Code 13 (50 page)

THE PENTAGON

SOUTH PARKING LOT

6:48 A.M.

The morning sun had already started to blanket the Pentagon parking lot as Captain Paul Kriete pulled into his reserved parking space. He had gotten no sleep all night. His mind had been consumed
with the risky operation he had authorized using one of Drone Command's experimental drones and, frankly, with the safety of Caroline McCormick.

Paul reached down and turned up the volume on the closed-frequency military radio receiver. He didn't have two-way radio capability so as to avoid interfering with the NCIS radio traffic, and to avoid any charges that he was working in the law enforcement action. But as commander of Navy Drone Command, he wanted to keep track of the radio traffic, given that one of his drones was providing crucial air cover for the operation. So he had taken a receiver unit to monitor the radio traffic.

“Drone Control to all units! He's turning onto I-495 East!”

“All units. Drone Control. He's merging from 495 to I-395. He's in the HOV lane! Looks like he's headed toward the District!”

“Drone Control. Task Force Leader. I still don't see him. I'm a couple of minutes behind. Stay on him.”

“Task Force Leader. Roger that.”

Paul turned down the volume and calculated his position. If the Mercedes remained north on I-395, it would be passing the Pentagon in approximately three minutes.

He checked his watch, then glanced back over his shoulder at the Washington Monument, its marble and granite visage reflecting the orange glow of the morning sun.

Next he looked in his phone for the number for Commander Charlie Wong, his XO working under him at the Pentagon, then hit the speed dial.

“Navy Drone Command. Pentagon headquarters. Commander Wong speaking.”

“Charlie. Captain Kriete.”

“Morning, sir. How may I be of assistance to you?”

“Listen, Charlie. I need to be working on a project with Pax River today. If the admiral needs me, I'll be available by phone. Otherwise, don't expect me in.”

“Roger that, sir. We'll hold down the fort for you.”

“Thanks, Charlie.”

Paul reached into the glove compartment and pulled out his service weapon, a 9-millimeter Beretta pistol that many Navy and Marine Corps officers elected to use.

He popped open the empty magazine and reached for a brick of bullets, also in the console, and began loading bullets into the magazine.

One.

Two.

Three.

I-395 NORTHBOUND

APPROACHING SHIRLINGTON ROAD EXIT

6:57 A.M.

Mark cursed just as he approached the Leesburg Pike exit. So far, by driving illegally in the HOV lanes at speeds of sixty to sixty-five miles per hour, he had been able to avoid much of the bumper-to-bumper crawl of the Washington rush hour.

But now intermittent brake lights had started to flash, even in the HOV lane.

The red Mercedes was nowhere in sight. In fact, neither Mark nor any of the other special agents in pursuit had seen it at all. They were totally dependent on their eye in the sky, the U.S. Navy drone.

“Drone Control. Task Force Leader. I've lost him. What've you got?”

“Task Force Leader. Drone Control. He's coming up on the South Glebe Road exit.”

“Drone Control. Roger that.” Mark cursed again. The Mercedes had opened distance on him.

That was part of the problem with working for a lower-level federal agency like NCIS. A Ford Taurus was hardly the vehicle suited for a high-speed chase into the District of Columbia.

The DOJ boys? Different animal. Those guys could drive anything they needed and match the bad guys horsepower for horsepower.

“Carraway. Frymier. Naylor. Report your positions.”

“Task Force One.” The voice of Special Agent Ralph Carraway. “We're behind you, sir. I'm at the Braddock Road intersection. Naylor and Frymier are behind me, around Seminary Road.”

“Roger that. Stay on it.”

“Task Force Leader. Drone Control. Subject vehicle is now approaching Arlington Cemetery and Pentagon exits. Stand by to see if he exits.”

“Roger that, Drone Control. Let me know what he does.”

Still dealing with slowing traffic, Mark looked down and punched up the live GPS depiction of the interstate half a mile or so ahead of him.

Where was this guy headed? Was he headed to the Pentagon parking lot? Possibly to open fire? Just like when he shot Caroline McCormick?

Or was he headed across the river into the District? Thank goodness the Virginia state police hadn't gotten involved in the chase, at least not yet. The last thing he needed was local interference.

“Task Force Leader! Drone Control. He's breaking off the right. Definitely headed across the bridge into the District.”

“Drone Control. Roger that. Keep an eye on him.” Mark tapped down on his brakes and blew the horn at the slower-moving car in front of him.

“Move, lady!”

THE PENTAGON

SOUTH PARKING LOT

7:04 A.M.

“That does it,” Paul said to himself upon learning that the red Mercedes was now only a few hundred yards away from him and was about to break across the I-305 bridge into the District of Columbia.

He popped the loaded magazine of ammunition into his pistol, closed the gun up in his glove compartment, and wheeled out of his Pentagon parking space.

The driver of that Mercedes was probably the same guy who tried to kill Caroline. And for Paul, that made it personal.

DC had some of the strictest handgun laws in the country, so hopefully he wouldn't get pulled over once he crossed the bridge. But then again, those ridiculous laws clearly violated the Second Amendment, and DC handgun laws or not, Paul wasn't about to let Caroline's attempted killer get away.

He wheeled out of the parking lot and onto the on-ramp for I-395 North.

Now there was no turning back.

He would do this for his fellow naval officers who had been murdered.

He would do this for Caroline.

He would do this for his country.

SOUTHEAST WASHINGTON

I-695

NEAR WASHINGTON NATIONALS PARK

7:25 A.M.

“Drone Control. All units. He's pulled off I-695 and he's headed down First toward Potomac Southeast. Looks like he's headed down toward the Anacostia River waterfront across from Nationals Park.”

Paul wheeled into the exit for Nationals Stadium as the radio traffic continued between Drone Control and the four NCIS cars behind him.

As Paul's Suburban reached the bottom of the exit ramp onto South Capitol Street Southwest, Mark Romanov's voice broke the airways in response to John Jefferies at Drone Control.

“Drone Control. Task Force Leader. I'm just pulling onto 695 now, so I'm a few minutes behind. The other three units are behind me. Just stay on top of him.”

“Roger that. Still watching him.”

“Task Force Leader. Will do.”

Paul slowed down when he reached Capitol Street Southwest, awaiting further directional instructions from Pax River.

“Task Force Leader. Drone Control. He's headed south on South Capitol Street Southwest. He's slowing down. He's passing the stadium on his left. He's . . . he's swinging around the stadium and turning a hard left on Potomac Avenue. Driving real slow, like he's looking for something.”

Paul punched Nationals Stadium into the Suburban's GPS.

“Okay. He's making a hard left from Potomac to First. He's slowing down, turning into a warehouse on the right, near the intersection of Potomac Avenue and First Street Southeast. Stand by for the address.”

“That does it,” Paul said to himself. “I'm headed there.”

“All units. Drone Control. Okay, that address is 1448 First Street Southeast. Right across from Nationals Stadium and down by the river. Stand by. Suspect is getting out of the car.”

Paul cruised down South Capitol Street, hanging on to every word being spoken by his second in command, Commander John Jefferies, back at Pax River.

The red light at M Street forced him to bring the Suburban to a stop. He looked up into the skies, just over the Nationals Stadium in the direction of his front left bumper, and for the first time caught a glimpse of the blue Blue Jay drone that was allowing the good guys to track down this killer.

In a strange way, he felt a sense of pride that his command, his brand-new command that had caused so much internal controversy, that had in fact not even been born yet, was playing a role in something so good, so essential to justice and protection of the Navy.

At the same time, a sick feeling permeated his stomach over Victoria Fladager. The last report received from Drone Command was that she was down and all communication with her had been lost. Paul prayed silently in that moment that she had survived the shooting.

But something told him in his gut to expect the worst.

He also prayed that they would nail the animal who had rained murder and destruction on Code 13, the JAG Corps, and the Navy.
Apparently, now that animal had caged himself in a warehouse in a crime-infested area of Southeast Washington.

Who knew what they would find at the warehouse, now less than a mile away? Part of him wished the NCIS agents were out in front of him. They were the professionals, and he certainly wasn't going to lead the assault of that warehouse. But if this sucker tried getting away again, Paul was prepared to stop him.

“All units. Drone Control. Suspect has parked behind the warehouse. Three other cars are present. Car is not visible from the road. Suspect is now emerging from the vehicle. Suspect is a white male wearing a blue denim jacket, looks like brown and gray hair. Stand by . . .” A pause. “Suspect is walking toward back of warehouse. Okay, suspect has entered warehouse and has disappeared from our cameras. Will maintain coverage until NCIS units arrive. Over.”

Slowly, Paul drove past Nationals Stadium on his left. Then a moment later made a hard turn back onto Potomac Avenue Southeast, with the Anacostia River now just a few yards off to his right.

The short section of Potomac Avenue ended at the outer perimeter of Nationals Stadium and then cut back to the left, going up First Street Southeast.

There.

On the right, just past the turn.

1448 First Street Southeast.

The warehouse had a plain brick front, stretching maybe fifty yards from left to right. A concrete driveway stretched from the street to the right of the warehouse, appearing to lead around back.

No sign of the red Mercedes. At least not from out front.

He thought about parking in front of the warehouse and waiting.

But if he was spotted, that might blow cover for the NCIS agents on the way.

He decided to drive down the street a couple of blocks and do a U-turn.

“Task Force Leader to all units. I'm turning onto Potomac. Stand by.”

Thank God.

“Task Force Leader to all units. I'm turning on First. I've got the warehouse in sight. I'm pulling up now. Stagger in threes and draw weapons upon arrival.”