It will come back to you. It’s just like riding a bike.
Beating the shit out of people. Riding a bike. No difference there.
Then one of the assholes turned his back on the other and began to stroll toward the other side of the loading dock door.
Yes!
For a moment, Gabe worried the guy would stop or turn back, but he kept going, looking back over his shoulder as if to see whether the other one was watching him. Then he pulled something from his pocket that he didn’t seem to want his buddy to see—a small container of white powder.
Cocaine.
Gabe saw his chance.
He waited for the cokehead to snort, then dropped silently onto the man below.
His feet came down on the man’s shoulders, driving him face-first into the concrete, knocking the rifle from his hands. Gabe fell forward, rolled, then leaped to his feet and grabbed for the weapon. His hands closed around it, the steel cold. He raised it, worked the bolt, then turned it toward the cokehead, who was fumbling with his rifle, his panic and the rush of the drug making him clumsy.
Gabe fired a double tap, the blast deafening in the enclosed space. Then he turned the weapon on the man he’d jumped, only to discover that the son of a bitch was out cold. He pressed the barrel of the rifle to the man’s head, finger on the trigger.
Why was he hesitating?
Do it! Do. It.
He lowered the rifle.
It was one thing to kill a man who was about to open fire on him. It was something else entirely to kill someone who was unconscious.
Gabe hooked the AK strap over his shoulder, bent down, and searched the man, taking his cell phone, wallet, and a sweet little switchblade. Then he stripped him down to his underwear and dragged him toward the side door. He shoved the bastard out into the cold of the dark alley. “You can thank me later.”
He left the door ajar and pressed the button to raise the loading dock door. Then he took the bastard’s cell phone and dialed 911. “I’m calling from inside the Palace Hotel. Put me through to Police Chief Irving.”
* * *
20:30
“There’s an old woman who says she is diabetic and needs insulin. Also, there is a pregnant woman lying down in the back corner who seems to be having trouble. There are many who say they need to use the toilet and—”
“¡Cállate!” Pepe cut Andrés off, anger making his face burn. No commander should have to deal with this kind of petty bullshit. He lowered his voice, speaking in Spanish. “You and Santiago see to it that people are taken to the toilets, but keep a close eye on them all. If anyone escapes, it will be on your head.”
“What about the diabetic and the pregnant—”
“I don’t give a damn about them.” He dismissed Andrés and turned his attention back to the bitch who was to blame for all of this.
“I can make the call, but it’s not going to do you any good.” Holmes sounded calm, but there were beads of sweat on her forehead. “This is a nation of laws, sir. Your cousin broke the plea agreement himself. He was convicted by a jury and sentenced to prison in a court of law. I simply don’t have the authority to set him free.”
Pepe leaned in, looked into her lying eyes. “You are the reason he rots in prison! You will free him, or you will watch everyone here die before I kill you myself!”
Rage flowed through him like rum, the rush sweet and warm.
“Oh, just make the call!” said the pretty little slut. “You’re going to make him angry, and he’ll start hurting people.”
Pepe turned to stare at her, amused that she would speak so boldly to a government official. She was too stupid even to know her place. He found himself chuckling. “What is your name again?”
She looked up at him through those big eyes, not so bold now that she had his attention. “Holly.”
He let his gaze travel over her, wishing he could get five minutes alone with her. Ay, carajo, she was beautiful! That mouth. Those tits. He’d fuck her so hard she wouldn’t be able to walk afterward, and he would enjoy it.
And if she didn’t want him?
He would enjoy it even more.
Pepe met Holmes’ gaze. “This little slut is smarter than you are. You would be wise to listen to her.”
“I’m not a slut. I told you.”
Secretary Holmes’ eyes flashed, and she glared at the whore. “Do you really think that will do us any good?”
Pepe found her response strange. It wasn’t her words so much as the way she said them—as if she expected the whore to have an answer that mattered.
His cell phone buzzed.
A message from Camilo.
I caught them smoking marimba. Told them I’d shoot them myself if they didn’t get the job done. All is well up here now.
Relief that the machine gun was in place warred with his rage at Luis for defying his command not to use drugs during the operation.
He texted back.
Tell Luis I will make him eat his own balls if they disappoint me again. Get your ass back down here. Send Yeison and his team to take over for Luis. Have Luis and the others go below to clear their heads.
He pocketed his mobile phone, a vision of those lips wrapped around his cock sending a rush of blood to his groin.
Tavo ran up to him. “Jefe, that fat man over there says he thinks he’s having a heart attack. He says—”
“¡Malparidos!” Pepe momentarily forgot about the slut, grabbed his AK, and fired it at the ceiling, anger filling him with vigor. “The next person to complain to one of my men that his head hurts or he has a stomach ache or he is not feeling so well is going to get shot. Do you understand?”
“Come.” He grabbed the slut’s wrist, drew her to her feet, pulled her after him toward the door.
“Wh-where are we going?”
She couldn’t be that stupid.
“This is a hotel, no? We’re getting a room.”
“I’ll make the call!”
Pepe stopped, turned to find Sheridan walking toward him.
“I’ll make the call,” Sheridan repeated. “Secretary Holmes might not be able to secure your cousin’s release, but I can.”
* * *
20:35
Sophie stood rooted to the spot, almost unable to breathe. She’d asked one of their captors to ask Moreno to release Kat, only to watch Moreno go berserk, shooting bullets into the ceiling, dragging Holly toward the door. Both Joaquin and Reece had jumped to their feet, Tom, Alex, and Matt, too, and Sophie had been certain someone was about to get shot. Then Reece had shouted out for Moreno.
Now he stood face to face with the bastard, who still held Holly by the wrist.
“How can you do something she cannot?”
“I’m the number two ranking official in the state.” Reece seemed so cool, not afraid at all. “That places me high in the chain of command over all state prisons. The men who run Supermax don’t report to the Secretary of State. They report to the governor—and to me.”
That was an outright lie. ADX was a federal facility. Reece had no authority over the facility or its staff.
Would Moreno understand that?
Then Sophie saw her.
Kara stood back in the crowd, her face bruised, fear in her eyes. She wasn’t afraid for herself, Sophie knew, but for Reece. He’d only done this to stop Moreno from hurting Holly. But if Moreno realized Reece was lying ...
God forbid.
Moreno released Holly, then gestured for Reece to sit at the table beside Secretary Holmes and handed him a cell phone. “If you can make this happen, then do it.”
Reece took the phone, dialed a number. “Armstrong, hey, it’s Lt. Gov. Sheridan. Are you following what’s happening at the Palace Hotel tonight?”
Armstrong was the director of the Department of Corrections. He had no authority or involvement over ADX either.
“Put it on speaker,” Moreno demanded.
Reece did as he was asked.
“Yes, I am, sir. Are you?
??”
“I am authorizing you to release Oscar Moreno Ortíz into the custody of the US Marshals Service for immediate transport from Supermax to the Palace Hotel via helicopter. Be certain he arrives well before midnight. Do you understand?”
Armstrong stammered for a moment. “Yes, sir.”
“I’m counting on you to make it happen.” Reece ended the call, handed the phone back to Moreno.
“I guess I’m glad I let you live,” the bastard said.
A quiet whimper caught Sophie’s attention.
Kat.
She walked back to the corner, found Kat breathing through another contraction, her face tight with pain. Sophie sat beside her, took her hand, wishing she could do more. She’d had two homebirths and knew how terribly painful unmedicated birth could be. But her births had been full-term, normal births, and she’d been safe in her own home with Marc beside her, not trapped in a hotel with terrorists.
When the contraction had passed, Kat opened her eyes. “I’m glad you didn’t push him. I don’t want you or anyone else to get shot.”
Sophie didn’t want that either. “I’m sorry.”
“They’re getting stronger. They’re right on top of each other.” Kat’s voice was calm, but there was fear in her eyes. “I haven’t felt the baby move for a while.”
“Drink.” Sophie handed her a bottle of water, tried to sound reassuring, remembering the things Marc had said to comfort her when she’d been in labor. “Just take them one at a time. Try to rest.”
Inside, she felt like screaming, rage and worry knotting in her stomach.
Damn it!
This wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. No woman should have to go through this. And if the baby really was breech or wasn’t ready for the world…
How far along did Kat say she was?
Thirty-five weeks.
That was early, but not terrifyingly scary early.
Where was the cavalry? Where was SWAT?
And, dear God, where is Marc?
She didn’t think he was dead. He hadn’t been found among the bodies Gabe and the others had carried out, or someone would have told her. She hoped he’d gotten out and was preparing to storm this place with his team, working out a plan to rescue them. Or maybe he was watching over them from the shadows.
Be careful, babe.
* * *
20:42
Marc sat next to the electric heater, soaking in the warmth and typing in the letters Darcangelo told him to type, his toes still pinched from the cold. At least his teeth were no longer chattering. “How do you spell ‘cocksucker’?”
“Dixon authorized us to make it seem like these guys were still alive. He didn’t say we could provoke them.”
“You sure know how to ruin a guy’s fun.”
But none of this was fun, Marc’s thoughts never leaving Sophie for a moment, never straying from the friends who were still in danger.
Now that he’d responded to Moreno’s latest message to that dead fucker Camilo, he went back to sifting through Camilo’s text messages, reading them over the phone to Darcangelo, who was writing them down and passing them on to the FBI.
“There’s a group SMS. It says, ‘El regalo de Navidad en el sótano está listo.’” Marc recognized some of the words because Darcangelo had translated them before. “That’s the fourth mention of a Christmas present in the basement. Someone needs to get down there and figure out what the hell they have waiting for us. My money says it’s explosives.”
“Yeah.” Darcangelo sounded distracted. “We just got word that Sheridan ordered officials at Supermax to release Oscar Moreno Ortíz.”
“He doesn’t have the authority to do that.”
“No, he doesn’t, but Dixon thinks it’s best if we act like he does. Sheridan isn’t an idiot. If he did this, he did it for a reason.”
For once, Marc agreed with Dixon.
Then Marc’s phone vibrated, and he saw that Darcangelo had sent him a text message via WhatsApp.
They’re almost there. Stay put. They’re going to clear the roof. They know where you are.
It was about fucking time.
“Are you going to fry for this?” Marc didn’t want that. Darcangelo was his best friend. He didn’t want to see him get sacked.
“We should disconnect, save your battery. Keep your head down.”
That wasn’t an answer. Then again, with Dixon and his FBI suits sitting nearby, Darcangelo probably couldn’t say much.
“Right. Will do.” Marc ended the call.
Light flooded the greenhouse, the whir of a helo’s rotors breaking up the silence as it came to a hover just north of the little greenhouse.
He pocketed the cell phones and got to his knees, hands behind his head, dark shapes dropping from the helo as four men fast-roped to the rooftop. He heard the tromp of boots, and the greenhouse door was thrown open, cold air flooding in.
A man in black wearing NVGs and carrying an M4A1 stepped inside. He lowered the weapon. “You can put your hands down now, Hunter.”
Andris.
He dropped a bag of gear in front of Marc. “I thought you might want this.”
“Glad you guys decided to show up.”
“We’d have been here sooner if not for FBI bullshit.”
Marc knew they had to work quickly. Even with the most advanced stealth technology, a helo sitting overhead was not quiet. The longer the bird was perched here, the greater the chance that someone inside would hear it.
He handed the cell phones over to Andris, who passed them on to someone else, then he stripped out of the dead guy’s jacket, telling Andris what he’d done with the Browning M2 and the RPG-7.
“You ought to take care of that graze.” Andris pointed. “It’s pretty deep.”
Marc touched his fingers to his side, saw that the wound was still oozing blood. “Got duct tape?”
“Always.” Andris dug through his gear and tossed Marc a roll.
Marc had just pasted a strip of tape over his skin, sealing the wound, when someone came up behind Andris.
“It looks like there was one hell of a firefight up here.” Derek Tower. “Clever idea—putting your shirt on a dead man.”
“Under the circumstances, I thought it looked better on him.”
By the time Marc was dressed and strapped, the helo was gone, the cell phones, M2 ammo and other ordinance with it, the night silent once more. He checked his rifle and reloaded the magazine for his SIG. “What’s the plan?”
9
Chapter Nine
20:45
Zach took a swig of coffee, listening while Irving briefed them on the latest.
“Two of my SWAT guys found the bastard exactly where Rossiter said we would. He was semi-conscious, so we haven’t gotten anything from him beyond his name. He’s on his way to University Hospital with a suspected skull fracture, a dislocated shoulder, and hypothermia.”
“What about Rossiter?” Dixon asked.
“No sign of him. He left the door to the loading dock wide open. We found a DB inside. No weapons. I assume Rossiter took them.”
“He threw the back door open and cleared the way,” Darcangelo said. “That sounds like an invitation.”
“Yeah, but it’s one we can’t accept—not yet.” Dixon clearly wasn’t happy. “Do you have any way to get in touch with Rossiter? He needs to stand down and leave the hotel before he gets himself or someone else killed.”
“I’ve tried calling the number he used when he called me, but he’s not answering,” Irving said.
Zach knew that it wouldn’t matter anyway. Rossiter wouldn’t leave the hotel as long as Kat was a hostage.
Dixon didn’t like it. “Now we’ve got six dead terrorists, one in the hospital, and a serious problem when Moreno finds out. How are we going to convince him that the FBI and SWAT aren’t behind all of this?”
As much as Zach hated to admit it, Dixon had a point. They needed to have some kind of response for the moment when More
no discovered he was short seven men. And yet, he couldn’t blame Hunter or Rossiter for doing what they’d done.
If Moreno had Natalie…
Zach couldn’t go there.
Darcangelo spoke up. “We could tell him that one of the hotel guests, who just happens to be an ex-cop or something, got away and that it has nothing to do with us. What we can’t do is identify either Hunter or Rossiter.”
That much was clear. Sophie and Kat would pay if Moreno could connect them to his dead and missing men.
Dixon frowned. “Moreno is smart. What’s to stop him from checking what we tell him against the hotel’s records? To pull that off, we’d need a name, a room number, maybe even background—something more than just our word.”
Dixon’s intel guy stood. “We could hack into the hotel system, plant a name, build cover through social media, and create an identity from the ground up.”
“Get started. I’ll see what HRT says when they get here, but that sounds like a plan.” Dixon turned to Zach. “Are you ready on your end?”
Zach nodded. “I’m leaving for the airport in a few minutes. I’ll fly down to Florence, borrow Oscar Moreno Ortíz from Supermax, give him some pretty clothes, and fly him toward Denver. Once we’re airborne, I’ll have him talk to his cousin and confirm that he’s free and on his way. Of course, we’ll take the scenic route and won’t make it to Denver. As soon as you give me the all-clear, we’ll turn the bird back toward Florence and lock Ortíz back in his cell.”
It was a risky plan, but Moreno hadn’t left them with a lot of options. They needed to buy time for HRT to do its thing, and if taking Ortíz for a little flight accomplished that, Zach was happy to help out. There was no chance that Ortíz could escape, not with a half-dozen deputy marshals on board.