“Well, then, never forget that these people we’re up against are resourceful and well financed enough to pull a missile out of the trunk of their car and shoot down a helicopter. The war on terrorism is just that. A war. Because it’s a war, people die. We didn’t choose our enemy, here. They chose us. Our only hope is that the casualties our people sustain will ultimately have some meaning. Right now, whether or not that happens, whether or not there is meaning to those deaths, depends on you. Is that clear?”
“If your plan is to sacrifice more people to keep me alive, count me out. Regardless of what you think, or why you had me thrown into prison, I’m just not in the business of killing.”
“That’s why those men and women are there along with you. Now, you have your job to do. I suggest you keep your concerns limited to that.”
The connection went dead.
Griff sank back into his seat. The van accelerated. Angie set her hand on his knee.
“They have no way of knowing the number of lives you’ve saved,” she said softly, “or the personal risks you’ve taken to do it.”
“But that was my life at stake, and my choice to risk it.” Griff turned away and stared out the window.
“The men in that chopper made their choice as well,” Stafford said.
“And what did sacrificing their lives accomplish?” Griff asked. “Clearly Genesis knows who I am and they probably know where I’m going. So what did giving up those men accomplish?”
Stafford turned to him.
“You really don’t know?”
“Enlighten me.”
“Genesis isn’t after you anymore, Rhodes. Thanks to those men and their heroism, the enemy thinks you’re dead. Now you damn well better pull it together and do your part.”
CHAPTER 25
“Hey, buddy, can you spare some change?”
The panhandler had set up camp on the front steps of the S&S Trading Co. Matt Fink had to suppress the urge to kick him across the street. Instead, he tossed a dollar onto the urine-soaked blanket that was probably helping to keep the grizzled old man from freezing to death.
“I’ve had a good day,” Fink said, hands on hips, “and I’m feeling generous. But if you don’t take your lazy, begging ass somewhere else, I’ll crush your windpipe and watch you drown in your own blood.”
Grinning, the giant watched as the beggar wheeled away his rusted shopping cart. Then he used an electronic key to unlock the massive steel sliding door that concealed the electronic center and warehouse of Genesis. His eyesight adjusted to the dim interior. Alex Ramirez, his bodybuilder’s shoulders bulging beneath a cut-off sweatshirt, sat in front of the bank of monitors. Most of the screens were black.
“So, how many cameras do you figure they got?” Fink asked.
“They missed a few, but I think they’re still looking.”
“Men’s room?”
“Actually, two in the men’s rooms and the two in the ladies’ rooms are still operational.”
“I told you they’d be among the last to go.”
Fink guessed that 90 percent of the cameras Ramirez and his “workmen” had installed over the two months leading up to the State of the Union Address had been discovered by the increasing surveillance sweeps, and had been rendered inoperative. It had been Fink’s idea to place equipment inside the washrooms, a brainstorm that netted them some serious dividends. Not only were those units still operational, the conversations they recorded provided the intelligence that Cain had used to order the missile strike.
Fink had done the rest.
“I wanted that shot,” Ramirez said, as if reading his mind.
“Ah, it was a thing of beauty, my friend. Absolute perfection. I promise you the next one, whatever it may be. Meanwhile, get me Cain.”
“Where are the others?”
“Still disassembling the pickup out back. One shot. One hit. Now that’s what I call perfection.”
“You think anyone saw the launch?”
“Doubtful. By the time the bird was in the air, I was back under the tarp. We drove along, business as usual. The streets were largely empty, too. Everybody is either outside the Capitol, or home watching it on TV.”
“I’m holding you to your promise, Fink. One of these other jerks can work the monitors. I need some action.”
For emphasis, Ramirez reached down beside his chair and hoisted a fifty-pound dumbbell half a dozen times.
“I’ll make sure Cain knows,” Fink said. “This little success should have him pleased as punch.”
“It does.” Cain’s voice crackled from the wall-mounted speakers.
“Ah, Cain, old sport, good to hear your voice.”
Fink considered elaborating on the complexity of what he had done, especially given the short lead time to plan, but he knew Cain would have been unimpressed. He had worked for the man long enough to know that success was an expectation.
“Did you have strong visual of the target?” Cain asked.
“Dead on,” Fink said. “Beard. Thin. He’s the bloke we saw arrive in the Marine chopper, all right. Heavily guarded, too, right until he entered the helicopter. Then he got aboard alone and the bird carrying him lifted off from the south lawn just as you told us it would. We were in position prior to liftoff and engaged without incident.”
“Nice work,” Cain replied. “That man had the potential to be a serious fly in the ointment.”
Fink chuckled.
“You pay for the best, you get the best.”
“We have a couple more pieces of business on our plate. The first of them involves our inside man from the Capitol. His name’s Tannen. The president knows now that he was working for us.”
“None of this would have been possible without him.”
“That’s true,” Cain said, “but now I’m afraid he’s become something of a liability.”
“Funny coincidence,” Fink said, punching his cohort on the deltoid. “Senor Ramirez, here, was just telling me he’s starved for action.”
“In that case, you guys work something out. Tannen’s stashed in a Motel Six south of Alexandria. He’s expecting a ride west. He has a place in the Smokies and a cousin there who’s going to help get him out of the country. You’ll both split Tannen’s share once he’s dealt with.”
“Sweet,” Ramirez said.
“No hill without gravestones, no valley without shadows,” Fink said, quoting a South African proverb he had learned from his father. “You said there were other pieces of business?”
“It’s time we moved to phase two, and let the president know what our demands are in exchange for a truce, and maybe even the treatment for that virus.”
“I thought there was no treatment for that virus.”
“As long as Allaire believes there might be, we’re in a good position. And now, thanks to that shot of yours, his options have been greatly reduced. In fact, I believe that at the moment, we’re now the only hope he has.”
“If there’s anything we can do to get those demands to them, just say the word.”
“Well, as a matter of fact, there might be. Before the cameras and listening devices went dead, Ramirez, there, picked up enough chatter to know that the chaos inside the Capitol is increasing. He also sent me enough audio and video segments so that we are certain President Allaire has picked himself up an enemy—a serious, powerful enemy, who is bent on bringing him down. Once you two have taken care of that business at the Motel Six, get back to me. We’re putting together a package that we’ve decided to get to that person. From what you’ve seen,
