The Labyrinth Campaign (25 page)

“Sergeant Major Ian McKay, British Special Services.”

“I’m Greg Larson. I’m a writer for
The Dallas Free Press.”

The two men shook hands, still trying to comprehend the other’s presence.

“Do you mind if I ask what you’re doing here?” Greg said.

For the next twenty minutes, Greg and Ian exchanged their backgrounds and the events that had led them to be incarcerated together in the bowels of a house owned by one of America’s wealthiest families.

“If we can figure a way out of here, we have enough evidence to decimate one of the world’s most powerful families and turn the Democratic party upside down,” Greg said.

Ian nodded. “That should have been my plan from the beginning. But I was thinking about my niece. This was, in my mind, some level of compensation for growing up without a father. Now look where I am.”

“Let’s not focus on how we got into this predicament; let’s figure out how we get out of it.”

They brainstormed. Finally, they landed on what seemed to be a long shot at best. Ian would fake serious illness. Ian thought he could jab his
finger and squeeze out enough blood to give him one significant cough of blood to sell the idea. When the guards intervened to help him to his feet, Ian would try to take them out.

“This plan is so ridiculous, it actually might work,” Greg said.

Jack and Kate had never felt more helpless. “I cannot believe this is fucking happening,” Jack said angrily. “We have evidence regarding mass corruption at the highest levels of the US government, and we’re locked in a goddamn janitor’s closet. We have to find a way out of here.”

Kate nodded. “But even if we were to find a way out, we’d immediately be shot as intruders going after the president. The Secret Service does not mess around. The agents who know what’s going on will kill to protect the president’s reputation, and the ones who don’t will kill to protect his life.”

Jack thought for a moment. “What if we use the Secret Service to our advantage?”

Kate stared silently.

“Look around. This room is full of equipment that could create or at least simulate a bomb. We could wire me to look like a suicide bomber and at least get the agents to escort us out of the house. After all, they’ve dedicated their lives to protecting the life of the president at all costs.”

“That’s creative, Jack, but what about me? There’s no reason they would have to take me with you.” The tone in her voice seemed to fluctuate between fear and anger.

“Okay, umm … You helped me wire the bomb. Now you’ve decided you don’t want to die. You’re the demolitions expert who will help them defuse the device.”

Kate’s shoulders sagged. “This is crazy. Our chances of success are probably in the same range as winning the lottery.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

Silence.

“Okay, let’s get started. Once they have us outside, we’ll just have to take our chances that we can outmaneuver the agents. My guess is only a couple of them will ultimately accompany us to shield the rest of the team from what’s really taking place here.”

Kate and Jack began scouring the storage room for the appropriate materials.

T
he office in the Hawkins mansion was silent. Father and son each stared off in separate directions, contemplating the predicament the family legacy had been exposed to. It was obvious that neither wanted to be the first to speak.

Finally, Bo Hawkins broke the silence. “I never liked this plan of yours. I know it’s not something you ever considered sharing with me, but I didn’t get to where I am by waiting for information to come to me.

“Our current issue is that a small army of people know you’re dirty, and that is unacceptable.” The longer Bo spoke, the angrier his tone became. “What the hell were you thinking? As a matter of fact, what the hell was I thinking, letting you continue once I understood your intentions?”

Will gave his father a glare of frustration. “Well, it doesn’t appear that your little blackmail plan is exactly knocking one out of the park.”

“I didn’t have a plan, goddammit! My knowledge of the president’s past was merely precautionary in case you couldn’t win this thing on your own, which clearly you didn’t believe you could, based on your actions. Now, before we continue our discussion, don’t you ever fucking speak to me in that tone of voice again, because the next time you show me that type of disrespect will be the last time.”

The look in his father’s eyes made Will look away, trying to hide his fear.

After a brief silence, Bo spoke again. “Now let’s finish our little father-son chat. Admittedly, it was a mistake on my part to let your plan continue once I had an idea of what you were contemplating. But I believed if we distanced ourselves from the president and his past, our secrets could remain safe. I also believed that a close race avoided all scrutiny. But now we, or should I say you, are in deep shit, and our only way out is to eliminate our four friends, and stop these damn fool accidents immediately.”

Finally Will spoke in nearly a whisper. “There’s one more accident planned. But it has the potential to make everyone forget the others.”

“It must be stopped!” Bo screamed.

Will’s shoulders sagged as he nodded in agreement.

Bo stormed out.

As Will Hawkins sat alone in the spacious office looking out at the grandeur of the Rockies, his thoughts were a thousand miles away. The question of the moment was how to position the ending of the ecoterrorism plot with Carlos Pendrill. There was no simple answer. But the clock was ticking, and the more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that bombing the dam in Washington was a big mistake. Finally, after much internal deliberation, he reached for the phone. After a couple of rings, the familiar gruff reply that signaled Pendrill was bothered by the intrusion resonated on the other end of the line.

“Carlos, Will here.”

“What the hell do you want? I thought we were to avoid all contact.”

“I’ve been thinking …”

“That’s always fucking dangerous.”

“We cannot destroy that dam,” Hawkins said in a tone that sounded more like a plea than anything else.

Pendrill laughed out loud. “Are you losing your stomach for terrorism, Willie?”

“No, I just believe we’ve achieved our objective. The damage to the president is done; David Ellis has made sure of that. My inner circle has
determined that Hughes is on the ropes. And I believe that any loss of life is no longer necessary.”

“Your weakness sickens me, Will. You should have understood your lack of intestinal fortitude before you agreed to the plan.”

“Maybe you’re right, maybe not. But it doesn’t change the fact that I believe we must stop the attack. Can you stop it?”

Pendrill was quiet for a moment. As had been his modus operandi since he was a child, he was trying to turn this situation in his favor.

“I can give it a try, Will. But what’s in it for me?”

It was Hawkins’s turn to ponder. He knew in his heart that whatever the answer, it was going to cost him dearly. But he also knew there was no choice. So Hawkins stated firmly, “One nonnegotiable request.”

Pendrill smiled to himself. This had turned out to be a very rewarding conversation. “I’ll see what I can do,” were the only words Hawkins heard before the definitive click that ended their conversation.

T
he small hallway outside the maintenance room was dark and quiet. The two Secret Service agents approached the door confidently. It was lunchtime, and one of them was carrying a tray with a meal that could only be found in the very finest restaurant. The man reaching for the door was thinking, what a waste of good food for a couple of assholes who’ve got less than twelve hours to live.

As the guards entered the storage room, the first man turned and began preparing a place for the meal tray. The guard carrying the tray noticed Jack first. Sitting on the floor, back against the wall, Jack looked like a high school science project. Wires and duct tape ran all over Jack’s chest; taped just under his chin were three sticks of something that looked like dynamite. When the first guard finally turned to see his stunned and unmoving partner, his eyes scanned toward Jack, and he let out a nearly inaudible, “What the fuck?”

“Gentlemen,” Jack said, “I think you can quickly identify the grave danger that I represent for your boss, not to mention yourselves.”

The lead agent instinctively made a move toward Jack.

“What the fuck are you thinking?” Jack screamed. “You want me to incinerate this entire fucking place before you’ve even discovered how you can save your boss and your own sorry asses?”

“What do you want?” the second agent asked carefully.

“A dead president or a clean escape. Those appear to be my only options.”

The two agents glanced at one another, knowing that neither option was a legitimate choice. But years of training in hostage situations kept them engaging in dialogue.

“Okay, let’s discuss this,” the lead agent finally said in a calm voice.

“Well, here’s how I see it,” Jack replied. “I have nothing left. Will Hawkins has taken my life, eradicated any reputation I may have built, and murdered my girlfriend. Killing myself and you crooked fucks doesn’t seem like such a bad idea. However, if you two are smart enough to save your own asses, all you have to do is escort us to the nearest forest, walk away, tell your bosses that you did the dirty work, and we all win.”

The agents exchanged glances. Obviously, letting the two go was out of the question, but getting the suicide bomber out of the president’s residence was the first task. Without a word both agents knew the plan. Do just as McCarthy had asked: Lead the couple to the edge of a nearby remote forest and accelerate the end of their assignment, making it look like a foiled attempt on the president’s life.

The first agent finally spoke. “All right, this is against my better judgment, but we’ll take you out to the edge of the ski slope and release you. But if you ever fuck us and come out from under the rock where you’re hiding, we’ll find you and kill you … slowly.”

“Whatever, man. All I want is to crawl under that rock and forget that I ever got mixed up in your fucked-up world.”

The two agents gave Jack and Kate a nod, and the four headed for the mansion’s back entrance. Once outside, they began crossing the steep slope. It was apparent to all that anxiety was running high, and the slightest move could ignite the explosive adrenaline that was flowing through all of them.

As planned, once they were far enough away from the house, Kate turned, suddenly screaming, “I don’t want to die. Please grab him now before he decides to detonate. He’s already told me he doesn’t care if he lives or dies.”

In response to Kate’s sudden movement, both agents had deftly drawn their weapons and were expertly aiming at their respective targets. When they realized what she was saying, they both relaxed slightly. The first agent said, “Jesus, lady, you almost got yourself—”

Kate sent a kick to the nearest agent’s groin. As he bent forward in pain, he raised his weapon toward Kate. Before he could aim, Kate kicked him on the side of his neck with perfect accuracy, rendering him immediately unconscious. At the same instant, Jack delivered a side-hand blow to the second agent’s neck but without the same result. The agent bulled into Jack like an NFL linebacker, tackling him to the ground.

The next fifteen seconds were some of the most brutal Kate had ever seen. Both men were trained to fight, and both also knew they were fighting for their lives. Kate felt helpless but watched intensely, waiting for a moment where she could actually help Jack.

The second agent had gained the advantage and was repeatedly driving his fist toward Jack’s face. However, his neck was completely exposed, so Kate threw her entire weight into a chop. He immediately went limp and fell over.

Jack and Kate looked at each other and quickly ducked into the woods to regroup. Blood was streaming from Jack’s nose, but all his body parts appeared to be in working order. He quickly stripped off his “bomb,” and they ran down the slope toward Vail.

T
he incessant banging from inside the locked room had taken its toll on the two bodyguards in the hallway outside. Finally, the bigger of the two gargantuan men said, “Fuck it,” and rose from his chair to see what all the noise was about. “What are you doing?” asked the second guard. “Our orders were extremely clear: Under no circumstances are we to enter that room.”

“Yeah, yeah. But I can’t take this banging anymore. Anyway, these guys can’t take us. Let’s see what’s up.”

Greg Larson was still pounding on the reinforced door when he heard the deadbolt click. As he stepped away, the two massive guards filled the doorway.

“What is going on here?” the first guard asked.

Greg pointed to Ian McKay, writhing on the floor. His convulsions were so severe he appeared to be having an epileptic fit.

“What’s wrong with him?” the second guard asked.

“How the fuck do I know? I’ve been trying to get you assholes to help for the last twenty minutes.”