One Rough Man

and returned it to the drawer exactly as I had found it.

Before I closed the drawer I noticed a scrap of paper with an international number written on it. I copied it down, assuming it had been placed there by Carlos, since the end table and room were completely barren, without a trace of rubbish.

I searched the rest of the room but found nothing at all. I had confirmed the detonation device the terrorist had referred to in his e-mail, but still could not prove or disprove any connection to WMD. I looked at my watch, seeing one minute and forty-three seconds had passed since Jennifer’s call. Out of time. I need to go.

I left the room, getting as far as the stairwell before I remembered I hadn’t relocked the door. I ran back and inserted the bump key, gave it a whack, and attempted to turn the cylinder. It refused to move. I repeated the procedure with the same results. A gunfighter’s mantra floated through my head. Slow is smooth and smooth is fast. Ignoring the clock, I started over, carefully feeling the pin tumblers and setting the key perfectly. I gave it another whack, breaking the cylinder free. I turned it over once, feeling the cylinder lock up again. No more time to mess with it.

Trotting rapidly down the stairs, I considered my next move. I had no proof of WMD, but I was personally convinced that Carlos had it and was carrying it around on his back. I contemplated taking out Carlos by myself but quickly tossed that idea. It would be impossible for me to get close to him without being recognized and I had no idea if the device was armed and ready to explode, inside a glass container that could be thrown, or simply in a Ziploc bag that would break in a scuffle. The idea of wrestling Carlos for control of a device that could kill hundreds by just being released into the atmosphere was best left in the category of last resort.

I reached the second floor landing and made a decision. Alert the Taskforce. I hated to do it, and knew I had promised I wouldn’t without positive proof of WMD, but I decided that the circumstances warranted action. I pulled out the pager/beacon and hit the series of keys necessary to trigger the emergency signal. Nothing outward changed. It beeped once, returning to show the time. Reaching the first floor, I placed it back in my pocket and exited the stairwell.

Nodding to the old man behind the desk, I left the hotel and walked straight to my SUV, purposely not looking in the direction of the Internet cafe. I unlocked the driver’s side door, looking down and hiding my face from anyone coming down the street. I was about to sit down when I felt the barrel of a pistol jammed into my kidney.

“You make a single fucking move, and I’ll kill you right here. I know your capabilities, so trust me I won’t be guessing about your intentions. You understand? Nod if you do.”

I did as he asked.

“Raise your hands where I can see them, but don’t make it look like you’re surrendering.” The man jammed the barrel again. “Don’t do anything stupid. I can kill you and get out of here clean.”

I placed my hands on the door and roof of the car, feeling the press of time. I was facing the direction Carlos was coming from and would be impossible to miss. I didn’t mind the gun in my back but needed to speed this up.

I turned my head slightly, about to say something when I was cut off angrily by the man with the gun, “Keep facing forward! Don’t move a fucking muscle until my partner arrives.”

I attempted to hide my face, saying, “Look, I’m willing to do whatever you want. I’ll come quietly. Can we just get moving?”

“What the hell are you looking at? Raise your head.”

I continued looking down.

“Raise your fucking head or you’re dead. Do it now.”

I sensed the fear in the man and could almost feel his finger tightening on the trigger. I reluctantly raised my head, seeing another man approaching out of the corner of my eye.

The man gave me a wide berth. “Car’s on the way. Should be here in five seconds.”

“Good. This guy scares the hell out of me.”

I ducked my head again, counting out the seconds. I reached to five with no car when the man with the gun said, “I tell you to raise your head again, and we’ll be throwing a body in a car. I’m not sure you can feel it, but that’s a fat barrel in your back. There will be no noise.”

I raised my head, hearing a car pull up.

I looked up the street, trying to see anyone resembling Carlos in the distance. Spotting no one, I scanned the people closer to me. I saw a man resembling Carlos approaching, no more than twenty meters away. I was about to push my luck and lower my head again when the man met my eyes. I recognized the terrorist at the same time he recognized me.

90

Jennifer picked up a loose follow as soon as Carlos left the Internet cafe, staying on the opposite side of the street. When he increased his pace to a fast walk, closing in on the entrance to his hotel, Jennifer felt the anxiety in her stomach begin to skyrocket. Why hasn’t Pike called? What’s he doing? Carlos was one block away and about thirty seconds from getting so close that Pike couldn’t possibly leave without being seen. She kept his pace, almost forced to break into a trot, the speed of events ratcheting up her anxiety even further. She pulled out her cell phone, preparing to call Pike again, when she saw Carlos abruptly stop. She paused, watching closely. She saw Carlos spin around and take off running the way he had come.

Stunned, Jennifer looked down the street, trying to identify what had caused the reaction. She saw Pike standing next to his car talking to two other men, a second car idling next to him. She turned back to the terrorist, seeing him in a wild run, his pack flopping crazily on his back as he dodged through the foot traffic.

She watched him for a split second longer, then returned to Pike and the two strangers. She saw Pike drop his keys out of view of the men, then move toward the sedan in the middle of the street.

She felt light-headed, the crowds around her fading into the background, the pressure to make the right decision crushing her like a physical thing. Pike had said he hadn’t found the WMD, which meant that Carlos must be carrying it. And Carlos has seen Pike. He knows we’re after him. He was now running to parts unknown with a massive deathtrap on his back, under pressure to use it sooner rather than later.

She saw Pike get in the back of the sedan. She knew that the men who had him intended to kill him. Would kill him, possibly in the next few minutes. She watched the door close, frozen in place. What can I do about that? Nothing. In fact, they wanted her as well. Showing herself now, attempting some pathetic action to stop three trained killers from driving away with Pike, would only guarantee both their deaths. She felt a burning sense of helplessness.

She ran the choices through her mind, her brain working at the speed of light. What would Pike do? He wouldn’t dither back and forth. He’d make a decision and execute.

She began a fast walk in the direction of Carlos, knowing what Pike would tell her to do. Go after the terrorist. Save the many. Screw the few. Do what was best overall, not what you would like to do. She broke into a run, going through in her mind what she should do next, evaluating options for the surveillance and tracking of Carlos. She looked back the way she had come, watching the car make a U-turn and begin driving away from her.

She continued running, straining for a glimpse of Carlos to her front. She glanced back one more time, seeing the taillights of the car flash, watching it make a right turn out of sight. Her conviction faltered. Unbidden, she had a vision of Pike lying in a roadside ditch. Her mind superimposed the graphic violence she had witnessed in Guatemala over Pike’s visage, a nightmare flash in her mind of Pike’s head exploded open, brain matter and bone splattered on the ground, his eyes looking skyward, unseeing.

The image hit her with a physical blow, causing her vision to blur, her breath to catch in her chest. She slowed to a walk, the image burning into her soul. She turned around and began sprinting toward the Pajero. Fuck the terrorist. Someone else can stop him. She knew the decision might mean hundreds of people died, but there was only one death she cared about, and she would do what she could to stop it, no matter how insurmountable the odds.