The Kill Order (29 page)
“The other half of the code,” Griffin said, surprising Sydney that he’d come right out and admit it. “We’re trying to get it before Parker does. Rico said it was in the safe.”
“And what are you planning to do with it?”
“Use it against Parker.”
For the first time she smiled. It wasn’t a nice one, either, but she did lower the gun at the same time. “I’d pay good money to see that. You got a pen?”
“Pen?” Griffin asked.
“You want the damned code, don’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She stared at him for a moment, then to Sydney. “Not too bright, this one. The desk, numbskull. Top drawer.”
Griffin found a pen, then grabbed one of the envelopes, having to scribble circles to get the ink to work. When she finished reciting the numbers, she asked him to turn the envelope so she could see it. She nodded. “Ten little numbers . . . Hard to imagine they could be worth so much. So what do you need to do? Call them in somewhere?”
Washington, D.C.
L
isette stood at the window and kept an eye on the parking lot and the road beyond, the darkness occasionally broken by a vehicle’s headlamps as it drove past. Donovan was watching the monitors, while Izzy was working the code Sydney had called in to him. On the one hand, Lisette thought, at least they had now confirmed that Piper did not know the whole code, which was one reason they kept her from the computers, not letting her see anything that was visible. Maybe that would be a bargaining point with the military, assuming they could escape Parker’s men as well.
Piper walked over to the window to stand next to Lisette, and in a low voice, asked, “What if he doesn’t get it up and running in time?”
“He will.” But Lisette glanced back, saw tenseness around Marc’s eyes, and knew he was worried. “And if he doesn’t, we’ll just move again.”
Piper sighed. Then, after a moment, she asked, “You think any of this would have happened if I’d gotten into witness protection? I mean, if I hadn’t run off to Venice and you got me to the right people?”
“Perhaps,” Lisette said, trying to instill some peace into the girl. “Then again, maybe you saved your life by doing that very thing.”
“This is beautiful,” Izzy said. “Like a candy store, with something everywhere you turn and you don’t know what to buy.”
Marc said, “Buy me anything with Parker Kane’s name on it.”
“You’re assuming what you want has his name on it. He was CIA. Don’t you think he’d be smart enough to make sure that isn’t an issue?”
“Let’s just say I’m hoping he made a mistake.”
“Kid’s got a point,” Donovan said. “Look for anything related to Brooks or Trenton Stiles from W2 or that can connect Kane to them.”
Izzy was opening and closing files so fast that they couldn’t keep up with what he was doing. After a moment, he said, “You guys realize you’re asking me to do the impossible? Twenty years of investigation in what? A couple hours?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Donovan said. “Just find us something we can use.”
Izzy glanced at the other monitor. “Not going to do us any good if they find us before I find—well, whatever it is I’m trying to find. It’d be nice if I had a hint.”
“Same here,” Donovan replied. “Something that looks like proof ought to do it.”
“
That
narrows it down,” Izzy said.
Several minutes later, Lisette noticed Marc pacing the room. “You should sit. It’s bad enough we have one person who can’t keep still,” she said, nodding toward Izzy.
“How can I when it’s taking so long?”
“Sorry,” Izzy said. “I have to keep moving our location, while they’re probing the Internet. Last thing we want is for them to come knocking on our door.” Izzy pulled the other computer keyboard toward him, bringing up a different screen. “This,” he said, pointing to the monitor and a map, “is where we are.
This
is where they see us. The problem is they’re moving. Hate to say it. They found us.”
“How long do we have?”
“Driving time from there to here.” He went back to the computer, read something on the monitor. “
Yes
. You want proof? How’s this?”
He kept them in suspense while he typed, then stopped, turned in his chair and faced them. “Guess who chartered a jet to California, landing at a private airport a few hours before Bo Brewer was murdered? That is Parker Kane’s name on that manifest. The location was listed elsewhere, but once they got in the air, bingo . . .”
Donovan leaned over to see the monitor. “Do you show when it returned?”
Izzy brought up a different screen. “Next morning. But I’ll do you one better. Bring up the video surveillance at the airport parking lot . . . and voilà!” He typed something else, leaned back so they could see. “His car. Bingo! That’s the beauty of this thing . . . If it travels through the Internet, we can find it.”
“It’s still not proof,” Donovan said. “Find me the connection between Parker Kane and W2.”
“What was the W2 name again?”
“Trenton Stiles.”
“Easy enough . . . We put in Kane’s name, search for phone records that match up to Stiles or Wingman’s . . . Nothing’s coming up for any number associated with W2.”
Lisette thought about that. “As you said, a man like Parker Kane is
not
going to let any numbers he’s using be connected to W2.”
“He wouldn’t,” Izzy said. “But . . .” He typed, waited a second, then said, “Maybe Mr. Stiles is not as careful. Maybe he’s thinking that the Parker Kane’s phone is a throwaway, and can’t be traced to either of them.”
“Which helps us how?”
“I look up the calls to Stiles’s phone the few days before . . . and the few days after . . . Looking for patterns, any repeat numbers, and, more importantly, any that show calls made both here and in South San Francisco . . .”
A list of numbers popped up on the screen. He filtered out those that didn’t match his criteria, then ended up with one. “Here you go. Your smoking gun.”
“Not quite,” Donovan said. “We still need to know who is on the other end of that phone.”
“Right. I knew that . . . Now we just need to turn it into a microphone. We catch Kane using it, and hopefully in the midst of some very incriminating conversations . . .”
“You know how to do that?” Lisette asked.
“Are you kidding me? Ever since I heard the freaking FBI use this technique all the time to spy on the Mafia, it was like— It’s not hard, if you know what you’re doing.”
“How much time do you need?” Donovan asked, his attention back to the other monitor.
Izzy looked at it. “Yeah . . . We’re going to need a
serious
distraction. I’m going to need more than ten minutes. They are so on their way here . . .”
“Me,” Piper said.
“No.” Lisette shook her head. “Absolutely not.”
“I’m the one they want. So why not? I run out there, they chase after me, and Izzy can keep doing what he needs to do.”
Lisette turned to Marc, hoping for a little support. But what he said was “Actually, I think we can make it work.”
Piper smiled.
Lisette narrowed her gaze. “Are you insane? This is way too dangerous.”
“Hear me out,
cara mia
. This may be the perfect plan. For one, they aren’t about to harm the girl they believe is their most valuable asset on the face of the planet right now.”
“And what about the military? Where are they?”
Izzy brought them up. “About two minutes behind Parker’s guys.”
“See?” Lisette said. “Because if I’m not mistaken,
they
consider her the most dangerous
threat
on the planet right now. Or are you forgetting the other group that was searching for us at the airport in Rome?”
“We’ll cross that bridge—”
“When they start firing?”
“Not to worry. I have a plan.”
“I already don’t like it.”
“When you hear it, I’m sure you won’t. But it is the only way I see of buying us time.”
She looked out the window, saw the cars pulling in, the headlamps bouncing off the parked vehicles. “Well, whatever it is, we need to do it now. They’re here. So what is the plan?”
“Since we know Parker Kane is not going to shoot Piper, we send her out as a decoy.”
Pocito, Arizona
G
riffin and Sydney were with Rico’s wife, Charlene, in her trailer, when Griffin happened to look out the window and see the headlights at the top of the hill coming down the main road. Not one, but two vehicles. “We have less time than we thought.”
Charlene looked that direction. “I’d say five minutes. Curvy road. Gotta take it slow.”
Crack!
Griffin drew his gun, ran to the door. Sydney tossed the files she’d found onto the table, drew her gun, and joined him. They heard another shot.
“Status?” Griffin commanded.
“Okay, but trapped.” It was Tex. “On the chicken coop. Weapon down.”
“Carillo?” he radioed.
“Fine,” Carillo said. “Up on the hill. Can’t get to Tex, and can’t get to our vehicle without breaking cover. Got a shooter on the west side of the house. Can’t tell if it’s the wife beater or Quindlen.”
“We’re on our way,” Griffin said.
But as he and Sydney started out the door, Charlene put her hand on Griffin’s arm. “Don’t underestimate them. They’re both dangerous.”
He nodded, then slid out the back door, Sydney right behind him.
They edged around the west side of the trailer. And just as Carillo had said, the gunman was across the road, on the front porch of the house. It was too dark to see if it was Lee or Quindlen. Whoever it was, he was leaning out, aiming his weapon toward the goat pen—whether at Tex or Carillo, he didn’t know.
Griffin fired two rounds, and the man jumped back, then ran into the house. Every light was off, the windows pitch black. The full moon, high over the south side of the house, cast shadows across the ground, which might offer some concealment if Griffin could get across the road. What he couldn’t see was the second gunman, and he wondered if the man knew Tex was unarmed, and intended to press the advantage. “If I can cross over, I can get into that bunkhouse doorway. Have a chance of saving Tex.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Cover me. Fire a couple shots to make sure the gunman in the house doesn’t come out. And then I want you and Carillo to get to the car.”
“We’re not leaving you.”
“If something happens, you get that file to McNiel. If nothing else, it’ll clear you and Carillo, and the rest of the ATLAS crew.”
She nodded, then maintained her position at that corner of the trailer. Griffin worked his way back to the other side, knowing she wasn’t happy, but there was little he could do about it. He didn’t know this other man, but he knew Quindlen and what sort of training he had, what he would do or have his partner do. Head to the east side to take Tex out, because that direction would shield him from Carillo up on the hill.
When Griffin reached the front of the trailer, he radioed, “Now.”
Sydney fired a volley of shots.
Griffin ran. He made it to the front of the bunkhouse across the road. Now all he had to do was work his way toward Tex. That wouldn’t be easy, since he didn’t know where the second gunman was. He soon found out when he saw the man’s moonlit shadow on the ground, elongated, making him look like a ten-foot Frankenstein, not an ordinary human.
But it also told him that this was Lee, not Quindlen. Quindlen would have been cognizant of his shadow telegraphing his position. This man might be dangerous, but not in the same way, and the last thing Griffin wanted to do was announce to Quindlen exactly where he was. He needed the element of surprise. Take out this man without Quindlen knowing. In other words, no gunfire.
He pressed himself into the siding of the bunkhouse, feeling the rough wood against his back, then heard the slow, deliberate steps of someone attempting to mask the sound, but not being successful. Griffin hoped that meant the guy had enough alcohol and pot in his system to slow his reaction times. He could use a break.
The shadow man stopped. Whether because he sensed Griffin’s presence, Griffin didn’t know. But soon it was creeping forward again, like a specter on the ground, gliding over every rock, every pebble, and Griffin watched as a shadow knife appeared on the ground, swordlike. It swung toward Griffin. But Griffin waited until Lee cleared the building before he jumped out, threw his arm up to block the thrust of the knife.
Lee was quick on his feet. He slashed his knife at Griffin, the blade glinting in the moonlight. Griffin blocked the blow with the gun barrel, metal hitting metal. The knife went flying, skittered across the coarse ground.
If this guy was good at anything, it was hand-to-hand combat. Lee got a couple of decent blows in and one kick. But the alcohol had dulled his senses, and Griffin managed to sidestep the next blow. Lee stumbled forward. Griffin grabbed him by the shoulder, hit him across the face with the gun butt, then slammed his head into the ground.
He wasn’t dead, but he wasn’t moving, either.
Close enough, Griffin thought, then stopped short as the woman came running out of the house, toward them. She dropped to the ground. “Lee. Oh my God! What’d you do to him?”
The next thing he knew, she was drawing a gun on
him
.
And then Charlene came out of her trailer across the way. “Jesus, Hilary. The guy’s a piece of shit. Had this man killed him, he woulda done you a favor. Now put the gun down.”
“But—”
“
Put
the gun down. We got bigger problems.” Then to Griffin, she said, “Yut is on the other side. Got your friend at gunpoint.”
Griffin ran between the buildings. Sure enough, Quindlen was standing there with a gun pointed toward the chicken coop, where Griffin could just make out the top of Tex’s head. Quindlen must have been hoping Tex would make a break for it.
“What are you waiting for?” Griffin called out, his gun pointed at Quindlen.
“For my boys to come down the hill. Should be here any second.”
“Tell you what. You lower your gun, and I’ll let you live.”
“You kill me,” Quindlen said, “and you’ll never survive what Brooks brings down on you.”
“Brooks or Parker Kane?”
“They’re one and the same,” Quindlen said.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Same reason as Parker. For the good of the nation. The thing is, I’m willing to die for my country. Are you?” he asked, aiming at Griffin.
Griffin fired. “Not today,” he said as Quindlen dropped to the ground.
A few goats brayed. Then came the sound of car tires rolling across the graveled road as Parker Kane’s men arrived on the scene.
