Of course, knowing what she looked like was not the same as knowing who she was, and it was a big country. Still, it was a rock in the road and she didn’t want to hit it. . . .
How ever had they found Carruth? It didn’t seem possible. And yet, according to her op, the car belonged to a shell company that was run by Al-Thani, and what were the chances of
Shrugging that off wasn’t going to happen.
This was bad. Having a terrorist actively looking for you to exact revenge for killing his little brother? It would certainly throw a big bag of sand into the gears if he showed up. Not to mention into her personal life.
So, what was she going to do about it?
He might not have a clue as to her identity. Simmons hadn’t, and no way to directly connect to her. But that Yusuf Al-Thani had gotten this far already meant he had damned good resources—either Simmons had screwed up, or not, and if not, how Al-Thani had wound up on
Simmons maybe stepped on somebody’s telltale while checking out Aziz? Possible.
But even so, Simmons hadn’t known who Carruth was.
And yet, there Yusuf was—him or one of his people, dogging Carruth.
She scanned the rest of the file the new op had sent. Well, at least she knew who he was now, and what he looked like. Might not do her much good if he was waiting in her bedroom with a big sidekick and weapons when she got home one dark night, but it was something.
She thought about it. Once you started down the violent road, it was hard to step off it; she
She dug out her current one-time phone and manually tapped in the number for Carruth’s current one- time.
“Yeah?”
“I found that information you requested. Meet me at the place, tonight, seven P.M.”
“Copy.”
She discommed. Shut off the phone and stuck it into her purse. She’d lose it after she left work, and pick up a new one at home. She had a dozen of them, all identical. The guards never checked the numbers, only to see if it was a real phone, which it was.
Carruth had his uses, and this would be right up his alley.
“You’re shittin’ me,” Carruth said.
“Would that I were.”
He shook his head. “Damned ragheads are thicker than fleas on a camel in this deal, ain’t they? How’d they find
She said, “I don’t have any idea.”
He shrugged that off. “So, what’s the plan?”
“We set up a meeting with ‘Brian.’ You and some of your men will be there and when he shows up—probably with some of his men—you erase them.”
He nodded. That was the best way. Bastard couldn’t come back to backstab you if you cut him into enough pieces. How had they found him, though? He’d like to know, but if they weren’t around, it didn’t matter. “I can do that. They’ll be looking for trouble, though.”
“Set it up somewhere they’ll have to drive to, a long way from anything. Somewhere with one way in or out. You get there and prepare before we even tell them where. If they come armed and alert—which, you’re right, they will, of course—your troops still have the advantage.”
“They could bring a whole van full of shooters. I would, if I was them. It could get real gory.”
“You didn’t throw away the rest of those Dragons, did you?”
He grinned. “No, ma’am.”
“Find a place you like, reconnoiter, figure out what you need, let me know. But we have to do this soon. I don’t want this guy and his friends showing up for supper some night at my house.”
Carruth was not exactly thrilled to know that they’d found him, either. “Me, neither. I hear you.”
23
“Mr. Gridley?”
Jay stared at the image on his phone’s screen. “My number. Who else?”
“Doyle Samuels, FBI. I have some information for you.”
“Fire away.”
“As you are no doubt aware, we are conducting a joint investigation with Army Intelligence in regards to your agency’s investigation into the Army base break-ins.”
“Yeah?”
“This is in regard to Private First Class Jerome Jordan, who was one of the soldiers killed during the terrorists’ raid on Fort Thomas Braverman.”
“Right?”
“Private Jordan was the first man shot by the perpetrators. This was on the base itself. Before the destruction of the Hummer and its occupants.”
Jay stifled a sigh.
“Uh huh.”
“FBI Ballistics has determined that Jordan was killed by a single round from a handgun, and that the caliber of the slug was a variation of the .500 Maximum.” The agent let that hang for a second, as if it was supposed to mean something to Jay—which it did not.
“And . . . ?”
“This is an unusual caliber for a side arm. As large as legally allowed to be made in the U.S.”
“Agent Samuels, I don’t know from guns, I’m a computer guy. Are we getting to a point here any time soon?”
“It turns out that the rifling on the round matches that of the bullets that were used in a recent shooting in the District in which two Metro officers were killed.”
“Wow.” He’d sure heard about that.
“It further turns out that the particular kind of bullet used, a .510 GNR, is custom-made in small numbers for a discriminating user group, as are the guns that will shoot it, and we have begun to gather the information on those. Given that Net Force’s computer capabilities are better than most, it might be that you can help us find the gun for which we are looking.”
“Oh, yeah, you bet,” Jay said, suddenly very interested indeed.
