“A good start will be a list of the stolen chemicals.”
Osman scooted forward to his computer. “I’m not sure how much it will help. There seemed to be no method to it. Some of the most valuable chemicals fell to the floor. Others worth only a few euros went into the bag.”
The printer at the edge of the doctor’s desk whirred to life. Nick took the first page it spat out. He scanned down the list. None of the compounds stood out to him. “I’m curious,” he said, still scanning the page. “Your head of security told me the thief could make a hundred thousand euros on the black market, but you just said he left the valuable chemicals behind.”
Osman shook his head. “I told you he left some of the valuable chemicals behind. Our security chief is correct. The thief got lucky.” He stood and pulled the rest of the pages off the printer, thumbing through them. When he found the page he was looking for, he shifted it to the top, tapped the stack on his desk to straighten it, and handed the whole pile to Nick. “There,” he said, pointing to an item halfway down the top page. “That was the most valuable item in the room, by far.”
Nick read the entry out loud. “Lithium-six: three kilos.”
Osman nodded. “Worth a hundred thousand euros, maybe more.”
“Why so much?”
“Lithium-six is rare and it is highly controlled. Supply and demand. Basic economics.” The doctor sat down again and gestured at the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must attend to the unhappy task of taking over my late superior’s position.”
Nick stayed where he was. “Just one more question before we go. Let’s say for the sake of argument that your thief had a use for the lithium-six other than selling it. What might that be?”
“I can’t imagine.” Osman returned his attention to his computer. “We use it here to track the transportation of submicroscopic agents between host cells.”
Nick cast a glance at his teammates. Drake shrugged. Quinn shook his head.
“Could you put that in layman’s terms, Doctor?”
Osman let out a sigh and looked up at his unwanted guests. “Viruses, gentlemen. Lithium-six is used in tracking and engineering viruses.”
“The Emissary is building a bioweapon,” said Nick. He held his phone to his ear as the team descended the marble stairs that led to the lobby of the research facility.
“You have evidence?” asked Walker.
“I have a pretty solid hunch. The terrorists stole a box of controlled material from Istanbul University, material used to modify viruses.”
“I can’t have the CDC act on your hunch alone, Baron. Maybe the Emissary is making a bioweapon, or maybe he’s planning to sell the material for cash to support another suicide bombing. Get me hard evidence. And if there is a virus, find out what it is and where it’s going. Actionable intelligence, Major. You know the drill.”
As Nick pushed through the building’s glass double doors, a glint of light caught his eye. Something atop the old tower gate that dominated the university park had flashed in the winter sun. He recognized the distinctive play of light.
“Down!”
He shoved Drake and Quinn to the pavement behind the rental car as the door they had just come through shattered behind them. Glass rained down on the sidewalk. A thunderous report ripped across the campus, followed by another.
The shooter gave them no rest. High-velocity rounds pounded the small SUV. Terrified students screamed and ran for cover. Suddenly Quinn let out a pained cry. Nick and Drake were protected behind the engine block, but the younger operative had taken cover behind the rear tire. It was not big enough. One of the rounds had passed through the rental’s thin frame and penetrated Quinn’s body armor. He sat back onto the pavement with his hands over his belly. When he pulled them away, they were covered in blood.
While Drake dragged their teammate to the relative safety of the vehicle’s front end, Nick searched for his phone. He found it within reach at the edge of the sidewalk, beneath a pile of glass. He could hear Walker shouting on the other end.
Nick interrupted the colonel. “Get me a medevac chopper! Quinn’s been hit!”
Beside him, Drake ripped off his outer shirt and pressed it to their young teammate’s abdomen.
“How bad?” asked Walker.
Nick watched as Quinn’s blood quickly soaked through the makeshift bandage. The kid’s eyes lost their focus.
“We need that chopper now, sir. He’s bleeding out.”
CHAPTER 18
Ten rounds, almost universal to clip-fed sniper rifles. Nick waited for the inevitable pause as the shooter reloaded. As soon as the impacts stopped, he crawled forward, opened the rear passenger door of the rental and pulled a black duffel from the backseat. The first round of the sniper’s second clip passed through the driver’s door right above his shoulder as he dragged the bag back to their cover position behind the engine block.
“Come up on comms. Stay with Quinn,” he ordered Drake, handing him one of the team’s H&K MP7A1s and a SATCOM earpiece. Then he put his own earpiece in and withdrew his Beretta Nano from the bag. “Cover me.”
After the second set of ten rounds, Drake popped over the hood and fired a volley at the shooter. Nick sprinted into the open. His objective was a good 150 meters away at the other end of a green park, a four-story tower gate bracketed by a pair of three-story turrets. He made it across the street and twenty meters into the sparse trees before the bullets started flying again. Heavy rounds splintered the trunk of an ancient cypress as he passed. “Any questions about what ‘cover me’ means?” he panted.
“Working on it,” replied Drake through the comm link. “I’m dealing with a wounded man here.”
As Drake spoke, Nick heard the rat-a-tat of his teammate’s MP7 over the comm link, followed an instant later by a matching report, echoing across the park. Drake kept the sniper’s head down until Nick reached the base of the structure. Then his clip ran out and the shooter opened up again. A slow steady rhythm of earsplitting cracks sounded from the top of the tower.
A crowd of terrified pedestrians huddled beneath the main arch of the tower gate. A young man pointed at the gun in Nick’s hand and shouted to the others. Nick ignored him. To the left of the crowd he spied an ancient wooden door, slightly ajar, and pushed through into a stone stairwell. The gunfire above stopped. The shooter was reloading again. Nick raced up the steps.
At the top of the stairs, he kicked open the door and leveled his Beretta. No one. The ledge that faced the research facility was directly ahead, but the sniper had abandoned his perch. Then Nick heard the crunch of a footstep to his right. The shooter struck before he could bring his gun around, knocking him off his feet and knocking the Beretta from his hand.
Nick hit the gravel rooftop hard, but he rolled backward over his shoulder and came up facing his attacker. The man wore the same black cloak as the killer in the security video. The face under the wide hood looked Turkish, with a thin black mustache and beard, not much more than stubble. His hands were open, ready to fight, and his right palm bore a black marking similar to the tattoo on the driver in Budapest, a geometric shape within a circle.
In the distance, Nick could hear the rescue helicopter approaching. He circled the shooter, muttering a command to Drake. “Nightmare Two, I’m keeping our sniper busy. Move now. Get the kid to the roof and get him on that chopper.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll be fine.”
The shooter lunged. Nick caught him by the lapels of his cloak and fell backward, twisting mid-fall, slamming him to the ground. Usually that maneuver knocked the wind from an opponent, but the impact did not faze this enemy at all. With terrifying strength, the shooter rolled Nick onto his back and came up on top. The two of them bumped against the low lip of the tower roof, and Nick felt the eerie threat of four stories of empty space.