“You’ve got it all wrong, Jarrod,” Ryan said earnestly. They’d arrived at the crux of their conflict, and he needed to make the sales pitch of his life. “I admit that asking Ginner to the Junior prom was an act of revenge. You had it coming though. Remember all your taunts in school about my grades? How you used to publicly embarrass me for being stupid? You knew my grades drove my mother insane, but you never let up. Ginner was payback for that. But Sarah and I never undermined you. If I recall, Sela questioned your ability to make a commitment. She was struggling with her desire to have a relationship with you, but felt it was impossible because you were both so committed to your research. It was nothing more insidious than that. I promise you…I never tried to influence Sela’s feelings one way or the other. I’m just as certain that Sarah didn’t either. She would’ve told me. Don’t you get what the hatred is doing to us? I’m so sick of it…”
“I don’t believe you, Ryan,” Jarrod said, his arms still crossing his chest. “You’ll say anything to be set free. I know there’s more to this than you’re letting on. There was something that hastened Sela’s decision to end our relationship and you’re behind it, just like with Ginner. Once I figured that out, I spent every free moment planning a payback. You of all people know how I am. You knew I’d retaliate. When the Trade Center disaster hit and mom told me you’d be going to New York City, I set the Virginia plan in action. Pure Italian revenge, just like the old days. You ruined my relationship, I ruined yours… simple as that,” he stated sardonically, as if he were describing something as inconsequential as two children squabbling over a toy.
Jarrod continued, “As I said, it turned out much better than I planned. Imagine my surprise-I had no idea that Sarah would actually divorce you over it. You can’t plan such a thing,” he said with a malicious grin.
“Well, she did, you son-of-a-bitch,” Ryan retorted, his face scarlet with anger. “You got me…okay? You got me real good. Satisfied? So what now? I lost Sarah because of you; you think Sela left because of me. Are you really going to turn me over to the police, or can we try to work this through together? You must be getting the sense that someone else is behind all this. Come on, Jarrod, wake up…cut me out of this fucking chair!”
“I have to admit,” Jarrod replied slowly, “there’s something about all this that just doesn’t ring true. But I still think my only option is to turn you over to Palo Alto PD or I could become an accessory.”
All of a sudden, both men froze at the sound of a doorbell ringing. “Who the hell could that be?” Jarrod said, more irritated than startled by this new interruption. Ryan began shouting and shaking his head forcefully to resist being silenced once again, as Jarrod quickly re-taped his mouth.
“Shut up and hold still, goddamnit. That better not be Millicent; I’ve told her never to bother me at home. I’m about fed up with this bullshit,” he muttered as he left the room.
The private investigator watched with keen interest as the woman and her son walked up the front steps of 265 Lomita Lane. Even though it was past 10:30 p.m., these two seemed determined to make immediate contact with the owner. It had been a veritable wild goose chase keeping up with them. Their plane from Albuquerque took them to Las Vegas, but the connecting flight was delayed for several hours before conveying them to John Wayne Airport in Orange County. They had finally arrived in San Francisco, rented a car, and continued directly to Palo Alto, where they now waited on the steps of the house.
He had no idea what was so important that these two would suddenly fly across two states to confront the occupant. But whatever their motivation, he was not feeling as good about this assignment as he had when they left Albuquerque. Rather than hold back any longer, he decided he’d better leave the car and prepare to intercede if the situation warranted.
The woman and young man stood on the porch for several minutes before a light went on, the door opened, and they entered. The young man he was charged with following was now out his sight. Not good, the man thought. I need to find out what’s happening in that house.
TWENTY-NINE
Livermore, California
Richard Kilmer’s team departed near 23:00 hours for the hour-long drive to the Lawrence Livermore Lab. They had completed a comprehensive dry run of the mission, with each man reciting his respective tactical responsibilities for the op. Following the rehearsal, they undertook personal measures to mentally prepare for the coming conflict. It was paramount to maintain clear-headed, dispassionate reasoning when facing dangerous conditions, which meant controlling anxiety prior to the mission, and each man had a different routine for achieving this state of readiness.
Sully Metusack remained lighthearted in spite of the seriousness of the pending operation and typically jostled around, told off-color jokes, and teased everyone to keep his mind clear. Ivan Krilenko, who didn’t say much under normal circumstances, sat in quiet contemplation, his eyes closed as he focused his concentration on the approaching op. Colt Hamil’s preparation was an anomaly. While most men slowed themselves down to achieve tranquility, the normally hyperactive Hamil preferred to stay busy. His preparation consisted of re-inventorying and securing all the available equipment, rechecking the vehicles for any last-minute attention, and glancing again at the weather satellite for any changes in road conditions that might affect his route. But when Colt finally sat behind the wheel, he was a model of composure.
As the team readied to depart, the men, dressed in black nomex, strapped on various weapons and ammo, adjusted their night-vision goggles, and established the variable radio frequency for the mission. They were split into three groups: Tom Starkovich, Sully Metusack, and Ivan Krilenko would be the first to enter the facility, followed closely by Rafael Nuzam and Terry Ventura, who would set the explosives after the first team breached the lab. Colt would drive Kilmer and Dallas Weaver in the Humvee, waiting near the main gate for the guard station to be cleared. According to plan, Kilmer expected to pick up the cargo and be back at headquarters by 01:30 hours. It was time to get the mission underway.
Two black, windowless service vans rolled out of the Bayshore team headquarters. The black Humvee exited last, stopping briefly for Weaver to close the overhead warehouse door. At the first intersection, each vehicle went in separate directions to throw off any potential surveillance, even though none was expected. The night was clear and pitch black, just as Kilmer had wanted. Conditions were nearly perfect for the mission.
“Tooz, Team Leader,” Kilmer said into his voice-activated radio that operated hands-free. “Advise b’fore goin’ in.”
“Affirmative, Team Leader,” Metusack replied. “We’ll arrive on site in ten. After staging, will confirm our move. Stand by.”
“Righto, Tooz,” Kilmer replied.
“Rafie, Team Leader-any burrs?” Kilmer asked his second-in-command, leading the demolition team.
“All clear, Team Leader,” Rafie reported, understanding that these perfunctory questions were merely to check communications. “Same schedule…about ten. Will advise before entry.”
“Ten-four, Rafie,” Kilmer said. “Keep the channel clear.”
Tooz, Stark, and Krilenko arrived at the Lawrence Livermore Lab site and parked about 100 yards from the fence closest to the water tower. Both cargo vans would be abandoned. It mattered little where they parked so long as they weren’t spotted by the lab’s photo-security surveillance, which initial reconnaissance indicated only extended fifty yards beyond the perimeter fencing. Abandoning the vehicles at this distance was considered reasonably safe.
Rafie had registered ownership of both vans to individuals known by Homeland Security to be sympathetic to Al-Qaeda dissidents. This was the first step in misdirecting the law enforcement who would be investigating the crime.