Chapter 1 Man Down #2
“Take off your gloves,” Monroe said.
“I can’t leave any prints,” Sydney pushed back.
The wailing siren of a police car crashed into the silent night.
“Showtime,” Sydney murmured.
The car sped past as the trio made their way toward Sydney’s car. She didn’t feel the need to make small talk and was relieved Monroe stayed quiet. They rounded the corner, heading toward Sydney’s parked car. Headlights lit up the street, the security guard pulled up alongside them.
“Buonasera, signoras.”
“I got this,” Monroe whispered. “Buonasera, signore.”
“C'è stata una segnalazione di uno sparo. Hai visto qualcuno durante la tua passeggiata?”
There was a report of a gunshot. Did you see anyone during your walk?
“A gunshot?” Monroe asked. “We heard nothing.”
“Americans?”
“Yes,” Monroe replied. “We’re staying nearby.”
The guard shone his light on the women. “You too?” he asked Sydney.
“Of course,” Sydney replied. “We’re walking our dog.”
“Late for that, no?”
“Clubbing,” Monroe replied. “Just got home.”
He eyed them like he was going to eat them.
“Thanks for keeping us safe,” Monroe said.
“Have a good night,” Sydney added as Monroe started walking.
Instead of driving off, the patrolman got out, took a few steps toward them, and the dog growled.
“Not a good idea,” Monroe said. “He’s very protective of us. Men can be so dangerous.”
Another police car raced down the street and Sydney swallowed down the bitter bile. The patrol car was blocking them from passing, so it stopped.
The officer got out, spoke to the security guard. “Sposta la tua auto.”
Move your car.
Sydney started walking and Monroe continued by her side. The security guard got in his vehicle and drove on.
Hope sparked when Sydney stopped at her rental car. After unlocking it, she turned to Monroe. “I owe you one.”
“Glad I could help. Anything for my cousin.” She waited until Sydney got inside. After starting the car, Sydney shot her a smile before pulling onto the street.
She turned the block, tapped the speaker button on her phone. “That was some unexpected excitement.”
“When do you fly out?” he asked.
“Tomorrow.”
“Where are you staying?”
“I was at a nearby hotel, but that security guard saw me, so I’m out.”
“Swing by my condo.”
“Gabriel Santini, you’re a lifesaver.”
“Just returning the favor, angel.” The line went dead.
Sydney unrolled the window, letting the October breeze wash over her.
Did I mess up?
As she reviewed every second of that hit, she wondered if she’d run into trouble at the airport. If they detained her, it was all over. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled.
Though she was flying on a private jet, she needed to move up her departure time. Two-thirty in the morning meant eight-thirty the previous evening in the DMV—the District, Maryland, and Virginia. She called her handler.
He answered. “Code name?”
“Fox Key.”
“Go,” said her handler.
“I need to change my departure from 4:00 pm to this morning.”
“Is the job done?” asked her handler.
“Yes,” she replied. “With issues.”
“How bad?”
“Just get me out,” Sydney pushed back.
“The jet can be ready at 7:00 am.”
“I’ll be on it.” She killed the call, set her sights on the road, but kept glancing in the rearview mirror.
I’m not out of danger until my ass is back in DC. Until then, I gotta watch my six.
TEDDY
For too many months, Theodore Santini had been chasing evil, but not getting close enough to catch it.
He’d spent the summer in Boston hunting down every damn lead.
He’d raided three locations only to find the Haqazzii terrorists had fled.
In August, a cryptic note in a private chat room on the Dark Web led him to Ocean City, Maryland. Again, he came up short.
After Ocean City turned up nothing, a confidential informant claimed he found the leader, Muhammed Haqazzii, in Southern Virginia. Teddy had jumped on that, but no Haqazzii.
September had turned to October. With each passing day, Teddy’s frustration grew. Pushing himself hard at the gym didn’t help. A quick jaunt home to be with family hadn’t worked either.
He’d been using Stryker Truman’s propriety IDware, hoping to get a match on public surveillance footage, but the software had yielded no results.
Until now.
The facial recognition program had identified two Haqazzii soldiers in a small town an hour outside Pittsburgh with an eighty-five percent confidence rating.
“Mr. Santini, we’re on final approach to the airport,” said the pilot, snapping Teddy from his thoughts. “Ten minutes ‘til we touch down in Pittsburgh.”
Teddy unbuckled his seatbelt, retrieved his go-bag from the small closet.
Already dressed in black—including his weathered black combat boots—he pulled on the body armor.
He strapped on the double-holster harness, fitted it with his Glock 17s, then pulled on his black leather jacket.
In the bag sat his suppressor and his helmet with night-vision goggles.
He shoved the silencer into the jacket pocket and pulled on his black leather gloves.
He was ready to hunt down as many Haqazzii terrorists as he could find. Despite his lack of progress, he remained hopeful.
Or stubborn.
The verdict was out on which.
The newly-acquired ALPHA-owned jet touched down on the runway and the pilots slowed the giant Gulfstream to a smooth stop.
Shaking off the ‘tude, he made his way to the front, pausing near the cockpit. “Nice ride.”
“Our pleasure,” said the female pilot.
“We’ll stretch our legs and be on call in the main airport,” said the male copilot.
“What’s your time frame?” she asked.
Teddy glanced at his watch. It was nine o’clock. He had no idea if he’d be there a few hours or several days.
“I’ll keep you posted,” he replied. “You got hotel rooms?”
“We’re all set,” she said.
“Regardless, we’re on standby,” the copilot added.
After an airport crewman secured the portable stairs, the copilot opened the craft’s door. As Teddy descended to the tarmac, the smack of chilly air felt great against his warm skin. He was laser-focused on his target—or targets—running through possible scenarios as he strode into the terminal.
Finding the eleven Haqazzii terrorists would be a challenge, but he wasn’t deterred. He’d spent his career training for this opportunity and he was going to see it through… to the bloody end.
After climbing into the rental car, Teddy adjusted the seat to accommodate his long legs, then opened the IDware app on his phone. Seconds later, that same match populated on the screen. Once the software got a hit, the integrated GPS system tracked that person’s movements.
Haqazzii soldier Sunjib Farquin was driving south on Pennsylvania State Road 79. Feeling bolstered by the find, Teddy drove out.
I’m coming for you.
Forty minutes later, he parked at a big box hardware store, the parking lot littered with a smattering of cars.
Ten minutes to closing. Teddy extracted his laptop from the duffle, then opened a web developer’s program he used.
After spending more time than he’d hoped, he was able to get past the store’s firewall and turn off its security cameras, both inside and outside.
Up went his hoodie and into the store he strode.
“We’re closing for the night,” said an employee posted near the entrance.
“Two minutes,” Teddy said as he hurried past.
The app showed Farquin in the hardware section, so Teddy picked up his pace, scanning each aisle for his target.
Gotcha.
A lone man, dressed in a sweatshirt and pants, was loading up his cart with boxes of nails. Boxes and boxes of nails.
He’s making bombs.
As Teddy got closer, he murmured, “Sunjib.”
The man jerked his head toward Teddy, then threw an open box of nails in his direction.
Teddy spun away as the nails pelted his back, falling like pebbles onto the concrete floor.
When Teddy turned back, his target had vanished.
Rather than follow, he kept his gaze trained on the aisles as he strode toward the exit.
Once there, he spied the terrorist running out.
“Did you find what you need?” asked the clerk.
As Teddy bolted outside, a two-door car took off. He jumped in the vehicle, started the rental car. The engine sputtered, then nothing.
No fucking way.
He tapped the ignition button again, and the engine started.
Let’s do this, motherfucker.
He glanced at the IDware, but couldn’t tell where Farquin was headed. He maximized the map on his phone, then floored it. He hit a red light, had to stop at the intersection. While he wanted to run it, cars were coming from both sides.
The light changed, he soared through. When he checked the screen, the blip that was Farquin had vanished.
No, no, no. Where the hell’d you go?
Teddy was doing well over 60 mph when he spotted a parked vehicle tucked back on a side street.
It’s a cop.
He took his foot off the gas, but didn’t slam on the brakes. Seconds later, another vehicle sped by him. And that’s all the cop needed.
The strobe of flashing red and blue lights brightened the darkness as the patrol car caught up to him, tailed him for a few seconds before moving into the other lane and taking off, siren blaring.
That was close.
As he drove past the police, who’d pulled the speeder over, Teddy’s phone beeped. Farquin was back online, still heading north on State Road 79.
Teddy hit the accelerator. The farther north he drove, the more rural the two-lane road became. Up ahead loomed a lone vehicle. As he raced closer, he confirmed the car as the one from the home improvement store.
BANG!
A bullet pierced his windshield on the passenger side. The terrorist was firing from inside his vehicle.
Wrong choice, asshole.