Patriot Lies (Jack Widow Book 14) Read online

  "They already know we're involved."

  "True. But I can't risk their lives."

  "We're coming. That's final. We'll stay back. Don't worry. They won't know we're there."

  Widow paused for a moment. Then, he said, "Agreed. But just you. No one else. You can drop me off and then fall back several blocks."

  "Let's go."

  Thirty-Six

  The distance from Aker's home in North Bethesda to Lincoln Park was less than the distance from Gray's house in Quantico to North Bethesda, but the traffic was worse. Gray drove faster and used the car's blue lights to weave in and out of traffic. Widow thought about complimenting her on her evasive driving skills but decided to let her concentrate on the road.

  The heavy traffic was an issue. Gray was afraid they might miss their window. The kidnappers had only said "now." They didn't give a time limit. She mentioned it several times. Widow stayed calm, stayed collected. He knew they weren't going to miss it. The kidnappers were not out to trick them. They wanted to make a trade. They would be there when he arrived.

  They arrived on a side street two blocks away from Lincoln Park about forty-five minutes after they’d sped off from Aker's house.

  Gray hit the brakes and switched off the blue lights. She didn't want to draw unwanted attention. She parked in a fire lane and looked at Widow.

  "You sure you want to do it this way?"

  "What choice we got?"

  Gray nodded and looked out the windshield like she was thinking. Then she pointed at the glovebox.

  "Open that."

  Widow reached past his knees and popped the glove box open. Inside, the Charger's operational manual and some papers, probably the car's registration, were in a zip lock bag. Then he saw a Sig Sauer P226 MK25, a beautiful firearm.

  Gray said, "Take it."

  Widow reached in and took out the gun. A Four Anchor symbol was etched on the barrel. He inspected the weapon. He ejected the magazine and studied it. It was fully loaded with nine-millimeter parabellums.

  Widow set it on his lap. He checked the chamber. It was empty. He racked the slide and dry-fired it at the footwell. The metal CLICK of the hammer was a fine sound.

  Gray said, "That should look familiar. It's the official weapon of the Navy SEALs."

  "It's not. This is the official weapon," Widow said, as he pointed a finger at his temple.

  "Don't be so cheesy. Seriously, that's my personal gun. So only use it if you need to."

  "Thank you. I love it. It's like coming home."

  He smiled at her and reinserted the magazine back into the gun. He racked the slide, sending a round into the chamber. The gun was chambered and ready for action. He tucked it into his waistband in the front and zipped up his coat to cover it.

  Gray said, "You got a phone, right? Not their phone, but your own?"

  "I have one that Aker gave me."

  Gray nodded and said, "Program my number."

  Widow said, "Just give it to me."

  She smiled and recited her cell number to him. He memorized it and smiled back one last time. Then he opened the car door and got out. He walked the rest of the way.

  Widow passed two blocks over to one of the side streets alongside Lincoln Park. Today was Monday and DC was up and active. He crossed busy streets and passed pedestrians headed in all directions. Most were busy-looking office workers, white-collar types. He passed some blue-collar workers, including a construction crew doing something at the street corner.

  Once he was in Lincoln Park, he stopped and glanced up at the CCTV camera that the bad guys were interested in. Involuntarily, he reached into his coat pocket and squeezed the memory drive, the only bartering chip he had to get the girls back safe and sound.

  He entered the park and kept his hands in his coat pockets. He scanned everything he could, everything that moved. He passed the statues of Honest Abe and the other historic heroes. He passed a homeless woman sleeping on a bench. She was covered in blankets. He passed people enjoying the park, many killing time till they had to go to the office and punch in.

  He walked toward the bench, the place where Eggers was murdered, hidden in a dark corner. He noticed the shadows getting more prevalent as he passed under the same huge trees and same colorful plumage he’d seen the other day.

  Widow crossed through a clearing and turned onto the path with the bench. He slowed as he approached. Under the shade of trees, he saw the yellow police tape dangling from the park bench. It had been snapped in various places and abandoned by the police and forgotten.

  A man was sitting on the bench. His legs were crossed. His hands were on his lap. A Starbucks coffee was parked on the arm of the bench. It looked like a grande size. The guy must've been waiting a long time; he’d brought coffee. Or maybe he got the coffee because it made him look more like a guy who belonged there than a stranger sitting around on a park bench all day.

  Either way, the coffee didn't make Widow hate the guy less.

  As Widow got closer, he saw the man wore an M4 protective mask and heavy sunglasses to cover his face.

  Widow scanned the terrain, looking for others, but there was no one else—just the one guy on the bench.

  Widow kept going; his hands stayed in his pockets.

  At about ten meters away, the man raised a gloved hand.

  He said, "That's far enough."

  Widow said, "Where're the girls?"

  "You got the drive?"

  "It's safe."

  The man stood up from the bench. He left the Starbucks coffee where it was. He had a Glock 17 fitted with a silencer in his hand. He held it down by his side. He was dressed in a dark coat, dark sweater, and dark blue jeans. The Glock and the suppressor blended right in at his side.

  He walked toward Widow.

  He said, "Take your hands out of your pockets."

  Widow took his hands out slowly. He showed the guy his palms.

  Widow was worried, which was unusual for him. He wasn't normally afraid of a guy with a gun. He had had a lot of guns pointed at him in his life. A guy with a hidden gun in a crowded park usually wasn't a credible threat. But a man with a gun in a crowded park, wearing a mask and carrying a silencer on the gun, was a different story altogether.

  The man walked toward Widow and stopped about twelve or thirteen feet away.

  Widow took a step forward, testing the boundaries, but the guy snapped at him.

  "Stay back!"

  Widow froze.

  The guy paused a beat, calmed himself. He kept the Glock down by his side and pointed over his shoulder with his other hand. He twisted at the waist and pointed back at the bench.

  He said, "See the coffee cup there? I want you to watch it closely now."

  Widow nodded and put both eyes on the cup, keeping the guy in his view. He watched the coffee cup.

  Suddenly, the wind changed, and he heard an echo bounce between the buildings around the park. It echoed through the trees. It wasn't a loud bang or boom. It was more like the sputter of an exhaust pipe from a car.

  The Starbucks coffee cup exploded. A hole blasted straight through it. Coffee burst through the air and splashed all over the bench and the grass, like water bursting through a broken dam. The cup was in a thousand paper pieces.

  One second it was there and the next, it was gone.

  The guy in the mask looked back at Widow.

  "My pal is an excellent shot. He was a sniper once."

  Widow asked, "Who did he work for?"

  "Wouldn't you like to know? Let's just say he's damn good."

  "Now, where's the drive."

  Widow dropped his shoulders like he was defeated and reached into his pocket, one-handed, and took out the thumb drive. He held it up and showed it to the guy.

  The masked guy reached out a hand, his palm open.

  "Toss it here."

  "Where are they first?"

  "They're safe. Toss the drive, and I'll tell you."

  Widow said, "How do I know you'll ke
ep your end?"

  "Guess we'll have to trust each other."

  Widow tossed the drive to him.

  The masked guy caught it. He inspected it like a precious piece of jewelry. Then he pocketed it. He stepped closer to Widow but stayed out of reach. The guy had big blue eyes. Widow recognized the eyes, but couldn't place him from just that detail alone.

  Widow asked, "Where are the girls?"

  The masked guy said, "If you try to follow me, my friend will put the next bullet in your skull."

  With that, the masked guy walked past Widow, staying six feet away. Widow turned and watched the guy leave. When he was ten meters in the other direction, he stopped and turned back.

  "Widow, leave town. Today. We'll be watching. Leave town and let things be. Or next time, we won't keep the girls alive. Next time, we'll cut them to ribbons. And believe me, he'll do it."

  Widow noticed he said he'll do it, not I'll do it and not we'll do it, but he'll do it. He said it like either it was a slip of the tongue or he was delivering a message, warning Widow of someone else, someone worse.

  The masked guy lifted his free hand and pointed in the direction Widow had come.

  "The girls are with Lincoln. That way."

  Widow turned to look back. He must've passed them. He turned again to look at the masked guy, but he was gone. He walked away in complete silence, like a ninja. Widow couldn't remember seeing anything like it outside of the SEALs.

  Widow gazed up at the skyline and the windows of various buildings across the street. He searched quickly for signs that the sniper was gunning for him next. But there was no other muzzle flash, no second shot.

  Widow turned back the direction he’d come, back to the Lincoln statue, and he took off running.

  He ran and ran, dodging parkgoers as he ran. He jumped over a low brick wall and ran past lawn workers emptying trashcans. He nearly slammed into one, but he didn't stop. He kept running.

  He saw the Lincoln statue and stopped. He looked around frantically. He wanted to find them fast. He didn't want to spend hours searching only to find later that the masked guy had tricked him.

  Widow looked everywhere he could think of for them. He looked under the statue. Nothing. He looked under bushes. Nothing.

  He was starting to feel stupid. He was starting to feel guilty that he’d let them die. He’d let them become victims of some mad man who was willing to slice them to pieces.

  But then he stopped and turned to the homeless woman he’d seen earlier, the one sleeping on a park bench near the statue. She was covered with cheap coats and jackets. He saw blonde hair spilling out from under where her head should be.

  Widow ran over to her. He reached down, grabbed one of the coats, and ripped it off the homeless woman only to find it wasn't a sleeping homeless woman, but it was one of the twins. He ripped and jerked the rest of the old coats until he found both girls lying on the bench. He put his fingers under each of their little noses and found them still breathing. Then he touched their cheeks.

  He remembered the syringe cap he’d found in their room. It must've been a powerful sedative. They were still asleep. They were still out cold, but they were alive.

  Widow breathed the biggest sigh of relief in his life.

  Widow flipped both of them over onto their backs. The first thing he did was he felt all around them to make sure they still had all of their limbs and fingers and toes. He wanted to make sure they hadn’t lost anything. And they were both completely intact. Then he brushed the hair off their faces.

  But he stopped on the first girl's face. He stopped because he saw something that sent shivers down his spine. It was a message, a threat. It was a threat directed at him. It was horrifying.

  On each of their foreheads, the masked guy had left two messages, scrolled with the same kid's red paint that they’d found in the twins' bedroom.

  On one little girl's forehead, a message read: STOP.

  On her sister's forehead, a message read: BAM.

  Thirty-Seven

  Gray and Widow took the girls to the nearest hospital to get them checked out. Halfway there, the twins woke up confused and groggy, lying in Gray’s backseat, but they seemed okay. They seemed to recognize Widow instantly because their father had described him to them. Maybe he had been a bedtime story. At the hospital, Gray flashed her badge to get things rolling and to keep the hospital staff from calling MPD.

  They telephoned the Akers and her guys that were protecting them. Forty minutes later, they were all in the twins’ hospital room, plus a nurse and a doctor. There were lots of questions from the hospital staff and lots of tests and lots of sighs of relief.

  Widow saw a whole day of more questions and testing ahead. He felt anxious. He felt ready to go. He felt ready to find these guys.

  At one point, Michael Aker made it clear that he wanted nothing more to do with this whole affair. Widow understood.

  Gray offered to protect them longer, but Aker protested, which was understandable. They had done a terrible job of protecting them thus far.

  Widow suggested that Aker take his wife and kids and leave town. He suggested they travel any compass direction, just go far, stay long, and tell no one.

  The last thing that Aker said to Widow was they would head north and Widow could call him if he worked everything out.

  Thirty-Eight

  After the Akers were reunited, Gray and Widow left the hospital and drove her car out of the parking lot. They headed south several blocks and merged onto a freeway before Gray pulled over on the shoulder. She left the engine running and slipped the gear into park. The Charger's engine idled like a bull in a rodeo stall, snarling, raring to go, like it was barely under her control.

  "What are we doing?" Widow asked.

  "You know, Cameron's going to be pissed that you handed over the only hard evidence we had. You gave them the memory drive. And we made no copies."

  Widow said, "Couldn't be helped."

  Gray turned away from him in a dramatic way as if she was acting for a camera. She took a breath and then she turned back to him.

  She said, "We should just give up."

  "Why?"

  "We lost today."

  "We didn't lose."

  "How do you figure?"

  "We saved two little girls. They could be dead."

  "But they got away with our evidence."

  "We still got Haspman. He can testify to everything."

  "We don't have him. He's probably changed his name and run off by now."

  Widow said, "Doubtful. The Metro Police Department has him by now."

  "How do you know that?"

  Widow cracked a smile. He pictured Haspman chained to a tree in his backyard.

  Gray ignored his smile. She said, "Plus the way you described him, he's probably not going to talk anyway."

  "He'll talk."

  "Either way, the MPD isn't going to share him with us."

  Widow shrugged.

  Gray said, "We're losing, Widow. We should just give up, let the MPD handle it."

  "I disagree. We're winning the war."

  "How do you figure that?"

  "They're scared. We kicked a hornet's nest. Someone out there was trying to murder one of our own, cover it up, and get away with it."

  "Widow, they've already gotten away with it. How're we going to find them now?"

  Widow paused a beat.

  He said, "Someone along the chain of command is an amateur."

  "You think they're amateurs? They snuck past two career agents and kidnapped two girls right out from under our noses. Not an easy thing. So far, they seem pretty damn competent to me."

  "The mercenaries at our end seem very good. But I don't think they're permanent employees. At least, they're not at the top. They're getting their orders from somewhere. There must be someone else higher on the food chain than them. Someone who doesn't know what he's doing. Or out of practice."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Mercenaries are
for hire. These guys are damn good. But they're doing someone's bidding. They're taking orders. Whoever is giving the orders is no criminal mastermind. He would've just had them take out the cameras beforehand. Then we wouldn't even know what we know."

  "If these guys were just the street guys, and they're so good, why didn't they just take out the cameras beforehand themselves?"

  Widow paused a beat and looked out the window. Just then, it started raining. Subtle for the first few seconds, but soon it started coming down pretty hard.

  Gray clicked the car's headlamps and rear lights. She switched on the windshield wipers to a low setting, just to keep the road ahead visible.

  Widow said, "If they're former Special Forces operators, they might've been used to someone else taking out CCTV cameras before they reached the operation. These guys are just the operations side. They're not the support."

  She said, "I don't know."

  "I wouldn't underestimate them that much. The whole plan to kill Eggers and cover it up would've worked. It was us who shined a spotlight on it. My being here was just bad luck for them."

  Gray was quiet.

  Widow said, "Don't forget the money. Eggers damned them out of the gate with having a huge fortune to leave behind to his daughter. If we ever find her. That amount would've raised some eyebrows at some point. We need to look closer at Samson, Harwin, & Gaden."

  "There's not much we can do on that front. Not without the FBI. SHG isn't military or Navy. They're private sector. We'd need the FBI to question them."

  "What about the military contracts part? Can't we question them on that basis?"

  "Maybe. I mean, we can find the nearest headquarters and question them on any basis we want, but they don't have to comply. And they probably won't. Huge companies like that won't open themselves up to questions from a government law enforcement agency. Not with the teams of lawyers they have to advise them not to."

  Gray was sounding defeated, overcome, beaten. Widow was confused. That didn't seem like her.