Dead Drift

  “Well?” Declan said.

  “Thermal imaging shows at least a couple dozen warm bodies inside—all near the trucks on the back end of the warehouse.”

  Luke stood and moved for the fire escape, which was the fastest route to the ground.

  “Hang on,” Declan said. “With anthrax and possible plutonium in there, we can’t enter without hazmat gear. The full team and SWAT are on the way. We just have to wait. They have the gear we need.”

  “No time,” Luke said, proceeding to the fire escape.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Going in.”

  Declan shook his head. “It’s not safe.”

  Ignoring his friend’s warnings, Luke moved with gun in hand toward the northwest door, where no heat signatures had been detected. It appeared to be the safest way in, though, knowing Ebeid and Bedan, the warehouse was likely rigged with booby traps. Inhaling a strong, steadying breath and puffing it out, he picked the lock and opened the door as a shrill alarm sounded.

  They knew he was here.

  The alarm screamed overhead. Someone was inside the warehouse with them, and Khaled was certain it was Garrett Beck.

  He reached over, grabbed his laptop, and pulled up the security camera feed, only to confirm his suspicions.

  It had been almost seven years since he first saw that face—so like his son’s. Young, idyllic, believing in the country he was serving. How futile and pathetic. If Garrett Beck only knew the truth, if only Allah opened his eyes to true understanding and he could see how his country was using him, just like it had used his son, Matthew.

  Matthew Ladew was adopted days after his birth and his name changed to Matthew Sullivan. Caroline hadn’t even given Khaled the courtesy of gifting their son with his last name, though considering she’d never bothered to inform him that they’d had a son that wasn’t surprising.

  Matthew had grown up to serve as a U.S. Marine and had died shortly after graduating boot camp and being deployed to Afghanistan. Authorities had called it “friendly fire,” but Khaled doubted there was anything friendly about it. In his mind, someone must have discovered Khaled was his biological father and ordered someone to take out his son.

  Anger flared through his limbs, searing up through his lungs. He would not allow Garrett Beck or the country that had misused him and his son to stop his retribution. Matthew deserved better. It was why Khaled was in the United States, why he’d chosen Baltimore as his home base. After Caroline had given Matthew up for adoption, he’d been raised in Baltimore before joining the Marines.

  Bedan raced around the corner of Khaled’s office, sweat beading his brow. “Someone is here.”

  “It’s Garrett Beck.”

  Bedan swallowed. “But the shipments. Only one has left. The rest aren’t fully loaded yet.”

  “We’ll get them off. Don’t worry.”

  Khaled silenced and rearmed the alarm so it would sound again if anyone else entered the building.

  “How do we get out of here?” Bedan asked.

  “Go gather your things and meet me back here. Don’t worry. You’ll be well taken care of.” Just as his predecessor, Dr. Kemel, had been.

  No loose ends.

  Khaled loaded his gun, clicking the magazine into place. “I’ll take care of Beck myself.”

  Bedan nodded and rushed off.

  He actually believed him. Such a fool. A brilliant fool, though. He’d created his masterpiece. It was finally complete and working. Bedan’s role had been served. There was no further use for him.

  Khaled exhaled his wrath for Garrett Beck and stood, knowing the safeguards he’d put in place would buy him the time he needed to escape and for the other three trucks to set off for their destinations before Beck could stop them. He’d be too late, and it would cost him—and those he loved—their lives.

  Striding to the rear office door, he punched in the code, opened the door, switched on the tunnel lights, and closed the door behind him. Moving quickly through the drafty underground tunnel, he hurried his way to safety and his waiting vehicle.

  Luke carefully avoided the trip wire an inch inside the warehouse door. It was impressive that Ebeid had planned for unwanted visitors even at the secondary warehouse. Impressive, but sick.

  Luke shook his head. A trip wire? That was so cliché. He’d have thought men of Ebeid’s and Bedan’s brilliance—disturbingly applied as that intelligence may be—could have come up with something more innovative.

  He took another step in, realizing it had been rash and even a bit reckless for him not to wait to get properly suited up in hazmat gear, but as long as he didn’t enter the lab, he should be okay.

  “We’re in gear and moving in,” Declan said over Luke’s comm.

  Before Luke could respond, the alarm rang around him. It was odd working with a team. He’d always worked solo, or occasionally with a small tactical unit like the one Lauren had run. But certainly not on a full federal team like this.

  “Watch out for booby traps,” Luke said. “This place is seriously—”

  An explosion—small and contained, but unfortunately lethal for the agent who hadn’t heeded his instruction—sounded throughout the warehouse.

  “. . . rigged,” Luke finished his sentence.

  36

  He should have known there was a reason the heat signatures were all in one quadrant. He knew Ebeid too well to fall for the man’s trap, but he’d been acting on instinct and adrenaline. If he’d stopped to think it through . . .

  But it was too late now. At least they were in, and while losing an agent was awful, so far it had just been one casualty. Who knew how many would have been killed if they’d attempted to waltz in the warehouse front door. Knowing Ebeid, there was probably a rocket launcher aimed and ready for anyone foolish enough to try that approach. Ebeid was not a man to trifle with.

  Declan approached Luke from his six, and he turned to greet Declan, Tanner, and Tim Barrows, who were following close behind.

  “Ebeid knows we’re here. Let’s move.”

  According to Declan, SWAT now had the place surrounded. No more trucks could leave, but one had already gotten away. Now they needed to ensure that Ebeid and Bedan did not.

  Rushing across the next open expanse, a flare of warning shot through Luke, and he jarred Declan back, but Tim didn’t heed his halting signal, barreling forward as swiftly as he could until something clicked beneath his boot.

  “Duck!” Luke hollered, lunging with Declan and Tanner behind an old conveyer belt base as the modified claymore mine shot projectiles with voracious power in all directions. All around them, agents dropped to the ground.

  Something pierced Luke’s leg with splintering force, and once the arsenal of screws, ball bearings, and who knew what else finally ceased, they had a handful of agents down and in need of serious medical attention, but it was too late for Tim. He’d taken too many hits in too many vital places and was already gone.

  Tanner swallowed back tears, her face reddening, clearly trying to contain the overwhelming sadness battling to break loose. She shifted her weight and coughed back what Luke could only assume was a sob.

  Declan wrapped her in his arms, sheltering her for a moment as he called it in that they had agents down. He looked over Tanner’s bent head at Luke’s bleeding thigh. “You’ve got a screw sticking out of your leg.”

  “I’m aware. It’s okay. Missed the femoral artery.” Thankfully. He ripped a length off the bottom of his shirt and, bracing his weight against the wall, with a grunt and extreme shot of blistering pain yanked the screw out and quickly wrapped the length of cloth tightly around the wound. It hadn’t hit the artery, but he was still bleeding at a decent clip.

  “You okay, man?” Declan asked, his expression mirroring Luke’s pulsating pain.

  He nodded. Man alive, that one hurt. “I’ll be fine. We need to keep moving.”

  “We’re with you,” Declan said, and the uninjured members of the team moved forward, enter
ing a maze of nearly ceiling-high wooden shelves filled with decrepit grain sacks and wooden crates. The old factory’s storage room.

  Stacked crates littered the floor between rows, the entire room a well-crafted maze, no doubt Ebeid’s doing.

  Where was the door to the interior portion of the warehouse?

  Cautiously, Luke scanned the perimeter surrounding them with each step. He led the team slowly through the maze, his chest tight, blood seeping warm down his left leg.

  A rifle leaning against the metal shelves looked out of place. An agent moved to lift it just as Luke waved him off, but not fast enough. Another click. Another explosion. This one knocked the wind from Luke’s lungs as he slammed against the concrete floor, flames searing the heels of his boots.

  “Everyone okay?” Declan asked over the comms. “Check in.”

  Names filed through, some missing based on Declan’s further call-outs.

  Tactical medics moved in as the uninjured agents managed to push forward, finally reaching the other side.

  Bruised, bloodied, and in a lot of pain, the team made it to the main working area of the warehouse, where they were instantly met with gunfire.

  Returning fire, they pushed their line slowly forward until they’d taken down the dozen or so men in the room, knowing another dozen probably lurked somewhere.

  Declan signaled a group to move for the loading docks.

  Luke indicated he was headed for the location that appeared to be Bedan’s lab and living space. He wanted Ebeid and Bedan.

  Declan nodded and alerted his men over the comms that he and Tanner were accompanying Luke, but that they were to take full control of the warehouse. Confirmation came back, and Declan and Tanner followed Luke through the makeshift living space that had been erected for Bedan.

  Luke indicated for Declan and Tanner to move for the lab and Bedan. He was going after Ebeid, who no doubt had an office in the building. This project was the man’s baby. He would be remaining close, especially after the first warehouse raid. Unless he’d already found his way out.

  Luke prayed he wasn’t too late.

  The feds were coming, and Ebeid was nowhere to be found. Although, after how Ebeid had taken care of his predecessor, Isaiah Bedan wasn’t surprised this would be his fate. However, unlike Kemel, he’d prepared for this possibility.

  Ebeid’s office door kicked in, and CIA field agent Garrett Beck stood before him—bleeding, his left thigh wrapped, blood staining his pants. Scorch marks marred his shirt, his face bruised. His gaze darted around the office. “Where is Ebeid?”

  “Gone,” Isaiah said on an exhale, knowing the fate that awaited him, but it was a fate he was in control of. He would have his say, make sure they understood the magnificence of his genius and creation.

  Luke moved around the room, looking for something, no doubt trying to discern how Ebeid had managed to escape.

  Isaiah had been wondering the very same thing ever since he returned to find Ebeid’s office empty.

  Luke moved to the security panel on the wall, then slid his hands across it. He grunted and called for someone to come blow a door.

  A door? Ebeid had a secret door out? Of course he did.

  Within minutes, Bedan was handcuffed, hauled to his feet, and the security panel was being overridden instead of the door blown. It worked, and a door hidden along the wall slid open, revealing a tunnel—a tunnel Ebeid could have easily taken him down too. All loyalty to Ebeid died as Isaiah stared down the lit path the traitorous man had taken without him.

  Fury and frustration whirred inside Luke. Ebeid had eluded him again.

  “Figure out where this tunnel comes out,” he instructed two of the team members. “But watch out for more booby traps.”

  They nodded and set off down the tunnel.

  “I’m sorry,” Declan said, entering with Tanner. “You’ll get him.”

  Anger heated Luke’s body at the realization he’d once again lost Ebeid.

  He turned his wrath toward Bedan.

  “We’re going to have a talk.”

  Bedan’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.

  37

  Luke and Declan entered the interrogation room that held Bedan. Luke had been informed the warehouse’s tunnel came out nearly a mile away. Ebeid no doubt had a car waiting and was now in the wind. Teams were combing Ebeid’s home and office at the Islamic Cultural Institute of the Mid-Atlantic, but there was no sign of him.

  Luke’s injured leg throbbed, every nerve ending on fire, his whole being screaming to find Ebeid. They also needed to discover where the one missing truck was headed.

  The three trucks that had been onsite when they’d arrived had been stopped before they could pull away, the drivers and guards now in custody and being questioned by Tanner. They’d then be questioned by Luke and Declan until put behind bars.

  They needed to crack someone because they needed to know where the fourth truck was headed. Declan had put out an APB and set up blockades on all roads out of Baltimore, but depending on when the truck had left, it could already be out of the area.

  Luke exhaled and kicked back in his chair, trying to give Bedan the impression they had the situation under control. They weren’t even close, but Bedan certainly didn’t need to know that.

  “Where is Ebeid?”

  “Fleeing the country, I suppose.”

  “To where?”

  “He didn’t say, but he told me we’d be long gone before my creation was unleashed.”

  Luke interlocked his fingers. “Guess he left you behind.”

  Bedan simply nodded, scribbling on the steno pad they’d provided in case he agreed to write out a confession.

  “I suppose it’s a better fate than Kemel’s.”

  “Indeed,” Bedan said casually.

  Too casually.

  He’d been searched, patted down, and wanded—and the only things that set off the alarm were his belt buckle and the metal rims of his glasses. He was clean, according to security.

  Luke sat forward, resting his arms on the table. “Since he dismissed you so carelessly and left you for us, why protect his destination?”

  “I told you. Ebeid did not reveal the details of our getaway.”

  Luke narrowed his eyes. Bedan was hiding something. “You know more than you are saying.”

  “Very well, I’ll tell you where Ebeid is headed—I have no more loyalty to him—but only after I share what I need to.”

  “Which is?”

  “The beauty, intricacy, and genius of the zenith of my career.”

  “Your anthrax aerosol deployment devices?” Bedan may be brilliant, but he was a nutter.

  “Yes,” Bedan said, leaning forward, his voice dancing with excitement. “But it is so much more.”

  Luke bit back what he wanted to say and worked to get the answers he needed. “Please, go on. . . .”

  He needed to find Ebeid before the man disappeared for good. They didn’t have much time, but it was clear Bedan wasn’t going to reveal what he knew before he was ready. Luke could read it in his eyes.

  “Do you realize the significance of what I’ve created?” Bedan asked.

  “A deployment device of biological warfare that falls into the weapons of mass destruction category?” The man was mad. Didn’t he realize the devastation his creation would wreak? The lives that would be lost? And here he was talking as if it were a piece of art.

  “Don’t you understand? My creation is a thing of beauty.”

  “Beauty?” Declan laughed. “Are you serious?” He looked to Luke. “Is he serious?”

  Luke swallowed. “I’m afraid he is.” At least that’s how Bedan saw it.

  “You’re clearly missing the intricacy of what I created, of what no one before was able to accomplish in a working manner.”

  “Anthrax,” Declan said. “And . . . ?”

  They wanted Bedan to confirm what they discovered in his notes, to be certain it was in fact plutonium that he’d mixed in. r />
  Bedan’s lips twitched, trying to smother a smile. “Why do you think there’s anything else?”

  “Because we found a page of your notes you left behind at the first warehouse.”

  “And you understood them? Interesting.” Bedan pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

  “Those notes indicate you mixed something radioactive with the anthrax,” Luke said.

  Declan looked over at him, eyes wide.

  “You are a smart one, Agent Beck. I like you.”

  He most definitely wasn’t taking that as a compliment. Interesting that the man didn’t know his real name. Luke wasn’t about to fill him in on the truth. He hoped Ebeid was under that same impression.

  “What is it?” Luke pressed, wanting Bedan to clearly state that he’d used plutonium. They needed to be one hundred percent sure what specific threat they were facing, so they could properly combat it.

  “Oh, you know a scientist can never give up the details of his masterpiece—not until it’s been patented.”

  Patented? He wanted to patent a biological weapon of mass destruction? Bedan was beyond mad. Though considering his lineage . . .

  “The more you give us, the more we can help you,” Declan said.

  “Help?” Bedan laughed. “Is that what you call it? Well, thank you . . . Agent Grey, is it? But I don’t need your help.” He lifted a hand to adjust his glasses. “I’ve got this covered.”

  A shot of warning ricocheted through Luke as Bedan’s eyes shifted to a look of glorious resignation. He grabbed Declan and yanked him toward the door. “Get out now!”

  The guard waiting outside rushed in as Luke and Declan ran out.

  “No!” Luke yelled as the door swung shut behind him.

  “What on earth?” Declan asked, spinning around to grasp the doorknob.

  Luke stilled his hand as they looked through the vertical glass pane in the door to see Bedan and the guard convulsing on the floor, both foaming at their mouths.

  “We’ve got to help him,” Declan said, his gaze fixed on the dying guard.

  “We’re too late, and you need to call hazmat.”