by Roland Smith
“Maybe that’s why it happened to me. I was terrified when I saw that Angela was about to be shot. And is that why, when you showed up at the John Hancock building in Chicago, you looked like a boiled fish? Because you’d been using it so much?” I asked.
“Yes. I had been in the park, moving fast and looking for anything nearby that might be a threat. Basically, I’d been blinking all morning. When I got the call and met you there, I was almost out of juice. But for some reason Croc seems to regenerate faster than I do. That’s how he was able to get the device to X-Ray and come back and help you get out of the building,” Boone said.
“So Speed passed it on to Q,” Angela said. She had that look on her face like she was really concentrating, trying to take it all in and figure it out. “And you said you never had children, right?”
Boone nodded. “That’s right. I dedicated my life to finding the Grail. When you are a soldier there is no worse feeling than thinking you’ve failed in your last assignment. So to answer your question, Angela, no. I never had a family. Never married or had children. I felt it would not be fair to them. I had to devote myself to a greater cause.”
Boone looked at her with sad eyes. “Much like what your mother did. I’m not sure I could have done it. But it’s no exaggeration to say she’s saved hundreds, if not thousands, of lives.”
Angela was quiet, biting her lower lip. But I guess she didn’t know what to say, because she remained silent.
“So you think I blinked because Speed is my dad?” I muttered. I couldn’t help it. The only thing the guy had ever given me in my entire life was something that made me throw up when I used it. Although there was a small part of me that was a little excited about the fact that I had this ability. Even if I hadn’t learned how to use it yet, I couldn’t help but think of the magic tricks I could do with it. And whenever Roger served another salad, I could blink to Burger King and he’d be none the wiser. Whoa. Racing mind again.
“Boone, do you think Speed suspects you’re on to him, and that’s why he’s making Buddy retrieve the Grail?” Angela said. “Will he disappear and you’ll have to start all over again?”
“I think he’s going to make a play. If he hasn’t figured it all out yet, he’s very close to doing so. And he knows if he can unlock the power of it he’ll be unstoppable,” Boone said. “He’s run one of the most successful terrorist organizations in human history. I think he’s had eyes on Buddy T. the entire time, maybe with some tracking device or surveillance even X-Ray can’t detect. It wouldn’t surprise me if he was there on the island at Kitty Hawk, if he had enough time to regenerate. And he knows we’re closing in. Besides—”
The chirp of Boone’s phone interrupted them. It was sitting on the table. He pressed the speakerphone button.
“Go, Pat,” he said.
“Boone, we got trouble. The whole team got taken down outside a bank downtown.”
Angela sat up. “My mom.”
“Angela?” Callaghan said. “They’re in ambulances on the way to San Francisco General. She was injured. I don’t know how badly. Vanessa was seriously hurt. It’s bad, Boone. I got a buddy at SFPD to send me the footage from a security camera outside the bank. I’m sending you the video. The video . . . Boone—it’s bad.”
“Oh, God,” Boone murmured as he looked at his phone screen. “It happened.” His face was ashen.
“What was that?” Pat’s voice came over the phone. “Boone, repeat.”
“It was nothing.” Boone took a breath. “Okay. Pat, you get to the hospital. Use your Secret Service credentials and get the entire team in a single OR ward so they can all be treated together. Seal it up tight. Keep all the doctors and nurses inside. And I mean tight. Doors locked and no windows open. There can’t be any way in or out of that room until you hear from me.”
“Boone, what are you—”
“There’s no time, Pat. Trust me. You use any means necessary to execute this order. Copy?”
“I copy,” Pat said.
“Get Felix to the site, have him secure the intellimobile. Leave Uly here to run countersurveillance on the boat. Felix is to return here once he has the intellimobile. Once he’s back, he and Uly don’t let Angela and Q out of their sight. Do you understand?”
“All right, Boone,” Callaghan said. “It’s your play. What are you going to be doing?”
“Just call me when you reach the hospital,” Boone said, disconnecting before Callaghan could answer.
“I’m not staying here.” Angela was standing up now. “You have to take me to my mother.”
“Angela, I can’t,” Boone said. “Speed has figured it out. He knows who I am. Who I really am. And if he knows that, there’s a good chance he thinks I know how to open it. And to get me to do that he’s going to try to get some leverage, something to trade. I think he might come after you or Q again. I have to keep you someplace safe.”
“Boone! I’m going to my mother!” Angela was insistent.
“Angela!” I said. “Boone’s right. Let him do his job. The best thing you can do for your mom is stay safe.”
Angela slumped back in her seat, the energy drained out of her.
“I’m not sure how much longer I can take this,” she said.
Boone put his hand on her shoulder. “I know you’ve been through a lot. But you can do this. Just hang in a little while longer.” He turned to me.
“Q, you and Angela need to get inside the boat. Seal it up. Close all the doors, hatches, and windows. And lock them tight. I’m leaving Croc with you. And I’m going to use whatever I’ve got left in the tank to look around for Speed. Maybe there’s something at the scene, or maybe I can find something in X-Ray’s records. A place he could be hiding. If I can’t find him, and once the intellimobile is secure, I’ll have Felix and Uly wait here until Blaze and Roger’s limo arrives to take you to the concert. They are going to have questions if you’re not there. I’ll be there. Croc will be there. If Speed tries anything, we’ll be ready. Any questions?”
Both Angela and I shook our heads.
Boone disappeared before our eyes.
Back in Charge
Speed had figured out much of it already, but now he knew everything. Because he’d had the boat bugged for a long time. That way he could keep tabs on Q whenever he wanted. As usual, he’d been right: when he returned from the bank with the case, his monitor was blinking with an alert that there were new recordings at that location. It could be the new owners, but he checked just to be sure. It was Boone and Q and his new stepsister. He listened as Boone recounted his story. Q was a sentimental kid and there was a chance he would want to visit his old home.
Speed Paulsen sat in his penthouse apartment staring at the case containing the Holy Grail. He thought back to when he was a young boy moving among the Saracen camps outside Jerusalem. He had heard the rumors. The Knights Templar, it was said, had found something of great power. Some had said it was the Holy Grail or the Ark of the Covenant or the One True Cross. In that primitive time, there were those who believed the Templars were nearly invincible.
The rumors had been true. They had found something powerful.
All Speed had known for certain was that the object he had taken from the injured Templar that night had given him a great ability. The glowing blue light had changed him forever. And to think it was the Holy Grail. The cup of Christ, the prophet. Now, for the first time since he’d wrenched it away from the wounded Boone, he felt like he was finally ready to take its power for his own. For centuries he had tried each and every possible way imaginable to open the box. Not knowing exactly what was inside, he could not risk smashing or cutting it open for fear of destroying what lay within.
For centuries Boone had been looking for the Grail and Speed had been looking for Boone. He had watched from the shadows as Boone had fought off his attackers, using just enough of the power to win. Then he had opened the box and the strange light emanating from it had begun to heal the wounded knight and his do
g. Moving quickly, Speed had darted out of the darkness and stolen it from the knight before he could fully recover. Once Speed realized the light he’d been exposed to had given him extended life, he had always assumed that the knight was out there, too, looking for him.
Opening the box now would give him unlimited power. He would destroy the West. All of the infidels would bow before him, or they would die.
Speed stopped to think about the ironic poetry of what was about to unfold in the next few hours, when he forced Boone to open the container. In a way, he admired Boone. The old knight had not forsaken his duty. For nine hundred years he had not given up the search. Though he was doomed to fail, Speed respected his warrior spirit. Many would have given up. But not Boone.
All these years. The magnitude of what they had both accomplished washed over him. Boone had proven a worthy adversary. Now their long mutual pursuit was near its end. It had been epic. But it was time for the old man to die. It would only be right for Speed to be the one to end his life.
Speed picked up the case and set it on the desk. He snapped open the latches and lifted the container from inside. Holding it in his hands, he could swear the power it held inside flowed through him. Now, at last, he would have it completely.
How many hours of his life had he spent trying to find the way to open it? A conservative estimate would be thousands. The Grail was inside a container made of extremely dense hardwood, but it was apparently lined with lead. It had been X-rayed, CAT-scanned, and examined with every imaging device and he still could not see what was inside it. As for the combination, he had run it through every computer simulation and decryption program available, and still he could not open it. But now he knew why. And more important, he knew who could open it for him. Now it had become so simple.
Boone thought he was so smart. Boone believed he could hide. Just like Buddy T., who had learned the hard way there was no escaping Speed Paulsen. Boone now stood at the edge of defeat.
“It’s over, Templar,” Speed said to the empty room. “Well played. You fought bravely. But the game is done.” Then he laughed again.
As soon as Speed had discovered Boone’s true identity—and that he was working to find and destroy the ghost cell—Speed Paulsen had been three moves ahead of him.
The takedown at the bank was too easy. He had to give the Leopard credit. She had sensed something was wrong. Too bad she had been unable to do anything about it. He had almost killed her, but he changed his mind; he couldn’t resist letting her live. Letting all of them live. That was better. Boone would have no choice but to tell them what had happened and who had hurt them. Now they would wonder for the rest of their lives when he would be coming back to finish the job. Maybe even after he had brought the West to its knees he would let them live. It might be more fun to have Boone and his team and the Leopard always looking over their shoulders for the rest of their lives. Slowly driving them insane might be a great deal more enjoyable than killing them.
Speed sat back on the couch and picked up one of his guitars. It would not be smart to rush his next move. Boone had a thousand years of experience. He was a tracker, a spy, a warrior, and a knight. Though Speed had managed to evade him thus far, he would not be easily duped.
He put down the guitar and picked up a tablet lying on the couch next to him. He touched an icon, and the screen split into two screens. One showed Boone, Q, and that girl sitting on the deck of the boat. On the other screen, he reset the recording to the part where Boone was telling them about his fellow knight building the container that housed the Grail.
Rising to his feet, he paced back and forth in the apartment. What could Boone have planned for him? The last two weeks or so, Speed had Boone playing defense. Reacting to the events Speed had set in motion. Would he switch up now? Would Boone go on the offensive?
As he stalked back toward the couch, a movement on the tablet caught his eye. Boone had stood up and was issuing orders to Q and Angela. He must have just learned about the attack at the bank. Then he disappeared from the screen and Speed watched as the two kids hustled inside the boat’s cabin. No doubt Boone had ordered them into lockdown.
Now he knew what to do. Boone couldn’t keep them there forever. A plan started to form in his mind.
He sat down on the couch and picked up the guitar. Speed Paulsen had some thinking to do.
Lockdown
The hospital emergency room was a tidal wave of confusion. Pat Callaghan charged in, dodging paramedics, doctors, nurses, and patients as he tried to make his way to the main counter through the sea of people. There were cops in abundance. The attack at the bank appeared to have sent half of the SFPD to the scene first. Now they seemed to all be at the hospital. Callaghan pulled his Secret Service credentials from his pocket. Holding them over his head, he shouted above the noise.
“Special Agent Pat Callaghan, U.S. Secret Service. Who’s in charge here?”
A grizzled, world weary-looking patrol sergeant, his buzz-cut hair tinged with gray, approached him. The nametag above his badge read RHADIGAN.
“At the moment, I am. Sergeant Rhadigan, SFPD,” he said. The two men shook hands.
Callaghan handed his credentials to the sergeant.
“I know the drill, so call in and verify my credentials. In the meantime, get in touch with Captain Larry Quinn on your antiterrorism task force unit. We worked together when I was on presidential detail a few years ago. He knows me. This case—the five wounded vics who were brought here—are agents of the federal government. This is a matter of national security and under the auspices of the Patriot Act, I am taking charge of them, this scene, and the investigation.”
Sergeant Rhadigan handed the credentials to a patrolman and instructed him to call them in for verification.
“I know Quinn,” he said, frowning. “Give me a minute.” The sergeant stepped away. Like most cops he didn’t like having to give over jurisdiction to a Fed, but he grabbed the microphone clipped to the shoulder of his uniform and spoke into it for a few minutes. The patrolman returned with the badge case and the sergeant handed it over to Callaghan.
“All right,” he said. “You are who you say you are, and Captain Quinn vouches for you too. Says to tell you he’s met a lot worse Feds than you. What do you need?”
“I need to talk to the doctor in charge. Then I need all the victims from the attack moved to a secure area. Someplace we can lock down. And I mean lock down completely. No egress by doors or windows.”
“That could a problem,” Rhadigan said. “From what I understand, four of the vics are currently stable but have some serious injuries. And one is in surgery.”
Callaghan silently cursed. He guessed it was Vanessa in the OR. From the security video it looked like she’d suffered the worst wound. How could he secure everyone the way Boone wanted with Vanessa still in surgery? He thought for a moment.
“All right, I’ve got it. Most hospital ORs have a prep and scrub room for the docs and nurses outside the actual operating room. We’re going to move the four other vics there, and then shut everything up tight. Can you get me somebody in hospital administration or the head of the ER? We need to move these people now.”
Sergeant Rhadigan disappeared into the crowd and returned moments later with a harried-looking physician. Callaghan told the doctor what he required.
“Impossible. We can’t take proper care of patients in that setting, we’d need—”
Callaghan held up his hand.
“What’s your name, doctor?”
“Douglas, and I need—”
“Doctor, this isn’t a request. It’s going to be done now. I don’t care what you have to do, but you’re going to do it. This is a federal case under the Patriot Act.”
The doctor threw up his hands and started shouting orders. The first team member Pat saw was Malak, who was being wheeled out on a stretcher. Her chest and arms were covered in blood, but she was trying to get off the gurney.
“Malak!” he cried and rush
ed to her side.
“Pat! You’ve got to get me out of here! Angela! I need to get to Angela!” Again she tried to lift herself off the gurney. He gently pushed her back down by the shoulders.
“Malak! Listen to me,” he said. Her eyes were wild and unfocused. “Malak! Angela is fine. She’s safe. We’ve got to get you patched up.”
“No, I’ve got to go to my daughter,” she said. “She’s in danger.”
“Get her up to the OR,” Pat told the orderlies. The stream of Malak’s loud and angry curses nearly drowned out the noise and confusion of the emergency room as they took her away.
X-Ray came next. He was walking but attached to an IV, with orderlies on either side of him. His hand was wrapped in a massive mound of gauze. Then came Ziv and Eben, on stretchers. For a moment, Pat was struck by how the two of them had been thrown together on this job. They were former enemies, and now they’d almost died together, trying to complete their mission.
Callaghan rode with the SOS team up the elevator to the OR floor. When he stepped off, he followed them through a set of double doors that led to the pre-op area. A surgeon in a blue gown ripped his mask off and stormed up to Callaghan.
“Who are you and what is the meaning of this! You can’t bring these people here! We’re dealing with seriously injured patients. This is an operating wing. We can’t properly take—”
“What is your name, doctor?” Callaghan asked, interrupting and using his “don’t mess with me” voice.
“Dr. Simpkins. Robert Simpkins.”
“Dr. Simpkins. Is this a hospital or not?”
“What? Yes, of course, but I don’t—”
“I thought so. Then you have everything I need. This is a matter of national security. You get whatever equipment, doctors, nurses—anything required to take care of my team up here in the next five minutes. Then this wing is going to be sealed off, and no one is leaving until I say so. Are we clear?”
