The Lance (The PROJECT: Book Two) (22 page)

BOOK: The Lance (The PROJECT: Book Two)
8.5Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

CHAPTER
SIXTY

 

 

Lamont and Selena parked down the street from Greenwood's house. The street was wide, pleasant and shady. The houses in the development were in the two million dollar plus range. Landscaped lots of ten acres, with mature trees and plenty of privacy. The American Dream. Or maybe a nightmare.

A long blacktop drive led to Greenwood's house. It circled under a covered entryway in front of the house and around a large Italianesque fountain before it rejoined itself. The fountain featured four smiling cherubim relieving themselves. They sat in the van, watching. A bird sang somewhere. The engine made a ticking noise.

Selena said, "In the blue BMW, reading the paper. He hasn't turned a page since we got here."

"Yeah, I see him. There's another pretending to walk his dog, over there." Lamont lowered his binoculars. He pointed at a man some distance away leading a muzzled German shepherd on a tight leash.

"I guess we've got our proof."

"Proof enough for us. Not enough to bring him down. Plan B, we don't go in. Ready?"

Selena nodded. Lamont started the van and drove to Greenwood's driveway and up to the front of the house. He parked and they got out. Lamont walked up to the front door and rang the bell, just as any telephone repairman might do. They waited. No one came to the door.
Selena kept her hand on the Glock concealed under her shirt.

Lamont opened the back of the truck. He buckled on a tool belt. He went around to the side of the house where the phone box was located. Selena followed a few steps behind. There was no one in sight.

Lamont opened the box. He took his time pretending to check the connections. He installed the bug, tightened everything up and closed the box. He didn't think the bug was going to be there for long. They got back in the van and drove away. Now they'd wait to see what would happen.

Across town
, Senator Greenwood set his phone down. He looked out the window of his office on the Hill. Things were not going according to plan. He was annoyed. More than annoyed, he was angry. Why hadn't those meddlers gone inside? If they had, they would not have come out again.

The Visitor had failed. Always, his assignments had ceased to exist, ceased to create problems. Now he was dead. At least that damned woman was out of the picture. Greenwood hoped she suffered.
He hoped she died.

He took a deep breath and calmed himself. There was no point in over-reacting. The meeting was still set for tonight. The last element would soon be in place. It had been botched yesterday, but that final detail would be taken care of today.

Tomorrow would bring the dawn of the Fourth Reich. Of course, it wouldn't be called that. This wasn't 1933. There wouldn't be parades of jackbooted soldiers or gigantic squares filled with troops. Modern times demanded modern techniques. The appearance of democracy was everything. By the time America realized what had happened, it would be too late.

The bomb would detonate in Israel. Rice's assassination would create panic. In the confusion, no one would see what was happening. Earlston would step into the Presidency and let Israel and the Muslim states destroy one another. He would intervene only to protect the oil in the region. The war drums would beat against Iran. When the dust settled, the Jewish state would be only a bad memory. Control of the resources of the Middle East would rest in the hands of the Council. His hands. The New Leader.

It was all coming together, just as he'd planned.

 

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

 

 

Selena stepped out of the elevator and walked down the hotel corridor toward her rooms. The team was meeting at seven. She wanted to shower and change clothes. It was going to be a long evening.

A uniformed waiter rolling a large food cart draped with white linen came down the corridor. Selena noticed that the sleeves of his uniform jacket seemed too short for him. Trays of food under glass domed covers filled the top of the cart.

Selena was hungry. She decided she had time to order room service before meeting the others. Breakfast hadn't been much more than coffee and a few bites of toast. She'd had nothing to eat since, except a power bar in the van.

She paused in front of her door and took her key from her purse.

"Good afternoon, Ma'am," the waiter said.

Selena inserted her key. Something stung her neck and everything went black.

Then she was awake.

The first thing she felt was pain. Pain in her arms and hands and shoulders. Something cut into her wrists and ankles. She opened her eyes. She could see nothing. Wherever she was, it was pitch black. A hard, rough surface scraped against her skin.

She was naked.

She hung from something. Her arms stretched above her, her legs buckled under. She straightened her legs and the strain eased in her arms.

She remembered the waiter in the hotel corridor. She remembered inserting the key in her door. Then a brief pain, like a bee sting. Then nothing.

A wave of primal fear rocked her. Her mind cleared, as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice water in her face. She waited for her heart to stop pounding. She closed her eyes and drew upon her training in martial arts, remembered her teacher's words.

 

Fear does not exist, except in the mind. There is only being, only chi. All else is illusion. Meditate on this. Believe. Then you will be invincible.

 

She began the meditation to gain control of emotion. To focus the mind and gather power, the warrior's way. Her breathing settled to a steady, slow rhythm.

Selena opened her eyes. She could see nothing, but the meditation had created a heightened state of awareness. She could feel the space around her. It was large, she could tell that. The wall behind was of stone. The floor under her bare feet was cold and smooth. Polished granite or marble, or tile.

She was cool, but not cold. It was very quiet, with a sense of weight all around. There was a whisper of ventilation, a mere breath of air moving against her body. She thought the room must be underground. That would explain the complete silence, the feeling of containment. Her eyes were adjusted to the darkness but there was still nothing to see, except the suggestion of a faint, reddish glow across the way. It could be her imagination.

She was clamped by metal cuffs to the wall. Tight enough to prevent any slippage, any Houdini-like escape.

What time was it? She had no way of knowing. She was due to meet the others. When she failed to show up they would know something was wrong. Was it seven yet? How long had she been out? Was it the same day? Did they know she was missing? How would they find her?

She thought it was the same day. Probably no more than a few hours since she'd been taken.

Light erupted in the room, blinding her. When the flare subsided behind her eyes and she could see, she felt the fear trying to return.

The light came from gas torches set in brackets of black iron. She was in a large, windowless chamber of stone. Shadows from the flames danced around the room. A pattern was inlaid in green marble on the polished granite floor. Selena recognized it.

The Black Sun.

 

 

 

 

Die Schwarze Sonne.
The dark opposite of light. She'd seen a floor just like this one in Germany, in the Generals' Hall of Himmler's Westphalia castle.

In the center of the circle was a vertical wooden pole. Two iron rings were set into the pole, one high and one low. The top of the pole was crowned with a replica of the Black Sun fashioned of gold. Near the pole was a low table. A silver cup studded with emeralds rested upon it. There was a polished wooden box next to the cup, carved with the lightning bolt runes of the SS.

There was a picture of her tacked to the pole.

The circle of the Black Sun was ringed by twelve chairs of wood and flat leather. A thirteenth chair was made of polished wood, larger and more ornate than the others. The chair was carved with runes and swastikas in a design of leaves and branches. Runes were branded into the leather of the other chairs.

Power. Victory. Life. Death.

Repeated, again and again. On one side of the carved chair stood a large Nazi flag. On the other, a flag in black and silver. Words were inlaid in black marble
on the wall behind the chair, outlined with gold.

 

Meine Ehre heist Treue

 

My Loyalty is True. The SS motto.

Off to the side was a heavy, arch-topped wooden door. The door opened, and Gordon Greenwood entered the room. He was dressed in black under a monk-like robe of white, the cowl thrown back onto his shoulders. The robe was tied across the front with a black cord. The black sun was embroidered over his left breast. A wide black band embroidered with silver runes circled his left sleeve.
Beyond the door a flight of stone steps led upward.

Greenwood came over to her.

"Awake? Good, we want you alert."

Selena was angry. "You've made a big mistake, you Nazi cretin."

Greenwood laughed. "Oh, no, I don't think so,
Doctor
Connor. You're the one who made the mistake. You should never have meddled in things that didn't concern you. But it all works out well in the end."

She heard steps on the stairs. Others began filing into the room. They were dressed like Greenwood in white robes with the black sun on the left breast. Only Greenwood bore the band around his sleeve. Selena recognized Smothers and Earlston. She was shocked to see a man she'd watched countless times anchoring the evening news.

The last one to enter the room was a blond man in his mid twenties. He examined her as if she were an interesting but loathsome bug.

"A beautiful specimen, Father."

"Yes. She even has good Aryan bloodlines, but she is a traitor to her race. She is perfect for our needs. For
His
need."

Selena didn't like the way Greenwood said that.

"This is my son, Frederick, Doctor Connor. Frederick did a wonderful job in Jerusalem, don't you think? Frederick is here because you succeeded in removing General Dysart. The number of the Council must be preserved. He's a bit young for such responsibility, but I'm sure he'll grow into the task."

"Robes are out of style, Greenwood. I read that Hitler used to dress up when he was little. Are you carrying on the tradition? Didn't you get enough play time in mommy's clothes?"

Greenwood's face reddened. He stepped forward and slapped her, hard. Selena's head slammed back against the wall.

"Go to your place, Frederick. We begin."

Blood trickled from Selena's mouth. Greenwood stood in front of the carved chair. The others took their seats. From his robe, Greenwood withdrew a book. The cover was black, emblazoned with the SS insignia in silver. He began reading aloud in a slow and measured cadence. It took Selena a moment to realize he was speaking in the old Germanic tongue, the language of the runes. A ripple of fear moved through her as she recognized the ritual Arslanian had encoded on his flash drive. The torches flickered.

Nick
, she thought,
where the hell are you?

 

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

 

 

Nick's ear felt like it was on fire. Selena would never be late like this. He couldn't raise her.

Lamont, Ronnie, Stephanie and Nick were in a McDonald's in downtown DC. It was a safe bet no one would look for them there. Even so, Ronnie had his black box out. It sat in the middle of the cardboard containers of hamburgers and fries. It was going on 8:40. Selena was over an hour and a half late.

Stephanie said, "I got the trace on the email to Dysart. About commanding him. It's Greenwood. We were right about him. He's the one running the show."

It was Halloween, the last night of October. A scattering of teens in bizarre costumes sat at tables nearby. Across the room, four sullen bikers in leather jackets and dirty jeans eyed Stephanie. Lamont gave them a cold look. They went back to whatever they'd been talking about.

Nick dipped a fry in ketchup, set it down. The slick surface of the table felt cold under his fingers.

"Selena's in trouble." It was a physical feeling, a bad feeling.

Stephanie's phone rang. She answered, listened, disconnected.

"That was someone I sent to her hotel. They found a waiter stuffed in a maintenance closet on Selena's floor, unconscious. His uniform was missing. Her key was still in the door slot of the room. Someone's grabbed her."

Nick felt like someone had punched him in the stomach.

"Where would they take her?" Ronnie ate the last bite of his Big Mac.

"I can think of one way to find out," Nick said. "We grab Greenwood. He'll know." He thought about how he would question him. "I can persuade him to tell us."

"Back to his house?"

"Yes."

Stephanie glanced over at a teen dressed as a vampire.

Her face paled. "Nick! That rite Heydrich wrote down. It's Halloween. In the old religions, it was the most powerful night for magic. A night of sacrifice."

It registered on everyone at the same time.

"Selena. They're going to sacrifice her, perform that ritual." Nick crushed the plastic cup of soda he held in his hand.

"There can't be much time," Ronnie said. "I've got my stash in the Hummer."

Ronnie's black Hummer had a concealed compartment in the back. He had weapons, ammunition and a variety of useful things for an emergency. 

Nick nodded. "You, me and Lamont. Someone has to work the political and legal angles if this goes bad." He turned to Stephanie. "That's you, Steph."

She set her coffee down. "Gee, I love being Director." She looked at them. "Well, what are you waiting for?"

An hour later they were down the street from Greenwood's home. A tall hedge ran all along the front of the property. There were lights on in the house. One upstairs behind drawn blinds. One on the ground floor.

They'd changed into black clothing and body armor. They had pistols and silenced MP-5s.

Ronnie had brought a tranquilizer gun. Silent, auto loading three rounds, designed for use on humans, it featured a fast acting nerve agent that took the target down on the spot. The target got violently sick when he woke up but that was better than being dead.

A half dozen cars lined the circular drive in front of Greenwood's house. There was a meeting going on inside.

Carter scanned the drive with night vision binoculars. "There are two guards in suits by the entrance," he said. "What do you think, Ronnie?"

"If Earlston is inside, the suits could be Secret Service. Maybe we need to go easy."

"Okay, we'll trank 'em."

The moon was hidden, blanked out by thick, dark clouds. The night was black as Hades. They got out of the car, shadows in the darkness. They worked their way along Greenwood's hedge. They listened for signs of alarm. Dogs, a neighbor's voice, anything. There was only the whisper of a chill night breeze in the leaves of the hedge.

They came to the driveway entrance. One of the guards yawned and looked at his watch. Ronnie aimed and there was a soft hiss. The guard grunted and dropped to the ground. His partner turned toward the sound. Ronnie fired again and the second man crumpled to the grass. The team ran to the house.

Nick laid his hand on one of the cars. The hood was warm. There was cigarette smoke on the night air. Nick went to the end of the house and risked a glance around the corner. Halfway down, a figure leaned against the wall, smoking. No suit. He was dressed in black and had a MAC-10 slung under his arm. The man dropped his cigarette and ground it out under his foot. He began walking toward the front of the house.

Nick signaled. One coming this way. They faded into the bushes. The guard turned the corner and passed in front of Ronnie. The tranquilizer gun spat and he went down. Lamont turned him over.

Black paramilitary uniform, military haircut. Silenced MAC, fully loaded. A scar on his face. No ID. Definitely not Secret Service.

A silent, dark shape launched itself from the night and knocked Lamont down. Lamont jammed his arm between jaws trying to tear out his throat. They rolled on the ground and Lamont struggled to draw his knife. There was a strangled yelp and the dog convulsed and died. It was a large German Shepherd.

Lamont wiped the blade and sheathed the knife. His sleeve was torn and blood stained the ripped fabric.

"Waste of a good dog," he said under his breath. "They must have cut his vocal cords. I hate it when someone trains a dog like that."

They ran to the back door. A few seconds and they were in. An alarm box mounted on the wall blinked green. Another stupid mistake. Someone had failed to set the alarms.

They were in a laundry room. A night light burned over the washer/dryer. The door from the room opened into a dark kitchen. The crash of ice dropping into the bin of an icemaker sent Nick into a crouch, gun high by his cheek. A hallway led to the front of the house, where light spilled over from the living room.

He signaled with his hand. First him, then Ronnie, then Lamont. They nodded. They crept down the hall, the rubber soles on their shoes silent on the wooden floor.

Nick didn't like houses where someone might start shooting at you. Corners you couldn't see around. Stairs leading to God knew what. Closets and crannies and rooms and doors, and every one of them could hide someone waiting to kill you.

The house was quiet. Too quiet. There was no sound of conversation, nothing to indicate where the people from those cars were meeting.

It wasn't in the living room. Two men waited there, crouched behind furniture on different sides of the room.

Nick saw their reflection in a glass picture frame on the wall. He signaled Lamont and Ronnie. Two hostiles, right and left. Wait.

He slipped back to the kitchen and picked up a cushion from a stool next to the counter. The men in the living room had to be on an adrenaline trip wire. Back in the hall, he signaled the others and threw the cushion up and out and into the room. The Macs opened up, shredding the cushion to confetti. Nick and Ronnie reached around the walls and fired to both sides, then came through the opening low and firing.

The silenced weapons stuttered and jumped, spraying the room with bullets. The MACs weren't silenced, and their barking shattered the night.

The nine millimeter rounds tore into Greenwood's expensive walnut paneling. The shooters went down, tumbling backwards. The MP-5s chopped up the walls and furniture around them.

"Upstairs," Nick shouted. No need for hand signals now. "Lamont, cover us." Another shooter appeared on the second floor. Ronnie fired and he tumbled down the stairs. An ugly man, dressed in black like the others. Ronnie followed Nick at a run up the stairs. Lamont took up position at the bottom in case someone came up from below or from another part of the house.

Upstairs were five large bedrooms and three baths, all empty. Greenwood wasn't there and neither was Selena. They retreated back to the ground floor. Less than five minutes had passed since they'd entered the house.

"The library." Nick pointed with his MP-5.

The adrenaline rush was in full swing. Where was everyone? They must have heard the shooting. Another hallway led from the living room to the library, where a single desk lamp burned in the darkness. The light reflected from a crystal pen and inkwell on the desktop and the silver surface of a closed laptop computer. There was no one there. There was no one in the garden, or the downstairs bathrooms, or the closets, or the maid's room, or the garage.

"Has to be the basement," Ronnie said. "That's all that's left. They're here somewhere."

They found the door to the basement and pulled it open. A light was on. They descended a flight of wooden steps into a room with a cement floor. The walls held shelves and a workbench. Boxes were stacked in one corner. Aside from storage, it was empty.

"What now?" Lamont said.

"Something's not right." Ronnie scanned the room. It looked like an ordinary basement, the kind you'd find almost anywhere. "This room is too small. Remember the plans? Greenwood did a major make over here a while back. It was a lot bigger than this. There's got to be a hidden door."

They walked around the room. There was a faint mark on the floor, like part of a crescent moon,
at one end of a high bank of shelves. Nick tugged on the shelves but they didn't move. He felt around the side.

Nothing.

He traced his fingers along the upper edge and felt something plastic. A switch. He pressed it and the shelves swung away from the wall. They started down a flight of stone steps.

 

Other books

The Opal Desert by Di Morrissey
The Infatuations by Javier Marías
Fierce Passion by Phoebe Conn
The Demon Hunter by Kevin Emerson
Coming Home by Marie Force
Remember Why You Fear Me by Robert Shearman