Target Omega

CHAPTER FORTY

Rapidly moving lead-gray clouds hung low to the west as Garin navigated around Dupont Circle, careful to remain several cars behind a white Chevy Blazer proceeding north on Connecticut.

By the time the FBI had abandoned its search of the Crowne Plaza, the man resembling Gates had disappeared from his post behind the Fourteenth Street barricades. Fortunately, Garin had spotted Gates getting into the passenger side of a white Chevy Blazer parked along the curb on Fourteenth Street. The barricades had impeded traffic for several blocks around the hotel, allowing Garin to retrieve his own car and keep the white Blazer in his sights as it drove north onto Connecticut.

Despite being only a few car lengths behind the Blazer, Garin was unable to tell how many occupants were inside because of the SUV’s darkened windows.

Just as the traffic began to disperse along the spokes of Dupont Circle, the winds picked up and the clouds exploded, releasing waves of hard-driving rain. Though the traffic had lightened considerably, it slowed once again as the rain reduced visibility to barely two dozen feet. Garin could just make out the outlines of the Blazer as he leaned over the steering wheel and peered through the windshield.

The traffic continued to disperse as drivers sought refuge in side streets and parking lots adjacent to Connecticut. Within five minutes Garin found himself directly behind the SUV. He quickly resigned himself to the fact that there was nothing he could do but continue to tail the vehicle or lose it. He hoped that the heavy curtains of rain would provide cover, but Garin’s hopes evaporated seconds later as the Blazer’s rear tires spun wildly and it began to fishtail as its driver floored the accelerator. It shot forward and separated from Garin’s car, disappearing into the rainstorm. Garin also sped up, and within a few seconds he reacquired his target, now slightly more than a block ahead of him.

The two vehicles raced along the nearly deserted street at speeds approaching seventy miles per hour. Garin realized he had no plan. He’d hoped to at least follow the Blazer undetected until it reached its destination and then improvise, depending on the circumstances. If he could apprehend Gates, he’d try to do so. If not, he’d observe and acquire whatever intelligence he could.

Now, however, he was in a damn high-speed car chase. The element of surprise was gone. He wasn’t going to be able to gather intel without the subject’s knowledge, and the number of potential outcomes had just multiplied.

Ahead, the Blazer swerved to the left around a slower vehicle. Garin did the same, holding his breath as he felt his car hydroplane momentarily until he eased off the accelerator and regained traction. No sooner had he done so than he saw the Blazer jolt upward as it ran over a large tree branch deposited in the street by powerful gusts of wind. Garin instantly recognized that his vehicle lacked the clearance to duplicate the Blazer’s action. Instead, he drove around the branch, struggling to maintain control as his left rear tire caromed against the curb on the lane divider. He slowed and swung back onto the northbound lane, losing visual contact with the Blazer in the process.

Again, Garin accelerated, the muscles in his upper body taut from almost losing control of the vehicle. A few seconds later, he could make out the rear of the Blazer as it approached Chevy Chase Circle. He was gaining on the vehicle when it swerved around another slower vehicle, Garin pursuing closely behind. As the two vehicles swung around the circle back into the northbound lane of Connecticut, the Blazer’s taillights flashed. Garin stomped his brake pedal to avoid rear-ending the SUV, causing the back of his car to spin to the left until it was nearly perpendicular to the curb. Garin turned into the skid, righted the vehicle, and avoided slamming into a westbound taxi, horn blaring, as it crossed the intersection.

The chase was barely three minutes old, but the tension of the near collisions made it seem far longer. Garin guessed that the Blazer’s occupants were heading for I-495, but he had no idea what their plan was from there.

Garin caught a break less than a quarter mile later when the Blazer swerved to avoid a Volvo that had come to a complete stop in the northbound lane, its driver deciding it was safer to flash the emergency lights and wait out the storm than to navigate blindly down the narrow street. The Blazer skated across the center line, then across the southbound lane, and catapulted over the curb onto a grassy expanse between two light-colored brick houses. Garin braked as he watched the SUV pitch to its left and tip onto its driver’s side as it landed in the vacant lot, its wheels still spinning furiously.

Garin came to a stop on Connecticut, approximately fifty yards beyond where the Blazer had come to rest. A few seconds later, the passenger-side door opened upward, and one of the occupants struggled to climb out. Garin could barely see through sheets of rain as he sprang from the car and was met by a volley of gunshots that were wildly off target.

The Volvo, a block back, did a U-turn and sped off.

Garin scrambled to the passenger side of the car and knelt next to the right front wheel well. Peering over the hood, he saw one of the Blazer’s occupants jump to the ground as a second occupant climbed out of the same passenger-side door. Garin drew his SIG from his waistband and cursed as he realized his extra magazines were in the gym bag in the trunk. With visibility severely reduced in the blinding rainstorm, he’d have to make his shots count.

The din from the rain, wind, and thunder nearly drowned out the next round of gunshots coming from the direction of the SUV. The shots came nowhere near Garin, who saw the figures of two men, neither resembling Gates, in front of the SUV, pistols aimed in his direction. Garin fired two rounds in return, designed merely to pin them down and prevent them from making a run for it. To Garin’s surprise, one of the men collapsed to the ground, a round having struck him in the right kneecap. Even under the best of conditions, Garin couldn’t have replicated that shot.

Both men returned fire, this time several rounds striking the Fusion. Garin waited a beat before popping just above the hood of his vehicle and squeezing off two more rounds, at least one of which appeared to strike the wounded man in the chest, dropping him face-first into the wet ground. The other man took cover behind the Blazer, firing a shot in the Fusion’s direction as he moved.

Garin had two concerns. The first was making sure the man behind the Blazer didn’t escape. Garin couldn’t see him and was afraid that he might use the Blazer to conceal a retreat into the wooded area directly behind him.

The second concern was the police. Although the violent storm had obscured the car chase and gunfight, at some point cops were going to show up. Perhaps in a matter of minutes. The driver of the Volvo was probably calling 911 at that very moment. One way or another, Garin had to bring this to a conclusion fast. That was unlikely to happen as long as he remained behind the Fusion and the other man had the protection of the Blazer.

Garin decided to force the issue by moving forward and drawing fire. Two large oaks on the other side of the street would provide sufficient cover if he could just get to one of them. The first oak was on the tree lawn immediately adjacent to the street. The second was about ten yards beyond the first, in the direction of the Blazer.

After looking to see if there were any cars approaching, Garin checked the Blazer and sprinted across Connecticut to the first oak twenty yards away. As he reached the tree lawn, jets of dirt spit from the ground, three bullets slamming into the earth a few feet in front of him. He safely reached the tree without returning fire.

The upended vehicle was another thirty yards in front of him. The man behind the vehicle was undisciplined with his fire. Garin didn’t know how many rounds the man had expended but thought he might have only a few shots left. If he could be forced to empty his magazine, Garin might be able to get to him before he had time to insert another.

Garin fired another round at the SUV and, just as he’d hoped, the man behind it fired back, twice striking the tree behind which Garin hid. Garin then ran to the next tree but was disappointed when he drew no fire. In the driving rain Garin couldn’t determine the make of the man’s weapon, but it was clearly a nine-millimeter semiautomatic. Depending on the type, the number of rounds could vary and he might still have cartridges left. If Garin guessed wrong, he’d be dead.

With each passing moment, Garin’s options were dwindling. Even if his adversary had spent his magazine, he could seat a second one in the next couple of heartbeats. And if Garin didn’t move now, the Chevy Chase police might arrive, dumbfounded to find the most wanted man in America engaged in a gun battle in one of the wealthiest communities in the country near an upended SUV — next to which, of all things, lay an inert Iranian.

Garin charged for the Blazer, firing two shots as he closed the twenty yards between the tree and the target. As he rounded the front of the vehicle, he dove to the ground and rolled to his right, the SIG gripped firmly in both hands and extended in front of him ready to fire. But there was no one to shoot.

Garin leapt to his feet and swiftly checked all sides of the Blazer. The man was gone. As Garin had feared, he had escaped into the wooded area.

The man couldn’t have gotten far in the seconds since his last shots, but Garin didn’t have time to track him down. Instead, he turned his attention to the vehicle. He looked through the windshield, but it didn’t appear that there were any occupants left within. To be sure, he climbed up to the passenger-side door and carefully peered inside. Empty. He opened the glove box for any identifying documents. It, too, was empty.

Garin hopped down and stuck his weapon into his waistband. The rain was beginning to lighten up. He was soaked and covered in mud. From where he stood, he could even see several bullet indentations in the side of the Fusion, which the friendly Avis rental agent would likely find somewhat unacceptable. Garin stooped and turned the dead man onto his back. He didn’t recognize the face but thought it looked vaguely Middle Eastern. Rifling through the man’s pockets, Garin feared he’d have no more information than when he’d begun the chase. But as he pulled a piece of paper from the man’s left front pocket, Garin thought, Perhaps not.