Larchmont was hugging the ground and had escaped the lethal volley. But Benedict, clearly having heard the suppressed rounds ricocheting off the floors and metal racks, ran back into the warehouse and caught a shower of bullets in the face.
Uzi’s heart was pumping much too fast. Adrenaline had prepared him for war — but though the battle was over, he still felt crazed, out of control. He pointed the gun at Larchmont, who was on his stomach and clutching his head. Uzi walked over to him and with his knee in the small of the man’s back, fumbled around the politician’s jacket pocket for the handcuff key. He finally found it, and after struggling to insert it into the lock, removed his restraints.
Uzi took a few deep breaths to calm himself, then backed away. “Get up.”
Larchmont slowly picked himself up off the concrete floor.
“Hands behind your back.”
Uzi drove the Suburban and sedan inside and removed several fuses from both vehicles. He unlocked Larchmont, moved him to the SUV’s driver’s seat, and then recuffed his wrists to the steering wheel.
“Mind if I borrow this?” Uzi asked as he pulled Larchmont’s suit handkerchief from the breast pocket. He stuffed it between Larchmont’s lips, and fastened the politician’s red paisley necktie around his mouth to hold the gag in place. An unusual use for such luxurious imported silk — and a damn fine embroidered design at that — but effective nonetheless.
Uzi stood outside the car for a moment and checked off his list. With the Suburban’s fuses removed, Larchmont could lean on the horn all he wanted to. It would remain silent.
Almost done.
After dragging the three bloody bodies out of the alley, he went about gathering his things: ski mask and helmet, his knives, and the .40 caliber Smith & Wesson he had tossed aside earlier. He cranked the warehouse door shut, then got on his bike and fled the scene.
Alpha Zulu knelt beside Leila al-Far. Zulu, dressed in repairman gray coveralls, dug through a metal toolbox, looking for a part to complete the electronic device he had been busy assembling.
Gripped in Leila’s right hand was a Taser-type stun wand, and slung across her back was an AKS-74U shorty assault rifle, fitted with a PBS silent fire suppressor. “Well?” she asked Zulu.
“Another ten, then it’ll be ready.” He really would have liked to set the timer and leave, but his cohort had other plans. Though she insisted on taking this more obtuse route, he wasn’t concerned about the overall success of their plan. They would do what they needed to do and get out. Whatever happened after that was merely above and beyond, as far as he was concerned.
After several minutes had ticked by, Zulu gave the nod and Leila approached their hostage, Leonard Rudnick, who was securely fastened to a wood chair. Squaring herself in front of the doctor, Leila cradled the stun wand in both hands, displaying it as if Rudnick were a jeweler preparing to appraise a ring. “This is one of my favorite tools, Doctor. It sends three hundred thousand volts through your body. Do you know how it works?”
The muscles of his jaw tightened but he gave no nod, made no attempt to speak.
“I’d think you’d be familiar with it because you’ve studied the mind, you know how the brain works. Its physiology. Right? This little device scrambles the nervous system, leaves you dazed and confused.” She tilted her head, assessing whether she had his attention. “Oh — I almost forgot. The pain. It lights up your nerve endings like an arcade. Pain beyond your wildest fears.” Failing to elicit a reaction, she held the wand in front of his face. “You’ve got one last chance to cooperate.”
Rudnick closed his eyes and turned away. Had the doctor indicated a willingness to talk, Zulu would’ve removed the gag. But he couldn’t risk the man screaming unless they were sure he was going to tell them what they wanted to know. A screwup now would be disastrous.
Leila shoved the tip of the stun wand into Rudnick’s abdomen and gave him a short burst. He screamed a muffled cry and jerked forward, but the bindings kept him erect. A longer jolt would’ve altered their plan, as there wouldn’t be enough time for him to regain his wits.
A tear escaped Rudnick’s right eye and streamed down his face. Zulu looked on, knowing firsthand the intense pain induced by a stun gun shock to the stomach. This man was a tough bird, that much was evident. But as a health care practitioner, someone who had devoted his entire life to helping people with their own personal hells, the doctor would respond to the one last trick Zulu had in his playbook. In this case, he had no doubt whatsoever it would work.
“Enough,” Zulu said. He stepped forward and brushed Leila back with his left forearm. He held out the compact black box he had been assembling. At present, its red LED screen displayed “00:00,” but soon it would be programmed with numerals. And then the fun would begin.
Alpha Zulu grinned at Rudnick out of one side of his mouth. “This, Doctor, is a powerful explosive that’ll destroy a good portion of this building. Now, your offices have been here for several years, and you know many of the hundreds of people who live and work here. I’m told there are about five hundred here right this very minute. What do you think?”
Rudnick’s eyebrows pointed inward in defiance.
“Maybe you doubt our convictions.” He held up the bomb and poked numbers into its keypad. “But that would be foolish.” He tilted his head. “I know what kind of man you are. You’d rather die yourself than cause others harm. Very noble. But your life isn’t what’s at stake here, Doctor. You hold hundreds of other lives in your hands. Make the wrong decision and they all die. Innocent women. Young children. Their blood on your hands.” Zulu paused.
“My sources tell me you have experience watching people die. Lots of people. Burned in ovens, gassed in chambers. Shot and dumped in pits. But — you’ve got a chance to prevent that type of mass murder from happening again.” He allowed Rudnick to mull the magnitude of his decision. And the guilt.
“So this is what it comes down to,” Zulu continued. “You’re going to make a phone call. Do it well, everything will turn out okay. If you don’t…” Zulu shrugged and bobbed his head. A malevolent smile pursed his lips. “Well, I’m afraid that’s something you won’t be able to live with.”
Uzi dialed Shepard as he headed back to Leila’s house. This time he wouldn’t be skulking around in the dark. There was no time for that. He wasn’t sure where to go, who to talk to, whose help to enlist. But he was certain of one thing: whatever was going down, it was going to happen in less than an hour. And he couldn’t shake the sense that Leila sat at the heart of whatever was to come.
Uzi’s call to Shepard was short and to the point: he needed his ASAC to coordinate with Knox and Yates, Homeland Security, his own JTTF, M2TF, and Director Tasset. It was hitting the fan, and until they could put it all together to figure out what it meant, they had to be ready for anything.
First priority was the International Conference on Global Terrorism, due to begin within the hour. A close second was the peace talks, but he left Whitehall to shore up those preparations. Whatever agencies the president wanted to enlist, and when, was not Uzi’s call. Uzi’s involvement in that particular state of affairs ended with his rendering a definitive answer as to whether or not a Palestinian group was involved in the VP’s assassination attempt.