A Touch of Malice (17 page)

“Does this place have a front door?”

“Sure, of course, he’s discreet, but not dumb. You enter from the front of the building and ask the receptionist for Uncle Freedo. She’ll call up to Moreno’s office for you.”

“What are my odds of getting in to see him?’

Pavone shook his head. “Not good.”

“You’re beginning to be bum me out, Carl.”

Pavone rubbed his narrow fingers together. “Take some of my men with you. There’s probably less than forty of his soldiers up there. We can match his manpower.”

“No,” Tommy barked at his friend. “This isn’t about you, Carl. This is something I need to do alone. If I mess up, I’ll be the only one who suffers. No one else.”

Pavone pursed his lips, looking like he wanted to argue, but knew better. “What about Nick? Can’t he help you with this?”

“He is.” Tommy thought about it for a moment, then said, “It’s President Merrick’s brother. That’s who Moreno kidnapped. Nick’s on the rescue team looking for him right now.”

Pavone shook his head. “I must be getting old. I should’ve figured that out already.”

“Don’t beat yourself up.”

“Where do you think they’re keeping him?”

“We know it’s somewhere in the Amazon.”

Pavone ran a hand through his hair. “That’s not good.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s Manny Padilla’s post. He’s Moreno’s top soldier, but the guy’s a loose cannon. He has a short temper and doesn’t listen very well to orders. Moreno knows this, but still keeps him in charge. I think this move to the jungle is Moreno’s way of keeping him in line.”

Tommy pointed a finger at him. “This is all good stuff, buddy. Thanks. Let’s make sure we keep this under wraps. Moreno finds out someone’s attempting a rescue, he’ll have Merrick’s brother killed instantly.”

“So what can I do to help?”

“You already did more than you know,” Tommy said, getting up and taking one last sip of espresso.

Pavone stood and gave Tommy a hug. “Listen,” Pavone said, nodding his head out the window toward the room full of caskets, “I better not see your face in any of those boxes. Understand?”

Tommy grinned. “I don’t know, Carl, that Executive model is bigger than my bedroom.”

Pavone’s face turned dark. “I’m serious.”

Tommy tapped Pavone’s cheek with the palm of his hand. “Don’t worry, pal. I’m not ready to go just yet.”

Chapter 21

It was almost one in the morning when the DOJ plane landed at Palmaseca International Airport just outside of Cali, Colombia. They taxied to the far end of the runway where a marshal guided the massive jet with a pair of red light-sticks. As the 747’s engines eased, a white truck crawled up to the passenger door with a set of air stairs on its back. Even though the terminal was almost a mile away, the steady rain made the lights from the building glisten off the tarmac.

The male flight attendant opened the door and a gasp of pressurized air mixed with the ground air while the three Navy SEALs stood by and waited for the rest of their team to exit first. Nick threw the strap to his duffle bag over his shoulder and stepped down the stairs on the back of the mobile truck. The rain was mild and the night air slightly chilly.

Matt and Kalinikov followed Nick down the stairs and grouped together with the SEALs on the tarmac. A pair of headlights sped down the runway toward the team.

“Is this your contact?” Kalinikov asked Nick.

“It better be.”

A large black Hummer SUV pulled up next to the group and stopped. All three SEALs had their submachine guns across their chest and began forming a barrier in front of Nick, Matt and Kalinikov. The head of the SEAL team was Lieutenant Bret Olson. He was the shortest of the three men, but without question the leader. He approached the Hummer as the car door slowly opened and a man wearing a gray business suit came out with his hands held high. As he walked out onto the tarmac, the other two SEALs opened the passenger door and examined the interior. Nick allowed the inspection because he knew it was SEAL procedure and he wasn’t going to squander their training.

Lieutenant Olson said to the driver, “Name.”

“Agent Chris Garber,” the man said with an appropriate amount of insecurity in his body language. With his gray suit and short cropped hair, he looked more like a corporate executive than a CIA agent.

Olson looked back at Nick who nodded. The SEAL dropped the gun to his side and said something to Garber who instantly put his hands down and approached the group.

“Agent Garber,” the man extended his hand to Nick who was out front.

“Nick Bracco.”

Garber gestured to the SEALs who were finished examining his Hummer and instinctively creating a perimeter around the meeting without ever saying a word. Their heads on a swivel. “I see you came with some powerful assets.”

“Yes,” Nick said, keeping it simple without introductions or normal pleasantries. This was a joint task force thrown together in less than twenty-four hours and he wasn’t about to add an extra syllable he didn’t deem necessary.

“Is there anyone else coming?” Garber asked, looking up at the airplane’s open door.

“No.”

“Well, go ahead and throw your gear in the back. We’re going to drive over to a small airstrip down the road. We have an amphibian waiting for you there.”

Before Garber could turn, Kalinikov said, “Nice tie.”

Garber glanced down at his chest and wiped away some raindrops. “Thanks.”

Kalinikov didn’t follow up, so the men loaded the vehicle with their gear and jumped into the Hummer. Nick took the front seat, while the SEALs spread out in the middle and back seats. Garber drove down the apron of the runway until the headlights exposed a narrow passageway into the trees.

As they bounced down the dirt road, Olson said, “How long is the trip?”

“Not long,” Garber said.

“Answer the man,” Kalinikov said, a little edge to his voice.

Garber shot a look into his rearview mirror. “Three miles. Maybe five or seven minutes.”

Nick could sense the apprehension mounting and he had nothing to offer as a remedy. The only thing he could do was inspect the circumstances.

“So who was still at the command center when you last contacted them?” Nick asked.

Garber took his eyes from the rain soaked path to glance at Nick. “Agent Bracco, I’m on your side, remember?”

“Uh huh.”

Garber steered the Hummer around some fallen tree limbs and the left side of the vehicle almost came up on two wheels before jostling back to the middle of the road. The headlights cut through the rain, but the darkness covered their periphery and made Nick feel like they were driving through a tunnel. A tunnel without any protection from the elements or their enemies.

From the backseat, Kalinikov said, “You did not answer his question.”

Garber was going faster now, seemingly wanting the journey to end. Without taking his eyes from the road, he said, “You must be the Russian.”

Silence.

Finally, Garber said, “Walt Jackson, Faust, Dutton and Riggs were all still there. I get the feeling they’re not going anywhere until this thing is over.”

Nick looked over his shoulder at Kalinikov who offered nothing but a stone face in return. Matt sat next to him observing everything, but in his zone. With his face darkened by paint, all Nick could see were his eyes. They were alert and aware of every sound, every movement.

The Hummer turned out of the trees and came into an opening. At the far end of the long narrow strip of concrete was one red and one green light and a silhouette of an aircraft between the them. As they approached, the plane came into view between the slaps of Garber’s windshield wipers. It was a twin-engine flying boat with retractable wheels and pontoons hanging from the wings for a water landing. The interior lights were on inside the craft and Nick could see the pilot going through a series of preflight checks.

Garber pulled up next to the plane and jumped out of the Hummer. The SEALs beat him to the back gate and were already unloading their gear, handing Nick his duffel bag while Garber stood by waiting for something to do. The pilot started the plane and the engines coughed to life.

They said good-bye to Garber and entered the amphibian, loading their gear in the back while Nick introduced himself to the pilot, who pulled down the headset from his ears to shake Nick’s hand.

“Nick Bracco.”

“Chase Hedner,” the pilot said.

“You know where we’re going?”

Hedner smiled. “I’ve been briefed for almost an hour on this trip. I know precisely where and how you’ll be dropped off.”

“Who gave you the instructions?”

“Walt Jackson.”

That’s all Nick wanted to hear. As long as Walt had his fingerprints on the operation, he felt more secure about their chances. Walt would be glad to abort the mission the second he felt them going over their heads.

They secured themselves for takeoff. The aircraft was designed for eighteen passengers, so they had plenty of room for their supplies. The pilot gunned the engines and they sped down a dark strip of concrete with only a couple of dim reflectors guiding the craft to the end of the runway.

As they lifted off, Nick’s mouth began to dry up. They were rushing toward a thrown-together operation with short notice and little preparation for the obstacles they would certainly face. He could feel a surge of anxiety tighten his chest, while he grabbed a vial of pills from his jacket.

As the plane banked to the right, they passed directly over Garber’s Hummer driving toward the same path they’d come, the headlights disappearing into the woods.

From behind him, Kalinikov said, “He was wearing a three-hundred-dollar tie.”

Chapter 22

There were almost four hundred staffers and six thousand daily visitors to the White House, yet when Ann Merrick went to go look for her husband at three o’clock in the morning, it felt like the loneliest place on earth. The hallways were too wide for just one person to traverse, especially when they were so barren.

She checked Emily’s room first, then the gym. It wasn’t unusual for him to be working out by 4:00 AM, but he wasn’t there either. Finally she decided to search in the West Wing. As she exited the elevator on the first floor, she was greeted by the Secret Service’s night shift stationed in the transition area set up between the working side of the White House and the residence.

Ann Merrick pulled her robe tight around her neck. “Is he over there?” she asked one of the two men stationed there.

“Yes,” he said. “Would you like me to escort you?”

“No thanks,” Ann said. There was no need for additional security at this time of day, but the Secret Service was conditioned to guard the First Family no matter the circumstance.

She passed the Cabinet room to her left, then poked her head in the Oval Office. Both were empty with just accent lights illuminating the vacant space. However, standing at attention by the door to the president’s personal office was one of his Secret Service agents.

When he spotted Ann, her gave her a warm smile. “Good morning, Mrs. Merrick.”

“Good morning, Alex.” Ann pointed to the door beside him. “Is he working?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, opening the door for her to enter.

Ann slid past the agent and found her husband slouched back in his leather chair staring down at something in his lap. The room was dark, but for an antique floor lamp beside his desk, set on dim. His tie was pulled down to his sternum and his eyelids were drooping. The only sound in the room was the snoring coming from Sam Fisk who lay prone on the couch against the wall.

“Hi,” she said softly.

Merrick didn’t move. At first she thought he too had dozed off, but after a few seconds he said, “Couldn’t sleep.”

Ann stepped over to her husband and saw what he was looking at. His phone illuminated a picture of John Merrick and his two brothers. They were in their teens and the one image captured everything you ever needed to know about the three siblings. On the floor of their living room, were Paul and John, wrestling. Paul was on top of John with a nasty grin as he manhandled his younger brother. Paul would be on his way to the Air Force Academy within the next couple of years, but was already battle-tested. Merrick was on his back with his arms up, protecting himself, but the expression on his face was typical John. Unflappable. He was too cool to let anyone know he could be flustered. A trait which served him well, even to this day. Trent was next to them, on his knees holding a video camera to his eye while documenting the event between his older brothers, a big smile on his face.

“We were going to change the world,” Merrick murmured.

“You did. Every one of you,” Ann said. “Paul went on to be a fighter pilot helping protect small Middle Eastern countries from egocentric dictators. Trent single-handedly saved the elephant population in Indonesia.” She came behind his chair and began to massage his shoulders. “And then there’s you.”

Merrick pushed a button on the phone and the screen went black. He leaned his head back and shut his eyes. “Yeah, me. The delegator who puts people’s lives at risk while I sit here in my bulletproof mansion and shell out commands.”

Ann searched his desk for alcohol but just saw an empty coffee cup. “Honey, why are you doing this? Why now?”

Merrick let out a long breath. “People are going to die today because of my decisions.”

“You don’t know that,” she said, trying to ease whatever guilt may have been crawling around in his mind.

“I can’t lose him, Ann. I just can . . . not . . . lose him.”

In the Oval Office just a few feet away hung a large picture of Lieutenant Paul Merrick in his uniform, taken just weeks before a terrorist flew a plane into the Pentagon where Paul had been working at the time.

“It took me months to get over Paul’s death,” Merrick said in the soft quiet of the most protected building in the nation.

“Years,” Ann replied.

Merrick opened his eyes and looked directly up at her. “Years?”

Ann nodded. “You were gone for a good couple of years. There was no bringing you back. It wasn’t until Emily was born before you resurfaced.”