Текст книги "Hidden Order: A Thriller"

Автор книги: Brad Thor

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Текущая страница: 23 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

CHAPTER 66

When Cordero’s vehicle screamed to a stop at the edge of the harbor in full lights and sirens mode, the head of the Boston PD’s Rescue/Recovery Dive Team rushed up from the dock to meet them.

“The rest of the team is inbound,” the man said. “Five minutes we’ll be on the water.”

“We don’t have five minutes, Sergeant,” Harvath replied. “We have to get going now. Where’s your boat?”

The dive team commander led Harvath and Cordero down a gangplank to a thirty-foot-long rigid inflatable boat that belonged to the Boston Fire Department. A bunch of dive gear was already loaded on board. It would have to do. Spinning his finger in the air, he gave the boat’s pilot the signal to get the craft’s twin, 225-horsepower Evinrude E-TEC engines fired up.

As the sergeant untied the boat, Harvath helped Cordero on board, stepped into the pilothouse, and told the man captaining the vessel what they were looking for. He also reasserted that they were to maintain strict radio silence, as the men they were chasing had access to police communications. Thirty seconds later, they were away from the dock and roaring into Boston Harbor.

The dive team leader unpacked two scopes, one thermal, the other night vision, and offered Harvath his choice. Harvath took the night vision device, and both men moved forward as the boat slammed through the water.

There was a ton of traffic in the harbor. Any one of the boats they were seeing could be the one they were looking for. The CIA man whom Wise had been interrogating supposedly had no idea what the boat’s name was or what kind it was. He was never intended to be part of what was happening in the harbor. His job had been to prep Betsy Mitchell to look and sound like a mentally disturbed homeless person, track her progress via the remote camera she’d been outfitted with, and get her to the site of the Boston Massacre and remotely detonate the suicide vest she had been forced to wear.

When Harvath asked how Wise had been so successful in getting so much information out of the man so quickly, he explained that it had been Reed Carlton’s idea. Apparently, the Old Man had his own Swim Club assassin in custody back in D.C. The man’s name was Samuel. Carlton had Samuel driven to Stark’s home and then a phone call was placed. When Samuel got done describing the exterior of Stark’s home and what he could see his family doing inside, Stark had completely caved and told them everything.

Harvath’s mind was still reeling from what Wise had told him about the former Fed chairman being blackmailed by the Saudis. When he asked how Sawyer had ever crossed paths with Durkin, Wise explained that the relationship had been facilitated through the chairman’s security chief, William Jacobson.

What bothered Harvath the most was the way it all fit together; how much sense it made. Actually, that wasn’t what bothered him the most. What bothered him the most was that by doing the right thing, he might end up actually hastening his own country’s collapse.

There had to be a way around it. There had to be a way to prevent it all from happening and using their own plan against them.

If there was, it wasn’t coming to mind at the moment, which was just as well, because through the night vision scope, he picked up something floating off their starboard bow, a hundred meters out. He quickly relayed the information to the crewman in the pilothouse, who adjusted course and headed right for it.

Harvath handed the night vision scope to the sergeant, told him to relay the information on the vessel that was speeding away, and then rushed to the back of the boat, where Cordero was.

“What are you doing?” she said as she watched him rapidly get undressed.

“They’ve already dumped the body.”

The sergeant, upon seeing what Harvath was doing, yelled, “Hey, you can’t do that! You’re not qualified.”

He already had the weight belt around his waist, had tested the regulator, and had swung the tank onto his back. He lowered the mask over his face and grabbed a knife and flashlight just as the fire department boat coasted to a stop. A large wooden box, made to look like a crate of British tea, was bobbing on the surface. As Harvath switched on his light and went over the side into the water, the last thing he noticed was the skull, bones, and crown that had been painted on its side.

The water was cold, but Harvath had been in much worse and didn’t pay any attention. It was also dark. There was no light at all except for the beam from his underwater flashlight.

The crate on the surface was meant as a marker and he followed the rope attached to it deeper and deeper into the water. There were no air bubbles rising up to meet the beam of his flashlight. All he could think was Please don’t let Jonathan Renner be dead. Let us have at least saved one of the victims. Soon thereafter a form began to take shape at the end of the line.

As he got closer, he saw it was some sort of bag or a sack made of canvas and big enough to hold a body and be weighted down with rocks or cannonballs, as was historically seen with burials at sea.

Harvath reached out and touched the bag. He could feel Renner inside it. Placing the tip of his knife at the top of the canvas, he plunged the blade through and ripped open the biggest hole he could.

He saw the man’s hair in the beam of flashlight and pulled furiously at the fabric until he could access his face. Removing the regulator from his mouth, he moved it toward the man and hit the purge button, preparing to deliver lifesaving air.

That’s when he noticed two things—that the man was dead, and that he was also not Jonathan Renner.

CHAPTER 67

Bill Wise had no intention of leaving Stark alone in the hotel room. Ryan and McGee, though, wanted to be part of taking down Cushing and his people, so Wise had asked Harvath to take them along. Harvath had agreed, provided they made it to the dock by the time he got there. He had been crystal clear that he wouldn’t wait for them, and he didn’t. He and Cordero had hopped onto the Boston FD boat and taken off immediately.

Ryan and McGee got there just in time to see the boat speeding away into the harbor. They weren’t the only ones left behind. Several members of the dive team showed up minutes later and were without a boat.

Maintaining their operations security, one of the divers got on his phone and made a call. Minutes later, a Boston PD Harbor Patrol boat raced up to the dock; the divers loaded their gear and sped back out after their teammates.

By the time they caught up with the thirty-foot Boston FD boat, Harvath had just surfaced. As the Harbor Patrol boat pulled up alongside, they shined a powerful spotlight on him.

“It’s not Renner,” he yelled after removing his regulator. “It’s somebody else. Shot point-blank.”

Climbing back into the boat, he told Cordero and the dive team leader what he had seen. The sergeant barked a series of rapid orders, and once they had cleared off the Harbor Patrol boat, Harvath and Cordero hopped on. They introduced themselves quickly to Ryan and McGee.

Cordero flashed her credentials to the two Boston PD officers operating the boat and told them the last known direction of the vessel they needed to catch.

“It’s all over the radio now,” one of the men said.

“There’s not supposed to be any radio traffic.”

“The way these guys were moving through the harbor, they caught the Coast Guard’s attention. They’re now in pursuit. If you’ll sit down and hold on, we’ll see if we can get you close. It sounds like they’re going to cross our path about a mile from here.”

Cordero nodded, everyone held on, and the Harbor Patrol officers threw the throttles all the way forward.

Their boat was even faster than the fire department’s and it sliced through the choppy harbor. Cordero leaned in close so Harvath could hear her above the roar of the engines and the wind rushing by them.

“If it wasn’t Renner’s,” she said, “whose body did you find down there?”

“I have no idea,” Harvath said. “But I have a feeling Sal made good on his promise.”

“What promise was that?” Ryan yelled.

“Sabatini said he didn’t have anything to do with the bombing tonight. Said it made him angry. He claimed he was going to settle up with who was responsible.”

“Fat chance of that,” McGee replied. “The guy responsible is cinched up back at the hotel with an MP5 pointed at his chest.”

“Then who’s bouncing along the bottom of Boston Harbor right now?”

Ryan had an idea and was about to respond, when a deafening roar overtook them like a tidal wave from behind.

They all spun at once to see a giant Sikorsky MH-60T Coast Guard “JayHawk” helicopter race right above them, headed in the same direction.

“They’ve already got eyes on the target,” one of the Harbor Patrol officers shouted from the pilothouse. “Suspect is wearing a Boston PD raid jacket.”

Ryan got Harvath’s attention and yelled over the engines, “Sabatini?”

Harvath nodded.

When the large, oceangoing cabin cruiser came into view, they counted five other boats in hot pursuit—three from the Boston PD and two from the U.S. Coast Guard, all of which were keeping it lit up with their spotlights. Up on the fly bridge, Harvath could just make out Sal’s Boston PD jacket.

The Sikorsky banked to come around and Harvath saw that its door was open and its interior blacked out. The Coast Guard didn’t goof around and that door hadn’t been left open for the breeze. Though he couldn’t see him, Harvath knew there was a sniper in there.

As soon as the helicopter was in place another round of commands were issued over one of the Coast Guard vessel’s PA systems for the driver of the cabin cruiser to bring his boat to a full and immediate halt.

When the cabin cruiser didn’t respond, two earsplitting cracks that sounded like thunder erupted from the Sikorsky and two heavy .50-caliber rounds were loosed to pierce the boat’s engine blocks.

Within seconds, smoke began to billow from the stern and the boat lost power. It eventually came to an eerie stop and just bobbed up and down on the water. No matter how many commands were given over the PA system to the man on the fly bridge, he refused to move. The boarding teams on their respective vessels made ready while the helicopter with its sniper hovered nearby.

McGee tapped one of the harbor patrolmen on the shoulder and said, “Make sure they know that in addition to the rogue Boston PD detective, we believe there are two accomplices and a hostage on board. The accomplices are very well trained and will be well armed.”

The officer nodded and relayed the information to the other units. For Harvath, Cordero, Ryan, and McGee, it was now a waiting game.

The Coast Guard relayed one last series of instructions to the man on the fly bridge, and when he didn’t respond, the boarding teams were given the green light to launch their assault.

As Harvath watched the teams work, something out of place at the stern caught his eye. Suddenly there was activity over the radio, which the Harbor Patrol officers had turned up the volume on so that Cordero and everyone else could listen in on what was happening.

The man on the fly bridge was dead.

“Dead?” Cordero repeated. “How the hell is that possible?”

The patrolman started to shrug when another message was received. The boarding team had located a survivor. The rest of the vessel was clear.

Harvath stepped into the pilothouse and said to the copilot, “Radio the Coast Guard that we’re coming aboard.” To the officer piloting the boat, he said, “Bring us alongside, now.”

 • • •

When it was explained that Cordero was not only Boston PD but the partner of the rogue cop, they were granted permission to board.

The first person they saw was the survivor, Jonathan Renner. He was sitting in the boat’s salon, wrapped in a blanket.

Harvath approached the man and asked, “Mr. Renner?”

The man looked up and nodded.

“I’m very glad to see you alive, sir. We’re going to get you back to shore and to your family as quickly as possible, okay?”

Renner nodded again, and Harvath walked out of the salon and back onto the deck.

Climbing up to the fly bridge, he joined Cordero along with Ryan and McGee, who were already there.

“It’s not Sal,” the female detective said.

“Who is it, then?” he asked.

“Tom Cushing,” Ryan replied.

“Whoever killed him,” said McGee, “used fishing line to keep him in a seated position. The boat has an autopilot.”

Harvath studied all the blood pooled in the man’s lap and running down his legs. “Somebody gutshot him. Not many more painful ways to go than that.”

“I think we can make an educated guess as to who pulled the trigger,” Cordero stated.

“And with Renner safe downstairs, I think we also can make a pretty well educated guess who I found underwater.”

“Vaccaro,” said Ryan.

Harvath nodded.

“Then where’s Sabatini?”

Harvath led the group down the stairs to the stern of the cabin cruiser. Two of the Coast Guardsmen had already vented the engine compartment and made sure there was no threat of fire.

Leaning over the back of the boat, he pointed at the swim platform, where two nylon tie-down straps were dangling.

“How much do you want to bet that until just a little while ago, there used to be a WaveRunner or a Jet-Ski there?”

Ryan looked at McGee. “We need to warn Wise.”

 • • •

The knock on the hotel door was loud and unsettling. In fact it wasn’t even a knock. It was a pounding.

“Boston Police! Open up!” the voice commanded. “Police! Open the door!”

Not only did Bill Wise have a prisoner secured to a chair and gagged, but the room was also awash in Class 3 weapons and other assorted items like Tasers and recording devices. Without credentials, there was no way he’d be able to explain his way out of this. Police involvement was something they absolutely didn’t need.

What they needed was to get Stark to D.C. as quickly and as quietly as possible so he could tell his story there. That step, though, was now suddenly in jeopardy.

One of the guests or hotel security must have seen or heard something.

As he approached the door, his cell phone back on the desk began ringing, and another thought suddenly gripped him.

“Police!” the voice shouted as the pounding recommenced. “Open up!”

Bill Wise raised his MP5 ready to fire just as the door was kicked in from the outside.

He stumbled backward and landed on his ass in the bathroom. A fraction of a second later, something was tossed into the room and was followed by a blindingly bright light and an overpowering explosion.

CHAPTER 68

Ryan’s cell phone rang just before the Harbor Patrol unit boat reached the dock.

“It’s Wise,” she exclaimed, as she activated the call. “Bill, we’ve been trying to reach you. We think Sabatini may be on his way to you.”

Wise interrupted her and she listened as he relayed what happened. She then told him to hold on while she shared it with the others.

“Bill’s okay, but Stark’s dead. Sabatini pitched a flash-bang into the hotel room, and while Bill was down he put a round into each of Stark’s kneecaps and then a round through the base of his throat. There was nothing Bill could do for him. Bill says it was pretty obvious that Sabatini wanted Stark to die as painful a death as possible.”

“Where is Bill now?” Harvath asked.

Ryan asked him and then replied, “He sanitized the room as quickly as he could and barely made it out of the hotel. He’s about four blocks away now. Says there are police cars everywhere.”

McGee, who had been listening to the radio, nodded. “Boston PD has confirmed a gunshot fatality at the Renaissance.”

Harvath looked at Cordero. “Anyone answering?”

As Ryan’s call had come in, Cordero had checked her own phone. She had missed a call from home.

This was the second time she had tried calling back. Pulling the cell phone away from her ear, she shook her head. “That’s not like them. My parents always pick up.”

Whether it was the mother in her or the detective, she decided to call her tenants in the downstairs apartment just to make sure everything was okay.

As the boat pulled up to the dock, Harvath addressed Ryan and McGee. “You know where the rally point is, so pick Wise up, or have him meet you there. But hurry.”

Hopping out onto the dock, he offered his hand to Cordero and helped her out of the boat. No sooner had her feet touched the pier than all the color drained from her face.

“What is it?” Harvath asked.

“One of the neighbors saw Sal going into my building. We need to get back there. Now!” she ordered.

They both took off running and found her car right where she had left it. Leaping in, they made as much noise leaving the harbor as they had when they had arrived.

In any other city, Harvath would have wanted to be the one doing the driving, but with Boston’s nightmare of one-way streets, he was glad to have her behind the wheel.

As they entered her neighborhood, she killed the siren but kept the wigwags flashing. Then, a block before her home, she killed those, too.

The gradual falling away of her mental armor and police persona that Harvath had so admired earlier in the evening wasn’t happening this time. There’d be no stand-down until she knew her family was safe.

They parked around the corner and Cordero laid out how she wanted to handle it.

“Promise me,” she insisted.

Harvath didn’t like what she was proposing. Sal Sabatini was a killer. It didn’t matter how many years they had worked together.

“Promise me,” she repeated.

There was no way he was going to talk her out of it. She had made up her mind. Reluctantly, he agreed and gave her his word.

Standing there as she walked away, he was certain that they had both just made the biggest mistake of their lives.

 • • •

Opening the downstairs door, Cordero crept up to her second-floor apartment as quietly as she could. The stairs were more than a hundred years old, and even in places you thought were safe to put your weight, they still creaked. It was almost as bad as having a little dog yapping the alarm that someone was coming. Not that it mattered, because when she reached the landing, she saw that her front door was wide open and knew that Sal Sabatini was already waiting for her.

Stepping into her apartment, she saw her mother first, tears rolling down her cheeks. Next to her was her father, his face a mixture of fear and anger. Finally, as she stepped all the way inside, she saw Sal, holding them at gunpoint.

“Please close the door behind you,” he said.

Cordero did as she was told.

“Good. Now please, slowly, remove both of your weapons and slide them across the floor to me.”

“Where’s Marco?” she asked as she slid both of the guns to him.

Sliding the weapons into the new jacket he was wearing, he replied, “He’s safe.”

“Where is he, Sal? Tell me.”

“He’s in his room, asleep. You don’t have to worry.”

“Why did you come here?”

“I wanted to tell you that I took care of everything.”

“Meaning, what? That you killed those men?” she said. “Cushing? Vaccaro? Stark? Along with all the other people you’ve killed? That’s why you came here?”

Sabatini held his finger to his lips. “Shhh, be quiet. You don’t want to wake Marco.”

“Sal, this needs to end. You’re sick. You need help.”

The man smiled at her. “It is going to end. Trust me. By the way, where’s your new partner?”

“I don’t have a new partner, Sal. You’re my partner.”

The killer’s smile faded, replaced by anger. “What do you think I am? Stupid? You don’t think I see how he looks at you?”

“Sal, he doesn’t—”

“Shut up!” he roared. “Shut up!”

“Sal, I want to get you help.”

“I don’t need any help. I help you. Remember? When your husband died?”

“I remember, Sal. You helped us a lot.”

“You don’t remember shit. All you care about is yourself, you selfish bitch!”

Cordero’s father attempted to stand, but Sabatini shoved him back down.

The female detective tried to deescalate things and spoke calmly to her father in Portuguese.

“That’s right,” Sabatini sneered. “You tell him that if he does that again, he’s a dead man.”

Cordero said a few more words and then turned back to the killer. “Sal, if you came to say goodbye, let’s say goodbye. Please, before anyone gets hurt.”

His face went from enraged to an odd smile. “I didn’t come to say goodbye. I came to take you with me.”

“I’m sorry, Sal. My place is here, with my son.”

“Marco will be with us.”

The way he said it sent shivers down her spine.

“I’m not going to hurt anyone. I’m done hurting people. I’m done hurting myself. No one is going to feel any pain anymore.”

“Sal, please—” she began, hoping she could talk him into laying down his weapon and not harming anyone else.

“Fuck please!” he shouted. “I’m the lion. You don’t tell the lion what to do. Not now. Not ever. You do what I say, when I say it. You obey me. Do you understand me?”

Cordero nodded. The man was coming completely unspooled.

“Now, where’s your fucking boyfriend? And don’t you lie to me.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend, Sal.”

“Liar!” he screamed, reaching out with his free hand and striking her across the face.

Cordero’s father leapt up to challenge him and Sabatini struck him across the side of his face with his pistol. The older man’s knees buckled and he fell back onto the couch.

Cordero spoke to him rapidly in Portuguese once more and then turned her attention to the killer.

“Sal, stop this.”

“Sal, stop this,” he replied, mocking her. “No more games. It’s time to go.”

Grabbing her by the hair, he pulled her head down so she had to walk with it sideways. Looking at her angry father and terrified mother, Sabatini said, “If you move, everyone dies. The boy dies. Do you understand?”

Cordero spoke again in Portuguese to her parents, who sat frozen in place on the couch, and they nodded.

Sabatini smiled. “Good. Let’s move,” he commanded as he dragged her over to the base station for her cordless phone, ripped it out of the wall, and then dragged her down the hall toward Marco’s room.

“Sal, you don’t have to do—”

“Shhh,” he whispered, cutting her off. “It’s all going to be very quiet, very soon. You’ll see. We’re going to be happy.”

They reached Marco’s room and Sabatini used the toe of his boot to push the door open. He looked down into the bed, but the little boy was gone.

Sabatini flipped right back into rage mode.

“Where is he?” he shouted. “Where the fuck is he?”

Cordero didn’t reply.

Pulling her with him, he stepped into the room and flipped over the race car bed. He then threw open the closet doors but the little boy wasn’t there either.

He then dragged Cordero back down the hall and threw her like a piece of trash onto the living room floor. He pointed his weapon at her and was about to threaten to kill her in order to get her parents to tell him where the little boy was hiding when he noticed her parents were gone, too.

“What the fuck is going on here?” he screamed. “Where the fuck are they?”

“Out stealing me a new sailboat, asshole,” said a voice from behind.

Before Sabatini could even react, Harvath depressed his trigger twice, the shots perfectly aimed and placed exactly where the killer deserved them.