FATAL eMPULSE (9 page)

He had to warn Alena. If he called her from here, the intruder might be alerted. Gerrit rose and began moving toward the door.

A moment later, he heard a light tap. Then another.

He waited, controlling his breathing. On guard.

Again, another rap. This one a little stronger. “Gerrit, are you awake?”

Alena!

He rushed to the door, flung it open, and grabbed her arm. “Get in here. Quickly.” He pulled her inside, cautiously peering left and right down the hallway. Empty. He shut the door and turned the bolt.

“What in the world—?”

He placed his hand over her mouth and whispered, “Do you have your weapon?”

She nodded and glanced down at her purse.

“Willy called to warn us that we’ve been exposed. They know where we’re staying.”

“How?”

“Willie’s guess…from the airport. Probably picked up our trail after we rented the car.”

“Who are they?”

He shrugged. “Maybe someone connected to Devon. But why haven’t they moved in?” He hit himself in the forehead. “It must have been the girl at the hotel, or someone who heard us talking to her. They got a call, did some checking, and backtracked to the airport.”

“Okay, so they backtracked. That means they have our credit-card information and both our aliases.” She took a quick look at the door. “Did you hear—?”

The door flung open as an armed man hurled himself through the doorway, a second man holding a battering ram. Gerrit raised his weapon and fired several head shots at both targets. Alena fired several rounds a second later.

The first gunman tried to return fire, but his shots went wild. The second man with the ram never had a chance. He died trying to reach his weapon. Both lay dead.

Gerrit and Alena continued to aim their weapons toward the door, expecting a second assault. No one moved. Seconds passed and they heard nothing but the ringing in their ears and the smell of spent powder wafting through the room.

Gerrit knelt and felt the carotid arteries of both men. No pulses. He glanced at Alena. “You okay?”

She nodded and moved toward the doorway. “Cover me.” She edged toward the door and motioned a crisscross with her hands.

He moved to the other side of the door. He held up three fingers, then slowly lowered a finger at a time. As the third finger descended, Alena sprang across his path and out into the hallway to his left. He followed right behind, peeling off to his right.

“Clear,” Alena called out.

“Clear my way, too.”

They backed into the room, Gerrit standing in the doorway, checking the hallway for more suspects. As he stood guard, he whispered over his shoulder, “Check the bodies. See what kind of communication system they’re using.”

A moment later, she called out, “Handheld portables with earphones.”

“Grab them and let’s get out of here.”

“Got them.” She started heading toward him when Gerrit saw movement at the end of the hallway toward the elevator. He held up a hand.

“More company coming our way. Watch the doorway for a second.” He turned and dashed across the room. A sliding door opened onto a small balcony that overlooked the ocean. A fire escape, crusty and pitted by salt air, stood next to the balcony. He rejoined Alena.

“I’ll cover the doorway.” He told her about the fire escape. “Use it to gain access to the roof. Once you’re topside, cover me as I climb.”

She handed him one of the radios and headed toward the balcony.

He poked his head into the hallway and quickly withdrew. More shots fired his way, slamming into the doorpost. He heard two figures, maybe more, coming his way. Had to slow them down.

He dropped to the ground, then fired five shots where he estimated the gunmen might be. A scream told him he hit at least one of them. A flurry of shots exploded in the doorway, then it sounded like the attackers might be making a tactical retreat. At least for the moment.

Time was running out. He heard sirens in the distance, and both sides would need to clear the area in the next few minutes or face arrest. Unless a police unit was running in silent and close. That would mean trouble.

He carefully walked backward toward the balcony, keeping his weapon trained on the doorway. He felt behind him until he touched glass. The sliding door had been left ajar. He quickly walked out on the balcony and looked up. Alena leaned over the edge, motioning him to climb.

He glanced down before starting. People gathered in the street, looking toward the hotel, standing in bunches. The darkness seemed to hide his presence from the bystanders. He quickly scaled the ladder, climbing two more stories before reaching the roof. As he neared the roof, Alena urgently waved him aside.

The first shot he heard bounced off the side of the building a few inches from his leg. Alena squeezed off several rounds. Silence followed. The gunman probably pulled back into their room for cover. Gerrit swung a leg over the top lip of the building and hurled himself onto the black tar roof, still pungent from the heat of late afternoon.

Alena pulled him to his feet. “I heard them on the radio. The gunman below must have alerted the others. They know we’re on the roof.”

Gerrit plugged in the earpiece and clasped the radio to his belt. “Okay, let’s do the unexpected.”

She gave him a puzzled look. “I have a feeling I’m not going to like this.”

“I know you can swim.” The second time they met a few months ago, she was decked out in a black wetsuit, pulling him out of his boathouse and into the chilly Seattle waters moments before his world exploded.

Hesitating for a moment, she nodded. “Since I was a little girl. Why?”

“And how do you feel about heights?”

Her eyes widened.
“Bist meshugeh!
You are crazy. We might kill ourselves.”

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Our options are limited and the cops are coming.” He moved to the rear of the building. “Besides, we never got to use the pool this afternoon. What do you say we go for a little swim?”

She brushed past him and strode to the edge farthest from the street. She leaned over for a moment and straightened. “That’s four stories down, Gerrit. And we don’t know how deep it is.”

“Yes we do. I read the hotel brochure and they include the depth of the deep end. Twelve feet. Clearance, nine inches from a four-story roof. Clear six feet from the edge of building. And…splash. I estimated that will be sufficient depth to cushion our fall. Just don’t belly flop.”

“Why would my belly…how you say, flop? What does that mean?”

“It means you must fall straight up and down. If you land on your stomach at this height—you’re really going to feel it.” He glanced at her clothing. “It’s good you chose to wear jeans. Anything else and the hotel guests might get an eyeful when you climb out of that pool.”

“And eye full?”

“I’ll explain later. I’ll go first and you follow. Okay?”

She stared dubiously at the blue water below, illuminated by underwater lights. “After you, Superman.”

“Superman can fly. I can’t. I’m going to fall like a lead ball after that dinner.”

“Do you want me to push you, or are you going to stop talking and jump?”

As if in answer, he heard sirens wailing just a few blocks away. The sound carried through the night, signaling the lead cars must be moving fast.

He snapped his gun into the ankle holster and stepped onto the lip of the roof, tottering as a gust of wind from the ocean swept over him. Below, the deep end of the pool was only three feet from the edge of the building. He crouched and sprung out as far as he could jump. The water smacked him as he hit the surface, gravity carrying him to the depths where his feet solidly struck bottom.
Made it!

He quickly reached the surface and paddled to the far side to give Alena enough room. He looked up just as he saw her hurling through the night air. She smacked the water, coming up for air a second later.

He climbed out and reached back to pull her out as she paddled to the edge.

“Time to run,” he said. “They can’t be far behind.”

An elderly couple, sprawled on two lounge chairs near the water’s edge, gaped at them, their clothes wet from the splashes. The man leaned over and muttered to his wife, “Phhh. Crazy kids.”

Gerrit gave them a wave as he and Alena dashed from the pool. They followed an alley that led between two other buildings on the same block. As they hurried, Gerrit reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone.

“Let’s see if this thing works.” He dialed Willy’s number and heard the call go through. The water had not damaged the phone. He smiled when his friend came on the line. “We made it, Willy. And we are on the run. No car. Can’t use credit cards because they might have been flagged. And only wet clothes on our backs. But we’re still breathing.”

“What happened, Mr. G.?”

“Too long to explain. Contact Jack or Beck to get a contact they trust in the area. We need some wheels and new identification documents overnighted to us. The ones Joe stockpiled in the safe.”

“On it, Mr. G.”

“And Willy, use your computer magic to track these folks at the hotel. I need a fix on Devon. Hotel camera security, traffic cams, whatever you can hack into. Get faces and a vehicle on these guys. It’s as if they came out of nowhere.”

An exasperated sigh came over the line. “Do I tell you how to kill people? Just let me do my job.”

“Sorry, can’t help myself.” He heard Willy tapping on his keyboard as they spoke. “By the way, speaking of killing people, there’re two dead guys in my hotel room.”

Willy stopped typing. “Dead guys? You didn’t say you were in a gunfight.”

“We’re all right. The police will find my prints in the room and a bunch of shell casings—mine and Alena’s. The casings are free of any prints, but who knows what they’ll turn up. Tell Beck we need someone to shadow this investigation.”

“You got it.” Willy started to type again. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, we could use some dry clothes.”

“Huh.”

“We dived in a pool from four stories up. Alena looks like a drowned rat.”

She yanked the phone from Gerrit’s hand, glaring at him. “Rat?” She put the receiver to her ear. “Willy, why would my belly flop? Is Gerrit calling me fat?”

Willy said something, but Gerrit couldn’t hear.

“Just tell him that we’ll be in touch.” Gerrit leaned over and whispered in Alena’s ear. “And, by the way, you have a beautiful belly. Now let’s get the heck out of here.”

Alena smiled back, still on the phone. “You can explain this belly thing later, Willy.”

February 23
CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

F
eeling like a caged animal, Jack heard the door click and saw Shakeela enter with a man. As a U.S. Marine, he hated cages, tunnels, or cells. Needed the open air and room to move around. The man shut the door behind them and the door locked. This was a cage.

She seemed on edge. “Sir, I wanted you to meet my supervisor. He’s been an intricate part of the operation since I began.”

Without acknowledging her, the man brushed past, thrusting out a hand. “Jason Attmire. Pleasure to meet you, Colonel Thompson.”

Jack grasped the man’s hand, a wet, clammy grip that he tried to wipe off on his pants without drawing attention. Shakeela’s boss took his sweet time getting to this meeting. Left alone for nearly an hour while these clowns got their act together. They gathered around a conference table, Attmire at the head and Jack and Shakeela flanking him.

“Sorry for the delay,” Attmire said, as if reading Jack’s mind, “but Agent Vaziri conveyed your concern about having too many people at this meeting. I had to explain to others that this would be a closed session and any pertinent information that needed to be shared would be sanitized and refined by us in this room. Agreed?”

Jack glanced at Shakeela before answering. Her eyes lowered for a moment, then glanced at him and then up to her right.
They’re both lying.
This room had to be wired and several sets of eyes might be watching them at this very moment.

“Works for me, Jason. Now, tell me about this Stuart Martin fellow. Who is he? Why are you interested in him?”

Attmire shot a quick look at Shakeela before speaking. “We came across Martin during a classified operation in which he was meeting with another person of interest. A terrorist.”

“Where did this meeting take place?”

Attmire shook his head. “We can’t divulge that, but suffice it to say, it was very recent. We don’t have a lot of information about Martin. And since it appears he is a U.S. citizen, the Agency must be careful about monitoring his activities, particularly here in the United States.”

“This is not my first ride in the rodeo. We know 9/11 changed the rules, and you guys have more legal
flexibility
to gather information on U.S. citizens suspected of fraternizing with known terrorists. Now, what do you have on Martin and why is he meeting a terrorist in Europe?”

Attmire’s jaw clenched as he faced Shakeela. “You told him the location?”

Her face whitened. “I never divulged it, sir.”

“Then how did he…? Never mind.” The CIA supervisor looked at Jack. “Good guess, Colonel.”

Jack’s face tightened. “Let’s quit playing games. This won’t do me or SECNAV any good if we don’t get the full picture. Now…who’s Stuart Martin, who did he meet, and where did this meeting take place? You help us, and maybe we can help you.”

Attmire clasped his hands together and leaned on the conference table. “At the time of the meeting, we didn’t know who Martin was, but we ran his face through our system and got a hit.”

“Who’s the terrorist?”

“His name’s Atash Hassan.”

Red faced, Attmire said, “Agent Vaziri, maybe I should—”

“I’ve been following this killer for years, Jason. Don’t you think—?”

“I’ll make those decisions. If I need clarification, I’ll ask.” Attmire’s cheeks darkened to a deep reddish hue.

Undaunted, she straightened in her seat. Jack watched the two sparring. Apparently, Shakeela wanted to lay it out on the table, but Attmire wanted to cover it up. If the CIA supervisor had his way, they’d pull from Jack whatever the CIA wanted to know—and give him zip. That wasn’t going to happen.