06 Double Danger Read online

  “Except that it doesn’t quite jibe with the clothes from Sears.” Jillian frowned.

  “So maybe it was a gift. None of this really makes any sense.”

  “So what do we do now?” she asked.

  “We call in backup and then meet with the team to regroup.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Köln, Germany

  Boss, we’ve got a problem.”

  Michael Brecht looked up from the papers he’d been studying, a chill of premonition running down his spine. “A-Tac.”

  “Yes.” Gregor nodded, his craggy face impassive. He’d been working as Michael’s right-hand man since Alain DuBois’s unfortunate accident. Wrong place. Wrong time. Too much information. It was the risk that came with working for the Consortium. “They’re starting to put the pieces together.”

  “I thought you told me that we’d covered our tracks. Left nothing to find.” Even as he said the words, he knew that in the face of Solomon and his relentless band of legitimized thugs there was no such thing.

  “I did. And at the time I believed it.” Gregor crossed his arms as he dropped down into the chair opposite Michael’s. “The crash was ruled an accident. But we had no way of knowing that there’d be an A-Tac operative on site. It was pure coincidence.”

  “There is no such thing.” Michael grabbed the rubber ball lying on top of the desk, squeezing as he tried to manage his anger. It always came back to A-Tac. And Solomon. “They must have found something in Afghanistan.”

  “But Kamaal sent in people to sanitize before they arrived. There shouldn’t have been anything to find except for the things we’d intended.”

  “Well, obviously there was something more. And now, as you so succinctly put it, they’re assembling the pieces. It won’t be long before they confirm that the crash wasn’t an accident. Which means we need to rethink our next step.”

  “You want to call it off?” Gregor asked, his gaze unflinching. “In light of everything that’s happened, maybe it would be for the best.”

  “For whom?” Michael asked. “Certainly not the Consortium, and therefore, by definition, for you or for me. We’ve spent too much time to abandon our plans now. We’ll just have to revise them a bit. Improvise.”

  “And do what exactly?” Gregor asked.

  Michael’s fingers tightened around the little ball. “Set it up so that we can use A-Tac to make the brass in Manhattan believe one thing is another.” Michael opened his hand, the ball rolling across the desk and onto the floor. “They’ll think they’ve stopped us, and we’ll be back on track with no one the wiser.”

  “Okay, so we’ve got a dead guy who books a flight over Manhattan and winds up in a Dumpster outside his hotel with a single shot to the head.” Simon paced nervously across the small office in the back of the FAA-procured warehouse where Tyler and her bomb team were going over the debris from the crash.

  Jillian’s nerves were strung almost as tightly. In a matter of days, she’d seen more dead bodies than most people saw in a lifetime. And yet somehow, Wilderman’s had been the worst. She hadn’t even known the guy, but something in the callous way he’d been discarded struck a chord deep inside her. Still, despite the grisly discovery, they were no closer to putting the pieces of the puzzle together.

  Which was why they were here now, comparing notes—trying to find the pattern in all of this. Everyone was present except Drake, who was on his way, and Nash and Tyler, who were still in the main room of the warehouse examining fragments from the helicopter.

  “And we have another guy,” Avery said, continuing Simon’s thought, “pretending to be Wilderman, who winds up dead before the helicopter even takes off.”

  “Which leaves us with Captain America who, for reasons clear only to him, conceivably kills our impostor and then rams his chopper into the hospital.” Simon stopped moving for a moment, the crease between his eyes evidence of his frustration.

  He looked older and more battle-weary than she remembered. And he was clearly favoring his leg. Although he made every attempt to hide the fact. There was a part of her that wanted to reach out—to comfort him, to let him know that he wasn’t alone. But the days when she’d been close enough to get past his barriers were long gone. He’d torpedoed any chance the two of them had ever had. Now if only her heart would accept the fact.

  “Well, if that’s true,” Simon allowed, pulling her attention back to the conversation at hand, “I’m thinking that he might have been the one who killed Wilderman. He’d have been strong enough to have dumped the body into the bin. And if they were really working together, then Wilderman probably wouldn’t have expected Captain Essex to take him out.”

  “Well, I did manage to trace the initial reservation back to an IP, and it definitely was Wilderman’s,” Harrison said. “But it’s easy enough to clone an address. So it’s still possible that the original flight reservation wasn’t actually made from his computer.”

  “I don’t suppose there’s any chance you can work your magic on Wilderman’s computer?” Jillian asked Harrison.

  “Absolutely,” Hannah answered for him with a smile. “Harrison is pretty good at finding something in the middle of what looks like nothing.”

  “It just takes a little time.” Harrison grinned, his gaze landing on Hannah, the love there so palpable that Jillian felt a pang of longing. “But I’m not sure that knowing for certain is going to tell us anything. Even if it was his computer, it’s still possible that someone else was using it, with or without his knowledge.”

  “So we’ve got nothing.” Jillian shook her head, trying to make sense out of the tangled evidence they’d accumulated.

  “Well, there is the dead man,” Simon reminded her.

  “Three actually,” Avery added. “Two of them named Wilderman.”

  “But if both of the Wildermans were killed around the time of the crash, then why the ruse in the first place?” Harrison asked.

  “Seems like no matter how you look at it, Essex is the key.”

  “If he is, then he’s managed to keep all signs of it out of his life,” Drake said as he strode into the room, Nash following behind him, talking on his cellphone. “I’ve been over his place with a fine-tooth comb, and there’s nothing. From what I could gather, the man was well respected and liked. He doesn’t have debts. There’s no sign of any kind of radical leanings in his background. Hell, he was a bona fide military hero.”

  Jillian’s thoughts immediately jumped to Ryan. If she’d learned anything, it was that appearances were often deceiving.

  “Maybe it wasn’t terrorism. Maybe it was suicide?” Hannah suggested.

  “It’s a valid suggestion, except when you add in the switcheroo with the Wildermans,” Drake said.

  “I agree,” Simon added. “Seems more likely that Essex was working with the real Wilderman. What if Essex was planning to walk out of the crash alive and hang everything on the other guy in the helicopter? Maybe killing Wilderman was an attempt to tie up loose ends. Leave Essex as the sole survivor.”

  “Nice theory,” Tyler said, appearing in the doorway, carrying something in her hand, “except that I found evidence of a bomb planted on board the helicopter.” She tossed a charred metal tube on the table, a filament wire extending from one end. “I found pieces of the casing and wiring, and it looks to me like it was rigged to go off immediately after the crash.”

  “So, what? You think it was an effort to achieve maximum damage?” Jillian asked.

  “Not likely,” Tyler said, shaking her head. “The charge was a small one. Basically a moderately sophisticated version of a pipe bomb. So I’m guessing it was meant to take out what was left of the helicopter. Along with anyone inside.”

  “They wanted to destroy the evidence.” Avery leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowed in thought.

  “And make sure everyone in the chopper was dead,” Drake added.

  “Meaning, one way or another, no one was supposed to come out of the crash alive,” Harrison sai
d.

  “Exactly,” Tyler concurred. “So while it’s still possible that Essex planned to survive, that would have to mean that he didn’t know the device was there.”

  “Which would make him a pawn in all of this.” Simon crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against one corner of the table.

  “Except that he was flying the helicopter,” Jillian reminded them.

  “Only it turns out that he wasn’t,” Nash said, stepping into the room as he pocketed his cell. “That was the ME. She got the DNA results. And the guy flying the helicopter wasn’t Essex.”

  “So we’ve got two people masquerading as someone they’re not?” Drake asked, his confusion mirrored on everyone else’s faces.

  “Actually, no.” Nash shook his head. “Just the one. Turns out the body in the back of the chopper was Essex. He was dead before the helicopter ever left the ground. The watch was a plant. Meant to throw everyone off. Had the crash been deemed an accident, I doubt anyone would have dug any deeper.”

  “And if we hadn’t found the notebook in Afghanistan, that’s exactly what would have happened,” Avery said.

  “So the pilot was the fake-Wilderman?” Harrison asked.

  “Looks that way.” Nash nodded.

  “Did the DNA ID him?” Tyler asked.

  “Interestingly enough, we did get a hit, but I’m not sure how much help it’ll be. Guy was ex-Army.”

  “Let me guess, another bona fide hero?” Jillian hadn’t meant to say the words out loud, but fortunately no one, not even Simon, had a clue to her real meaning.

  “Actually, no,” Tyler said. “Dishonorably discharged. But he had experience flying a chopper, which explains a lot. He seemed to attract trouble. He’s got a rap sheet a mile long, but no known affiliations with terrorist organizations. My guess is that he was simply a hired gun.”

  “So what was his name?” Hannah asked, already pulling out her tablet.

  “Mason Dearborn.”

  “Seems to me there has to be more to it than that,” Drake observed. “I mean, I understand wanting to use someone who couldn’t be tracked back to the source, but this was basically a suicide mission, so, if the guy wasn’t a zealot, then how exactly did they convince him to fly the bird?”

  “Maybe we were right the first time,” Jillian said, “and he thought he was going to walk out alive. Although now, considering all the body switching, it sounds a little far-fetched.”

  “You’re sure there were no known connections to terrorists?” Avery asked. “Maybe the guy’s a recent convert.”

  “I’m searching now,” Hannah nodded. “But so far, I’m not finding anything beyond the usual. Petty theft that blossomed into armed robbery. Possession of a controlled substance. Crystal meth. He’s been in jail a couple of times, but always manages to get out on parole.”

  “Looks like he might have been involved in the illegal sale of firearms at one point,” Harrison said, hitting a key on his laptop. “Here’s his picture.” He turned it around so that everyone could see. The man was young, not more than twenty. Dark hair, and as described by the Neimans, definitely on the short side.

  “When he was running guns, was he working on his own or maybe in conjunction with someone else?” Avery asked.

  “Hang on a minute,” Hannah said, “I’m looking.” She scrolled through the document on her tablet and then nodded in satisfaction. “According to one of the original arrest reports from the gun-running charge, there was speculation that Mason was working for Emmanuel Rivon.”

  “Well, there’s a nasty little memory.” Nash’s face tightened with anger.

  “Who is Emmanuel Rivon?” Jillian asked.

  “A low-life scumbag that almost took out Annie,” Drake said, his eyes narrowing with the memory. “He was a Bolivian national who operated a coffee conglomerate and used the business to cover travel in and out of questionable countries. Including Afghanistan. He was connected to several terrorist organizations.”

  “You said ‘was,’ ” Jillian prompted.

  “Yeah.” Nash nodded. “Annie killed him. He was holding our son hostage. And as far as I’m concerned, the bastard got better than he deserved.”

  “You’ll get no argument from me,” Harrison said, “but if Hannah’s right about the association, it could mean that Mason was still connected to Rivon’s organization somehow.”

  “But you just said Rivon was dead.”

  “Him, yes,” Hannah said, scrolling through a program on her tablet. “But not so much the organization. It’s being run now by Rivon’s younger brother, Emilio.”

  “And if Mason was working for Rivon,” Harrison continued, picking up on Hannah’s thoughts, “it’s possible Emilio would have kept him in the loop.”

  “Which in turn,” Hannah smiled over at Harrison, “might be the link to his becoming involved with a terrorist plot.”

  “So do we have an address on this guy?” Tyler asked.

  “According to my sources, he’s been living here in the city, on the East Side,” Hannah said. “Fourteenth and Second Avenue. Near Union Square. I’m uploading the addy to your tablets now.”

  “Got it.” Simon nodded, his smoky green eyes alight with excitement as his gaze met hers. “What do you say the two of us head over there and have a look?”

  Jillian started to protest, to say that she’d be better off staying here and helping Harrison or Hannah, anything that kept her away from him and the memories of their shared past. But then his eyes flashed with something more than excitement. Something she recognized as a dare. Squaring her shoulders, she stuck out her chin.

  “All right then,” she said, pleased to note that her voice actually sounded almost normal, despite the butterflies in her stomach. “What are we waiting for?”

  CHAPTER 6

  Second Avenue at Fourteenth Street acted as a dividing line of sorts. To the east, scrubs-clad personnel worked at the long row of hospitals that stretched along First Avenue. And to the west, the jeans and T-shirt set inhabited the area surrounding Union Square, students from NYU mixing with tourists as they mingled together along the crowded streets.

  Mason Dearborn’s apartment was on the third floor of what had once been an elegant brownstone built sometime in the early 1900s. Unfortunately, although still well-appointed, it had been cut up into box-sized apartments somewhere along the way, the rusting metal fire escapes standing testament to the fact.

  Squeezed between a bodega promising the city’s best bagels and a neon-lighted Indian restaurant, the building’s entrance was now an enclosed affair that had once been an open stoop. At the top of the stairs, Simon pressed the buzzer for the owner who also served as the super. They’d already tried calling several times with no response. So it wasn’t all that surprising when no one answered.

  “What now?” J.J. asked, crinkling her nose in distaste at the littered vestibule housing the call box. “The door is locked.”

  “I could probably jimmy it,” Simon said, studying the ancient lock. “But it might be easier if we just wait for that guy.” He nodded toward a man almost at the bottom of the inside stairs. In short order, he’d crossed the small lobby and yanked open the door without giving Simon and Jillian a second glance. “What did I tell you?” Simon grinned as he caught the door and motioned her inside.

  “Smooth.” She smiled up at him as they headed for the stairs, and his gut clenched, past and present blending together.

  And as before, it was as if no time had passed, the two of them still in college with nothing more important to worry about than which kegger they were going to attend. Then the light shifted, and J.J. was a stranger again—Jillian. The little lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth a reflection of everything that had gone down since. With one reckless decision, he’d gotten Ryan killed and destroyed her life. It wasn’t something that could be washed away by happy memories.

  They climbed the stairs in silence, heading for the third floor and Dearborn’s apartment. Just past the secon
d landing, Simon’s earpiece sprang to life. “You guys in yet?” Drake asked. He was positioned in the small yard behind the building at the bottom of the fire escape. Backup in case something went wrong.

  “Just heading down the hall now,” Simon replied as they turned into the narrow passageway. The walls were covered with pale gray paper, a fluorescent bulb at the end of the hall flickering off and on, its incessant humming filling the space.

  “It’s still got good bones,” J.J. observed, as they came to the end of the hall, adorned with a stained-glass window.

  “It must have been something before they tore it all up to make individual apartments,” Simon said. “I’ve always wanted to fix up a place like this.”

  “Yeah, well, trust me,” Drake’s voice echoed in his ear, “remodeling isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.” Drake and Madeline had been working hard to rebuild their house after part of it was destroyed by an explosion.

  J.J. reached out to knock on the door. There was no answer.

  “Any movement from your end?” Simon asked Drake.

  “Nada. If there’s someone in there, they’re sitting tight.”

  “So we go in, right?” J.J. asked, already reaching for the doorknob.

  “Better to check first,” he said, reaching up to run his fingers around the door frame and threshold. “You never know when someone’s left a little welcome gift.” He stepped back, giving the door a final once-over. “Looks clear. No trip wires. It is locked but I should be able to get it open.” He pulled out a small case with picks and set to work, the old lock yielding easily. “We’re in.”

  “Nice to see our government dollars at work,” J.J. said, her eyes crinkling with amusement. “I figured an ex-Navy SEAL would be more of a ram-the-door-down type.”

  “It’s not all guts and glory,” he shrugged, drawing his gun as he pushed the door open. “Sometimes I find a more understated approach works better.”