Predator One by Jonathan Maberry
“Don’t sugarcoat it, Top,” said Bunny.
“Guy’s an asshole. Always was.”
“Yeah, okay, fair enough. Play the rest, Boss.”
I played the rest.
“I am in Washington State. I’m using a stolen phone. I had to kill someone to get it. I stole some money, too, and a pickup truck. I’m going to find a store where I can buy some burners. Track this phone if you know how to do that. I’m not taking it with me, but it will get the DMS into this area. I’ll call again once I find a burner, and then they can come find me. I’ll call this same number.”
“Doctor, tell me where you are,” said the CIA handler. “We can—”
“You can’t do shit. You guys were supposed to be protecting me in Israel, and look what happened. The Seven Kings came in and took me anyway. Fuck you. I want the DMS. I want Colonel Riggs or Captain Ledger.”
“Doesn’t know Riggs is dead,” said Bunny. “He’s been out of touch.”
The CIA handler kept trying to work his way into the scientist’s confidence. “Doctor, believe me, we can keep you safe. Let us know where to find you and—”
“Hey, moron, are you listening to me?” snapped Davidovich. “I’m not telling you squat. I’ll tell the DMS where I am. For now, all I want you clowns to do is track this phone. I’m not going to give any specific locations. You have to track me, and you have to get in touch with the DMS. Use the GPX-11 cellular satellite system and triangulate my call between that and ground cell towers. Even you should be able to find where I’m leaving this phone.”
The handler tried, but there was no more from Davidovich. After a few minutes, it was clear the scientist had simply abandoned the phone without hanging it up.
I called the CIA handler and grilled him pretty thoroughly. Even with an executive order, he was reluctant to turn over the case. I insisted. I’m good at insisting. I also had Nikki take control of the number Davidovich had used, and now it was routed directly to us, closing the Agency out completely. There would probably be a sternly written memo. Fine. I can always use fresh toilet paper.
The GPX-11 satellite Davidovich mentioned was another DARPA Tinkertoy. Specifically for ultrafast tracking of cell phones. Davidovich was using burners, though, and that complicated things. Burners were cheap, disposable cell phones that came preloaded with minutes. No plan or contract needed. They are the go-to phone for everyone from drug dealers to global terrorists. Very efficient, but a bitch to trace. I told Nikki to do her best.
I called Church and went over it with him, but he had nothing new to add to my game plan because the plan was simple. Get to Washington and wait for Davidovich to call again. Church took my call while aboard his own plane, which was about to touch down in LA, where he would transfer to Air Force One.
“How’s the political shitstorm?” I asked.
“Raging,” said Church, and he disconnected.
Our plane was nearly to the airfield in Seattle when Nikki called me.
“Cowboy, we have Doctor Detroit on the line again. New number. A burner. Routing it to you now.”
“I’m in a stolen pickup, heading north toward Seattle,” said a familiar voice. “Did you idiots get in touch with the DMS yet?”
“Doctor,” I said, “this is the DMS. We are attempting to locate you now.”
“Who is this?” Davidovich demanded.
“We don’t use names on an open line,” I reminded him.
“Christ, is this Joe Ledger? Holy fuck, it is you.”
“Nice use of protocol, doc,” I said. “Proves you’re smart. Now be smarter and tell me where you are.”
“Oh, bite me, Ledger. Like I give a shit about protocol? Where was the protocol when I was taken and—?”
“Really, doc? Now’s the time for that conversation? How about you tell me where you are so me and a whole bunch of very scary guys with guns can come and rescue you? Sound like a plan?”
“All right, all right. Let me see. There’s a road sign up ahead. I’m on Route Five, heading north. Just saw a sign for Edgewood.”
Bunny had a map out and said, “West of Tacoma. Route Five turns north and runs all the way up. We’re less than an hour from him.”
“Doc,” I said, “we can get to you in less than an hour.”
“Oh … wait,” said Davidovich.
“What’s wrong?”
“That SUV behind me. I’ve seen it before. A couple of times now. God. I think they found me.”
“Keep driving,” I ordered. “Don’t stop for anyone. Run red lights if you have to, but don’t take any unnecessary risks. We’re going to find you, and we will keep you safe.”
“Listen, Ledger,” he said, “you don’t know what’s happening. You may think you do, but you don’t, and you need to. Those maniacs on the island are totally batshit crazy. I’m not joking. I can help you stop what’s coming. But you have to help me first. You need to get me out of this, you understand? And you need to get people to my son. You need to protect Matthew.”
“We can do that, but—”
“No. You do that right now. You make sure he’s safe. My mother, too. I’m not going to tell you a thing until you can prove to me they’re safe. What’s the expression? Proof of life? Get them into protective custody, and then I will tell you everything. Screw it up, and this whole world is going to catch fire and burn. Think I’m joking?”
Top signaled to me that he was on it, and I heard him speaking to someone at the tactical operations center in Brooklyn.
“No, doc,” I said, “I really don’t think you’re joking. Neither am I. We’re sending teams right now to take your family into protective custody. My people, not the FBI or anyone else. I know you trust us. We’ll protect them, but we don’t have time to play games here. People are dying. Tell me what’s going on and—”
That’s where the call ended. There was no sound, no gunshot or anything. Just a drop-off.
The call was gone.
Chapter One Hundred and Eleven
In Flight
April 1, 9:58 A.M. Pacific Standard Time
“Jesus jumped-up Christ in a motor-driven sidecar,” I snarled as I jabbed my earbud for a line to the Hangar. “Nikki, please tell me you tracked that call.”
“No, there wasn’t time. We’re working on it.”
Then she was gone.
“What happened to Davidovich?” asked Brian. “He playing games with us?”
“There’s a game,” I said, “but he’s not running it.”
Bunny nodded. “The Kingsmen could have tracked his call, too. If he just escaped from them, they’re closer. They might even have a tracker on him. Don’t know. But maybe they worked a car stop or ran him off the road.”
“You mean killed him?” asked Brian.
“Maybe,” I said. “Maybe not. We lost the call, but it doesn’t mean he’s dead.”
“Hope your angels are listening to you, Boss,” said Brian, “because we could use a damn break right about now.”
While we waited for more, I made calls to scramble Odin and Java Teams out of Seattle and told them to get onto the road heading south in unmarked cars.
The Hercules pilot bing-bonged to tell us we were on final approach.
“If Davidovich is still on Route Five,” I said, tapping the route on the map, “then we might be able to catch him between us and the Seattle teams.”
“We don’t know how many Kingsmen are out there,” said Bunny.
“I don’t fucking care,” I said. “There won’t be enough.”
“Hooah,” he said, and bumped fists with Brian. They seemed happy about the likelihood of an impending firefight.
Top ended his call. “Okay, Cap’n, we’ve got three four-man teams on pickup duty. Wife, mother, and son. Local law’s running backup. Cars and helos. Anyone looks funny at the doc’s family, they’re going to get their dicks handed to them in Ziploc bags. All three will be taken to a secure location for assessment and then flown to the Pier.”
Suddenly Nikki was shouting in my ear. “Cowboy, he’s back. He’s on the line.”
“Christ, kid, put him through.”
Just as the wheels thumped down, there was a click, and suddenly I heard the nasal voice of Aaron Davidovich in my ear.
“—another burner … they … oh, God…”
The call was nearly drowned by static, and Davidovich’s voice was thick and nearly unintelligible.
“Doc, what’s happening?” I yelled. “Are you injured—?”
“… oh, Jesus … I can’t stop it … can’t find the bleeder…”
After that, nothing but static.
But it was the static of an open line.
“Nikki,” I said, “tell me something I want to hear.”
“The call’s still going,” she said. “I think he dropped the phone.”
I heard Bunny whisper. “Did he fucking die on us?”
The plane stopped rolling.
“What’s happening with the trace?” I asked.
Nikki said, “We’re closing in. Looks like it’s north of you. I’ll send you the location as soon as we complete the trace.”
Top spun around, and in a leather-throated voice bellowed at the flight crew. “Offload this vehicle. Do it right goddamn now.”
They did it right goddamn then.
We scrambled into Ugly Betty, and Bunny hit the gas. Despite the car’s size and weight, Mike Harnick hadn’t lied about its power. The machine leaped forward and continued to accelerate. The needle was tapping ninety-five when Nikki came back on the line.
“Got it, Cowboy. Twenty-nine point four miles north. Signal is moving. It’s on Highway Eighteen heading northwest.”
“On Eighteen? Confirm?”
Brian found it on the map. “Eighteen spurs off from Route Five and cuts inland past Tiger Mountain State Forest toward North Bend and Snoqualmie.”
“The signal’s stopped moving,” said Nikki.
“What’s happening?” I asked.
“Signal’s steady but—no, wait. Yes, confirmed the signal is heading southeast again. Looks like he’s heading back to the Five.”
“Get me a satellite, damn it.”
“No satellites in range, Cowboy.”
“Find me one.”
“Proceed south on the Five,” she said. “If you hurry, you might reach where it intersects with Eighteen before he does.”
“You heard the woman, Farm Boy,” said Top. “Stop driving like my Aunt Gertie.”
“Your Aunt Gertie’s dead,” said Bunny.
“Exactly my point.”
The Escalade roared down the road.
“Cowboy,” said Nikki, “Java Team has a drone in the air, and we’re waiting on a picture.”
“Gosh,” said Bunny. “A drone. How lovely.”
“At least it’s one of ours,” said Brian. “Got to be some irony in that.”
“Fuck irony.”
Nikki said, “Okay, Cowboy, we have the feed. Sending live feed to your computer now.”
Top, Brian, and I bent over my screen. The gray-tone image from the drone painted a bull’s-eye on what looked like a landscaper’s pickup truck hauling ass along Route 18. There were two black SUVs with it, one behind and one in front, maintaining the exact same distance from the pickup truck.
“What are you seeing?” asked Bunny as he weaved in and out of traffic.
“Classic pickup,” said Top. “I think our boy’s in the center vehicle, lead and follow cars have his truck boxed. Looks like they grabbed him and are taking him and the truck he stole.”
“Nikki, does our drone have thermals?”
“Switching to thermal scan,” she confirmed.
The lead SUV had four glowing dots; the follow car had five. The pickup had three.
“Count fourteen signatures,” said Nikki. “Maybe thirteen hostiles and Doctor Detroit.”
“Copy that,” I said. “How many assets do we have from Java?”
“Four agents in two cars. Sending a detail map.”
My screen changed to show a map of the area. The three cars in the convoy were assigned green lights. Java and Echo Teams were yellow. We were all heading toward each other at high speeds.
“Thirteen to eight,” said Brian. “Pretty good odds.”
“Not for them,” said Bunny.
“Thirteen to nine,” said Top, scratching Ghost between the shoulder blades. Ghost showed his titanium teeth.
Brian grinned. “Almost doesn’t seem fair.”
“Don’t get cocky, kid,” I said in a fair approximation of Han Solo. At least I thought so.
“Call the rules, Cap’n,” said Top as he began a final weapons check.
“Priority one is to retrieve Davidovich alive,” I told them. “I need to ask that son of a bitch a few thousand very important questions. After that, try to bag some bad guys while they still have a pulse so we can get some idea of what the hell these ass-clowns are up to. But don’t take risks. We all go in, we all come out. Capisce?”
“Hooah,” they said.
Bunny crunched down on the gas pedal.
“Any ideas what the ‘big thing’ is that these Kings guys are about to throw at us?” asked Bunny. “So far, this shit is already pretty frigging big. Not sure I want to know how much bigger they want to take it. But … not knowing makes my nuts want to crawl up inside my chest cavity and hide.”
Top grunted. “And all this time I didn’t think they’d dropped yet.”
“Blow me.”
“Point taken.”
I said, “We don’t know, but it more or less corroborates what the shooter at the hospital said. ‘Say good-bye to your world.’”
Brian shook his head. “Seriously, where do they get this stuff? I mean, is there a class these goons take to learn how to drop cryptic messages while they’re bleeding out? Are they trying to die as clichés?”
“Apparently they are,” I said, “but that doesn’t change the fact that we should probably be scared out of our bloomers. The pattern Top, Bunny, and I came up with on the flight from Philly suggests that the Kings have been testing their systems and their efficiency. The nature of those tests did not, as far as we could see, jibe with the kind of attack they launched at the ballpark. That actually might have been either a last test or an opening salvo.”
“Yeah, but what’s the main attraction?”
“Let’s hope we can grab Davidovich before we have to find out.”
Brian nodded. While we talked it out, he reached over to pet Ghost. Brian had only been out on two jobs with us, and Ghost hadn’t been part of either.
“Wouldn’t do that, son,” warned Top.
“It’s okay,” said Brian, “I’m a dog person.”
Ghost wrinkled his muzzle in what was clearly not a smile.
“He’s not a people person,” explained Top.
“And he had a bad day yesterday,” I said. “But, hey, if you can shoot a gun with no fingers … by all means.”
“Taking it back,” Brian said, withdrawing his hand and smiling at my dog. Ghost continued to show his teeth. “Nice doggie.”
“No,” said Bunny, “not really.”
Chapter One Hundred and Twelve
Los Angeles International Airport
April 1, 11:32 A.M.
Air Force One taxied to the runway. Although the plane did not usually fly with fighter jets in escort, the current situation required a military presence. A pair of F-18s were already in the air, circling the airport to fly close support. Like Air Force One, the F-18s had been retrofitted to replace Regis with the safer Solomon program.
Church found this significant but did not comment on it to the president. A better moment for that kind of observation would likely present itself.
Church and Linden Brierly sat with the president in the onboard conference room as the plane lifted off. The commander in chief looked worn and much older than his years. He had his jacket off,
“God, this is a nightmare,” said the president.
“We’ll get it sorted out, sir,” said Alice Houston, and Brierly gave a tight-lipped nod. The look in his eyes told a different story.
POTUS nodded but cut a look at Church. “You’re unusually silent, Deacon. Hope there are no hard feelings about how I ended the conference call earlier.”
Mr. Church offered a faint, bland smile. “You are the president. I work for you.”
That put a slight frown on the president’s mouth. As intended.
Brierly cleared his throat, but he said nothing.
“Tell me, Deacon,” said the president, “how confident are you that we’ll get in front of this? Brierly seems to think you do magic. Is he right, or is he just stroking my political fur?”
Church shrugged. “Do you want a straight answer or a political one?”
Brierly turned away to hide a wince. Houston’s face became a slab of wood. Even the generals in the jet’s conference room seemed to wilt into the background.
The president leaned back and considered Church. “You really don’t give a damn about me or my office, do you?”
“My first concern is doing my job, Mr. President. All other concerns are of less importance to me.”
“Damn, you aren’t afraid of shooting from the hip, are you?”
Church said nothing.
The room was silent for several heavy seconds.
“You really think this is the Seven Kings manipulating Regis?” asked the president.
“It is the leading theory,” said Church. “No other scenario holds as much water.”
“What if you’re wrong?”
“Then I’m wrong. Fire me if it suits your needs.”
The president’s face flushed red, and he clearly had to bite down on something he wanted to say. Another few moments dragged by. The others in the conference room wore expressions like they were holding their breaths.
“You’re not going to let me off the hook on this,” said the president. “Are you?”
“I was not aware, sir, that you asked me aboard to massage your feelings. Perhaps I should be sitting back with the press corps.”