The doors opened again, and the man entered. She saw him clearly now, a young man with a military haircut, blond, dressed in nondescript clothing. He carried with him rope and duct tape. The sounds of sirens and screams filled the air outside the van.
“Don't make a sound and you'll live,” he said as he bound her hands behind her and tied her feet together. Tears trailed down her cheeks as he affixed the tape over her mouth and pushed her onto her back on the padded floor. The van lurched forward into the streets of New York.
John, please, help me…
56
Jordan was bleary-eyed from hunting through thousands of files — text files, e-mails, log files — trying to glean some hint of Gunn's whereabouts from the rip of his hard drive. He had probably ended his career last night by breaking into Gunn's office, but the time for niceties had passed.
He had wondered whether the man was so secretive that he left nothing behind, no trace, even on a computer that he must have assumed was utterly safe from prying eyes. On more than one occasion, he wished he had Manuel Hernandez from the Savas group with him now — that man knew a thing or two about computers. But William Gunn had seen to it that Hernandez and many others would never be walking the earth again.
In the end, the sleepless night had been worth it. Gunn had not been careful enough to delete from the disk all records of his activities. Jordan gazed at the failing afternoon light with a mixed feeling of dizziness from lack of sleep and elation. Now he knew where that bastard was. What he was doing in Mexico was still a mystery, but the secrecy of his trip and the ruthlessness with which he had sought to crush the investigation told Jordan that this was not an idle excursion. It had purpose written all over it. Where Mjolnir had a strong purpose, there was death waiting.
He swirled the coffee around in his cup but decided he'd had enough caffeine and cold bitterness for one night. He glanced over toward the bedroom door. Vonessa was asleep, exhausted from several days of caring for two sick boys. His grip tightened over the mug. Some would say he was a negligent father for taking the risks he did. Part of him agreed with them. But another part could not back down from what he felt was his responsibility to the world, to all families, to himself. There were times that demanded risk and sacrifice for the greater good. This was one of those times. He knew what he had to do.
There was little point in going through the motions. After what had happened, the conservatives in the organizations would descend, locking up any fruitful or bold action, giving Gunn too much time. No doubt this was part of the CEO's plans. Well, my friend, you have a surprise coming. Jordan was tired of reacting. Time to bring the fight to Gunn.
He opened his laptop and entered the password. He called up a website and entered in the information. Soon he had purchased a round-trip ticket to Mexico. He had some packing to do and arrangements to make once he was south of the border. Most of those plans involved acquiring weapons. He looked back toward the door. He'd call Vonessa's mother to come over. He'd apologize. He'd make it up to them when he got back.
57
Savas looked across the faces sitting around the table. In part, it was a painful exercise. So many faces he was used to seeing at such meetings were not there. Everyone else had been assigned separately to safe houses under FBI protection under orders from Andrew Bryant, the acting head of Kanter's division, until further notice. Things had become confusing — superiors from both the FBI and the CIA were present. Organization, especially at the FBI, had been disrupted, and the hierarchy was clearly in flux, all parties uncomfortable and unsure how to proceed. But most significantly, the presence of high-ranking officers from the air force gave a certain gravity and sense of expectation to the meeting. Something was happening, beyond the mess of the last few weeks. Savas waited and observed.
“We want to thank our colleagues from the CIA and the air force for being here today,” began Bryant. “As you will soon find out, they have some pretty serious things to tell us about.”
Bryant cleared his throat and gazed around the room. He hardly knew these people. He knew he was not ready to deliver this news. “I won't try to sugarcoat anything for you. We've been through fire since this entire investigation began. We've watched some damn good agents die, and we've worked our asses off to get to the core of this case that is part of something so big it's shaking up the world. What I'm here to tell you now, what these representatives from the air force are here to tell you now, is that it's all about to get a good bit worse.” He gestured toward the military men. “Gentlemen?”
The two officers sat together at one end of the table. They were in full uniform, dress uniform, Savas noted. They had a set of folders in front of them but spoke without consulting the papers within them. One of the men began to speak, and what he said chilled Savas to the bone.
“Thank you, Agent Bryant. We haven't had time to get to know all your staff, but what we have to say must be said quickly, and we are needed back at our headquarters to continue our end of the investigation. We will be available to any of you at any time to work together on this.” The man looked over his audience and continued. “In August of last year, a highly irregular event took place at an air force base in North Dakota. Several cruise missiles were loaded on a plane scheduled to fly to Louisiana. That is a common event, transferring weapons between air force bases. On this day, however, several critical protocols were not followed, and airmen unintentionally loaded cruise missiles with nuclear payload.”
Several murmurs broke out around the table as FBI and CIA agents glanced at each other and back toward the officers. “Please,” interjected the air force man, “let me continue. I will answer questions afterward.” He exhaled slowly. “For a period of thirty-six hours, these missiles were not reported as missing and were not secured, as is customary for nuclear weapons. Some of you may remember a press conference last year about the incident.”
“Sure,” said Savas. “Fumbling with nukes makes me pay attention. But they said that the weapons had been accounted for, never left the hands of US airmen.”
There was an uncomfortable silence. The soldier continued tensely. “That statement was not factual.”
Frank Miller sat forward suddenly. He had made a significant recovery since the shooting, but the damage to his shoulder had left him with a reduced range of motion, as well as a residual pain that was constantly with him. Miller in a gruff mood was not a pleasant thing. “Not factual? You mean a lie? Don't tell me that these missiles took a walk.”
The air force man looked Miller directly in the eye. “That's exactly what I'm here to tell you.”
Miller exhaled. “Jesus.”
“A decision was made to keep this information top secret, and, until recently, even our team investigating the incident was kept ignorant of this fact.” The soldier glared around the room, revealing a poorly concealed anger concerning the events described. “The operative term is missile, in point of fact. Singular. One cruise missile was unaccounted for.”