Target For Terror, page 25
“Can’t.” Mark Jefferson gave a negligent shrug. “The director is out of reach until after the holiday.”
* * *
July 4 – 2:20 p.m. – Washington, DC
* * *
Sloan was relieved when they finally transferred him out of the ICU to a regular room. The cop sitting outside his door accompanied them, which didn’t make him happy, but slipping out of the hospital would be easier now that he was out of critical care. His throat was sore. He was very glad to be rid of the breathing tube and restraints. The pain in his shoulder was still there, but strangely enough, it felt a little better now than it had before. Maybe the antibiotics were successfully fighting his infection.
Progress if you were an optimist. Lately, he wasn’t.
He’d hoped the Feds would want answers badly enough that they’d let him talk to Clarence Yates. But so far it was a no go. He needed to get out and track down Yates at his home if necessary.
Exactly how he’d manage to accomplish that feat, he wasn’t sure. It wasn’t as if Yates’s address was common knowledge or listed anywhere online. He battled a wave of helpless frustration. There wasn’t time to mess around.
“You have a couple of visitors,” the floor nurse, by the name of Steffie, said as she entered his room.
Sloan wasn’t surprised when the two agents, Neil Hammond and Mark Jefferson, came strolling back in. He was, however, stunned to see Jefferson pushing Natalia in a wheelchair.
He raked his gaze over every inch of her, hardly daring to believe she was really all right. At the moment she was in a wheelchair, which was one step ahead of him.
“Sloan,” she murmured, reaching over to take his hand. “How are you?”
“Good.” He was embarrassed to admit his heart felt lighter just from seeing her and holding her hand. Man, he was a mess. This wasn’t the time to focus on his personal life. Until meeting Natalia, he’d never really had a personal life. Dragging his gaze from Natalia, he faced the Feds. “Have you gotten in touch with your boss?” he challenged.
“They told me the director is out of touch until after the holiday,” Natalia said in Ukrainian.
“Knock it off,” Mark Jefferson growled. “If you don’t speak in English, I’m hauling your butt out of here.”
His gut tensed. If what Natalia said is true, he didn’t have a choice but to trust these two. Sloan hastened to explain. “She only told me that you both informed her how the director is out of touch until after the holiday.”
The two exchanged a glance. “Yeah, he is.”
Sloan knew very well that no one at that level was ever really out of touch, but basically these clowns weren’t going to budge unless they had proof. He sighed. “Okay, I need you to compare the substance in the syringe I stuck in the center of Saunders’s chest to the soft drink I left on the table in Natalia’s room and to blood samples in Jordan Rashid, and Alek and Lara Nevsky. I’m sure you’ll find a match. Saunders is the one who tried to kill us all.”
“So we’ve heard,” Neil Hammond said in a bored tone. “What we haven’t heard is why.”
“Because he’s been working with the Russian Mafia. We have reason to believe there are chemical weapons of mass destruction disguised as fireworks.” Sloan stared at the Feds, willing them to believe him. “Alek Nevsky was working undercover for Special Agent Michael Cummings. Alek was once a chemical engineer whose job it was to create those chemical weapons. He’s identified an increase in activity at the Russian chemical production plant. I’m telling you, Cummings didn’t kill himself. Almost everyone involved in this mess has been killed. You have to believe me when I tell you the entire country’s future is at stake.”
“And you have proof chemical warfare will be used against the US?” Mark Jefferson asked.
“I know Alek Nevsky identified the substance found outside of the chemical plant as the same components found in fireworks,” Sloan admitted. “I don’t know why Saunders was working with the Mafia, but the real threat is the fireworks. We can’t afford to ignore this information.”
“There are dozens of huge fireworks manufacturers here in the States. How would Russian fireworks get transported in?” Neil Hammond asked with a frown.
“Good question.” Sloan sighed and rubbed his sore shoulder. “I don’t know for sure. Maybe those companies get components from overseas? If I had a computer, I could investigate a little further.”
“Leave the investigating to us,” Jefferson spoke up.
Sloan resisted the urge to smack him. “We don’t have time. I was working on this transport angle before things went downhill in Rock Creek Park.” He grimaced. “By the way, you’ll find a dead body of a woman in there, Anya Tereshokova. She’s the wife of the Russian minister of defense.”
“What?” Neil Hammond swung an accusing gaze toward Natalia. “You didn’t mention that fact.”
“Sorry. Must have slipped my mind when she tried to kill me.” Natalia’s dry sarcasm made Sloan smile. That was his girl, holding her own with the Feds.
“There’s also another body, our FBI contact, a man by the name of Jerome Bentley,” Sloan added. “The best we can figure is that Anya killed Bentley in order to make the meeting with Natalia.”
“Bentley’s dead?” Natalia echoed.
He captured her gaze with his. “I’m afraid so. Have you heard any news on Jordan, Lara, or Alek?”
“All I know is they’re listed in serious but stable condition in the intensive care unit,” Natalia told him.
He nodded, not bothering to hide his overwhelming relief. They weren’t dead. He hadn’t been too late.
He hadn’t failed. Yet.
“I really need that computer access.” Sloan kept his tone even. “I know I can find the proof you need.”
There was a long pregnant pause as the agents glanced at each other.
“I’ll get it for him,” Jefferson muttered. He turned and left the room.
Alone with just one Fed and a guard outside his door, Sloan would have once tried to take them both out and make a run for it. There was nothing worse than bureaucracy, especially within the FBI. But seeing Natalia laden with equipment forced him to realize the time for running was over. This was too important. He’d play by the rules if it killed him. Who knows? Cooperating could win him brownie points.
Maybe.
“Sloan?” Natalia squeezed his hand, her gaze earnest. “What about the China connection? The bombing of the Kazakhstan-China oil pipeline? We never did figure out how that factored into all of this.”
“You’re right,” he said slowly. It clicked into place. “China must export tons of fireworks to the US.” Sloan’s fingers itched to work the computer keys. He turned to Hammond. “If we can prove there’s at least a chance of these dirty fireworks making their way here to the US without being detected, will you contact Director Yates?”
Mark Jefferson entered the room carrying a laptop computer. The rooms were equipped with wireless internet access. As Jefferson plugged in the computer, Neil Hammond gave a reluctant nod. “If you can give me something more to go on.”
Sloan quickly accessed the internet and began searching. First he located the largest fireworks companies along the East Coast. Then he began a media search on those companies. He didn’t exactly know what he was looking for until the article popped up on his screen.
“The Zabollini Fireworks Company, the largest family-owned company in Larkspur, Pennsylvania, suffered an explosion two months ago.” Sloan raised his gaze to Hammond’s. “How much do you want to bet this company supplies fireworks to all the big cities on the East Coast? New York, Boston, even Washington, DC?”
Natalia gasped. “Of course. Would they risk losing the business especially this close to the holiday? Or would they forgo their own privately made fireworks and export what they could get their hands on from other sources?”
“Like China,” Sloan finished her unspoken thought. They were on the right track, he knew it. “We found our link. This is too much to ignore.”
Neil Hammond glanced at his partner. “I’m really starting to believe them.”
“You should.” Sloan couldn’t hide a surge of satisfaction as he waved a hand at the clock. “And we don’t have any more time to wait. You need to get in touch with Yates. Now. Before it’s too late.”
Hammond sighed and reached for his phone. “I’ll try, but I can’t promise anything. I wasn’t kidding about him being out of touch until after the holiday.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
July 4 – 5:02 p.m. – Washington, DC
* * *
Sloan couldn’t believe how much time they were wasting. Almost three hours had gone by since Hammond had started going through the chain of command, one level at a time, in his quest to reach the director of the FBI. At this rate, they’d be too late. He was all for security, but it shouldn’t be this hard to reach one man.
He was half tempted to go straight to the president. Not that he had any chance of succeeding. But at this point, it was worth a try.
Anything was worth a try.
Hammond entered his room. “We found both bodies you mentioned earlier in Rock Creek Park. The woman, Anya, and the other one is definitely Jerome Bentley.”
“I’m trying to figure out how Saunders managed to get all the information from Bentley. Was he part of the task force?” Sloan asked.
“Yeah, unfortunately he was. Yates was worried about an inside leak, especially after Cummings’s name was blasted out by the media.” Hammond shook his head. “I guess Yates’s plan backfired.”
Sloan scowled. “It’s going to backfire in a disaster worse than 9/11 if he doesn’t get back to us and soon. What’s taking so long?”
Hammond actually looked embarrassed. “I’m doing my best. With Saunders and Bentley out of the picture, I had to find upper brass that would actually listen to your side of the story. I finally got through. Yates is willing to meet with us down at headquarters.”
They’d gotten through to Yates. Then Hammond’s words registered. He frowned. “Meet with us?”
The agent nodded. “Yeah. We’re lucky he agreed to that much.”
Sloan couldn’t believe it. What was wrong with everyone? “Didn’t you explain what was going to happen? The risk of the fireworks?”
“I started to explain, but he cut me off,” Hammond’s tone was defensive. “Yates only wants to talk to you.”
“Fine.” Sloan threw back the covers on the bed. “Then call my doctor and get me medically released so I can get out of here.”
* * *
July 4 – 6:30 p.m. – Washington, DC
* * *
“Natalia?”
She opened her eyes, surprised to find Jordan in a wheelchair next to her bed. “Jordan. What are you doing up? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, but I’ve come to see you because I have some news.”
“Sloan?” She struggled upright, panic gripping her throat. “Is he okay? What happened?”
“Not Sloan,” he quickly reassured her. “And nothing bad. Your stepmother and her sons are safe in Canada.”
She stared at Jordan for a long moment, relief hitting like a tsunami. “They’re alive? Daryl and Daniel are alive?”
“Yes.” Jordan offered a lopsided smile. “She’s been notified about your father’s death and may need some help planning the funeral.”
She nodded. “Hopefully, she’ll allow me to help.”
“I hope so too.”
She forced a smile. “I’ve learned it’s better to let go of the past hurts to focus on the future. I only wish I could have mended my relationship with my father before . . .”
He died.
Now it was too late.
“Have you heard from Sloan?” he asked, changing the subject.
Her smile faded. “Not yet. But he’ll get through to the director, I’m sure of it.”
“I hope you’re right,” Jordan muttered.
She watched him wheel away, hoping she was right too.
* * *
July 4 – 7:02 p.m. – Washington, DC
* * *
It took them an inexcusably long time to negotiate the traffic through the holiday crowd in DC. Sloan stared at the throngs of people milling about the city, imagining what might happen if Yates didn’t believe him. He didn’t want to even think about the hideous fate that awaited if they didn’t get to the shore of the Potomac River in time before the crews set off the fireworks.
He felt sick to his stomach from the disaster about to strike or from being released from the hospital too early, he didn’t know. When they finally reached the building, he followed agents Hammond and Jefferson upstairs to the top office where Clarence Yates was waiting. He steeled himself against puking and faced the director across the massive desk.
“Mr. Sloan Dreyer.” Yates glared at him. “I understand you used to be one of ours.”
By ours, he meant a member of the bureau. Sloan slowly nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Yates stared for a long moment, before sitting back in his chair. “Start at the beginning and don’t leave one pertinent detail out.”
Sloan let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
He started at the beginning, when he and Jordan’s company, Security Specialists, Inc., had been hired by Bentley to assist in providing protection for Deputy Prime Minister Korolev. He didn’t try to gloss over the details, but he kept a wary eye on the clock.
Somehow, he had to convince Yates to call a halt to all fireworks across the country. The only thing working in their favor was that DC happened to be located in the eastern time zone. If they could stop the fireworks here, they could save the entire country.
He couldn’t afford to fail. Not this time.
* * *
July 4 – 8:32 p.m. – Washington, DC
* * *
Natalia hated nothing more than to be stuck on the wrong side of a hospital bed. Especially now, when there was so much at stake. Patience had never been one of her strengths, and as she stared at the clock, she couldn’t help wondering what was taking so long. Hadn’t the director believed Sloan’s story? There should have already been an announcement canceling the fireworks.
She clicked on the TV remote, turning up the volume so she could hear the NBC broadcast of the local fireworks display.
“There’s a great crowd gathered here tonight, isn’t there, Ed?” Tonya Jacobs, the female newscaster turned to her co-host, Edward Colton.
“Absolutely,” Ed readily agreed. “And to think, the president himself is here to watch the main event.”
“Yes, he’s truly showing his support and commitment to a great American tradition,” Tonya added.
The cameraman panned to the restricted area where the president and his wife were seated to watch the event. Natalia stared as the president leaned forward to catch something his wife said.
“How many people do you think are here for the great fireworks display?” Ed asked, changing the subject. The camera angle moved back to the show’s co-hosts.
“I don’t know.” Tonya gave an exaggerated glance over her shoulder to the crowd milling about in front of the Washington Monument. “But I’m guessing at least a few thousand or so.”
“Give or take a hundred,” Ed agreed with a laugh. “Dusk is beginning to fall. We hope you’ll stay with us to watch the fireworks display after we take a quick break to hear from our local sponsors.”
Natalia stared at the television commercials flashing across the screen without seeing them.
Come on, Sloan. Where are you? What’s taking so long?
* * *
July 4 – 8:45 p.m. – Washington, DC
* * *
Sloan followed Clarence Yates as they pushed through the mob of people, gaining access to the protected area cordoned off for the president of the United States to watch the firework show.
The sky was growing darker by the minute. Sloan stared at the area behind the monument, almost expecting the fireworks to start ahead of schedule.
He couldn’t believe it when the Secret Service stopped Yates at the entrance.
The director flashed his badge and his Federal ID. “I need to speak with the president personally. Now.”
Sloan clenched his hands into fists as the Secret Service agents took their time clearing the way for them to get up to the president.
The orchestra playing before the president and his wife ended their song on a loud crescendo. As he and Yates approached the stage, the president and his wife stood, anticipating the first of the fireworks to be going off momentarily.
“Mr. President?” Clarence Yates called, lengthening his stride. “Sir? We need to talk to you about a matter regarding national security.”
* * *
July 4 – 8:56 p.m. – Washington, DC
* * *
Natalia couldn’t tear her eyes from the TV screen.
“The sky is getting dark,” Ed claimed as the commercial break ended. “And the orchestra has just completed its final song. I’d say the fireworks display will be starting in a few minutes.”
“Isn’t it exciting?” Tonya asked as both announcers turned to gaze expectantly at the sky above the monument. “I just love the Fourth of July holiday.”
“Me too. Wait a minute, the president is standing up, waving his hand for silence,” Ed exclaimed. “Someone is handing him a microphone.”
“I didn’t know he was giving a speech tonight,” Tonya said with a frown.
“Let’s listen to what the president of the United States has to say.” Ed turned, and the camera honed in on the president.
Natalia held her breath.
“My fellow Americans. It is with regret that I must declare a moratorium against all fireworks displays taking place tonight, intended to celebrate the birth of our fine nation.” The president and his wife both wore grave expressions on their faces as he made the announcement. “Thanks to the hard work and diligence of the FBI, we have learned of a potential terrorist attack through the use of fireworks. As of this moment, all fireworks displays are banned until further notice. I repeat, all fireworks are banned until further notice.”
