CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
John Corrigan
’
s head pounded like his skull was about to burst, and the parts of his body that
didn
’
t
hurt were fewer than those that did. Despite all that, he was still a soldier. Years of intense training had taught him to fight through the pain.
He thought of the countless hours he spent trapped in a cell analyzing what had happened to his loved ones and wishing that he could have exacted revenge for them, avenged their deaths in some small way. He just needed someone to line up in his crosshairs like any other enemy, but the only person to blame was himself.
Now, as he looked through the scope of the Sig Sauer SSG 3000 sniper rifle from his perch atop the plant
’
s tallest storage silo, he finally had an enemy that he could see and fight. It felt good to be back on the offensive, to be a soldier again. When he saw the mercenaries raise their weapons, Corrigan didn
’
t hesitate.
He dropped two of the men before the others could even register the danger and dive for cover.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE
Black tackled Munroe to the ground, dragging him toward the cover of their black SUV. Sharp tendrils of pain penetrated his side where he had been hit, but thankfully, his body armor had blocked the 9mm bullet from piercing the flesh. He would take a stinging pain over a gaping hole any day. The sound of squealing tires and churning gravel rang out from beyond the front of the Yukon, and he popped from cover to see Almeida
’
s Mercedes escaping up the rock lane. He cursed and slammed a fist against the Yukon
’
s rear panel. The one man who could save their loved ones was getting away.
Bullets tore into the black SUV, and shards of glass rained down over their heads. He could smell gas, but he also knew that, unlike in the movies, a person could shoot a car all day and it wouldn
’
t explode unless they were using some kind of tracer or incendiary round.
Equal parts rage and fear pushing him forward, he handed the detonator for the C4 to Katherine and said, “You
’
ll know when to blow it.” Then he cupped a hand over the flesh-colored earbud, which he had slipped in when he grabbed the remote control for the drone, and said to Corrigan, “Do you read me?”
“I
’
m here.”
“Cover me and keep them pinned. I
’
m going to try something.”
When he heard the distinctive report of the sniper rifle, he sprinted around the vehicle, heading for the helicopter drone. The mercenaries fired blindly from cover, and the bullets exploded into surfaces all around him.
In one clean motion, he slid to the ground beside the drone, scooped it up, popped onto his knees, and hurled it and the C4 into the air. The gadget flipped end over end as it shot forward and finally bounced off the front windshield of the Mercedes GL550.
One of the mercenaries realized the danger and stood to run, but Corrigan dropped him with a .308 round to the back.
The C4 detonated, and the Mercedes blew apart in a brilliant fireball. A searing wave of heat and flame blew Black flat against the ground. He rolled into a ball and covered his face with his arms. Charred and flaming debris pelted him and showered the ground around them all. The smell of burning flesh and gasoline along with a thousand other metallic sounds and smells assaulted his senses. A high-pitched ringing filled his brain, and he couldn
’
t think straight.
He felt hands grabbing him and looked up to see Annabelle and Katherine dragging him toward the Yukon. He pushed them away, screamed something that even he couldn
’
t understand, and stumbled toward the driver
’
s door of the SUV.
One word kept repeating through his disoriented thoughts.
Almeida. Almeida.
Throwing the SUV into drive, he spun away without another word and tore up the lane after his quarry. At the end of the gravel track, he took a right onto a blacktop road, heading in the direction of DC. He couldn
’
t see any other cars ahead or behind. His skin burned, and the ache set in all over his body. The Yukon smelled of gasoline. Bullets must have punctured a fuel line during the firefight, but at least the big vehicle was still running.
Finally, after a few more moments of driving and no sign of Almeida, Black turned the Yukon around and headed back, defeated.
CHAPTER EIGHTY
Deacon Munroe had learned long ago to focus on the things that you could change and ignore the rest. Right now, he didn
’
t have the ability to chase after Almeida, but he could damn sure analyze the clues and find out where Almeida was heading.
“Katherine?” Munroe said.
In the darkness to his right, she said, “I
’
m here.”
“What happened to Brendan Lennix? Is he still alive?”
“
I don’
t know. He fell into the weeds over there.”
“Guide me,” he said, holding out his arm.
She led him over to the weeds and said, “Here he is. He
’
s still alive. Barely.” Katherine left Munroe and checked Lennix
’
s wounds. “It
’
s not good.”
Munroe knelt down and groped his way to the man
’
s side.
“Lennix, I know that you didn
’
t want any of this. You
’
re a business man, not some kind of terrorist. Tell me, do you know what Almeida did with the kids?”
Lennix coughed and tried to speak, but the words came out as weak puffs of air. But Lennix didn
’
t give up. He grabbed Munroe
’
s hand, and with a tight squeeze, he managed to say, “Sorry.”
“I know you are. Help make it right. Tell me about the kids. Anything that can help us find them.”
The dying CEO rasped out a harsh, gurgling whisper of wild incoherent ramblings as his body trembled and seized. Munroe understood a few of the words, but the rest was indecipherable. “Don
’
t know…
Bankrupt
… Deal… Devil… Almeida
’
s after the… Weapon… Declaring war…”
Then Brendan Lennix
’
s body relaxed, and his eyes fell shut for the last time.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE
Munroe heard the scrape and rattle of a vehicle approaching and knew exactly what it meant. Almeida had escaped and with him their chances of finding his daughters. The pain and fear and anxiety at the thought of losing them threatened to overwhelm his faculties. His chest grew tight, but he fought back the roiling tide of a panic attack. He needed to focus, concentrate on the things that he could control.
The SUV came to a stop, and the door creaked open. Black simply said, “Almeida
’
s gone.
”
Munroe heard the footfalls of someone jogging up behind them and reasoned that it was Corrigan, who must have abandoned his sniper
’
s perch.
“We need to get back to DC,” Munroe said as he struggled to make sense of all they knew and determine what Almeida had planned.
As soon as they were back on the road and had left the scene of the bloody firefight behind, Munroe said, “Let
’
s go over what we know from the beginning. Wyatt Randall made a revolutionary discovery and took it to his old friend, Brendan Lennix. But Lennix had just avoided bankruptcy by making a deal with the Castillo Cartel, which has been worming its greasy fingers into US businesses and organized crime for years. So then Lennix has everything he needs, the new drug and the money to fund its development. He sells it to the DOD, and they begin testing its effect on soldiers under controlled conditions.”
Speaking loudly over the wind pouring through the broken windows, Katherine added, “But then the incident happens with Corrigan and the military and Lennix cover it up. They don
’
t want anything to taint the release of their new miracle drug.”
Munroe pointed in the direction of her voice and said, “Right, which from a certain perspective would have been fine, except that it didn
’
t stop there. Castillo sees the potential for the bad batch of the drug to be developed as a weapon and makes a deal or coerces Lennix into creating it. Either way, Wyatt Randall learns what Lennix is doing and doesn
’
t want his discovery corrupted into something ugly. Maybe he
’
s also conflicted about Corrigan
’
s upcoming execution and that served as a catalyst. So Randall steals the research, maybe even destroys the other records, and runs to the top man in the Marine Corps. I
’
ll bet he was trying to use the evidence and Easton to stop Corrigan
’
s execution. Couldn
’
t live with that blood on his hands. General Easton starts poking around and gets himself killed to protect the secret and the billions of dollars in revenue that would be lost if all this was exposed.”
Black said, “So now Almeida has the research for this drug, Focus—which he could sell to our enemies—and he also has a powerful chemical weapon.”
Munroe drummed his fingers on his thighs and tried to figure out what he was missing. He thought of what Brendan Lennix said before he died. Lennix had mumbled that Almeida was
after
the weapon, not that he
had
the weapon. Lennix seemed to be trying to tell them that Almeida didn
’
t have all the pieces yet.
“
Randall didn
’
t know about the weapon until recently. Maybe he didn
’
t have access to that data. He may not have known how it was being weaponized, just that it was. The directory listing on the flash drive was
John Corrigan, Wyatt Randall, Compound 119, Site B, Money Transfers, and Trial Results
. We obviously know about the first two. Compound 119 is probably the drug, the lab name for Focus. Trial results and money transfers are self-explanatory. So that leaves Site B.”
“I think they called the testing facility Site B,” Corrigan said.
“That must be where Almeida is headed. Where the weapon is being developed and stored. If we can find that facility, then we can find Almeida. If we stop Almeida, we can make him tell us where the kids are buried.”
Black said, “That
’
s great. We just have to find a secret research facility in the middle of nowhere, stop a group of paramilitary mercenaries from stealing a chemical weapon, and do it all before three teenagers suffocate to death.”
CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO
When dealing with a complex problem, Munroe broke it down and focused on one step at a time. If he thought too much about the big picture, it could be overwhelming and hinder the process. Now, he ignored the end goal of saving the kids for the time being and concentrated instead on the next logical step. Finding Site B.
With this in mind, Munroe said, “Corrigan, we need more information about this facility. Anything you saw or heard? Anything distinctive?”
“They transported us inside the back of a truck with no windows, and so I can
’
t tell you anything about the drive there. We
’
re trained to rest when we can, and so honestly, I slept a big part of the time during the ride.”
“What about once you arrived?”
“A lot of trees. A small nondescript brick structure above ground and then two levels below where the actual labs were located.”
“Did you hear or see anything while you were there? Anything in the woods? No matter how small or insignificant. Anything that stood out to you?”
“I noticed a lot of geese. Oh, and they told us to watch out for unexploded ordinance in the woods.”
Munroe cross-referenced these details with what they already knew. Within a half hour to forty minutes of Fort Meade…Geese…Lots of trees…Unexploded ordinance. “When you were in the woods, did you ever see any old telegraph poles?”
Corrigan hesitated a moment but then said, “Maybe. There were some old poles among the trees in a few spots. They looked sort of like telephone poles. I never paid much attention to them.”
The last pieces of the puzzle fell into place. A theory on Site B
’
s location started to take shape. “My wife, Beth, was big into the outdoors. We used to do a lot of hiking and nature walks with the girls. And one of her favorite spots to visit was the Patuxent Research Refuge.”
Katherine asked, “What
’
s that?”
“It
’
s a wildlife refuge and research center located just south of Fort Meade. In fact, the North Tract of the refuge used to be part of the base before the military donated that land. They still find unexploded ordinance there from time to time. Stuff left over from when the Army used it as a testing range. You even have to sign a waiver before you hike up there. Then there
’
s the telegraph poles. The major thoroughfare from Baltimore to Washington, DC used to run right through the land now occupied by the refuge. It
’
s been unused for so long that no semblance of a road or path remains in most spots, but a lot of the old telegraph poles are still standing.”
Katherine seemed to be the first to follow his logic. Her Irish accented voice said, “So all we need is a map of the old road, and we can trace it back to a facility located in the refuge
’
s North Tract.”
Black immediately added, “Almeida already has a head start. We can drive the Yukon to the closest town and get some gas or even steal a car and—”
Munroe reached out into the darkness and found the big man
’
s shoulder. “We can
’
t do this alone anymore. It
’
s bigger than us now. We can
’
t risk Almeida escaping with this weapon or the drug. We have to call in the cavalry.”
Black shoved Munroe
’
s hand away. “
We don’
t have time for that! Someone might suspect us for Corrigan
’
s escape already. Then there
’
s what happened to you at the hospital. By the time we can wade through all the questions and bureaucracy and convince the right people of what
’
s really going on, Almeida will be long gone.”
“You
’
re right, Mr. Black. But I have an idea about how to make all that go away.”