The Protector (38 page)

Chapter Seventeen

Brad
Caine
sat by the motel window, his bleary gaze fixed on the rain-drenched parking lot. Since it was easier to stay awake than to rouse from a deep sleep, he’d assigned himself first watch. The day’s events coming on the heels of last night’s failed rescue made his eyelids heavy. It didn’t help any that the neon sign outside infused the billions of raindrops with hypnotizing color.

He couldn’t afford to fall asleep. The report that Shahbaz Wahidi had eluded the agents trailing him meant a terrorist was on the
loose,
free to target the Commander’s daughter. Brad had thought for certain he would strike during her media address, but the tight security must have deterred him—hence Brad’s decision to release HRT to return to Quantico. He couldn’t make this any easier for the fucker.

So far, however, there was no suspicious activity around the motel.
Ringo
had run all the tags in the parking lot, and they’d all come up clean. The hotel guests appeared to be in their rooms, lights out, sleeping.

Brad ordered himself to stay alert. Something
had
to happen. He would never get promoted if he didn’t make an arrest soon.

**

Cruising past the motel every thirty minutes, Shahbaz waited, just as the Teacher had instructed, for all the lights in the rooms to go out.

The Teacher had been able to rent a room without arousing suspicion. But Shahbaz, who drove the stolen Pontiac, had been instructed to circle the area until the early hours of dawn. Hungry and cold, he drove aimlessly along dark, adjacent roadways. But he did not abandon the Teacher as he had considered doing earlier, for he rather liked the Teacher’s new plan which eliminated the need to martyr
himself
.
 

When all was still and dark, Shahbaz would park the Pontiac near the motel, take the tools and the length of copper wire they had purchased at a hardware store, and crawl under the FBI’s RV. Once there, he would run the wire from the ignition to the fuel tank, which he would puncture, inserting the wire inside it. When an agent turned over the engine in the morning, the RV would blow sky high. With any luck, their victim would be inside it.

Shahbaz let loose a punchy giggle. The prospect of blowing up the RV kept his weariness at bay. Any hour now he would avenge America for her false promise of the American Dream. And the best part was he didn’t have to die to publicize his disillusionment.

**

The bark of a dog, familiar in pitch and quality, roused Ike from a light slumber as he allowed himself to rest while still remaining vigilant.
Winston?

The Jeep’s fogged windows obscured a light drizzle. He glanced at his watch. It was just after four in the morning, and the clouds would keep things dark for another hour.
  

Lowering the driver’s side window, he breathed in the cold, wet air to sharpen his dulled senses. As he peered across the sweet-smelling field toward the motel, he wondered if he’d imagined Winston’s bark. The scene looked much as it had in the hours
preceding
midnight, when he’d allowed himself to cat nap. But then the dog barked again.

Lifting the rifle propped beside him, Ike poked it out the window and peered through his scope. His blood froze at the sight of a man lying on the pavement, under the RV.

Who the hell?
 

Ike held him in his crosshairs. Was it one of the agents checking out a problem? Or could it be a terrorist, up to no good? There was only one way to find out. And the fastest way to do it was to drive across the field, counting on the rain to muffle the approach of his engine.

Easing away from the tree line, Ike kept the lights off as he forged across of field of what looked like seedling watermelons. He kept his gaze fixed on the shadow under the RV, hoping to identify him. To his disappointment, the man saw him coming, stilled, then abruptly squirmed out the far side of the RV.

Not a special agent, obviously, Ike deduced, gunning the engine.
  

With his lights off, he didn’t see the low cement barrier edging the parking lot. The Jeep hurtled over it, bouncing him in his seat. When he landed on the other side, he caught sight of the suspect jumping into a car at the edge of the motel.

Ike swerved toward him. He could hear Winston barking. The doors to the FBI’s units sprang open. Lights flared, casting a burgundy Pontiac into relief as it squealed out of sight. Ike pursued it. A glance in his rearview mirror showed two FBI agents racing for their Taurus.

And the chase is on, Ike thought, focusing on the car flying down the rain-slick highway ahead of him. The driver had turned east, where the road curved upward into the Shenandoah National Forest. Switching on his headlights, Ike snapped on his seatbelt in preparation for the steep, twisting inclines up ahead.
 

There appeared to be just one man in the getaway vehicle, a circumstance that disturbed him. There could be more back at the motel. With two agents in hot pursuit, that left just one man guarding
Eryn
.

Not good enough.

Groping in his pack, Ike located his trusty satellite phone, thumbed it open, and dialed 9-1-1, relaying a message to Sheriff Olsen through the operator that he was needed at Elkton Motel.
 
So what if NSA picked up his phone call on their satellite. The FBI was right behind him anyway.

Tossing his phone back into his pack, he depressed the accelerator to the floor in an effort to overtake the car ahead of him. Only the old Jeep’s four-cylinder engine lacked power to accelerate on such a steep incline. The Taurus behind him battled a similar problem. The six-cylinder Pontiac was outstripping them both.

God damn it, Ike thought, uncomfortable with the fact that he was moving farther and farther away from
Eryn
.
 
He’d never wished so badly that he could be in two places at once.
 

**

Caught in a state halfway between sleeping and waking,
Eryn
was disturbed by her dog’s disruptive barking. “Quiet, Winston,” she mumbled, burying her head beneath the pillow.

Her subconscious tried to rouse her, but exhaustion kept her in a stupor. She heard the door open, felt a breath of cool air on the tops of her shoulders. Engines revved and roared. Tires squealed. A male voice barking out orders made her drag the pillow off her head. What the heck was going on? She cracked an eye to find a light on and Jackson’s bed empty. Special Agent
Caine
stood by the window putting on a bullet-proof vest.

“Make sure you catch Calhoun this time,” he snarled into his cell phone. “Better put him in handcuffs.”

Eryn
came wider awake at the mention of Ike’s name. “What’s happening?” she demanded. “Where’s Jackson?”
  

Caine
cranked his head around. “Arresting your boyfriend,” he said with a nasty smile and putting his phone away. “Time to get up,” he added. “We’re moving to the RV.”

“Why? What happened?”

“There’s been an incident,” he announced, his eyes bright with excitement.
  
 

The word incident pulled more of the wool from
Eryn’s
mind. “What kind of incident?” she asked, snatching
up
the jeans folded on the foot of her bed and slipping them on beneath the covers.

“It’s too soon to tell, but we’re moving to the RV.”
Caine
peeked under the curtains, looking out the window. “Hurry up,” he said, sounding nervous.

“Can I use the rest room first?”

“There’s no time for that. Use the one in the RV.”

“Why are we moving to the RV?”

“Because it’s armored,” he retorted, making her think of bombs and bullets, causing her heart to palpitate.
 
He wheeled from the window as she jammed on her shoes.

“I want to know what’s going on,” she insisted as he seized her arm in a bruising grip and hauled her toward the door.
   

“Not now. I’ll explain later.”

As he cracked the door open, peering outside with a wary eye,
Eryn
was surprised to see a pink sunrise burnishing the tin roofs of the other motel units. It felt like she had just fallen asleep. With his gun drawn,
Caine
drew her out after him.

Crisp, clean air brought her fully awake as he hustled her toward the RV. Inside, she could hear Winston issuing evenly spaced barks, like a car alarm.

As the agent turned a key and scanned his thumbprint on the biometric padlock,
Eryn
searched the quiet parking lot. The owners of the half-dozen cars appeared to be sleeping through the excitement.
 

“Go on in.” He swung the door open. “I have to take a quick look around.”

Climbing into the RV’s dark interior, she ran into Winston, who greeted her enthusiastically. The door closed behind her and locked shut. Calming her excited dog,
Eryn
felt her way into the galley, which housed a kitchen on one side, a seating area on the other. Unable to find a light switch, she raised one of the blinds, admitting soft pink sunlight and catching sight of
Caine
, who was bending over, inspecting the underside of the RV.

Something must have caught his eye, for in the next instant, he was down on his hands and knees, crawling under the chassis. At the same time, a slender figure detached itself from the shadows between two units and approached him. As she watched him, sunlight glinted on a pair of spectacles. She determined it must be
Ringo
.

A clanking sound had her looking down at her feet. What was
Caine
up to, down there? With a puzzled shrug, she turned toward the tiny restroom beyond the galley to empty her bladder.
 

She was just pulling up her jeans when a scream unlike anything she’d heard curdled her blood.
 
Caine
!

An ominous growl rumbled in Winston’s throat as the scream curtailed abruptly.
Eryn
rocketed out of the restroom only to pull up short, uncertain what to do. She strained to hear over her thudding heart.
 

There came a muffled thump and a sliding sound. Winston prowled toward the door, his hackles rising. The lock gave a
click
and the door swung open.
 

A glimpse of
Caine’s
blond hair had her releasing her held breath, but then he slumped out of sight, and a stranger stepped over him. As he leapt nimbly into the RV, his face still in shadow, the air surged back into
Eryn’s
lungs. Her blood froze as she recognized his silhouette.

The taxi driver.
 

Shock rooted her. He was older than she’d imagined, with salt-and-pepper hair, a hooked nose, and an oddly benign countenance. He closed the door behind him, holding up a blood-streaked knife.
Caine’s
blood,
Eryn
realized, nearly fainting. In his free hand, he carried a briefcase.
 

Suddenly, with a loud snarl, Winston lunged at the man, just the way Ike had taught him.
 

“Winston, no!”
Eryn
flew into action, grabbing her dog around his midsection and pulling him away from the terrorist’s flashing blade.