CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Standing atop a secluded bluff overlooking the Potomac River, Antonio de Almeida steeled his resolve for what came next. The smell of ozone and pollen filled the air from the recent summer storm. The rain had dissipated, but the fog still clung to the earth like a blanket. Almeida couldn
’
t even see the river through the mist, but he heard the slapping of water against the base of the precipice below. He waved smelling salts beneath the noses of Jonas Black and Katherine O
’
Connell. The pair sat inside Katherine
’
s Dodge Charger. Almeida and his men had driven them up to the edge of the bluff and placed Katherine behind the wheel with Black occupying the passenger seat. As the salts took effect, the captives sprung to life, but no part of their bodies moved except for their eyes, which frantically scanned the car
’
s interior.
“What the hell?” Black said in a tired whisper.
Almeida leaned down into the open driver
’
s side window. “My men shot you with a tranquilizer gun, and we brought you here. But don
’
t bother trying to move your arms or legs. I
’
ve paralyzed your limbs by injecting a local anesthetic called lidocaine into your brachial plexus nerves and subarachnoid block.”
“What do you want from us?” Katherine said.
“I want you to tell me where Munroe has hidden the flash drive.”
Black said, “You
’
re wasting your time. We don
’
t know where it is.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. I suppose it doesn
’
t really matter anyway. My associate will have Munroe in custody shortly, and I know for certain that he can tell me its whereabouts. But still, you could save your friend a lot of unnecessary pain, if you told me now.”
“
We don’
t know.”
“What about Corrigan and Gelman? What information have they shared? I, of course, have the earnings statement that you retrieved from the storage unit, and we took all the other files just to be safe. But it would be helpful if I knew how much Munroe knows as well.”
“Corrigan wouldn
’
t talk and neither did Gelman. But it doesn
’
t really matter what I tell you, does it? You
’
re going to kill us either way.”
Almeida laid a hand on Black
’
s shoulder and nodded thoughtfully. “It brings me no pleasure to do so, but it
’
s a necessary evil. I
’
ve given you and Munroe ample opportunity to walk away, but you kept pushing. We
’
re soldiers, Mr. Black, and war has its casualties.”
“You
’
re not a soldier, and this isn
’
t a war.”
“I
’
m afraid that it is, whether you know it or not, and one that your government has declared on us. Twelve months ago a group of US black ops commandos similar to yourself infiltrated one of our compounds in Mexico in an attempt to assassinate our leader. Luckily, Vaquero wasn
’
t there. Instead, they killed his wife, three sons, and his daughter. I was the godfather of the two youngest. Of course, your government denies responsibility, claiming that it was a rival organization. And now, your masters intend to pass a law declaring us as terrorists. They come into our country and murder our families and then call us terrorists.”
“You kidnap tourists, sell drugs to kids, murder anyone who gets in your way, and lord knows what else. You may not be Al Qaeda, but you
’
re close enough for me. You
’
re criminals, not revolutionaries. Just a pack of killers and thieves.”
“I know that I
’
m a sinner, and I ask for forgiveness every day. But you
’
re a soldier just like me, and unlike most normal people, you and I will do what is necessary to win the war. That
’
s what I
’
m doing, Mr. Black. The leaders of your country are a pack of bullies who think that they know what
’
s best for the rest of the world. But soon they will be forced to reconsider their positions on many things. Unfortunately, you and your companions are collateral damage in that fight. For that, I am sorry. I will pray for you. And I suggest you spend the next few moments asking for forgiveness of your own.”
Then Almeida reached up to the steering column, put the car in neutral, and started them rolling toward the edge of the bluff.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Jonas Black didn
’
t spend his last moments praying. Instead, he tensed and untensed all his muscles in an attempt to wake them from their chemically-induced sleep. Moving only his eyes, he looked over at Katherine. Tears dampened her cheeks. Hues of red flushed her pale, freckled cheeks. She huffed in quick, short gasps. But she also wasn
’
t screaming or displaying any other hysterics. Her eyes darted back and forth, scanning for a way out.
He continued to tense and untense, willing his muscles to break free of the bonds and move. For his entire life, an overly high-tolerance for pain killers and anesthetic had plagued him. Now he hoped that it could save their lives.
Still, he couldn
’
t be sure that his tolerance applied to the drug Almeida had administered. And maybe the Colombian had increased the dosage to account for his large size. Maybe Almeida had upped the dosage just to be thorough.
The car
’
s roll toward the edge started slowly. Then momentum built, and their speed increased.
If he could just move his foot enough to hit the brake…
He felt his toes twitch. Adrenaline pumped harder through his veins as death approached. Fingers flexed. His hand opened slightly. If he could raise his arm and throw the vehicle into park, it would at least stop their slide toward the edge. Almeida would see that they had stopped, but Black needed to focus on one problem at a time.
He fought to bring up his arm or foot, and with every second, some movement returned. But with every tick of the clock, they also inched closer to the edge of the bluff and the cold waters below.
Then it was too late.
His stomach jumped into his throat as the ground gave way to open air and the Charger shot toward the river.
The thick fog obscured their view to the point that the water below and their ultimate fate wasn
’
t visible. They rocketed through the mist as if falling into nothingness. It could have been ten feet or a thousand miles, and they wouldn
’
t have known the difference.
Katherine screamed.
Black closed his eyes and braced for impact.
The collision with the river felt like they had hit a brick wall. Their heads jerked forward, but the seat belts that Almeida had strapped around them kept their bodies from flying out of the vehicle.
The cold water of the Potomac flowed in immediately. Black had seen a car hit the water before and knew that, unlike in the movies, it could take a few minutes for a vehicle to completely submerge and fill with water, depending on a lot of factors. He also knew that the open driver-side window would cause them to fill up faster.
Either way, he still had time.
As death grew closer, his resolve strengthened. He refused to die. Not just that he didn
’
t want it to happen, he rejected the possibility. He projected himself into the future with his inner language and attitude. It wasn
’
t
if
they survived, it was
how
they would survive. The solutions were present. He just needed to identify them.
He heard Katherine praying, but he ignored her. He would not accept death. He lived a life of war, and he had no intentions of losing the battle.
“We
’
re going to get out of this,” he said to Katherine. “Just stay calm.”
She didn
’
t respond.
The water flowed into the car and soaked through his shoes and pants. The level rose with every passing second. The cold of the river felt like death
’
s fingers wrapping around his ankle to drag him to the deep.
The water reached his knees.
Then he broke through some interior biological wall, and his arm moved. His movements were sluggish, and his limbs felt like dead weights, but he could move nonetheless.
Still, his current state prevented him from swimming to safety by himself, let alone carrying a grown woman with him.
He frantically scanned the car
’
s interior for something to help them.
The glove box wouldn
’
t contain anything that would float. Unlike planes, the car
’
s seats couldn
’
t be used as flotation devices. The back seat contained only trash, candy bar wrappers and old…
two liter soda bottles.
One of the recycling videos that Chloe had showed him on YouTube came to mind—old soda bottles repurposed as rafts and life vests. The air trapped inside the empty bottles made them perfect flotation devices.
The chilling water passed his waist, but at least it served to shock his system and wake his sleeping muscles even further.
With great effort, he forced his heavy arms to grab the empty bottles from the backseat and floor boards. Then he shoved them beneath Katherine
’
s black button-down dress shirt.
“What are you doing?” she said in a trembling voice.
“Saving your ass.”
The water reached their chests, and it took all his strength to shove the air-filled bottles beneath the surface and under their shirts. He held his breath and went under. Then he quickly tucked Katherine
’
s shirt into her pants and repeated the procedure with himself.
He looked over to see Katherine
’
s face submerged just above his own. Pure terror showed in her eyes, but he also detected a measure of hope and trust within them.
Her seatbelt came off easily, and he pulled her from the Charger as it fell to the depths of the river
’
s bottom. The bottles popped her to the surface, but her face still rested beneath the waves.
He had placed most of the bottles beneath her shirt, and the ones under his own didn
’
t provide nearly as much support as he would have liked. Still, he was able to flip her over and pull her toward the shore.
But the river didn
’
t want to give up its prize, and the strong current and dead weight of his limbs fought against his forward progression. Unable to fight the forces pulling him down, he fell below the water
’s surface.
CHAPTER FIFTY
It would have been so much easier to give up, just let the waves take him down and the river consume him. His whole life had been a battle and that showed no signs of changing. The fatigue drained his will. Did it really matter if he made it to the shore? What did he have to look forward to?
But he also knew that Katherine would never make it out of the river without him, not in her current condition. Unlike him, someone out there loved her. A family. Parents. A brother. They would mourn her passing.
He willed his tingling, numb legs to kick and push. He focused on small movements, on the next kick, the next breath. It seemed like an eternity. Kicking, pulling Katherine along, gasping for breath, taking in huge mouthfuls of water. But then they reached sanctuary. The sand and rocks of the shore surrounded them as he pulled Katherine from the water and then fell back onto the beach.
Katherine coughed up a torrent of brown water, but she was alive.
He lied back and closed his eyes. He just wanted to sleep.
Almeida
’
s words floated back to him like something from a dream.
Munroe
. The Colombian had said that one of his associates would have Munroe soon. He had to send a warning before it was too late.
He checked his pocket but found that his cell phone was gone.
His legs trembled as he pulled himself from the sand. He gained his footing but then stumbled forward onto a patch of grass and rocks. Pain lanced through his arms and chest, but pain was good. Pain was life.
Tired, numb, dizzy, and shaking, Jonas Black tapped an extra reserve of strength hidden somewhere deep inside himself and pushed his aching body upright again. This time he made it three steps before falling back to the ground.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Deacon Munroe hung up the phone and growled at the receiver. He didn
’
t have time for this. When John Corrigan had gone into the hospital, Munroe had requested to be notified if his condition changed in any way. Corrigan
’
s doctor had called a few minutes prior and informed him that, if things went as planned, they would be ready to wake the disgraced soldier in two days. He wanted to be there when Corrigan
’
s eyes opened, but unfortunately, Jonas Black hadn
’
t answered on any of Munroe
’
s five phone calls.
His own doctors would protest at his early departure, but he didn
’
t care. His side still ached and shot pains if he moved just right, but he could walk, which meant that he was well enough to walk out of the damn hospital. This investigation wouldn
’
t wait for his body to heal, and he suspected that another
accident
would be arranged for Corrigan soon. This time they
’
d ensure that they finished the job.
Munroe had already dressed and contacted Annabelle to pick him up, and Joey had booked two seats on the next flight to Leavenworth.
But where the hell was Jonas Black?
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
The decorative
get-well-soon
flower arrangement and brightly-colored mylar balloon helped Oliver Pike to blend in and hide his face from the cameras. But it didn
’
t really matter if the police later identified him, because he
’
d be out of the country once he completed the mission anyway. He had studied the hospital
’
s floor plan and quickly found Munroe
’
s room. He made a quick pass by to discretely assess the situation, and then he moved to the nurse
’
s station and played the part of a confused visitor.
He asked animatedly for directions to an area of the hospital that was back the way he had already come. This would give him the opportunity to pass by the guard again without raising suspicion. The federal agent sat in a chair next to Munroe
’
s door. Two additional agents had been stationed there as well, but Almeida arranged for the other men to be called back to headquarters, leaving only one obstacle between Pike and Munroe.
Palming a small injection device in his right-hand, Pike moved back down the hall. The fluorescent lights reflected off the overly polished floors, and despite the strong odor of disinfectant, the slight smell of death and sickness permeated the air and made him uncomfortable. The guard watched him carefully as he approached, and Pike tried not to notice.
Then he made a show of tripping and stumbling into the agent. The man
’
s right hand immediately went to his gun, and he grabbed Pike with the left in a defensive move that would allow for a quick takedown. Pike recovered almost immediately from the fall, displayed an awkward and disarming smile, and apologized for his clumsiness.
He slumped his shoulders in a nonthreatening way and backed away from the agent. The tension released from the man
’
s shoulders, and sitting back down, he said, “
No problem.
”
Pike felt the agent
’
s suspicious eyes still upon him as he walked away, but he had executed the maneuver flawlessly. When he had stumbled against the guard, he stabbed the needle into the agent
’
s right arm with such a quick and fluid movement that only a keen observer would even have registered the attack.
The powerful sedative would take effect within a few moments, and then Pike could stroll into Munroe
’
s room, drug the blind man in the same way, and exfiltrate him from the building in a wheel chair, just like any other recovering patient on his or her way home.