“You okay?” he asked.
She nodded.
“I’m Ricky,” he said, extending his hand.
She looked at it for a moment and then shook it. “Dani.”
CHAPTER 26
No matter how late Morse stayed up the night before, he was out of bed by 5:15 every morning. This one was no exception.
He kissed his wife on the forehead and limped his long-ago damaged body into the bathroom. After closing the door, he turned on the wall-mounted TV, the channel preset to Prime Cable News. The volume was muted, not because he was afraid of waking his wife, but because he was interested in the images the network broadcasted, not the nonsense the on-air talent spewed.
Television news these days was not news. It was bouts of stupidity wrapped in ridiculous suppositions and opinions disguised as facts. Not that he minded. On more than a few occasions, he’d been able to make use of the medium for his — and his country’s — benefit.
He had just lathered his face for a shave when the only surviving landline in the house trilled. It was his work line and had extensions in every room.
He wiped the foam from one side of his face and grabbed the receiver. “Yes?”
“Good morning, Director.” Morse recognized the voice as that of Falcao, his assistant director of operations.
“Morning,” Morse growled.
“There’s been a complication.”
“With?”
“Red team, sir.”
“What kind of complication?”
“It’s developing so we don’t have all the details. Communications was lost with them approximately thirty minutes ago, and we just obtained satellite images from their last known position. Their helicopter’s in the middle of a highway, and there are eight bodies on the road.”
Morse had fully expected to wake this morning to news that the girl had been captured, not his team wiped out. “A crash?”
“No, sir.”
“Do you have on-site confirmation of casualties?”
“Not yet, sir. A containment team is en route. There is, however, already local law enforcement on the way to the scene now.”
“No way to divert them?”
“No, sir.”
“Any sign of the girl?”
“None.”
“I’ll be there in forty-five minutes.”
After Morse hung up, he wiped the rest of the foam from his face and picked up the phone again.
“Clark residence,” the English butler answered.
“This is Morse. I need to speak with Mr. Clark.”
“I’m afraid Mr. Clark is still asleep.”
“And I’m afraid you’re going to have to wake him up.”
Assistant Trade Attaché Komarov had just risen from his desk to leave for lunch when his phone rang.
Annoyed, he hit the speaker button while pulling on his suit coat. “Komarov.”
“Herr Komarov, it is Karl Schwartz.”
He stopped, his arm half in the sleeve. “Herr Schwartz? What can I do for you?”
Why would Schwartz be calling again? Komarov’s part in the operation was done. He’d already gone back to being what he really was — an agricultural trade expert.
“I have a request, if I may.”
“Of course.”
“It is concerning the hotel project. There is a problem with the original blueprint. I need to know if we should make an adjustment, but I have not been able to reach our partners in Moscow and was wondering if maybe you could do that for me.”
Komarov closed his eyes. It was exactly as he’d feared. He was being pulled back into the middle.
Trying to keep dread out of his voice, he said, “I would be happy to help.”
CHAPTER 27
Quinn hadn’t expected to see Dani when he came around the turn. He’d told her to hide and assumed she’d done exactly that. But he also hadn’t expected to see the taillights of a car driving away. It was likely someone scared off by the lights and the smoke and the gunfire.
He cupped his hands around his mouth and said as loudly as he dared, “Dani?”
No response.
He tried again, knowing she couldn’t have gone very far. “Dani? It’s us.”
Still nothing.
“She’s probably too scared to come out,” Nate said.
Quinn wasn’t so sure about that. Though she’d been afraid as they made their escape, she hadn’t come close to freezing up.
“Dani!” he tried again.
She didn’t answer.
He looked behind them, knowing the woman with the gun would be coming soon. Dani would have to wait.
“Can you make it up the hill?” he asked Nate.
“I think so.”
“Come on, then.”
Up they went, Nate wincing with every step but keeping up with Quinn.
“This should be high enough,” Quinn said.
They lowered to the ground. Nate propped himself up a few inches so that his ribs didn’t touch anything.
When the female shooter came around the bend, she stopped, looked down the road, and started walking again, scanning side to side. She was still at it three minutes later when, in the distance, Quinn caught sight of a pair of headlights slowly heading their way. Since the woman didn’t have the benefit of his higher vantage point, it was another thirty seconds before she saw them, too.
She turned and walked back toward the curve, but stopped about a hundred feet from it at the base of the hill. Quinn couldn’t see what she was doing, but it became clear a moment later when he heard an engine kick on.
Her motorcycle must have been the one-eyed car they’d seen outside Waitsburg, he realized. More troubling was the fact she hadn’t found Dani, either.
“Stay here,” he told Nate.
He hurried down the hill and back to the Lexus. The trunk refused to open until he used one of the rifles to pry the lid loose. He grabbed their bags and carried them up the hill.
He was still several feet from Nate when the car he’d seen swung around the curve and skidded to a stop. He dropped down when he heard the door open, and watched the man who climbed out look around in surprise. A moment later, the guy jumped back in his car and reversed away.
Quinn double-timed it the rest of the way up and set the bags down next to Nate. The car’s taillights were receding, but the driver, no matter how spooked he was, would soon be calling the authorities, if he hadn’t already done so. As much as Quinn and Nate needed to get out of there, there was still the question of Dani’s whereabouts.
Quinn opened the tracking app on his phone and input the tracking ID number of the chip he’d hidden in Dani’s shoe. A map filled the screen, and then the dot representing Dani appeared. She was still on Route 124 but was over halfway back to Waitsburg, moving steadily away from them.
“How did she get all the way over there?” Nate asked.
Quinn glanced down the road. The taillights he’d seen, not of the car that had just left, but of the one that had been there as he’d first run around the corner. She had gotten into it. That was the only explanation.
“It doesn’t matter right now,” he said. “We need to put some distance between ourselves and this place fast.”
Traffic on 124 had picked up considerably since the discovery of the helicopter in the road and the bodies scattered around it. At first, the responders had been limited to police and fire department vehicles. In the last ten minutes, though, a convoy of a dozen military vehicles had passed Quinn and Nate’s position.
They were approximately four and a half miles east of the crime scene, hiding in a copse of trees in the large front yard of a farmhouse along the road. A few more miles and they would have made it to Prescott, but Nate had been hurting too much, and carrying all the gear wasn’t doing Quinn any good, either.