“Russians?” Petyr groaned, his battered face pressed to the mat. “It’s Anakin’s men, here to stab me in the liver.”
“Well, don’t it suck to be you,” Thibodaux said, dragging The Wolf to his feet.
Chapter 62
“That wasn’t my fault,” Captain Amy Munjares said when she bounced the C-21 onto the runway at Joint Base Elmendorf Richardson. “That was the asphalt…”
Special Agent Khaki Beaudine looked out the window at the lights of Anchorage. The fluids and sugars from the IV had worked better than a jolt of caffeine — and the jolt of caffeine from the onboard coffee hadn’t hurt either. She very nearly forgot her rule about no public tears when she realized they had made it back to civilization — even if she did smell like an outhouse that had been doused with blood and oil then set on fire. Quinn sat across from her, talking to their welcoming party on his cell while Trooper Evans removed the IV catheter from the back of his hand and covered the spot with a cotton and a piece of clear tape.
“I’m assigned to the two of you,” the trooper said as they taxied toward an open hangar off the flight line. “There’s supposed to be a patrol SUV here waiting on us.”
Both Quinn and the Trooper waited for Beaudine to exit the airplane first.
Beaudine put a hand over her brow and squinted at the incredibly bright lighting inside the hangar. The waxed concrete floor was white and immaculate, adding to the glare. She’d known Quinn’s daughter and ex-wife would be there to greet him, but the way he’d talked about her, Beaudine thought the daughter would be older. To her surprise, a little girl with long dark hair waited at the bottom of the boarding ladder. A small blond woman, pretty, but with a fierce face, stood beside her. She wore long pants but the ankle of a metal prosthetic was clearly visible above her hiking shoes.
Aunt Abbey’s rifle in one hand, Beaudine hitched her pack up on her shoulder and gave the women a tentative wave. She could smell the wonderful odor of shampoo and body lotion before she even reached the ground.
“We brought you some clothes,” Mattie said, grinning. It was remarkable that this beautiful little girl didn’t scream when she saw the horrific wound on Beaudine’s face. Instead, she held out a pair of folded blue jeans and a black T-shirt. “Mom had some unopened packs at home. Daddy said you’re about her size.”
Kim handed Quinn a black leather jacket before pulling him in for an enveloping hug as if they were still married.
“Sorry about the stench,” he said.
“You’ve smelled worse,” Kim said, backing away, her eyes welling.
Trooper Evan’s phone chirped. He picked up and then handed it off to Beaudine. “Your boss,” he said.
It was Special Agent in Charge Pond. Beaudine’s phone had fully charged on the airplane, but the SAIC only had the Trooper’s number.
“Yes, ma’am,” Beaudine said. “I’m putting you on speaker.”
Pond gave a quick rundown of all the security measures that were being put in place at the last minute — a testament to the adaptability of a population of Anchorage who knew they had no one else to count on for the first thirty-six hours of any emergency.
“Still no sight of Feliks Zolner,” she said. “We’ve blasted out a photo of Kaija Merculief over emails and internal databases. Every gun-toter in Alaska who’s ever even heard of the JTTF is either standing post or out looking for this girl.”
“Any luck narrowing down the venues for possible targets?” Quinn said. He kissed his daughter on the top of her head.
“The ones we discussed are all soft targets,” Pond said. “What’s your take on the play at the Performing Arts Center? It fits the profile of the football-game attack in Texas. The place is packed with families and kids. We’re going to evacuate the building when everyone gets up for intermission in a little over half an hour.”
“Good idea,” Quinn said, rubbing his face in thought. “Tell me about the thing at the Dena’ina Center?”
“The American Forum for Citizenship,” Pond said. “Turns out the Forum is sponsoring a state competition for youth. Something called Students for Civic Action — or SCA. About three hundred middle school and high school students from all over the state are competing — add the parents and teachers to that, and it’s a pretty juicy target as well. That’s the place APD accosted the federal judge they thought was Zolner.”
“Is he still there?” Quinn asked.
“He wanted to stay but the Marshals talked him into leaving. Wasn’t too hard when they reminded him what the gas did to the people in Dallas.”
“I’d like to check out that site,” Beaudine said. “The new Black Hundreds hates everything the West stands for. American citizenship and civic action seems like something Kaija would want to stop.”
“She’s right,” Quinn said. “That would make a statement. Trooper Evans said he’ll drive us. The Performing Arts Center is just a block away. We’ll check the Dena’ina first, then head over and watch for her when you evacuate the play.”
“Very well,” Pond said, ending the call.
Quinn kissed his daughter on the head again before picking up the duffle of fresh clothes his ex-wife had brought him and heading for the men’s room.
“I guess I better go change too,” Beaudine said. “Hate to look at myself in the mirror though.”
“Hang around Jericho for too long and you’ll get wounded,” Kim said.
“I’m not wounded,” Mattie said, frowning at her mother.
Kim shot a glance at Beaudine. “He said you looked out for him out there. Thank you.”
“I would have died eight times without him,” Beaudine said.
“Maybe so,” Kim said. “But it keeps him going when he has someone to save.”
Two Anchorage Police officers wearing navy blue jackets and black wool watch caps against the cold October evening allowed Trooper Evans through the roadblock on D Street outside Fifth Avenue Mall. A Kevlar helmet was clearly visible inside the open door of one of the cruisers, within easy reach. Each officer had a three-foot hickory baton in a ring on his belt beside the black bag that contained a gasmask. “Hats and bats” meant they were prepared to get serious about the roadblock. Beaudine couldn’t help but think how much less civilized civilization felt since she’d seen it last.
APD had roadblocks at all four possible targets, but they’d cordoned off an area of twenty-five city blocks in order to conserve manpower while grabbing both the Dena’ina and the Performing Arts Center inside the perimeter. There was still no mass evacuation at this point. They just weren’t letting anyone inside.
Trooper Evans took his SUV through a secondary roadblock as he turned off G Street and parked in a loading zone on Seventh Avenue in front of the Dena’ina.
“We’re dealing with nerve gas here,” Beaudine said as she got out of the backseat. “We have plenty of plain clothes agents inside. There’s no need for you to go inside.”
“Nice try,” Evans said, giving her an easy grin. “But you’re not getting rid of me that easily. I’m an Alaska State Trooper. We blend in around here like the postman.” He nodded to a very green looking APD officer posted at the entrance. “Plus, it’ll keep you from having to show your badge all the time.”
The exterior of the Dena’ina Center was essentially a wall of windows all the way up to the top floor, three levels up. Even before they went inside, Beaudine could see the crowd of people packed into the lobby and reception area. Proud parents posed for pictures with their children in front of a life-size copy of the Constitution along the far wall. Exhausted adults took the time, after what must have been a long day of competition, to drink mock champagne and recharge. Beaudine estimated there were at least two hundred people in the lobby alone. Some program must have just ended upstairs, bringing a steady flow of flushed youth and beleaguered adults down the escalators.