And wasn’t that a scary thought?
‘Sergeant McGuire,’ a voice suddenly boomed from the telephone intercom system. ‘You were supposed to get me a copy of those updates ASAP. Where the hell are they?’
Finn knew the voice all too well. It was his commanding officer, Colonel Benjamin Duckworth, a spit-and-polish career officer who ran the Satellite Analysis Group, SAG, like it was his own private fiefdom.
Hitting the mute button, he glanced apologetically at the two CID agents. ‘Sorry about that. I was supposed to get these satellite photos to the Colonel ten minutes ago. There’s a commander in Kandahar who’s currently on standby. He’s waiting to get this intel downloaded before he sends out his security detail,’ Finn told them, purposefully playing the ‘patriot’ card. ‘Colonel Duckworth’s office is just down the hall. It won’t take but a second for me to deliver the file.’
The Warrant Officer’s eyes narrowed as he glanced at the innocuous manila folder that Finn now held in his right hand. ‘Can’t you have someone else deliver the file?’
‘Actually, I can’t,’ Finn lied. ‘There’s no one in the office with a high enough security clearance to open this file, let alone carry it down the hall to the Colonel.’
‘All right,’ the other man groused irritably. ‘But make it snappy.’
Oh, I intend to.
3
Manila folder in hand, Finn walked down the corridor to the Colonel’s office.
A quick glance over his shoulder proved what he already knew – the two CID agents were watching his every move.
‘What took so long?’ Colonel Duckworth bellowed as Finn stepped into his office. ‘And who are those two suits?’
Finn knew that Duckworth didn’t want the file so much as he wanted to know who had trespassed, unauthorized, into his domain.
‘They’re a couple of CID agents,’ he replied. ‘An incident happened down at Fort Bragg and they’re checking on some background information.’ He held the manila folder aloft as he strode over to the door on the other side of the Colonel’s office. ‘I need to make a quick copy for my files.’
When the Colonel nodded his consent, Finn opened the door and stepped into the administration bay. He’d cut a break. Not a big one, but enough to get him out of the SAG office suite before the two agents caught on to the ruse.
Quickly passing the copy machines, collators and a line of cubicles, he figured he had sixty, maybe seventy-five seconds before the alarm was sounded.
Exiting the admin bay, he hung a right and briskly strode down the hall towards an office wing currently under renovation, the area shrouded in clear plastic sheets. He wedged past a fifteen-foot stretch of linked trolleys piled high with office furniture and cardboard boxes.
Free and clear of the ‘moving van’, he threw open a door that led to a newly painted stairwell, ‘WET PAINT’ signs still tacked to the railing. A few seconds later, he emerged in the basement of the E-ring, the outermost ring of the Pentagon.
And that’s when he took off at a fast trot, the manila folder still grasped in his hand. To the casual bystander, he looked like a man running late for a meeting.
As he charged past the Pentagon printing office, Finn tuned out the near-deafening roar of the printing presses that churned out documents, reports and manuals 24/7. At the end of the long hall, he sidestepped a forklift loaded with boxes of printed binders before entering another stairwell. Taking the steps three at a time, he climbed one flight, emerging on the first floor of the River Entrance wing of the Pentagon.
Five storeys high with five concentric rings and ten radial corridors, the Pentagon was a maze. A fact he intended to use to his advantage. Given that his Dodge Ram truck was parked in the South Lot, using that exit was not an option. He figured that’d be the first place they’d look for him. The second place would be the subway and bus exit. That’s why he intended to take the road less travelled and leave the building via the River Entrance. All of the bigwigs – the Secretary of Defense, the Joint Chiefs – had their offices located in that wing of the Pentagon. Not only was it the farthest removed from the SAG office, he figured it was the last place CID would look for him.
Slowing his pace, he caught sight of a burly staff sergeant leaving his rabbit warren. Finn quickly sized him up. Six foot four. Two hundred and twenty pounds of ripped muscle . A perfect match. Finn stepped into his empty office, lifting the sergeant’s uniform jacket and beret from the hook on the back of the door. As he continued down the corridor, he donned the green service jacket and stuffed the beret under his arm. CID would be searching for a coatless NonCom. Wearing a jacket wouldn’t save him, but it might buy him a few seconds.
As he approached the security checkpoint located at the River Entrance, he glanced at his Pathfinder watch. 1615. If he didn’t show up at the French Embassy in the next forty-five minutes, he would never find out who killed Dixie and Johnny K.
Suddenly catching sight of his military photo emblazoned on the guard station computer screen, Finn jammed the beret on his head. He then piggybacked on to a group of uniformed military personnel, shouldering his way into the middle of the pack.
Ten seconds later, Finn exited the Pentagon. Removing a pair of sunglasses from the jacket’s breast pocket, he slipped them on.
The easy part was done. Now he had to get to the French Embassy.
He scanned the small parking lot on the other side of the covered concourse. Given that it was broad daylight, hotwiring a parked car was out of the question.
As he continued to search the lot, a Toyota Camry pulled up to the kerb. A man in a rumpled khaki suit emerged from the passenger door. Slamming the car door shut, the suit scurried up the steps towards the entrance. Finn glanced through the windscreen. Scrawny build. Stick-straight black hair. Almond-shaped eyes and freckled cheeks. The woman behind the wheel was a civilian contractor who worked in one of the cubicles down the hall from SAG.
What was her name?
Kathy? Karen?
Hell, her name didn’t matter.
Needing an escape vehicle, Finn opened the passenger door and climbed inside the Toyota.
4
Barely stifling a scream, Kate Bauer recoiled from the large, unsmiling soldier who’d unceremoniously got into her Camry.
‘I need your help,’ the man announced abruptly, the request as unexpected as his sudden appearance.
Kate sat mute, her tongue tied in the proverbial knot.
It wasn’t until the uninvited passenger reached up and removed his sunglasses that she belatedly realized she knew the man, although not very well – she and Sergeant McGuire were no more than passing acquaintances. If that. According to the rumour mill, he’d spent ten years on the vaunted Delta Force as a highly trained commando. Everyone in the office bay, herself included, gave him a wide berth when they passed him in the hallway.
‘Sergeant McGuire, you scared the living daylights out of me,’ she said tersely, annoyance trumping fear.
Unperturbed, he glanced at the commando-style watch strapped to his left wrist. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just that my Dodge Ram is a dead dog and I’ve been waiting forty minutes for the tow truck.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that you’re having vehicle problems. But that doesn’t explain why –’
‘I was kinda hoping you could give me a lift into town,’ he interjected, a beseeching look in his eyes. ‘I need to be at the French Embassy no later than five p.m. You are on your way home, aren’t you?’