Hard Target (41 page)

He pictured the device, analyzing its setup. Reviewing his options. What options? Defeat it. Difficult, but not impossible. If he had time to study it. But if he guessed wrong, or if it was booby trapped, the fat lady would be singing so loud everyone in the neighborhood would hear her.

Then there was that car. If the bombers were sitting out there waiting for the right second to set off the device, they’d probably shoot him dead if he tried to leave the house.

No, there was no defeating it and no escaping. The only thing left to do was hope the safe would survive the explosion. It was fire resistant and blast proof. But even though the force would be directed upwards, he was so damn close to the bomb.

Just how blast proof was “blast proof”?

He was sure whoever planted it had to be associated with Uzi’s case. Who else would want him dead? He was a likeable guy. No enemies, aside from that sixth grade bully he popped in the eye—

So freakin’ hot in here. He struggled to breathe, wishing he’d stuck to the diet and exercise plan he’d started two years ago. Would’ve been a lifesaver in more ways than one.

Nothing to do but wait. His skin was clammy and fear-slick. Mere seconds had passed, but it felt like hours.

His arms ached from pulling on the door to keep it closed— but not locked—not locked!

Cell phone— Would it work in here? Call EOD. Yes! Before the damn thing goes off. But in the next second, that thought vanished.

The blast was deafening.

UZI RETRIEVED HIS BELONGINGS—sans his Glock—and met DeSantos in the parking lot. His partner started talking before Uzi reached him. “Knox said your palm had trace barium and antimony.”

“From handling my weapon, putting it in my holster.”

DeSantos nodded. “That was all they found. Otherwise, GSR was negative.”

They got into DeSantos’s vintage Corvette and swung the doors shut. “Santa, you and I both know they’re not throwing out a murder charge based on a negative GSR. What gives?”

DeSantos turned the key and the massive engine roared to life. “Knox took care of it.”

“Knox made a murder charge go away?” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that?”

“Don’t worry about it, boychick. Just forget it. Let Knox do his thing, okay?”

“But—”

“He takes care of his people. I told you that. That’s how he builds loyalty.”

Uzi considered this as DeSantos headed out of the lot. Was this Knox’s way of getting Uzi to back off his investigation of the director’s NFA links? I take care of you, you take care of me?

“From what I know of Knox,” Uzi said, “if he does something like this, it’s gotta serve his interests. So I guess the question is, What are his interests?”

“Despite what you might believe, he only tells me what he thinks I need to know. And why he did what he just did is not something he thinks I need to know.”

Uzi looked hard at DeSantos, trying to determine if his partner was being straight with him. “I’m not comfortable with this. Another thing for him to hold over my head.”

“Were you more comfortable in that prison cell with a lethal injection in your future?”

“No.”

“Then don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“No shit. In this case I might find rotten teeth.”

DeSantos frowned. “You’re a hard man to please, you know that?”

As they approached the exit, a black Lincoln Continental pulled in front of the Corvette, blocking their path.

“What the hell is this?” Uzi asked, his right hand moving toward his empty holster.

DeSantos touched his partner’s arm with calm assurance.

The Lincoln’s blacked-out rear window rolled down, revealing the silver-haired Douglas Knox. DeSantos threw the gear shift into Park and got out of the car, Uzi close behind.

Knox, tracking Uzi’s movements, said, “Agent Uziel, do you know who Danny Carlson is?”

Indeed he did. Danny Carlson was Nuri Peled’s cover name. Was this a test? Or a trap of some sort? Unsure as to why Knox would bring up Peled’s name, Uzi simply said, “Yes.”

When Knox’s expression did not change, Uzi concluded the man already knew the answer to his own question.

“Mr. Carlson was found dead an hour ago. In his garage, apparent suicide. He was a former colleague of yours, I believe, so I thought you might want to know.” Knox waited a beat, then said, “JTTF should confirm cause of death. See to it.” When Uzi did not respond, the window rolled up. A second later, the car drove off.

The air in front of Uzi turned Everest-thin, a dizzying array of colored pinpricks dancing around him, sparkling, swirling, shifting. In the next instant Uzi was sitting on the asphalt, DeSantos kneeling in front of him.

“You okay? Uzi. Look at me, man, look at me.” He gently slapped Uzi’s cheeks and, over the next few seconds, Uzi focused on his friend’s face.

“I just saw him, Santa. Just spoke to him.”

“Nuri was a good man. A good operative.”

Uzi licked his lips. “You knew him?”

“You weren’t the only guy in Mossad I worked with.”

“After the chopper went down, I reached out,” Uzi said, his voice coarse with pain. “To see if he knew anything about a Mideast connection. Nuri said there was nothing as far as he knew. But he’d heard a whisper that a new group had a sleeper operating in the States. He was checking it out for his employer. Not Mossad... He called it a ‘friendly ally.’ He shifted things into high gear because of the chopper crash.”

Uzi lifted himself off the ground and straightened his jacket with a wiggle of his shoulders. “I spoke to him again the night I dropped by your place. He hadn’t found anything but was working it. Obviously, the rumor was true and the group he was tracking is here. They must’ve found out he was on their tail.” He looked up at his partner, his face lacking color. “Santa, did I get him killed?”

DeSantos held up a hand. “Before you slop another helping of guilt onto your plate, let’s add this up. Knox said it looked like suicide. Gassed himself in his garage. Not exactly your typical hit.”

“I know Nuri. He wouldn’t do that. And he gave no indication of being in distress. It’s bullshit.”

“I agree. Then if it was a hit, they wanted to keep it low key, to minimize suspicion. So they staged it. But that’s not a terrorist’s typical MO, either.” He regarded Uzi, then asked, “Your reaction to the news tells me Nuri was more than just one of your sources.”

Uzi nodded, then looked skyward as if God could provide an answer. “He was my mentor when I joined up. Taught me a lot about staying alive. But I hadn’t talked to him since I left Mossad. It was good seeing him. I didn’t realize how much I missed talking with him.”

“I’m sorry, man.”

“I have to call Knox, tell him what Nuri was working on. If it wasn’t suicide, and if a sleeper was involved, Homeland Security needs to know. And I need to get some people assigned to it. You call Knox, I’ll call Shepard.”

DeSantos nodded and rooted out his BlackBerry as Uzi dialed. But before Uzi could hit Send, the phone rang. It was Shepard. He started to brief his boss on Peled, but Shepard interrupted him. Uzi listened for a moment, then turned to DeSantos, who was ending his call. “How fast can this thing go?”

“My ’vette?” DeSantos chuckled devilishly. “How fast do you want it to go?”

Uzi started toward the car. “Fast.”

UZI AND DESANTOS RAN into the Virginia Presbyterian emergency room, where Uzi flashed his credentials and asked where Tim Meadows was being treated. The nurse gave them resistance, but Uzi was in no mood for delays, and he made sure she understood his urgency. A moment later, they were striding down the hall looking for treatment suite four.

Gauze bandages covered Tim Meadows’s head and hands. A moment passed before Meadows opened his eyes.

“My old pal,” Meadows said, “the man with the cool name. Uzi. Aaron Uzi.” He licked his dry lips. “It’s got that license-to-kill feel.”

“Tim, I really—”

“Feel guilty? Don’t. I’d hate for you to feel responsible for nearly getting me killed.”

“Tim...I really am sorry.” He looked at the monitors attached to Meadows’s body. “Are you okay?”

“What? You’ll have to speak up because my hearing is, like, how shall I put this? Severely impaired. I was thinking of having a nametag made up to wear around the office: Speak up ’cause I’m freakin’ deaf. What do you think?”

Uzi frowned. “What I said was—”

“I know what you said, I read your lips. So you want to know if I’m okay. Hmm. Let me think about it for a second. Several freaking blocks of C-4 exploded in my basement a few feet from where I was standing. I can still hear the explosion in my head. ’Course, I can’t hear anything else.”

“I’d say you escaped relatively unscathed.”

“Yeah? Easy for you to say. Would you like a concussion and two broken hands?”

“Care to tell us what happened?”

“A bomb exploded. Specific enough?” He must have noted Uzi’s pained expression, because he continued: “I saw this car on my street. Didn’t look right to me. I went into my house to get my binoculars so I could grab the plate, have it run.

“I realized someone had stolen my PC and broken into my safe. That’s when I saw it. Blocks of C-4 connected to a detonation device. I hid in the safe. But it took out a good chunk of my house. My goddamn house, Uzi.”

“If you were in the safe, how’d you get so banged up?”

“I stayed put to make sure they weren’t waiting around to finish off the job. There was so much garbage all around me I had a hard time pushing open the door. I finally got it open and climbed out, but twisted my ankle and went down hard, broke my fall with my hands—then all sorts of crap hit me in the head. I blacked out. Metro PD pulled me out of the rubble.”

“Do you know who did this?” DeSantos asked.

Meadows’s eyes moved over to DeSantos when he saw Uzi look at his partner. DeSantos repeated his question.

Meadows tilted his head. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? I assume the same person who wanted my PC and backup files. And, if I might guess, the same person who wanted that Russian round you gave me to analyze.”

Uzi glanced at DeSantos, then looked at Meadows. “Your PC is missing?”

“I’m the one who’s near deaf, Uzi. Do you really need me to repeat myself?”

Uzi rolled his eyes. “Are you sure they got the bullet?”

“Your concern for my health is flattering.” He turned to DeSantos. “I thought he’d ask if I’ll regain my hearing, and how long I’ll be laid up here. Instead he asks about his bullet.”

Uzi leaned on the hospital bed, getting closer to Meadows. “Tim, I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I didn’t mean for you to get dragged into this. And I sure as hell didn’t want you to get hurt. You know that.”

Meadows looked away. “Yeah, I know it.”

Uzi ducked down, got in front of his friend’s face. “You need somewhere to crash, I’ve got room at my place.”

“I may take you up on the offer. But first things first.” Meadows kicked back the thin blanket and swung his legs over the side of the cot.

“Where are you going?”

“Going? Nowhere without a freaking wheelchair.” He pointed. “There’s one over there in the corner.”

As DeSantos turned to retrieve it, Uzi grabbed Meadows’s arm.

“You sure it’s a good idea for you to get out of bed?”

“First of all, I hate hospitals. Second, if you give me a hand, I might be able to access the data that was on my PC—including the ballistics results I took from that round.”

Meadows looked at DeSantos. “You’re all business, Mr. DeSantos. I can tell. Tell your buddy to get me over to a computer that’s hooked up to the Internet, and not to waste any time because whoever stole my PC knows what he’s doing. He’ll be going through the hard drive. And that’s when he’ll find my trail.”

“Your trail?” DeSantos asked.

“His online backup account,” Uzi said.

“If it’s still there. Our bomber may try to delete it. We should hurry.”

“Where do we find a computer?” Uzi asked.

Meadows shrugged. “Doctor’s lounge?”

Uzi helped him off the bed and into the wheelchair while DeSantos sorted out the wires and tubes so he could unhook Meadows from the monitors and take the IV stand with them.

“I tried to get the nurse to get me to a computer, but she clearly didn’t understand what was at stake.” He grabbed the armrests of the chair. “Whoa.”

“You okay?”

“Just dizzy. They’ve got me a little doped up.”

“If you weren’t in such a bad way, I’d say that you’re always a little dopey.”

“I’m glad you restrained yourself. Your lack of humor might depress me even more.” He closed his eyes for a second. “Head’s killing me.”

“Let’s get going so we can get you back to bed as soon as possible.” DeSantos gave the chair a push toward the doorway.

“So, since it damn near cost me my life, I’m a tad bit curious. Just what is at stake here?”

Uzi shared half smiles with DeSantos, and then leaned in front of Meadows so his friend could read his lips. “Believe me, Tim, you really don’t want to know.”

“You said the same thing to me when you gave me that Russian round to analyze. Still sticking with that line, huh?”

“It still applies.”

THE THIRD FLOOR DOCTOR’S LOUNGE featured four computers sitting on a long work shelf against the far wall. Uzi pushed Meadows in front of one of the keyboards, and Meadows lifted his splinted hands. “Oh, Christ. This isn’t gonna work.”

Uzi pulled over an adjacent chair and followed Meadows’s instructions to log into his SafeStor online data storage account. As Uzi scrolled down the list of hyperlinks, Meadows scanned the items, mentally ticking off each one.

“Well?” Uzi finally asked.

“There,” Meadows said, pointing at the screen with a bandaged paw.

Uzi looked at Meadows’s hand and then at the screen. “Can you be a little more specific?”

Meadows scowled. “Click that box where it says, ‘Select all,’ and then that green button that says ‘Download.’”

Uzi did as instructed.

“Where are you going to put all of it?” DeSantos asked. “It says there’s nineteen gigabytes of data. I may not know much about computers, but my former partner did, and I do know that when you’re talking gigabytes, it’s an awful lot of shit.”