The Gatekeeper (28 page)

S
yd swallowed hard. The potassium iodide solution was repellant, but hopefully would alleviate any damage from the radiation. She’d also taken a frigid five-minute shower, then given them her clothes to destroy. She shivered in fresh scrubs. Her wounds had been cleaned and bandaged, then she was shunted aside as other, more critical cases arrived.

Syd made her way through the maze of tents. It was like every other field hospital she’d been in; this one was installed in a hospital parking lot to contain overflow and reduce the risk of contamination.

“Brings you back, don’t it?” a voice at her elbow said. She turned to find Fribush.

“Yeah, it does,” she said, knowing exactly what he meant. Could have been Mosul, could have been Tbilisi. A war zone was a war zone. “How’s Maltz?”

He nodded toward the door. “They took him inside.”

“Looks bad though, right?”

He shrugged. “Maltz has survived worse. I’m not counting him out.”

Refreshingly optimistic, Syd thought. Especially for a Delta guy. “I need to make a call.”

Without a word he handed her a phone. She dialed the number, feeling a little guilty for not calling sooner.

Jake answered on the third ring. “Riley here.”

“Jake, it’s me.”

Relief flooded his voice as he said, “Jesus, Syd, I thought you were dead. What the hell happened?”

“I’m fine. Maltz…we’re waiting to hear on Maltz.”

“Christ.” He laughed. “I honestly can’t believe you’re okay. Man, I thought…” His voice lowered a register as he said, “I was really worried.”

“Well, I’m fine,” she said, taken aback by the outpouring of emotion.

“There’s a lead on another bomb, so we’re on our way to Dallas. And Kelly sent a text, she and Leonard are in San Diego trying to stop a third.”

“Oh.” So they had the other sites covered. “But what about Burke?”

“No idea, they’re still keeping us in the dark.” His voice lowered as he said, “But George said it’s gotta be solid before they’ll arrest a senator. I get the feeling that he might skate.”

“Really,” Syd said, her voice hardening. Of course he’d skate. She’d seen it time and again, politicians shirking responsibility for terrible acts. No surprise there.

“Anyway, rest up for a few days. We’ll meet back in New York when this is over to talk about things.”

Interesting,
Syd thought. Unless she was mistaken, the things he wanted to discuss didn’t sound entirely business-related. Which would be fine by her. Jake was a bit of a Boy Scout by her standards, but it might be a nice change of pace. And she’d be doing him a favor, getting him away from that miserable fiancée. “Sure,” she said. “See you there.”

She handed the phone back to Fribush, who asked, “How you feeling, boss?”

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah? Doctors clear you to leave?”

She shrugged. “Doctors have bigger things to worry about. Why?”

“’Cause you look like you’ve got places to go.”

Syd grinned at him. “Remind me to put you on full retainer, we need more sharp guys.”

Fribush tucked the phone back in his pocket and asked, “You got dental?”

“Get me some real clothes and make sure I’m on a plane by sunup, I’ll throw in vision, too,” she said. “Tell Kane to keep an eye on Maltz, and let’s go.”

Dante gunned the engine and impulsively kissed the cross that hung from a chain around his neck. The call had been unexpected, but not unwelcome. He’d been crawling out of his skin at the thought of waiting all night. What Jackson wanted was a better plan anyway. And he had specifically asked Dante to take charge of it.

Dante waited as one of his men rolled open the door at the end of the hangar. They were in a deserted airfield south of downtown San Diego. It had been the perfect staging area, no prying eyes to see what they were up to. It had taken less than an hour to shift the bomb from the float back into the truck they’d arrived in. The men had grumbled at the extra work, but perked up when he said they didn’t need the spics anymore, so later they could take them to the desert for target practice. His boys deserved it after everything they’d been through. He was glad to hear that Jackson finally appreciated their efforts. It was pretty clear who the real patriots were in this organization.

Jackson was uncharacteristically warm when he wished him good luck. Funny, Dante could’ve sworn he
even sounded a little drunk, which was unheard of. Jackson barely touched the stuff, said he preferred to keep his mind sharp. Dante had been impressed by the level of self-control that implied. He’d been sober himself since that day. But what the hell—maybe he’d have a drink to celebrate once this was over. Jackson would probably have some fancy champagne waiting. Maybe he even had a party planned.

Dante put the truck in gear and rolled outside. It had been a while since he’d driven one, but it came back quickly. And besides, he wasn’t going far. The spot Jackson had in mind was less than fifteen miles away. He’d be there in twenty minutes, max.

He shifted the truck into second gear and turned onto the access road out of the airport. He thought he caught the glint of something in his rearview mirror, but when he looked again it was gone.

Dante shrugged it off. It was late at night, and after everything that had happened he was paranoid. This was almost over. Within the hour, his job would be completed. And then all he had to do was wait for the world to change.

“Shit, he’s on the move,” Leonard hissed. They’d dropped back in preparation for the HRT team to initiate their operation. Kelly watched a truck emerge from the hangar.

“That’s not a float,” she said. “Must be the truck they used to bring the bomb here. Is it still hot?”

Leonard held up a finger. He was on the radio, engaged in a heated back-and-forth with the HRT team leader, who wanted to know what the hell to do with his men. They had been on the verge of busting through the windows lining the upper story of the building, and were currently
trapped on the roof. “Hold your positions until we figure out what’s happening.” He glanced at Kelly, then spoke into the receiver, “Was the truck hot?”

“Yeah, we got a reading off it on the way out. Hot as hell, but then it would be if it hauled the stuff here from Texas.”

“What about the hangar? Are the radiation levels still high?” Kelly asked. Something occurred to her, but it wasn’t an idea she liked.

Leonard looked annoyed at serving as intermediary, but asked.

There was a pause before the commander responded, “Not as high as before.”

“It’s in the truck,” Kelly said.

“How do you know that?” Leonard demanded.

“The bomb went off early in Phoenix, so they must be deviating from their plan. Maybe Dante got wind of the fact that we’re looking for him.”

Leonard appeared unconvinced. “Maybe. Or they’re trying to get rid of the evidence before the parade tomorrow.”

“No.” Kelly shook her head. “Burke is too smart. By now he knows it’s only a matter of time before we track down Dante. I’m guessing he was sent on a suicide mission.”

“We’ll stop the truck, check it just in case,” Leonard reasoned, picking up the radio again.

Kelly put out a hand to stop him. “You can’t do it here. If it blows, it’ll take out half of downtown. We need a better spot.”

Leonard looked like he wanted to growl. “Hard to find a good spot if we don’t know where he’s headed. And I’m guessing if he sees a string of black-and-whites on his tail, he’ll blow it then and there.”

Kelly thought for a minute. “The border,” she finally
said. “That’s what it’s all about for these guys. He’s going to blow it somewhere near the border.”

“That’s nuts. Why would they punch a hole in the wall for illegals to pour through?” Leonard snorted.

“Maybe he’s headed for the guard booths. Or it might be symbolic, to show that border patrol is ineffective. Either way, it’s the most likely target.”

Leonard picked up the radio again. “I want the CHP liaison to come up with a good spot to stop that truck, preferably somewhere unpopulated between here and the border. And I want all available units to converge on that spot.” He signed off and glanced at her. “Happy?”

“I’ll be happy when we stop him,” she said.

“Women. Always so demanding.” Leonard turned the key in the ignition and kept the lights off as they drove out of the shadows on the opposite end of the airfield.

“Where are we going?” Kelly asked.

“We’re an available unit, aren’t we? I want to be there when they take this guy down.”

Jake, George and Rodriguez were a mile from the meet spot when an eighteen-wheeler whipped past, followed by a string of what were clearly unmarked cars.

“Uh-oh,” Rodriguez said. “Looks like we’re late to the party.”

Jake whipped their car in a U-turn and joined the caravan, inspiring bleating horns from the other drivers.

“Better get on the radio and ask them nicely not to shoot us,” he said.

George sighed, but radioed their Dallas contact and explained the situation.

“What’d he say?” Rodriguez asked.

George shrugged. “Said he’s glad for the extra help. Apparently half their field office is still in Houston, and
another bunch were sent to Phoenix. He’s spread pretty thin.”

“Probably a good idea to gloss over that Jake’s a civilian,” Rodriguez observed.

“Probably,” George said drily.

“They got a plan to stop this guy?” Jake asked, eyeing the speedometer. It was at ninety and climbing. The rental car hadn’t been built for high speeds, and it was all he could do to keep it on the road. If he pushed much harder, pieces might start falling off.

“Up ahead, at the thirty mile marker. They’re going to blow the tires when he hits the roadblock. They want us to hang back in case he blows the bomb.”

“That’s the plan? Keep your fingers crossed and hope the truck doesn’t blow up?”

“Hey, don’t blame the messenger,” George said. “I get the sense we’re not dealing with the best the field office has to offer.”

“Jesus,” Jake said, shaking his head. “Where do they think he’s headed?”

“The border. San Diego reported their guy bolting around the same time. They figure there’s been a change of plans.”

“That’s what, three hundred miles from here? Four?” Rodriguez asked.

“Something like that,” George said. “But he caught on to the tail almost immediately. Now they figure he’s just running scared.”

Jake tuned them out as soon as they mentioned San Diego. He pictured Kelly tearing down a similar road, pursuing a truck wired to take out everything in a mile radius. It was madness. Syd had barely survived, and here they were following in her footsteps. He remembered the panic in Syd’s voice as the truck charged into traffic. When the line went dead, he nearly lost his mind. It was
a normal reaction, he thought. After all, she was his business partner, and a good friend. But part of him knew it was more than that. He could have cried from relief when she called. It was like a clamp released from his heart.

Kelly,
he reminded himself. He should be worrying about Kelly. Syd was fine, she’d be on a plane to New York as soon as the airport reopened.

“There’s the twenty-five mile marker,” George pointed out. “Time to ease up.”

Jake slowed, watching the truck lights fade into the surrounding darkness. The other unmarked cars followed suit until they were at a standstill, a solid line of vehicles marching toward the horizon.

“What if he pulls off?”

George examined the map he’d dug out of the glove compartment. “No turnoffs between here and the blockade.”

Route 35E had slimmed to a two-lane road, too narrow for the truck to turn around even if he wanted to. Jake tapped the steering wheel nervously with one finger. This was farm country, acres of fields rolled away from the road. Power lines were strung shoulder to shoulder like steel sentinels. A rabbit skittered across the blacktop, shuddering for a moment in their headlights before vaulting the last few feet into darkness.

Ironically, having a quiet moment to reflect rattled him more than anything else. Jake wondered how the Grants were doing, if they’d found out about Randall yet, and who told them. He tried to remember the last time he got a full night’s sleep, or had a real meal. And now he was on a dusty Texas highway in the middle of the night, braced for an explosion. Madness.

“You think he’s there yet?” Rodriguez asked, breaking the silence.

As if in response, there was a flash in the distance. The sentinels flared bright red.

“Oh, shit,” George said.

Dante frowned into the side mirror. He hit the gas, bringing his speed up to eighty. The sedan followed suit. No doubt about it, he had a tail. Shit.

He was so close, too. Another five miles and he’d hit the turnoff into the housing development a few hundred yards from the border wall. All he had to do was park the truck, get out, and walk away. Then five minutes later: boom.

But they’d found him somehow. How was it even possible? Dante scratched the scruff where his hair was growing back. He and Jackson had spent so much time laying the groundwork for this plan, sketching out every possible twist. But things kept going wrong. He sighed.

Well, there was one last thing he could do. Taking a hand off the wheel, he felt in his pocket for the remote detonator.

“He’s spotted us!” Leonard hissed, grabbing for the radio. “Who’s the moron in the lead car? Back the fuck off!”

But it was clearly too late. Kelly watched the truck leap ahead. They were on the outskirts of San Diego, clusters of housing developments surrounding them. Thousands of people asleep in their beds, completely unaware of the danger.

“We have to stop him,” she said.

“No kidding. Any suggestions?”

“Get him on the CB radio.” She looked over at Leonard. “The truck must have one, right? Figure out what channel he’s on, see if a negotiator can talk him down. Make sure they know his name.”

Leonard barked the command into their radio. A minute later they heard the rustle of static, then a hostage negotiator hailing Dante. On the third attempt, a gravelly voice responded. “Yeah?”