The American (11 page)

Naomi followed his gaze to the white skirt riding high on her thighs. She tugged it down self-consciously as Ryan choked back laughter.

“Then we'd better stop so I can change,” she said, struggling to keep the anger out of her voice.

North pulled the Suburban into a gas station. Naomi jumped out and opened her suitcase at the rear of the vehicle, pulling out several items before storming off toward the ladies' room.

“Don't worry about it,” Ryan said as they both laughed. “She doesn't like me either.”

“Pretty cute, though,” North said. Kealey was surprised; Kharmai didn't seem like the bigger man's type. “British?”

Ryan shot him a look. “That obvious, huh?”

“Well, you know.” North looked embarrassed. “I don't deal with that a lot. Uh, why isn't she working with…What do you call them? You know, the guys on her side of the water…?”

“MI-6, you mean? I don't know. It's their loss, I suppose.” It was a good question, one that he hadn't thought to ask her, but Ryan wanted to get back on track. “Anyway, tell me about this place. What kind of layout are we looking at here?”

North quickly turned back to business as he hunted for a piece of paper and a pencil. He drew a diagram on the center console as he spoke. “Okay, it's pretty straightforward. There's only one front entrance, but the interior is surprisingly large. As soon as you go in you have a seating area on the right, four pool tables on the left. Past that is the bar, facing the door. I know for a fact that the owner keeps a sawed-off shotgun under the counter, double-barreled.” Ryan didn't like that piece of information, and the DEA agent registered his concern. “I know, I know. I'll watch that. There's no need for you to announce yourself. I'll go in loud and let them know who I am. Since they've seen me before, they'll be less likely to come up firing.”

“What are you carrying?”

North pulled a long case out from behind his seat and opened it halfway.

“Jesus, what the hell is that thing?”

“It's an M4 Super 90. Benelli only makes them available to law enforcement. Pretty imposing, huh? The telescopic stock helps to compensate for the size, and it fires on semiautomatic. The drawback is that it only holds five rounds, but I'm loading slugs. If I have to pull the trigger, nobody's going to lift a finger afterward. I tried to get my boss to spring for a custom version chambered for seven, but the number crunchers over at Justice didn't like the cost.”

“I think what you have will do the job. Naomi needs something. Do you have a backup piece?”

North looked concerned. “Yeah, but that's it. Without it, you can only count on me for five rounds.”

“Believe me,” Ryan replied, “if you need more than that, we're already in trouble.”

Naomi emerged from the restroom, the anger gone from her face. Kealey was relieved; she was going to need her mind clear in a few minutes. She had changed into a tight T-shirt and a pair of low-slung jeans. The new outfit was more practical, but did nothing less to show off her admirable figure. As she got back into the truck, North went on with his explanation.

“So that's the only front entrance. You see what I'm talking about, Kharmai? Okay, good. Now, the bathroom is over here adjacent to the bar, so you can keep an eye on both at the same time. The door to the stockroom is shielded from view, but you should have time to react if anyone comes out. There are no windows in the bathroom, so you don't have to worry about our guy getting out that way.

“Here's what I'm thinking: I'll go in first unarmed to make sure that Elgin is there. If he is, and he should be, then I'll come out to collect my weapon. Naomi, I already explained to Ryan that I'm going in loud. You don't need to say anything. You head to the front and keep an eye on this blind spot.” He pointed to the diagram and she nodded her head in understanding. The DEA agent turned to Ryan. “You want to get him out of there quick. Like I said, this is not a friendly place. I've spent a lot of time in there recently, and even I can't always tell who's carrying. You should make it clear that we are only there for Elgin. Otherwise you'll get some asshole with a warrant out in Idaho pulling down on you from behind.” He searched their faces. “Are you sure you want to go ahead with this?”

“Definitely. The longer we wait, the greater the chance that he catches on and we lose him. It's now or never,” was Kealey's decisive response. Naomi looked a little less eager.

North grinned. “My kind of man. Let's go.”

He put the heavy truck into gear and they drove on down to the docks. North dug out his backup piece and handed it to Ryan, who in turn checked the chamber and passed it to Naomi, butt first.

“This is a Glock 29. You have nine rounds plus one in the chamber, okay? It doesn't have an external safety. All you have to do is squeeze the trigger.” Turning to North: “That's your backup?” He made a show of looking around the interior of the truck. “This thing is like a mobile armory. Where do you keep the grenade launchers?”

That earned him a brief laugh. It was Ryan's way, and had been ever since he was a young platoon leader, to try to ease the tension before heading into harm's way. A certain amount of stress and fear was useful, because it kept you sharp. Too much, though, could cause even the most experienced people to freeze up at the worst possible time. Looking back, he could see the tension in Naomi's face, and hoped that she would keep it together long enough to do what was needed.

“That's it,” North remarked. They were rolling slowly past a low, cinder block building. The exterior hadn't seen new paint in many years, the white coating cracked and missing entirely in some sections. Blocklike letters in black paint spelled out
THE WATERFRONT
across the uppermost part of the building's face. The windows were streaked with dirt and covered with rusting steel mesh.

There were only three other cars in the litter-strewn parking lot as North pulled in on the second pass.

“Do me a favor, Kealey. Pull out that shotgun while I check it out. I'll be back in a sec.” North hopped out and ambled toward the entrance. Ryan reached behind the seat and pulled out the soft case. Keeping it below the passenger window, he opened it and withdrew the Benelli. It was 3
¹
/2 feet in length, the barrel alone accounting for almost 19 inches. Looking back, he noticed that Naomi's eyes were wide at the sight of the weapon.

“Don't worry,” he said as he checked the breech to verify that it was fully loaded. He turned awkwardly in his seat to face her, but her eyes were darting away. “Naomi, look at me.”

She finally met his gaze. When she reached up to brush her hair back from her face, Kealey saw that her hand was shaking. “You're going to be fine,” he said. “I need you to be focused in there. Just watch the bathroom door and my back, don't worry about Elgin. I know what I'm doing, okay? You have to trust me.”

“Hey,” she said, her eyes suddenly flaring. “I'm not scared, Ryan, and I don't need your help. I can bloody well take care of myself.”

Kealey lifted an eyebrow, but didn't say anything in response.

North came out of the bar moving slowly at first, then faster as he approached the vehicle. Ryan pushed the door open.

“We're good to go. He's sitting at the bar, blue jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt. You've seen a picture?” They both nodded in the affirmative. “Okay, let's move.”

Kealey handed him the Benelli, and North checked the breech instinctively. That small gesture gave Ryan added confidence in the ability of the young DEA agent as they moved quickly forward, Ryan's Beretta low by his side as he trailed behind the bigger man.

They were inside.

North moved to the left as soon as he cleared the doorway to make room for the two CIA officers following a half step behind. His shotgun was up, traversing the room and he was shouting: “DEA! Get on the ground! I said, GET ON THE GROUND!”

Most of the people in the room froze at the sight of the big agent and the semiautomatic shotgun that he held. Then they were falling to the floor as Ryan came up low between the tables. The bartender's hands dropped under the counter as he watched the approaching agents.

“Don't do it!”
Ryan shouted. “This is not about you! Get your hands in the open!”

He could see the hesitation in the old man's grizzled face as he reached the bar. Naomi was facing away from Elgin as she approached, her attention entirely focused on the bathroom…And then Elgin was up and moving fast, but Ryan couldn't take his aim away from the bartender. Elgin with a knife out, turning Naomi around and the knife tight against her throat, her body between the two men.

Elgin whispering into her ear, the eyes cold and empty.

Naomi, the Glock loose by her side, her eyes wide and locked onto Ryan's.

No time to decide as the bartender brought the 12 gauge up and Ryan dropped to the ground, the Beretta swinging left across his body as he fired. The bullet plowed a shallow furrow across Naomi's thigh before it ripped into Elgin's left kneecap. Over his head, the shotguns booming in unison, glass shattering into thousands of pieces behind the bar. Elgin screamed in agony as the knife moved away from Naomi's throat and she turned, dragging him down by the hair, the muzzle of the Glock pressed against his head.

Then they were both on the ground, Naomi turning him so he lay facedown as she straddled him from behind and kept the pistol jammed into the base of his neck. The bar erupted as the small group of people rushed for the front door. Ryan stood up to look over the counter and could see the bartender on the ground, a half-inch hole in his chest, the body surrounded by thousands of shards of bloody glass. Turning, he was relieved to see that North wasn't hit, the shotgun dangling in his right hand as he walked up.

“He got a round off?”

“Into the counter, I think. He didn't get it up all the way,” North replied. Ryan turned his attention to Naomi. The pistol hadn't moved from Elgin's head. Her eyes were glazed over, her face pale.

“Naomi, it's over,” he said in a soft voice as he gently pulled the pistol from her outstretched hand. Her leg was bleeding badly, but she didn't seem to notice the pain.

“Get some pressure on that, North. I think she's in shock. I need to talk to this bastard.” Ryan grabbed Elgin's shirt collar and dragged the injured man toward the stockroom, ignoring the screams of pain as he pulled him over the floor littered with broken glass.

The rear of the building was a large, dark room stacked floor to ceiling with crates. Ryan propped Elgin up against the cool stone wall next to the door and searched him quickly but thoroughly. Satisfied that he had no other weapons, Ryan moved back into the bar and picked up the man's knife.

“What the hell are you doing?” North demanded. He had located a first aid kit and was working on Naomi's leg.

North's eyes moved up from the weapon in the other man's hand to Ryan's face. The young DEA agent, several inches taller and 90 pounds heavier, abruptly shut his mouth and looked away. Ryan walked back toward the stockroom, his knuckles white around the rubber grip of the knife.

Thomas Elgin was leaning against the wall just as Ryan had left him, his breath coming in short, fast spurts. He looked up as Kealey entered the room, eyes defiant as he clutched his ruined leg.

“
Fuck
you want, asshole?” he snarled.

Without saying a word, Ryan crouched and pushed the first inch-and-a-half of the knife into Elgin's chest. He was rewarded by a shriek of agony as he twisted the handle to make the wound more difficult to close and to encourage blood flow. Ryan was well aware that he didn't have a lot of time, and guessed that Elgin would be more motivated to talk if the hole in his chest was leaking at a steady rate.

In a low, menacing voice, he said, “I need some fast answers from you.”

“
What do you want, you sick fuck!
” Elgin screamed, twisting his body, desperately trying to get away from the knife. Kealey obliged and pulled it out of his chest. The injured man's words didn't seem to have any effect on him, though. This time, the serrated edge scraped across the protruding bone of Elgin's mangled kneecap.

 

In the other room, Special Agent Adam North of the DEA shuddered as another unearthly scream echoed throughout the building. The howl of pain almost managed to drown out the sound of the approaching sirens as North finished applying the improvised pressure bandage to Kharmai's thigh. She was starting to come around now, a spark visible in her large green eyes as her mouth moved in an attempt to speak.

“Take it easy,” he said. “You're okay now. You did a great job.” It was a sincere compliment. For an intelligence analyst to be thrown into this kind of situation and react the way she did was an amazing thing. The sirens grew louder and the door burst open, paramedics swarming into the building. They were followed closely by officers from the Norfolk and Portsmouth police departments and a number of Virginia state troopers. As soon as they came through the front door, Ryan emerged from the stockroom, his face an impassive mask.