One Rough Man

don’t think we’ll get another chance. I’m going to finish this.”

“Damn it, this isn’t a game. There’s no trophy at the end. If he figures out what’s going on, he’s liable to freak out and launch the device right in the hotel. Yeah, I’m worried about you, but I’d be just as worried about any teammate.”

She watched Carlos pause outside of a hotel, looking left and right. She saw him glance at his watch like he was trying to decide what to do. She vaguely heard Pike continue.

“I’m just saying that I’m not sure a plan hashed out on an airplane after four days without sleep is the one we should go with. Let’s figure out where he’s staying and take a long, hard look at our options.”

She didn’t reply, focused on the terrorist. She saw him turn to the hotel entrance. Holy shit. This is it.

“Hello? Jennifer, you still there?”

“He just went into a hotel. I have to go.”

“No! Jennifer, wait—”

Jennifer hung up the phone and rushed forward, reaching the door in time to see Carlos moving to a stairwell inside. Focusing on the backpack he was wearing, she gave a half-thought of quitting, Pike’s warning reminding her of the stakes. Stop that. Get it done.

To her right she saw a wizened old man at the front desk, reading a newspaper and paying her no mind. Crossing quickly to the stairwell, she heard footsteps above her, separated by a single landing. How am I going to figure out his floor if I can’t see him? It dawned on her that she would only need to listen. When she heard his footsteps cease, she would simply exit on the next floor.

No sooner had she come up with the plan than she realized she was hearing nothing but the echo of her own footsteps. Carlos had exited the stairwell.

* * *

I flung the phone against the dash. What the hell is she thinking? What was I thinking coming up with this dumb-ass plan? I didn’t even know where she was. From where I was parked outside the cafe I could see about forty different ways the terrorist could have gone. Calm down. Think. From what Jennifer said, they were somewhere within a four-block radius. How many hotels could there be inside that? Logically, they were probably west, toward downtown. I threw the car into drive and headed deeper into the city. Please don’t get hurt. Please, please.

* * *

Hurrying to the next floor, Jennifer paused outside the stairwell doorway, listening for any sign that someone was just beyond. Hearing nothing, she gathered her courage and opened the door.

Carlos stood directly in front of her, fumbling with his key and softly cursing the old lock. At the sound of the stairwell door, he turned. Jennifer stumbled back, preparing to flee into the stairwell in a fight or flight response. Get a grip. He doesn’t know who you are. Her eyes locked with the terrorist’s. He smiled, nodding hello before returning to work his key. She smiled back and moved past him, seeing the hallway end about fifty feet away at a men’s room. What am I going to do when I reach that? Shit. I’ve got no reason to be here. Should’ve turned around.

She kept walking, feeling his eyes on her back, wondering what the hell was taking him so long. Get in your damn room. As she approached the bathroom, her mind began to work in overdrive. What if this is a men-only hotel? Or has floors separated by gender? He’s going to know something’s up. He’s going to kill me. She envisioned him stalking right behind her, knife raised to strike. With a superhuman effort, she kept walking forward, fighting the urge to turn around and look. She reached the end of the hall. Now what? He’s going to see you standing here doing nothing. She turned to the last door and did the only thing she could think of, giving it a soft knock while stealing a glance back the way she had come.

The hallway was empty. She felt her knees begin to buckle and threw her hand up to the doorjamb for support. Jesus, why don’t I listen to Pike? Leaning against the frame with her eyes closed, taking quick, shallow breaths, she didn’t even notice that the door had opened until she heard someone speak.

Standing in front of her in his underwear, black socks held up by garters on his skinny legs, wearing a stained wife-beater T-shirt, was a man of about sixty. The man looked at her suspiciously and said something in Serbo- Croatian.

Feeling nauseous, Jennifer said, “Sorry, wrong room.”

She speed-walked back down the hallway, taking care not to make any noise as she opened the door to the stairwell. Reaching the street outside, she walked as fast as she could without breaking into an overt run, not conscious of the direction she was going or the people she bumped into in her haste to put some distance between herself and the hotel. She made it about ninety feet before the enormity of the close call hit home. She stopped, reaching toward the nearest wall for support. She leaned over and threw up, splashing vomit on her legs and causing people on the sidewalk to immediately avoid her.

Racked with dry heaves, she sank to her knees. A crowd began to gather around her, with several people asking her questions in Serbo-Croatian. Get out of here. You’re making a scene. You’re going to blow this whole thing. She stood up, brushing off the help and looking for an escape route. She heard a man on the street yelling something, then recognized it was Pike. Thank God.

She ran to the SUV as Pike opened the passenger door. She leaned back into the seat, shaking and gasping for air as if she had just run a marathon. Pike gunned the engine, pulling away from the hotel.

“You all right? What the fuck happened?”

“I’m okay.” She closed her eyes, breathing deeply, repeating the phrase as if to prove it to herself.

“I’m okay.”

86

In his Crystal City office, Lucas pinched the bridge of his nose, wanting more than anything to smash his computer into little pieces. No sooner had his team landed in Norway then the beacon had shown up in Tuzla, Bosnia-Herzegovina.

Through Standish he had confirmed that Kurt Hale was still in D.C., which led him to surmise that Hale had passed the device to Pike. This was a net positive, provided he could keep a bead on the pager and get his team in position quickly. The first update of its location had been Oslo, causing an immediate launch of the team. Now the damn thing was saying it was in Tuzla. This is turning into a wild goose chase.

On top of that, someone here in the States was making inquiries about the death of the analyst and the shooting at the Four Courts pub. He hadn’t been able to determine who it was but knew it wasn’t official law enforcement. Someone had made a connection between the two and was closing in on his operation.

Regardless, he still had a mission to accomplish. He gave the order for the team in Oslo to redirect to Tuzla at their earliest opportunity. He then turned to his Rolodex and compiled a list of names for a backup team. There was no telling where this was going to lead. He needed the flexibility to launch from inside the European continent while maintaining a reserve. He would fly with the backup team, directly coordinating the mission on the ground. It was becoming impossible to command and control the complex twists of the operation from five thousand miles away, and getting out of the country right now had a certain appeal. Not to mention the chance of getting out of the office and into the hunt.

* * *

I waited for Jennifer to finish brushing her teeth before continuing the debriefing. When she returned to the bedroom, she looked a little bit like her normal self, the fear of her close call receding.

“Are you burned? Did Carlos suspect anything? Do anything when he saw you?”

“No, not really. I think I’m fine there. I’m pretty sure he thought I was a local. I didn’t say anything, and neither did he, so I didn’t give him any reason to think I was anything but a Bosnian.”

“Good. I think we drive on with the plan. We wait for him to check his e-mail tomorrow. While he’s in the