Into the Crossfire (33 page)

get them out of his hair. Right. Now.

His cell was in his hand. He wanted to call Nicole with it so badly it felt

like it was burning against his palm.

Sam stood and the two Feebs looked up, startled, then stood, too. A big,

theatrical yawn as he stretched. He put on a sheepish look. "Didn't sleep well last

night," he confessed to them. He'd slept maybe four hours in the past forty-eight,

but he couldn't sleep now if you pumped him full of a triple dose of Valium. Every

cell in his body was on red alert. He wanted the two Feebs out on their asses, now.

"Sounds like you've got an army out looking for this guy, this Sean McInerney.

I'm sure you'll get him real soon. When you find him, I have a few words to say to

him."

He knew what he wanted them to see. A genial guy who'd had a scare a

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couple of hours ago, but now only wanted to get back to his bed, where a beautiful

woman awaited him.

There was no way for the Feebs to know that under that amiable persona

was a man sweating with terror, guts cold and roiling because something was

going down now.

Harry and Mike watched, baffled, as Sam subtly urged the two special

agents to the outer door and saw them off with a brisk handshake.

"Sam," Harry said uneasily when the door closed behind them. "Don't you

understand that the guy who broke into Nicole's apartment is a--"

"No time," Sam gritted. "Got a signal from my cell phone--means my home

security's been breached. Someone going out. Nicole's on the move. No way

would Nicole leave my apartment without telling me unless she was forced to." He

had Nicole's cell phone number on speed dial. It was busy. Goddamn. "Harry!" he

barked. "Triangulate this number for me, fast." He rapped out Nicole's cell phone

number. Harry put his crutches to one side, sat down at one of the computers and

bent over the keyboard.

Sam switched on a monitor connected with his home computer and saw the

big, dark empty lobby of his own apartment complex appear.

"Shit," Mike breathed. "You're hacking your own building's security."

The cameras were high quality. It had been a condition for buying the

apartment. No jerky stills every four seconds to save money. Sam went to ten

minutes ago, when he'd heard the signal that Nicole was leaving his apartment. He

could see everything, including the night guard behind his U-shaped desk. It was

0200 in the morning but the guard was alert, not reading, not dozing, checking in a

regular loop the array of monitors glowing brightly on the desk.

Good man.

The guard must have heard something. He turned toward the bank of

elevators, hand on his holstered weapon. And there she was, Nicole, looking

desperate, nearly running across the lobby. She stopped just outside the huge glass

doors, at the limit of the lobby cameras' range. Sam watched her, shaking, slender

arms crossed over her waist as if hugging herself for comfort as she waited for

something impatiently.

Mike had drifted over to stand by Sam. Harry watched the screen, face

sober.

Sam called her again. Busy. She wasn't talking into it. She was keeping the

line open because...he felt air leave the room. She was keeping it open because

someone was keeping tabs on her.

Her head lifted as she saw something outside, then she ran out of the

cameras' range. A faint glow could be seen beyond the building's gates. A light on

top of a yellow vehicle.

"Outdoor cameras," he ordered and Harry typed so fast his fingers were a

blur. It was Harry's building, too, and he knew the codes inside out. The outside

cameras flashed onto the monitors, showed Nicole opening the passenger door of a

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taxi. The plates were in shadow.

Sam called again. Busy.

"Keep that cell phone triangulated," he ordered Harry.

"On it."

The only thing that would force Nicole out would be a threat to her father.

"Mike," he said, striding to the gun locker hidden away in a coat closet. He

punched in the code fast and opened the armored door. "Check on those two

officers guarding Nicole's father."

"Roger that." Mike was in uniform, radio mike attached to a loop on his

shoulder. He spoke quietly into it, static cutting in and out.

Sam stared at the small arsenal he had. Don't bring a knife to a gunfight.

Match your weapon to your mission. Holy, sacred words that had been pounded

into his head by every drill instructor he'd ever had. Matching your weapon to

your mission was essential if you wanted to stay alive.

The mission was Nicole. But what was he facing here?

He tried to call her again, on the faintest hope that she'd closed the

connection. Maybe now that she was in a taxi...

No such luck. Busy. She was following orders.

"Harry," he called over his shoulder. "Where's she going?"

"Heading out along the causeway. Maybe coming into town? No, she's

moving inland. Taxi's moving real fast. Over the speed limit."

Mouth grim, Sam turned back to the locker.

If you didn't know your enemy, then you couldn't go wrong with a long gun

and a pistol. He chose an HK-91 with an already-mounted scope. He already had

his Glock 19, good for close-in work. NVG. Three magazines for the HK, hanging

off a belt. Who knew how much firepower he'd be needing?

He bent and put a small block of C-4 and three detonators inside a

backpack. A lot of problems could be solved by C-4. Flashbangs, four grenades.

He had a full tactical suit in the locker, they all did. He stripped down to the

skin and built a warrior from the skin out. Nomex suit, body armor.

Mike was stripping out of his cop uniform.

"Whoa, whoa, can't come with me," Sam growled to Mike as he zipped up.

"You're a police officer. This is an unsanctioned mission." He met and held Mike's

eyes. "Internal Affairs will eat you alive if you come in with me. Stay out of this,

it's my fight."

Mike lifted out his precious Remington 700. "Fuck that," he said, picking

up three 4-round magazines. "You're not going in alone." He met Sam's eyes.

"And I'm not going to let McInerney take that great woman down." His jaws

clenched. "No way."

"It'll cost you your job." Mike loved being a cop.

"Fuck that," Mike said and calmly suited up.

Mike's head was made of concrete. Once he made his mind up, Sam knew,

there was no changing it. Mike was risking his job, they were both clear on that,

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Mike above all. Knowing Mike couldn't be talked out of it, Sam allowed himself a

little spurt of relief. Nicole was more likely to come out of this alive if Mike had

his six.

Armed, they both turned to face Harry. He was standing, barely upright,

leaning heavily on the crutches, white-faced with the effort, yet quivering with

desire to go with them. The three men looked at one another, understanding one

another perfectly.

Harry couldn't go. Sam knew that Harry would give a kidney to be able to

go, but he couldn't. In his condition, he'd only be a drag. Possibly get them killed.

Sam knew that if Harry had been in even a slightly better condition, he'd have

insisted on coming.

His two brothers. Mike, willing to give up a job he loved for him, and

Harry, sick because he was too weak to help.

Harry made a low growling noise in his throat and sat back down at the

computer. At least he could help that way.

Sam was closing the locker door when Harry called out. Sam turned his

head. Harry's mouth was tight, his pale, thin face drawn with worry.

"What?"

"Lost her. The cab drove to the parking lot of the Westwood shopping mall

and then she switched her cell off. It's completely dead. There's no way to track

her now."

Sam strode over to the monitor and punched in the LoJack code. "Yes,

there is. I put a micro LoJack in her portable hard drive. She keeps that in her

purse. She has her purse with her, I saw it on the security tape."

They watched as the system processed the new info.

"Boy, that really breaks the girlfriend rule. She'll give you hell for that, if

she ever finds out." Harry shook his head.

"I'll take it, as long as she comes out of this alive."

The monitor flashed a map, the grid of streets around the south part of

town. A bright point was moving steadily south. "She's on the move again."

Nicole, honey, Sam thought, heart heavy. Where are you headed? Where the fuck

are they taking you?

Mike was speaking softly into the shoulder mike on the shirt he'd discarded.

The bright point that was Nicole, or rather her hard disk, slowed and turned

into the industrial area around the docks. "Now where the hell--"

"Sam." Mike put a hand on Sam's shoulder. "I just called dispatch. They

couldn't contact the two officers, so they're assuming it's an officer down situation.

A patrol car is on its way to Nicole's house, be there in five, but it doesn't look

good. I think they've been eliminated and I think this McInerney has Nicole's dad.

She's heading straight for him."

Sam stood, mind churning. He was known for thinking fast in the field but

right now horror froze him. He never went into battle afraid. You couldn't go into

battle afraid, it was like signing your own death sentence. Warriors make their

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peace with death right from the start, and go into battle with a free mind.

Terror gripped him, made him clumsy and slow. McInerney had been to

SERE school. It was meant to train soldiers to withstand torture, but it was run by

sadists who loved their work just a little too much. And though soldiers were

taught to resist, they were also taught how to beat information out of anyone, even

the strongest man.

Sam knew the methods and he simply couldn't bear the thought of them

being applied to Nicole. To that soft, gentle, beautiful woman. Or--God--to her

father. A sick, dying man. If this Sean had hired himself out as a contract killer,

there wasn't going to be anything stopping him, no moral line he wouldn't cross.

Maybe the fuckhead might even enjoy it. Enjoy inflicting pain. Enjoy

listening to Nicole scream...

Sam closed his eyes, sweat rolling down his face. He simply couldn't deal

with it.

He was a good strategic thinker, but right now he had the strategic IQ of a

rock. His head was filled with clamoring noise, with visions of Nicole laid out on

a table, being flayed alive.

Attached to electrodes. Being waterboarded. Fingernails pulled out one by

one. Violently raped...

Sam turned swiftly and vomited into a trash can, emptying his stomach of

its contents, but not his mind of its nightmares.

Mike frowned. "It's bad, yeah. You really shouldn't have sent the two

special agents away. You could have had the resources of the FBI on your side and

you just let them go."

Sam wiped his mouth and picked up his body armor, the one without the

Kevlar core to keep the weight down. He had no idea if he'd have to climb or

maneuver. It was always a trade-off--weight against agility. Right now, being able

to move easily trumped having a bullet penetrate the armor.

He started pulling it on. "Okay, so the Feds have enormous resources, but

what's their top priority? What's the one thing they want?"

"Got it." Mike's jaw worked. "Sean McInerney."

"Who's ex Special Forces. He's not going down without a fight. However

much the Feds will try to make it go down without collateral damage, their

number-one goal is McInerney. If we give them Nicole's location, they're going to

go in with a full tactical team, no holds barred. Do the math. Maybe twenty men,

one hundred rounds each, that's two thousand rounds that might be fired in the

space of a few minutes. There's going to be a firefight, with Nicole and her dad

caught in the crossfire. If it's just me, I know what my priority is, and it's getting

Nicole and her dad out alive--" He stopped for a second and looked Mike and

Harry in the eyes. "And offing this guy. I want him dead. I don't want him to

testify or to stand trial. I want him gone." Sam turned to Harry. "Don't take your

eyes off that monitor. Where are they now?"

Harry leaned over and checked the monitor. "Still heading south." Harry

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leaned over and touched the screen. "You can intercept them here if you hurry.

Take the SUV."

Hold on Nicole, Sam thought, moving out, moving fast. I'm coming for

you.

New York

He looked out his thirty-fifth floor window, at the sweep of Manhattan at

his feet. Night had fallen, the skyscrapers were lit up like a false dawn. Cars and

taxis made their way through the streets like a restless, irritable, illuminated worm.

Something was holding up traffic uptown and the northbound lanes were stalled.

At street level, Muhammed knew, horns would be blasting, drivers and cabbies

would be sticking their heads out the windows and screaming obscenities. Time

was money and lost time was felt as keenly as the pickpocket's nimble fingers

filching your wallet.

The energy and the power of the city was like a strong wind. It could blow

you away like a mote of dust if you didn't know how to resist its lures.