“Talk to me,” Curtis said.
“I have a location on Jasmine. Call Hurdle. Tell him we need the task force and SWAT at the residence I’m sending everyone.” She tapped it out and hit “send.”
“SWAT?”
“If I’m right, Underwood’s being held at that address.”
“But you could be wrong about all of this. This whole thing with Underwood, it’s just a guess.”
“Look, none of this makes any sense. I don’t know what to think. But we’ve got no idea who’s waiting for us there: Jasmine? Marcks? Someone else? Who knows. After what just happened with Gaines—”
“Fine. I’ll make the call.”
56
Marcks had exhausted all means of locating Jasmine, having repeatedly driven up and down the streets in the vicinity where he had left her after she had disabled him—to no avail.
He thought of wearing some form of disguise and going door-to-door, but the risks were too great. It only took one observant and law-abiding citizen who had been watching the news to dial 911. The police were everywhere as it was, with roadblocks and swarming patrols. He did not need to do anything to make their job easier.
Left with no other alternative, he returned to her place in Bethesda, hoping she would eventually come back—if for no other reason than to pick up a change of clothing.
Jasmine finally showed up around midnight. She did not turn on any lights when she entered the residence and was inside barely four minutes. Before he could decide if he should go in after her, she came out and headed for her car.
He followed the vehicle at an extreme distance of about fifty yards, deciding that it was better to lose her than be discovered. If he did fall too far back, he could always sit on her house again the next night.
And that was precisely what happened. The following evening, much earlier this time, she returned, entered covertly, and left very quickly.
But this time, figuring—correctly, as it turned out—that she was headed to the same destination, he was better equipped to hang back and still stay with her.
After making it all the way into Arlington, he had to close the gap—because she would likely be making turns down side streets. If he was too far back, there would be no way for him to keep up with her.
Following a few course changes, she headed straight for a line of row houses. Marcks slowed, then watched as she hung a left and made a quick U-turn. He continued on down the block and parked. Lights went on inside a corner townhome.
He sat there for a while, getting his bearings, watching who came and went—when a vehicle pulled up in front of the place where Jasmine had entered. Marcks leaned back in his seat, away from the window, when he saw who got out: Vail and that detective, Curtis.
This presented an interesting opportunity. If he acted swiftly and flawlessly, he could take out his three primary nemeses in a matter of minutes.
But could he pull it off?
As he mulled that thought—he would have to wait and see if they separated for any length of time—he noticed that Vail suddenly had a gun in her hand. Marcks clenched his jaw. Could he take her on with a weapon at the ready? What about Curtis?
The street was relatively dark, so perhaps he could make it close to her, using the bushes, until he was upon her.
He leaned forward and watched.
57
Vail arrived first, followed a second later by Curtis. Vail drove past the house, an older three-story brick colonial attached on the left and fronting a side street on the right. A dozen concrete steps with a wrought iron railing led up to the front door about two dozen feet away. Cars lined the curb and residual snow blanketed the lawns and sidewalks.
They got out of their vehicles and perused the area.
“Let’s grab a look around the perimeter. Low key, evaluate entrances/exits, see if we can get a peek inside.”
“That’s all we do,” Curtis said. “We’re not going in alone.”
“Not unless I’m right and Underwood’s a hostage.”
“And his life’s in immediate danger.”
“Fine.”
They unholstered their handguns and moved covertly toward the townhome, Curtis heading to the back and Vail taking the front.
Vail used the thick hedges, their yellowing leaves intact, as cover to get as close as possible before moving into the open. She ascended the stairs and stopped behind the last bush and surveyed the eaves and other hidden areas where a camera could have been concealed. She saw nothing.
She continued to the last few steps closest to the entrance, which were made out of metal grating, presumably to prevent pooling water from becoming sheets of ice during the winter months.