Alicia had contacted Drake some time ago, almost speechless and seething with anger. She had told him she was about to jump on a plane bound for DC, and Drake had known it would be pointless to argue with her. Instead, he had offered all he could at the time. “See you soon.”
Still reeling from the deaths of Ben and his parents, from Sam and Jo, still stunned by the murder of Mano’s mother and Gates and Romero, and now most of the biker gang, he was finding it hard to string together a full sentence let alone more words of consolation. What he needed — what they all needed — was to string Kovalenko from the highest building.
Vice President Dolan interrupted his despondent ruminations. “Gentlemen, give me scenarios and probable outcomes.”
The strategists spoke up. The men of action followed. The Secretary of the Army, Navy and Air Force all had their say, along with their seconds. The Director of the FBI was present in Conference Room 1B. The Joint Chiefs and cabinet members were available on monitors. As Drake listened and constantly scanned his surroundings, he soon realized that this innocuous little room inside this hotel was actually one of the many secret crisis centers the United States government had set up throughout the country after the events of 9/11; a secure environment where all local or visiting VIPs could be taken to liaise with other VIPs anywhere in the country in times of emergency.
The overriding consensus was that something had to be done and done soon, through an offensive against the Hotel Dillion. The same blueprints that had previously been handed out were revealed again, signaling the start of a tactical discussion.
“Kovalenko may have the capability to upload anything to the public, at any time,” one of the cabinet members pointed out. “We can’t let the President go out that way. The eyes of the world,” he said. “Are watching.”
“Can’t we kill the area’s immediate broadcast capabilities?” Someone asked from the assembled agents.
“We can,” was the answer. “But it’s risky. We’d have a potential blowback against ourselves and we can’t be sure he hasn’t already gotten something out.”
The Commandant of the Marine Corps agreed, “And folks, don’t forget the eyes of our enemies are also watching. We simply cannot look inadequate here today.”
“A man who escapes a secret prison, kills the Secretary of Defense and then abducts the President, in my opinion, has a long-term plan,” the Vice President said. “Which we must bear in mind.”
“The city is as secure as it’s ever going to be,” the FBI Director said. “More forces are being drafted in.”
Drake held up his hand and, when noticed, was acknowledged by the VP. “Yes?”
“Matt Drake, of SPEAR, sir,” he said, for the benefit of those who didn’t know. “Dmitry Kovalenko is obsessed with what he calls his Blood Vendetta,” he pointed out. “It’s something we can use to catch the man, if we can just get a step ahead.”
“Good. Work on that. Your team is still active?”
Drake had no time to wonder if Dolan’s meaning was twofold. “Yes, sir.”
Dolan switched to another question. Drake sat back down and leaned toward Dahl. “What did that mean?”
Dahl stared ahead. “I don’t think he liked you.”
“With Gates gone,” Drake ignored the glib comment, “We have no leader. To paraphrase Jonathan, ‘the sharks will already be circling’.”
Dahl nodded. “I know. Have you noticed that General Stone — Jonathan’s harshest critic — is conspicuously absent? So we’ll make sure we stay useful and join the strike team,” he said. “Truthfully, it’s where we should be. In the front line.”
Drake sipped from his bottle. “I hate to say it, but you’re right. I’d much rather be helping Hayden and the others right now—”
“They’re safe. In the military hospital, right?”
“Aye. That they are, we hope. And Kovalenko’s right here, across the street.”
Dahl cast his eye across the rows. “See if you can figure out who’s in charge.” His tone, whilst laced with a little prep-school sarcasm, was genuinely uncertain.
Drake stood up. “In the corner. See that door? Some guys are already mobilizing in there.”
Dahl smiled. “Time for your just desserts, Kovalenko.”
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Mano Kinimaka remained by Hayden’s side as Smyth stalked out of the room to inspect the security arrangements and request a stock of ‘heavy’ hardware from someone in charge. This was a military hospital after all, the touchy ex-Delta solider argued, mostly to himself. Komodo sat with Karin in the corner of the room, hunched over his girlfriend as she sobbed her heart out. Their genius computer geek would be of no help to them for a while, and Kinimaka couldn’t blame her. It was all he could do to hold it together for Hayden after learning about the death of his mother. If their whole situation wasn’t so dire, he would be curled into a dismal ball next to Karin or on a plane bound for Honolulu.
Hayden spoke in a soft whisper, and Kinimaka had to lean over to hear the words. “Are you okay?”
He smiled, up close, and kissed her lips. Feeling the dryness, he held a glass of water for her to drag up a few sips. He smoothed the hair away from her forehead. “Here you are, shot to hell. And you ask me if I’m okay. God, I love you.”
Hayden smiled weakly. “I was only shot once. I’m a Jaye. It’ll take more than that to put me down.”
Kinimaka silently sent a big thank you out into the ether, then felt guilty because his mom had not been so lucky. Life wasn’t hinged on fate or design. Nobody out there had a complete plan. It was a giant dirty smorgasbord of chance and probability, shot through with prejudice, fanaticism and greed. Life was happenstance, nothing more, and you made of it what you could. Those who got really lucky were among the chosen few who could say they had won.
Kinimaka glanced up fast when the door opened, heart suddenly racing, and felt a rush of relief when Smyth walked in. The scowl on the soldier’s face had not diminished.
“C’mon, you guys. I could’ve been the fuckin’ enemy and taken you all out. Right there and then. Bad news is — the security in this hole sucks. Good news — they’re issuing us a few weapons. Probably relics from the Jurassic age, but all they have to do is kill bad guys, right?”
When no one answered, Smyth made his way over to the bare window. “I can’t believe Romero’s gone,” he said to his reflection. “Thought that maniac would have little Romeros of his own one day that I could train up to kick his ass.”
Kinimaka was about to slide off the bed and wander over when an unmistakable sound delivered harsh shock treatment to every set of frayed nerves in the room.
“Gunshot,” Smyth said and ran to the door.
It was muffled, probably emanating from the first floor two stories below, but was quickly followed by several more. Smyth listened as the two guards stationed outside the door received a report through their earpieces.
Kinimaka came to his shoulder. “What’s going on?”
Smyth waved towards the guards. “We’re waiting.”
The closest guard turned. “Shots fired in the parking area and now in the lobby. A large force of men—”
Kinimaka turned away, his eyes and thoughts switching immediately to Hayden. “We have to assume,” he said. “That they’re gonna get up here. We have to go. Now.”