“A cabbie was injured. That’s all I know.”
She looked at Derek. “Looks like a trash-can bomb. A cabdriver was injured.”
“A trash can? Sounds like a mindfuck. Put me on speakerphone.”
She did. “Torres, you’re on speaker now. I’m with Derek Vaughn.”
“Any chemical burns?” Derek asked.
“Not that I’m hearing. The cabbie caught some shrapnel. He was pulling up to the curb when the bomb went off.”
“Listen, Torres, a trash-can bomb is amateur hour. They’re creating a distraction.”
Pause. “A distraction from what?”
“We just got new intel,” Elizabeth said. “A convenience-store clerk near the motel remembers Fatima wearing a blue uniform for employees at the baseball stadium. We think that might be the target of the main attack.”
“The baseball park? The Midsummer Classic is tonight.”
“We know,” Derek said. “We’re heading over there now.”
“Shit, LeBlanc. You need to talk to Gordon. You’ve got orders to get your ass to the airport.”
“I keep calling him, but he won’t pick up.”
“That’s because he’s already there. They’re evacuating the airport and jamming all cell and radio communications in case there’s another device on remote control.”
“You need to get hold of him for me,” Elizabeth said. “Tell him to call me on a landline.” They hung up, and Elizabeth looked at Derek. “You think it’s a diversion?”
“I know it is.” Derek cut across traffic and gunned it onto the on-ramp of the freeway. It was rush hour, but he stayed on the shoulder, speeding past slow-moving cars and trucks. Her heart skittered as they raced past a motorcycle on the edge of the lane.
“Where’d you learn to drive like this?”
“Fallujah.”
“Please be careful.”
“Liz, listen to me. I believe the target’s the stadium, but this attack at the airport is a definite. You ignore those orders, you could get fired.”
She stared at him. “I can’t believe you just said that to me.”
“I have to put it out there. There’s a chance I’m wrong.”
“There’s a chance we’re wrong. I’m aware of that, but I don’t think we are.” She looked out the window and shuddered at how close they were to the concrete wall as he raced along the shoulder. She looked at him. “What does your gut tell you?”
“It’s the baseball game.” He didn’t hesitate. “The crowd, the symbolism, everything fits.”
“I know.” She took out her phone and pulled up a search engine. That SR-25 was nagging at her.
Derek pulled out his phone, too, and she plucked it from his hand.
“You drive, I’ll dial. Who do you need to reach?”
“Cole. He’s there in my call history.”
She put the phone on speaker in her lap as she juggled her cell. Cole answered after a few rings.
“Hey, it’s Derek. You left town yet?”
“My brother’s taking me to the airport.”
“It’s shut down,” Derek said. “They’re evacuating. The FBI’s responding to a bomb there with one confirmed casualty.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. Is there any chance you’ve got your new three hundred with you? The one with the Nightforce scope?”
Elizabeth glanced over at him.
“Yeah, I’m checking it through. Why?”
“I could really use a hand over at the baseball park.”
Silence.
“Cole?”
“This have to do with the thing at the airport?”
“Yes. But this is strictly off the books,” Derek said. “If you’re not up for it, I understand.”
“Hey, I’m there, man. Tell me what you need.”
Derek gave him instructions as Elizabeth scrolled through her phone, looking for anything in the news about VIPs attending the game.
She read a headline, and her blood ran cold. “Oh, God.”
Derek glanced at her. “What is it?”
“I just found out who’s throwing out the first pitch.”
* * *
The name hit him like a punch.
“The former president? You’re sure?”
“That’s what it says here.” She held up her phone. “I have to reach Gordon.”
“You have to reach the Secret Service. Who do you know over there?”
“What? Nobody.”
“Think, Liz.” He spotted a hole in traffic and cut into it. “Law enforcement’s a tight community. There’s got to be someone.”
“Lauren has a friend on the White House detail, but—”
“Call her up. Everyone on your task force is at the airport with a jammed cell phone.”
She was already dialing, but no one picked up. “She’s in a hospital room.” She gave him an anxious look. “Her phone is probably dead or turned off. I’ll try my team again.”
Derek gritted his teeth as he maneuvered through traffic. There was no longer a shred of doubt that the stadium was the true target. Whatever was happening at the airport was a carefully planned diversion, and it seemed to be working perfectly.
“This is textbook AQ,” he said. “Multiple, coordinated strikes. Maximum civilian body count. With all the cameras over there, it’ll be a media splash, too.” Derek pictured an American icon getting gunned down before a live television audience of millions. “They’re going to assassinate the man right before our eyes, and then all hell will break loose. You watch. It’ll be mass chaos, and that’s when the bombs will go off.”
Elizabeth was frantically calling people on her phone, without success. She left messages but couldn’t get a live person.
“Call D.C.,” Derek said. “Call someone. Hell, call HPD if you have to, but we’ve got to get word over there.”
“I know!” She shot him a desperate look. “What time does the game start?”
He glanced at the clock. “Soon.”
* * *
Orange traffic cones blocked the parking lot, marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. Derek plowed right over them. He looped around a row of cars and sped up to a back entrance as Elizabeth sent a text message to Gordon.
“Gimme your badge,” Derek ordered. “Just the shield, not the ID card.”
A burly police officer rushed up to them, and Elizabeth hurried to pull out the leather folio. She removed her photo ID and handed the rest to Derek. He rolled down the window and flashed the badge.
“Special Agents Vaughn and LeBlanc.”
Elizabeth held her breath.
The cop glanced at the shield and nodded. “You can’t block this ramp, sir.”
“Got it.” Derek put the truck into reverse and backed out of the space. He drove over to an empty space beside a row of horse trailers with the HPD logo on the side. He handed back Elizabeth’s badge and shoved open the door.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“See if I can’t find these tangos.”
“Need my help getting in?”
“No, I’m good.” He pulled the Sig out from under his jacket and checked the clip.
“Secret Service sees you running around with that, they’ll think you’re an assassin.”
“They won’t see me.”
She checked her Glock and noticed that her hands were shaking. She was about to go up against a determined enemy with no moral boundaries and nothing to lose, the same enemy that had gunned down Lauren and Jamie only hours ago.
“You locked and loaded?” Derek asked.
“Yes.”
His gaze settled on her, and she recognized the look in his eyes. She knew what he was going to say. You should stay in the car, work your phone. You’ll be more effective from here.
“Be careful,” he said instead.
She felt a warm rush of relief. He had no idea how much his vote of confidence meant to her, especially now, when she didn’t know what fresh disaster the next few minutes would bring. She reached over and squeezed his hand. “You be careful, too.”
She slid from the truck and set her sights on her objective: a security guard stationed beside a gate marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL. She strode over and held up her badge.
“I’m looking for the head of the Secret Service detail.”
“Uh . . . I don’t know exactly.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Couple of their agents are stationed by the elevator.”
“Show me.”
* * *