Kodiak Sky (Red Cell Trilogy Book 3) (17 page)

CHAPTER 24

“T
HIS WAS
the perfect place for them to . . . um . . . to do what they did.” Jack glanced up and down the quiet Greenwich side street. He’d been about to say “take Little Jack,” but he’d changed his mind at the last second. That would have sounded too harsh. “It was easy to get out of town quickly from here.” He gestured in the direction away from the town center. “And they had plenty of places outside town to switch vehicles.”

Jack and Troy were standing on the exact spot where L.J. had been kidnapped several hours earlier. Cheryl had been able to describe the location through her tears, but relate only that the van was black. She couldn’t give them the make or any of the letters or numbers of the license plate.

She’d been borderline hysterical, but now she was resting after receiving a sedative administered by her personal physician. The doctor was told only that a close relative had died suddenly and that Cheryl was understandably upset. Because of Troy’s connection to Red Cell Seven, they still hadn’t contacted the police, much to Jack’s dismay. But he had to let Troy take the lead. After all, it was his son.

“A perfect time of day, too,” Troy said as he shaded his eyes from the bright noon sun. “It would have been deserted here at eight o’clock this morning. Just like Mom said. The few stores along this block probably don’t open until ten,” he said, checking the sign on the door of the small jewelry shop behind them. “Like this one.” Troy pointed over his shoulder, then in the direction of town. “Mom went to the Whole Foods over on Putnam. That place opens at seven. You know how she is about getting everything she’s fixing that day early on. But I bet nothing was open on this street. That’s why she parked over here. There were plenty of spaces at that time of the morning.” Troy gestured up and down the street. “There sure aren’t now.”

“This thing was well planned,” Jack said. “Maybe it was an inside job. You think people on the security force at the house were involved?”

“We should see if anyone resigns in the next few days or just did. It seems like a stretch to think that would happen, because you know how thoroughly Dad checked them out. But who knows?” Troy shook his head. “One thing I do know is that Mom shouldn’t have come in to Greenwich by herself with Little Jack.”

Jack considered telling Troy how Cheryl had asked Jennie to help her this morning, to come along with her and Little Jack on the trip into town. But Jennie had declined—and without a good reason.

Cheryl had told him all that right before he and Karen had left for JFK and the now-delayed honeymoon. And it caused him to wonder. Jennie was a sweet young woman, and it seemed crazy to think she could be involved with L.J.’s abduction.

“What’s up?” Troy asked.

“Nothing.”

Jack hated always being suspicious of everyone and everything, but it came with being a Jensen. However, it was way too premature to say anything about his suspicions. Troy had to be sad after their breakup, whether he admitted it or not. He hadn’t volunteered anything about it on the drive into town from the family home, and Jack hadn’t brought it up.

Now that L.J. had been kidnapped, Troy had to be on a razor-thin emotional edge. Jack was close to that edge himself, and L.J. was only his nephew.

Jack muttered to himself for suspecting Jennie. That was ridiculous. “Should we call the cops?”

“No, damn it. We can’t. I told you that before.”

“At some point we have to.” Jack had to respect Troy’s perspective on this—for now. But if they didn’t turn up anything soon, what other choice did they have? “At least you know you’ve got some very capable resources to call on if we dig up anything.”

“I can’t use RC7 assets for this,” Troy answered.

“If we figure out that Little Jack’s abduction has anything to do with Red Cell Seven, you’d damn well better call on your people to help, especially if you’re not going to call the cops.” Jack hesitated. “You will, right?”

“Did you get the feeling you were being followed at any time last week?” Troy asked, avoiding Jack’s question.

“No. Did you?”

“I thought I did once, but the guy disappeared before I could confront him.”

“You think that had something to do with what happened here?”

“Maybe. Hey, did Mom really tell you she thought she saw Dad this morning?”

“Yeah. But she also said she’s thought she’s seen him twenty other times in the last nine months.” Jack pointed up at one side of the jewelry store, above the sign. “Look.”

Troy followed the direction of Jack’s nod. Right away, he understood. “Security camera, and it’s probably on twenty-four/seven.”

“Yup, let’s go.”

“How can I help you gentlemen?” the man behind the glass counter asked in a slight German accent as Jack and Troy hustled inside the shop. The shelves beneath the glass were filled with glittering rings and necklaces. “Something for your lovely wife,” he suggested, tapping the shiny wedding band on Jack’s left hand. “As you can see, I have a fine selection.”

B
ILL
J
ENSEN
and Shane Maddux sat together in the living room of the cabin, eyes glued to the TV screen. The announcement was only a few seconds away. President Dorn was wasting no time.

As they watched, Dorn walked somberly along the White House corridor toward a podium with the presidential seal affixed to it. After greeting the assembled press corps and the invited guests with a subdued “hello” and a nostalgic smile, he took several minutes to extol the long list of accomplishments of the dead Supreme Court chief justice and then thanked Warren Bolger posthumously for his long and admirable service to the country.

“Here it comes,” Maddux said as the president paused to gather himself. “He sure as hell didn’t wait long.”

“No, he didn’t,” Bill murmured. “Let’s see who he picks.”

“Today,” Dorn began again, “I am nominating Associate Justice Henry Espinosa to take Warren Bolger’s place as chief justice of the United States Supreme Court.” The crowd clapped politely as Espinosa walked to the podium to shake the president’s hand. “I am confident that the nomination will be approved by Congress very swiftly, based on the outstanding record Justice Espinosa has put together in a very short time on the high court. I know others on the court could execute this function admirably as well, and it was a close call for me. But I am confident that I have made the right choice.” He winked and gave everyone a winning smile. “In fact, I am
supremely
confident.”

“You called it, Bill,” Maddux spoke up as the crowd laughed at the pun and applauded again, louder this time. “You said it would be Espinosa.”

“Espinosa is President Dorn’s guy. I just hope this doesn’t mean what I think it does.” Bill had described the secret procedure to Maddux before Dorn had taken the podium. He’d explained how, theoretically, the chief justice could potentially manipulate his way around the protection the Order provided Red Cell Seven if he didn’t follow the prescribed procedure. “I’m worried, Shane.”

“You really think Dorn could have been involved in Warren Bolger’s death?”

“I think Stewart Baxter does his bidding exactly. Baxter comes off as a very polished man, but years ago he was involved with the Office of Naval Intelligence. I could never confirm that he was actually a member of ONI, but he definitely worked with those guys. He could have people pull off something like that. People like us.”

“And make it look like an accident.”

“Absolutely.”

“I checked around, and the guy who was driving the truck that killed Bolger seems clean.”

“Baxter’s a very slippery, very resourceful guy. You know that, Shane, better than most.” Bill pointed at the screen. “He looks scared.”

“Who?”

“Espinosa. In fact, he looks terrified. He looks like—”

Maddux held up a hand. “Someone’s coming up the driveway. It should be Ward, but go back in your bedroom until I call you.”

Bill stood up and headed away obediently. He’d almost asked Shane about Rita’s fate several times. But he’d been afraid that he’d get some very bad news. Maddux wouldn’t screw around with that answer.

Bill sighed deeply as he closed the bedroom door behind himself. Suddenly he was feeling very old and vulnerable.

“Bill,” Maddux called after a few minutes. “Come on out. It’s Ward.”

“I’ve turned up an interesting development,” Ward said as he shook hands with Bill and they all sat down. “If it had only been one report, I wouldn’t have worried about it.” He pointed at the big golden retriever and then at the floor by the chair he’d sat in. Drexel quickly obeyed and sat beside him. “People get on planes, but three of these guys all traveling at the same time and all coming to the same place? That seems like too much of a coincidence. That’s why I’m here.”

“What are you talking about?” Bill asked.

“I got three separate reports yesterday about several individuals of significant interest all heading for Washington, DC. All three of them are high-octane assassins. I’m talking best in the business.” Ward pulled out a cigarette and lighted it. “I think we’ve got a serious situation on our hands.”

“Who’s the target?” Bill asked. “David Dorn?”

“If you made me bet my last dollar,” Ward answered, taking a puff from the cigarette, “that’s who I’d say it is.”

“Who’s ultimately behind it?” Bill asked.

“Don’t know yet,” Ward replied. “I’m still digging.”

Maddux glanced over at Bill smugly, then reclined in his chair and put both hands behind his head. “Now the question is: What do we do about it? Do we anonymously alert the Secret Service?”

Bill shook his head. “No, we wait and watch.”

“Exactly,” Maddux agreed. “Fuck David Dorn.”

CHAPTER 25

J
ACK AND
Troy sprin
ted through the forest as afternoon sunshine filtered down past a thick canopy of oak and maple leaves, a few of which had already turned to red, orange, and gold. Pistols leading the way, the brothers raced through the dense woods just inside a tree line paralleling a long, gravel driveway. Their objective was a weather-beaten, gray-shingled farmhouse, which, now that they were close, they kept in sight as they ran.

They’d caught a break at the jewelry store. The shop’s owner had allowed them to look at that morning’s video from the security camera mounted on the front wall of the building. The camera had recorded Little Jack’s kidnapping. The men who’d committed the crime had worn masks, so there was no way to ID them from the video. But after enhancing a few frames, they’d gotten the van’s tag number and run it through the Connecticut DMV quickly, using one of Troy’s contacts at National Security. The van’s registration identified the owner as living at this address thirty miles west of Greenwich, deep in the Connecticut countryside. His name was Wayne Griffin.

They’d parked Troy’s SUV a half-mile away, a hundred feet down an old dirt road that led off into the forest and appeared abandoned, judging by the branches on it and the height of the weeds growing out of it. After climbing out, Troy had tossed Jack a Glock 9mm, which he always kept in reserve under the driver’s seat. Then they’d set off through the woods to find L.J.

Only one vehicle was parked in front of the farmhouse, and it wasn’t a van. It was a brand-new, bright red F-150 pickup.

“Don’t hesitate to shoot,” Troy said as they stopped behind two large trees so they could survey the situation before breaking from the woods.

The farmhouse was fifty yards away across an open field of closely mown grass. However, there was a barn between their position and the home, which they could use to veil the first part of their approach.

“You hear me, Jack?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Don’t wait for them,” Troy said firmly, waving his gun at the barn and then the house before making certain the first bullet was chambered. “Put them down if you think they even
might
have a weapon. And aim to kill, Jack. Aim for the middle of the chest and
squeeze
the trigger, don’t jerk. Remember, they’ll be more scared than you are.”

That was hard to believe.

“They’ll fire wildly,” Troy continued, “I guarantee it. I’ve seen it before. Calm always wins a shootout, at least with guys like this. And like I said, shoot to kill. Make sure to put them down, and we’ll sort things out later, after the dust settles. No pity, no sympathy. That’s the mantra going in. They sure as hell won’t have any for you.” Troy hesitated. “And Jack, whatever happens, I take the blame for everything.”

“Don’t worry about me.” Jack’s heart was pounding. And it wasn’t from running through the forest, because he was in excellent shape. “I got you out of Alaska last October, didn’t I?”

Troy smiled grimly. “Yeah, you did okay.”

“So, then don’t worry about me.”

“Okay.”

Jack heard no conviction in that “okay.”

“Did you hear what I said about me taking the blame for anyone getting killed?” Troy asked. “If we’re arrested and people are down, you didn’t actually shoot anyone, as far as the cops are concerned. As far as they’re concerned, I shot everybody. You lose that gun before they get here. Throw it in some bushes somewhere, and you tell them you’ve never fired a weapon in your life. You got me?”

“I’m not letting you take the blame for something I—”

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Of course, but—”

“No, Jack, I don’t think you did. Let me say it one more time so I’m sure. I shot everyone, as far as any law enforcement investigation goes.”

Troy rarely went animated like this, and never in the face of pressure. He usually got calmer as the stress level built. “Okay.”

Troy nodded ahead. “We’ll check the barn first. Then we’ll head to the house if we don’t find anything in the barn. I still don’t see anybody. You?”

“No.”

“Your first bullet chambered?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“All right, let’s go.”

Keeping the barn between them and the house, they broke from the tree line and sprinted ahead across the field side by side. The barn wasn’t large, a hundred feet long by fifty feet wide. Fortunately, it had a small door on the side they were racing toward, the side away from the house.

When they reached the structure, they pressed their backs to the stone foundation. Troy peered around the near corner to check the house one more time, and then they stole along the wall to the small wooden door.

As they moved through the doorway and stepped onto the dirt floor inside the dimly lit space, they were met by a wave of cool air. It was refreshing down here in the low-ceilinged lower level, out of the late-afternoon heat.

“Look,” Troy said, pointing.

“A black van,” Jack whispered breathlessly, digging a small piece of paper from his shirt pocket as they hustled toward the vehicle. “This is it,” he said after he’d matched the tag on the van to the string of letters and digits on the paper. “This is the one we’re looking for.”

“That’s how they got it in here,” Troy said, gesturing at a large garage-style door on the far side of the barn, then at a pair of tire tracks in the dirt leading from the closed door to the vehicle. “They were definitely trying to hide it.”

Jack glanced into the van through the open passenger side window. “Look,” he said, starting to reach inside. “Little Jack’s Dartmouth sweatshirt.”

Troy caught Jack’s arm before his fingers broke the boundary the glass would have made if it were raised.

“What’s the problem?” Jack demanded.

“I don’t want you setting off the alarm,” Troy answered as he gazed at the small, dark-green sweatshirt lying on the passenger seat. “Someone might have left it on as an early warning.” Troy had graduated from Dartmouth before joining Red Cell Seven. He’d given his son the sweatshirt as a first birthday present. “L.J. loved that sweatshirt.”

“He still does,” Jack said firmly. Troy couldn’t be thinking the worst right now. He had to stay positive. “We’re getting him back, Troy. Let’s go.”

“I know,” Troy agreed softly, starting for the ladder leading to the upper level of the barn. “We’ll check upstairs then head to the house if it’s all clear above,” he called over his shoulder as he jogged.

They headed to the crude wooden ladder, and Troy went first. It was fascinating, Jack thought to himself as Troy began climbing. There hadn’t been any discussion of who would lead. They’d both simply assumed Troy would. He always took the lead in situations like this. He had, ever since they were kids exploring the vast Jensen property.

The upper floor was littered with old machine and car parts, tools, and there was a tall stack of hay bales in one corner. Just as Jack climbed the last few rungs and struggled to his feet, a motor started up outside.

“Come on!” Troy yelled, racing for the door.

By the time Jack burst through the doorway, Troy was ten yards ahead, sprinting toward the red pickup, which was turning around in front of the farmhouse as fast as the driver could make it go. The truck’s tires spun wildly on the gravel as it backed up, spewing stones everywhere. Then it skidded to a quick stop, and the driver slammed the transmission into drive and punched the accelerator.

As the vehicle snaked forward, the driver pointed a pistol out the window at Troy—who was closing in—and opened fire.

The gunshots peppered the afternoon as Jack raced forward in horror. Troy was so close to the pickup at this point. The kid behind the wheel must have hit him with at least one of those bullets.

The pickup swerved off the gravel and onto the grass, away from Troy, and then back at him, almost knocking him down as Jack sprinted after the truck. Troy jumped onto the running board beneath the driver’s door as the kid veered the truck all the way back across the driveway and then hurtled toward two big trees. Troy reached inside desperately, grabbing for the kid’s gun, but at the last second, just before the pickup sped past the trees, he jumped away. The first tree tore the truck’s side mirror off just before the pickup plunged into a steep gully and crashed to a stop.

Jack raced along the passenger side, threw open the passenger door, and climbed up into the truck. The kid was bleeding profusely from the forehead—and pointing his pistol straight at Jack.

“Y
OU OKAY?
”
Jennie asked as she and Karen walked at a snail’s pace along Fifty-Seventh Street in Midtown Manhattan.

“I’m fine.” Karen was using a cane with one hand and holding on to Jennie with the other. “You’re nice to put up with me. I’m sorry I’m slowing you down.”

“Stop it,” Jennie said firmly. “You’re my hero. You aren’t slowing me down at all. I’m the one who’s sorry your honeymoon got messed up. But I’m glad we could see each other.”

After getting off the plane at JFK, Jack had helped Karen into a taxi, and then she’d headed into Manhattan to Jennie’s apartment. Karen hadn’t told Jack that Jennie was the friend she was visiting, because he was still angry at Jennie for breaking up with Troy. But she and Jack had spoken on the phone during her ride into the city, and she’d told him then. She could tell he was irritated, but he hadn’t said anything.

Jack had been about to climb into the cab with her at JFK. But she’d told him to go back to Connecticut immediately, and she’d told him that in no uncertain terms. He’d tried to object, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She wanted him to get to Troy as soon as possible. She knew the statistics. The longer the kidnapping went on, the lower the odds were of rescue. Every second was crucial.

She’d cried for L.J. during the ride into Manhattan, but she’d pulled herself together before seeing Jennie. She couldn’t tell Jennie what had happened to the little boy. Jack had sworn her to secrecy before he’d kissed her good-bye at the taxi stand.

“It’s amazing how far you’ve come since you were shot,” Jennie said. She lived a few blocks away, and they’d decided to get some fresh air. “As close as you came to getting killed, I admire how hard you’ve fought back.”

She liked that Jennie never tiptoed around her injury. They’d become good friends since last December. Jennie had visited her several times a week in the hospital, even gone to some of her rehab sessions, and Karen appreciated the young woman’s directness.

Jack never mentioned the shooting. He simply called what had happened to her “the incident.” She translated that to mean he still hadn’t come to grips with her condition, and she’d almost postponed the wedding because of it. She loved him, but she’d worried that he’d wake up one day and regret marrying her. She still did. It was terrible. It ate at her every day.

“I’m sorry about you and Troy,” Karen said as they moved along the sidewalk. “I’m sure it was hard, with him gone so much.”

“It
was
hard,” Jennie answered. “But it wasn’t just the time apart.”

“What do you mean?”

“Troy cheated on me.”

Karen glanced over at Jennie, shocked. “But you never—”

“I’ve never told anyone. You’re the first. I didn’t even tell Troy I knew when I told him it was over. It broke my heart. I could never look at him the same way after I knew.”

“How did you find out?”

“It wasn’t hard, believe me.”

Karen shook her head. “I never thought—”

“So what happened?” Jennie asked. “What derailed the trip to Paris?”

Jennie didn’t want to talk anymore about the breakup, it seemed. She seemed okay, at least on the surface, but she clearly wasn’t. Her lower lip had quivered just then.

“Cheryl had a heart attack this morning.”

“Oh, God.”

“It was a mild one. She’s okay.”

It was the cover story Troy worked out with Cheryl. Jack had told Karen on the call they’d had during her ride into Manhattan. It was the first time in a long time he hadn’t ended a call with an “I love you.” He was just so distracted by what had happened to Little Jack.

“They’ve already run Cheryl through a bunch of tests,” Karen explained. “They said she was okay. She just needs rest. But we couldn’t go to Paris after that, not right away.”