Kodiak Sky (Red Cell Trilogy Book 3) (28 page)

Someone in the back shrieked as the Explorer dropped back down and careened ahead.

It was Karen. The shriek had been faint, but Jack would have recognized her voice
anywhere
. It was her—no question.

“Karen,
Karen
, I’m coming. Hold on, sweetheart!”

He dodged several more potholes and raced up the passenger side of the truck as the engine revved loudly and the tires spun. He was almost to the back door, his fingers were only inches from the handle, when the driver veered sharply to the right, hitting him and sending him flying into the underbrush paralleling both sides of the dirt road.

By the time Jack had torn himself out of the sticker bushes and staggered back to the road, the Explorer was forty yards down the dirt lane and racing away.

S
HANE
M
ADDUX
stole along the driveway and through the darkness toward the cabin he and Bill Jensen had been holed up in for the last nine months. He’d parked his jeep back up the gravel lane, about halfway to the main road, because something didn’t feel right. And over the years, Maddux had learned to trust his gut unfailingly.

As he neared the log structure, he realized his instinct had been correct—again. A light was on in his bedroom, and though the blind was down, he could clearly make out a figure moving around in there.

He pulled his gun from his belt, moved through the shadows to the back of the cabin, and slid his key soundlessly into the lock.

A few steps inside and the scent of wood smoke he loved about the place rushed to his nostrils. A turn to the left, seven more paces down a narrow hallway, and he reached his closed bedroom door.

Maddux hesitated for a few moments, listening, and then burst into his bedroom. Bill wheeled around, throwing his hands in the air as Maddux aimed the gun straight at him. Bill had been leaning over the bed, studying a notepad that he’d removed from a small, open safe that was on Maddux’s bed beside the notepad. Maddux had kept that safe hidden in an alcove of his closet, covered by blankets.

“What are you doing?” Maddux demanded.

Bill nodded solemnly down at the notepad. “This is over the top, Shane, even for you.”

“How did you open the safe? Who gave you the combination?”

“No one gave me anything. It wasn’t hard to figure out the digits. I entered one-eight-three-seven. That’s R-C-7. It opened right up when I did.” Bill shook his head as he brought his hands slowly down to his sides. “I never thought you’d be so predictable.”

“You just made a very big mistake, Bill. Now I have to kill you. Now I have to—”

The bullet blew through Maddux’s chest, tearing apart one lung and part of his heart as the single hollow-point round exploded on impact.

Maddux collapsed to the floor, and Bill was on him in an instant, grabbing the pistol and ripping it from his clenched, white-knuckled fingers. “Get out of here,” he muttered over his shoulder.

“But I—”

“Now,” Bill yelled angrily.

“How could you do this to me?” Maddux gasped as he gazed up at Bill, who was now kneeling beside him. “After everything we’ve been through?”

“What are you talking about, Shane? You were about to kill me.”

“You were about to weaken a nation.”

“You don’t know that. All you really know is that I was looking at your plans.”

“How can you let the bastard win?”

“I’m sorry, Shane,” Bill murmured. “I’m sorry it had to come to this.”

“I can’t let you tell anyone,” Maddux whispered, his strength ebbing away quickly as the massive internal wound bled profusely. “I can’t.”

“I’m afraid you have no choice.”

With his last few heartbeats, Maddux released the four-inch blade that was attached to a leather strap around his wrist and hidden beneath the cuff of his jacket’s right sleeve. Then, with his last burst of strength, he drove the point of the knife into Bill.

Bill rose unsteadily with a desperate groan, clasping his neck as blood began pouring from the wound. He wavered for a few moments in the middle of the room, staggered three steps ahead, and then crashed face-first to the floor.

T
HE KIDNAPPER’S
body lay sprawled out before him on the pavement beside the van. He’d been shot neatly once through the forehead.

“You killed him,” Jack murmured.

“I did what I had to do.” Troy clasped Little Jack tightly in his arms. The boy was still sobbing uncontrollably, and it had been several minutes since Troy had untied him and pulled the gag from his mouth. “Let’s get out of here, Jack, before anyone comes. We’ve gotta get to Harpers Ferry as soon as possible.”

Jack was still staring down at the dead man. “Did you ask him about Karen at all?”

“I thought you said Karen was in that Explorer you chased.”

“She was, but neither of us knew that when you were jamming your gun in this guy’s mouth.”

“Jack, I—”

“I want to know if you asked him about my wife before you killed him.”

As Troy was about to answer, his phone vibrated. “Hold Little Jack for me.”

Jack took his nephew and pressed the boy’s tearstained face gently to his chest as Troy read the text. As he gazed at his younger brother, Jack noticed that one shoulder of his brother’s shirt was torn badly.

He shook his head as he realized how that had happened. Troy had been standing near the front of the van when the first rifle shot had been fired from the forest, shattering the passenger window. The bullet must have grazed Troy’s shoulder.

“Jesus, Troy,” Jack murmured, “you’re indestructible.”

A
S THE
Gulfstream G650 rose smoothly from the runway and banked east toward the Atlantic Ocean and the Republic of the Congo, which was more than five thousand miles away, Karen’s eyes fluttered shut as she lay across two wide leather seats, still bound and gagged. They’d just administered another sedative, but it hadn’t been necessary. She was exhausted and would have slept all the way across the Atlantic even without the syringe full of amber-hued liquid they’d just pumped into her left arm.

She was exhausted, but worse, she was defeated. She’d thought for a few moments, as the vehicle had bounced around violently, that Jack was about to rescue her. She’d heard him yell from outside the truck; she couldn’t miss that voice anywhere.

But then the ride had smoothed out and the awful man in front had laughed loudly at her, assuring her that her fate had been sealed and that he was about to “sell her to the highest bidder.” He’d shouted to her triumphantly from the front that he’d just checked his account and now he was a rich man. But she had no idea what he meant—other than someone was paying him a lot of money to take her off his hands.

She’d fought and struggled through all of those terrible rehab sessions for the last nine months, never missing a single one, never giving up hope of walking and speaking normally again. And Jack had never once wavered in his love or support for her in any way.

Now all that effort seemed wasted. Jack was gone, and she didn’t want to live without him.

For the first time in her life, she wanted to die.

CHAPTER 35

A
T FIVE
o’clock this morning, three hours ago, Sterling had contacted Daniel Gadanz and, in code, informed the drug lord that Operation Anarchy had been officially aborted.

The warning signs against executing the mission had simply become too overwhelming, and for Sterling, the huge risks no longer justified the massive reward. No longer could the prospect of collecting three hundred million dollars persuade him to move forward with his team of assassins. No longer did all that money make him physically salivate the way it had just a few hours before.

After the aggravating series of calls with Kyle, Sterling had attempted to contact Wayne Griffin several times with no success—which had made him suspicious. Jennie wasn’t picking up, either, and then Kyle had delivered only Karen Jensen to the New Jersey tarmac and the waiting G650 that Gadanz had sent for the flight to the Congo. At that point Sterling’s antennae had gone way up.

Sterling wired Kyle the million dollars he’d demanded at the last minute, but Kyle had not been forthcoming with the men at the jet about what had happened to Troy Jensen’s one-year-old son. Sterling could only guess that somehow Troy had caught up, or nearly caught up, to Kyle, and intercepted half of what was supposed to be delivered.

All of which raised the specter that Red Cell Seven had become involved. And that was the straw that had broken the camel’s back. Sterling was now convinced of Red Cell Seven’s existence—and its power. And he wanted no part of it—even for three hundred million dollars.

Within thirty seconds of sending the ciphered abort message, Gadanz had responded, requesting a face-to-face meeting in the same code. It turned out Gadanz was visiting his new south Florida compound—probably not coincidentally, Sterling realized—and was willing to meet anywhere Sterling wanted to, as soon as possible.

They’d settled on the small town of Charles Town, West Virginia, which was only seven miles from Harpers Ferry. Why not meet with Gadanz, Sterling figured. Why not at least hear what he had to say? It wasn’t like he had to fly around the world and trek deep into an insect-infested jungle along a muddy path slithering with snakes. It was seven miles through some rolling hills across a paved road.

Gadanz had flown into the small airport of Hagerstown, Maryland, then been driven here in some kind of common-looking car, Sterling assumed. It was important for Gadanz to travel anonymously wherever he went, but it was especially crucial for him to do so in the United States. What the federal authorities wouldn’t give to nab Daniel Gadanz. There had to be a huge reward for information leading to his arrest—though probably not three hundred million.

It was four minutes past eight in the morning, and they were meeting in a nasty room of a shabby motel located just outside Charles Town’s small downtown.

“So,” Gadanz said, “you want to abort Operation Anarchy.”

“Yes, Daniel. There are too many—”

“I don’t care about your objections or your concerns,” Gadanz interrupted, holding up one hand. “I don’t care why you want to abort the mission. I just want you to change your mind and make it happen.”

Sterling had been thinking about what he’d do to Kyle when his men caught up with the bastard. Slowly tearing the man limb from limb seemed too kind. “Daniel, under no circumstances will I—”

“I’ll pay you a billion dollars to complete this mission. Yes, Liam, I said a
billion
, in case you’re thinking you didn’t hear me right.”

Sterling could actually feel his jaw drop.

“And,” Gadanz continued, “I’ll cut the kill list to fourteen.” He pulled a piece of paper and a pair of reading glasses from his pocket. “The president, vice president, Senate Majority Leader, Speaker of the House, FBI director, CIA director, three Supreme Court justices including the chief justice, secretary of state, secretary of defense, Bill Jensen, Troy Jensen, and Jack Jensen.” He paused as he removed the glasses from his wide nose. “I want to hit only the major players now.”

Sterling blinked several times. He hadn’t been listening to the names Gadanz was reeling off. He’d been replaying the new bounty amount over and over in his mind. “A billion dollars?” It was an unfathomable amount of money, so huge it seemed impossible to draw a risk-return curve that had any degree of accuracy. How could he put a utilitarian value on a billion dollars?

“Yes, a billion. And as I said, I’ve pared the list considerably.” Gadanz gestured at Sterling with the unlighted cigar he was sucking on like a pacifier. “Have you sent your assassin team away yet? Please tell me you haven’t done that.”

Sterling shook his head. “No, they’re all still in Harpers Ferry.”

“Good,” Gadanz said as his shoulders slumped noticeably, “very good. So, do we have a—” He leaned forward in his chair, grabbed his hair with both hands, shut his eyes tightly, and moaned loudly.

Sterling rose quickly from his chair, picked up the cigar from the floor, and held it out for Gadanz, who snatched it as he leaned back in the chair and exhaled heavily. “What the hell is wrong with you, Daniel?”

“Nothing,” Gadanz snapped. “Now, do we have a deal?”

“Who’s your anonymous contact?” It had to be a brain tumor, Sterling figured as he sat back down. “Who told you about Red Cell Seven?”

“I thought I made myself clear in Peru. You were never to ask—”

“Daniel, if you don’t tell me right now, I’m walking out of here, and the hell with a billion dollars. Does that tell you how much I want the answer?”

“I suppose,” Gadanz agreed grudgingly. He sucked on the cigar for several moments. “It’s Shane Maddux.”

A palpable shock wave surged through Sterling. “Shane Maddux?” he whispered as the tiny hairs on the back of his neck rose.

“Yes.”

For a few seconds, Sterling didn’t believe it. Then, as he thought about it more, it began to make sense. It had to be the truth. How could Gadanz possibly make up something like that? It was so off the wall it had to be true. And how else would he have such intimate details of the secret cell’s inner workings?

“But why?”

“Shane Maddux hates David Dorn with a passion I’ve never seen before,” Gadanz explained. “He hates that man more than I’ve ever seen anyone hate anyone or anything. And that’s saying a lot, because I truly hate the people who killed my brother, Jacob. But Maddux beats me on this, and it’s quite impressive. Maddux,” Gadanz continued, “believes that President Dorn is destroying the United States by going soft on terrorism, by severely constraining what intelligence officers can do during interrogations, even limiting basic actions they can take in the field. Even worse for Maddux, he believes that Dorn is personally trying to destroy Red Cell Seven. So he believes Dorn must be terminated.” Gadanz relaxed as the shooting pains in his head finally subsided. “He tried to assassinate Dorn in Los Angeles a year ago, and now he’s trying to kill him again. With my help,” Gadanz added with a nasty chuckle as he gestured at Sterling. “And yours.”

“What about all the other targets of Operation Anarchy? Why would he want to kill all those people?”

“Maddux proposed a few of the other targets in the original group. Others he believes are not friendly to Red Cell Seven. But I added most of them in order to heighten the chaos of the day,” Gadanz said grandly, as if he was very impressed with himself. “Shane was fine with that, not that I really cared one way or the other. Shane wants Dorn dead exponentially more than anyone else on the list. And I want chaos. We had a meeting of the minds.”

“Maddux got the pictures of Troy Jensen with that woman in Spain. The ones we showed Jennie Perez.”

“Yes.”

“Maddux is the one who knew about Dorn’s illegitimate daughter. Maddux was the one who told you about Shannon, aka Leigh-Ann Goodyear.”

“A man under Maddux’s command in Red Cell Seven uncovered that information a year ago.” Gadanz waved the cigar in the air. “Shane Maddux has provided me with a great deal of pertinent information. Without his help, Operation Anarchy could not possibly have gotten to this stage.”

“Maddux figured out how to get to President Dorn.”

“When he heard about my ability to access the Ebola virus and use it as a weapon, he told me who to go after. Leigh-Ann Goodyear, Karen Jensen, and the little boy. He had great ideas on how to get to the president and the Jensens.” Gadanz paused. “Maddux has also been very helpful with regard to obtaining schedules and agendas. And he’s provided me with details I’ve given you about the security around some of these people and how to get past it. All the information that was in that envelope I gave you in Peru.”

“When did Maddux approach you?” Sterling asked.

“Back in January. We’ve been planning this for eight months.”

“Why the Jensens? Why are they targets?”

“Maddux hates them as well, though not as much as Dorn. He doesn’t believe the Jensens are as committed to protecting the United States as he is. He believes they would protect Dorn in the end because it’s ‘the right thing to do,’ even if they don’t agree with his politics.”

Sterling shook his head. “So one of the highest-ranking officers of the most covert, most successful intelligence cell the United States has ever operated approached the world’s most successful drug lord for help?”

“Why is that so shocking?” Gadanz shrugged. “The CIA worked with the Colombians in the late seventies and early eighties to flood the U.S. inner cities with cocaine to try and kill criminals. Does the name Freeway Ricky Ross ring a bell?”

“Sure.”

“Ricky Ross was one of the biggest drug dealers in Los Angeles at the time, and he had close ties to the CIA. They worked together until the CIA turned on him. What’s so shocking about Shane Maddux coming to me?”

Gadanz was right, Sterling realized. When people really wanted something done, they went to an expert, irrespective of the side of the law that person was on. “Nothing, I suppose,” Sterling answered. “But you told me Red Cell Seven was responsible for killing your brother, Jacob. And you’re partnering with one of the cell’s leaders. How does that square?”

“Sometimes priorities make for strange bedfellows, don’t they, Liam?”

For a second, Sterling thought he’d caught an odd gleam in Gadanz’s eyes, but he couldn’t read it. A billion dollars was getting in the way.

“Like the CIA and Freeway Ricky Ross,” Gadanz continued. “My partnership with Maddux is more on a personal level than an institutional one, as is my hatred of the people who killed my brother. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Maddux claims Troy Jensen was directly involved with Jacob’s death. That Troy was one of the individuals who arrested and assaulted Jacob. I want Troy dead, along with his father and brother. But first I want him to suffer the ultimate dilemma first.” Gadanz took a deep breath. “So?” he asked in a leading tone after a few moments. “What is your decision?”

A billion dollars, a billion
fucking
dollars, Sterling thought to himself. He gritted his teeth again, harder. Still . . . “I don’t know, Daniel.”

Gadanz shook his head. “What happened to the man who told me he could execute any mission? Where is that man right now? Because I can assure you, he’s not standing in front of me.”

“Is that all?” Sterling asked gruffly, standing up. “Are we through here?”

“No, there’s one more thing.”

Of course, Sterling thought to himself ruefully. There was always one more thing with Daniel Gadanz. “What is it?”

Gadanz picked up a small glass vial from the table beside his chair. It was filled with an amber liquid. “Take this,” Gadanz ordered. “You’re going to need it to earn that billion dollars.”

“D
ON’T GO
in to work today,” Baxter muttered into the phone. “In fact, don’t go in the rest of the week.”

“Why not?”

“Just don’t. Stay in your house. Don’t go out at all. Have your wife go out if you need something.”

“We have important business this week, several extremely high-profile cases.”

“I don’t care. Figure something out. Come down with a convenient case of the flu. Do you hear me?”

“How’s it going to look if the chief justice nominee doesn’t go in to work his first week after being nominated?”