So when he needed a mil spec weapons package, he knew just the man to call.
“Hi, Paulus,” he said from a pay phone outside a 7-Eleven in Manassas. “It’s Gideon Davis. Call me back on a secure line.”
Three minutes later the phone rang. “Gideon,” Paulus Lennart said, “it’s been a long time.”
“I’ll make it quick,” Gideon said. “I need breaching charges. Preferably ribbon-type-shaped charges. Plus some detonating cord and a trigger. Also a Barrett with ten rounds of armor-piercing incendiary.”
“You’re fucking joking,” Lennart said.
“Not as long as you owe me for Cameroon.” After a long pause, Gideon continued, “Plus, I guarantee that it won’t blow back on you.”
“How soon do you need this?”
“Two hours.”
< Leeeeeee Paul/div>
“Can’t do a Barrett that fast,” he said. “I’ve got an Accuracy International sitting around, though. Bolt action, .50 BMG, shoots a quarter minute of angle, nice Leupold glass, the whole thing.”
“Fine.”
“What do I get from this?”
“Besides my undying gratitude? Twenty thousand.”
“I’ll take the twenty, you can hold the gratitude.” The phone went dead.
Two hours and ten minutes later Gideon was standing in the parking lot of a Super Target in Centerville when a battered blue van drove by. Gideon heard the door slide open behind him. But by then it was too late.
A bag had gone over his head and someone extremely quick and strong had lifted him off his feet. The door of the van slammed shut and then the van peeled away.
Gideon clawed for his Glock, but a massive hand closed over his fist, and the bag was pulled from his head. Holding him from behind was a young man with the physique of a battle tank, his arms looped around Gideon’s chest like a band of steel. Paulus Lennart dug the tip of his gun barrel into the tender flesh of Gideon’s temple.
“Don’t ever do something like this to me again.”
“Like what?” Gideon asked.
Lennart was a wiry South African with a short grizzled beard and longish graying hair. He had worked as a contractor for the State Department and was responsible for several killings in the small African nation of Cameroon, which—although committed in the interest of the United States of America—had nearly resulted in his beheading by an unfriendly local regime. Thanks to Gideon, however, Lennart was still alive.
“You didn’t see fit to mention that you’re wanted by the FBI?”
“Wanted for questioning,” Gideon said. “Big difference.”
“You think this is funny?”
Gideon pushed the pistol away from his head. “We have good intelligence that there will be an attack against a target on US soil. If I don’t have the weapons I asked you for, innocent people will die. Now are you going to help me or not?”
Paulus Lennart leaned forward and looked straight into Gideon’s eyes. His jaw worked on a piece of chewing gum like he was trying to kill it. Gideon could smell the Juicy Fruit on his breath.
Finally Lennart leaned back and said, “I don’t get you, man. You’re supposed to be some diplomat, but you keep getting yourself into all this third-degree ninja shit. Who’s the real Gideon, huh?”
“When you figure that out, let me know,” Gideon said. “In the meantime, have you got my explosives?”
Lennart didn’t move. “Am I going to be sorry I did this?”
“I have a great many talents,” Gideon said. “But reading the future is not one of them.”
“How did you ever become a diploghtng,mat, man?” Lennart said. “You suck in the reassurance department.”
“Have you got the stuff or not? Because I’m on a tight schedule.”
“You got my money?”
“You know I’m good for it.”
“You’re killing me.” Paulus Lennart looked at the huge young man who was still holding Gideon around the chest, gave him a brief nod. “Go ahead,” he said. “Get this guy his gear and get him the hell out of here.”
31
CENTREVILLE, VIRGINIA
I’ve seen that man before,” Verhoven said as he and Tillman crossed the parking lot of a sizable park in Centreville, and approached Gideon. Off in the distance a couple of joggers ran by, looking at their watches.
“He’s been around, so it’s possible,” Tillman said evenly.
There had been a time a few years ago when Gideon had been on the news a lot. Gideon wore wraparound sunglasses that he’d purchased at a local CVS and a GLOCK SHOOTING SPORTS FOUNDATION hat. He hadn’t shaved for two days and hoped that between the hat, the shades, and the scruff on his face that Verhoven wouldn’t recognize him.
“You’re late,” Tillman said.
“You call at the last minute asking for very specialized items, you better plan on showing a little flexibility,” Gideon said. He was making a strong effort to play the role of a professional soldier. “Where’s my money?”
Tillman signaled to Verhoven, who threw a small gym bag on the ground. As Gideon took a quick inventory of its contents, Verhoven continued studying his face. His scrutiny wasn’t lost on either Gideon or Tillman, though both men pretended not to notice.
“Couldn’t track down a Barrett,” Gideon said as he tossed the money in his car. “You’re gonna have to make do with an Accuracy International bolt gun.”
“It’s still a .50 BMG, right?” Tillman said.
“Yeah.”
Tillman looked at Verhoven, who shrugged.
“They make a hell of a good rifle,” Gideon said. “SAS guys all use them.”
“Scope?” Tillman asked.
“Leupold Mark IV. Mil-mil, ten power fixed. Just like the big boys.”
“Good enough,” Tillman said.
“It’s all in the trunk,” Gideon said.
As they all went to transfer the equipment, Verhoven kept stealing glances at Gideon, who decided it was time to call him on it.
“Is there a problem? Because you keep looking at me, and I don’t like being looked at like that by anyone who’s not a wiflllllllntentoman.”
“I’ve met you before,” Verhoven said.
“I don’t think so.”
Verhoven nodded, but he was clearly unsatisfied with Gideon’s answer. A moaning sound from Verhoven’s car interrupted the moment. It was Lorene.
“You should see how she’s doing,” Tillman said, hanging back with Gideon as Verhoven went to check on Lorene in the backseat of the car.
“They’re hitting the State of the Union,” Tillman whispered, waiting until he was sure Verhoven was out of earshot.
Gideon blinked. He’d been privately speculating on potential targets they might be hitting in the DC area, but this was far more serious than any scenario he’d imagined. In fact, because the State of the Union address was such a hard target, he had discounted it at the outset.
“Are you sure?”
“Pretty much. Although we’re staging some support operation in Virginia. Not sure yet what it is.”
Gideon felt the mounting pressure, as if sandbags were being piled on his shoulders. “We can’t bring this to the FBI until we’ve got hard evidence.”
“I know that,” Tillman said. “Hang back and shadow me, and as soon as we’ve got something we can move on, we’ll pull the trigger.”
Gideon nodded as Verhoven rejoined them. “She’s doing okay,” he said to Tillman.
“Got a problem in the car?” asked Gideon.
“No problem. My wife isn’t feeling well is all.”
“You should take care of that.”
“It’s no concern of yours,” said Verhoven.
Gideon nodded, then clapped Tillman on the shoulder. “I’ll be seeing you,” he said.
“Not if I see you first.”
“Don’t count on it.”