“In the back with Russ — running over the plan one last time. We send him in within fifteen minutes.”
Caruso nodded. William Russell Cole was a living legend among hostage negotiators, a small-framed, gentle man in his early sixties. In thirty-odd years with the Bureau, he’d never worn a gun.
Spend five minutes with him — you’d feel like you had a new best friend. That’s why he was so good at what he did.
He found the two men near the back of the trailer. “We’ll have two snipers here…and here,” Jicha was saying, drawing his finger across the touchscreen of the computer. “They’ll be in position to cover you as you walk up to the cabin, but, you know our ROE.”
The negotiator smiled, patting Jicha on the arm. “It’s not a problem, Klaus. Never has been. If I do my job right, your boys can go home without firing their weapons. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to suit up.”
“Don’t underestimate him, Russ,” Jicha warned as the negotiator turned away.
“Nichols?” Caruso could see a shadowed look there in Russ’s eyes as he asked the question. “Don’t worry, Klaus. I won’t.”
Waiting — that was the biggest part of the spy business. Just waiting. It didn’t do wonders for one’s blood pressure — or waistline.
Thomas tapped his hand idly against the passenger window of the Malibu, waiting. He needed a drink.
He glanced over at Tex in the driver’s seat, wondering if he should wake him. The big man had the seat all the way back, his lanky form stretched out, his hands folded over his chest. He was a Marine, after all. Never stand when you can sit…never sit when you can lie down…never lie down when you can sleep — because you never know when you’ll have another chance.
“You think Carter will come through for us?”
Tex’s right eye came open, a single black orb staring over at Thomas. The news that the FBI had located Harry had come as a shock to them both. As usual, the Texan was dealing with it better.
“Going back into Langley at this hour is going to raise some eyebrows — but if anyone is known for odd hours, it’s Ron.” Carter hadn’t known anything more than the basics, but he’d promised to get back on Langley’s servers and find out where the Bureau was staging.
As if on cue, it was at that moment that Tex’s cellphone chose to ring. “Yes? Yeah, I’ve got a pen — go ahead and give me the coordinates.”
Flicking the dome light on, the Texan cradled the phone against his shoulder as he scrawled a series of latitude and longitude coordinates on the back of his hand. He listened for another moment, then tucked the phone back in his pocket.
Thomas waited as Tex put the Malibu into drive, heading south. “Where’s the FBI raid going down?”
“West Virginia. Got a long drive ahead of us.”
Harry was in the bedroom when Carol found him, tucking the Colt .45 into a paddle holster at his hip. Preparing for war. His AK-47 was clutched in his left hand, a pair of spare magazines in a pouch on his belt.
He didn’t turn around, simply gestured toward a ballistic vest lying there on the bedspread. “I need you to put that on under your shirt.”
“Where do you want me?” she asked, peeling off her jacket as she entered the room. She dropped it on the bed and picked up the vest, holding it up against herself.
“You can change in there,” he said, indicating the direction of the bathroom with a curt nod. It was almost as if his previous display of emotion had embarrassed him.
The vest had been designed for a woman, Carol realized, tracing the outline of the built-in bra cups. Han’s wife?
Closing the door behind her, she stripped out of her blouse and pulled the vest on over her head. It was more than a little loose, but the 6-point strapping system offered enough adjustability to make it work. Just enough.
When she re-opened the door, Harry was still there, checking his weapons one final time. “That’s not what I meant,” she began, buttoning her blouse over the vest. “Where do you want me when the assault hits?”
“In the bunker. Stay in the back, near the helicopter if you want to. Just keep your head down.”
“That’s it?” she heard herself ask. “These men killed my father and you just want me to keep my head down?”
He looked up, meeting her gaze for the first time since she’d entered the room. “You’re missing the point. If anything happens to you, they succeed.” Those ice-blue eyes blazed with a flash of intensity as he added, “And I fail.”
Carol took her jacket off the bed and started to push past him toward the door, but his hand closed around her wrist. “I need to hear you say it,” he warned, his grip firm but not painful. Not yet.
She felt her breath catch as she stared back into his eyes, unyielding. And in that moment, she knew. If it was necessary to save her life, he wouldn’t hesitate to snap her wrist like a straw. “Say it…”
Surrender was the only option and she realized it. Didn’t make the words come any easier.
“Harry!” Han’s shout came from the front of the cabin. “Get your butt out here — we’ve got company.”
Silence. The only sound he could hear was the noise of the wind whipping around the mountainside. The cabin remained silent, no one answering his hail.
Russ fingered the bullhorn in his hands, debating how long he should wait before trying again. Over thirty years, he’d dealt with bank robbers, pyschotic parents, crackheads, and terrorists. He’d seen it all.
Yet the shiver that rippled through his body had nothing to do with the wind. Or the falling snow. Tonight was different.
He’d seen Nichols in action before — they’d worked together when Cole had been deployed to Islamabad as part of the Joint Terrorism Task Force in the fall of 2009.
Unpredictable. That was the CIA officer. Brilliant, ruthless — other adjectives that came immediately to mind. What had caused him to go rogue, Russ had no idea. One thing and only one thing he knew. Nichols would be playing to win.
A figure stood in the middle of the cabin’s driveaway, ankle-deep in snow, glowing in Harry’s night-vision. “What do you make of it?”
Harry looked back at his friend. “I recognize him,” he said finally. “It’s William Russell Cole. We worked together in Pakistan with the JTTF.”
Han’s face was drawn and white in the darkness. “What are you trying to tell me?”
“It’s not a trick — we’re up against the HRT.”
It was the night of the school Christmas party. She should have been there, but she didn’t feel like partying, particularly with her fellow teachers.
The glass of wine on the coffee table was half-empty, Bing Crosby’s voice on the radio in the kitchen crooning, It’s the most wonderful time of the year.
Yeah, right. She and Mary had gone to the Christmas party together last year, right before she left for Washington. She could still remember the sight of her pretty sister dancing in the arms of Nicholas, the phys-ed teacher. He’d been smitten.
Bing’s voice trailed off into the ether as the radio station broke for news. “…the parallel attacks in Virginia on the 13th and the widespread panic which has followed, President Roger Hancock has announced that he is leaving the G-20 summit to return to D.C. White House spokesman Dominic Reyes quoted the President in an exclusive with FOX News. ‘A leader’s place in time of crisis is in his nation’s capital’.”
Alicia smiled, reaching for the bottle of pinot noir in front of her. She’d already had two glasses, enough to necessitate coffee in the morning. But he was coming back to the States. That called for a celebration…