Delphi Initiative, page 12
part #2 of Tommy Donovan Series
Tommy laughed. “No, she’s my handler. I’ve been freelancing.”
“Nice, had no idea you were still on the payroll,” Hagan said, making his way to the sofas with a beer of his own, dropping into one across from Tommy. “Nice to meet ya, Miss Delgado. Please, have a seat.”
She shook her head sternly. “I’ll sit when I know what’s happening out there.”
Solomon moved from the back with his arms full of beer cans. He set them on the table in the center of the square then dropped back into the last open sofa. “Shit, girl, you’re with the agency.” He laughed, opening a can. “You tell us what the hell is going on.”
“We don’t know anything.” Tommy grunted. “We were overseas when whatever this was kicked off. Seems you already know the story.” He shook his head. “I was pulled out by some friends just as it all when down over there. They got me out, but just barely.”
“Yeah, I heard you were dead and gone overseas, bro,” Hagan said before taking a sip. “News had it that you are a notorious terrorist, killed gunning down women and children in paradise.”
“Bullshit,” Tommy said. “What about you? What’s your story?”
Hagan scowled and shrugged. “Allegedly popped a nuke plant out on the West Coast.”
“Popped a fucking what?” Tommy gasped.
Hagan nodded. “I don’t know all the details, because I wasn’t there...” He took a long pull on the can, draining it, then reached for a fresh one on the table. “Night before last I was home in Ohio, lying in bed, watching TV, when my motion sensors chirped. I thought it might have been a deer or something. Yard sensors alarmed then the first-level doors breached. TV auto flipped to the closed-circuit cameras. Ten fools lined up in black. The crew they hired hit hard and fast. They were good but not professionals. Still pro or not, there were too many for me to fight. If I had to guess, they were common criminals, not law enforcement.” He laughed smugly. “And the fools didn’t do their homework—didn’t know who they were messing with.
“My second story is basically a hardened safe room. They got stalled hard and bottlenecked at the steel door to my stairway. The rookies stacked up and prepared to breach, when I popped a claymore embedded in the ceiling. From there on, it was all automated protocols—”
“Wait,” Tanya interrupted. “You had a claymore in your ceiling?”
Solomon laughed, holding up his can in a toast to Hagan. “Doesn’t everyone? I mean, every self-respecting sapper I know has at least one claymore in the ceiling.”
She shook her head and reached for a can, then moved to sit next to Marcus. “And what the hell are automated protocols?”
Hagan shrugged and relaxed back into the sofa. “You know, basic stuff like, all the yard lights kick on, sirens blare. Oh, and a fifty-gallon drum of jet fuel in the attic ignites. All while I roll out of a crawl space tunnel.”
Tanya shook her head. “Fifty gallons of jet fuel?”
“Give or take,” Hagan said. “I made it out into a drainage tube that let out on the far side of a county road and made it to my hide site. Next morning, I saw the news reports about me leading an attack on a nuke plant two thousand miles away. Apparently, I’m dead.” Hagan held up the can, looked at it, then took a sip. “Doesn’t suck as bad as I thought it would.”
She shook her head and looked at Solomon. “And what about you?”
The big black man frowned. “I was just having dinner. Heard a noise downstairs.” He paused and took a long drink. “I’ve been renting a small space over Rabbi Simeon’s garage. I heard something—a scream maybe. I went downstairs to check, and they were already going at Rabbi Simeon. I did what I could…”
“You killed them?” Tommy asked.
Solomon nodded slowly and drained the rest of his can. “I killed all of them. But they cut deep on Simeon and his family.” He shook his head slowly. “I waited for the police to arrive, but when the showed up, they tried to arrest me. Someone had placed a 911 call identifying me as one of the killers.
“And why the hell not?” He shook his head. “I was covered in blood. I looked like a damn killer.” He stopped and stared down at the table. “I bugged out through the back. I was talking to my lawyer about turning myself in when I heard about you all on the radio. I knew this was the only place I could go.” He paused again and looked Tommy in the eyes. “I’m a wanted man. They think I killed the only father I ever knew. The Simeon family took me in when I was a boy, they treated me like I was one of their own.”
Tommy clenched his fist. “We’ll make whoever did this pay.”
Tanya shook her head. “Who the hell do you guys think you are? Obviously, this is far bigger than any of you can comprehend.” She went to stand but when she could see that all of them were looking down, she dropped back into her seat. “We need to get back to Washington so I can report it.”
“No can-do, Miss,” Marcus grunted. “I’ve had limited contacts with some friends up that way. Highways are closed, the city is in lockdown. Best thing we can do right now is stay put.”
“Lockdown?” Tanya repeated, “They’ve locked down the Capital?”
The old Marine shrugged. “President has even left town. There was a shooting on the Senate Floor. They decided enough was enough and evacuated the city. They are rolling out continuity plans. The President flew out on his helicopter and that’s that.”
“What do you mean ‘continuity plans’?” Tanya asked.
“Moving important people to safe places, bunkers, out-of-the-way hotels, things like that,” he said. “Vice President and his family are sheltering at a Navy Base north of Chicago.”
“Then who is running the government?” she asked.
The old man leaned forward and placed his empty on the table. “Officially, the President is still in charge, but scuttlebutt has it that Senator Shafer and some others are calling the shots now. Media doesn’t know anything, and nobody is talking.”
“Shafer?” Hagan grumbled. “How do I know that name?”
“He’s a senator now, used to be in the House, big player and a right-hand man to the majority leader,” Marcus said. “A lot of people say nothing gets passed without a nod from Shafer.”
Tanya raised her brows in suspicion. “He is one of many, how is that possible?”
Marcus grinned. “Money. Shafer has a lot of it, and he knows how to get more.”
“So, he can be bought,” Tommy said. “But what’s your real take on him? Would he do something like this?”
Marcus slowly nodded his head. “He’s as crooked as a barrel of fishhooks.” He stopped and pursed his lips “But an all-out mutiny? I don’t know. He would open the door to it, but I don’t think he’d have the balls to go through with something like that. If I had to render a guess, I’d say he hitched his wagon to the wrong people.”
Tommy leaned forward and set his empty can on the table. He could see the other men were all back with heavy eyes. He nodded. “As much as I want to act quickly on this, I really need some sleep. I’ve been going all most two days straight.”
Marcus quickly got to his feet and pulled a big ring of keys from his pocket. He fished through them and unlatched one and passed it to Tommy. “Your team room is just the way you left it. You go and get some rest; I have the watch until you all are ready to relive me.”
Chapter Seventeen
There was a maroon Chevy Malibu parked in the first bay of the safe house’s two-car garage. James walked around it to the back and popped the trunk. There was a small tool kit in the back. He opened the bag, finding a jack and a pair of road flares with nothing else. He sighed and lifted a bag of gear he’d salvaged from the safe house and dropped it in. Then he went to Cole’s Suburban and removed his tactical bag and gear from the back, cross-loading it into the Malibu.
He turned when he heard the door that led to the house open. Cole was walking out, escorting a visibly pale, and wounded FBI man. Arthur had slept through the night. The bleeding had stopped, but he still had a gunshot wound through the top of his chest. Without medical attention, the man didn’t have the best of odds. James closed the trunk on the Malibu and opened the rear passenger door for Cole.
“The Suburban would make more sense,” Cole said as he helped the injured man into the back.
“We can’t risk it, that damn thing screams government. Same as Arthur’s black dodge sedan out front,” James said, waiting for the man to be laid out before he closed the door.
Cole shook his head and walked around the car to a control box by the garage door. “Speaking of Arthur, we need to get him some help.”
“That’s the plan,” James said.
“Thought you said the plan was to head for the hills,” Cole said as he pressed a button, opening the garage door.
James stopped and looked at him. “We’ll get him help first. You saw the news; they have a twenty-hour curfew in place. We can only travel between 10:00 and 14:00 around the District. That gives us four hours to get him some help and get back into hiding.”
Cole shot him a thumbs up and dropped into the black dodge and started the engine.
James got into the Chevy and fired it up then backed out of the garage and let Cole move the Dodge into the first bay. The man closed the garage door then checked the outside lock to make sure it was secured. A quick glance left and right, and Cole was sitting in the sedan beside him. James eased the car out of the driveway and back onto the street.
“You think anyone noticed us here?” James asked.
Cole shook his head. “If they had, they probably would have raided us.” The lawman investigated the rearview mirror and waved a hand toward the street. “I don’t think anyone is out making reports right now. Everyone is in their homes, afraid of terrorists and killers. I haven’t seen a single cop on patrol, not even a dog walker.”
James nodded. “That’ll change. People will follow the curfew for a couple days maybe three, but once the groceries and money are gone, they’ll be out again. People need to work, people need to eat.”
Looking side to side, Cole sighed. “So where are we going, an old girlfriend’s house?”
Laughing, James said, “Someplace I probably shouldn’t take you. In fact, I should blindfold your old ass before I show you how to get there.”
“Oh—is this some of that shady spy shit I’m always accusing you of?” Cole grinned.
James slowed the car and turned onto a main road. He found more traffic as he left the residential area and headed into Alexandria’s industrial district. Truck traffic, sedans with people in suits, and a lot of black sedans parked at intersections and in front of businesses. On the corners, he saw armed men in black standing watch. Some checking a line of people’s identification before allowing them into a metro station. “You see them?” James said, keeping his eyes straight ahead.
“I see ’em,” Cole grunted. “But I don’t see any Alexandria police. Who the hell are these guys?”
“I don’t know. Looks like the local police have all been replaced. We have new peacekeepers in town,” James said as he drove past an interstate entrance. He eased into a center lane then glanced toward the interstate exit, where cars were backed up at a checkpoint manned by the men in black. “Guess we’ll be staying off the highways. Looks like they are doing something as folks get off.”
“Control traffic into the city. I imagine they’ll let anyone leave but stop and frisk as you enter.” Cole looked over the seat. Arthur hadn’t said much since they’d been in the car. “You sure it’s smart taking us closer to the airport? Ronald Reagan had some trouble, the security will be tighter.”
James pointed ahead to a run-down-looking motel set back from the road they were traveling on. The parking lot was filled with rental cars and shuttle vans. A large sign designated the place as the Beltway Inn. Below the marquee was a neon no vacancy.
“Looks like they are full,” Cole said, pointing at the parking lot. “Is this your plan? A shitty hotel? I could have found us another safe house.”
Ignoring the comments, James drove the car into the lot and past the pull-up lane in front of the lobby. He followed the parking lot around to the back and stopped in front of a single brick structure, parking next to a white cargo van with a Beltway Inn logo painted on the side.
“You have a reservation?” Cole said. “You saw the sign, no vacancy.”
James grinned and reached into his wallet, pulling out a small brass key. “Ownership has its benefits.”
“You own this shit hole?” Cole asked.
James laughed. “That’s not nice, and yeah a shell company of mine has this place on the books. It’s registered in Delaware and can’t be traced back to my legitimate businesses.”
Cole looked at him then waved a hand. “I shouldn’t even ask why you need an off-the-books hotel.”
James smiled. “You can ask, but I won’t tell you.” He opened the door and stepped to the back, waiting for Cole to exit. “You help Arthur. I’ll grab the bags.”
Together they left the vehicle and moved toward the rear of the hotel. In the back was a narrow alley that cut through the center of the long building. Past a pair of ice machines was an elevator, and a sign pointed back toward the road that said lobby/dining room. James stopped at the elevator and pressed the button. Cole stepped up beside him. He was helping Arthur along, and surprisingly, the man was on his own feet, though his eyes were heavy and barely open.
The elevator dinged, and the door opened. James took them up to the third floor. It was a typical old budget hotel, floors covered with carpet, beige wallpaper, and low lighting. James turned and moved to the end of the hall, where he inserted the key and pushed the door open, letting Cole move in ahead of him. Instead of a typical hotel room, the space was decorated like a modern studio apartment. A small kitchenette in one corner, a desk in another. The rest of the room was a small living area with a trio of doors on the back wall—a bedroom on each end with a bathroom in the middle. James pointed at one of the rooms.
“Get Arthur settled,” he said as he walked to the desk and lifted the phone. He looked back and could see that Cole was doing exactly that, guiding Arthur into one of the guest rooms. He pushed the zero key on the phone and waited for it to ring. After a brief pause, there was an answer and a familiar voice.
“Beltway Inn.”
James knew the woman knew it was his room; she was just following the rules, giving the standard answer.
“How you are doing, Anna?” James said.
“Mr. Flynn, when did you get in?” the woman asked.
James smiled. The line was air gapped—it didn’t leave the building, but you never could be too sure; anything electronic could be eavesdropped on, and he always appreciated the discretion and professionalism of Anna.
“Just got here. They canceled my flight. Listen, could you send Mr. Doolittle up to the room? I had some rodent problems.”
“Doolittle.” The woman waited, then replied, “He’s around here somewhere. I’ll ring him and see if he can stop up.”
“As soon as he is available would be great.”
“Anything else?” Anna asked.
James rubbed at his scalp. “If the kitchen isn’t closed, some food would be great, dinner for three, maybe.”
“Not a problem. See you soon, Mr. Flynn,” the woman said, hanging up.
James set the phone back in the cradle and looked up to see Cole pacing near a window. He had the curtain pulled back, looking over the large parking lot and the street. He dipped his chin out toward the east. James stood and looked in the same direction. At the corner was one of the black SUVs with a pair of the men suited up in black standing in front of it, they had stopped a car and were questioning the driver. “Looks like they got eyes on this place,” Cole said.
Shaking his head, James said, “Doubt it. This place is so nondescript and run-down. I’m sure they expect criminals in here, but criminals are not what those guys are hunting for.”
Cole laughed. “I’ve heard a lot of crackheads say that just before I kicked their doors in. No place is safe if someone is looking.”
There was a knock at the door. James shrugged and moved toward it. “Trust me, they aren’t looking here. Not yet, anyway.”
He opened the door and a heavy-set woman with thick glasses and pulled-back brown hair moved in. She stepped quickly to James and wrapped him in a tight hug. “My God, James. I talked to Maria last night—she said the police were at your house, that they wanted to arrest you.”
James smiled and looked down at her. “Just a misunderstanding.”
She took a step back and stared at him sideways. “It’s more than that.”
She turned toward the door and allowed in a tall, tan-skinned man with silver hair. The man pushed a service cart into the room. The top of the cart was lined with covered trays. Without speaking, the man pushed it through to the kitchenette and removed the covers, revealing plates of food.
Then he reached under the cart and retrieved a medical bag. The man turned to James then to Cole. His brow tightened as he looked them up and down. “Anna said you had injuries?”
“The waiter is your doctor?” Cole asked.
Smiling, James pointed to the old man. “This Andre Berisha. He happens to be Anna’s husband, and also one of the best doctors in Albania.”
The man scowled, not impressed with the compliment. “Do you have injured, or not? The water heater is acting up from so many guests.”
Cole ignored the question. “We are a long way from Albania.”
Andre went to speak again, but before he could, James stopped him. “Andre has been with my team since the Kosovo campaign. After he left the action, he married off to one of my best analysts. Somehow, he convinced Anna here to quit with him, and ever since they have been helping me run this place. He’s a good doctor, and I wouldn’t get on his bad side—he’s also a hell of a shooter.”
