Director Lopez strode over to Hall. “Yes.”
“New info.” Turning to the staffer, Hall prompted him to repeat what he had just said.
Lopez placed her hands on her hips. “Do we know who the cleric is talking to?”
“No, ma’am, unfortunately we have no way of telling. What we do know, however, is that the person has an American accent, most likely someone born here, quite possibly with Islamic heritage from his knowledge and pronunciation.”
“Where does this cleric live?” Lopez was abrupt, all business.
“I have the address here, ma’am.” The staffer went to hand another piece of paper to Lopez, Hall intercepted it and read the notes. Turning to the wall map, he raised a finger and brought it down with a loud thud. “Right here, smack in the middle of New York City. Lilburn, you know what to do?”
“I do, sir.”
“Good, go to it. By the time you’re halfway to New York I’ll have the info for you. Take the chopper. Jones,” Hall called to his assistant nearby, “tell the helicopter pilot he’s to take orders from Lilburn, and have his bird ready in five.”
“Five minutes, sir?”
“Seconds.” Director Hall was in his element. “Doc, I want you to stay here and work out a plan, I want to know where these punks would release a virus, best you can do. Use your intuition, you’re good at that. Suzanna, the other keyword detection came from California, let’s not discount that just yet, and let’s keep our options open. If you’d look after that, I have a phone call to make.”
Lopez was indignant. “In case you haven’t noticed, you do not outrank me!”
“Suzanna… Look and learn. Jones, as soon as you’ve contacted the pilot, I want you to get someone on the phone for me.”
“Who would that be, sir?”
“Right now, besides my wife, the only other goddamn person I answer to. The President of the United States.”
Chapter Eight
Before heading back to the rooftop, where the helicopter pilot was going through his pre-flight procedures, Lilburn made a stop off in one of the complex’s armories. The cliché of heading into a gunfight with only a knife didn’t appeal. The arms officer watched as Lilburn approached his counter top. Mac was overdue for retirement and had seen a lot of life, from military service in Vietnam to a long career in the Secret Service. There weren’t many times his first impressions of a person had let him down… and this would be no exception. A no-nonsense kinda guy. Probably six-one, six-two, he thought, athletic build, the sort who could break into a sprint, cover ground then smack bullets dead center in a target. Military background — the guy was no pen pusher, Mac would bet his bottom dollar on that, most likely a field agent and a good one. Mac was from the same mould, though the stranger was thirty-odd years younger, ruggedly handsome and would have no problem with the ladies. Age is a bastard, he thought to himself.
From the door to the counter was only five steps.
“Haven’t seen you before, son, you a new boy?” Mac was too close to being pensioned off to worry about offending someone who might be superior in rank.
Lilburn had done his own summing up — the older man stood straight and proud, one of the old school. “Just flying in to do a bit of business,” he replied. “I need to sign out a piece.”
“Come to the right place, son. Let me go have a look. Nine mill.”
“Yeah.”
“Ammo?”
“A box and two clips will be fine.”
Mac went towards the back of the room and opened a large heavy steel door which led into the weapons storage. Collecting a Glock pistol off the rack, two magazines and some ammunition, he strode back to the counter.
“There you go, just sign here.” Mac pushed a clipboard towards Lilburn.
Lilburn ignored it, picking up the Glock and feeling the balance in his hands.
“Good weapon. You lose it, you pay for it.”
“I’ll try not to lose it then.” He put the gun down and reached for the pen.
Mac placed both hands on the counter and looked the younger man in the eyes. “So where did you say you were from?”
“I didn’t.” For some young, inexperienced officers, Mac would be intimidating. Not for Lilburn. Staring back, eye to eye, he couldn’t help liking the man, so he carried on the conversation. “I flew over, in a round-about way, from Kincaid. There’s some urgent business on this side of the country, so I was brought in for the duration. When I’m finished, it’s back I go.”
“Kincaid eh? Long way from home. Well, best advice I can give you is keep your bowels clean and your powder dry. My old man told me that.”
“Good advice.” Lilburn started to fill out the form. “You remind me of an old friend back home. He’s a lot like you, a crusty old-timer who really knows his stuff.”
There was a short silence; both men looked at each other. Mac smiled first, then broke out with a loud laugh.
“Yeah, my friend is made out of the same cloth. Old Hank James, a real character.”
“James, you say… Hank James?”
“The one and only.”
“Vietnam vet?”
Lilburn stretched out his reply. “Yeah.”
“Likes to be alone, sort of speaks like a hillbilly and probably walks with a limp?”
“That’s him. Tough as a Marine’s boot. You know him?”
“Hell, son, we go way back, haven’t heard from him since we got back from ’Nam.”
“That goddamn cantankerous old man is like a father to me and my brother.”
“Well, I’ll be damned!”
“Look, I got a chopper to catch, but when this is over I’ll drop in again.” Lilburn turned to leave, sporting a cheeky grin.
“I’ll look forward to it… say, you likely to have to use that thing?” Mac cast his eyes down to the gun in Lilburn’s hand.
“Who knows, may do.”
“Here, give it back, I have something better. Brand spanking new. Wait there.” Mac went back to the arms room and returned with another weapon. “Sig Sauer P250, nine millimeter, seventeen-round clip, pistol comes in three sizes, full, compact and sub-compact. I figure you suit the full.”
Lilburn took the weapon in his hand. The balance seemed perfect. He looked over the sleek lines of the semi-auto. “I’m kind of partial to the Sig, this will do just fine.”
The new paperwork completed, the Sig in a holster on his belt, full clip shoved home and an extra packet of ammunition together with a spare clip, Lilburn was ready to leave. “I never did get your name.”
“My friends call me Mac.”
“Thanks, Mac. Be seeing you.”
“Take care, son.”
The downdraft whipped the air into a mini gale as Lilburn opened the door to the front passenger seat of the helicopter. Buckling himself in, he gave the thumbs up to the pilot then placed the head phones on. With expert precision the pilot proceeded to take the helicopter skyward. The sensation of gaining altitude was one Lilburn had never minded.
“Where are we going?” the pilot’s voice was loud and clear through the headphones, slightly metallic and astronaut-like, the engine and whirl of the blades providing background noise.
“Head for New York City, we’ll get confirmation about our exact RV sometime between now and then.”
“The Big Apple it is. Where’s your lady friend?”
“Back at HQ. Where’s yours?”
“You’re sitting in her. Best girl I’ve ever had — doesn’t answer back, no demands except for a little drink and a lube job every now and again, goes just where I want her. I call her Grace.”
It had to be asked. “Why Grace?”
“’Cause by the Grace of God I hope she never drops me.”
“For both our sakes I hope she doesn’t.”
The headphones crackled and the pilot acknowledged an incoming call before turning to his passenger. “Director Hall for you.”