The Kill Order (18 page)

29

“W
hat the hell is going on?” Griffin asked. Donovan’s last transmission had him worried. He turned to Izzy, who was clicking away on his keyboard.

“I don’t know. I don’t show any alarm going off . . .”

“Donovan?” Griffin said. No answer. He got out of the van, ran across the street and into the parking lot of the
Recorder
.

And then in the background, he heard, “Put your hands up!”

“It’s okay,” Donovan said, though to whom, Griffin wasn’t sure since he didn’t have visual of the front of the building. “I work here.”

“That right?”

“Reporter for the
Washington
Recorder
.”

The first thing Griffin saw in the parking lot was the two black sedans. The foremost one had red emergency lights flashing. And then he saw Donovan talking to two men wearing dark suits. One of them turned, saw him. “Keep your hands where we can see them.”

Since they were pointing weapons at Donovan, Griffin complied. “Is there some problem?”

“Who are you?”

“I work here, too.”

“That right?” one of the men said. “We received a call that there was an entry into the building. We’re with the federal security.” And he pulled his jacket aside, showing Griffin the badge on his belt positioned in front of his holster. The same crew as the uniformed guards.

Interesting, since Izzy had disabled the phone lines. So who called?

“There is someone,” the uniformed guard said. “Inside. We saw her. We think they’re working together.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Donovan said. “I was just as surprised as you.”

“Who is she?” the man in the black suit asked.

“Not sure,” Donovan replied. “It was dark.”

And the uniformed guard, apparently feeling smug with his coworkers there, said, “These men need to be taken into custody.”

“For what?” Griffin replied. “We haven’t done anything.”

Had they actually been cops, Griffin wouldn’t have worried. But the guard was a little overzealous, and then the man in the suit said, “We’ll take it from here. Mr. Griffin?” He wasn’t surprised they knew his name. He was, however, bothered, especially when the next thing out of the man’s mouth was, “You’re under arrest for crimes against the federal government.”

“What crimes?”

“Do you really want to go into this here? Now?”

He glanced at the guards, and if truth be told, was glad for their presence. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

“Turn around, put your hands behind your back. The both of you. And do not reach for your weapons. We’d rather not have to deal with the paperwork from a shooting.”

There were four men pointing guns at him and Donovan. The two uniformed guards and the two men in suits. With no choice, Griffin complied. The man grasped Griffin’s wrist in a lock, reached beneath his jacket, and took his gun, handing it to the other agent. He cuffed him with a plastic tie, then led him toward one of the sedans, telling the guards they were no longer needed. The second agent cuffed Donovan with one of the ties.

“Where are you taking us?” Donovan asked as Griffin was placed in the backseat of the nearest car.

“Secure lockup.”

“An address would be nice. So I can tell our lawyer where to meet us.”

The first man placed one hand on the car roof, the other on the door, and leaned in close to Griffin. “Who was the woman inside the building? And what was she doing there?”

“I have no idea.”

“You need me to speak a little slower?”

“I can hear you just fine.”

“I’m talking about the people on the other end of your phone.” He reached toward Griffin’s face, pulled out the Bluetooth earpiece, and held it to his mouth. “Deliver the files you took from the building and turn yourself in—save us all the trouble of looking, and keep
anyone
from getting hurt.” This last was said with his eye on Griffin.

“I doubt that whoever’s on the other end of that phone will answer,” Griffin said.

“Maybe this will help.” He nodded to the other agent, who walked over to the two uniformed guards, who were both standing outside the glass door.

Which was when Griffin noticed the second agent was still carrying Griffin’s gun. He raised it. Shot the first guard in the head, and before the second guard realized what was going on, shot him, too.

The first agent spoke into the Bluetooth, saying, “We’ll give you a call when we’re ready for a meet and greet so you can bring us those files you stole. In the meantime, we’ll leave Mr. Archer here in the parking lot in case there are any questions. And bring a knife. He’s going to need help getting out of his cuff ties.”

He dropped the Bluetooth onto the ground, smashed it with his foot, then eyed Griffin. “Something to think about. It was
your
gun that killed those guards. Let’s hope your friends don’t do anything stupid.”

And on that point, Griffin agreed.

30

S
ydney raced through the tunnels, found the door that led up to the garage access, pressed in the code, unlocked it, then ran up the stairs. Another door to get through. This time, she hit the wrong code.

Last thing she needed was to lock herself out, because in this system, three chances was all you got. She took a breath, pressed in the code, making sure to hit each number separately, carefully, then placed her finger on the fingerprint scanner. It clicked and the door swung open.

The warehouse was empty, and she stood there a moment, trying to catch her breath. She called Donovan. No answer. They’d lost their connection when she was in the elevator, descending into the tunnels. They were supposed to swing by the moment she exited, except no one was counting on the police showing up.

She looked around, wondering how long she should wait. The place was set up to appear as a simple garage repair shop, only one that didn’t have customers or cars being repaired. It was used solely as a way to access the ATLAS building without being seen. There were two other vehicles, and after several minutes, when she still couldn’t get ahold of Donovan, she started a search for the spare keys.

She couldn’t find any, figuring they must be kept at the ATLAS building.

And just when she was considering if she could hot-wire one of the cars, the bay door rumbled, then slowly lifted. The surveillance van was out front, Donovan at the wheel.

She got in, saw Izzy in the back.

“Where’s Griffin?” she asked.

“They have him,” Donovan said.

“The police—?”

“Not the police. These guys said they were federal guards. Just showed up out of the blue. Had to have been watching the place.”

Her gut twisted. “Tell me they’re legit?”

“Hope not. They shot the two security guards. And if they are, they’re not playing by the rules. They want the files you recovered.”

She looked down at the files in her lap. “They want it bad enough, it’s got to be worth something. Griffin’s life at least.”

Donovan asked to see it.

She handed it to him. “There’s also the sketch.”

“I don’t think they know about it. Where’s the hard drive?”

“I shot it.”

“Works for me.” He opened the folder, quickly flipped through the pages. “Damned if I know what’s what. McNiel was the keeper of this.”

“Guys!” Izzy was still working at his computer. “Griffin’s phone’s still on. I’m tracking it on GPS.”

“Where?” Sydney asked.

He turned the computer screen so she could see it. She was familiar with the area. The navy yard bordered by the Anacostia River was in a perpetual state of reconstruction as the district tried to reclaim the neighborhoods from crime and blight. There were far too many buildings and lots fenced off, allowing for someone to lie in wait as the unsuspecting drove through.

Donovan looked at the screen. “We have to go get him.”

“What if it’s an ambush?” Sydney asked. “Why else pick that area and just let you go?”

“It probably is. But we can’t leave him there.”

“We can’t just show up. Not without a plan. Don’t you have other agents who can come in for this? An extraction team?”

He glanced at her. “In case you haven’t noticed,
we
are the extraction team.”

“We’re outnumbered.”

“There’s me,” Izzy said.

Both Sydney and Donovan looked back at him and at the same time, said, “
No
.”

She glanced at the GPS map where Griffin’s phone signal blinked. That area, it had to be a setup. They had to have left Griffin’s phone active on purpose. But Donovan was right. What choice did they have? It was Griffin out there, and regardless of their shared history in Mexico, he had saved her life on more than one occasion and at risk to his own.

Donovan handed her the file as he started the van, and she recalled what Griffin had said about it. McNiel had twenty years of notes in there. “We could be handing over the only evidence that proves Kane is Brooks, and we don’t even know what it is.”

“You better look fast, because we’re wasting time.”

He backed out, hit the remote for the bay door, and when it was completely shut, drove off, while Sydney looked through the files. She removed the sketch of Parker and shoved it under the seat of the van. A few of the reports she’d seen on Scotty’s files, but others she hadn’t been aware of. “We’ll never get the time to go through these.”

“Not a lot we can do about that. Griffin’s more important.”

“And how do we know they’re going to hand him over?”

“We don’t.” Donovan let out a frustrated breath as he stopped at a red light. “And now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure Griffin wouldn’t want you to endanger yourself. He’d kill me if I let anything happen to you.”

“Then it’s a good thing he’s not here to object.”

“His phone’s stopped moving,” Izzy said. “It’s been sitting in the same place for several minutes. It must be where they’re setting up.” He read off the address.

Sydney looked back at the screen, then at Donovan. “What are we going to do with him? It’s not like he has a gun and can protect himself.”

And Izzy said, “You know, I
can
help. I do have a computer connected to the Internet, so don’t write me off yet.”

Donovan glanced in his rearview mirror, then suddenly pulled over to the side of the road and into the parking lot of a coffee shop. “Sydney’s right. You don’t have a gun. And I’d feel a hell of a lot better if you weren’t in the van when we make the trade. I hate to say it, but they’re likely to put a bullet in our heads. Otherwise, why not just call us out in front of the ATLAS building and get the files there?”

“Which is why you need me,” Izzy said.

“And what is it you think you’re going to be able to do that we can’t?”

“If these guys are government agents like you, except corrupt, they’re not gonna want a bunch of civilians like me recording their every move. Sort of a bad publicity thing, wouldn’t you say?”

“Which means they wouldn’t think twice about putting a bullet in
your
head, Izzy. This isn’t negotiable. Get out. We’re in a hurry.”

“You know,” Izzy said. “It wouldn’t hurt to think outside of the box every now and then.” He grabbed his laptop, then opened the back of the van door. “Just because I’m a geek, doesn’t mean I don’t have a good idea or two.”

“Here’s an idea,” Donovan said. “Out.”

“I’m going.” He slammed the door shut and stalked off to the coffee shop.

Sydney almost felt sorry for him. “So we don’t get any brownie points for saving his life.”

“Yeah, he’ll get over it. We might not. I think you should get out, too.”

“I might be mad at Griffin, but I owe him my life several times over. I’m not leaving.”

He nodded, then took off.

Ten minutes later, they were driving toward the navy yard into a large lot next to a building under construction. The dark lot was surrounded by a chain-link fence with only one entrance, and a security chain was hanging down from the gate and the padlock on the ground. Not a good sign. She looked around, didn’t see any cars, only a couple of tractors parked near the building currently under construction, and she wondered if Griffin was in the building, or if someone had simply placed his phone there in order to draw them in.

“There’s no way out,” Donovan said. “I think we should set up down the street.”

And just as he turned the van to leave, two dark-colored sedans pulled in, stopping between them and the gate, effectively blocking their escape. They were completely isolated, and they were now positioned so that Donovan would have to drive around them to get out. Even worse, they could fire off an entire arsenal of rounds and no one would hear it, never mind respond.

She tried to see into the windows of the suspect vehicles, but they were tinted. “You think he’s there?”

“Let’s hope so. But I’m not liking this setup.”

“Maybe we should call the police. At least have a little firepower en route.”

“Trust me. I thought of that. But if these guys are working for Kane, they wouldn’t hesitate to kill the cops right along with us. Look what they did to the guards. They’ll probably use our guns, then kill us and be lauded as heroes for taking out the cop killers. I really don’t want that on my shoulders.” He looked out the window, was quiet a moment, then, after a deep breath, said, “I don’t want your death on my conscience, either. Take the driver’s seat. They want that folder, they don’t get it until we know he’s okay. If they don’t have it, or anything happens to me,
you
drive the hell out of here.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“If you’re dead, who’s going to bring us justice?”

“We’ll discuss that after you bring Griffin home. Go.”

He took the folder, then stepped out. She slipped into the driver’s seat, drew her gun, and set it on her lap, rolled down the windows on both sides, then watched, her heart seeming to thump with every step Donovan took toward the two cars. He stopped about twenty-five yards away, and called out, his voice echoing off the abandoned buildings surrounding them.

“I’ve got the files. You don’t get them until I get Griffin.”

At first there was no response.

Then the passenger door on each car opened, and two men got out, one wearing a dark suit, the other in a leather jacket. The man in the suit nodded, and the other walked to the back of his car, opened the door, and Griffin stepped out, his hands secured behind his back.

She breathed a sigh of relief, and Donovan said, “Release him, and you get the files.”

“Files first. We’d like to verify what’s in it.”

“How about you cut those plastic ties off his hands, send him this way.”

“Tell you what. You’re all fired up to get him back, you bring the folder, we’ll send him your way. Nice and slow. Even trade. You do anything stupid, your friend gets a bullet in his back, you get one in your front, and we get the folder. Hand it over, your odds of leaving in one piece go up. And in case you’ve picked up a new weapon, leave it behind.”

“Go!” Griffin yelled. “Don’t do it!”

She saw Donovan’s chest expand as he took a deep, calming breath, gathering his courage. Then, “Deal.”

He returned to the van, opened up the sliding side door, reached beneath his jacket, pulled out his weapon, and set it on the floor of the vehicle. She wanted to yell at him to stop, that they couldn’t be believed, but she knew he knew. And if truth be told, she wanted Griffin this side of that line. But not at the expense of Donovan’s life. Because if Griffin was warning him off, it was with good reason.

The choice was made when the man holding Griffin pushed him. Still cuffed, he stumbled forward, nearly losing his balance. When he straightened, Donovan was walking toward them, holding out the file folder.

Her gut clenched. They had no way out of here.

“Toss it,” the agent asked.

Donovan did as asked.

The agent raised his gun. Fired.

Donovan went stumbling back, then fell to the ground.