Freefall (10 page)

“We picked it up along the way,” Brent explained. “We've got to pull the DCI out of there.”

“We'll get the word to him,” Kel agreed. “What about the senator?”

“Which senator?”

“Senator Whitmore arrived in Cairo this morning.”

Brent looked over at Amy, grateful that she couldn't hear what was being said. “Clear everyone out of the hotel. We can't be sure the DCI's the target, but we know that whatever is going down is going to happen at that hotel.” Brent paused for a fraction of a second. “We also need to alert the DC subway. We suspect a potential attack using biological weapons within the week.”

“You've got to be kidding me.” Kel's eyes widened, but his voice held concern rather than disbelief. He turned to Seth Johnson, their communications expert. “Johnson, get the word out.”

“Consider it done.”

Charlie walked through the crowded lobby of the Cairo hotel, exhausted from travel. He wasn't sure what time it was, but he was surprised that the sun was shining outside. To Charlie it still felt like the middle of the night. Glancing around, he noticed that most of the people in the lobby were businessmen. Annoyed that everyone else looked refreshed from a good night's sleep, he glanced over at his father.

They had both dozed during their flight, but that still hadn't made up for the days that they had barely slept since Amy was taken hostage. His father had put on a convincing front for the press and those he came in contact with through his job, but now Charlie could see what a toll the pretense had taken on him. Wearily, they approached the front desk.

Thankfully the desk clerk spoke English, which helped expedite the otherwise slow process of checking in. As they turned to follow a porter to their room, the DCI, Sam Palmer, approached with his entourage. Standing only 5'10”, Director Palmer was barely visible behind his bodyguards. Still, a combination of power and tension radiated from him as he moved through the lobby.

Charlie recognized the four security men for what they were, each of them wearing an earpiece so they could communicate with one another. Each of them also had a subtle bulge beneath their suit jackets where their weapons were holstered.

The DCI spotted Jim Whitmore and moved to greet him. The two men shook hands and then Jim turned to introduce Charlie. Though he would have preferred to go straight to his room, Charlie forced a smile and reached out to shake hands. He looked into the man's face just as a tiny red light illuminated the DCI's forehead. Charlie didn't think—he reacted.

Rather than take Director Palmer's hand, he lunged forward, wrapping one arm around the DCI and the other around his father. When the three men fell to the ground, the security men reacted by moving toward them. The shot that rang out a split second later diverted their attention from Charlie to the real threat.

Weapons drawn, two of the Secret Service agents moved through the scattering crowd in search of the gunman, while the other two crouched down in front of where the DCI was sprawled on the ground along with Jim and Charlie. One called back to him, his eyes staying on the room. “Are you okay, sir?”

Shaken but clearly unharmed, the DCI nodded. “Yeah.”

The other agent communicated with their driver and they all started toward the front door. Someone turned to Charlie and asked, “Where was the shooter?”

“I don't know. I saw one of those red targeting beams and I just reacted.”

“That's odd,” one agent said as they stepped outside. “Most snipers don't use that kind of scope for that reason. They don't want their target to have any warning.”

“Unless he wasn't the only one,” Charlie commented.

Awareness dawned in the agent's eyes and he turned and pushed the DCI back into the hotel just as another shot rang out. The agent's body jerked from the impact, and Charlie instinctively grabbed the wounded man by the jacket and dragged him back inside.

Across the lobby, the other gunman had blended into the crowd of people rushing for the exits. He might have stayed hidden from the Secret Service agents had he not tried to take another shot. He raised his gun, but he never managed to squeeze the trigger. Instead he was hit by both bullets as the agents eliminated that threat once and for all.

“There's no way to tell how many shooters may be outside,” one agent said, turning to his wounded partner. “How are you doing?”

Winded, but not bleeding, the downed agent said, “It got me in my vest.”

“How are we going to get out of here?” Jim asked.

“Through the kitchen,” one agent suggested. “I'll have our driver leave and then circle back.”

“Let's go then.” Charlie helped the wounded agent to his feet.

Together, they made their way through the restaurant, into the kitchen, past the staff who looked on curiously, and then to the service entrance at the back of the building. As soon as they got the message that their vehicles were in position, two agents stepped out and checked the area before letting the others file out into the waiting SUVs.

As soon as they were under way, the driver of their car turned back to the senator. “Senator Whitmore?”

“Yes?” Jim asked, surprised to be called by name since they hadn't arrived with the DCI.

“We just got a message for you, sir,” the driver said, then hesitated a moment as he made a left turn. “Your daughter is safe. She is on her way to our naval base in Italy.”

The relief was immediate, as were the tears that filled his eyes.

* * *

Brent sat silently as the doctor examined the gunshot wound. He had gone through several hours of meetings at the naval base in Italy before he mentioned the gunshot wound that had landed him at the base hospital. The X-ray had told him what Brent already knew: the bullet had missed the bone completely, entering and exiting through the fleshy part of his arm.

While waiting for the X-ray to be developed, he had spent nearly an hour hooked up to an IV to combat any possible infection and dehydration. The doctor had been kind enough to have the nurse take the IV needle out when he came into the treatment room, clearly aware that Brent intended to do it himself otherwise.

The door opened and Kel walked in. He leaned against the doorjamb and waited for the doctor to finish.

The doctor barely glanced at Kel before turning his attention back to Brent. “The stitches have been in too long to redo them. It's going to leave a nasty scar, but overall the gal that stitched you up did okay for her first time around.” He smiled. “I'll have the nurse come in and apply a fresh dressing, and we'll plan to take the stitches out in a couple more days.”

Kel raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything until the doctor left. “I guess your civilian did okay by you.”

Brent's stomach pitched at Kel's comment. He had been chastising himself for the past two hours for getting emotionally involved with “his civilian,” as Kel called her. Determined to change the subject, he asked, “Have they cleared the hotel yet?”

“We didn't get the message to the hotel in time. The assassination attempt went down this morning,” Kel stated.

“What?” Brent looked at him, confused. “You said ‘attempt.' Is everyone okay?”

“Yeah, we got lucky.” Kel grinned when he added, “Actually, the attempt was broken up by the senator's son.”

Brent shook his head. “I still don't understand. The date on the Palm Pilot I picked up was tomorrow's date.”

“Could they have known that their information was compromised?”

“I doubt it. It was pure luck that we happened to come across the information.”

“What if the date wasn't for the assassination, but rather for the subway attack?”

Brent's face paled. “That doesn't give us enough time.”

“Meet me in our briefing room as soon as the nurse finishes patching you up,” Kel ordered. “Everyone else is already in there waiting for us.”

“I've got a better idea.” Brent jumped off the examining table and grabbed his shirt. He had just finished buttoning it up when the nurse walked in with the bandages.

“I'll take that,” Kel said, swiping the bandages off of the tray she held and then stepping past her.

“Wait, I have to bandage his arm,” she protested. Her eyes widened when Brent followed behind Kel.

“He'll take care of it for me,” Brent assured her and then promptly left without giving the nurse a second glance.

Kel and Brent walked outside to where Kel had a Jeep waiting. A few minutes later they pulled into the parking lot of a nearby building. They entered the briefing room that the rest of the team had already converted into a temporary command center. Tristan was staring at a computer screen listing details about various biological weapons. Next to him, Quinn was on the phone. Across the room Seth had two computers set up, one displaying a map of the Washington DC subway system and the other showing someone's email correspondence.

Kel threw the roll of bandages at Tristan. “Here, patch up Miller.”

Tristan snagged the roll right before it hit him between the eyes. “Thanks, boss.” He stood up and let Brent take his seat.

“Someone in the CIA knows what we're dealing with,” Brent said as he glanced at the list of known biological agents. “Amy said that the intel officer at the embassy met with the ambassador the day she was taken hostage.”

“Anyone know who the CIA folks were at the embassy?”

“Quinn's working on that now,” Seth said as Quinn started scribbling notes on a pad of paper.

“How come I have to play nursemaid?” Tristan muttered as Brent pulled his arm free of his shirt to expose the wound.

“Just lucky, I guess,” Brent told him without sparing him a glance.

“What have we got so far?” Kel asked as Quinn hung up the phone.

“I talked to the CIA agent that was in Abolstan. He says the biological agent we're dealing with is airborne, has an estimated range of a few hundred cubic yards, and remains effective for up to six hours,” Quinn informed them. He paused before adding, “He also said that there isn't a counteragent.”

“That means either we're dealing with the suicide types, or someone is going to set up some kind of delayed release.” Brent started to stand, but Tristan held him in place.

“Hold still for a minute. I'm almost done here.” Tristan tied off the bandage and then released Brent.

Quinn spoke up once more. “The CIA is sending over the report from the Center for Disease Control, but from what they said, this is nasty stuff. Death is within minutes of contact.”

“What kind of support do we have in Washington?” Brent asked as he moved to look over Seth's shoulder.

“They're activating two reserve units, and we're asking the various police departments to pull some overtime hours to help us conduct searches,” Quinn said. “The problem is, even with the extra help, we don't have the manpower to conduct thorough searches at all of these metro stations.”

Tristan spoke up. “Since the DCI was targeted, I think we need to concentrate the manpower on the Pentagon station. If someone managed to take out the Director of Central Intelligence and then wipe out a portion of our employees at the Pentagon, our intelligence system would be crippled.”

Kel nodded in agreement. “Quinn, call Admiral Mantiquez and tell him we need him to task some of the Pentagon units to cover the searches at the Pentagon and Pentagon City stops.”

“If they can drum up enough manpower, we should have them take care of National Airport too,” Brent suggested.

Kel nodded and signaled for Quinn to make the call. He then turned back to Brent. “If you were a terrorist, what other stations would you go for?”

“Metro Center has high traffic, as do most of the stations in DC,” Brent suggested. “I think we should concentrate most of the manpower there.”

“What about us? Are we shipping out?” Tristan asked. “If we leave now, we can make it there before tomorrow.”

“We're on intel for this one. We'll do what we can to help from here, but for now we need to see what else we can retrieve from that Palm Pilot.” Kel motioned to Seth. “Johnson is already trying to trace this guy's communications to see who he was talking to.”

“How are we going to monitor the subway stations in Washington?” Brent asked.

“We have computers being delivered any time, and we're going to set up a secure link with the closed-circuit security cameras for the metro,” Kel explained. “The transit authority is already working with our computer guys in DC to set it up for us.”

“Where do you want me to start?”

“For now, why don't you go down and pay a visit to Amy Whitmore?” Kel suggested. “You can check on how she's doing while you ask if she can remember anything else the ambassador said.”

Brent stood, ignoring the flutter of anticipation that shot through him. He told himself he was just anxious to see for himself that Amy was all right. He took two steps before he thought to ask, “Why don't we just talk to the ambassador directly?”

“We would if we could.”

“Wasn't he at the hotel in Cairo?”

Kel nodded. “Oh, he was there. Apparently all of the excitement of being evacuated last week and the assassination attempt today resulted in some kind of nervous breakdown. He is currently under sedation.”

Tristan rolled his eyes. “How in the world did he get posted to this part of the world?”

Kel ended the speculation with a look. “It doesn't matter. Either way, most of the intel we have is from what Brent and Amy have pieced together. We can't afford to turn away whatever sources we still have.”

“This is so not fair,” Quinn complained. “We get to sit around and stare at computers for the next who knows how long, and you're sending him on a date.”

“Don't wait up, Mommy.” Brent grinned and headed for the door.