"Bill," Maddux called after a few minutes. "Come on out. It's Ward."

"I've turned up an interesting development," Ward said as he shook hands with Bill and they all sat down. "If it had only been one report, I wouldn't have worried about it." He pointed at the big golden retriever and then at the floor by the chair he'd sat in. Drexel quickly obeyed and sat beside him. "People get on planes, but three of these guys all traveling at the same time and all coming to the same place? That seems like too much of a coincidence. That's why I'm here."

"What are you talking about?" Bill asked.

"I got three separate reports yesterday about several individuals of significant interest all heading for Washington, DC. All three of them are high-octane a.s.sa.s.sins. I'm talking best in the business." Ward pulled out a cigarette and lighted it. "I think we've got a serious situation on our hands."

"Who's the target?" Bill asked. "David Dorn?"

"If you made me bet my last dollar," Ward answered, taking a puff from the cigarette, "that's who I'd say it is."

"Who's ultimately behind it?" Bill asked.

"Don't know yet," Ward replied. "I'm still digging."

Maddux glanced over at Bill smugly, then reclined in his chair and put both hands behind his head. "Now the question is: What do we do about it? Do we anonymously alert the Secret Service?"

Bill shook his head. "No, we wait and watch."

"Exactly," Maddux agreed. "f.u.c.k David Dorn."

CHAPTER 25.

JACK AND Troy sprinted through the forest as afternoon sunshine filtered down past a thick canopy of oak and maple leaves, a few of which had already turned to red, orange, and gold. Pistols leading the way, the brothers raced through the dense woods just inside a tree line paralleling a long, gravel driveway. Their objective was a weather-beaten, gray-shingled farmhouse, which, now that they were close, they kept in sight as they ran.

They'd caught a break at the jewelry store. The shop's owner had allowed them to look at that morning's video from the security camera mounted on the front wall of the building. The camera had recorded Little Jack's kidnapping. The men who'd committed the crime had worn masks, so there was no way to ID them from the video. But after enhancing a few frames, they'd gotten the van's tag number and run it through the Connecticut DMV quickly, using one of Troy's contacts at National Security. The van's registration identified the owner as living at this address thirty miles west of Greenwich, deep in the Connecticut countryside. His name was Wayne Griffin.

They'd parked Troy's SUV a half-mile away, a hundred feet down an old dirt road that led off into the forest and appeared abandoned, judging by the branches on it and the height of the weeds growing out of it. After climbing out, Troy had tossed Jack a Glock 9mm, which he always kept in reserve under the driver's seat. Then they'd set off through the woods to find L.J.

Only one vehicle was parked in front of the farmhouse, and it wasn't a van. It was a brand-new, bright red F-150 pickup.

"Don't hesitate to shoot," Troy said as they stopped behind two large trees so they could survey the situation before breaking from the woods.

The farmhouse was fifty yards away across an open field of closely mown gra.s.s. However, there was a barn between their position and the home, which they could use to veil the first part of their approach.

"You hear me, Jack?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"Don't wait for them," Troy said firmly, waving his gun at the barn and then the house before making certain the first bullet was chambered. "Put them down if you think they even might have a weapon. And aim to kill, Jack. Aim for the middle of the chest and squeeze the trigger, don't jerk. Remember, they'll be more scared than you are."

That was hard to believe.

"They'll fire wildly," Troy continued, "I guarantee it. I've seen it before. Calm always wins a shootout, at least with guys like this. And like I said, shoot to kill. Make sure to put them down, and we'll sort things out later, after the dust settles. No pity, no sympathy. That's the mantra going in. They sure as h.e.l.l won't have any for you." Troy hesitated. "And Jack, whatever happens, I take the blame for everything."

"Don't worry about me." Jack's heart was pounding. And it wasn't from running through the forest, because he was in excellent shape. "I got you out of Alaska last October, didn't I?"

Troy smiled grimly. "Yeah, you did okay."

"So, then don't worry about me."

"Okay."

Jack heard no conviction in that "okay."

"Did you hear what I said about me taking the blame for anyone getting killed?" Troy asked. "If we're arrested and people are down, you didn't actually shoot anyone, as far as the cops are concerned. As far as they're concerned, I shot everybody. You lose that gun before they get here. Throw it in some bushes somewhere, and you tell them you've never fired a weapon in your life. You got me?"

"I'm not letting you take the blame for something I-"

"Did you hear what I said?"

"Of course, but-"

"No, Jack, I don't think you did. Let me say it one more time so I'm sure. I shot everyone, as far as any law enforcement investigation goes."

Troy rarely went animated like this, and never in the face of pressure. He usually got calmer as the stress level built. "Okay."

Troy nodded ahead. "We'll check the barn first. Then we'll head to the house if we don't find anything in the barn. I still don't see anybody. You?"

"No."

"Your first bullet chambered?"

"Yeah, I'm good."

"All right, let's go."

Keeping the barn between them and the house, they broke from the tree line and sprinted ahead across the field side by side. The barn wasn't large, a hundred feet long by fifty feet wide. Fortunately, it had a small door on the side they were racing toward, the side away from the house.

When they reached the structure, they pressed their backs to the stone foundation. Troy peered around the near corner to check the house one more time, and then they stole along the wall to the small wooden door.

As they moved through the doorway and stepped onto the dirt floor inside the dimly lit s.p.a.ce, they were met by a wave of cool air. It was refreshing down here in the low-ceilinged lower level, out of the late-afternoon heat.

"Look," Troy said, pointing.

"A black van," Jack whispered breathlessly, digging a small piece of paper from his shirt pocket as they hustled toward the vehicle. "This is it," he said after he'd matched the tag on the van to the string of letters and digits on the paper. "This is the one we're looking for."

"That's how they got it in here," Troy said, gesturing at a large garage-style door on the far side of the barn, then at a pair of tire tracks in the dirt leading from the closed door to the vehicle. "They were definitely trying to hide it."

Jack glanced into the van through the open pa.s.senger side window. "Look," he said, starting to reach inside. "Little Jack's Dartmouth sweatshirt."

Troy caught Jack's arm before his fingers broke the boundary the gla.s.s would have made if it were raised.

"What's the problem?" Jack demanded.

"I don't want you setting off the alarm," Troy answered as he gazed at the small, dark-green sweatshirt lying on the pa.s.senger seat. "Someone might have left it on as an early warning." Troy had graduated from Dartmouth before joining Red Cell Seven. He'd given his son the sweatshirt as a first birthday present. "L.J. loved that sweatshirt."

"He still does," Jack said firmly. Troy couldn't be thinking the worst right now. He had to stay positive. "We're getting him back, Troy. Let's go."

"I know," Troy agreed softly, starting for the ladder leading to the upper level of the barn. "We'll check upstairs then head to the house if it's all clear above," he called over his shoulder as he jogged.

They headed to the crude wooden ladder, and Troy went first. It was fascinating, Jack thought to himself as Troy began climbing. There hadn't been any discussion of who would lead. They'd both simply a.s.sumed Troy would. He always took the lead in situations like this. He had, ever since they were kids exploring the vast Jensen property.

The upper floor was littered with old machine and car parts, tools, and there was a tall stack of hay bales in one corner. Just as Jack climbed the last few rungs and struggled to his feet, a motor started up outside.

"Come on!" Troy yelled, racing for the door.

By the time Jack burst through the doorway, Troy was ten yards ahead, sprinting toward the red pickup, which was turning around in front of the farmhouse as fast as the driver could make it go. The truck's tires spun wildly on the gravel as it backed up, spewing stones everywhere. Then it skidded to a quick stop, and the driver slammed the transmission into drive and punched the accelerator.

As the vehicle snaked forward, the driver pointed a pistol out the window at Troy-who was closing in-and opened fire.

The gunshots peppered the afternoon as Jack raced forward in horror. Troy was so close to the pickup at this point. The kid behind the wheel must have hit him with at least one of those bullets.

The pickup swerved off the gravel and onto the gra.s.s, away from Troy, and then back at him, almost knocking him down as Jack sprinted after the truck. Troy jumped onto the running board beneath the driver's door as the kid veered the truck all the way back across the driveway and then hurtled toward two big trees. Troy reached inside desperately, grabbing for the kid's gun, but at the last second, just before the pickup sped past the trees, he jumped away. The first tree tore the truck's side mirror off just before the pickup plunged into a steep gully and crashed to a stop.

Jack raced along the pa.s.senger side, threw open the pa.s.senger door, and climbed up into the truck. The kid was bleeding profusely from the forehead-and pointing his pistol straight at Jack.

"YOU OKAY?" Jennie asked as she and Karen walked at a snail's pace along Fifty-Seventh Street in Midtown Manhattan.

"I'm fine." Karen was using a cane with one hand and holding on to Jennie with the other. "You're nice to put up with me. I'm sorry I'm slowing you down."

"Stop it," Jennie said firmly. "You're my hero. You aren't slowing me down at all. I'm the one who's sorry your honeymoon got messed up. But I'm glad we could see each other."

After getting off the plane at JFK, Jack had helped Karen into a taxi, and then she'd headed into Manhattan to Jennie's apartment. Karen hadn't told Jack that Jennie was the friend she was visiting, because he was still angry at Jennie for breaking up with Troy. But she and Jack had spoken on the phone during her ride into the city, and she'd told him then. She could tell he was irritated, but he hadn't said anything.

Jack had been about to climb into the cab with her at JFK. But she'd told him to go back to Connecticut immediately, and she'd told him that in no uncertain terms. He'd tried to object, but she wouldn't hear of it. She wanted him to get to Troy as soon as possible. She knew the statistics. The longer the kidnapping went on, the lower the odds were of rescue. Every second was crucial.

She'd cried for L.J. during the ride into Manhattan, but she'd pulled herself together before seeing Jennie. She couldn't tell Jennie what had happened to the little boy. Jack had sworn her to secrecy before he'd kissed her good-bye at the taxi stand.

"It's amazing how far you've come since you were shot," Jennie said. She lived a few blocks away, and they'd decided to get some fresh air. "As close as you came to getting killed, I admire how hard you've fought back."

She liked that Jennie never tiptoed around her injury. They'd become good friends since last December. Jennie had visited her several times a week in the hospital, even gone to some of her rehab sessions, and Karen appreciated the young woman's directness.

Jack never mentioned the shooting. He simply called what had happened to her "the incident." She translated that to mean he still hadn't come to grips with her condition, and she'd almost postponed the wedding because of it. She loved him, but she'd worried that he'd wake up one day and regret marrying her. She still did. It was terrible. It ate at her every day.

"I'm sorry about you and Troy," Karen said as they moved along the sidewalk. "I'm sure it was hard, with him gone so much."

"It was hard," Jennie answered. "But it wasn't just the time apart."

"What do you mean?"

"Troy cheated on me."

Karen glanced over at Jennie, shocked. "But you never-"

"I've never told anyone. You're the first. I didn't even tell Troy I knew when I told him it was over. It broke my heart. I could never look at him the same way after I knew."

"How did you find out?"

"It wasn't hard, believe me."

Karen shook her head. "I never thought-"

"So what happened?" Jennie asked. "What derailed the trip to Paris?"

Jennie didn't want to talk anymore about the breakup, it seemed. She seemed okay, at least on the surface, but she clearly wasn't. Her lower lip had quivered just then.

"Cheryl had a heart attack this morning."

"Oh, G.o.d."

"It was a mild one. She's okay."

It was the cover story Troy worked out with Cheryl. Jack had told Karen on the call they'd had during her ride into Manhattan. It was the first time in a long time he hadn't ended a call with an "I love you." He was just so distracted by what had happened to Little Jack.

"They've already run Cheryl through a bunch of tests," Karen explained. "They said she was okay. She just needs rest. But we couldn't go to Paris after that, not right away."

"Of course not," Jennie agreed.

"It's okay. We should be on our way in a few days."

"Good." Jennie pointed at a deli just up the street. "Let's get something to drink. I'm thirsty."

"Sure."

When they entered the store, they headed for the back and the big gla.s.s coolers full of cold drinks.

"What do you want?" Jennie asked, letting Karen go when she was sure Karen was stable on her cane.

"I'll take a-"

A strong arm came from behind Karen and clamped a wet rag over her nose and mouth so she couldn't scream. Another powerful arm came from the other side and clasped her tightly across her chest, then pulled her roughly backward against a big, strong body.

She dropped her cane and struggled, but in her condition she was no match for the man. And whatever the rag was doused with overcame her quickly. Her head felt as if it would explode, and then her eyes fluttered shut.

Karen was unconscious even before her attacker dragged her through the narrow doorway on one side of the coolers and back into the stockroom. It all happened so fast. Other than the man who'd attacked her, no one else in the store saw what had happened-except Jennie.

FOR WHAT seemed like an eternity, Jack and the kid behind the steering wheel stared at each other over the pickup's console. The kid had cherry blond hair, a thin face, and bad acne on his chin. He was a baby, Jack realized. He couldn't be more than seventeen.

Jack brought his hands up and turned away as the kid fired and the gun exploded with a deafening roar. He wondered where he'd been hit as he tumbled backward onto the gravel driveway. Maybe he couldn't feel the pain yet because of the adrenaline coursing through his body, or maybe he was already dead and this was what it felt like to die. No physical pain, just a terrible sadness.

As Jack struggled to his feet, still trying to figure out if he'd been hit, he heard the kid begging and pleading. And then he realized what had happened as Troy dragged the kid from the vehicle and quickly splayed the boy out on the other side of the gully like a gutted deer. Troy had grabbed the kid at the last second through the driver's window, causing the round to blast up into the truck's ceiling.