‘Then the poster and print of Mount Everest in your two offices — you had some fascination for that conquest. But it wasn’t just that, was it? Everest was conquered in nineteen fifty-three, a year divisible by nine. The four digits added are divisible by nine. Twenty-ninth of May. Two, nine and five. Their product is divisible by nine. There are so many links to the number nine in that date that they should’ve jumped out and slapped me in the face the first day I met you.’
Broker grinned at Isakson through his split lips as he saw the FBI man’s face tighten.
‘Shattner’s journal had one more page that we didn’t share with you, since we didn’t trust the FBI or the cops. That page referred to the “nine” the gang used to access messages. You probably made that code on the spot as you leant back in your office and your gaze fell on the date.’
He grinned wider when Isakson didn’t respond, his silence acknowledging Broker’s deduction.
‘Why? You’re the second most powerful man in the FBI? Why, you bastard?’ Roger asked him, and if eyes could set fire, Isakson would’ve been ashes.
Isakson laughed. ‘That’s the most common question heard in law enforcement. You overrated assholes, I became the second most powerful man in the FBI just because of this.’ He gazed scathingly at Roger.
‘I came across Scheafer many years back, before he started the gang, during a drug raid. He was hiding in the garage, and I was the only agent to see him. We had a few words, and his proposal intrigued me enough that I let him go. I figured I had nothing to lose, and truth to say, I had already contemplated this idea. I didn’t really think he would get in touch again, but he did, and from there, my career took off. I “busted” some deals of his, and in return I made sure we looked the other way when he wanted me to. It worked for both of us.’
He smiled arrogantly. ‘You stupid fools, we played you all along. Wheat was meant to be found. He was a crooked agent, turned by Hamm, but the way we set up our drops with him, he was our decoy, and you guys fell into that trap. You’ll find the floorboards of his home and car stuffed with cash. His Laundromat was where he collected the gang’s cash. It was so simple that no one got it. Go in with dirty laundry, come out with clean laundry wrapped around his payment.’
‘If that’s the case, why this? Wheat is dead. There was no need for you to out yourself to us,’ Broker asked as he edged closer to the two thugs behind him. Closer reduced the chances of gun use.
Scheafer snapped, ‘We couldn’t risk that you hadn’t stop digging. I’ve never underestimated my enemies. That’s why I’m alive, they’re dead.’ He glared at Isakson. ‘Enough of this show and tell.’
He turned to bark orders to his henchmen and paused when Broker held his hand up. ‘How’ll you explain our deaths? There are too many powerful people who know about us and our involvement in this. They won’t rest till they get to the bottom of our deaths.’
Isakson gave a chilling smile. ‘I’ll personally lead the investigation. I’ll never rest till I find out who your killers are.’
He nodded at Scheafer, putting distance between them.
The glass wall shattered with a tremendous explosion, and a wave of air blasted in.
Something clattered on the floor, a voice shouted out, ‘Flash-bang,’ and the four of them threw themselves to the floor.
Chloe hurled herself sideways, bringing down Rocka and the kids, and covered them with her body. We know this drill. We train in this manner, she thought.
Isakson and the gang squeezed their eyes shut, bracing their body for the explosion, some of them covering their ears.
The five of them alone saw the masked, black-suited figure rolling in a split second behind the exploding glass.
The figure knelt, and two spits rang out from his shoulder, bringing down the hitters behind Broker.
The figure moved, and a shadow blurred through the air.
Chloe expertly caught the Sig, reversed it in one fluid motion, and took out the hitter over her.
The best of the Special Ops or SEALs have reaction and response times measured in fractions of seconds, training and combat honing them to knife-edge perfection.
The hitters were good, but their reflexes were dulled, and the deception slowed them down further.
By the time Scheafer had realized and opened his mouth to shout, Bwana, Roger and Bear were engaged with six of his men, hurling themselves underneath their rifle lines, Bwana flying horizontal, a fist going deep into a thug’s midriff, doubling him over, almost going through him, his feet crunching the groin of the one next to him.
He smashed the head of Midriff on the floor so hard that the glass in the room trembled.
He rolled over on top of him, snatched the dead man’s M4 and, holding it like a pistol, fired it point- blank in Groin’s head, then took out two more hitters who were pointing their guns at Bear.
Still lying on the dead man’s head, he swung the rifle on the remaining two thugs, and saw Bear and Roger had them well under control.
Bear had similarly gone under another hitter’s rifle, and had grabbed it by the barrel and pulled it toward his own body, catching the man by surprise.
The gangbanger stumbled forward, and Bear used the momentum to strike under his chin.
One hundred and eighty pounds of Bear, all hard muscle and rock, met an unprotected chin. No contest.
Roger dispatched his hitter even quicker.
He struck lightning fast, using the momentum of the upward swinging rifle against the hitter.
His hand caught the barrel and flung it up and into the face of the sixth man, breaking his nose, and head-butted him into unconsciousness.
He winked at Bear, and they turned on Isakson.
Isakson was down, out of action.
Broker had staggered to his feet and had thrown himself at Isakson, wrenching away the FBI agent’s gun from its shoulder holster.
All this before Isakson had realized there was no stun grenade, and by the time comprehension returned to him, Broker had hammered him on his chest and over his wound till Isakson lay bleeding and unconscious.
Scheafer was quicker and faster, a lifetime of war and danger bringing out the animal in him.
He spun toward the black-clad figure, his gun arm straightening, and staggered back and fell as a block of concrete — the Watcher’s spinning kick — smashed into his head.
He crawled back, then whirled suddenly and grabbed and pulled Elaine Rocka as a shield in front of him.
He wiped his face on her shoulder, baring his teeth in triumph as he saw the Watcher sheath his gun.
He reached down his side to pull his blade from its ankle sheath, but she saw her chance in the split second his attention had diverted, and she sagged suddenly, letting him bear her weight.
Off-balance for a second, he let her fall, and then the Watcher was on him, raining a hammer fist on his right shoulder, numbing it, and another hammer broke his nose, spraying them both with blood.
The Watcher’s left leg swung up and kicked Scheafer in the groin, and as the gang leader doubled over, another hammer fist slammed in the back of his neck.
Scheafer roared and bulled into the Watcher, head-butting him in his midriff, and his massive hands wrapped around the Watcher and squeezed like a vice, his barrel body exerting inexorable pressure.
The Watcher stepped backward to throw him off, raining blows on his back, but his heel tripped against Elaine Rocka’s ankle, and he fell, twisting his body at the last minute so that they fell away from her.
Scheafer fell on top of him but didn’t let go of his grip and, while falling, kneed the Watcher in the groin.
Scheafer pounced on the Watcher’s upper body like a cat and pinned his right hand with his left hand the size of a bear’s paw.