Savas felt nauseous. “And let me guess, or you wouldn't be here: those devils at Mjolnir have it?”
The military man glanced uncomfortably around the table. “Yes, it appears that is indeed the case. Major Rivers, would you like to take it from here?”
Miller practically exploded. “Hold on a minute! Let me get this straight. Whoever was ghosting this scandal, it never occurred to them over the last six months since Mjolnir began blowing things up that, just maybe, last year's fuck-up was their snatch?”
Major Rivers pursed his lips. “There were months of chaos and confusion over those bombings. The organization did not reveal itself until very recently, perhaps for this purpose, to prevent such speculation.”
Miller continued. “Don't make excuses for them! Come on — even if these guys are not the sharpest tools in the shed, somebody must have thought about the unthinkable.”
“I don't know,” said Rivers. “Honestly. I simply don't know what was going on above.”
Bryant waved his hands and spoke over a growing din. “Look, let's stay focused. We need this information, people. Major Rivers, please, the connection to Mjolnir?”
Rivers nodded. “Recently, we received a tip from a former US Army soldier. He contacted an army psychiatrist claiming to have photographs of the missile. He forwarded these images to him.”
Savas couldn't help himself. “How in the hell did he get those?”
Major Rivers continued. “This soldier had joined Mjolnir and recently has had second thoughts.”
“An attack of conscience?” said Miller sarcastically.
“Apparently so,” said Rivers. “The serial numbers were verified with the air force, and we know that it's our weapon. That is where we stand right now.”
Miller leaned forward. “Surely you have tracked this man, know where the weapon is?”
The major shook his head. “There has been no further contact with the source. We have sent e-mail messages, but he has not replied.”
“E-mail?” asked Rideout incredulously.
“OK, let's back off, folks,” offered Bryant. “They are here to work with us on this.”
Rideout ignored him. “We have a loose nuke in the hands of the most vicious terrorist group in history, and these chumps are trying to find it by e-mailing someone? In case these fine gentlemen from the air force haven't been briefed, Mjolnir has killed half of our division here at the FBI! Do you realize that for these guys to have taken a nuke, we will have an event like we've never seen in world terrorist activity? In the midst of the chaos spreading already? E-mail?”
Major Rivers shot back. “That is all the information we have! We have top men working on this problem as we speak. We will find this man, and he will lead us to Mjolnir and the bomb. We hope that you can aid in this search. We are turning to your agency to help find him. His name is Inherp. Michael R. Inherp. In these folders, we have his bio and contact information.” He looked over at Rideout, who just shook his head. “These are serious times. We all need to work together.”
Top men? Savas hung his head. He had been ready for something bad, but this was worse than his worst nightmare. The horror of the possibilities shook him. He missed Cohen more than ever at that moment. He cursed the new security protocols that the FBI had forced on them. Randomized schedules for arrivals and departures. Restrictions on traveling together. To prevent multiple hits. If the worst happened, he'd rather be with her and share her fate. Savas blocked such thoughts from his mind. He couldn't wait to see her again.
58
Savas returned to the Operations Room and sat alone in front of a computer screen. He wasn't sure where to go now with this investigation, one that had grown so large, so deadly, so insane that he wondered how it could ever move forward now. At least the air force had provided them with fairly complete information. Or so it seemed. Savas had to check himself and remember that this was the group that had kept a missing nuke a secret from the entire country. He stared at the e-mail from Michael Inherp, looked over the images again and again. What am I missing?
Nothing in the photo seemed to give any indication where the missile might be located. No hint in the e-mail. Why would this kid send this information and not explain how to get there and stop these madmen? Was he taking them on a false lead? The serial numbers checked out. The missile was real. He wouldn't have revealed that unless he was serious. Perhaps he can't send any more messages because he's been caught. That last thought worried Savas the most. If Inherp were discovered, he would be dead, and so would be their only link to Mjolnir.
Savas rubbed his eyes and stretched. A sound from behind him made him turn around, just in time to see the approaching form of Frank Miller. The former marine looked unusually haggard.
“Hell of a day, Frank,” he said, smiling. His smile faded as he read the expression on Miller's face.
“John, Rebecca never showed at the safe house. Her car was found on Madison and Sixty-Eighth.” Savas felt a numbing cold creeping over his body as his stomach tightened. “A bomb. The blast was enormous, killing over forty people in the immediate vicinity. We don't believe that there could be any survivors in the car.”
It was as if a blade sliced mercilessly from his neck to his belly, and he felt his intestines spill out over the ground in front of him. He couldn't breathe. His vision began to cloud.
“John!” Miller caught him as he sank to his knees. “John, God, I'm sorry. I understand. We all knew, John. About Rebecca. We all were happy for you two. God, John, I'm so sorry.”
The large marine held him in a bear hug, then sat him on the desk. Savas began to feel himself dissociate from his body. This is not real. Nothing is real. At that moment, he knew only that he wished to be no more.
The phone on the desk rang. Frank Miller looked from the phone to Savas, unsure what to do. Deciding that he didn't know what to do with Savas anyway, he reached over and picked up the phone. “FBI. Miller speaking.”
Miller's face turned white. “John, it's for you. They say they have Rebecca.”
Savas felt like a sailor tossed about on a ship in a storm. His stomach was sick as his emotions spun another one hundred and eighty degrees. A surge of adrenaline rushed through him, and he grabbed the phone from Miller.
“John Savas,” he spoke hoarsely into the line.
“Agent Savas, Rebecca Cohen's life rests in our hands. You will not trace this call. You will stop pursuing your investigation of Mjolnir. If you wish to spare her a most horrible and degrading death, you will walk out of your office tonight and not return. Do these things, Agent Savas, and you will see her intact once again. She will be under the eye of one who is bringing a new order to the world, and you have his promise. We are watching.”
The phone line went dead.
“You bastards!” he cried out and threw the phone and receiver across the room. First they let him think he had lost all that was left in life of love and companionship. Now they were forcing him to choose between his heart's commitment to his son, to every life stolen by terrorism, and the life of the woman he had surrendered his heart to. Choose his commitment to justice or the woman he loved. He felt torn into two pieces, each horn of the dilemma impaling him in agony.
A phone rang on a nearby desk. Miller stared at it and at Savas, who leapt forward and grabbed the receiver off the handset. “Don't you hurt her! Or I swear I'll spend the rest of my life hunting you down until I drive you into the flames of hell!”