Shit
.
“Cougar,” he said. “Cougar, come in. Where are you? Now would be a really great time for you to show up!”
He heard footsteps approaching.
Goddamn
, he thought, bracing for what was coming. He heard the dead bolt on the door being undone, and the door swung open.
But it wasn’t Natasha. It was Peter Conley, gun drawn. Morgan had never been happier to see him.
“Cobra? Oh, Christ. Come on, man, let’s get you out of here.”
“I’m handcuffed,” said Morgan, knocking the cuffs against the metal pipe. “You’re going to have to find a way to open them.”
Conley pulled out a knife to cut Morgan’s legs free and then examined the handcuffs.
“I don’t have anything to pick these with,” said Conley.
“There’s some wire on the floor.”
“You mean this
barbed
wire?” Conley asked, dubiously. “I don’t think I can use this. It’s too thick. I’m going to have to shoot them apart.”
“Do you have a silencer for that thing?”
Conley shook his head.
“We’re going to have to hightail it out of here, then,” said Morgan. “Okay.” He spread his hands so that the chain was taut against the pipe. “Ready.”
Conley placed his gun point-blank against the handcuff chain and fired. The gunshot rang in Morgan’s ears and reverberated in the enclosed space. Morgan held his hands apart, free, a few links of the chain dangling from each cuff. Conley helped him to his feet. He stumbled, but he didn’t fall.
“Are you okay to walk on your own?” asked Conley.
“Just go!” said Morgan.
They dashed out of the room and heard T’s heavy boots pounding the concrete, around the bend of the hallway, barreling toward them.
Conley shouted, “This way!” and sprinted in the opposite direction, deeper into the facility. Morgan battled to run as best he could, with a stinging left thigh on top of the burning in his knee. T sped toward them, her footsteps echoing closer behind them.
“In here!” Conley led him into a room about twice as big as the one in which Morgan had been held, with the same heavy metal door, which Conley closed and bolted behind them.
Inside the room were the rudiments of a home. There was a mattress on the floor covered with rumpled sheets, and a worktable with a lamp on it. In one corner was a ladder that led upward, out of sight, into a narrow vertical tunnel.
“This is her safe house!” Morgan realized. T, meanwhile, had caught up to them. She kicked and banged loudly against the door, but it didn’t budge.
“Come on, Cobra,” said Conley, making for the ladder. “This has to lead somewhere. Let’s get out of here.”
Natasha shot three times at the door, making the room ring deafeningly. Although the slugs punched deep dents in it, the door held. Morgan scanned the room. On the table, under a pool of light, was spread a large blueprint.
“Let’s go!” shouted Conley. Morgan heard the faint sounds of foosteps as T ran away from the door.
“Wait!” Morgan went to the table and hastily folded the blueprint into a jumbled mess. “Okay,” he said, carrying it with him. “Let’s go.”
They climbed the ladder through a manhole that led to the ground level, Morgan with the blueprint tucked under his arm. When they emerged, Morgan saw that they were on a construction site for what might have eventually become a processing plant of some kind, but the build-out had been long abandoned. Sunlight filtered in through high, paneless windows.
His body screaming with agony, Morgan struggled to keep up with Conley as they ran out into broad daylight. He looked back, concerned that their pursuer was still hot on their heels, but the way around was long. She wasn’t going to be able to catch up. When they reached Conley’s car, hidden a few hundred feet away, Morgan was confident that they were safe. For now.
C
HAPTER
37
O
nce they had driven far enough away that they were sure T had not followed them, Morgan flipped down the visor and looked in the mirror. He looked exactly like he felt. His face was bloody and bruised, his left eye swollen half-shut, his lips cut in several places.
“We’ve got to get you to a doctor,” said Conley.
“No hospitals,” he grunted.
“You’re right,” said Conley. “That would be less than wise. But you need a doctor. Don’t worry, I know a guy. We can get you to his clinic, and he’ll take care of you, no questions asked.”
Morgan looked down at his thigh. Blood was oozing out, staining the upholstery of the seat. He pulled up his shirt and examined his bruised torso.
“Anything broken?” asked Conley.
“A few cracked ribs, maybe,” said Morgan, wincing as he prodded them with his hand. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
“Okay,” said Conley. “We’ll get you looked after and then find a place where you can rest.”
“Are you kidding?” asked Morgan, incredulously. “With all this going on, you’re thinking of resting?”
“Morgan, I’ve been up all night trying to pick up your signal, and
I’m
exhausted. I can only imagine what state you’re in.”
“I’m fine,” Morgan said curtly.
“I don’t know what happened in there, but let me tell you, I wouldn’t be fine if I were alone in a room with T for a few hours. You were in there for almost a day. I’m sorry, Morgan, but there’s no way you’re fine.”
Conley was right. He wasn’t fine. His head was fuzzy, his flesh sore and throbbing. The light was painful to his eyes, and he could barely stay awake as Conley drove on. His body ached for rest. He was aware that, now that they knew for sure that Senator Edgar Nickerson was behind all this, the right thing to do was to regroup and rethink their strategy.
But Morgan resisted it, with the same instinct that told him to never give in, never surrender. That instinct had saved his life more times than he could count, and he had learned to trust it.
“We see a doctor, and we keep moving,” he said. Conley looked at him disapprovingly but didn’t press the point further.
Morgan remembered the crumpled blueprint from Natasha’s hideout, which he had placed in between his seat and Conley’s when they took off in the car. He picked it up, and, unfolding the wispy paper, he laid it out on the dashboard, part of it hanging down over the edge like a tablecloth. He examined the writing on it, blinking hard to keep himself awake and concentrated.
“What is it?” asked Conley.
“It’s RFK Stadium,” he said. “A detailed floor plan.”
“That can’t be good,” said Conley. “You don’t think she could be planning a terrorist attack? A few well-placed bombs . . . if the stadium is packed . . .”
“I don’t know,” said Morgan, looking closely at the blue lines on the paper. “Look, this isn’t old like the rest of the notes on the blueprint—an
X
drawn in pencil, here in the middle of the field. And there’s a number written off to the side here: 340.”
“What do you suppose that is?” asked Conley. “A seat or section number?”
Morgan shook his head. “I don’t know. But Nickerson said something before he left. Something about Saturday being a big day.”
“Who’s playing Saturday at RFK?” Conley wondered aloud. And then it hit Morgan.
“I know what the number means. Nobody’s playing on Saturday. That senator, McKay, she’s giving a speech there. I imagine that
X
is right about where her podium is going to be. Conley, that number is a range, as in for a rifle. T is planning to assassinate Senator McKay.”
C
HAPTER
38
D
ennis Poole walked into Senator Lana McKay’s office to find her sitting at her cluttered desk, with a pen in her hand, poring over a thin document, deep in concentration. She looked up at him from the paper and smiled, that sincere, guilelessly disarming smile of hers that he had always found so compelling, that had won him when he had first met her. And yet he knew there was a fighter behind that smile, one who could be as hard and unyielding as steel.
“Hi, Dennis,” she said. “Tell me, how are things looking out there?”
“Crazy as usual. But it’s all going to work out.”
“God willing,” she said wearily.
“Ritchie wants to know what you think of the speech.”
“I’m looking it over one last time now,” she said. “Tell him I have some notes to go over with him, but it’s powerful. Between you and me, this is his best yet.” She sighed and sat back in her chair. “I just hope it’s good enough to get people to take notice.”
“It will be,” he said. “You’re going to make sure of that.”
“I’m glad one of us has that kind of confidence,” she replied. “I just hope it’s not misplaced.”
“I’ve seen how people respond to you, Lana. They see you, and they know you’re the real deal. It’s going to happen.”
“It is, isn’t it?” she said, perking up. “We’re going to stop them. No more using taxpayer money to fund thuggery. No more profiting off the blood of American soldiers.”
“You made a believer out of me, Lana. You’re going to do this.”
“
We’re
going to do it, Dennis. You’ve been a crucial part of everything I’ve done in office. This is going to be your big day as much as it is mine.”
He flashed her a broad, grateful smile. “We’re gonna push this law through,” he said. “No compromises, no derailments. We’ll expose the opponents of justice and transparency, and they will be shamed into voting for us. If politics is the only thing they believe in, then that’s what we’ll play. We’ll expose their hypocrisy and corruption. The electorate won’t stand for maintaining the status quo.”
“I wish it didn’t have to be this way,” she said.
“You’ve made me believe that it doesn’t, Lana. Even when I was a kid fresh out of college, I knew that most politicians didn’t act against their own interests, that they voted with their biggest donors, always seeking out money and votes, almost never giving a damn about justice or the people their policies affected. But this, this is different. Lana, you made this cynic believe in our government again.”
She smiled softly at him. “It truly makes me happy to hear you say that, Dennis. All that’s left now is to reach everyone else.”
“That will come. Just wait and see. The American people will be on your side.”
Her office phone rang.
“Sally,” she called out to her assistant in the other room, “did you send this through?”
“No, Senator. Whoever it is called your line directly.”
“Hmm,” she said, and she picked up the receiver. “Hello, you’ve reached Senator McKay.”
“Senator.” It was a man’s gruff, unfamiliar voice. “You don’t know me, but please don’t hang up.”
“Who are you? How did you get this number?”
“I can’t tell you who I am. But what I can tell you is that your life is in danger. There is a plot to assassinate you on Saturday. You need to call off your speech.”
“What? Are you threatening me?”
“No!” said the voice. “But someone
is
going to kill you, Senator. You need to cancel the rally.”
“That’s not going to happen. If you have information, why don’t you call the police?”
“They won’t be able to do anything about it. Not against the people who are plotting to kill you. You need to go somewhere secret and safe and stay there.”
“And who are these powerful people who want me dead?” she asked, affecting mild amusement.
“Look, I know you won’t believe me. But think about whether Senator Edgar Nickerson might have the means and the motive to take you out of the picture.”
“Edgar Nickerson!” she laughed, skeptically.
“This is serious, Senator!”
“Look, sir,” she said, losing her patience, “if you have information about an assassination plot, please contact the authorities. If you have information that implicates Senator Nickerson in this kind of conspiracy, by all means take it to the newspapers. But don’t ask me to cancel my speech on hearsay. I won’t be stopped by vague threats.” She slammed down the receiver hard and sat back, fuming.
“Are you okay, Lana?” asked Poole.
She waved him off, but he could tell she was shaken. “This isn’t my first death threat, Dennis. Just alert the security team that there’s been another one, and have them do what they do.”
“Are you sure you’re okay? Can I get you something?”
“I’ll be fine. These . . . these thugs think that they can intimidate me. Well, I’ll show them. If they want to stop me from making my speech, if they want to stop this bill from becoming law, they’ll have to make good on their threats and kill me. Because anything short of that will not hold me back.”
“Aren’t you worried that they will?” asked Poole, who was himself more than a little apprehensive. Still, he couldn’t help admiring her grit.
McKay looked out her window with steely resolve. “If they do, if all the powers in Washington are arrayed against me, then I suppose I can’t stop them. But backing down is one thing I will not do.”
“You really think this reform is worth your life, Lana?” he asked.
“Yes. But even if it weren’t on the face of it, I wouldn’t let that stop me. If I back down now, it’ll be the same thing next time, and the next. And next thing I know, I’ve got a lifetime of backroom deals and compromised principles. And then I’m no better than any of them.”
“If that’s your decision,” he said, “I’ll be right there with you.”
“I know you will, Dennis,” said the senator. “I know you will.”
“Do you think she believed you?” Conley asked Morgan.
“Not enough.” He looked down at the prepaid cell phone, its face still glowing from the call.
It was the afternoon of the same day that Conley had rescued him, and they were sitting in Conley’s car in a supermarket parking lot. Morgan had been stitched up and had bandages wrapped around his thigh and torso. The bruising on his face, if anything, looked worse. But although he hadn’t rested, he had taken a shower and eaten, and he felt refreshed and alert.
“What do we do now?” asked Conley.
“I don’t see that we have a choice,” said Morgan. “We can’t let Nickerson win. We have to stop him.”
“We can’t do this alone, Morgan.”
“And who are we going to call, Conley? If we call the Feds with a story about a CIA conspiracy but no credible evidence to back it up, they’re just going to think we’re another couple of crazies.”
“Then we have no one else to turn to. We have to contact the Agency,” Conley reasoned.
“Are you crazy? They tried to kill me and my family, and you want to trust them with this?”
“This is about saving the senator, Morgan. We have to do something. Not everyone in there can be compromised. Even with the mole, they can still protect her. They have resources that we don’t.”
“I don’t know, Conley,” he said, looking away.
“I’m not willing to gamble with the senator’s life. I hate this just as much as you do, and I trust them about as far as I can throw them. But it’s our best shot at stopping Nickerson.”
“Fine,” said Morgan, gritting his teeth. He didn’t like it at all, but Conley was right.
“Here, give me the phone. We’ll call Boyle directly.”
“No,” said Morgan. “We shouldn’t let anyone know you’re alive. I’ll do it.”
“Are you sure?” said Conley.
“You mean, am I going to lose my temper and tell him to go to hell?”
“I mean, you’ve been beaten and deprived of sleep. I don’t mean to have this conversation all over again, but are you sure you’re up for anything right now?”
Morgan glowered at him. “Yeah, I can handle myself. Just tell me how to get his direct line.”
Conley dialed for him instead and handed the phone back to Morgan. It rang twice, and then he heard the voice on the line.
“Boyle.”
“You son of a bitch. This is Cobra. I have some information for you. Now listen closely, and if for a second I think you’re stalling to keep me on the line, I’ll hang up.”
“Cobra, you need to turn yourself over to us right now,” Boyle demanded. “Tell me where you are, and I’ll send someone to get you.”
“Like you sent that sick bastard to get me and my family?” said Morgan acerbically.
“Wagner veered off mission. He was supposed to bring you in, that’s all.”
“Bullshit. But that’s not why I called you, Boyle. I have information. I want to tell you who really killed Eric Plante and Zalmay Siddiqi. It was Natasha Vasiliyevna. Now she’s plotting to assassinate Senator Lana McKay at her rally on Saturday.” He decided against mentioning Nickerson. Morgan knew how it would sound, and there was no need to make it less believable.
“That’s impossible,” said Boyle incredulously. “She’s not even in the country.”
“You’re being played. She’s here, and she’s been after me ever since I was in Afghanistan.”
“If that’s all true, Cobra, then it’s all the more reason for you to turn yourself in and let us take care of the investigation.”
“Damn it, Boyle, there’s no time for an investigation! You need to find her now, before she kills the senator!”
“Just come in, and we’ll discuss this calmly. You can present everything you have, and we can determine whether it’s credible here at headquarters.”
“No. I told you what I know. What you do with this information now is your problem.”
“I can’t act on your word alone,” he said.
“Bullshit.”
“Why don’t you just turn yourself in . . .”
“
Why don’t you go to hell?
” Morgan threw the phone hard onto the dashboard, and it bounced back, landing on Conley, who turned it off and popped out the battery.
“No luck, then?” he said glumly.
“Looks like we’re on our own.” Morgan glanced at him. “What now?”
“Like I said before,” said Conley, “we check into a hotel so we can both get some sleep. Tomorrow morning we begin planning. It looks like we’re running this solo.”
“Maybe not entirely,” said Morgan. “I know someone who might be able to help.”
CIA Director Boyle laid down the receiver, thought, and then picked it up again.
“Get me Kline.”
“Yes, sir?” came Kline’s voice, after a few seconds.
“It’s Cobra. He just called me.”
“Did you record the call? Did you trace it?” asked Kline.
“No, it happened too quickly, and I wasn’t fast enough. But what he told me was concerning. He raved about some sort of conspiracy against him and talked about a rally that Senator McKay is holding on Saturday. I’m afraid he’s planning something and that it’s happening there.”
“Sir, what do we do?” asked Kline. “Deploy another operative?”
“No. Alert Homeland Security. I want every officer in that stadium to have a photograph of Cobra. Give them a story about him being some kind of anti-government extremist. And tell them he should be considered armed and dangerous. If he is spotted, orders are to shoot on sight.”