“At this time we believe there is only one. Teams are on the ground as we speak, attempting to locate.”
Sam stood up and stared out the side windows toward the Potomac. From his vantage point on top of the Pentagon, his eyes swept the river, making out the small yellow shape of a life raft. They were slowly paddling to the western side.
The pilot switched the engine off, its rotor blades turned quietly.
The silence was interrupted by the echoing sounds of loud gunshots, firing in a rapid staccato. Sam squinted, fixing his eyes on the survivors. The sound seemed to be coming from there.
Bullets raked the surface of the river directly in front of the life raft.
Congressmen, Congresswomen, and servicemen jumped back into the water.
The shots ceased.
Why had the sharp shooter stop firing?
One of the Congressmen immediately began swimming toward the western side of the river. He made it nearly fifteen feet before the gunman began firing his rifle once more.
Sam quickly picked up a pair of binoculars hanging on the inside of the helicopter — normally used for sightseeing VIPs on their flight over the Capitol. Adjusting the instrument for his vision, he studied the river.
“Christ almighty!” Sam swore. “I get it. Someone’s trying to make certain no one leaves the Capitol.”
“You have to be kidding me!” The Secretary of Defense fixed her emerald eyes on the river as the scene unfolded. “Then why don’t they head to the east side, for goodness sakes?”
Another bullet struck the water, missing a man in a suit by no more than a foot. That settled it for the survivors. They turned and started swimming toward the east side. The shots immediately ceased.
“There they go,” Sam said.
“Sure. But now it’s obvious the terrorist intends to keep them on that side of the river.”
Sam's wry voice carried a cheerful note, “Yeah, but at least we know his intention isn’t to intentionally kill anyone. Not yet, at any rate.”
In the silence a cell phone started to ring from up front.
The pilot looked back at Sam. “Hey, I think that’s your phone.”
The Secretary of Defense passed his cell back to him.
He answered it. “Hello?”
“Sam Reilly?” The voice was garbled by a voice-scrambler.
“Speaking,” Sam replied, turning his cell onto speaker mode and gesturing to the Secretary of Defense to listen. “What can I do for you?”
“Right now, all I want you to do is pass a message onto the good-looking redhead next to you.”
Sam’s pulse skipped as he scanned the area around him. The terrorist, whoever he or she was, had eyes on him and was close enough to know exactly who he was with. “Okay. What’s the message?”
“No one but you comes in or out of the capital. The German nuclear bomb is hidden within the capital. If you play the game correctly everyone gets to go home. If you break any of the rules, it’s game over and I detonate the bomb.”
“What are the rules?” Sam asked.
“No one from Congress leaves the capital. My teams have surrounded the perimeter of the city, the edge of the Potomac, and the Anacostia. If I see special forces from the police or military encroach on these positions a lot of people will die. No air traffic anywhere in the city.”
“Okay. I’ll pass the message on.” Sam noted a slight flickering of sunlight coming from the edge of the Potomac and wondered if it was their attacker. “What do you want from me?”
“Your participation.”
“In what?”
“A game. A contest. Winner takes all.”
Sam squinted, trying to see if he could get a better view of the man. “Okay. Sure. How do I play?”
“You’re about to make your first move.” A series of bombs went off along K street NW, 11th Street NW, and Rhode Island Avenue NW, effectively cutting the capital in two. “There. I’ve made the game board smaller. I’m only interested in those to the south of that line. I’m afraid I’m going to be busy for a while now, but I’ll let you know when it’s time for you to make your next move.”
Sam stared at the series of fires that split the capital in half. He turned to face the Secretary of Defense. “What are you going to do?”
Exiting the helicopter, she picked up her secure satellite phone. Sam followed her lead, as did the pilot. “First, I’m going to make a call to ensure the police and special forces keep back from the city’s perimeter, the edge of the Potomac, and the Anacostia. I’m also going to put a stop on air traffic.”
The Secretary made her calls as she walked.
The two of them strode into an elevator. “Now, I’m going to inform the President of our situation. He has advisors who will want to consider the next steps to take.” Her piercing green eyes fixed on him. “The question is, Mr. Reilly, why in hell does this terrorist want to play a game with you? More importantly, what are you going to do about it?”
Sam shrugged. “I have no idea why he picked me. But for now, I’m going to catch a flight to New York to see that kid. I’ll get my people to find out everything they can about his grandfather. We’ll find a connection.”
“Is that the wisest thing to do?” Her eyebrows narrowed. “I mean, given that this extremist wants to play this game with you specifically?”
“He didn’t say not to go anywhere. Besides, he said he would be busy for a while.”
“In that case, I’d better organize a military jet to take you to NY. That way you’re no more than an hour away. I want you close, just in case the man with his finger on the button wants to contact you again.”
Chapter Thirteen
Alex Goodson struck Sam as being the kind of guy who was book smart but lacking in any sort of social or street sense. Yet, he wasn’t exactly stupid in that way, either. Instead, Sam noticed the young man was trying to be something that he was not. Looking around the place, it appeared more like Goodson didn’t seem to be able to connect his intelligence to anything useful.
For example, the building that Goodson had bought in Manhattan, a four-story brick walkup with a cell phone retailer and an internet service provider at the bottom, was rocking a twenty-four-hour gaming party when Sam reached it.
When he introduced himself, Goodson shrugged. “It’s not my fault that those treasure hunters caused so much trouble, okay? I didn’t have anything to do with that.”
Sam stopped himself from gaping at the kid. Of course Goodson, and nobody else, was responsible for posting the map online. This had directly led to the swarm of treasure hunters that had swarmed the area right afterward.
The kid’s reaction showed such a profound lack of insight into the situation that Sam had to take a mental step back and start over.
“Hi,” he said. “My name’s Sam Reilly. I’ve been sent by the Secretary of Defense to try to sort through the information that your grandfather left you. We need to find out who might have taken the bomb that was on that plane.”
“You didn’t find it?” Alex asked, opening a beer fridge full of energy drinks and soft drinks. “Jeez. That’s not good.” He opened his soda, a can of Dr. Pepper. “You want one?”
Sam restrained a grimace. “No thanks. Can I see the note your grandfather left you?” The FBI and the CIA had made copies, and had already gone through everything in the kid’s apartment. It didn’t seem to have bothered him.
Alex said, “Hang on a sec.” He left Sam on the second-floor landing. Except for the commercial spaces on the ground floor, the other tenants in the building appeared to have been evicted — or bribed to leave, probably. Workmen were carrying out their possessions: mattresses, shelving units, pet carriers, boxes that clinked as they were carried. The blaring music suddenly stopped. Someone was using a power drill on one of the floors above.