The Prince of Risk

78

The intel started arriving when Alex was halfway across the Atlantic. First came the download of James Salt’s phone’s internal memory and SIM card. There were a slew of phone numbers, in fact a list of every call placed or received, some six thousand in all. The phone also provided access to Salt’s e-mails for the better part of the past two years. Many contained cc’s to other parties, giving the Bureau and MI5 a plethora of leads. There was less luck with texts, as the phone deleted these, and it was necessary to obtain them from the service provider.

Alex spent the flight crouched in the cockpit, listening as Barry Mintz relayed the information. She was interested in two things: where the bad guys were hiding and what was to be their target, or targets, plural, God help us every man. But even as she guessed at their plans, she kept in mind Jean Eyraud’s words about Lambert and his fellow mercenaries. They were not terrorists. They were professional soldiers who wanted to survive, which meant they had an exit strategy mapped out and memorized.

“Have they pinged that phone yet?” she asked.

“Still waiting on the South Africans.”

“Time frame?”

“Any minute now.”

“You said that an hour ago.” Alex was beside herself with frustration. Trapped in the plane, she could do nothing but monitor progress being made by others. “And Bobby?”

“We can’t reach him anywhere. He’s not answering his cell or home phone. Neither is his driver.”

“What about the office?”

“Closed for the day.”

“Call Marv Shank. He’s Bobby’s best friend. He’ll know where he is.”

“Will do,” said Mintz. “There’s something else. Jan sent him a text ordering him to 26 Federal Plaza at five. He didn’t show.”

Alex was worried. Bobby might disobey her command to get his butt down to Federal Plaza. He would not disobey Janet McVeigh’s. If his meeting had run long, he would have called to explain his tardiness. She tapped the captain on the shoulder. “What’s our ETA?”

“Two hours, but we have a problem. A line of thunderstorms is coming down the Hudson Valley toward the city.”

“How bad?”

“Bad. It extends all the way into western Pennsylvania. The forecast is calling for four to six inches of rain. The storm could shut down every airport in the vicinity until dawn.”

Alex squinted to read the flight instruments. “You got any more juice left in this bird?”

“We’re pushing 500 knots and that’s with a headwind.”

“My Charger goes faster than that.”

“I can get you another fifty knots. Any more than that and we’ll be landing on fumes.”

“Step on it.”