Back Blast (37 page)

Court took two quick steps, flung his body forward, and dove with his arms outstretched. He landed on the metal roof and slid several feet. He snatched the weapon cleanly and brought it up towards his target.

Zack Hightower had not even tried for the gun. He barely moved, except to raise his hands. He said, “Damn, dude! It’s always fun to watch you work! Great to see you again! I’ve fuckin’ missed you!”

Court ignored the joviality, which seemed ridiculously incongruous to the present circumstance. “You were up here ready to blow my head off if you saw me. Why the hell wouldn’t I shoot you now?”

Zack shrugged. “I’ll be honest, bro. Can’t think of a single reason.”

Court climbed back up to his feet and leveled the pistol at Zack’s face. “Me, neither.”

“Unless . . .” Zack said, still holding his hands up in surrender, “you were interested in how I got here. Who’s benefiting from this. The list of everyone who is involved. That sort of thing. If any of that shit matters to you, then I guess I’m more useful to you alive than dead.”

Court kept the weapon pointed at Zack’s face for another fifteen seconds, thinking over the situation. Slowly he lowered the weapon. “Bastard.”

Zack grinned from ear to ear. “Good decision. We’ve got some catching up to do. How ’bout we go get a beer and some wings. I’m buying.”

“Shirt off, pants to your ankles,” Gentry ordered.

Hightower said, “Woah, Nellie! We’re movin’ this relationship in a new direction, aren’t we? Maybe
you
should buy
me
dinner.”

“Do it.”

Zack whined a little more, but he knew the protocol for taking any prisoner into custody. Court just wanted to see if he had any tricks up his sleeve, or down his pants.

By the time Hightower got his Kevlar vest, tunic, boots, and black dungarees off, another folding knife, a can of pepper spray, a leather sap, and a pair of brass knuckles were scattered around the roof. Court then ordered Zack to pack up his gear in the Osprey pack and step away. Court hefted the pack onto his own back, ordered Zack to put his clothes back on, and then, when both men were ready, Zack led the way to a fire escape running down to the courtyard at the back of the building.

Court kept the HK pistol trained on Zack the entire way down, and in the courtyard he found the suppressed Glock that had fallen off the roof. He scooped it up, removed the suppressor, shoved both items into the big backpack, then followed Zack back to his truck, parked in front of a late-night watering hole two blocks north of the university.

Zack again offered to buy beer and hot wings, but Court had something quite different in mind for the evening.

T
he red Chevy Silverado pulled off the main road near Stafford Regional Airport, its headlights off and its brake lights extinguished, thanks to a few pulled fuses. Court drove the truck slowly, but with no lights, and on a cloudy night, this would have been impossible without the infrared device he’d found in Zack’s bag. He held the device just in front of his face awkwardly while he drove with the other hand, and although this wouldn’t have worked at all if anyone had been chasing him, it was a hell of a lot better than driving blind out here in the woods.

Zack wasn’t here with him in the cab. As soon as the two men arrived at Hightower’s truck at the bar in Georgetown, Court hog-tied his old boss with a long length of quarter-inch jute rope he found in the bed of the pickup, then took a shorter length of rope and looped it around Zack’s mouth before cinching it behind his head. Lastly, he blindfolded him with a T-shirt. Once he was secure and silent, Court rolled Zack facedown in the truck bed and flipped the hard shell bed cover over him to keep any larger trucks on the road from looking down and seeing a prostrate form in the back of the pickup.

After several minutes of slow going on the dark gravel road to the north, Court pulled the vehicle off the road, just before they got to the Civil War–era stone wall. He forced it deep into the brush, finally parking it some forty feet from the footpath that lead to the creek.

It wasn’t invisible here from the footpath, but it was nearly so, and it
would
be invisible from the air.

Court climbed out of the Silverado, hefted Zack’s heavy pack, and then walked around to the back.

He cut Zack’s gag and leg bindings free, but he kept the big knot of jute
rope on his wrists, secure behind his back. Zack struggled to climb down from the back of the truck bed. When he finally did so Court pushed the barrel of the HK into Zack’s forehead for a moment, then told him to turn around and start walking up the dark road.

“I can’t see where I’m going, genius,” Zack complained.

Neither could Court, so he flipped on a flashlight to direct himself forward, covering all but a thin shaft of light with his hand. He then said, “Go straight ahead till I tell you to turn.”

Zack headed off up the path, and Court followed him twenty feet back.

After less than a minute Zack said, “Six, are we in the forest? I smell trees and shit. Where the hell are you taking me?”

“Just walk.”

Zack stopped. “You could do us both a favor and shoot me here, if that is your intention.”

“Yep. I drove an hour just to smoke you in the woods. Walk!”

Hightower mumbled to himself, but he started walking again.

They came to the washed-out bridge and Court took Zack by the arm and helped him along the edge of the creek. Another five minutes found them on the stone path steps on the hill that ran away from the creek. The darkness was impenetrable here beyond the flood and throw of Court’s partially covered flashlight, but he pushed Zack up, deeper into the dark, and he followed behind.

Soon they arrived at the abandoned mill. Here Court pulled Zack’s T-shirt blindfold off and crammed it into his own pocket.

It took the big man several seconds to adapt to the little light out here and, even in the glow of the flashlight, Zack didn’t notice the mill at first. When Court told him to move into the trees, Zack turned around and faced him.

“What’s in the trees?”

Court took his hand from the face of the light and shined two hundred lumens on the building now. “My humble abode.”

Zack looked back. After taking a few steps he saw the mill looming large and dark in the trees, just twenty yards ahead. “Oh
hell
no. I’m not goin’ in there.”

“Scared?”

“You better believe it.”

“Move,” Court said, and he stepped up and kicked Hightower in the ass. The big ex-SEAL stumbled forward. Court added, “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

“Then I guess I’m fucked.”

—

B
oth men stood on rotten floorboards inside the mill. Zack’s wrists were still tied behind his back, and Court had also used a length of the jute to affix Zack to a heavy weight-supporting beam on the outside wall. Court stood a few feet away, leaning against a stone column around a wooden vertical stabilizer that went up to the roof.

Court didn’t bother to build a fire. Instead he left his flashlight on and put it on the floor between them, with Zack’s T-shirt draped over it to diffuse the powerful glow. It was enough for the two men to see each other here inside the mill, but from the air no one could possibly detect any light.

Court said, “I want to hear what you have to say. You were out there tailing Catherine King so you could get a shot at me. Is that it?”

Zack shrugged in his bindings. “I wasn’t enjoying myself, if that makes you feel better.”

Court just shook his head. “You do remember what happened the last time we saw each other, don’t you? I saved your stupid life.”

“And you remember what I said back then. I told you that if you saved me, I’d just come back and kill you. I was working for Denny. Denny calls the shots. Not me.”

“Well, Denny is full of shit. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

Zack licked blood off his lips and spit on the floor. “Tell that to Ohlhauser.”

“If I killed Max Ohlhauser I would only do it because I had reason to. And if I had a reason, I wouldn’t hide it. I’d be proud.”

Zack just eyed Court with mistrust. He leaned back against his tied hands on the beam.

Court said, “I didn’t kill Max. I didn’t kill Leland Babbitt. I didn’t—”

“
I
killed Babbitt,” Hightower replied casually.

Court cocked his head. “You
what
?”

“Jordan Mayes said Babbitt was threatening to go public with critical classified material. He had to be taken down. As in immediately. As in permanently.”

Court thought about this. “He had been targeting me in Europe. Maybe Denny cut him out because he failed. Maybe he was going to talk. Shit, Zack. You just fragged an American citizen because Mayes told you to?”

Another shrug by Zack, like it was no big deal. “That’s about the size of it.”

“You know the CIA isn’t supposed to do that without presidential sanction.”

Zack winked. “Good thing I’m not CIA. I’m freelancing.”

Court just mumbled, “There’s a lot of that going around these days.”

“Is that right?”

Court retrieved the Glock 17 pistol he had taken from the phony police officer with the Middle Eastern accent. He held it up, close to Zack’s face. “Take a look at this.”

Zack gave it a half-second glance and then shrugged. “Is it show-and-tell time, bro? That’s a G17, threaded barrel. What do I win?”

“Tell me where I got it.”

Zack just shrugged.

“I took that off a D.C. Metro police officer.”

The man tied to the beam gave Court a double take. “Bullshit.”

Court held up the silencer, as well. “This, too.”

“Why would a D.C. cop have a suppressed pistol?”

“He wouldn’t. Yet this was being carried by one of the four guys with shitty English dressed as cops in the Dupont Circle metro station. Those were the guys who
did
kill Ohlhauser.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Zack said softly. His veneer of self-assuredness had slipped. Then he said, “Hanley.”

“What about Hanley?”

“This morning, in the conference room. He had some song and dance about how you didn’t frag Ohlhauser. About how the evidence didn’t fit.”

“Well then,” Court said. For the first time since he’d arrived here he felt like he just might have
someone
on his side. “Matt’s right. I didn’t do it.”

“Who were the guys dressed as cops, then?”

Court said, “A foreign unit. Good, but not great. Middle Eastern. Gulf state is my best guess from the accents, but I could be off on that.”

Zack was still not sure about this strange claim. In a doubtful tone he said, “They were Muj?”

“Sure looked like it. Whoever they are, Zack, you can be sure they are working for Carmichael.”

Zack shook his head. “Denny’s not going to contract Muj to proxy for him. Especially not in the middle of Washington, D.C. The director would hang him by his nut sack.”

“Zack, think about it. Those guys would only be involved in the hunt for me if Denny wanted them here.”

“I don’t know,” Zack said. “But I do know that doesn’t have a damn thing to do with me.”

“Okay,” Court said. “Why
did
they bring you into this?”

“Because I told them I’d help them bag you.”

“And here we are.”

Zack looked around. “Here we are.”

Court waved the Glock towards Zack. “It’s time you think about your predicament.”

Hightower looked again around the filthy old mill, and he licked at the dried blood caking his lips. “Really? Do tell.”

Court said, “If I let you go, you will need to carefully consider your next move. If you run back to Carmichael and say I disarmed and disabled you, then took you someplace for an interrogation, he will know you aren’t good enough to go toe-to-toe with me, and you are not reliable enough to keep in the fold because I might have gotten inside your head. You will be damaged goods to Carmichael, and you know what he does with damaged goods.”

Court saw on Hightower’s face that he understood completely. Gentry could let him walk, but if he did, Zack couldn’t go back and report on anything that had happened tonight.

Zack gave a half nod, unwilling to give Court the satisfaction of knowing he had checkmated his former team leader. “What do you want?”

“I want you to talk to Matt. Tell him about the Middle Eastern assholes working for Denny.”

“Look, Six. Hanley might be in your corner, but Hanley isn’t the boss. Carmichael is.”

“I know that. And I also know you only respect authority, and you only want back in the Agency. That’s all you think matters in your world. But know this: I’m not going to stop until I knock Carmichael off his tower, and I am hoping I can get Hanley to help me. Think about how desperate Denny
must be if he’s using foreign assets right here in the U.S. You might want to think twice before hitching your wagon to his.”

“Obviously, Six, you don’t know jack squat about currying favor with the important people at Langley. I have a hard time taking advice from you in that department.”

Court wasn’t going to waste any more time with Hightower. He pulled Zack’s T-shirt out of his pocket and retied it over the big blond-haired man’s eyes.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m giving you time to think about it. I’m going to rest for a while, then I’m taking you back to D.C. You just sit there quietly or I’ll shoot you in the baby maker.”

—

F
or the return drive into the city Court did not throw Hightower back in the truck bed; he let him sit in the passenger’s seat, but he blindfolded him and bound his arms together all the way behind the seat. It would take a contortionist to get out of the bindings, and even though Zack tried his hardest to work on the knots with his fingertips during the drive, he couldn’t quite reach them, so he remained secured to his seat.

Court drove for ninety minutes on I-95, first to the south, but then he pulled off the interstate and jumped right back on the onramp heading back to the District.

He made his way into D.C. along with the first of the morning rush hour, and he drove to a parking lot a few blocks from where he’d left his bike. He parked Zack’s Silverado under a tree, far away from any streetlights.

Leaving Zack in the passenger’s seat, Court rolled down the windows and climbed out of the vehicle. He walked around to the other side, reached in to Hightower, and pulled off his blindfold.

Once Zack got his bearings he said, “What the hell are you doing?”

“Leaving your ass right here. Think about what I said, Zack.”

“Where’s my gear?”

“You mean your gun? You think I’m going to hand you back the rifle you were going to use to blow my head off?”

Zack did not respond.

Court added, “That baby’s
mine
now. Thanks.” He tossed Zack’s keys into some low bushes nearby.

Hightower was more focused on his immediate predicament. “Wait. How the hell am I supposed to get my hands untied?”

“Easy. Just scream like a little girl when somebody passes by. Sooner or later someone will come to your rescue.”

“C’mon, bro. Unnecessary. We’re on the same team now, remember? You, me, and Hanley are going to smoke out those Muj Denny has tracking you.”

Court just laughed. “I remember I
asked
you to join my team. Don’t remember you giving me anything like your full-throated support.”

Zack was pissed. The prospect of having to call out to a civilian for help was almost more than his bravado could bear. “You son of a bitch. I swear to God when I—”

Court interrupted. “It’s this or shoot you dead in a ditch. I thought I was doing you a favor, but if you prefer . . .”

Zack slammed his head back against the headrest. “Just go, asshole!”

Court chuckled again. “If you want I can make this look like some kind of kinky S&M scenario that got out of hand. Might help with your cover story.”

Zack pulled even harder on his bindings. “I swear if you fuckin’ touch me, dude, I’m going to rip your head off and shit down your neck.”

“Say hi to Matt for me. Tell him I appreciate his support.” Court left Zack in the passenger’s seat of his truck, struggling against his bindings.