hundred-fifty-decibel alarm.
Ty got within fifty yards of the front of the house and stopped. Lights were on in two of the rooms. He made a quick mental adjustment about the time he’d have once he was in place.
He skirted the motion sensors and headed for the garage. It was adjacent to but separate from the house. No cameras here. No motion sensors either. He forced open the side door and stepped inside. The place smelled of motor oil and detergent. There were three cars parked inside a space which could easily accommodate twice that number. The first was a Mercedes 500 SLK, a smooth ride. Ty immediately discounted it. The second was Stafford’s. This just got better and better. But he wouldn’t be using that one either.
Next to Stafford’s vehicle squatted the up-armoured Hummer. It was black rather than the fire engine red he’d seen previously. With fresh paintwork. He guessed this had to be the one they’d used to try to clip Carrie with. She’d told him all about it on the drive over.
He dug out his cell and texted four letters to Carrie’s number: C-A-L–L. Then he climbed under the Hummer and set to work.
‘It’s that dumb bitch from NBC,’ said Stafford, holding up the phone for his father, who was already deep into his third Scotch on the rocks.
‘What does she want?’
‘Something about a breach of security at the naval yard site.’
Van Straten snatched the handset from his son’s grasp. ‘This is Nicholas Van Straten.’
‘Mr Van Straten, where are you?’
‘Why?’
‘Have the FBI spoken to you?’
‘No, why would they have?’
‘Because wherever you are, you have to leave there, immediately. There’s a grave threat to your life and that of your son.’
‘Ms Delaney, I can assure you that we’re quite safe where we are.’
‘Mr Van Straten, do you have a television in the room?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then switch it on to NBC.’
Nicholas clicked his fingers towards the remote on the bed. Stafford picked it up and tossed it to his father, who caught it and thumbed down to the channel. The screen was split. On the right side was a mass of emergency response vehicles shot from a distance but recognizably parked near to the Meditech facility. On the left side of the screen was a static shot of the front gate of their house.
‘Mr Van Straten?’
‘I’m here.’
‘And Ryan Lock will be joining you shortly. I received a call from him an hour ago to say that he was on his way to speak with you. He sounded pretty angry-’
Carrie didn’t get to finish the sentence before Nicholas Van Straten hung up. Satisfied that she hadn’t told a single lie, she turned back to her cameraman. ‘OK, let’s get back to the naval yard.’
‘He won’t do an interview?’ asked her cameraman.
‘He’s not even there,’ she lied.
The guy shrugged and began hastily packing up his gear as Angel trotted back to them, covered in dirt and wagging her tail.
‘Slut,’ said Carrie, reaching over to open the rear door of the truck for her.
Ty tensed as the side door into the garage opened. A pair of boots made their way across to the Hummer. They stopped at the driver’s door, right next to where Ty’s head was. Ty could have reached out and touched them.
He waited for the boots to walk round to the other side and start the vehicle inspection. Or for the driver’s face to appear at his eye level so he could shove a gun in his face. Or for the mounted mirror to appear so he could grab it, drag the guy under and choke him out with the rag tucked into his shirt.
But none of this happened. Things had gotten sloppy real fast since he and Lock had been relieved of their duty. Or the driver was in one holy hell of a rush. Maybe both.
The Hummer chirped as the driver hit the clicker, disabling the alarm and unlocking all four doors. Ty watched as a boot lifted on to the running board, the door opened and the other boot followed. The driver’s door thunked shut.
Ty pushed back with his hands, crawling backwards, emerging just to the right of the Hummer’s tailgate. He unholstered the Glock, ready to go, and hunkered down, duck-walking the few steps round to the right rear passenger door. His next action called for one solid component: speed.
He reached up and gripped the handle, opened the door and flung himself inside. The interior of the Hummer was big enough that he could extend his arm without the driver being able to reach it.
He held the gun to the driver’s head. ‘You even breathe wrong, asshole, and you’re history.’
Seventy-four
Croft reached slowly under his shoulder and came up with his weapon, a Sig 226. He handed it, butt first, to Ty. Ty switched it with the Glock, jamming that into his holster as back-up.
‘Leave the keys in the ignition and step out of the vehicle.’ Once Croft had done that, Ty threw him a rag. ‘Put that in the big hole in the middle of your face and turn round.’
Croft caught the rag and stuffed it into his mouth. Then he turned round. Ty dug around in Croft’s pockets for the keys to the Mercedes, using them to open the trunk. He shoved Croft towards it. Croft got in, still at gunpoint.
‘Soon as I get some distance I’ll call the local PD and send someone to get you out.’
Ty slammed the trunk shut and got into the driver’s seat of the Hummer. He took the Glock back out of the holster and stowed it in the compartment between the front seats; the Sig he left on his lap. He then reached up, hit the button on the garage opener and drove out, closing the door again as soon as the Hummer was clear.
He swung the monster vehicle around in front of the house. The door opened and a guard appeared. That made sense. He’d been expecting a three-man team: one to drive, one to act as BG, and one to stay behind and act as residential security in case they had to come back in a hurry.
The guard was followed by Nicholas Van Straten. Then came Stafford. In the darkness and through tinted glass, Ty knew that none of them would be able to see him.
As per standard procedure, the guard opened the door and stepped back. Van Straten and Stafford were too busy talking to look in Ty’s direction. Plus the interior dome light had long since been disabled — standard procedure to mitigate against sniper attack. Nothing a shooter liked better than a nice big shaft of light to spotlight their target.
The Van Stratens took their seats. Stafford was yakking away like he was on speed. In the rear-view Ty could see his father doing his best to tune him out. Still neither man had looked at him. Staff were like so much background scenery to guys like them.
The guard closed the door and started round the vehicle to get into the front passenger seat. Ty clicked the button on the console to his left which locked all the doors and accelerated away, leaving the guard standing where the Hummer had been.
The gates were open, and he sped through. ‘Where to, gentlemen?’ he asked, swivelling round, and savouring their expression of shock. ‘Or I could stop somewhere quiet, pull the two of you out, make you kneel over a ditch and shoot you in the back of the head.’
Stafford spoke up. ‘Listen, Tyrone, if this is about my terminating your contract-’
‘Oh yeah, cos this is how I usually respond to being laid off.’
