Kodiak Sky (Red Cell Trilogy Book 3) (19 page)

A
LONG,
mixed-freight train passed by on the bridge to Harpers Ferry. Sterling marveled at how many cars the two locomotives could pull.

The others had headed back to the inn. But he’d wanted some alone time out here on the bridge to think. By all accounts Chief Justice Warren Bolger’s death was simply as had been reported—a tragic accident. But Sterling prided himself on his data-gathering ability, and there was one piece of the puzzle that wasn’t fitting. The driver of the truck that had slammed into Bolger’s beautiful BMW had a brother. And that brother had received a sizable money transfer only two days ago.

Sterling hadn’t been able to identify the sender of the wire. He was still working on that.

Maybe it had been an accident, but it seemed awfully coincidental to have one of the targets on Gadanz’s list die so close to Operation Anarchy going live. Sterling hated coincidences. He always had.

CHAPTER 27

J
ACK’S GAZE
raced to the driver’s side mirror of Troy’s SUV when a shrill siren split the afternoon. “Damn it,” he muttered as he spotted the patrol car speeding up behind him on the country road, lights flashing. “This is all I need.”

Jack’s stress came from having Charlie Griffin gagged and hog-tied in the back. The windows were tinted, and he and Troy had draped blankets over the kid before Jack pulled away from the farmhouse thirty minutes ago. But Charlie might still be able to alert the officer during a traffic stop, despite the sock stuffed down his throat, the duct tape covering his mouth, and the rope securing his wrists to ankles behind his back.

Hopefully the cop was heading to some kind of minimal emergency, like a cat stuck in a tree, Jack prayed as he eased the SUV onto a grassy area beside the road so the cop could pass easily. Hopefully this interruption would be short. When the cop was gone, he could get to the Jensen compound, lock Charlie in the basement cell, and get back to the farmhouse.

Troy had stayed there in case Charlie’s father returned. So he could push their frantic investigation to the next rung in the ladder, to whomever Wayne Griffin was reporting to, because Troy doubted Griffin was the ringleader. The odds of L.J. and Karen being kidnapped on the same day were astronomical, which was why Troy figured it must have something to do with Red Cell Seven. How could a man like Wayne Griffin know anything of the unit? Griffin had to be simply a pawn in all of this, Troy had reasoned.

Jack had argued for both of them staying at the farmhouse until Wayne returned, but Troy was against the plan. Get a prisoner off-site and secured immediately. It was standard operating procedure in a situation like this, he’d claimed firmly.

Jack had no idea what SOP was in this situation. He just hoped Troy’s talk wasn’t simply a ruse to get an older brother off-site. An older brother who’d failed to fire first when they’d caught up to the pickup truck and almost ended up dead thanks to hesitating at a critical moment in the heat of battle.

He’d wanted to ask Troy if that was the case. But he’d let it go when Troy had told him to get back as soon as possible, after getting Charlie to the Jensen mansion.

The other possibility was that Troy didn’t want him around for the interrogation that would inevitably and quickly follow Wayne Griffin’s capture. But that didn’t matter now. He had a much bigger and more immediate problem than worrying about Troy violating a prisoner’s civil rights.

Jack groaned as the state trooper pulled up behind the SUV, and perspiration began seeping from his pores. The seep became a torrent when the kid began to shout and move about frantically in the back. The sounds were low and muffled, but the officer would definitely be suspicious if he heard them, and what the hell was he going to say then?

The kid must have figured out what was happening. When all the facts were revealed Charlie would be in bad trouble, too. But maybe the kid figured cops were the lesser of two evils.

Jack’s heart beat madly as he grabbed the registration and insurance cards from the glove compartment, turned off the engine, climbed from the SUV, and headed back toward the trooper.

What the hell was he being pulled over for, anyway? He’d made certain to do five-under the whole time just to avoid this possibility.

Before climbing out, he’d been tempted to yell at Charlie to stay quiet or there’d be hell to pay. But that might have alerted the kid to an opportunity and made him struggle harder and yell louder. So he’d said nothing.

“Stay where you are!” the cop yelled out the open window of the white cruiser with the narrow blue-and-yellow trim down the side. “Don’t come any closer.”

“Yes, sir,” Jack called back respectfully, raising his hands out of reflex as another car whizzed past. The guy driving the car laughed and pointed. Some people were such assholes. “No worries.”

He kept his hands up, where the officer could see them, but kept inching forward. He’d only made it a few feet beyond the back bumper before the officer yelled at him, and he could definitely hear the kid. The ruckus was faint, and maybe he could hear it more clearly because he knew what to listen for. But he didn’t want to count on that.

“I told you to stay put!”

Jack had made it another few feet along the pavement, but he could still hear the thumping and moaning. Couldn’t he? “Yes, sir.” At least the cop hadn’t ordered him back into the SUV. That would have been a disaster.

He glanced around. Dense woods were only a few feet to the left beyond the narrow strip of grass paralleling the road. But running would be such an extreme measure.

The officer climbed from the car and donned his gray Stetson as he strode purposefully toward Jack. He was tall and dark, and walked with a slight limp.

“What’s the problem, Officer?” Jack asked in a friendly voice. “I wasn’t speeding, was I?”

“You were talking on your cell phone.”

Jack swore he could hear the kid banging his head—or whatever—against the inside of the SUV and screaming through the gag. “Oh, right.”

Despite the text message he’d received about her kidnapping, Jack had been calling Karen’s cell number over and over. It was pathetic, but he
had
to do something. His calls kept going to her voice mail, and each time he told her he loved her after the beep. The officer must have seen him making the last call.

“I’m sorry,” he said, cringing as he handed over his license, registration, and insurance card. It sounded like a riot had erupted in the back of the SUV. “That was stupid. I’ll just sign the ticket, and you can get back to more important business.”

The officer glanced up from Jack’s license. “You don’t think this is important?”

“Of course I do. I didn’t mean it that way.”

“How
did
you mean it?”

Jack swallowed hard. He could feel the incident escalating. “I just meant that I know you guys are busy protecting us, and I’m sorry I’ve taken up your time.”

“Are you all right, Mr. Jensen?” the cop asked pointedly. “You seem nervous.”

Jack glanced at the trees. That thumping inside the SUV sounded like thunder. “I’m fine.”

“Is something wrong?”

“No,” he said loudly. “No,” he repeated less intensely when the cop gave him another suspicious look.

“Go sit in your vehicle while I do a little more work.”

“Sir, I—”

“Wait a minute,” the cop said, turning back around. He’d been heading to his car. “Your name’s Jack
Jensen
.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you related to Bill Jensen?”

“He’s my father.”

The officer shook his head sadly. “We’ve been trying hard to find him, son. He’s a good man. He’s helped out our barracks a lot over the years.” He handed Jack the information back. “Don’t use your phone while you’re driving from now on. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m sorry about your dad. I hope that all works out for the best.”

“Thank you.”

Jack turned, climbed into the cab, and let out a sigh of relief. Bill was missing, but he’d still managed to save the day.

“You missed your chance,” Jack called over his shoulder as he started up the SUV and the cop moved past. “Making all that noise wasn’t very smart.” He wanted to make sure there was no more noise for the rest of the trip. “Do it again, and things will go even worse for you. My brother wasn’t kidding about using any and all means necessary.”

Jack started to hit the gas, then hesitated and sank back into the seat. He had to calm down first. His hands were shaking too hard to drive.

“W
HAT DO
you want, Commander McCoy?” Baxter asked. He nodded in the direction of President Dorn, who was sitting in a wingback chair on the other side of the fireplace. “Why did you ask for this meeting?”

“I’ve done some back-channel 411, Mr. Baxter. I’ve got some things I want to talk about.”

“I thought we settled this,” Baxter said angrily. “I thought we’d covered everything because you—”

“What are your issues, Skylar?” Dorn interrupted calmly. “I want to make certain you are one hundred percent comfortable as to the efficacy and honor of what I’ve asked of you. I need your talents. I need your protection, Skylar. You can only give me that if you’re completely satisfied that it’s the right thing to do.” He hesitated. “You’re not a soldier of fortune, no mercenary here. You must be passionate about your cause, my cause. I sense that about you, Skylar. I did, right from the start.” He smiled. “Well, right after you snuck up on me.”

So they were going with the good cop–bad cop thing, Skylar realized. Baxter’s twisted expression had him looking like he was crapping razor blades. Dorn looked serene, and he’d just used her first name three times in fifteen seconds. Well, all right. Game on.

“Are you certain we have privacy in here, Mr. President?” she asked. “I don’t want anyone hearing this who shouldn’t.”

“We’re fine,” Dorn answered, without deferring to Baxter, who would have been the more appropriate one to answer that question.

For a few seconds she focused on regulating her breathing, as she would just before a kill, to calm herself. She’d met some sports stars and even a few famous rockers, and she hadn’t gotten nervous around them. But this was the president of the United States. This was her commander in chief.

“You’ve asked me to eliminate Bill Jensen, Troy Jensen, Jack Jensen, and Shane Maddux as soon as possible.”

“Correct,” Baxter agreed, “as well as the rest of Red Cell Seven. You are to put a team together, and you are to wage war on the entire cell.”

“And remember,” Dorn added, “you aren’t supposed to know that Red Cell Seven exists. Anyone who helps you cannot know about the unit. You’ll have to make up some kind of cover story for the mission that doesn’t involve RC7.”

“Understood.”

“Are you sure, Commander?” Baxter asked. “Are you sure you understand that? I feel like I have to make absolutely certain of that now.”

Skylar flashed Baxter an irritated look, but didn’t go back at him. “Bill Jensen’s been missing for nine months,” she said. “I’ve checked around, and he’s legitimately off the grid.”

“So?”

“Depending on whether he’s already dead,” Skylar went on, “he is or was a pillar of society. He was CEO of First Manhattan for many years and served on the boards of several high-profile charitable organizations, in addition to giving a great deal of money to them.” She paused. “Troy Jensen’s the all-American guy with a Dartmouth diploma and some pretty incredible accomplishments all around the world to his credit. The Seven Summits, circumnavigating the globe by himself, and on and on. Jack’s Wall Street, but there’s nothing
really
wrong with him.” Her eyes glistened. “Now, I took the liberty of calling some close associates who live in some pretty black sectors of U.S. intel, and Shane Maddux might be—”

“What are you driving at?” Baxter demanded.

“They all seem like good people. All except Maddux, and that’s kind of understandable, given who he is and what he does.”

“They tried to kill me last fall,” Dorn said solemnly. “They had a sniper shoot at me on that stage in Los Angeles. They were all involved in that, from Maddux to Bill Jensen.”

“I know about the assassination attempt,” Skylar replied deliberately. “The whole world knows about it.”

“Of course,” Dorn agreed self-consciously, looking down.

“Based on what I now know,” Skylar continued, “I could come to the conclusion that Shane Maddux was involved in that assassination, Mr. President. But I’m having a very hard time convincing myself that the Jensens—”

“Troy Jensen killed your sister Bianca,” Baxter interrupted, “on orders from his direct superior, Shane Maddux, and Troy’s father, Bill.”

The room blurred before Skylar as soon as Baxter said it. “What?” she whispered.

“It was made to look like an accident,” Baxter went on, “like Bianca’s boyfriend was responsible. But Troy Jensen killed Bianca. Make no mistake about that, Commander. Troy Jensen is responsible for your sister’s death, not her boyfriend.”

Skylar couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so thoroughly knocked off her game. It wasn’t as if she was just vulnerable at this moment. She was completely defenseless, physically and mentally paralyzed as she processed Baxter’s shocking assertion.