Second Strike

CHAPTER 22

^{MOUNT VERNON, VIRGINIA,}

^{AUGUST 15, 2:28 P.M. EDT}

For Luci Saldana, the last twenty hours were as if she had gone through the looking glass. She was sitting in a house easily five times larger than any she’d been in before, and someone she’d seen on television in background shots of White House briefings had just walked into the room escorted by Dan Dwyer. Both Luci and Congo Knox rose to greet her.

“Olivia, this is Luci Saldana,” Dwyer said. “You know Congo, of course.”

Olivia took Luci’s hand. “Pleased to meet you, Ms. Saldana. I’m Olivia Perry.”

“I recognize you from the news, Ms. Perry. Please call me Luci.”

“Then it’s agreed we’re all on a first-name basis here,” Olivia said.

At five foot three, Luci was accustomed to being one of the smaller persons in the room, but it seemed she had just landed in Brobdingnag. To her left, Congo Knox was more than a foot taller and more than twice as heavy; in front of her, Dan Dwyer stood at least six foot five and was at least thirty pounds heavier than Knox, although not quite as fit. With his thick hair—so blond it looked almost white—he resembled a Viking warrior. And Olivia Perry appeared to be about five-ten—maybe taller.

Olivia had a bronze complexion and an impossible abundance of jet-black hair that fell in lustrous cascades to the small of her back. Her features were delicate, her ethnicity indeterminate. Despite her looks, or maybe because of them, Luci sensed in Olivia a modesty Luci found inviting, even endearing. Olivia seemed as introverted as Luci was extroverted.

Dan gestured and they sat in chairs arrayed around a circular glass coffee table. “Luci, tell Olivia what you saw last night in Dallas.”

“Where do you want me to begin?”

“From when you were about to go to dinner,” Dwyer replied.

“Okay. Well, I was at the Omni Hotel with a man whose participation in a competition known as the Crucible I was supporting—Mike Garin.” Luci paused. “Do you know him?”

Olivia nodded. “I know Mr. Garin.” Luci wondered how well.

“It was close to seven o’clock. We were about to go to dinner. I opened the door to the room and I saw two men standing there with guns. They had silencers on them; Mike called them ‘suppressors.’”

“What did the men look like?” Olivia asked.

“It all happened really fast. As soon as I opened the door, Mike, who was behind me, pulled me backward and I fell to the floor. They looked almost like clones of one another. They were white; short dark hair. Both around six feet tall, maybe two hundred pounds. I thought they looked like cops—they had white shirts and sport coats—professional.

“I didn’t see all of what happened next because I was on the floor, and, I have to say, pretty scared. Stunned more than scared. But I heard a shot. Mike was right—those things aren’t silencers. The sound was kind of like a metallic popping. But it was pretty loud. And one of the guys goes down. Then, somehow, Mike’s got one of the guns and shoots the other guy.”

“Were there any other people with them?” Olivia asked.

“No. Nobody. It was weird. I mean, these guys looked like real pros, right? Like they knew what they were doing? And they had surprised us, had their guns raised like they were ready to rock. Yet Mike overwhelmed them, like they were just speed bumps to him. Like they had no chance.”

A knowing smile crept over Dwyer’s face. He waved toward Olivia and Congo. “We’ve all seen it firsthand.”

“So then Mike hauls the bodies away. I didn’t see where. And then he comes back and tells me to pack up everything because we’re getting out of Dodge.”

“Did the shooters look like they were Slavic? Russian? Or would you say that they maybe looked Middle Eastern, Persian?” Olivia asked.

“I really didn’t get a good look. I can’t say if they were Russian. But if I had to guess I’d say they weren’t Middle Eastern.”

“What else do you remember?”

“That’s about it. We barreled down the highway to Sugar Land. Mike said we couldn’t go to the cops or we’d end up dead—I got the impression the bad guys might be in league with the authorities or something. Then, I’m on a jet here.”

Perry, Dwyer, and Knox nodded.

“Luci, you need to excuse us. Dan and I need to discuss something,” Olivia said.

“I understand.”

“Are you hungry?” Dwyer asked.

Luci gave a shrug signaling something between indifference and interest.

“Congo, can you take Luci to the kitchen? You’ll find almost anything you might want in there, Luci.”

Dwyer watched Knox lead Luci out of the room and then turned to Olivia.

“Well, what do you think?”

“Disturbing, no doubt. From Michael’s standpoint, I can see why he’d be concerned that this may be a reprise of the Omega assassinations. But there’s nothing that suggests Bor’s involvement. More precisely, there’s nothing that justifies me going to James Brandt and suggesting Bor’s operating on American soil again. And even if I did go to him, he’d never go to the president with a story this inconclusive.”

Dwyer fixed Olivia with a hard look. “Last night three Georgia State Patrol officers and two civilians were found shot along a highway northeast of Atlanta. I know—unfortunately, that’s not necessarily an extraordinary story these days. Sounds like just a local crime story. Each of the victims was shot multiple times. But each had one gunshot wound in exactly the same place: in the forehead, at the ridgeline above the bridge of the nose.”

Olivia exhaled. “Michael’s signature shot. The one Bor replicated to frame Michael for the Omega assassinations.”

“Exactly.”

“But that shot’s not unique to Michael. Or, for that matter, Bor,” Olivia said. “Besides, the Omega assassinations, the EMP operation, were barely a month ago. The Russians were seriously sanctioned for their involvement. I can’t imagine a scenario where they would even think about engaging in the slightest mischief or provocation against the US.”

“It’s not as if Mike and I haven’t gone through the same thought process, Olivia. The Russians should be, and have been, on their knees groveling since the EMP operation. But both Mike and I instantly thought of Bor when we heard about Georgia. How could we not? Alarm bells went off, big-time.”

Just like the buzzing returned when I saw the satellite images of Arkhangelsk, thought Olivia. And got louder when you called.

“I get it, Dan. Bor’s an alarming person. Remember, I was face-to-face with him.”

“Mike thinks Brandt should be made aware. So do I.”

Olivia pursed her lips. “Don’t misunderstand, Dan. This has got my attention. But these are disparate bits of information. They don’t rise to the level of James Brandt’s involvement,” she said, virtually repeating what James Brandt had said to her a short time ago about the satellite images. “This is something for law enforcement to monitor. If something else happens—depending on its nature—maybe then it will rise to national security advisor level.”

“I couldn’t disagree more, Olivia. When it comes to Bor, time is always of the essence. And we’ve got to suspect the worst. There are no coincidences in this business.”

“Dan, if I went to James Brandt every time there was a coincidence, I’d have to set up camp outside his office. We’d be in constant crisis mode, playing perpetual Chicken Little. I’m afraid the office of the national security advisor would lose all credibility.”

“Don’t you mean you’re afraid you’d lose all credibility?”

“Dan, this isn’t about—”

“Congratulations, Olivia,” Dwyer interrupted. “You really are a whiz kid. You’ve been in Washington less than six months and yet you’ve already perfected the fine art of covering your ass.” Dwyer’s tone became increasingly strident. “You’re not some bureaucrat at the EPA or IRS, whose job description is making life miserable for your fellow citizens. You’re an aide to the damn national security advisor. National security, Olivia. Not wetlands management or paperwork reduction. Your job goes to the essence of what the government’s supposed to do and increasingly refuses to do. Six months, Olivia. Is that all it took for you to become an inside-the-Beltway hack? A political-class drone?”

The words stung. Especially coming from the good-natured Dwyer, who had become almost like a big brother in the short time they’d known each other. And because Olivia felt the words rang true. Earlier she’d felt somewhat chastened when Brandt facilely dismissed her concern about the satellite images. She felt she’d overreacted, embarrassing herself before her boss and mentor. “This isn’t something that rises to that level,” he’d said. She was reluctant to approach him again with something so attenuated.

“Dan—”

“No effin’ bull crap, Olivia. You give me bull crap and I’ll make sure you’ll have to answer to Mike himself.”

Olivia grinned in spite of herself. The two toughest men she knew rarely cursed. And one of them had just threatened to report her to the other.

“Okay. I’ll go to Jim with this. In fact, in addition to Georgia—” She halted abruptly. She was about to relate her observations from the satellite images, but even the very existence of the KH-13 was highly classified and compartmentalized. She knew from the EMP operation that Dwyer was party to a classified information nondisclosure agreement but was uncertain if it covered the satellite images.

“What?” Dwyer asked.

The hell with it, Olivia thought. Half the politicians in this town leaked classified information as if it were tabloid gossip. Dwyer was more responsible and reliable than all of them together. “In addition to Georgia and Dallas,” she continued, “there may be something going on at those Russian industrial sites again.”

“When in doubt… ,” Dwyer began.

“…suspect the worst from the Russians.”

“Remember, Olivia, it was you, not the Oracle, who connected the pivotal dots unraveling the EMP operation. Your opinion matters.”

“Actually, the credit belongs to Michael.”

The pair rose from their chairs.

“Bor was assisted by Quds Force operatives during the last operation, Olivia. My guess is they were imposed on him for political reasons. He’ll have the best working for him this time.”

“Michael seemed to make short work of their best.”

“Those weren’t their best, Olivia. I bet Bor, if that was him in Georgia, didn’t even have operational authority over them. But having gotten their clocks cleaned by Mike twice already, you can be sure that the serious Russians are in charge now.”

“I’ll convey your assessment to Jim,” Olivia assured him. “Can I get a ride back to the District?”

“Matt will take you.” Dwyer grasped Olivia’s arm. “Remember, last time Bor worked on a very tight schedule. We have to assume time’s of the essence.”

“Always.”