"Thanks for the warning."
"Imagine what it's like on the receiving end."
Gupta replaced the headset and listened intently to the radio chatter. He didn't hear any transmissions indicating a "man down." He started to hear reports of "clear" from several team members.
"I didn't hear any gunshots, but they could have been mixed in with the flashbangs," Tariq said.
"From what I can tell, no shots were fired. They recovered four canisters. The HAZMAT truck should be pulling up any second," Gupta said.
"Looks like it just arrived," Tariq added.
"Nice job, Anish. You probably saved an FBI agent's life today," Aleem said.
"Maybe. But that life would have never been in danger if we didn't place the call in the first place," Gupta said, obviously mulling over his own logic.
"I'm not getting into another logic trap debate with you. This day has been long enough. Good work. Leave it at that. Let's send everything we have to Insider," Aleem said.
Insider was their codename for Callie Stewart within the NCTC. Sanderson's plan to accelerate the investigation on behalf of the FBI had only just begun. The next phase sounded dicey in Aleem's opinion, but might help them skip a few steps and bring everyone closer to finding the remaining virus canisters. Hamid Muhammad might live to see another day.
Chapter 16
Daniel Petrovich took his new passport from the smartly dressed customs agent and tucked it into the interior breast pocket of his black wool pea coat.
"You can proceed to the waiting lounge, or if you prefer, a private room. All areas are fully equipped for your business needs. The aircraft just arrived, so it may take a few minutes to refuel and re-inspect. Enjoy your flight, Mr. Petrovich."
"Thank you. The crew can find me in the lounge," he said.
He pulled his carry-on luggage to a comfortable seating area at the front of the private terminal lobby. The three serious-looking operatives stood in unison as he approached.
"I guess this is goodbye. No tears, please. Look at the positive side of my departure. One less smelly body driving around Europe in a rental van," Petrovich said.
"And just as I was starting to get used to you," Farrington said.
"My infectious charm rubs off on everyone," Petrovich said, extending his right hand.
The two men shook hands vigorously.
"Take care of this guy. He's Sanderson's protégé," he said to Hubner and Klinkman.
"That's a relief. We were worried you might be his protégé," Klinkman said.
They all laughed at Klinkman's rare display of humor.
"What now, Mr. Petrovich? Sounds like there's plenty of unfinished business back in the States. You might be better off vacationing somewhere else. Plus, you're a little overdressed," Farrington said, pulling Daniel's left collar.
"Rest and recuperation. Jessica's choice. I'll follow her wherever she chooses. Gentlemen."
He exchanged firm handshakes with Hubner and Klinkman.
"Don't drink the water," Hubner added.
"That's what you say for Mexico," Klinkman said.
"Not anymore," Hubner replied.
"I'll stick to bottled water for now," he said, turning to Farrington.
"Good luck with the German comedy duo. I foresee long, painful car rides in your future," Petrovich said.
"See you around," Farrington said.
"No offense, but hopefully not."
Farrington smiled and slapped him on the shoulder. "I hope you're right."
Petrovich nodded to the group and made his way to the door leading to the private terminal's lounge. He fought the urge to glance back at them, as if doing so would catapult him back into Sanderson's world. He had been disturbed to learn that Farrington, and presumably Sanderson, knew where he was headed. He had booked the Gulf Stream V with his own funds and had expected his destination to remain a secret. Maybe Farrington had taken a stab in the dark. If so, he had fallen for the oldest trick in the book and confirmed the destination. Then again, if Farrington had been fishing for information, he'd have to assume that anything Daniel said would be a subterfuge. He could go on and on with this logic, until he came full circle.
He couldn't wait to be out of this business. He'd spend a week or two relaxing with Jessica on the beach before they started to make plans to vanish again. This time, they'd fully cover their tracks. Daniel and Jessica Petrovich would cease to exist in the eyes of General Terrence Sanderson and the rest of the world, leaving them at peace to live normal lives. The kind of normal that more than thirty million dollars can buy.
He took a seat in the empty lounge and stared out of the window at the shiny, sleek Gulf Stream V taxiing to rest fifty meters beyond the glass. Roughly eight hours from now, the jet would land in Charleston, South Carolina, where he would meet Jessica and drive to a rental villa on Fripp Island, just outside of Beaufort. He couldn't imagine that Al Qaeda had any plans to poison the water supply of a private beach resort community on the South Carolina coast. He checked his watch. It was still a little early to call Jessica.
She had arrived in Charleston yesterday afternoon, promptly checking into a suite at the Charleston Place, the most luxurious hotel within the city's historic downtown district. He'd call her from the aircraft and coordinate his arrival. He'd rented a four-door, soft-top Jeep Wrangler for the upcoming weeks. He couldn't wait to drive through the warm Atlantic air with the top down, taking in the simplicity of the low country with Jessica.
They had spent a considerable amount of time vacationing in Hilton Head while they lived in Maine, taking full advantage of the warm weather and southern hospitality. For this trip, they had opted to steer clear of their usual resort in Hilton Head due to their recently erased celebrity criminal status. They had become regulars at some of Hilton Head's finest restaurants, similarly establishing their presence in nearby Savannah. This time, they would explore new territory in Beaufort and Charleston, while anonymously enjoying the same ocean on Fripp Island. Two weeks to enjoy one of their favorite stateside refuges for the last time. They'd make the best of it, before Daniel reached out to some of his past acquaintances. Acquaintances in the business of finding new identities for wealthy clients.
Chapter 17
Special Agent Sharpe finished giving his pep talk to the exhausted task force personnel and started to make his rounds to all of the stations. Special Agent Mendoza would start making arrangements to have the personnel rotate through mandatory rest periods, where they would make use of the limited on-site sleeping quarters. NCTC designers had assumed correctly that certain operations might keep watch floor users tied to the building for several days; however, they had grossly underestimated the possible size of these groups. Sharpe would likely have to authorize the use of several rooms at a nearby Marriott.
The investigation's pace had picked up over the past few hours and would likely build more momentum as the day unfolded. They now had full access to Hamid Muhammad's mosque and apartment. Both qualified as federal crime scenes when Agent Janice Riehms found three dead bodies in the middle of the prayer hall. Riehms had carefully crafted her request to enter the mosque on the premise that the Imam's sudden departure more resembled an abduction than an escape. Two men pushing another man into the back of a van at midnight. Sharpe authorized her to search the mosque for signs of foul play, which they immediately discovered. In many ways, the loss of the Imam opened investigative avenues previously blocked by the Justice Department's restrictions.