First to Kill

Less than a minute had passed since their UPS truck had first appeared at the guard shack. Trembling from adrenaline, Leonard remembered to breathe. He sucked in a huge lungful of air and audibly blew it out. Quite literally, there was no turning back now.

Seven seconds.

Unconsciously, Leonard pressed the gas pedal a little harder than he needed to. The truck’s engine roared as he accelerated down the driveway. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Ernie remove his helmet, lean forward slightly, and stare into the side mirror.

Three seconds.

Mother of God, what are we doing? In his own side mirror, Leonard saw a man in a business suit step through the glass doors. The man looked at the motorcycle, then scanned the area for its rider.

“Adios amigo,” Ernie said.

The man vanished in a blinding flash.

One second he was there. The next, he wasn’t.

Forty pounds of Semtex quite literally vaporized him.

A huge mushroom of fire and smoke roiled skyward, looking as though a small nuke had detonated.

The blast wave accelerated through the glass facade with hideous results.

Traveling at five miles per second, superheated carbon oxide gas separated human flesh from bone, instantly incinerating both. Within twenty feet, the force tore arms and legs from torsos. At thirty feet, entire bodies flew. Necks snapped. Eardrums ruptured. Skin peeled. At forty feet, people were slammed into the walls of their cubicles like rag dolls, knocked lifeless from the force of the shock wave. And at fifty feet, those who weren’t dead were dying.

A chilling silence ensued, broken only by the hiss of a few fire sprinklers, the crackling of flames, and the soft moans of those still clinging to life.

Flat on her back, a woman with no sense of her body stared at the charred ceiling tiles as a fine mist rained down on her. She tried to move her right arm to cover her eyes, but it wasn’t there. Her life ended thirty seconds later.

Choking and coughing, a man in a shredded business suit crawled on his hands and knees across the debris field, heading for the far end of the building where children were screaming in the day-care area.

Chapter 12

Nathan looked at Harv while his call went through.

“Director Lansing’s office.”

“Hello, this is Nathan McBride. The director’s expecting my call.”

“One moment please, Mr. McBride. I’ll put you through.”

A sonic boom, probably from a fighter jet, reverberated through the room.

The line went silent, totally and utterly silent. No clicks, no electronic buzz, no crackling. Nothing. He was about to hang up, thinking he’d been disconnected, when a man’s voice came on the line.

“This is FBI Director Ethan Lansing. Am I speaking with Nathan McBride?”

“Yes.”

“What can I do for you, Mr. McBride?”

“I have you on speaker, Director. Harvey Fontana is with me. Are we being recorded?”

“Yes.”

“Will you reconsider, please?”

“I’ll tell you what, Mr. McBride, because of who your father is, and because he’s also a friend of mine, I’ll agree to keep this conversation off the record. Hold the line, please.”

Once again Nathan found himself listening to complete silence. Coming through the hotel room’s window, he heard the muffled whine of a siren, followed by the staccato blast of a fire truck’s air horn. A few seconds later, Lansing was back.

“Now that we’re off the record, I’ll agree to keep this conversation private because you and Mr. Fontana saved a dozen lives the other day. You’re owed a debt of gratitude for that. I’ll also thank both of you for your military service to our country.”

Nathan felt the director’s gratitude was genuine. “I appreciate you saying that. May I ask how much you know of our past?”

“All of it.”

“I know you’re a busy man, so I’ll get to the point. We want a green light to pursue the Bridgestone brothers.”

“I see. As private citizens, you’re entitled to do that provided you conduct yourselves within the confines of the law.”

“Director Lansing, may I speak freely?”

“You may.”

Nathan frowned at a second siren outside. From the window, Harv shrugged. “Circumstances may dictate a certain amount of flexibility,” Nathan said. “You’re aware of how we found Frank Ortega’s grandson?”

“Yes, I’ve had a complete briefing.”

“I’m asking for a temporary extension of that flexibility.”

“If I understand what you’re asking for, then you must know that as a sworn law-enforcement officer, I can’t agree to it. I did not approve the interrogation of those individuals at the farmhouse outside Sacramento, and I’m disappointed it took place.”

“Director Lansing, I’m not recording this call either, you have my word. No one was seriously hurt at the farmhouse.”

“That’s beside the point, Mr. McBride. This isn’t Nicaragua, or the former Soviet Union, and you aren’t a CIA operations officer anymore. You’re a civilian now, governed by the laws of our land. The Constitution isn’t just a piece of paper, it’s a fundamental building block of who we are as a society. It defines us.”

The man’s a politician, Nathan thought. Of course he is, he has to be, it goes with theterritory. Forcing himself to relax his grip on the phone, he continued. “Frank Ortega’s wife said something to me, and I agreed with it. She told me life is never as simple as a book of rules.”

“Diane is fine woman and I don’t disagree with her from a philosophical perspective. But what you’re talking about is a very slippery slope. One digression could be regarded as a mistake, two is a pattern. I want containment at this point. Involving you further has considerable risks. Can you imagine the fallout if this ever leaked? The FBI can’t afford that kind of coverage from the media. We’re already under the microscope with the presidential-powers issue of wiretapping suspected Al Qaeda operatives.”

“Based on everything you know about my past, I’m asking you to trust me, to trust my judgment. I’m not indiscriminate.”

“For what it’s worth, I do trust you, but I can’t agree to what you’re asking. I cannot, and will not, sanction your continued involvement. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for your help to this point, but that’s as far as it goes. You’re a smart man, you know why I’ve taken this position.” There as a pause on the other end. “Hold the line, Mr. McBride.”

He looked at Harv. “What’s going on out there?”

“Something big. I just saw another fire truck speed through an intersection followed by two police cruisers.”

Lansing came back on the line. “I’ve got to go, Mr. McBride. We’ve got an emergency situation.”

“What’s happening?”

“There’s been a bombing at our Sacramento field office.” The line went dead.

The sonic boom. Oh please, dear Lord, no. Not the missing Semtex. Holly! A horrible image flashed through his mind. Was she dead? Worse than dead? He imagined her burned, broken, and bleeding. He grabbed the note with Holly’s phone number from the nightstand and dialed. It was ringing. More than once. That gave him hope she