Agent Baker gave another joyful whoop, albeit a somewhat subdued one, as he was in AD Morgan’s presence.
“How are we getting there, sir?” asked Agent Klipper.
“Oh, I don’t think all of you need to go,” Morgan pointed out.
At this news, Agent Baker’s face fell like a little boy denied pre-dinner cookies.
The assistant director thought for a moment. Muttering, “One and a half ought to cover it,” Morgan studied the agents in the room.
Ann didn’t know if she liked his tone.
“Baker?” Morgan asked.
“Yes, sir,” said the young agent. His head snapped up as hope glimmered in his eyes.
“You’re traveling with them,” he said pointing to Ann and Patrick. “Agent Duncan has seniority, but I want you to mind them both, Baker.”
“Yes, sir!” George repeated enthusiastically, eager to participate in the raid.
***
Parker’s Base of Operations
New York City, New York
Ann was grateful they had caught a flight from Regan National up to LaGuardia. The thought of a five-plus hour car ride trapped with Agent Baker hadn’t exactly thrilled her. Though only a few years younger, Baker possessed the temperament of a small child.
Did he have to send Baker? Ann would have been much happier being stuck with Agent Vice. At least Vice wouldn’t make me feel like I’m babysitting.
Her partner gave her a knowing smile. His eyes laughed at her thoughts. It was comforting to know he understood.
“SWAT guys go in first. We’re just here as spectators,” Ann reminded.
“Yes, Mother,” Baker said brightly, face pressed against the window for a better view of the city.
Rolling her eyes, Ann shot a quick prayer heavenward. Lord, protect us today. She couldn’t shake the foreboding feeling that made her stomach uneasy.
“We’re here,” said Patrick. He helped her from the taxi.
“Thank you,” said Ann, happy to stretch her long legs and not be squished between the two men. She had traded her pumps for comfortable flats that were more raid-friendly.
An hour later most of the excitement was over, the SWAT teams had broken down doors and scared the senses out of about thirty young people, most of whom loudly proclaimed their innocence. Backup trucks were called so the prisoners could be hauled away to temporary homes courtesy of the NYPD. Only after a careful sweep did the police let the three FBI agents tour the facilities.
Agent Baker stopped in the main computer room and started admiring each of the fine toys therein. Agents Duncan and Davidson exchanged knowing glances and left Baker alone, sure he wouldn’t miss them at all.
The sprawling ten-story building made a lovely hideout. It covered most of a whole block. One section still had a decrepit pool. An exercise room had been refurbished, and the new equipment still shone with manufacturing polish. The top five floors were abandoned, but the other floors were divided into small apartments. There was a cafeteria, kitchen, laundry room, generator room, and even an entertainment room complete with three pool tables.
Ann and Patrick separated to search the third floor. After about ten minutes, Ann looked for her partner so they could return to the main entrance. “Patrick?” she called. “Agent Duncan?” She got a funny feeling, and her left hand crept toward her gun. Willing her nerves to be still, Ann drew the weapon. Its coolness and weight reassured her.
After searching several more rooms, she returned to the second floor. “Patrick?” Ann called again before lapsing into uneasy silence. Turning a corner, she saw a body lying on the floor, visible by dim light. Her breath caught in her throat.
Patrick!
The creepy feeling returned full force. Someone was watching. Before she could move, the cold muzzle of a gun lightly tapped the back of her neck. Chills raced up and down her spine, and her mouth suddenly went dry.
I’m dead, Ann thought dully, surprised that the thought didn’t upset her more. She wanted to curse herself for falling into the trap, but her mind went blank. Luckily, breathing’s an ingrained thing.
“Agent Davidson, I need to talk to you,” said the man with the gun.
Ann briefly considered spinning to face him but didn’t relish being shot in the neck at point-blank range. She briefly bit her bottom lip, and said, “I can safely say you have my full attention, sir.”
“Put your gun in your right hand and slowly pass it to me over your shoulder.”
Easy on the trigger, easy on the trigger.
Having no choice, Ann followed the directives. Her empty hands fell uneasily at her sides. Strangely, she found the fact that the gun wasn’t wavering comforting.
“I need you to save Rachel for me,” the man whispered. “My family is being held in South Dakota.”
“Dr. Collins?”
“Yes. You’ve got to trust me. Take this photo. There are coordinates on the back.” His voice was low and urgent.
Something slipped into Ann’s left hand. She held it tightly but didn’t dare look at it.
“Convince the Bureau to take out this compound, but be careful. There are a lot of potential hostages there, including my wife and children. There’s an Alabama address on the back as well. Have someone watch the lady at that address.”
“How can I trust you?” Ann asked.
“You have access to fancy computers. Use them. Check the satellite feeds. The man you want is a small-time smuggler who switched gears. If you want more information, look up the names Jonathan Parker and Paul Morton in the army database. You won’t find anything until you call Fort Drum and have them do a manual search.” Dr. Collins was quiet for a moment.
Ann held her breath.
“I’m a hacker, Agent Davidson. I wanted out of that life, but an old friend forced me back in. Save my family, and I promise I’ll fix the bank accounts.”
Ann’s head spun from all the information being spat at her. She feared her mind would suddenly blank on everything.
Dr. Collins shook her left shoulder, and the gun lost contact with her neck for a second before gently bouncing back into position. “Do you understand?”
Inhaling a steadying breath, Ann said, “Yes. Get people to South Dakota to rescue Rachel, the kids, and the other hostages, check satellite feeds for smugglers, send someone to Alabama, and search Fort Drum’s records.”
“Correct. Tell only people you trust implicitly. Now, I hope you have a good memory, and I’m sorry.”
Ann felt fingers close on pressure points in her neck.
Upon awakening, she found the photo and an unloaded handgun inches from her face. She was surprised to find her own gun already in its holster. She picked up the other gun, popped the magazine back into place, and hastily tucked the satellite photo into her knee-high sock, just behind her left calf. Dr. Collins had trusted her enough to leave the evidence, and she was going to make sure that it got put to good use.
Minutes later, Ann entered the computer lab where she and Patrick had left Agent Baker. Oh, we’re a lovely lot, she thought.
Looking paler than usual, Patrick absently rubbed at his neck. Agent Baker held an ice pack over the right side of his head. His tie was askew, and he looked decidedly grouchy. Ann didn’t know much about Chris Collins, but she admired his skill at rendering people unconscious. She let a small smile play across her face.
“What are you so happy about?” snapped Baker.
“We’re alive,” she replied pleasantly. “A fact I very much doubted a half-hour ago.”
“What happened?” Patrick asked, staring hard at Ann.
She handed Patrick his gun and gave him a look that said: I’ll explain everything later.
***
Ann’s Apartment
Alexandria, Virginia
By the time they were back in the D.C. area, the regular work day had long since expired. Ann casually asked Patrick to join her for dinner. With a knowing nod, he accepted, and they managed to ditch Agent
Baker.
Safely tucked in her apartment, Ann peeled the photo away from her suffering lower leg. “Do you have any idea how uncomfortable a photo can be if it’s stuck in a knee-high sock for more than five minutes?”
From Patrick’s expression, he clearly didn’t know how to answer her.
Waking from a nap, Danny realized people were home and let loose a string of excited barks.
“Umm, I’m not sure,” Patrick said awkwardly over the din.
Men! They have no idea.
Patrick’s deep blue eyes widened when she handed him the satellite photo, but before he could get a good look she snatched it back.
“Hey!”
“Sorry, I didn’t get to look at it,” said Ann, turning the photo so they could examine the picture together. It showed a rectangular compound with several tiny figures holding guns. Three white trucks in the center of the picture looked like they were being loaded or unloaded. “Smugglers,” she murmured.
“What?”
“First, I want to hear your story. Then, I’ll tell you mine.” Ann walked to the kitchen, hopped the dog gate, and began refrigerator rummaging. “Make yourself comfortable.”
“Uh, dog,” Patrick said hesitantly.
Ann looked at Patrick, noted his expression, and followed his finger to the corner where Danny had dashed after greeting her. She made a face. “Yeah, um, just watch where you step when you come in,” she said, gathering paper towels to sop up the spreading yellow pool appearing beneath her dog. “Sometimes, he gets a little excited.” The paper towel wad in her hand soaked through and she had to get more. “And sometimes he gets a lot excited.”
“I see.” Patrick entered carefully, settled himself at the tiny table, and studied the photo.
After disposing of the dirty paper towels, Ann washed her hands and continued her quest for dinner fixings. “Hmmm, not much here.” She closed the refrigerator, crossed her arms, and leaned back against it. “What do you feel like tonight? There’s macaroni and cheese, hot dogs, questionable leftovers, or I can order a pizza or something.”
“Questionable leftovers?” Patrick asked dubiously.
“Not recommended. I’d hate to see the headline ‘Agent kills partner with rotten tofu.’ ”
Patrick made a gagging noise. “You eat that stuff?” he asked, scrunching his face.
She laughed. “Why do you think it’s rotting?”
“Always knew you were a smart woman,” Patrick commented. He turned the photo over. “There’s something written here.”
“Pizza it is,” Ann said cheerfully, not wanting to explain just yet. “What would you like on it?”
“Anchovies and mushrooms, please.”
They’d been partners long enough for her to know the answer, but she figured there was always the odd chance that his pizza preference would someday resemble a sane person’s. It was Ann’s turn to make a grossed-out face. She called the local pizzeria and ordered a large pie with half anchovies and mushrooms and half pepperoni. “It’ll be about a half-hour; their ‘twenty minutes’ always are,” she reported, returning her cell phone to its home at her waist.
“Good, because you have a whole lot of explaining to do,” Patrick said, nodding to a chair.
“Would you like something to drink?”
“Water.”
Ann filled two glasses with filtered water. She had expected as much. Her partner was strange. He always asked for plain water without ice or lemon or anything.
“You first,” Ann insisted, handing him a glass. “It will be much quicker anyway.”
“Someone snuck up behind me and knocked me out.”
Short and to the point; can’t complain about that.
“You don’t have anything else to add to that?”
“Nope.” Patrick glanced at the address on the photograph. “You going to explain this?” he asked, holding up the photo.
“My story starts and ends much the same as yours, but there’s a whole lot of in between,” Ann said, feeling Patrick’s analytical eyes studying her expressions. “Dr. Collins was the man who jumped us, only that’s not his real name. He pulled your gun on me, and we had a nice chat. He gave four instructions. One, we need to check the satellite feed at those coordinates,” she said waving to the photo. “Two, we need to rescue Rachel, the two kids, and a bunch of other hostages from some place in South Dakota. Three, we need to protect a woman in Alabama. Four, if we doubt him, we should call Fort Drum and get the records for Jonathan Parker and Paul Morton.”
“Tall order.”
“ ‘Tall’ doesn’t even begin to cover it,” Ann said flatly.
They sat in moody silence, each lost in thought.
“Do you trust him?” Patrick asked at last.
Ann hesitated for a split-second. “I have no reason not to trust him, but we need to move fast.”
“That instinct talk or head talk?”
“Both. Logic and instinct both tell me he’s trustworthy but not the patient sort. I’m curious about him. He even promised to fix the bank accounts if we can save his family. That’s quite a guarantee. Tomorrow, I want to check out the names he gave us.”
“Anything else?”
Ann nodded. “At the airport, I asked Brad to check out all the Dr. Christopher Collins he could find. There are five in the U.S. and three in the UK. Of the U.S. names, one’s retired and lives in Hawaii, two live somewhere on the west coast, the fourth’s our boy, and the fifth lives in Mississippi. The strange thing is that there are no medical school records for Christopher Collins number four.”
“Interesting.”
“Very. I talked to his co-workers at the hospital, and they all say he’s a wonderful doctor.”
“I don’t think he could fake it.”
“I don’t either,” Ann agreed. She finished her glass of water, fed Danny a belated dinner, and rummaged about in her cupboards for table setting things. Catching Patrick’s amused look, she asked, “What?”
He gestured to the knives and forks in her hands.
“Oh.” She traded the silverware and dinner plates for paper plates and extra napkins.
“Maybe he has the license under a different name.”
The suggestion made perfect sense to Ann. “That’s it! Patrick, you’re a genius. I’ll bet it’s either Paul Morton or Jonathan Parker.”
Patrick nodded solemn agreement.
They traded theories about how exactly the two cases fit together until the apartment’s buzzer rang.
“Ah, dinner. Be right back.” Ann grabbed her purse, left her apartment, flew down the flight of stairs, and opened the front door with a smile.
“That’s $18.50,” said the freckle-faced pizza guy.
Thanking the pizza delivery boy, Ann handed him $23.00.
“Oh, and a man said you’d give me an extra twenty dollars if I gave you this,” the kid said, holding up a white envelope.
Ann narrowed her eyes at the boy and frowned. “What did the man look like?”
The youth smiled, showing his braces. “He said you’d ask that and told me to tell you to quit being suspicious and take the darn message.” The kid seemed to enjoy his messenger job.
“Didn’t your mother ever tell you to avoid strangers,” Ann muttered, searching her purse for the extra money.
Highway robbery.
The boy made no comment but grinned again, knowing she was going to give him twenty dollars for the letter.
Holding a piping hot pizza in one hand, purse in the other, and a plain, business-sized envelope clenched between her teeth, Ann returned to her apartment. Before she reached the door, it swung open and she nearly crashed into her partner. She gave a muffled cry of alarm as Patrick grabbed her arm and hauled her back into the apartment so she wouldn’t take the stairs head-first.
He wore a sheepish grin and held his Glock 22 in his right hand. “Whoa! Sorry about that.”
Ann steadied herself with Patrick’s help. Thankfully, Danny
was asleep and couldn’t add excitement to her life. She stood in the sitting room with her hands and mouth full, looking dazed.
Patrick closed the door. Chuckling, he returned the handgun to his shoulder holster.
Ann spat the envelope at him, and he caught it deftly. “What’s with scaring the heck out of me?” she demanded with mock crossness. She smiled to counter the tone.
“What else are partners for? Besides, you made me nervous by not coming back right away. What’s this?” He let the slightly damp envelope dangle between his thumb and forefinger.
“Bonus,” Ann said, climbing the kitchen hurdle and lifting the pizza high so she wouldn’t drop it.
Full attention on the mysterious envelope, Patrick forgot all about the dog gate. He tripped and went sprawling. The noise of his ungraceful entrance woke Danny who barked like he needed to scare off an invading army.
Ann assumed Patrick was all right because he rolled to his knees in front of the refrigerator. She moved to soothe Danny.
“I’m fine,” Patrick said dryly.
“You’re lucky your gun didn’t discharge,” Ann pointed out.
“Spent so much time resting today, I figured I could do with a little exercise.”
“Oh, I think you’ve had enough excitement for one day,” she commented. She kissed Danny lightly on the head then looked at Patrick.
The questioning slant of his eyebrows, told Ann he couldn’t decide who she was talking to so she smiled to let him know the comment had been meant for him.
Patrick just stared.
Ann blushed before saying, “Wash your hands before eating. You know what’s been all over this floor.” She tried not to laugh but knew her eyes were betraying the sentiment.
They had a relatively peaceful meal. Ann ate the two pepperoni pieces that hadn’t come remotely close to touching the mushrooms or anchovies. She even cut off the tips of her slices and gave them to Patrick.
“They’re that bad, huh.”
“Yup. Fungus and fish don’t belong on pizza.”
When they were finished, Patrick eyed the envelope. “So, are you going to open it?”
“Sure. Paid good money for it,” Ann said lightly. She plucked the envelope off the table and ripped it open. “ ‘Please hurry. Events are in motion for Rachel and the kids to escape on Monday night.’ ” Grim awareness of the danger replaced Ann’s jovial mood.