"Makes sense for an undercover operation. This program must have been extremely successful," said O'Reilly.
"But old habits die hard, and it doesn't look like this group skipped a beat. Petrovich is the perfect example. I don't believe for one second that Petrovich was the original choice for the Maine hit. They tried to recruit Steven Gedman for this operation, and he had a complete mental breakdown a few days ago. Petrovich literally walked right in off the street and accomplished the mission, in a particularly nasty fashion. No sniper rifles for this guy. He likes using a knife, and cutting off heads," said Sharpe, looking at O'Reilly while Mendoza shook his head.
"We have to find this guy. We won't be able to play musical chairs with Munoz for much longer. Keep digging through his file for anything valuable. I'll have Special Agent Edwards turn up the heat on his wife…"
O'Reilly chuckled, then apologized. "Sorry, sir."
"You might want to be careful how you word that to Edwards. He might take it literally," said Mendoza, smiling at O'Reilly.
"And we'll tap every phone he could think of calling, pull phone records, start staking out friends. Everything. He can't leave the country at this point. Every law enforcement agency in the country is looking for him," finished Sharpe.
Sharpe's phone rang again, and he snapped it off the receiver. "Special Agent Sharpe."
"It's Weber again…"
"Weber. Why are you on the phone talking to me? You should be lying down on some very uncomfortable couch right now. Seriously, you need some rest," said Sharpe, and he could hear O'Reilly and Mendoza laughing.
"Sir, I have Special Agent Dan Bernstein on the line. He's the New Haven SAC. Olson's convoy got hit," said Weber, and Sharpe shot up from his chair.
"Put him through," he said, covering the mouthpiece. "Olson's convoy was hit," he said to Mendoza and O'Reilly, who stood up from their seats and moved toward the desk. Sharpe heard a few clicks and then Weber's voice.
"You're connected, Agent Bernstein."
"Ryan, it’s Dan Bernstein. I have a situation here. State troopers contacted my office and said they have three disabled vehicles filled with FBI agents off exit ten, just on the outskirts of Stamford."
"What about the agents? Are they…"
"They're fine. Vitals are strong. The agents in the rear SUV and the van were disabled by some kind of gas. One of the troopers passed out entering the van. The front SUV was hit by a massive pickup truck, and the four agents inside were banged up pretty bad, but they should be fine. The driver and Olson took it the worst. I guess the pickups collided engine block to engine block, crunching the two of them pretty badly. They're en route to the hospital now, in stable condition."
"I assume the prisoner is dead," said Sharpe.
"There was no sign of a prisoner. They could tell he was cut free of his restraints, but other than that, nothing. State police say the whole thing was over in less than a minute," said Bernstein.
"Does anyone have any idea why they were off the highway?" said Sharpe.
"All part of the takedown. State troopers had a dozen or so scraped up cars between the southbound ramps at exit 10. Minor accident about twenty minutes before the FBI arrived. They were diverting traffic through the off ramp…and right back onto the highway on the other side of the accident. Troopers said that as soon as the FBI convoy left the highway, some of the people started getting back into their vehicles. They had no idea what to make of it. A large pickup truck takes off and they all hear the collision. The rest of the vehicles speed over to the on ramp, and take off down the interstate ten seconds later. This was a highly organized strike, Ryan, and they simply disappeared."
"Nobody's in pursuit? How many state troopers did they have on scene?" said Sharpe, aggravated.
"A lot, but it happened so fast, it took them a few minutes to realize what happened. They radioed ahead, but unfortunately, every state trooper on duty along that stretch of the Interstate was sitting at that accident site," said Bernstein.
"This is unbelievable. I can't stress to you how important it is that we find this crew. Even just one of them. It's critical," said Sharpe.
"I fully understand the situation, and every law enforcement officer along the Interstate 95 corridor is looking for them. So far they have nothing. They also have a possible police impersonator, and this is throwing everyone for a loop. Local cops at the intersection below the highway were told by a state trooper to switch radio frequencies a few minutes before the FBI convoy arrived at the off ramp. They then got orders to let traffic from one of the local roads pass, effectively blocking Olson's group at the intersection. The rear SUV was hit by the gas while they were stopped at the intersection. State police swear that nobody told them to switch frequencies, or walked down to the intersection after the locals established their roadblock."
"What happened to the state trooper?" asked Sharpe.
"Local police say he walked up the off ramp, and they assumed he rejoined the troopers," said Bernstein.
"Shit, this is a mess. Thanks, Dan. I need to make some calls really quick. Call me immediately if you hear anything else," he said, and hung up the phone.
"Frank, I need you over at the Pentagon ASAP. Weber said the fax line was dead. I think we have more than one problem on our hands right now. Munoz was our last link," said Sharpe, closing his eyes, and leaning his head back.
"Did Olson make it?" asked O'Reilly.
"Uh…shit. Sorry. Yes. Yes. Everyone is fine. Olson and the agents in the first car were hit by another vehicle and injured, but they'll be fine. The others were knocked out by some kind of gas. Munoz is gone."
"Dead?" asked Mendoza.
"No. Gone. Get over to the Pentagon, Frank. I want to know why the line to the Sanctum is down," Sharpe said. “O'Reilly, make sure the team up in Portland starts downloading every picture of Petrovich available. If we can create a composite impression for the new National Surveillance Network, we might be able to start scanning surveillance and traffic cams registered with this system for a match. It's a long shot, but we might get lucky."
"They should already be doing this, but I'll make sure they understand the priority. I'll start the process for creating the required NSN composite. I'll need you to call the NSA get me one of the templates necessary to build it," she said.
"That'll be my first call," he said, as agent Mendoza opened the door to leave.
Mendoza checked his watch, "NSA's gonna love this. I'll call your cell as soon as I figure out what's going on over there."
"Hopefully I'm being paranoid," said Sharpe.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The first thing Daniel noticed when he walked through the safe house door was the familiar smell of Sanderson's strongly brewed coffee. Bolivian coffee. The odor brought back unpleasant memories of Sanderson's office complex at The Ranch. The second thing he noticed was that Colonel Farrington drifted behind him in the hallway, just before Parker stopped at the apartment door. He was sure that neither man fully trusted Daniel in the presence of the general, nor would Sanderson himself. What none of them knew, was that Daniel Petrovich had no idea how he would react when he walked through the safe house door.
He wanted to kill Sanderson for dragging him back into this hellish life, and potentially destroying what he had struggled to build with Jessica, but the practical side of him knew he might need to rely on Sanderson to fully elude the authorities and land on distant shores. They could always start another life. He shifted his backpack, and thought of the submachine gun inside. He was pretty sure Colonel Farrington wouldn't let him get to that. The knife hidden in his front pants pocket might be another story, but for now, he didn't want to open that book. He'd listen to the general, and decide the best course of action.