He and Edie exchanged looks that said everything and nothing at all. She smiled, well it was almost a smile or as much of a smile as she could manage given the circumstances, then she reached over and fixed the tie on his button down shirt. They’d cleaned themselves up in transit using wet towels. The clothes they were wearing were originally intended for the afternoon black tie event at the President’s Palace.
A marine sergeant had run the clothes out to the chopper after a quick stop at Malta International for fuel. They’d also picked up some additional team members and some new gear, including tactical headsets that could be set to voice activation or passive keying-required mode. Edie’s headset also seemed to have options for reaching command privately.
Protective attire capable of stopping most bullets and bomb shrapnel was high-end specialty wear that few companies manufactured. The Tagliente jacket over his soft, white silk shirt seemed to fit a little too snugly with the bulletproof gear underneath, but it also could have been the shoulder holster, which he was unused to. Edie for her part seemed regal in her flowing, black Versace gown. By the look of it, no one could ever tell that it too was chic ballistics wear designed with lightweight protective panels that zipped seamlessly into the lining.
“That’s some dress,” Scott said, his eyes giving her lithe figure the onceover.
“Back at you,” Edie said, running one of her long, slender fingers along the inside of his thigh. “Always wanted to know what you’d look like clean shaven in a tuxedo.”
“Now you know,” he replied.
“I do,” she said, a hint of mirth at the edges of her lips. “Always knew you were a fixer-upper.”
The levity in her expression was fleeting, lasting only moments to be replaced by a scowl he feared she’d wear until the end of days. She didn’t want to part with her machine gun, even when presented with a Springfield XDS 9mm and accompanying black carry purse, but she had once she strapped on a leg holster with a Ruger LC9 as a backup.
Scott gazed blankly out the window, his thoughts continuing to swirl, as the helicopter sped across Grand Harbour and then made its way along the Valletta waterfront. The director told him Peyton had been brought in to clean up, but she seemed to be doing more than clean up. She seemed to be part of the conspiracy. Or was he missing something?
According to the director, whatever was going to happen would commence in less than ninety minutes. Peyton Jones was the only accomplice whose whereabouts were known and she wouldn’t be talking to anyone again — ever. Alive she might have been coerced into answering some of these questions, but now any answers would have to come from forensics.
As Edie ended the connection with the chief, another command communication came in. One that Scott saw agitated Edie instantly.
Moments later, the chopper landed on the manicured green lawns of The Saluting Battery, where cannons stood vigil over the harbor as they had in the bygone days of the tall ships. Scott took in the beauty of the place as he exited the chopper. Across the water, he saw Fort Saint Angelo and on the tip of the next peninsula, the seaward bastion known as the Spur.
Ceremonial guards stood vigil along the paths, having blocked off the lower grounds prior to the chopper’s arrival. The two AFM soldiers led the way toward the stairs, with the guards saluting as they passed. Scott spun around and stared into the upper gallery as the chopper lifted off. Beyond the viewing area and its railed balcony, he saw stone arches that lead to and from the gardens. If there were answers to be had, they’d be found along the pathways of the gardens.
Edie waved her team on, shouting, “Go, go, go! Sweep the area and report.” Then she waved Scott over and the two broke away from the others. “You were right,” she said excitedly. “The suit was important. Surveillance video from the swim shop where she got the suit is coming over now.”
She played the video on her phone and Scott watched the gruesome events as she did. Mostly the video was of the front showroom, but there were views into the back areas. Edie let Scott take the controls and he fast-forwarded through parts, including the brutal murder of the clerk. He was more interested in Peyton’s entrance, which had been from the rear of the shop, and the bag she carried than with what happened. Then he saw it, the money shot, between the opening into the backroom where minutes earlier the clerk’s legs had been twitching and shaking as she was being strangled.
“There,” he said, pausing the video at the point where Peyton unzipped the bag and checked its contents. “That proves she’s responsible for everything that happened at the rendezvous.”
“It does,” Edie said, her eyes focused on the bomb in the backpack, “and it proves we’re on the right trail.”
“I know we are,” Scott said, “but I think we need to go back and talk to Kathy. One of us at least. We need answers only she can give us.”
“I agree,” Edie said. “If she isn’t talking yet, we may be the only ones capable of getting through to her. I’ll check on her status when I talk to Command.”
Scott went back to the video. He paused and zoomed in, pointed. “Do you see? The watch.” He went back 15 seconds and then started the video again. “See there… She programmed the watch somehow to be the trigger.”
“No watch or a phone when we checked her body,” Edie said.
“Exactly, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t ditch it after triggering the bomb.” Scott closed his eyes and tried to picture the earlier events in his mind. “The black band of the smartwatch is distinctive, not that many people wear smart devices. Can you get forensics to look for the watch specifically so we can confirm she was the one on the trigger and that there aren’t any accomplices? Bystanders, the works. See if anyone saw that watch.”
Edie nodded, and started up the steps to the main viewing gallery and gardens. “Scott, there’s something else I have to tell you.” she said, reaching out to him as he walked beside her, “from the chief.” She paused, a serious look on her face. “The situation is more serious that we know. I know they’ve uncovered something they’re aren’t sharing.”
“How bad is it?” Scott said.
“They’re talking isolation and quarantine if we fail. That means it’s as bad as it gets.”
Scott paused in his climb, and reached out to Edie. She was tough as nails, but human. He saw the tears building behind her eyes and pulled her to him. “Damn it, Edie, you’re not carbon steel,” he whispered. “Lian and Angel were some of the few good ones. Let it out, there’s no one to see but me, and I won’t tell a soul.”
He leaned in and kissed the tears beneath her eyes. She gripped his hands and squeezed.
Chapter 6
Wordlessly, Edie continued with Scott up to the main viewing gallery. The path at the top of the stairs took them along a painted railing, where tourists and regulars were taking in the spectacular views of the harbor. They passed couples holding hands and staring out into the distance; moms, dads and kids posing for photos; a lone man with a pair of binoculars. But she didn’t really see anything beyond faces, demeanor and body posture. Knowing their targets were out there and things could go horribly wrong in an instant, everything and everyone she passed was suspect.
Passing through the stone arches, she walked the stone paths toward the central fountain. Her team’s job was to sweep the area, while looking for possible threats and assessing. The teams went out two by two because there were many paths and connected structures, including vendor stalls, to investigate. She and Scott, dressed formally, didn’t really fit in with the uniforms and so they lagged behind, which gave them an opportunity to observe things the soldiers rushing through might not see, including bystander reactions after the fact. Her trained eye watched for any suspicious behavior and anything out of the normal.