A Murder of Crows (40 page)

But all he got was dead air.

Where the hell was he? Had Roger been compromised? Why didn’t Jason or Weaver break in? One of them could have overridden the frequency and broken in by now. Where the hell were the others?

He didn’t have time to worry about it now. He was pinned down with a sniper on the loose. A sniper he couldn’t allow to get away. A sniper who might be working for the same network that had been backing Bajjah.

He kept his eyes on the tree line as panicked people ran by. He didn’t bother to check if Jabbar was still alive. No one could have survived a headshot. But he needed to get to her bag. Her laptop supposedly had the information he needed on who had funded Bajjah.

He judged the distance between where Jabbar had been struck and the tree line was about a hundred yards. Not a world record shot, but impressive in a crowded area with a swirling wind, especially with only one shot.

Hicks continued scanning the tree line, looking for movement among the chaos of the fleeing civilians. The wail of approaching sirens grew louder in the near distance. If the shooter hadn’t gotten away yet, he’d have to make a break for it soon or risk getting caught. He’d be at his most vulnerable on the run. That’s when Hicks would make his move.

If he got the chance.

The initial chaos died down enough for Hicks to focus on the shadows of the tree line. He spotted a small, dark bump at the base of the left side of a tree slightly left of center of the line. It was the only tree with such a bump. He hadn’t seen it when he’d first taken cover, but saw it now.

There you are, you son of a bitch.

Hicks ducked as he saw movement right before a rifle flash from the shadow. A bullet struck the ground several feet in front of him sending dirt and stone into the air. But by ducking right before the shot, he’d caught most of the debris in his hair.

He looked up in time to see a figure darting among the shadows along the path behind the trees, heading for Bremner Boulevard.

Hicks heard Roger call out to him from the plaza as he got to his feet. He was pointing at his ear as he ran, but Hicks didn’t have time for a conversation. He pointed down at Jabbar’s body as he broke cover and ran toward Bremner. “Get her backpack,” he shouted. “We’ll need it.”

He bolted across the lawn in pursuit of the shooter, leaping over the people still lying flat on the grass too afraid to move. He could see the shooter was still more than a hundred yards away, well out of his Ruger’s range. He had to close the gap before the sniper made it to the crowded boulevard.

The shooter broke into a flat out sprint as soon as he broke free of the tree cover. He was wearing all black from head to toe, making it impossible to see what he looked like. And now the sniper had reached solid ground, he was running even faster. Hicks was still running on soft grass and watched the distance between them grow.

A black SUV with no plates or markings screeched to a stop at the curb on Bremner Boulevard. The back door opened and the shooter dove in as the SUV peeled away.

Since he was still too far to open fire, he pulled out his handheld and aimed its camera at the SUV so OMNI could scan the vehicle’s black box frequency. The SUV was moving at a good clip, but he had a clear line of sight, which was all the handheld needed to scan.

But a window appeared on his handheld’s screen he had never seen before.

SCAN FAILED.

Was scanning while running throwing off the reading? He stopped running, locked on the fleeing vehicle, and ran the scan again. The same window appeared:
SCAN FAILED
.

It didn’t make any sense. The target was a late model vehicle. It should’ve had a black box frequency OMNI could read.

Roger stopped running when he caught up with Hicks. He had Jabbar’s backpack in his hand. “I’ve been trying to talk to you over the earpiece, but you didn’t answer. The signal is jammed.”

OMNI signals never jammed. “Not a chance.”

Roger looked down at Hicks’ handheld. The screen was still blinking
SCAN FAILED
. “Face it, James. Our signals are jammed. OMNI’s been compromised.”

Hicks saw traffic was heavy and would only get heavier as the sirens approached and the police began to seal off the area. He turned when he heard Weaver’s Land Rover screech to a halt curbside on Bremner Boulevard. Hicks tucked his gun back into the shoulder holster as he and Roger climbed in the back.

Weaver hit the gas as soon as both men were inside. “Sorry, sir, but I couldn’t get a fix on their position. Couldn’t raise either of you or Jason on OMNI either. I don’t know what the hell happened.”

“Neither do I,” Hicks said.

“The scanners may be down, but we can still catch up to them,” Roger told Weaver. “They’re only half a block ahead of us around the corner on the drive. They can’t have gotten too far in all this traffic. If we hurry, we can…”

But Hicks had a better idea. “Weaver, get us get back to the airport as soon as you can. I want to be as far away from here as possible before the cops close the area. The sooner Roger and I are back in New York, the better. Might be a good idea to get new plates for this thing, too.

“Plates are fakes anyway, sir, but I’ll make sure I change them out.”

Weaver immediately cut a U-turn across several lanes of traffic and drove back toward the airport, ignoring the angry horns and screeching tires in his wake.

Roger held on as he said to Hicks, “What the hell are you doing? We can still catch them.”

Hicks flicked the bits of dirt out of his hair as he looked down at the
SCAN FAILED
window on his handheld device. “We don’t have to catch them. I already know who it is. And I know where they’re going.”

I
T WAS
after seven o’clock when Hicks saw the Breaking News alert crawl across the bottom of the television screen. He had been watching the television with the sound off so as not to give himself away.

The news for the past hour had been full of live reports from Toronto detailing the shooting at the CN Tower. Reporters were speculating if it had anything to do with the other shooting from the previous day in England.

He hadn’t needed to hear what the reporters said about those items. He’d witnessed them first hand. But this breaking news alert was different. He needed to hear this. He needed to see how well his plan was going into effect.

He raised the volume enough to hear the anchor hand it off to the network’s Intelligence correspondent; an earnest-looking young man who looked more like a male escort than a news reporter.

“First it was WikiLeaks and Julian Assange, then it was Edward Snowden. Tonight, another major scandal appears to be rocking the intelligence community as reports of illegal black sites on American soil begin to surface. Well-placed sources speaking on the condition of anonymity have informed us that a congressional investigation is about to be announced centering on a suspicious fire that broke out at a Jersey City storage facility earlier this week. The investigation will reportedly focus on the belief that the building was being used as an unofficial base of operations for various intelligence organizations not chartered to operate within the boundaries of the United States. These same sources, including one from a reputable overseas agency, tell us that the facility was a base of operations for several intelligence entities, including the National Security Agency, the Central Intelligence Agency and the Defense Intelligence Agency.”

The screen switched to file news footage of a high angle shot from a news helicopter showing dozens of fire trucks pumping streams of water on the burning warehouse as it billowed smoke and flame high into the sky as the Manhattan skyline glimmered in the distance.

The Intelligence correspondent spoke while the footage rolled.
“As you may remember, six firefighters were hurt in that blaze which local fire officials say appears to have been started intentionally. So far, spokespeople from the NSA, the CIA and the DIA have refused to issue an official comment. However, in a statement released only moments ago by the office of Senator Clayton Newbury of Nebraska, chair of the Senate Intelligence Committee, the senator said he was concerned about the nature of these charges.”

The screen cut to a file photo of a pale, corn-fed man of about sixty sporting a bad comb-over. The correspondent read the text of the statement as it appeared on the screen. “We value the efforts of the men and women of our intelligence agencies and owe them a debt we can never fully repay. However, the laws forbidding certain agencies operating within our borders are in place for a reason. Any infraction of those laws must be investigated. I vow my committee will get to the bottom of this as soon as possible.”

For the first time all day, Hicks had a reason to smile. Not only had Schneider followed through on unofficially confirming the report, Dan Finch had released the quote exactly as Hicks had written it. Dan Finch was Senator Newbury’s chief of staff.

If he’d had a drink he would’ve toasted Cindy.
Nice going, girlfriend.

Schneider had lived up to his end of the bargain, but it wasn’t enough.

Hicks checked his watch. It was still too early for the other Breaking News alert to hit the media yet, if it hit at all. But if things played out the way he had planned, it was going to be one hell of a busy night for the cable news networks.

He heard the elevator ping from the hallway. He grabbed the remote and turned off the television. The apartment was once again plunged into darkness as Hicks stood up and got into position. He didn’t need light to see where he was going. He’d been in that apartment enough times to know how to move around in the dark without bumping into anything.

He moved to the sofa facing the door and pulled out his Ruger as he waited for the door to open.

Set the anger aside. Remain calm.

He wasn’t surprised when he heard the key hesitate in the lock. When he’d broken into the apartment a few hours before, he’d seen the thin strand of black hair the owner had carefully placed across the bottom of the door jamb. It was an old school tactic, a poor man’s burglar alarm to see if the door had been opened since they’d left.

He had made no effort to replace it. He hadn’t wanted his presence in the apartment to be a complete surprise. He wanted to avoid more bloodshed if he could, at least until he got answers from the person who lived there.

As the door swung open, a narrow rectangle of light from the hallway spilled across the carpet. No one stepped inside. Hicks had expected that. Only a rookie would have walked into a room they knew had been breached.

And Tali Shaddon was no rookie.

Hicks called out to her from the darkness. “It’s me.”

Tali’s Glock led her way into the apartment. She elbowed the switch next to the door and the lights came on. She heeled the door shut behind her and kept the Glock trained on Hicks’ chest. Hicks remembered heeling the door shut a few days before, but the circumstances had been much different.

He kept the Ruger aimed at her as well. “Welcome home. How was your day?”

She looked down at Hicks’ gun before shifting her aim to his head. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Toronto.”

Her Glock twitched. Not by much, but enough for Hicks to notice. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” she said. “I haven’t been in Toronto in years.”