The vicar, p.10
The Vicar, page 10
“Time to get the hell out of Dodge,” he said to himself.
He emptied half a magazine at the woman across the street and the rest at the woman on his side of the road, then ran like hell for the corner. They both opened up, and he dived for cover around the side of the building as the stream of bullets slammed into the brickwork. Shit, these ladies really are good. Picking himself up, he ran down the street, figuring correctly that neither of them would be in a hurry to follow him around the corner. Finally reaching the Cadillac, he found Kristen crouched in front of it. He had already opened the doors with his key fob as he ran. He yelled at her to get in, then threw the Bergen backpack over the center console into the back and pulled out, thanking God he was parked in the opposite direction from which he’d just come. For good measure, he wound down the window and tossed the smoke grenade into the street behind him just as the rounds from one of their weapons found the back of the SUV. As he turned the next corner, he took the opportunity to glance over at Kristen. She was staring at him with eyes the size of dinner plates, obviously in shock. He smiled to try and reassure her.
“We’re safe now. At least for the time being.” She nodded, the numb look still in her eyes. “We need to find a place to rest up for the night and get you some food, okay?” Again, she nodded, then turned away, lowering the window and throwing up into the street.
He bought a decent laptop at the Staples on Union Square, which happened to be open twenty-four hours, then headed for the Aloft Harlem, a boutique hotel on 124th Street and Frederick Douglass Boulevard—the northern continuation of Central Park West. By the time he got there, Kristen was asleep. The second he touched her, she bolted awake in her seat and was about to scream until she saw Terry. They dropped off the Escalade with the parking valet, and Kristen waited in the lobby while he paid for a room with two queen beds. She followed him into the elevator without a word. He ordered some food to be delivered from Chocolát, a local restaurant with late hours, but she was asleep before it arrived. He decided not to wake her. He was starving, both from adrenalin and the exertions of the evening, so he ate both the meals. He was tempted to check out the thumb drive, but he was exhausted so decided to get a few hours’ sleep. He set his alarm so he would get three hours’ rest. Tomorrow is going to be a busy day. He was asleep within a minute of his head hitting the pillow.
21
manhattan, 6:30 a.m. edt
His fellow soldiers had always been amazed at the way Terry could fall asleep at the drop of a hat in the field no matter the circumstances, but now his problem wasn’t falling asleep—it was staying asleep. Usually, it was only when he was in barracks or his apartment in London that he had difficulty getting a restful night. Not that he was oblivious to what was going on around him—the slightest noise caused him to spring awake. Now, though, the nightmares had returned. His mind seemed to want to exact some special form of revenge and let Terry have it full force. He was back in the bar the night Kieran Martin had been killed.
The bullets started tearing apart the windows, but there was no Ciaran Sullivan to pull him to the ground out of the line of fire. He just stood, watching the patrons crumple to the ground around him, until the only people left alive were him and Kieran Martin. Martin was standing at the bar, drinking Irish whiskey and smiling at him, smiling at all the death. Terry slowly made his way to the same metal door he had exited the night of the hit. Every step was like walking in molasses. As he walked outside into the deserted street, the same UVF letters sprayed in orange were on the wall, and there were three bodies in the exact same positions Martin and his bodyguards had been lying, except, in his nightmare, it wasn’t Martin and his bodyguards.
He looked closer at the bodies. The one in the middle with her brains spilling out on the pavement and half her face missing was Ciaran. To her left was his old buddy Sergeant Major Steve “Bullet” Bailey, except his torso had been blown to pieces, and all that was left were his mangled arms and legs and a disfigured head. To Ciaran’s right was his friend and minder Patrick Walsh, who had guided him through the intricacies of surviving in Belfast. Patrick’s was the least damaged of the corpses, as only his lower jaw had been torn off by a British bullet. Terry wanted to scream, but his mind wasn’t done with him yet. Ciaran opened her one remaining eye and looked directly at him, as if in condemnation for what he had done.
“Those fucking Protestant bastards,” she wailed.
Then Patrick was looking at him, the hatred flowing like the blood from his jaw.
“I thought you were my friend,” he accused.
Next it was Bailey’s turn. His head fell to one side, and he just looked at him with a great sadness in his eyes.
“What the fuck went wrong?” he whispered.
Terry tried to scream, but instead, he started laughing, tears rolling down his cheeks as he doubled over. It was only when he straightened up and Ciaran was standing in front of him, her brains and blood flowing down the remains of her face, that he started to scream.
“Kiss me goodbye,” she whispered, her mouth coming toward his.
He was suddenly awake, midscream and covered in sweat. It took him a second to realize he was holding the Walther as he desperately scanned the room looking for the nightmare from his past. He looked over at Kristen in the other bed, still sound asleep despite the commotion. He got up and walked over to the minibar fridge and helped himself to a couple of small, cold bottles of vodka. He didn’t even pour them in a glass, just unscrewed the tops and downed them. Then he headed for the bathroom and took a very cold shower.
After ten minutes of washing away his demons, he walked into the bedroom and saw that Kristen was still asleep, so he took the laptop and headed for the bathroom once again. He wanted to see what was on the thumb drive without waking Kristen or risking her getting a glimpse of what was on it. After she had fallen asleep, he had stashed it between the box spring and the mattress just in case she had decided to see if he’d found anything at the apartment. While he waited for the new laptop to boot up, it suddenly occurred to him that they hadn’t been after him at the apartment; they’d been after her. Why would they do that if she was only Shae’s roommate? He and Kristen would have to have a little chat over breakfast.
It took five minutes to fire up the new computer, after which he downloaded Adobe Acrobat Reader and a few other programs. Finally, after a couple of restarts for updated programs to load, he was ready to go and inserted the drive. He was surprised there was only one file on it, dated five days ago. He opened it and stopped breathing for a second. “Fuck!” he mumbled. The first item in the file was an elaborate schematic for a bomb. It wasn’t just any bomb, but a dirty bomb made with radioactive waste, and a big one at that. The next item was a photograph of an internal memo on NY&E letterhead in which the primary and secondary locations for these devices were mentioned in passing but not elaborated on. The one line that did grab his attention was that a final decision would need to be made regarding the four primary and secondary locations. The author of the memo, someone with the initials D. L., had gone on to explain that a dirty bomb with a large enough yield, and set off with the right easterly wind conditions, would have a devastating effect on the targets. Frustratingly, there was nothing about delivery method, precise locations, or the precise date of the attack. And the email was not written to a named recipient—there were just a series of numbers in the “To:” field. How the hell had Shae managed to get her hands on this?
The next three items were photos of a shipping container. Unfortunately, he couldn’t see any of the markings on the container because its doors were open. There were five people outside the doors, four men and a woman. He enlarged the images, trying desperately to get a better look at their faces but the quality of the photos were crap, as they were taken at night. He would need a specialist to enhance them. Next, he took a closer look at the inside of the container and was stunned to see it was nearly fully loaded with weapons crates. Sweet Jesus, the shit is really going to hit the fan.
He heard Kristen call his name.
“One second,” he shouted back.
I have to email this to K right now. After connecting to the hotspot on his phone, he wrote an email that fully described the events of the previous evening and a request to have the tech boys enhance the images as much as possible. As a mission statement, Nolan laid out that his goal, moving forward, was to find D. L. in the hopes that he could then find the locations of the bombs, as well as Shae. He also requested any further information K could find on a Kristen Burris from Indianapolis. Next, he sent K a text telling him he had sent an email to his personal account and to confirm he had received it. He waited about a minute before the reply came that the email had been received. Once confirmed, he crushed the thumb drive by putting it between the toilet seat and the bowl, then flushed it down the toilet. If he did get grabbed by these bastards, at least they wouldn’t know exactly how much he knew. He then broke the screen on the computer and stomped on the hard drive.
Kristen looked up at him as he exited the bathroom. Her head was cocked to one side, and she had that same sleepy expression his ex-wife and daughter would have when they had just woken up. It made him smile a little.
“What was that noise?” she asked looking at the damaged computer.
He sighed a little, thinking of his family. For some reason, that loss had been playing more and more on his mind recently. “Nothing to worry about,” he replied with a shrug. “Just a spot of computer trouble.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You know they have tech support for that?”
He smiled. “I know, but they just keep you on hold for so long I couldn’t be bothered.”
“Oh,” she replied, looking at him as if he had lost his mind.
“Anyway, first up, let’s get some breakfast, get showered, and then buy you some clothes. Okay?”
She nodded. “Terry, can you explain to me what’s going on? I mean, those people were trying to kill us last night, and I at least deserve some sort of explanation. Let’s face it—I know absolutely nothing about you or what is going on, but you want me to trust you, right?”
“Let’s shower and eat first and then I’ll tell you everything I can. Now, why don’t you jump in the shower while I order food. I’m starving, and you must be famished.”
“No kidding,” she replied. “Just order me waffles and orange juice. Oh, and don’t forget the coffee.”
He gave her a jokey salute. “Yes, ma’am.” While she headed into the bathroom, he found a menu from Sylvia’s a couple of blocks over. The world-famous soul food restaurant had a great breakfast menu, and they delivered.
She had showered by the time the food arrived, and they proceeded to eat in silence—Kristen had the waffle and turkey sausage, and Terry had the country-style slab bacon with two fried eggs over medium and a side of grits and homemade biscuits. Kristen burped slightly when she finished, which made him laugh. She was about to start asking questions, but he told her to hold off until they were in his car.
The front desk was busy with guests checking in, so they just walked outside, Terry keeping his head down and away from any prying cameras, his Yankees cap pulled low over his eyes. Kristen stopped at the small shop next door to pick up some sodas and by the time she emerged, the valet was already pulling the Escalade up to the curb. Terry tipped him just enough so that it wouldn’t be memorable. As they drove away, he looked over at Kristen.
“Okay, ask away.”
She thought for a second. “Who were those people, and why were they trying to kill us?”
He had already thought up a cover story that would fit the events of the previous evening. He sighed as if he was reluctant to tell her anything. “I’m part of a joint task force with the FBI and New Scotland Yard. We’ve been investigating a group that is funding a Middle East terrorist organization, as well as others. We approached Shae a few years ago to help us find out who was involved. It seems there might be a leak in either the FBI or Special Branch, and she has been burned.”
“Burned? That’s horrible!”
“Not actually burned, but her work for us has been discovered by the bad guys. Sorry.”
“Hang on a second, what group, and how could Shae be helping?”
“We believe that certain individuals at NY&E are funneling funds to these terrorists.”
“Holy shit! So why were they trying to kill me?”
“I don’t believe they were. I think they were trying to kidnap you and use you for leverage to get Shae to talk.”
She fell silent for a minute. “So why aren’t we heading to the FBI building or something?”
“Because I have no idea who to trust. God forbid I talk to the wrong agent.”
“There must be someone you can talk to.”
“There is, but you have to understand that it’s not just Shae. We lost a number of other people a couple of days ago and they tried to take me out. Twice. I think the only chance of trying to find Shae is if I do this alone.” The best way to bullshit was to mix in just enough of the truth to make it seem real. “If I can’t find out something by tomorrow morning, then I’m going to the British embassy. I figure by then, whatever they are trying to get out of her they will have achieved or . . .”
“Or she’ll be dead?”
He nodded. “Now it’s my turn to ask the questions. You aren’t just Shae’s roommate, are you?”
“How do you mean?”
“You can cut the crap, Kristen. I know Shae is a lesbian, all right, and there is no way in hell she would have had you move in if you were just a roommate.”
Kristen looked out the side window. When she looked back at him there were tears in her eyes. “We were trying to keep it quiet. Nobody at work knows. My parents didn’t know. That’s why we told everyone that I’m her roommate. Before you say anything about how being a lesbian is perfectly acceptable these days, we just weren’t ready to come out yet. That’s why I went back to Indianapolis. I knew it was time to tell my parents the truth. Of course, they had figured it out years ago and were really cool. Crazy, huh?”
“So why were they after you?”
“How do you know they were after me and not you?”
“Because there was no way they knew I was in the apartment. Spit it out, Kristen. What do you know? There must be something.”
She looked at him angrily. “Dammit, Terry, I don’t know anything. I didn’t even know she was helping you till you told me.”
“There must be something. Did she give you anything, a package or a safety deposit box key before you left?”
She looked exasperated and confused at the same time by his question. “I swear to God, Terry, she didn’t give me anything. I wish I could help, honest, but I have no idea why they would be after me.” She looked at him angrily. “For Christ’s sake, don’t you think I would tell you if I knew?”
“Okay, but if you think of anything, anything, maybe something she said in passing, something that seemed innocent at the time, let me know.”
Kristen nodded. “So, what do we do now?”
“First, we’re going to get you some fresh clothes and then I’m going to stash you somewhere safe.”
“Like hell you are. If they’ve got Shae, I’m going to help you find her. If you won’t let me help you then I’m going to try and do it myself.”
He looked over at her, and her face was set in a look of determination. “You sure about this?”
“More than I’ve ever been sure of anything in my life.”
He sighed. “Fine, it’s your funeral.” Maybe I can use her to get into NY&E and then ditch her. “There is one thing you can help me with. Who has the initials D. L. that works for NY&E or is an investor?”
“I have no idea. There must be two hundred or more people who work in the office.”
“Well, it won’t be some low-level person. It would have to be someone pretty high up in the food chain.”
“There must be a listing of the board of directors and investors, but it’s not available to people at my level. I know who the chief executive officer and the chief financial officer are, but most of the others I have no idea who they could be.”
“Damn. We really need to find out who D. L. is. I haven’t had a chance to check, but could this be on the company website?”
“No. It’s a private company—they aren’t required to make that information public. Hey, today is Saturday and the offices will be pretty much empty. I bet I could lay my hands on something.”
“Not a chance, it’s way too dangerous.”
“It seems to me we don’t have much choice. I can be in and out in fifteen minutes, thirty at the most. Just give me something to bust open the drawers of one of the executive secretaries. I guarantee you they will have that list.”
Terry thought for a minute, but he really didn’t have a better idea. “Fine, okay. So, what do you need from me?”
“Clothes, high-end designer label but casual, such as Tanaka jeans and makeup.”
“That’s it? Where do you want to go, Brooks Brothers?”
“You’ve got to be kidding me. Bergdorf’s. And step on it.”
22
ny&e offices, manhattan, 10:45 a.m. edt
The plan they had come up with to get into the NY&E offices was so simple that Terry thought it might work. Of course, if the lobby security guard became a little too curious, then it would be a total nonstarter. They walked through the revolving door away from the morning chill of the city and into the warmth of the lobby—a vast cathedral of space reaching up at least six stories. Directly in front of them was a bank of ten escalators. Only two were currently running for the sparse weekend crowd. At the top of the escalators, Terry could just make out eight elevators, but he was sure there would be more, considering there were sixty-five floors in the shining glass and steel structure. In between them and the escalators were a couple of lush gardens on raised concrete beds, which provided the workers of the companies located in the building a place to sit and chat or just eat lunch. To the left was a pleasant-sounding waterfall. It was all very Zen. The lone weekend security guard sat behind a solid Carrara marble reception area to the right. Wouldn’t surprise me if the damn thing could stop an RPG. Behind him were a bunch of monitors with live feeds of various building areas and the streets surrounding it. There was also a monitor that was connected to cameras on the roof, every thirty seconds switching to a different view of the city.
