Hours passed without either of the two men showing.
During the whole time, Dillon and Northcutt never voiced a single word.
“These cobra guys are bound to their code,” Morrow told NYPD detective Al Dimarco later over the phone. “It looks like they were going to hit the Federal Reserve Bank across the street. They had enough firepower to make it a military operation. At least we stopped that and we got three of them.”
We’re tightening the noose.
Morrow, standing at a window in the FBI’s San Francisco office, ran a hand across his face as he took in the city’s skyline.
But we still have two unknown killers at large.
46
Queens, New York
Hours later, across the country from where Upshaw, Dillon and Northcutt had been arrested, a rented Chevy Tahoe SUV rolled through Lisa Palmer’s sleeping neighborhood at 1:46 a.m.
“There it is. Eighty-seven, eighty-seven,” Felk said. “Take it slow.”
They crept by a two-story wood-framed house with a Ford Focus in the driveway. The front yard had a waist-high steel fence displaying a small sign for Vital Guardstop Security Systems.
“Take the next left—” Felk opened his laptop “—and go for five or six blocks before circling back.”
Unger was uneasy as he drove.
According to the information they’d obtained, Lisa Palmer was thirty-one, widowed, two small children, worked as a supermarket cashier.
She was the FBI’s key witness, Felk was certain. He was the only one who’d seen her face up close.
This was insane, Unger thought as he guided them through the edges of Rego Park.
So much was at stake. They hadn’t even done a basic recon of the place. They had no idea how well it was secured, or if there were patrols. It might be under surveillance. Hell, she could have cops in her house with her as part of some kind of witness protection. Unger was deeply committed to Felk, the team and the mission, but this was nuts. The mission was over.
“Okay, take us back to the house,” Felk said. “I need to work on the security system.”
“Why are we doing this?” Unger said.
“She’s the enemy. I told you.”
“I think we should forget it.”
“She has to pay—this is retribution.”
“Maybe you’re beating yourself up for not removing her at the start. Maybe you’re taking this witness thing too personally.”
Felk stared at him.
“What did you say?”
“This does not help us.”
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Felk dragged his hands over his face. “This bitch should not be alive! We’ve lost this whole fucking operation because of her—our people will die because of her! And you think we should just walk away?”
“We have to accept what’s happened.”
“I do. We’re at war and she needs to suffer, like our people have suffered. She has to pay for what she did.”
“But this is a suicide mission.”
“Our lives have been a suicide mission, Nate! Shut the fuck up and pull up to her goddamn house now! That’s an order!”
Unger moved the SUV near the house.
While Felk changed into dark coveralls and boots with covers, Unger eyeballed parked cars lining the street for any telltale sign of a police car. Then Felk concentrated on his laptop. He used techniques he’d learned from intelligence experts to disable Palmer’s home security system. He searched for Palmer’s home wireless network; they’d named it “Palmer4” and it displayed on his laptop. He used a CIA program he’d obtained from a friend that was able to decrypt their password and bypass her internet security walls. Palmer’s home security system had a base station connected to Palmer’s landline. The keypads, motion detectors and sensors on the doors and windows were all linked via wireless. The security company was remotely monitoring the system 24/7 through Palmer’s landline, but Felk disabled the wireless sensors and detectors without triggering any alarms on the company’s master console.
“Done.”
Felk opened the equipment bag he’d picked up earlier from a military friend in Brooklyn. Felk slipped on a small wireless headset that was linked to a walkie-talkie. Unger slipped on a headset as well, then adjusted the digital emergency scanner that was monitoring police radio chatter in the area.
“Test one, two, three.” Felk tested their communication system.
“All good. Loud and clear,” Unger said.
Felk slid a bone-handled hunting knife with a ten-inch blade into his pocket, tugged on latex gloves.
“You listen for police and keep me posted. This won’t take long.” Felk got out and headed to the house. He took a few steps, then, like a cat, slipped into the darkened backyard.
He went to a rear basement window and carefully removed the exterior exhaust vent for the dryer. He reached inside and using a small mirror and penlight, unlatched the window with surgical smoothness.
“Okay, I’m in the basement,” he whispered into his headset to Unger.
“All clear out here.”
Felk slipped on a small headlamp and moved toward the stairs, constantly checking his surroundings with each step, pausing to listen for any movement in the house.
Quickly and soundlessly he searched the basement, then headed for the stairs to the main floor. He was careful to place his foot on the part of the wooden stair secured to the side, which reduced creaking.
In silence he ascended to the small hall landing area near the back door. His light found small sneakers, jackets, caps, school backpacks then a corkboard with a calendar, dates marked; some sort of drawing.
Moving on to the kitchen he detected traces of pepperoni and onion in the air. An empty pizza take-out box was set on a counter, near a rubber trash bin and recycle tub, all staged as if they were to go out in the morning.
On the counter next to car keys and a second key ring, he saw a hand-written to-do list and he studied it. They were leaving in the morning. Where? Thinking, he stepped back to the corkboard and the calendar. Tomorrow’s date was marked “We go to the cabin.” Felk realized the drawing next to it was a map from Queens to a lake in upstate New York.
Felk considered it before moving on.
Outside, Unger glimpsed curtains moving in the darkened second-story window of a house several doors down.
A man with a phone in his hand searching the street?
“Felk?” Unger whispered. “I think we’re being watched by a neighbor. Step it up.”
“Roger,” Felk whispered.
He moved with care throughout the main floor. It was neat and empty. Scrutinizing the small office area, his interest went to a file. Flipping through it, he recognized real estate papers, a Post-it note with contact numbers, names, an agent’s business card and one for Jack Gannon, a national reporter with the World Press Alliance in Manhattan.
Felk cursed to himself.
He waited until his heart rate leveled then went to the stairway, relieved the stairs to the bedrooms were carpeted. Again, he took pains to place his foot at the side of each step to minimize creaking.
He killed his headlamp when he reached the top.
By his count there would be three people sleeping on this level.
Slowly he reached for his knife.
The nearest bedroom door was open. He controlled his breathing as he inched toward it. He could start with the woman, slip in, hand over her mouth, tell her who he was and why she was going to die just before he plunged the blade into her throat, up to the hilt, just as he did at the militia camp in the mountains.