There was a short sigh on the other end of the line. “Okay,” Ken said. “It’s your game. Just do me a favor, Walt.”
“What’s that?” Walt asked, clenching his fist.
“If this device goes off on US soil, just remember who told you about it.”
Walt hung up the phone before he could respond to that. He stood there gripping his cell with enough strength to crush a walnut. Ken was wrong about the intel on the device, but that was getting at the heart of the matter. The FBI and CIA had budgets to consider and if one appeared weak or incompetent, then the budget committee would scrutinize the amount of funds they earmarked. Survival of the fittest.
Walt looked at the time, then stared at his phone, willing it to blink with a message from Denton. Was he giving Nick too much leeway?
“C’mon, you guys” he muttered. “Don’t get greedy. Just find the damn thing and get out.” But he knew they were trolling for sharks with chum around their necks. He also knew he was dealing with two alpha males who weren’t likely to forget what happened to their fellow agents.
Especially Jennifer Steele.
Carlos Grider slowed the Ford pickup as they approached the Denton Motel. The neon sign was missing a couple of letters, but it was still the only light coming from the building. The only other glow came from behind the curtains in room number eight. He had two friends in the cab and five in the back, waiting for his signal.
There was virtually no moon out, so Grider coasted in the dark, looking for anything suspicious. The office was already closed and the only car in the parking lot was the white BMW which belonged to the FBI agents. Mr. Chizek gave them direct instructions. Either kill the agents or die trying. There was no returning without succeeding with their chore.
He rolled the truck into the gravel parking lot, checking his rearview mirror to see Edgar Santos already with the rocket propelled grenade up on his shoulder. Before the clerk left for the day, he’d confirmed the two agents entered their room and now Carlos could see their outlines on curtains inside the room. One of them seemingly animated over something the other was saying.
Carlos slowed the truck until it was just twenty yards from the room. The agents’ shadows were clearer from this close and he was positive they were both there. Carlos stopped the truck, but kept idling. He checked up and down the road and saw nothing for miles, then waved his arm, signaling Edgar to take the shot.
The rest of the guys had their guns out all ready for a gunfight. They’d known about the one agent’s skill with a pistol, but there were eight of them now and they were all motivated to take the guy down.
Carlos waited, but he was impatient. “Let’s go,” he whispered, wondering what was taking Edgar so long to pull the trigger. The shadows were still there, but Carlos imagined them opening the door any minute. He heard voices from the room. The two agents were having a heated discussion.
Carlos was watching the argument when he heard the whistle and felt the heat of the rocket as it launched into the window and detonated. The explosion was instant and powerful, causing the entire wing of the motel to burst outward, sending flying shards of debris at the truck. Carlos covered his face with his arm and ducked as he was pounded by bits of glass and stucco. Some of the men in the back were screaming from excitement. In just a few seconds five of the motel rooms had completely disintegrated, like the remnant of a Midwest tornado strike.
As the debris still rained down, Carlos stepped on the gas pedal and jerked away from the site, his tires spitting gravel as it spun out of the parking lot, the guys in the back whooping and hollering as they hit the road.
Carlos took one last glance back at the decimated motel and knew even a cockroach wasn’t going to survive that blast. He pushed a button on his phone and smiled.
“Yeah,” answered a man with a beefy voice.
“They are dead, Mr. Chizek,” Carlos said.
“Are you sure?”
“Oh, yeah,” Carlos said, looking into his rearview mirror and seeing smoke drifting over the opening where a building once stood. “I’m sure.”
Chapter 27
President Merrick sat in the dark, his tie loose, his feet on the coffee table. He leaned back on the couch in the comfort of his private office and placed his hands behind his head. With the barrage of digital communications assaulting him twenty-four hours a day, he needed to shut down for a few minutes each night. He turned off his computer and his cell phone and attempted deep breathing exercises. Normally, he would take out a book and read for a few minutes before going to bed. But tonight would be different.
As he sat in the dark, his office door opened.
“Knock, knock,” a man’s voice said.
“I’ve been waiting for you.”
“What are you doing?” Sam Fisk asked.
“Rebooting.”
Fisk dropped in a chair opposite the couch with a heavy sigh.
“I saw your routine,” Merrick said. “Very convincing.”
“Somehow, I feel dirty,” Fisk said, just a silhouette in the dark.
“How was Salcido?”
“He took it well. I think he knows I’m up to something.”
Merrick grinned. “You’re always up to something, Sam. That’s why I like you.”
“How are things on the border?”
Merrick rested his head back even further and shut his eyes. “There’s a big dispute over how to proceed. Ken wants to send in the military and create a war zone. Walt wants Nick and Matt to do everything by themselves.”
“Since it’s on US soil, I take it you’re waiting for a phone call from Walt.”
Merrick thought about his daughter sleeping in the safest building in the country and wondered what kind of world she would inherit once the White House was no longer her residence.
“You know, Sam,” Merrick said. “Remember when all we had to worry about were the Russians?”
“Are you lamenting about the old days when you had to hide under your desk at school for bomb drills? Is that what you’re yearning for?”
“Killjoy.”
“I’m just a realist, Dad. Everything seems prettier once Father Time’s had a chance to shine it up.”
“Yeah, well, this Rodriguez is a bad man. If he wins the election down there, we might be wishing for Russian missiles.
“He won’t.”
“You haven’t seen the latest polls. He killed at the debate tonight. He’s almost ten points ahead.”
“Shit,” Fisk murmured.
“Exactly.”
They were quiet for a while. Two old friends comfortable with the silence between them. After a few minutes, Merrick couldn’t stay disengaged any longer. He turned on his cell phone and checked his messages. Nothing from Walt. He looked at the time.
“Less than three hours before Ken gets his wish and they swarm that little town with black helicopters and a few hundred soldiers.”
“Mind if I stay?”
“I wish you would.”
“Got anything to eat?”
“There’s pizza in the fridge.”
Fisk got up and carefully maneuvered around the furniture until he reached the small refrigerator next to Merrick’s desk. The door opened and the light broke through the dark. Fisk fished around until he found what he wanted.
“You want a water?” Fisk asked.
“I’m good.”
Fisk shut the refrigerator and managed to return to his chair in the shadows.
“You know, Sam,” Merrick said. “When this is over, we’ve got to find a way to make these agencies play nice together. Instead, they distribute intelligence like it’s a competitive sport.”
“That’s because it is.”
“Well it has to change. People are dead because the CIA won’t give out specific information about this imbedded agent.”