t come up with anything within the next hour or so.”
He stared down at her in surprise. “You think they’ll leave?”
“No.” She huffed out a breath. “He should, with a baby on the way, Sloan too, but he said they won’t go without us.”
Mack had to give Jordan and Sloan credit, if he had a baby on the way, he’d want his family protected no matter what. Even without a baby on the way, it was tempting to suggest they simply bug out of there.
But the moment the thought went through his mind he shoved it away.
He loved his country and didn’t want to imagine the chaos that would ensue if there really was a bomb and someone actually set it off.
No way would he be able to live with himself if he left when there was even the remotest possibility of preventing a tragedy like that from happening.
Although considering the lack of proof they’d found so far, the entire bomb scare was likely nothing more than an elaborate hoax. One that would cause Russians to come after them and attempt to kill them?
Not likely.
“We might want to find the closest Metro stations,” Sun said, interrupting his thoughts. “Just in case something does happen, we’ll want to get underground.”
“Along with everyone else,” Mack muttered. He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “I remember there being several stations, one at the Smithsonian, one at the US Department of Energy, the L’Enfant Plaza station.”
“Don’t forget the Federal Central station and the Federal Triangle Metro Station,” Sun added. She frowned. “It’s interesting all of these stations are underground.”
“Some of the stations farther out aren’t underground,” Mack felt compelled to point out. “Which makes it a dangerous way to escape a nuclear blast. I’ve been trying to anticipate what the blond guy has planned.”
Sun shrugged. “There may be an underground area within the Capitol for all we know.”
“There is, at least according to the blueprints,” he acknowledged. “But no access to the subway from what I can tell.”
Sun rubbed her hands together and blew on them. “We need to do something, Mack. Standing around and waiting for inspiration to strike is not going to get the job done.”
He empathized with her frustration. Someone bumped into him from behind, and he rested his hands on Sun’s shoulders to steady himself.
“Sorry,” he said. “This crowd is giving me claustrophobia.”
“We can try moving off to the side,” Sun suggested. “Looks like some musicians are getting ready to set up. Once they start playing, we won’t even be able to talk.”
“Tell me about it.” He gripped Sun’s arm and threaded his way through the crowd. Sure enough, a group of musicians had gathered at the southeast end of Union Square.
He could see several musicians, one with a small square case that likely held a flute or a clarinet. Another carried a violin. His gaze lingered over one of the musicians who was lugging a large carrying case as tall as the man holding it. A cello.
Or something else?
Mack frowned, dodging around people, trying to get closer for a better view, but he felt like a salmon attempting to swim upstream. He pushed harder, using his elbows if necessary, ignoring the muttered curses in his wake.
His eyes were glued to the guy carrying the cello case. His heart thundered in his chest and every instinct he had was on red alert. Could this possibly be it? Hadn’t the Secret S
ervice vetted these guys?
The man set the cello down, then turned, revealing a dark mark along the side of his neck.
A tattoo? All the Russians they’d dealt with had sported a red-and-black star tattoo.
Desperately wishing for binoculars, he pushed forward, momentarily losing his grip on Sun. Still, he didn’t dare look away from the cello guy.
He caught another glimpse, enough to see that the tattoo appeared to be a red-and-black five-point star.
Exactly like the one Morris, Igor, and at least one of the Russians he’d taken out had inked on their skin.
The nuke was in the cello case!
They had to move, now!
“Sun!” Feeling frantic, he looked around for her. She was several steps ahead of him, so he hurried to catch up. He pulled her close and spoke directly into her ear. “The cello case is in the hands of a Russian. I think he has the bomb. Call Jordan and tell him to notify Yates. I’m going over to grab it.”
“Wait.” Sun tightened her grip on his arm, preventing him from going. “Are you sure the guy is a Russian? And why would a Russian set it off rather than a North Korean?”
“He’s got the red-and-black star tattoo, so I’m sure he’s one of the Russians. And the cello case is huge, more than big enough for a new and improved version of the Davy Crockett. I don’t know why they don’t have a North Korean involved, but we have to go now. Hurry!”
“I’ll call Jordan, but I’m coming with you.” She pulled out her phone. “Jordan? There’s a Russian with a cello case big enough to carry a modern Davy Crockett. We’re going to investigate now.”
Mack didn’t want Sun to come with him, he wanted her far away from this thing. But there wasn’t any time to argue.
If the nuke was in the cello case, the Russian wasn’t going to give it up without a fight.
Chapter Twenty-Four
January 20 – 8:33 a.m. – Washington, DC
“Jordan, you need to tell Yates to cancel the ceremony and begin evacuating the area!” Sun pushed through the crowd behind Mack, who was trying to get over to where the musicians were located. Why hadn’t anyone mentioned they’d have musicians here?
Just like no one had told them about the food and drink vendors either.
“You really found it?” Jordan asked.
“We think so.” She elbowed her way past a group of people who were clustered together and having a heated debate over politics. “Mack says the guy with the cello case has a Russian tattoo.”
“I’ll do my best but call me as soon as you have confirmation on the nuke.”
“He’s Russian!” Sun repeated, causing a few people to glance at her with a frown. “Shut it down!”
Without waiting for Jordan to answer, she hit the end button and slid the phone into her jacket. There was movement from the top of the steps leading up to the Capitol, and she caught a glimpse of a guy with blond hair standing next to a woman with long curly auburn hair.
She stumbled over someone’s outstretched foot as her exhausted brain tried to fit the pieces together. There was something about the couple, then she remembered.
The woman was Joyce Clemmons, a congresswoman from North Carolina, who was the current Speaker of the House. And as such, she would become president if something happened to the current president and vice president. Her blood ran cold. Sun remembered reading that Joyce was married to a man named Cliff Watkins, but there hadn’t been a photo of the guy.
Was it possible Cliff Watkins was the man who’d spoken in North Korean? If so, what business did he have within the Capitol?
Did he function in some role supporting his wife?
Had to be. Sun glanced around frantically, but she was behind several unusually tall men blocking her view. Rather than following Mack to the Russian with the cello case, she angled around for a better view of the couple.
She needed a better look at Cliff Watkins, if that’s who the blond guy was. Her heart thudded in her chest, a combination of too much caffeine and not enough sleep.
A break in the crowd offered her a better view of the landing at the top of the stairs leading to the Capitol. The blond guy was definitely the same one Mack had followed from the coffee shop, and the way he placed his arm around Congresswoman Joyce Clemmons, pressing a kiss to her cheek, made Sun think they were married. She wondered why Watkins spoke North Korean instead of Russian since a Russian happened to have the cello case.
Maybe Watkins spoke Russian too.
The couple turned to walk back into the Capitol.
She glanced around to find Mack but didn’t see him. Then she realized he was less than ten feet from the musicians.
Should she back up Mack? Or try to track down Watkins?
The nuke was the bigger threat at the moment, so she turned to head over to Mack.
First, they’d take care of the nuke, then they’d track down Cliff Watkins.
If Watkins was involved in this, she wasn’t going to let him get away.
* * *
January 20 – 8:46 a.m. – Washington, DC
Mack was close enough now to see the upper half of a red-and-black five-point star peeking above the Russian’s jacket.
As he considered how to approach the guy in order to get the cello case out of his hands, Mack realized he had no idea how easy it was to detonate a nuclear bomb.
Could the thing go off in a struggle? Maybe not if it was still in the case, right?
Okay, plan A was to keep the stupid thing inside the case. Plan B—he didn’t have a plan B.
Mack risked a glance over his shoulder, searching for Sun. Hopefully, she’d convinced Jordan to convince Yates to shut this thing down, and fast.
He focused his attention on the Russian, formulating a plan to neutralize him while getting the cello case away from him.
But the crush of people surrounding them wouldn’t make that easy. Especially since he feared the Capitol police would haul him off without waiting to hear his explanation.
Panic gripped him by the throat as he tried to figure out his next steps. He caught a glimpse of an instrument case lying on the ground a few feet from a musician checking his phone. Mack scooped it up and headed toward the Russian.
It was now or never.
With the borrowed instrument case in hand, he plowed into the Russian with enough force to knock him down. “Oh, so sorry, please excuse me,” Mack said even as he dropped down on top of the guy.
“Get off me,” the Russian hissed, but Mack reached up and pinched the same nerve in the Russian’s neck that Kim Jong-il had used on Jarek.
“I don’t think so,” Mack whispered back in Russian. “I know what’s in the cello case.”
The Russian bucked against him with stunning strength considering the pressure on his nerve. Mack tightened his grip and kept up a monologue for those around them. “Really sorry, I’m such a klutz. Here, I’ll help you up.”
The cello case was leaning upright against the edge of the musician’s platform. By the way the Russian glanced at it, Mack knew his guess was dead-on.
“Do you need help?” Sun asked, arriving somewhat breathlessly. She pressed the blunt nose of her gun into the Russian’s side, using her body to block the view so that the sight of a gun didn’t incite mass panic.
Mack grinned, relief making him a little dizzy. “Perfect timing.”
The Russian went still when he realized Sun had him at gunpoint.
“What’s going on here?” a harsh voice asked. Mack inwardly groaned as he recognized the uniform of the Capitol police.
“This man is wanted for outstanding warrants,” Mack said, improvising quickly. “We’re part of the security team and are taking him into custody.”
The Capitol cop’s eyes were full of mistrust, but when Mack flashed his NSA credentials, he didn’t protest as Mack hauled the Russian to his feet. Mack pointed at the upper part of the star tattoo. “See this? Indicates he’s part of the Russian mob.”
The cop’s eyes wide
ned, and he stepped back to give them room.
“Officer, could I borrow your handcuffs?” Sun asked with a smile. The cop shrugged and handed them over.
Once Mack had the Russian cuffed, he gestured to Sun. “Get the cello case and let’s get out of here. But be careful.”
“I’ll try,” Sun murmured, picking up the case, which was bigger than she was.
“Hey, where are you taking my cello?”
Mack turned to look at who’d spoken. It was a slender man, roughly his age, and his features indicated he was of North Korean descent. “I instructed that man to set it right here! We are to play as soon as the inauguration begins.”
The final piece of the puzzle fell into place. The Russian was just the one delivering the bomb, while the plan was for the North Korean to open the case, which would likely set it off. A plan the blond guy who’d spoken North Korean in the coffee shop must have arranged. Be on time or I’ll retaliate.
This was how they’d planned to place the blame on North Korea.
And it might have worked if he and Sun hadn’t figured it out in time.
* * *
January 20 – 9:12 a.m. – Washington, DC
“Jordan, we need the bomb squad.” Sun pinched the phone between her shoulder and ear as she lugged the cello case. She was strong and nimble, but this thing was bigger than her and twice as heavy. Not to mention the added challenge of trying to get it through a crowd without anyone slamming into it with enough force to accidentally open it.
“Are you sure it’s in there?” Jordan asked.
She bit back a sarcastic reply. “Listen, we think it may be rigged to blow when the case is opened, so no, we haven’t looked inside it. Which is why we need the bomb squad!”
The last words came out louder than she’d intended, drawing fearful looks from people around her.
“Did she say bomb?” someone asked.
“There’s a bomb?” someone else echoed.
“A bomb!” a third yelled.
At that moment, a deep voice came through a microphone located in the area where the inauguration would normally take place. “Ladies and gentlemen, we respectfully ask that everyone walk slowly to the exits on each side of Union Square. There is no need to panic, please walk slowly and carefully to the exit closest to you.”
