The End Game

Nicholas saw COE had moved to the immediate threat column. No wonder, after last night and fifteen deaths. No, nineteen deaths. COE was small, he knew it in his gut, probably no more than ten members, all told. He also believed COE wasn’t affiliated with another group, which made them more unpredictable. They were lone wolves, and lone wolves scared him more than the large organized groups like ISIS and Al Qaeda. Groups like COE were hard to track, even with all the international cooperation.

Everyone in the room was talking: agents from the Joint Terrorism Task Force compared notes with Homeland Security agents, NSA tap-danced with the National Intelligence Agency. Nicholas didn’t recognize many of the agents, but he knew they represented an alphabet soup of agencies, all wanting to be part of this team, jockeying for who would be named lead agency and run the show.

An NSA agent raised his head, saw Nicholas and whistled, then clapped his hands. “Hey, Drummond, we already applauded Wharton, now it’s your turn. Well done.”

All the agents at the table clapped, but not that loudly, particularly those with other agencies. Nicholas gri

Zachery said, “Gray and Nicholas saved the oil companies’ bacon. In addition, let me add that both he and Mike were in the middle of the explosion at the Bayway Refinery last night. They saved lives.”

The claps were louder this time. This was something they all understood.

“A moment, people,” Zachery said, and waved Mike and Nicholas to the hall.

He took them to his office, only a few doors down the hall.

“I have a job for you. No, no briefing, it isn’t necessary. We may have another line on COE.” He handed them a file. “There was a fire last night in Brooklyn. A body was found inside the building once the place had cooled down enough to check. NYPD is assuming it’s the body of the owner; they’re ru

“I want you two to go to Brooklyn and talk to her, take a look around the place. See what you can turn over.”

He looked at their faces. “No, Mike, Nicholas, you’re not going to Bayway for evidence recovery. I’ve already sent Jernigan and a team out to work with the fire department and the bomb squad to determine the point of origin.”

“But the tapes, sir,” Mike said. “Really, it’s possible to do facial recognition on a partial face of a woman who appears in all three of them.”

Zachery held up his hand. “I’ve got a feeling about this fire and the murdered man in Brooklyn.” He waved toward the conference room. “I need you more in Brooklyn than in there. Go, find out what this all means.”

Mike knew Zachery hadn’t become the head of the Criminal Investigative Division in the New York Field Office because he was a good politician, which he was, a bonus. No, he was sharp, had been one of the most skilled field agents in the FBI. He knew his stuff. Mike had learned to trust his instincts.

Zachery saw Nicholas was about to argue and sighed.

“Listen, this isn’t a throwaway assignment. I’m not looking to get rid of you to cut down on the distraction because of what the two of you did last night. No, this is for real. I know in my gut this is something important.”

Nicholas nodded. “We’re on our way, sir. We’ll call in with anything we find.”

“Good. Now make yourselves scarce before people start asking questions. And Agent Caine, do try to keep Agent Drummond out of trouble.”

Mike went back to her desk, gathered her bag, unlocked her weapon. Nicholas was next to her, doing the same thing.

“A moment, Nicholas,” Mike said, and waved down Agent Ben Houston.

“Hey, Ben, I need you to run some film footage for me.”

“Sure, Mike. What do you need?”

“The video feed from the Bayway cameras shows a woman in a baseball cap. In one she’s looking at the camera. Can you upload her into the NGA database, see if we get a hit?”

“I’ll let you know the minute I’ve got something.”

“Thanks, Ben. We’ll be on the radio if you need us.”

In the elevator, Nicholas said, “What else is on the to-do list?”

“A big-time examination of the video feeds, the bomb analysis, and figuring out who killed our agents and Mr. Hodges.”

“Yet Zachery wants us in Brooklyn to interview a witness.”

Mike pulled her hair out of the ponytail holder, shook it out. It was giving her a headache. “If Zachery thinks there’s something here, I’ll bet my best biker boots there is.”

Ten minutes later they crossed the Brooklyn Bridge and Mike began winding the Crown Vic through the Brooklyn neighborhoods. When her GPS sang out, she stopped at the curb in front of a Laundromat sandwiched between a Chinese takeout and a small bodega.

Nicholas asked, “And the name of this tremendously critical witness is?”

“Mrs. Vida Antonio. She owns this Laundromat. Oh, yes, before I forget, you didn’t mention Adam Pearce’s assignment to Zachery, did you?”

Nicholas gri

As they climbed out of the Crown Vic, Mike looked him up and down. “Nicholas, I think you should Brit it up for our laundress. That posh accent of yours plus your French cuffs might make Mrs. Antonio talk more.”

“If she has anything to say,” he said, without much hope.

“Have some faith,” Mike said, and punched his arm.

28

QUEEN TO B6

George Washington University Hospital

Washington, D.C.

Vanessa felt weightless, as if she were rising, rising into whiteness, soft, like clouds, barely touching them, passing through. She felt no pain, no discomfort at all. She was dying. Or she was already dead and this was her introduction to Heaven. Her brain turned on at the slow insistent beep beside her head. What was it? Why wouldn’t it stop? She suddenly felt her breath, in and out, in and out, copying the rhythm of the beep. But where was she? She felt a sudden lick of pain, then another, more like a tsunami this time, deep and hard. Her ribs were grinding with each breath.

No, this sure wasn’t Heaven, and since it wasn’t, then that meant Hell. No, not Hell, either. The pain meant she was alive and she was in the hospital, not sprawled on the asphalt while the building burned around her.

“Nessa, you’re awake? Yes, I see your eyelids moving. It’s about time. Listen, listen, you’re okay, you’re safe, sweetheart. Come on, Nessa, show me your beautiful eyes.”

The voice was familiar, though she couldn’t place it.

She forced her eyes open. The room was swimming, as though she were underwater, and wasn’t that strange? She managed to turn her head toward the voice. There was a man sitting next to her bed. Bald, for the most part, where he used to be blond. Blue eyes behind thick glasses. A fu

“Uncle Carl,” she whispered, and saying that one word nearly hurled her into so much pain she didn’t want to breathe anymore. He was holding her hand. Now he rose and bent over her.

“It’s going to be all right, Nessa, I’m here. You’re going to be okay, you’re going to be fine. You gave us quite a scare.”

“How did you find me?”

“Someone called in on your phone, several times in a row. We knew something was wrong immediately, sent a team into the GPS coordinates it broadcasted for an emergency extraction. Thank God in Heaven we did. You were shot in the chest, fell off the roof of a burning building, and thankfully survived the fall. We medevaced you to D.C. when you were stable. I didn’t want to leave you anywhere near the scene, for your safety. What happened? Clearly someone found the phone, but how?”