No Way Out (26 page)

“Where?”

Richter slowly blinked. “I had no reason to know, so he didn’t tell me. Air—Air.”

DeSantos sat forward. “You need some air?” He grabbed his wrist and checked his pulse. It was slow but otherwise normal. His skin, however, felt clammy and DeSantos noticed perspiration appearing on his forehead and cheeks.

“Cam.” He gently slapped the sides of his face. “Just tell me where they’re going to release the ricin.”

“They…” His lids fluttered open, closed, and open. And then he laughed.

DeSantos leaned back and sighed deeply. He had reached the end of the interrogation; nothing further was to be gained. He twisted in his seat and looked at Carter, who shrugged his shoulders.

Richter lifted his hand and looked at it, as if he had just discovered the limb. “This hurts. A lot.”

“I know it does,” DeSantos said.

He thought of Brian. And he thought of this mission. Vince Richter had been reduced to trash. He had given all he had to give and was of no further use to them.

The sole remaining issue was his commitment to his former partner.

DeSantos glanced at Carter, who stood there, waiting. No words were exchanged, but none needed to be.

A moment later, Carter tapped his watch, then nodded. DeSantos rose from his seat and walked behind Richter.

41

V
ail had resorted to pacing—whether it was due to her nerves or the cold, or both—all that mattered was that it helped pass the time.

Reid had fallen quiet, periodically checking his watch.

DeSantos emerged from the house a little past 9:00
PM
. His mood was subdued as he pulled out the CLAIR and typed a message.

When he was done, Vail said, “You get anything?”

“Some actionable intel,” DeSantos said. “I’m confident at least some of it’s real.” He pulled the car keys from his pocket. “Richter gave me everything he knew.”

“He willingly cooperated?”

“Depends on how you look at it.”

What the hell does that mean? Do I really want to push this? Do I really want to know?

“Did you kill him?”

DeSantos looked at her for the first time. He did not answer her verbally, but the set of his jaw, the intensity of his gaze told her all she needed to know.

“You didn’t need to do that.”

DeSantos headed toward the car. “If the situation were reversed, you would’ve done what I did.”

“I would’ve wanted to. I don’t think I would’ve done it.”

“That’s the point, isn’t it? You don’t really know. Until you’ve walked in my shoes, don’t judge me.”

“I’m not—Yes, fine. I’m judging you. And maybe that’s not fair. I’m, I’m just conflicted. I understand the emotions you’re feeling, but it goes against my training, what I believe in.”

“Karen, don’t take this the wrong way. But I’m not interested in your opinion. And I’m not interested in discussing it.”

“I’ve had some time to think out here,” she said.

“He said he’s had enough,” Reid said. “Leave it be.”

His voice came from nowhere; Vail had forgotten he was still there.

“Carter will bring you up to speed,” DeSantos said to Reid. “The ricin might be in three separate places. St. Paul’s is a possible twenty. I told Buck.” He gestured toward the house. “Would you help Carter finish up down there?”

Reid gave Vail a long look—of caution? of pleading?—she wasn’t sure.

But he did as DeSantos requested, and when the door closed, Vail said, “Killing comes too easily to you, Hector.”

“It’s my job, my way of life. A matter of survival. I only kill the people I’m assigned to kill. I carry out my mission.”

“Are you sure about that? Vince Richter didn’t need to die. You didn’t
need
to kill that man. It wasn’t part of your mission.”

“And what should we have done, huh? We couldn’t arrest him because we had nothing on him. He’s a trained assassin and he’s part of Rudenko’s crew. What he
isn’t
is an upstanding citizen who contributes to society. Letting him go meant more innocent people would’ve died. Not to mention if we cut him loose, he would’ve joined back up with Rudenko to finish the job—with key intel on us. What we know, what we
don’t
know. All of that’s in direct contradiction to our mission.”

“No,” she said. “If you look inward, if you see this objectively, you’ll admit to yourself that you killed him because you wanted to do it. Out of revenge.”

“I did it because I had to,” he said through clenched teeth. “And yes, it was also a promise I made to my dying friend. I had no choice. It was my duty.”

He got in the car and turned over the engine. Vail joined him and sat down hard.

“Your thinking’s polluted.”

“This is my world, Karen. You have to trust me to do things right, the way they’re supposed to be done. The way they have to be done in order to survive.”

“Trust you? You’ve done nothing but lie to me the whole time.”

“Because it’s my job.” He pulled onto the dark road, and neither of them spoke for a mile.

“I don’t expect you to understand. But I do expect you to trust me. Because when you peel away Hector DeSantos the black operative, you’ve got Hector DeSantos, a guy who cares about you and would never let anyone hurt you. So think what you want. I know in my heart who I am. And I’m able to live with that.”

She didn’t want to keep pressing him because he was too close to the situation, too passionate and emotional. He could not see it objectively and might never be able to. Then again, he was right that she could not know what he was feeling. She’d come close, but as close as that was, it did not reach the depth of pain DeSantos had experienced. She had to respect that.

And she certainly did not know the “rules” of black ops engagement and the oaths those operatives shared, the methods and tactics that were customary. Or necessary.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“It’s done. We move on. Fresh page.”

“Because we have to complete our mission. At all costs.”

“That’s right,” DeSantos said with a hint of surprise in his voice. “At all costs.”

42

T
hey had passed Northolt on the way back to London when a secure message came through from Buck.

With no place to pull off the road, DeSantos handed Vail the CLAIR. “What’s it say?”

“They’ve located one of the trigger men. Where’s Edgware?”

“Northwest London, maybe fifteen, twenty minutes from here.”

The device buzzed again.

“They have a positive ID. Thermal imaging shows he’s the only one in the house, but he’s moving around from room to room, as if he’s packing. Buck says we need to hurry, he may be on the move.”

“Address?”

“And GPS coordinates.”

“Perfect.” DeSantos handed his Nokia to Vail. “Use the GPS app Uzi loaded. It’s the logo on the home screen with the big ‘LR.’”

“LR?”

“The initials of his shrink, Leonard Rudnick. Because he helped Uzi find his way.”

“He helped me, too. I miss that old man.” After entering the coordinates, she handed the CLAIR back to DeSantos. A moment later, the LR app had mapped out the entire route.

“Up ahead, left on Greenford Road.”

DeSantos accelerated. “I’ll get us there as fast as I can, but this ain’t my ’vette.”

She grabbed onto the door handle as he deftly turned the corner at forty miles per hour. “Judging by the way you drive, that may not be a bad thing.”

“How’s that?”

“If we were in your Corvette, you would’ve taken that turn at sixty.”

DeSantos allowed a smile to tease his lips. “Damn straight.”

“THIS IS IT,” Vail said, struggling to get a look at the house and her surroundings. “It’s so freaking dark around here.”

“You’re sure this is the right place.”

“This isn’t a regular GPS that takes you to a location half a mile away from where you’re supposed to be. I used the actual coordinates. And I checked them three times. Yes, I’m positive.” She pointed ahead. “Three houses up, on the right.”

They were in a residential neighborhood of mostly older, well kept homes, modest lawns with driveways and garages. Aside from minor variances in architecture, they could have been in any upper middle-class suburban community in America.

DeSantos drove past the target’s house and cut the engine. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a P220 SAS compact SIG Sauer. “You good with this?”

Vail’s eyes widened. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see a handgun. Where’d you get it?”

“Safe house. Figured these SIGs might come in handy. No suppressors, but beggars can’t be too picky.”

“That’s not the saying.”

“Do you really care?”

Vail pulled open the slide and press-checked the chamber. DeSantos did the same.

“Six round mag. And I don’t have any spares, so make your shots count.”

“How many do you think we’ll need?”

“Hopefully no more than one.” He tilted his head as he studied her face. “You going to be able to do this, take this guy out?”

Vail looked ahead, out the windshield, struggling with the answer.

“I need to know, Karen. Doubt, conflicting emotions, that won’t cut it. If you’re not sure, if you have any reservations, I’ll go in myself.”

“You can’t do this yourself.”

“That wouldn’t be my preference, but we’ve got our orders and there’s a lot at stake. I’ll get it done.”

Vail looked down at the SIG in her hand.

“Okay,” DeSantos said. “Here’s the plan. Hang out here, keep a watch on the street, and buzz me if we get company.”

“I’m going in with you.”

DeSantos twisted his torso and faced her square on. “You don’t have to do this. I’ll take care of it.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not just saying that because you feel like you have to prove yourself, right? Because you’re a woman?”

Vail stared him down. If she were standing, she might have kicked him in the balls.

“Let’s go. And don’t ever say that to me again.” She reached up and turned off the interior dome light.

DeSantos nodded. “Very good. Nice tradecraft.”

“Don’t patronize me, Hector. What’s the plan?”

“I’ll go in the back. You watch the front in case he comes out. If he does—”

“I’ll handle it.”

“This is a known terrorist. His mission is to release ricin on the British population.
Our
mission is to make sure he doesn’t get the chance.”

“I get it. I was at the briefing.”

“He may be armed.”

She gave him another stern look.

“Right. Let’s go.”

Vail pushed open her door and got out.

They used the short brick wall for cover as they approached the house—handguns hidden, in case they encountered someone taking a dog for a late night walk.

Vail nearly tripped on a raised fissure of broken sidewalk.
Don’t these people believe in streetlights?

They reached the perimeter of the house and separated, Vail taking the front door and DeSantos the rear.

Vail settled herself on the porch, her back against the front wall, facing out, eyes straining to scan the area ahead of her, ears tuned to any unexpected noises emanating from the interior.

DESANTOS MADE HIS WAY through the yard to the backdoor. He would have preferred to be wearing night vision goggles, but this was an unorthodox op. He had made do with minimal equipment and a paucity of information in the past.

He quickly picked the door locks and stepped inside. It was completely dark. He stood a moment, allowing his senses to adjust to the surroundings. He needed to learn the normal sounds so that if he heard something else, he could react appropriately—a measured, efficient response. Disable his target as swiftly and as quietly as possible, with minimal struggle.

Although he had the SIG in his waistband, he drew a Black Raven tactical knife from a sheath in the pocket of his 5.11s. This was likely going to be a close-quarters fight, and a handgun would not be his first choice. Normally he would have brought a favorite brand from his SEAL days, an Ontario, but the MK3 was a government-issue blade, and he did not want to carry any identifiable equipment that could place him in a US-sanctioned operation.

The Raven was no slouch, however: its Tanto-shaped tip was as lethal as any other knife. In truth, however, a skilled operator had to be able to fight with no weapons—just his hands.

He advanced through the kitchen and into the dining and living rooms. Nothing; if this guy was getting ready to flee, it was the most sedate exit he had ever seen. Perhaps the intel was flawed.

Odd—the interior of the house was completely black. No lighted microwave clocks, no cable box power LEDs.

He headed up the stairs to the second floor and took a right into the master bedroom. As he cleared the adjacent bathroom, he heard a noise back out in the hall.

He emerged and saw a shadowy figure draw back.

“Who are you?” the voice asked. He shone a flashlight in DeSantos’s direction.

The man was part of Rudenko’s network, which automatically made him a threat; and DeSantos’s mission was to terminate, not interrogate. Too far away to use the knife effectively, he instantly drew the SIG.

As he cleared his waistband, the man turned and ran down the steps, yelling. DeSantos was not sure what he was saying, but it didn’t matter. DeSantos drew down and squeezed off a round. It struck the large wooden knob at the bottom of the staircase just as the man yanked open the front door.

VAIL HEARD VOICES, WHICH was not a good sign. She raised her handgun and moved back a few steps, facing the house.

A gunshot—and then the front door opened.

A man ran out and Vail yelled, “Freeze!”

The man turned, clearly startled at hearing a female voice—and DeSantos drilled him. Twice in the chest and once in the forehead: the lethally effective “failure drill” technique.

DeSantos did a quick assessment of his target, then grabbed both his arms and started pulling him back into the house.

“‘Freeze?’ Are you kidding me? That was not the plan.”

“I wanted to see if we could ask him some questions, see what he knew.”

“Nice idea,” DeSantos said as he dropped the man’s arms and then kicked the front door closed with his foot. “But those weren’t our orders.”

“I was never any good at that part of the job.”

DeSantos turned the guy over and froze. He pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight. “Shit. This is not good.”

“What’s wrong?”

His hands moved quickly, patting down his target’s pockets and finding nothing.

“He’s in sweats,” Vail said. “No socks. Doesn’t look like he was on the run.”

“We’ve gotta search the place.” He stole a look at his watch. “Three minutes, max. Go!”

DeSantos took the upstairs, Vail the ground floor. She found a name and address on a utility bill by the telephone. The name meant nothing to her. She continued through the rooms and found a family photo album on the coffee table—the man DeSantos had shot was pictured with a woman and two children. Judging by the woman’s hairstyle, Vail estimated the photo at perhaps fifteen years old. The kids were now likely grown and out of the house. But this guy was a terrorist, preparing to let loose a chemical weapons attack on London in concert with one of the most notorious gun dealers and money launderers in history.

Not unheard of—an example from this very region, Northern Ireland, was proof enough that revolutionaries could have wives and children and look like perfectly harmless family men. Hell, many notorious serial killers could make the same claim.

Still, she could not shake the sense that this did not add up.

Vail turned a few more pages of the album and froze when she hit the glossy 5 x 7—the last one in the book. Her heart skipped a beat, and she felt the uneven rhythm in her chest.

Whatever Hector had seen when he looked at the man’s face, she was now having her own “oh shit” moment.

DeSantos came bounding down the stairs. “We’ve gotta get out of here. Now.”

“But—”

“Now, out the back!”

Vail grabbed the 5 x 7 print from the album and shoved it into her pocket, seconds behind DeSantos.

They made it to their car and DeSantos sped away as quickly as possible without spinning his wheels and calling even more attention to themselves.

In the distance, sirens.

When they had navigated a safe distance from the house, Vail cleared her throat. A feeling of dread enveloped her, and a sense of claustrophobia gripped her throat as if she had been in a tight elevator stuck between floors with fifteen other passengers crammed in front of her.

She rolled down the window and the cold late-night air blew in her face. As the panic waned, she rolled it up and looked at DeSantos. His jaw was set and his eyes were wide.

Vail could not help but think that this was definitely not the way she had seen her evening going. Actually, she hadn’t thought much about how things were going to unfold. Maybe if she had, if she hadn’t been kept in the dark and if she’d had a full mission briefing, she could’ve prevented them from doing whatever it was that they had just done.

After they had driven several miles, DeSantos pulled over to the curb. He rooted the Nokia out of his pocket and pried off the back.

“Remove the battery from your BlackBerry.”

While Vail did as instructed, she said, “What happened back there?”

“Best guess?”

“You don’t know?”

“I’ll tell you what I know: we fucked up. Big time. We’re in real trouble. We just—Do you know who we just killed?”

“I’ve got a name, but I have no idea who—”

“Basil Walpole is an up-and-coming member of Parliament, a very prominent politician, someone widely expected to be prime minister in the near future. That is, before we broke into his house and murdered him.”

Vail’s mouth was desert dry. She managed to scrape, “What?” from her throat, followed by, “How?”

“I don’t know, I have to—I have to think this through.” He rested his forehead on the steering wheel. “Walpole was pushing legislation for the UK to have one fiscal policy and one foreign policy—essentially, they’d become the United States of Europe. That obviously runs counter to the BHP and their more radical right-wing friends.”

“So we just assassinated a prominent politician? We did the dirty work of a rival political party?”

“Right now that’s the best explanation I’ve got.”

Vail pulled the photo from her pocket and looked at it in the stray light streaming in from the headlights of a car passing from behind them. It was a shot of Walpole shaking hands with former US President Jonathan Whitehall—in the Oval Office.

DeSantos sat back in the seat. “He was also spearheading efforts, with the US, to pass legislation to make money laundering a whole lot more difficult.”

“Which would be bad news for despots in the Middle East and Africa, Russian organized crime, Iran, Hezbollah. The list of those who’d want him out of the way is ridiculously long.”
Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse
.

“Our friend Hussein Rudenko is on that list.”

She shoved the picture back in her pocket. “We need to clear our heads, look at this logically. Not what’s possible but what’s feasible—what’s most likely. Agreed?”

“Works for me.”

“The kill order came from Aden Buck. He used the CLAIR device; it was a secure message. Let’s start by explaining that.”

DeSantos checked his watch. It had been twenty-four minutes since he received the text from Buck. He removed the CLAIR from his pocket and reviewed the messages. “Everything’s right.” He powered down the handset and removed the battery, as they had done with their phones. “We can’t take a chance they’ll be able to use it to find us. I have no idea how it works. For all I know, it could be outfitted with a microphone.”

“That’s being a little paranoid.”

“Is it?” DeSantos asked. “I used to have that healthy dose of paranoia. Somewhere along the way I lost it. I’ve lost my edge.” He slammed his hand on the steering wheel.

They were both alone with their thoughts for a long minute.

“No matter how I look at it,” he said, “there’s no way out of this. We’re black, no one will step forward and acknowledge what we’re doing, or why. And we can’t come forward and explain it because if Rudenko thinks we’ve keyed in on his plans, he’ll hit the wind.”