Chapter 36
CHAPTER 36
P at watched the excited crowd pour into Capital One Arena. The place was electric. Fans decked out in Lakers and Wizards jerseys, waving foam fingers, downing overpriced beers, chanting as they streamed toward the entrance.
If they only knew.
He pressed a finger to his earpiece. “Anything?” His team was spread across the perimeter, eyes sharp for anything off. A lone figure breaking from the flow, a nervous glance, a second too long at security.
“All clear,” came Blade’s reply.
“Nothing on my side,” Phoenix added.
“South entrance is clean,” Viper reported.
“No movement at the north,” Cole confirmed.
Anna chimed in from HQ. “Surveillance is running smooth. No red flags yet.”
Yet.
Pat clenched his jaw. Six bombers. Where the hell were they?
Last night, after securing Ryan and tossing a bloodied Al-Jabiri into federal custody, FBI Special Agent Ed Hollis had called. They’d found Jasmine locked in the terrorist’s study, half-conscious on the floor. As he’d thought, she was concussed and taken to the hospital.
When Pat last checked, Ryan was with her.
As a security measure, he’d doubled security around the hospital. If Al-Jabiri’s cousin wanted revenge, he wouldn’t get within ten miles of her. But odds were, Riad was already gone. All it would take was a fake passport, a fresh disguise, and he’d vanish into the wind.
Pat’s phone rang. It was Anna. He frowned. Why wasn’t she using the comms.
“What’s up?”
“Boss, just a heads-up—Jasmine’s here.”
His stomach tightened. “What?”
“She came in with Ryan. Says she wants to keep working on ID’ing the woman she saw at the Metro station.”
Pat exhaled sharply. “She in any shape for that?”
“She’s determined.”
Of course, she was. Stubborn as hell.
“Fine. Set it up. Keep me posted.”
He ended the call and moved closer to the wave of fans. At the Boston Marathon bombing, the terrorists had used pressure cooker devices packed with shrapnel.
This would be worse.
He touched his earpiece. “Eyes sharp, people. There are six of them here. Let’s find them.”
His phone buzzed again. Withheld number. Official.
“Burke.”
CTD Tactical Commander Farrow was on the line. “We just took down two suspects on the west entrance—the Waheed brothers. Rucksacks. Both wired. Handheld triggers.”
Two down. Four to go.
Pat relayed the message. “Confirmed. Two carrying live devices. The others are close.”
A scream tore through the noise.
“North entrance. Shots fired!” Viper’s voice came sharp over comms.
Pat broke into a sprint. “Viper, report!”
“He had a trigger taped to his hand. Security spotted him. We took the shot.”
Pat cut through the crowd, gun at his side. He reached the entrance and saw a dead man sprawled on the pavement, his body twisted unnaturally. Fans veered away, although some kept going, oblivious to the unfolding drama.
A CTD officer in plain clothes crouched over the body, inspecting the trigger.
“It’s not connected!” he called out.
Pat and Viper stepped closer. “Say again?”
“It’s a fake. No detonator. No explosives.”
Pat’s stomach turned to stone. “Are you sure?”
The agent held up a wire, the loose end dangling uselessly. “Yeah. Total dummy.”
Viper’s jaw flexed. “Shit.” He turned to Pat. “It’s a diversion.”
Pat’s mind raced.
So where the hell are the real bombs?
He grabbed his phone, redialed Farrow.
“Commander, confirm. Were the Waheed brothers carrying live explosives?”
A pause.
Then: “Negative. The devices were fake.”
Pat’s pulse roared.
Shit.
“The real attack is happening somewhere else.”
Farrow’s voice dropped. “Where?”
Pat swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth. “That’s the problem. I don’t fucking know.”
His comms crackled again.
“Shots fired. East entrance!”
“Another suspect down,” Phoenix reported. “Fake device.”
Anna’s voice cut in, urgent. “Pat, we’ve got two more men in Wizard’s jerseys carrying rucksacks. CTD agents took them down. Both fakes.”
Every. Single. One.
Pat closed his eyes. Al-Jabiri had played them like fools.
He’d let them think they’d cracked the plot. He’d let them flood the arena with agents, let them focus everything here.
While the real bombs were somewhere else.
Pat’s pulse hammered.
But where the hell was the real target?