Barnes had no way of knowing the severity of his opponent’s injuries. He heard the body collapse behind the trailer, so he knew at least one of his shots had found its mark. He got into position in case the second shooter attempted to help his partner, and then waited for his enemy’s next move.
Barnes liked his odds better now that it was one-on-one, but he was injured, and his remaining opponent wasn’t. He couldn’t afford to be as patient as the other shooter could. His advantage was his knowledge of the terrain, and Barnes needed to capitalize on it while he still could. As he devised his strategy, he heard a siren in the distance. Then two. And more. They were getting louder. Son of a bitch, he thought. Now that was clever. He had to give his opponent props. What was once an open-ended game would now be decided in less than sixty seconds.
He thought fast. Ghosts weren’t supposed to draw attention to themselves, but this one just did. Whoever was employing these two wouldn’t be pleased. Even if they completed their assignment and he didn’t survive the night, this would be viewed as unacceptable. It might even mean the end of their chosen careers. In fact, the more Barnes thought about it, the more sure he was they had decided this was their swan song. Which meant they were in the same situation he was. They would disappear before the night was over. The only question now in Barnes’s mind was how much pride they took in their work. He was about to find out.
Barnes retraced his steps, moving quickly toward the Impala. Using only his right arm, he stood the storage container on its narrow side, leaning it against the open trunk of the car. He somehow ignored the searing pain shooting through his left shoulder and used the vehicle as leverage to lift the back end of the heavy container and slide it into the trunk; it just barely fit. Keeping his eyes on the driveway in front of him for any movement, he hopped into the driver’s seat and started the engine. He saw no movement through the windshield. Are they actually letting me go? It didn’t matter. Barnes did not intend to exit via the driveway, anyway. Behind him, along the rear of his property, ran an old wooden fence about six feet high that kept the neighbors from getting too curious about what he did back there. It also created an emergency exit if the need ever arose. Barnes put the transmission in reverse and slammed his foot on the gas.
From the moment the assassins had arrived and seen what Michael Barnes was unearthing inside his storage shed, they knew they needed to have a Plan B. Plan A was a repeat of their performance from earlier that night. But Michael Barnes was most certainly well armed, and one slight misstep could lead to a messy firefight. That would lead to a thorough investigation, and their employers would not like that. Plan B would be similarly displeasing to their bosses, due to the attention it would later bring, but it would have the benefit of a plausible explanation. Emergency kits such as Barnes’s always contained six things: a variety of clothing, freeze-dried foodstuffs, a water-filtration system, medical supplies, a large amount of cash, and an even larger number of weapons. This often included explosives. After all, theirs did.
Giles had required less than two minutes to affix orange-colored Semtex to the car’s front left wheel well as Michael Barnes dug out the first of his storage cases. Four pounds of the waterproof putty would have been sufficient. Ten pounds would have eviscerated the body. But the National League East fans had decided to go with twenty pounds of the Czech-made explosive, because Barnes would have had at least that much in his survivalist stash. And everybody knew that explosives were dangerous, especially when they were moved.
Giles watched Barnes get inside his car and start the engine. As he put the car in gear, Giles flicked off the safety of the remote detonator in his hands. He then said quietly to his partner, “Fire in the hole,” and pressed the button beneath the blinking red light.
BOOM!!!
The jolt would measure as a magnitude-3.1 earthquake in a seismic-activity-measuring station seven miles away. In Barnes’s yard, Giles was thrown hard to the ground with the wind knocked out of him. Murphy, already on the ground, momentarily lost consciousness.
At ground zero, Michael Barnes was vaporized. The largest piece of him that would be recovered measured less than two inches long. He was scattered across his entire fourteen-thousand-square-foot lot, as well as several of his neighbors’ yards. Some of him would remain lodged in another homeowner’s gutter for months.
CHAPTER 94
American Heritage Foundation, Alexandria, Virginia, May 28, 1:53 a.m.
The heat signature of the explosion flashed so brightly on the American Heritage Foundation’s high-definition monitor that Daryl Trotter thought the screen might have to be replaced. Caitlin McCloskey sat next to him with her eyes glued to the screen. “So much for subtlety.”
Jason Greers stood behind them, looking over their shoulders. “All that matters is that Barnes will no longer be a problem.” He texted the news to Stenson, who was not on American Heritage grounds.
“He won’t be happy if Forensics finds anything.”
Jason scoffed. “If they do, we can make that disappear, too.”
Caitlin shook her head. She hated when testosterone got the better of her counterparts, especially Jason. She focused her attention on the monitor, where she could now see something fluttering in the air. “What is that?”
“What?” Jason looked closer, but couldn’t tell what she was looking at.
She pointed to the screen. “There. In the air. It looks like confetti.” The thermal-imaged sky above Michael Barnes’s residence became filled with what looked like thousands of pieces of large confetti.
Daryl smiled. “I’ll give you both a clue. It was inside the cases Barnes had loaded into his car.”
Caitlin kept studying the screen. It looked like paper. “Pages from a Bible?”
“You’ve got to be kidding.” Jason snickered. “Michael Barnes never opened a Bible in his life.”
Caitlin disliked being embarrassed. “Then what?”
Daryl answered quickly, intent on defusing the tension between them. “Cash.”
Jason was stunned by the sheer volume of money fluttering around in the air over Swedesboro. “That’s got to be a couple hundred grand.”
“At least.” Daryl nodded. “I think I can tell you why our guys used so much explosive . . .”
Caitlin wasn’t about to ask another dumb question, so she let Jason do it for her. “Why?”
“A small amount would look exactly like what it was. A hit. A large amount will give investigators the impression that a stockpile accidentally ignited. Anybody who kept that much cash on hand was preparing for something. Extremists often include a variety of weapons and ordnance in their stashes. Further investigation into Barnes will reveal the disappearance of two of his employees earlier last night. While those cases will go unsolved, the presumption will be that Barnes snapped, was somehow involved with their disappearance, and then accidentally blew himself up while setting out to make himself disappear.”
Jason was truly impressed. “Goddamn, they’re good.”
Caitlin had a different thought. “I just pray we never do anything to piss them off.”
CHAPTER 95
Philadelphia Office, Department of Homeland Security, May 28, 2:17 a.m.
Homeland Security Agent Kendricks led Skylar down a corridor lined with cells inside the Philadelphia office. “When do I get my phone call?” she demanded.
“You’re joking, right?” The agent smirked.