CHAPTER 100
Shock Trauma Center
Baltimore, Maryland
Meg was undergoing reconstructive shoulder surgery, and that would take some time.
Once a doctor stepped out of the OR with a positive progress report, I said an extra prayer of thanks and went back to examining the contents of Alexander Egorov’s envelope.
I had studied some detailed target folders in the past. This information—starting with a brief biography of Haracat al Marrak, along with photos and strip maps of his Paris hideout—was pretty damn good. Certainly actionable.
Egorov had been the supplier for all the weapons and explosives used in the attacks on Nantucket.
The boys had delivered everything, personally, by towing submersibles filled with the illicit goods below their yacht.
If the Coast Guard—or anyone, for that matter—had decided to drop by for a look, the submersibles would have dived to the ocean floor until the coast was clear for recovery.
It was a just-about-foolproof plan. I was frustrated with myself that I hadn’t considered options this ingenious.
The deliveries were wide-ranging: several explosive devices to a guy in Boston, and then some major hardware to a dead drop off the Nantucket coast.
Too bad Egorov went into the dirt before sharing more of his treasure chest of good information about a lot of bad people. Still, he had promised that his niece, whoever she was, would help us in return for our protection.
A lot of variables there, including the obvious one that any niece of Egorov’s might well be as shady as her uncle. But if we can get some love from her, who knows? I made a mental note to dig in once Meg was awake.
We would have to send a recon team to Paris to get eyes on al Marrak quickly. Assuming the intelligence checked out, we would have to roll him up immediately and get the hell out of there.
Governments don’t like dirty laundry, so kidnapping a foreign national in a sovereign nation would be sticky business on a good day, especially if the local intelligence agencies were likewise looking to nab him.
Getting in country, putting a hood over al Marrak’s head, and stuffing him in the trunk of a car was not rocket science.
The trick would be getting him out of Paris before anybody noticed.
Some kind of jet under a fake company name would be ideal.
If Black Star had some covered aircraft nearby, we could load him onto a civilian plane and head toward Africa.
I knew we had some boats in the Red Sea we could use as a rendition site.
Planes, trains, and automobiles—the movies always make it look so easy. But when you’re hunting humans, they have a pretty loud say in where, when, and especially if they will get caught. The smart move was to get the target folder over to CSTC, where the others could start making a real plan.
My body had no idea what time it was. All I knew was that I was smoked—and so was Oliver. He started to snore, so I gave him a nudge and woke him from his catnap.
“Any word?” asked Oliver even before his eyes opened.
“Not yet, but no news is good news. Let’s get some coffee, little fella.
” I stood and stretched while Oliver rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
I may have been the senior guy, but Oliver was the one who held all of us together.
He was a stud with the skill, knowledge, wisdom, and personality to push all of us across the goal line when we needed it.
A hardworking nurse at the station saw us lumbering toward her and read our minds.
“There is a river of coffee for you two down that hall to the right.”
I thanked her and was almost run over by Si and Wolf as I turned the corner.
“Nat!” There was no mistaking how happy the team was to be back together.
“Holy shit, you guys made it here from the Eastern Shore?” I barked, doling out massive bear hugs all around.
“How’s Meg doing?” they asked in unison.
It was good to pass on positive news for a change. “She’s gonna be okay. They have to reconstruct her wing, but after some physical therapy, she’ll be back with us, alive and kicking.”
I saw their relief immediately. I also noticed how Wolf had zeroed in on the pretty blond nurse at the desk and was about to work his magic.
“Easy there, Don Juan.” I joked. “Don’t get too comfortable—there’s been a slight change of plans for the day.”
Everyone looked at me quizzically.
I led the charge to the hospital canteen. We filled our coffee cups, then found a secluded table.
“So here’s the deal. I’ll give you the download from the shipping yard later, but basically before Egorov bit it, he gave me this target folder of the guy who masterminded the Harrison kidnapping and murder.
He’s an Algerian asshole named Haracat al Marrak.
He is hanging out in Paris, and we are going to go fuck him up. ”
Everyone’s head bobbed north and south. Even Si had a smile at the prospect of another mission. I explained that I wanted them to head back over the Chesapeake Bay Bridge and make a real plan—or at least one a little more sensible than the gibberish I’d conceived in my sleep-deprived brain.
“What about you?” Oliver chided me. “You need some rest, daddy-o.”
“I want to be here when Meg wakes up. I’ll meet you in Easton after that. Capisce?”
I walked everyone out to the lobby and was waving good-bye when my phone rang.
Rowan Anderson. What a nice surprise.