The 13th Target (23 page)
***
Over Amanda’s shoulder, Mullins saw a Crown Vic brake to a stop on the grass near the far end of Henry Bacon Drive. Sidney Levine sprang from the passenger seat. Then Detective Sullivan started driving toward them. “Stay back,” Mullins said.
As Sullivan’s car stopped, Asu stepped forward. “No. I’ll see for myself.” He reached under Mullins’ chin and ripped the collar open. Two metal stays fell out. A thin wire stretched between them.
***
Sidney darted between the bumpers as he squeezed across the four lanes of Henry Bacon Drive. He headed toward the north side of the Vietnam Memorial, nearest the Federal Reserve. If only he could intercept Radcliffe first and then take care of the bomb. He jumped over the permanent chain and stanchion barrier beside a sign reading, “Honor Those Who Served. Please Stay On Sidewalk.” Ahead of him in the distance rose the Washington Monument. He angled across the grass to where the Wall rose to ground level. He jumped three feet down to the memorial’s walkway, startling those searching for names engraved on the tapered end. A man cursed his disrespect, but Sidney hurried on. He saw flowers strewn along the downward sloping base and veterans stooping as they sought to touch the names of fallen warriors. Toward the center where the two black granite wings met at their deepest point, he saw the back of a tall man walking slowing along the litany of the dead, holding the hand of a small girl beside him. The man and girl stopped. Other men Sidney took for protective guards backed away, offering a small degree of privacy in the very public place. No one else at the Wall paid the man and girl any attention. They were lost in their own memories.
Then Jamila stepped from behind her mother, her thin arms extended as she walked forward, shyly holding the package in front of her.
***
Mullins stepped back against the car. “In case you can’t see, Amanda, it’s a microphone, battery, and transmitter. Prime Protection’s first class when it comes to electronics. You’ll remember I mentioned each road as we doubled back here.”
Asu stared at the collar stays, eyes wide as he replayed their conversation in his mind.
“Give me the detonator, Asu. There’s no money for you. You can bet as soon as you detonate that bomb from the van, Amanda shoots you, and then me. She bags the Syrian terrorist and the mastermind. And she’ll be so upset that she arrived a split-second too late to avert the tragedy.”
***
Helena let go of her grandfather’s hand, her eyes on the present. It was her birthday. Was this a surprise party? Her grandfather said he was showing her a very special place. Without hesitation, she stepped toward the younger girl.
***
Chuchi saw the man running down the walkway toward them. He was coming too soon. Asu said Fares Khoury would make his appearance when the granddaughter of the man who helped him received the present from Jamila. Chuchi was supposed to text the cue. But this wasn’t Zaina’s husband. He wasn’t Lebanese. Instinctively, Chuchi stepped in front of Zaina, protecting her as Jamila handed the package to the other girl.
***
Sidney ran past one of the security detail who hesitated, unsure what to do. As Helena reached for her gift, Sidney snatched it from the hands of both girls. “Bomb,” he gasped, and then struggled to refill his lungs. He ran up the second wing without changing direction, ran as fast as he could, desperately looking for any place clear of people.
***
“Bomb.” Chuchi heard the word and knew the truth. He reached for Jamila, yanking her backwards.
“Get down,” he yelled, and forced Jamila and Zaina to the ground. He spread his body over them. Just before he closed his eyes, he saw other men shove the man and his granddaughter down beside them.
***
Time slowed for Mullins. While Asu stared down at the wired collar stays, Mullins saw Sidney run from behind the Wall, the package in both hands. He saw Sullivan jump out of the Crown Vic and yell something that was swallowed up by the sound of brass and drums rolling across the Mall. From the corner of his eye, Mullins saw the giant head of Uncle Sam, a parade balloon floating above the trees. He watched Sidney turn toward Sullivan and run for a spot where the detective pointed. Sullivan continued yelling, and people in the vicinity scattered for safety.
“You stupid bitch!” Asu’s scream jerked Mullins back to the fury of the man in front of him.
Asu pulled his pistol from his pocket.
Amanda brought her gun up and fired. The bullet struck Asu in the left side of his chest, spinning him around as he was knocked backwards. He landed facedown, his left hand trapped under his body.
***
Sidney stumbled off the curb and crouched by the storm drain. He shoved the package into the hole in the curb. Then he jumped up and turned toward Mullins.
***
The ground shook. A fireball blew upward and manhole covers along the road flew into the air like giant Frisbees. The concussion from the explosion hit with the force of a sledgehammer. Mullins and Amanda fell to the ground. Amanda twisted around to see what might be hurtling toward them.
Mullins grabbed his pistol from Asu’s waistband.
Amanda turned back to him.
Mullins shot her through the forehead.
Mullins rolled Asu’s body over. Not trusting the open eyes, he felt the Syrian’s carotid artery for a pulse. No trace of a heartbeat. The breeze blew a cloud of concrete dust from the explosion and created a mini sandstorm in the heart of Washington. Mullins squinted against the grit and crawled to Amanda. The lack of blood flowing from the head wound told him death had been instantaneous.
He left the gun in her hand and searched her pockets. All he found was her cellphone. It was all he wanted.
He staggered through the blinding cloud, dodging chunks of pavement and cement spewed along the ground. Halfway to the epicenter of the blast, he discovered Sidney Levine’s body. The explosion had hurled him at least fifty feet. The back of the reporter’s head had been crushed, probably by a piece of flying concrete. Mullins knelt beside him. There was nothing to be done. “You did more than something to make it right, Sidney. A hell of a lot more.”
Mullins found Detective Sullivan sitting on the road beside the Crown Vic. The car’s front windshield had been blown out. Miraculously, the stoplight had changed at the intersection of Henry Bacon Drive and Constitution, allowing the jammed street to clear only seconds before the explosion. The detective struggled to get up, and Mullins suspected he’d been momentarily stunned by the blast.
Mullins helped Sullivan to his feet. Blood flowed through his thin gray hair and from his right cheek and forehead. The wounds appeared to be superficial cuts from the debris.
“Richmond,” Mullins yelled, his ears still ringing from the blast.
Sullivan took a deep breath and then choked on the dust. “I radioed as soon as I heard,” he managed to say. “Sidney?”
Mullins shook his head. “No. He was too close. But he saved a lot of lives.”
Sullivan coughed again and grabbed the open car door for support. “We heard everything up until they found the wire.”
“Was it recorded?”
“Yes.” Sullivan looked back at the front passenger seat where a Zoom H4 recorder sat covered with shards of safety glass. “Sidney bolted for the package as soon as we arrived. I couldn’t stop him. He was a man possessed. An unlikely hero, but a hero all the same.”
“We’ll see he gets the credit he deserves. Now listen, is your head clear enough to follow instructions?”
“Yeah. I’m okay.”
Mullins pushed past Sullivan, reached across the steering wheel, and picked up the recorder. In the distance, the sounds of wailing sirens grew louder.
“I’m going to take this. The situation’s still dangerous and I need to make copies as soon as I can.”
“Okay.”
“You got a pen and paper?”
Sullivan fumbled in his suit coat pocket. “Yes.”
“Give them to me.”
Sullivan handed Mullins a notepad and ballpoint.
Mullins started writing. “This number is for my daughter’s cell phone. I believe they’ve routed it to a phone on Chuchi. He probably escaped and is now one of a hundred thousand on the Mall. But the techs should be able to use the signal to locate him.”
“Okay.”
“I want you to tell the authorities, whether it’s FBI or Radcliffe’s security detail that you need to speak to Rudy Hauser, Deputy Director of the Secret Service, and you’ll talk to no one else. Tell them you, Sidney, and I uncovered a plot against the Chairman and the Federal Reserve that we only disrupted at the last moment. It involved a rogue Federal Reserve employee, Amanda Church, and a terrorist network. Amanda shot her partner, and then I killed her in self-defense. The scene matches those facts. That story should get you to Rudy Hauser immediately, but don’t tell him about the recording.”
“What do I say about you?”
“Tell them I’m pursuing Chuchi.”
“What are you really doing?”
“Cleaning up. And I don’t want to be inconvenienced by things like the law.” He pointed across the devastated street to the blue Honda minivan. “Stand guard over Amanda and Asu’s bodies. I’m sure Radcliffe’s protection detail is holding Khoury’s wife and daughter. I’ll be back in touch.”
Mullins ran to the white Taurus. The Honda had shielded it from the worst of the explosion. Mullins saw blue and red lights flashing as emergency and police vehicles raced toward him. He found the keys in the ignition. The engine roared to life. He backed up, swung the car in a tight circle, and headed toward the Lincoln Memorial. To his right, he saw a black SUV cut across the grass toward the Rock Creek and Potomac Parkway, the opposite direction from every other government and emergency vehicle.
Mullins reached Memorial Bridge and sped across the Potomac to Arlington, leaving chaos and confusion in his wake.
Kayli Woodson saw the “Breaking News” banner flash on the screen of the television in the Courtyard Marriott’s lobby. She and Josh were returning to their room after lunch at Cafe Pizzaiolo in Crystal City a few blocks away. She stopped and lifted Josh, clutching him tightly as she stepped closer to hear the report.
A newsman stood in front of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Constitution Gardens. The polished black granite wall seemed dull and tinged with grime.
“First responders state a bomb exploded in a storm drain in Henry Bacon Drive just blocks from Constitution Avenue and the Independence Day parade.” The reporter practically shouted the words into his microphone, he was so excited. “The blast left one person dead and fifteen injured with multiple cuts and lacerations. Three of the fifteen are listed in serious condition. Fortunately, the area at the far edge of Constitution Gardens was relatively clear, with the majority of tourists concentrated along the parade route that ends more than five blocks away. However, I’ve learned that at the time of the explosion, Federal Reserve Chairman Hugh Radcliffe and his granddaughter were placing flowers at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial behind me. Early speculation suggests Chairman Radcliffe might have been the target, but the shelter of the Wall actually shielded him and others from the brunt of the blast.”
Radcliffe’s name and words “one dead” sent an icy chill to the pit of Kayli’s stomach. “God, no. Not Dad.” She stepped closer.
“It’s believed that the fatality was a citizen who raced away from the Wall carrying a wrapped package. Why he suspected the package isn’t known, but there’s no doubt many families owe this courageous man a debt of incalculable gratitude.”
Kayli felt hot tears on her cheeks.
“His name is being withheld pending notification of next of kin, but witnesses describe him as Caucasian, slightly overweight, and in his late thirties or early forties.”
Relief poured through Kayli’s body. She nearly collapsed as the tension that had been holding her erect dissipated.
“The unknown hero might have been accompanied by two other men, at least one of which is rumored to be in law enforcement. Whether local or federal is not clear, but he was seen talking to authorities and then driven away. There are also unconfirmed reports that a bomb was discovered in a van near the Federal Reserve Bank in Richmond, Virginia, and defused only moments before a timed detonation. As I stated earlier, two gunshot fatalities were also found at the scene, a man and a woman, and their deaths are considered a part of what appears to be a coordinated terrorist attack.”
Kayli’s fear rushed back tenfold. An unidentified man shot. She heard her father’s voice. “I’ve got two sidekicks, a detective hours away from retirement and a washed-up reporter.” The reporter had to be the bomb victim, the detective was the man driven away, and the man shot to death?
She struggled to breathe as she carried Josh to the elevator. She had to call her father. His orders didn’t matter now.
***
Mullins took I-395 South to his Shirlington exit. As anxious as he was to confirm that Kayli and Josh were safe, he dared not call if her number was routed to Chuchi. Instead he set the pre-paid on the seat beside him, ready to grab it on the first ring. Only Kayli and Sullivan had the number.
He parked the Taurus in the lot of his apartment building and sat for a few minutes, collecting his thoughts. The news on the radio was devoted exclusively to the Constitution Gardens explosion and Richmond bomb. Thankfully, only Sidney had died. It sounded like Sullivan successfully contacted federal authorities on the scene and had been taken into protective custody. Mullins knew the search would begin for him if he didn’t surface soon. He didn’t have much time.
The phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number.
“Yes,” he answered.
“Dad!” Kayli broke down, unable to control her sobs.
“I’m okay, dear. Are you all right?”
“Yes. I was so worried.”
“It’s almost over. Are you calling from a room phone?”
“Yes.”
“I want you to stay there till I call again.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t let anybody in.”
“I understand.”
“Kayli, did you speak to Sandy Beecham?”
“No. I thought about it, but you said no contact.”
“Good girl. Do you know what they were doing today?”
“Yeah. Having a picnic this afternoon with friends in Reston. Then they were coming into D.C. to the Federal Reserve to watch the fireworks.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Why?”
“Nothing, dear. Just trying to account for everyone who’s close to us.” He thought a moment. “The news of the explosion has probably gone international. Use the house phone to contact Allen and tell him we’re all right. And tell him to check his email several times over the next hour.”
“For what?”
“Just give him the message. I’ll explain later. I’ve got to go. Tell Josh I love him, and I love you.”
“Love you too, Dad. Please be careful.”
“Always.”
He got out of the Taurus and looked around the parking lot. There were plenty of spaces since many residents were gone for the holiday weekend. His Prius was probably still on Appleton at Amanda’s co-op. Part of the plan would have been to move it, probably back to his apartment so the authorities would assume he’d been dropped off at the Federal Reserve building by Asu. Amanda would have claimed to have seen him and become suspicious. She’d followed him to the Honda but been unable to stop the attack in time.
Mullins walked through the lot, double checking for his car. If it was already there, then Mullins knew additional conspirators were involved in D.C. because too many vehicles were being shuttled for just Asu and Chuchi to handle. The Prius was nowhere to be found.
Mullins took the back entrance to his building and climbed the stairs to the fourth floor. He stopped at his door and examined the deadbolt. Minute scratches were visible around the key slot. Someone had used picks not unlike his own to gain access to his apartment.
He found the gun under a cushion of the sofa. The blood-splattered manila envelope lay on a shelf in his bedroom closet and Khoury’s journal was buried beneath a ream of paper by his printer. Mullins donned a pair of gloves and put the three incriminating items in a paper bag.
The planted evidence would have worked. The blood on the envelope was no doubt that of Craig Archer. The gun would match a ballistics test with the bullet that killed him, and if Fares’ body was ever discovered, that bullet as well. Mullins didn’t know how they planned to get his prints on the gun, but that didn’t matter. If the gun was wiped clean, that would be suspicious, and Archer’s blood would cinch the case.
Mullins removed his gloves and took the Zoom H4 recorder to his computer. He connected the two with a USB cable and saw only one mp3 file on the recorder’s data card. Sidney hadn’t stopped the recorder once it started. In less than thirty seconds, he copied the audio onto his hard drive, disconnected the cable, and extracted the H4’s memory card. He compressed the mp3 file on his computer, uploaded it to the Dropbox account he shared with Kayli and Allen, and sent Allen an email with instructions. Then he sent the compressed file to his secure folder on Prime Protection’s FTP site. Finally, he transferred a duplicate copy onto a flash drive.
He took a quick shower and put on a clean suit. Mullins felt business should always be conducted in a professional manner.
