A Touch of Deceit (Nick Bracco Series #1) (38 page)

All three men watched the screen come to life. Nick slowly twisted the tube from right to left, all the time paying attention to the display in his hand. It remained a constant green field for a full minute. Suddenly, a tiny red blob came into view. Even though it appeared small on the screen, Matt knew it was too large to be a small animal. Nick wasn’t ready to pronounce anything until they saw the appendage move in such a way that there was no mistake. It was a human. “Son of a bitch,” Nick murmured.

Frantically, Nick pulled the arm to his headpiece directly over his mouth. He pushed a button and spoke with a low, urgent voice. “Carl, get to the other side of the rock. They’re not in the cabin, they’re behind us. Use the infrared scope to find them.”

Matt couldn’t hear Carl Rutherford’s response, but Nick jammed it immediately. “I don’t have time to explain. Do it now!”

“What if they’re in the cabin also?” Dave Tanner asked.

Nick shook his head. “No, they’d be catching each other in the cross fire. They probably have the building rigged to explode and soon as someone tries to enter.”

Nick pushed the transmitting button on the headpiece again and said, “Do you see them? . . .Good.”

Dave Tanner kept working the infrared. “I’ve got two of them coming our way. Less than 100 yards.”

Matt had already strapped on his night visor and was ready to take out the two attackers in the woods when a thought suddenly jolted him. Jennifer. She was alone in his makeshift nest without any cover, or communication.

As if they had telepathy, Nick turned to Matt and said, “Steele. Where is she?”

Matt was sucking in deep breaths now.

“Seventy-five yards,” Tanner announced.

Matt looked down at his watch. “Listen,” he said, “give me three minutes before you start firing.”

Nick looked at him with narrow eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Matt snapped. “You know I’d do the same thing for any FBI agent left out there on an island like that.”

Nick’s face softened. He nodded. “Okay,” he said, pointing a finger at Matt. “You’ve got three minutes. But you know how vital a first shot is. Understand?”

Matt knew all too well. If the squad were able to fire first they would get fairly open shots at the unsuspecting goons. But if the soldiers fired the first shot they would be in a more defensive mode with better cover.

Matt nodded. He screwed his silencer onto his Glock and lowered himself. As he was leaving he heard a familiar line. “Be careful,” Nick said from somewhere behind him.

Matt crawled at a smooth, rhythmic pace, keeping his limbs tucked in. Depending on the distance he hoped to be mistaken for any number of animals, even under the scrutiny of night vision glasses. He was moving lateral to the KSF soldiers, careful not to arouse any attention. He thought about Jennifer waiting for him to return, waiting for him to tell her she was safe, that there was no boogey man out there trying to get her. But he couldn’t. And when the first shot was fired, he knew he never would.

On his headset, Matt heard Nick berating Carl Rutherford for jumping the gun, but it was too late. A burst of gunfire came from Nick’s position behind him and he realized that he had to run now. He was only thirty yards away from his nest when he stopped cold and hit the ground. In his haste, he’d forgotten the most basic rules of engagement: find the enemy before they find you.

He lowered his night vision glasses and searched the woods surrounding his nest. Gunshots echoed off of the mountain range all around him and he couldn’t tell where they were coming from. None of the shots were coming his way, so he stayed perfectly still and found what he was looking for. Two soldiers were tucked behind trees with rifles and Matt could see the flash of their muzzles firing directly into Jennifer Steele’s position. He quickly unscrewed the silencer from his Glock. He needed accuracy more than stealth. As he lined up his shot he noticed something he’d never encountered before—his hands were clammy with sweat. His breathing became sporadic as he lined up for a shot. With a shaky hand, he caught the soldier off-guard and clipped him in the shoulder. Matt’s second shot was a kill to the head, finishing off the first soldier.

He suddenly lost all control of his training. Instead of concentrating on the enemy, he followed the direction of the second attacker’s muzzle flash. It was a semi-automatic rifle and the rounds came blasting out with such rapid force that he was compelled to see what damage they had caused. It took just a second to find Jennifer Steele. She was on her stomach with her back to the attacker. She was facing the cabin with Matt’s rifle tucked under her arm, diligently following his instructions. He was close enough to see her torso jerk spastically with every round that peppered her body. She never even had a chance to turn and defend herself. Now her head shuddered so violently that Matt could see her ponytail bounce with each fatal headshot. His stomach fell like a free-falling elevator.

Matt turned back toward the soldier and aimed his Glock for the kill. As he tried to locate the target his vision suddenly became blurry. At first he thought he’d been shot and blood was seeping into his eyes. He wiped his eyes clear and looked down at his hand. To his amazement he found something he’d never experienced on the job before. Tears.

Unable to stop the flow of moisture to his eyes, he managed the best shot he could. It was good enough to knock the rifle from the soldier’s hands. The attacker left the weapon and ran, using trees to cover his trail. Matt tried futilely to get another shot off, but he was seeing double now and didn’t waste the ammo.

He scrambled toward Steele, his gun flying from his hand as he hit a tree stump. He approached her body with a morbid sense of loss. Jennifer Steele lay in a crumpled heap. The lower half of her body was hidden under thick undergrowth and her arms were contorted like a discarded rag doll. Her head was tucked between two fallen logs that had served as perfect cover for an attack from the cabin. Through the dim moonlight, he could see her ponytail dangling lifelessly from the back of her cap. His rifle was just under her armpit, the front end lifted on its tripod. She never saw it coming.

Matt noticed that the gunfire had ceased and heard Nick’s voice in his headset.

“Matt, Dave’s been hit. I’ve got to get him out of here—you okay?”

Matt rubbed his eyes dry. “Yeah.”

“What about Steele?”

Matt swallowed. He choked on the words. “She’s . . . um . . . down.”

The way he said it Nick must’ve know what he meant. There was a moment of silence while Nick gave Matt privacy to deal with the loss. “I’m sorry.”

Matt felt a sense of betrayal. Steele wasn’t the frightened greenhorn he made her out to be. She was simply aware of her surroundings. He had the strange desire to say goodbye, to apologize for his blunder.

Suddenly, he heard a click behind him and realized that he had made more than one mistake that night. He turned and faced his destiny. The KSF soldier he thought had run away simply double-backed on him. The rifle was wedged into the terrorist’s shoulder and from ten feet away he already had pressure on the trigger.

At that moment, the thought that flashed through Matt’s mind was that he would be finally be reunited with Jennifer Steele. He squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself for death. When the shot was fired he was surprised how painlessly the end came. He felt his entire body floating weightlessly as if he were being lifted from all of his anguish. The gunshot still rang in his ears as an aftereffect of his previous life. It became dead still and the only sound he heard was a nearby thud. When he was brave enough to open his eyes and discover his fate, he saw an angel. The angel was smiling at him, warmly, as if she knew him all of his life and was simply waiting for him to return to her. The angel was Jennifer Steele.

The only difference he noted in Steele’s appearance was the short hair that sprouted recklessly from her head like a porcupine. Matt looked down and saw the KSF soldier lying dead in front of him. He blinked hard, then twisted around to see Jennifer Steele’s body still lying next to him. He did a double take back to the angel, then to the crumpled remains of Steele. He tugged on Steele’s ponytail and came up with a capful of pinecones. He felt her shirtsleeve and pushed down on the leaves and pine needles that had replaced her arms. A crooked smile crept across his face.

“There are two kinds of FBI agents,” Steele said, “the ones that follow their instincts, and the dead ones.”

President Merrick stood facing a map of Arizona in an office fifty feet below the Oval Office. Turning, he searched for a window out of habit, like opening the refrigerator without an appetite. There weren’t any windows in the bunker, so he chose a map to let his mind wander. He sipped from a mug of coffee with the presidential seal attached, examined the dot on the map that was Payson, and shook his head.

Behind him, his phone line blinked with an open extension to a domestic event conference currently convened at the Pentagon. He was so overwhelmed with information and suggestions that his brain was beginning to freeze up. He needed a moment to reflect and allow his head to clear. He had countless decisions to make and time was dwindling.

There was a knock on the door; Samuel Fisk poked his head through the narrow opening. “He’s here,” Fisk announced.

“Great,” Merrick said. “Send him in.”

Merrick heard the man enter his office and decided to let him sweat for a moment. His thoughts remained thousands of miles away while he stood with his back to the man and listened to his erratic breathing.

At the sound of an anxious cough, Merrick squeezed a hand over his eyes. “Sit down, Bill.”

Bill Hatfield dropped into the leather chair with the dead-legged thump of a boxer trying to go the distance.

President Merrick finally turned and saw his Chief of Staff cowering like a dog who had just peed on the carpet. Hatfield refused to make eye contact and that just fueled Merrick’s anger.

“Look at me, Bill,” Merrick demanded. “I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me the truth. You’re only getting one chance at this so don’t blow it.” Merrick placed the mug on his desk and pushed up his already rolled up sleeves even further. “Did you leak the Payson location to Miles Reese?”

Hatfield was already beginning to shake his head when Merrick pointed an accusing finger at him. “Don’t even think about lying to me, Bill.”

Hatfield retreated into a blank stare.

Merrick sat down and leaned over his desk. His elbows created a tripod for his clasped hands. “What you did jeopardized the lives of seven FBI agents who were on a dicey assignment to begin with. When you shot off your mouth to Miles you put all of them at risk. One of them is in the hospital in serious condition.”

Merrick picked up the mug, then quickly put it back down. “I’m giving you two weeks to get your affairs in order. Give whatever projects you have working to Sarah. At that time I’ll announce that you’re resigning due to personal reasons, you want to spend more time with your family—" he waved his hand in the air, “whatever bullshit I can have written for me. Either way you’re gone. The only reason I’m allowing you to leave with even a shred of dignity is because you’re married to my sister. Otherwise, I’d throw you out in the street tonight and declare you an incompetent. You wouldn’t be able to get a job as a dogcatcher.”

Hatfield attempted a nod.

Merrick dismissed him with the back of his hand. “Get out of here before you make me sick to my stomach.”

Hatfield left so quickly that Merrick never saw him go. The next thing he knew, Sam Fisk was standing over him, dropping a thick manila file on his desk with a thud. Merrick ran his hands through his hair and heard Fisk replace Hatfield in the chair.

After a long minute of silence, Fisk said, “Aren’t you going to read the file?”

Merrick had his head in his hands trying to recover whichever neurons were still firing after the longest week of his life. “Why?” he said softly.

Fisk laughed. “You need to get some sleep.”

Merrick scanned his desk. His computer was receiving so many E-mails that he was having ninety percent of them screened and deleted before anything popped up on his monitor. It was information overload. He looked up at the clock. “I’ve only got three hours to go. After that, I’ll either get plenty of sleep, or I’ll pass out and have no choice.”

“Do you want me to tell you what’s in the file?” Fisk asked.

“Please.”

“Kharrazi’s uncle owned an offshore oil company up until a couple of years ago. The silos were built during the construction of one of the rigs. This is going back maybe three or four years.”

“So Kharrazi had been planning an attack long before we ever sent troops into Turkey?”

Fisk nodded. “We gave him the perfect justification. However, he lured us in by moving so aggressively against the Turkish government. He knew we wouldn’t stand by and watch thousands of civilians get slaughtered without trying to help.”

“Should we have seen this coming?”

Fisk shook his head. “No, absolutely not. Kharrazi’s uncle, Tariq, was an honest businessman without a shred of unlawful activity in his career. Unless we used an overt form of racial profiling, we would have never discovered the silos.”

Merrick pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “It’s getting to the point where anyone with an accent will endure a form of scrutiny they’d never seen before. This is not the country I grew up in.”