“Agreed.”
The minutes ticked by as Mixell waited, and although the delay felt excruciating, he was able to savor the moment. With his arm wrapped tightly around Christine, he could feel her body trembling. Her bravado was an act; she was scared to death.
He was going to enjoy ending her life — slowly and painfully.
The van engine started, and a moment later the vehicle pulled to a halt with the passenger door beside the White House exit. The driver stepped from the van, leaving the engine running, then Mixell opened the passenger door and dragged Christine into the van behind him, staying low in the vehicle until he was in the driver’s seat.
“Close the door,” he ordered Christine as he kept the pistol aimed at her.
After she closed the passenger door, he said, “Place the side of your face against the dash.”
Christine did as Mixell ordered, then he pressed the pistol barrel against the other side of her head and sat up in his seat, putting the van in gear.
The Gordon’s Wholesale van sped down the South Lawn driveway until it exited the White House grounds.
69
WOODMORE, MARYLAND
Jake Harrison and Khalila Dufour were monitoring the rapidly unfolding situation from Mixell’s rental property in Woodmore, debating what to do next. An aerial surveillance drone had picked up the white van Mixell was driving, following from a sufficient height to remain undetected. As long as Christine remained a hostage inside the vehicle, law enforcement was hesitant to engage Mixell, fearing an unfavorable outcome.
Shortly after the van departed the White House grounds, an explosion was reported in the District. On their cell phones, a video feed from the NCTC revealed a massive crater in the South Lawn, but the White House itself remained intact. After several queries, Harrison was assured that Maddy was safe.
Harrison and Khalila tapped into the aerial drone’s surveillance video as Mixell’s van worked its way through D.C. and merged onto Interstate 395 southbound, disappearing into the Third Street Tunnel a moment later.
The drone repositioned near the exit of the almost one-mile-long tunnel passing beneath the National Mall and Capitol Reflecting Pool, monitoring the possible routes: Mixell could continue west on I-395 toward Virginia, turn east onto I-695 toward Maryland, or slip into the D.C. neighborhoods via Virginia Ave SW or South Capitol Street SW. Unfortunately, white was the most popular van color in the country, with about a half-dozen white vans entering the tunnel in proximity to the Gordon’s Wholesale van.
The aerial drone was ordered to descend to obtain a better view of the vehicles exiting the tunnel, close enough to discern who the driver was and the markings on the van. The wait seemed interminable, with white van after white van emerging with no driver matching Mixell’s description or adorned with the Gordon’s Wholesale insignia. Harrison had become convinced that Mixell had somehow slipped away when the van finally emerged from the tunnel.
Mixell was driving, but there was no sign of Christine. He had either killed her and dumped her body in the tunnel, or perhaps he had knocked her unconscious, and she was hidden behind the van’s dashboard after slumping in her seat.
The van traveled east on I-695, and the chat thread associated with the surveillance video postulated where Mixell was headed, focused on where and how to engage him while minimizing the risk to the CIA director. As Harrison watched the van merge onto the Baltimore — Washington Parkway, he realized where Mixell was going.
He dialed the NCTC, requesting Jessica Del Rio, the supervisor overseeing the Mixell investigation. When she answered, he said, “Mixell doesn’t know we’ve located his hideout. He’s headed back to his rental home here in Woodmore. We can set up an ambush and take him out when we get a clear shot. Don’t engage him along the way. Let him think he’s slipped cleanly away.”
Jessica agreed and directives flowed out from the NCTC to the various law enforcement agencies, quickly reaching the FBI agents and police officers at Mixell’s rental home. Harrison and Khalila conferred with Singleton, the lead FBI agent, identifying several locations where personnel might get a clear shot when Mixell stepped from the vehicle, depending on where he parked the van.
Harrison wasn’t a trained sniper, but he trusted his marksmanship more than that of the FBI agents and police officers at the property, and Singleton agreed that Harrison would take the premier hiding spot, offering the highest probability of a clear shot once Mixell arrived. Khalila took the best location on the other side of the driveway.
He was no stranger to danger and adrenaline, but his pulse raced at the thought that Christine might already be dead. He took a deep breath and slowed his breathing, and his heart rate followed.
70
WOODMORE, MARYLAND
In the vicinity of the rental property on Enterprise Road, there was no indication of law enforcement presence. The roadblocks at the intersections of Lottsford Road and Central Avenue had been cleared, all vehicles had been removed from Mixell’s rental property, and Harrison and Khalila, plus eight FBI agents, were hidden on the farmhouse grounds.
Harrison lay on his stomach behind a fallen tree that had been swallowed by the underbrush, having cleared a small hole in the foliage to provide a clear view of the gravel driveway. On the other side of the driveway, Khalila knelt at the edge of a backyard patio, hidden behind a worn wooden partition with several small gaps offering a view of the other side of the van once it arrived.
Singleton had provided Harrison with a rifle to improve the accuracy of his shot, should he take it once Mixell arrived. The rifle hadn’t been sighted in to adjust for rifle and shooter bias, but Harrison figured it wouldn’t matter. The driveway was only thirty feet away.
Unfortunately, Singleton had made it clear that Mixell would be arrested; this wasn’t a CIA operation with the authority to kill an enemy combatant. Mixell would be killed only if Christine’s life, or those of law enforcement personnel, were threatened. The FBI would take the lead in Mixell’s arrest and Christine’s rescue, with Harrison and Khalila providing backup if anything went wrong.
Time passed slowly while they waited for Mixell’s arrival. Harrison monitored the drone surveillance video, showing the van entering the outskirts of Woodmore. After it turned onto Enterprise Road, Harrison turned the video off and focused on the end of the driveway where it met the street.
A moment later, a white van with the Gordon’s Wholesale logo emblazoned on the side turned into the driveway and approached the house. Mixell was driving, and there was still no sign of Christine.
The van coasted to a halt, and Mixell opened the door and stepped onto the gravel driveway, then walked toward the house. When he reached the front door, four FBI agents swarmed from around both sides of the house with weapons drawn, converging on him.
Mixell turned around with a shocked expression and raised his hands in the air. As he was being forced to the ground by the FBI agents, Harrison emerged from the tree line and moved swiftly toward the van, opening its passenger side door. The interior of the vehicle was empty — there was no sign of Christine.
He headed toward Mixell as the FBI agents finished their search, verifying Mixell had no weapons or explosives strapped to his body. Mixell had been babbling the whole time, asking why he was being arrested. When the agents pulled him to his knees, Harrison suddenly stopped.
This wasn’t Mixell.
The man had a remarkable resemblance to Harrison’s former best friend, but it definitely wasn’t Lonnie Mixell.
Harrison joined Khalila and the FBI agents gathered around the man, stopping beside Singleton. “This isn’t Mixell,” he informed him.