Dead or Alive

“Not right away, and not until we’ve had a chance to wring him out.”

“That could take some time.”

“We’ll see.”

This Hendley said with a smile that Jack could describe only as slightly evil.

At Andrews, the Gulfstream was prepped and ready, the door open and stairs extended for them. Jack and Clark collected their gear from the back of the Suburban, shook hands with Hendley and Granger, then boarded the plane. The copilot met them at the door. “Sit wherever you want.” He pulled up the stairs, swung the door shut, and locked it down. “We’re taxiing in five, wheels up in ten. Help yourself to the fridge and minibar.”

Jack and Clark made their way to the rear of the cabin. Sitting in the last row was a familiar face: Dr. Rich Pasternak.

“Gerry didn’t tell me much,” Pasternak said. “Please tell me I’m flying across the country in the dead of night for a good goddamned reason.”

Clark smiled. “Nothing’s written in stone, Doc, but I think it’ll be worth your time.”

With the four-time-zone difference and a four-hour-and-twenty-minute flight, they technically landed at North Las Vegas airport only twenty minutes after leaving Andrews. It was a phenomenon Jack understood, of course, but thinking too much about the surreal flexibility of the temporal world could give a man headaches.

Between catnaps he and Clark had dissected the Losan mission, talked baseball, and rummaged through the fridge and minibar. For his part, Pasternak sat in his seat, occasionally dozing but mostly staring into space. A lot on the doctor’s mind, Jack knew. The man had lost a brother on that ugly September morning, and now here he was eight years later, flying across the country to perhaps meet the man who’d planned it all. But then, “meet” wasn’t quite the right word, was it? What Pasternak had in store for the Emir was something Jack wouldn’t wish on anyone. Almost anyone.

The plane came to a stop, and the engines spooled down. Jack, Clark, and Pasternak collected their personal belongings and headed for the door. The copilot came out of the cockpit, opened the door, and unfurled the stairs. “Doctor, you want us to send your gear along to ground transportation?”

“No, we’ll wait for it.”

On the tarmac, Clark asked Pasternak, “What gear?”

“Tools of the trade, Mr. Clark.”

Pasternak said it without a hint of a smile.

Ashuttle bus dropped them at ground transportation, and ten minutes later they were in a Ford minivan heading south on Rancho Drive. They pulled into McCarran’s short-term parking and found a spot. Jack dialed Dominic’s cell; he answered on the second ring. Jack said, “You’re down?”

“Five minutes ago. Where you at?”

“We’ll pull up to arrivals.”

Chavez and Dominic threw their bags into the cargo area and climbed in. There were greetings all around. Chavez said, “Damn, John, never thought I’d see you behind the wheel of a soccer-mom mobile.”

“Smart-ass.”

Clark pulled out and headed for the highway.

It took only fifteen minutes, but soon enough they were entering the upmarket development. Following Chavez’s directions, Clark drove by the house without pausing, then turned the corner and headed back to the subdivision’s entrance. At the stop sign, he put the van in park and shut off his headlights.

“We got about two hours before sunrise and no intel on what’s inside, right, Ding?”

“Hadi saw the garage, the kitchen, and the living room. That was it.”

“Alarm systems?”

“He didn’t remember seeing any keypads. He knows for sure the Emir has one bodyguard, a guy named Tariq. Regular-looking guy, medium height, brown hair, but his hands are all burned. Hadi didn’t know anything about that.”

“So two inside for sure,” Clark said. “It’s probably been a while since the Emir did any soldiering, but assume they’re both badasses. Questions?”

There were none.

“We’ll go quiet in the side garage door, then into the kitchen. Two teams. Anybody see any need to mix things up?”

Chavez said, “Nope.”

Jack noticed Dominic drop his head slightly and look out the side window. Clark asked, “Dom?”

“We did okay together. I kinda fucked up a bit, but we got it straightened out, right?”

Ding nodded. “Good to go.”

“Okay,” Clark said. “Two teams, standard house clearing. We need all the live bodies we can get our hands on, but the Emir’s our primary target. It’d be best if we don’t fire a shot. A neighborhood like this and we’d have cops in five minutes. Doc, I’m going to ask you to stay here and man the fort. We’ll call you when we’re done. If there’s room in the garage, pull right in. If not, in the driveway.”

They parked the van at the end of the block and walked the remaining distance. The sky was clear, with a full moon; the air was cold, the kind of cold only a nighttime desert can produce.

Clark took the lead, walking up the driveway, through the side gate to the side door. The lock was a turn-knob, so he had it picked and open in forty seconds. They filed into the garage. Dominic, bringing up the rear, eased the door shut. The garage was empty. No car. They stood still for a full minute, listening and letting their eyes adjust to the relative darkness.

Clark walked to the kitchen door and tried the knob. He looked back at the others and nodded. Each of them drew his gun. Clark turned the knob, paused, listened, then swung the door open. He stood still on the threshold for twenty seconds and examined the doorjamb, listening for the telltale beeping of an alarm panel. The house was quiet. The kitchen and nook were to the right; to the left, through an arch, a living room.

Clark stepped through and to the right, followed by Jack, then Dominic and Chavez, then moved left up to the arch. At Clark’s nod they started moving through the house. On the other side of the kitchen was an open doorway, and beyond that a hall. Clark peeked around the corner. Ten feet to his left, Ding’s head appeared around another corner. The hall stretched to Clark’s right. Three doors, one on each side and one at the end of the hall. Clark gestured for Ding and Dominic to take the left-hand door. As they came up, Clark and Jack slid up to the right-hand door. Both teams went in at the same time and came out ten seconds later. Both were guest bedrooms, and both were empty.

They stacked up at the door at the end: Clark, Jack, Chavez, and Caruso. Clark gestured: Two by two, right and left. Everyone nodded. Clark tried the knob, then turned and nodded. They pushed through the door, stepping right and left, guns tracking. Clark held up his fist-hold-then pointed at the lump under the covers on the bed. He then pointed at Chavez, then the closet. Ding checked it, shook his head.

Clark padded up to the bed. Jack and Dominic took the end, and Ding the other side. All four trained their guns on the figure under the covers. Clark holstered his gun, then clicked on his LED penlight, grabbed the edge of the sheet, and jerked it back.

“Shit,” he said.

85