Cobra Clearance (36 page)

Bronk called out. “You're dead, Eric. You hear? Dead.” He unleashed rounds at Levi but they sprayed helter-skelter.

Hack and Dentz dove for cover.

Levi, trapped with Michael, needed to flush Bronk from his cover. He yelled, “Bronk. I hear you can't get it up.”

Bronk stepped from behind the truck, and leveled the MAC-10 at Levi. At the same time, Amahl popped up from behind a brick planter.

The MAC-10's heavy slugs chewed the pavement. Levi fell across Michael to shield him. He saw Amahl taking careful aim.

Tucker yelled, “Levi! I'm at your six.”

A heavy slug tore the pavement near Michael's leg. Levi made a snap decision. He swung left and squeezed the trigger. The .45 barked. He swung right. But Amahl pulled his trigger first.

Tucker leaped forward. Amahl's bullet tore into his armpit. He dropped to the pavement in front of Levi. Levi reared back, finger still in the dike. He got Amahl in his sights again, but too late—he'd dropped behind the planter. Then Levi heard rapid footsteps. From behind.

“It's us,” Baker shouted. “We've got your back.”

Levi glanced at Bronk. He lay in a pool of blood. He could see Hack and Dentz advancing on the truck with pistols at the high-ready.

Baker reached his side. “How's Michael?”

Levi watched the planter. “I don't know.”

A cacophony of sirens erupted. Screams. Running people.

All at once Baker yelled, “Watch it!” He spun and drew his pistol. A breeze fanned his jacket. Then…

BANG
.

A round tore through Baker's coat tail. He fired twice. Loud reports.

Levi heard a grunt. A body hit the pavement with a thud. He caught Baker in his peripheral vision—knew he was unhurt. “I've got Michael,” Levi said. “Amahl's at my twelve. Send Monica against him in a pincer attack.”

Amahl popped up. An officer closed in from behind him. Monica barred Amahl's only escape. He turned cruel eyes on her. “You are a woman. Stand aside.”

Monica took aim from feet away. “Freeze, or I'll take your head off.”

Amahl whirled and shot from the hip.

Monica fired. Double-tap to the chest. One to the head. Amahl crumpled. She advanced on him, pistol trained on his head. The officer rushed forward, and cuffed Amahl's lifeless hands behind his back.

“You sick Jihadist bastard,” Monica said. Then she holstered her weapon and sagged against a tree as the shakes began.

A Metro officer appeared at Levi's side. “I'm a tactical medic,” she said while edging him away. As she went to work on Michael, Baker pressed a linen handkerchief against Tucker's rib cage, an inch below his armpit. Levi saw an officer hovering over the body of a local skinhead. A Browning Hi-Power lay on the street next to him. Baker's two rounds had slammed into his throat and exploded out the back of his neck.

A Secret Service uniform sergeant bent over Baker. “We've captured two more of the guys that were shooting at you from behind.” Then he whispered something that caused Baker's eyebrows to shoot up.

Baker got Levi's attention. “Kruger's escaped.”

Levi felt his jaw drop open. “
What
?”

As an ambulance turned the corner and ground to a stop with squealing brakes, Baker explained. “The uniforms turned him over to a Secret Service agent. The agent said he could handle things on his own. Kruger overpowered him. He vanished.”

Levi leaped to his feet and uttered an oath. “There are a million places he could go now.” He watched Michael's chest rise and fall, rise and fall. The police paramedic had staunched the blood, and now Levi bent down and grasped Michael's hand. He said into his ear, “I'm here, Michael. I'm taking you home.” He thought he felt Michael's hand tighten, but couldn't be sure. Regardless, he still had duties to attend to.

He went to Tucker. “Michael's gonna make it.”

Tucker's lips formed a word. “Good.”

“What were you thinking, Tuck? Amahl was firing wild. That round would've missed me.”

Joe Tucker tapped his finger against the ballistic vest beneath his shirt. Then he drew an audible breath. “Had vest. Took the…” he coughed, “…risk.”

Levi squeezed Tucker's shoulder, then moved aside as a paramedic stepped in. Next, he embraced Monica. But he knew she was tough and had it together. After a few private words he released her and turned away.

Joining Hacksaw at Bronk's body, Levi gestured at the neat round hole that had once been Bronk's Swastika. “Perfect aiming point. It's as if he opened his front door to me. As if…” His body went rigid.
Front door. Oh, hell
. He pushed past Sawyer and confronted Potts with a cold stare.

Potts had a cornered animal look. “I'll cooperate fully. You want info on other cells? I'll give them up.” He licked his lips. “Listen, there's this SAC in California…”

“Shut up.” Levi leveled him with his eyes. “You ran Michael Bailey's prints. I have two questions. One: did you obtain his home address? Two: did you give it to Kruger?”

Potts looked down and nodded.

Levi returned to his fallen comrades and said to Baker, “I've gotta go.”

Baker stood over Tucker. “Forget it. You can't go anywhere. This is a homicide scene. The Bureau has to debrief you.”

“You're wrong. This is a fresh pursuit. I know Kruger. He needs to take control. I know where he needs to go—Michael's residence. I'm taking Hack and Dentz there now. Kruger won't attack until dark. I'm sure of it. But I'll call Maryland State Police. They have a barracks nearby. They'll make sure Nadia and the boys are safe.” He pressed his lips together, then told Baker, “I'm outta here. I'll call your cell in a few.” With that, Levi turned on his heel and took off running.

The private woodland community of Ocean Pines, Maryland was three hours from D.C. by car. Kruger drove through the darkened neighborhood with purpose. He'd encountered few problems getting here.

The GPS had brought him straight to the address he sought. He noted the overcast skies and the absence of street lighting and smiled. He might not have brought down the Zionist president, but he would take out the Jewish wife of Levi's friend—and their Jewish children. He would win at least one battle today.

Kruger turned down the final street, killed the headlights and drifted to a stop. It was a few minutes after nine. He held up a pair of 7x50 night binoculars and checked his target. The home sat on a wooded lot at the end of a cul-de-sac. A bit of light escaped from an upstairs window. That would be the younger boy's room. Nicholas. He studied the first floor. Sheer curtains covered the living room window, but he saw the silhouette of an adult female moving through the room. The Jewess. The shorter profile would be the older son. Kruger had a special plan for him. He wanted Mr. Levi to see the results of what he would do to his namesake. “I said we'd skin you alive,” he whispered. “I'll skin the boy, instead.” Excitement surged through him. “Hmm. Both boys.”

Kruger stepped from the car. He spent several minutes listening and watching in the shadow of a mature oak. He lifted his nose to the night air and inhaled. He looked into the trees as the clouds parted, revealing a full moon. The moonlight troubled him. Made it too easy to be seen. Then he started forward. He'd taken but three steps when he heard a dull thunk. He looked down at his feet and stiffened in disbelief at the sight of Brian's frayed red dog collar. Where had that come from? He'd heard nothing.

“Hands in the air,” Levi said in a low voice.

Kruger spun and looked into the face of the man who had found him against all odds.

Levi had on black BDUs and dark socks, but no shoes. He wore a black watch cap low over his forehead and his piercings were gone. He also carried a pistol and badge on his waist. He pointed a finger at Kruger. “Hands on your head.”

Kruger complied. Anything to buy time. He even took a step forward to close the distance. “I have to hand it to you,
Levi
. You're good.” He gauged his chances. “I'm betting you never killed Jackson, either. Yep, you're a real pro.”

“Don't even try it, Kruger.”

“Why not? I'm a better shot than you'll ever be.”

“Then I guess that's where you've got me.” Levi leaned forward at the waist in a shooter's stance. His hands went to the ready. “Because you see, I might just miss that tiny space between your eyes, and take out your left anterior frontal lobe instead. Then you'll be a blithering, drooling mental patient for the rest of your life.”

Kruger sneered. “After I kill you I'm going into that house. The Jew bitch can watch while I skin her sons alive. Then I'll go to work on her with a blowtorch.”

“You're under arrest,” Levi said in a dead-calm voice. “You're surrounded. Keep your hands on top of your head and drop to your knees. Do it now.”

“What a load of bull. There's nobody else here. Even if there were, I'll still get you before they can stop me. And you know I can do it.”

“Surrender, Kruger.” Levi raised his voice and said, “Light him up.” Four laser beams instantly zeroed in on Kruger's chest from both sides of the wooded area.

Kruger noted the red dots, then examined his nemesis through the seven yards that separated them.
Eric can't win. He's done too much heroin to win.

“Kruger? I've killed men in gunfights. You haven't. I've got the edge.”

“Edge? You have no edge.” Kruger's gun hand became a blur.

So did Levi's.

A gunshot ripped the still night air apart.

“
He's down
,” the tac team leader yelled. Emerging from behind a tree, the state trooper kept his M-4 with its surefire light leveled at the body and spoke into his boom mic. “Runk here. I'm clear.”

Six troopers echoed “clear” as they materialized from all sides.

Levi de-cocked his P-229, then lowered it from the high-ready and holstered it in one practiced motion. After taking a deep breath he stepped forward.

The tac team leader's helmet light revealed a neat entry hole through the bridge of Kruger's nose. The trooper moved his head until his light illuminated the blood flowing from what remained of Kruger's skull. He quipped, “Looks like a snake got hold of his nose.”

“Yeah,” Levi said in a quiet voice. “A cobra, in fact.”

Hacksaw and Dentz burst out of Michael's front door seconds later. Levi was all business as he said to Dentz, “Get me an update.”

Dentz yanked off the woman's wig he was still wearing and made two calls. A minute later he announced, “I've informed Baker. Nadia and the boys are at the state police barracks. Sawyer's with 'em.”

“And Michael? Tucker?”

“Still in surgery.”

Levi nodded. Then he nudged Kruger's body with his big toe and said in a low tone, “You. Were not. Going to kill. Someone's wife and children. Not while I was here.”

T
hree days later, President Cohen strode through the back entrance of George Washington University Hospital. Heath Baker met him and led the way. “I'm still in shock,” Cohen said. “The initial prognosis called for a complete recovery, and yet Mr. Tucker is gone.”

Baker's original plan had called for the cancellation of the May Eighth ceremony, in exchange for a publicized helicopter departure from the South Lawn for the short hop to Andrews—enough to whet the appetites of Kruger and Amahl. At the same time, the immediate vicinity was to be roped off to keep innocent bystanders away—an act they would justify by claiming an unlucky scheduling of pesticide spraying. Once the deadly business began, Cohen's double would step outside, then turn as if he'd been summoned for an urgent matter and start back toward the White House.

All that changed when Kruger moved up the attack to an unknown date. Cohen vetoed the Service's request to put the White House and its vicinity on a long term lock-down, stating that it would satisfy a major goal of terrorism—the disruption of daily activities. There would be some tourists in the area to be sure, but since Kruger's plan called for an attack on the South Lawn, and because they had knowledge of the Mack dump truck, they performed a risk assessment based upon those criteria. As strategists they also allowed for Murphy's Law, but the goal remained clear—
to carry on business as usual while luring Amahl and Kruger into their trap. Cohen had insisted on taking the sole risk, but Baker convinced him to rely upon a Marine colonel look-alike who would be whisked away to draw fire, while Cohen strolled toward safety as if
he
were the double.

“Thanks to Dragon Team we nailed Amahl,” Cohen said. “Even the helicopter crews made it out safe, as did my double. What a brave, brave man.”

The president grew quiet when they reached Michael's room. After embracing Nadia he whispered something to her, then turned to the two sons. “I am so very proud of your father. Someday you'll understand.”

Levi Bailey said, “Thank you for coming to visit our dad, sir.” Wrapping an arm around his younger brother's shoulders, he urged him forward. “Go on, Nick. You shake his hand first.”

The president beamed as he shook their hands. Then he bent over Michael, who was conscious but on a ventilator. Cohen said, “You've done well with your life, Mr. Bailey. Very well.”

Twenty minutes later the limo and its escorts turned into the long curving driveway of the Key Bridge Marriott. The lanyards on the bare flagpoles snapped in the blustery winds. Gray clouds threatened rain at any moment. There were no crowds to greet the President of the United States, just security personnel. The limo stopped. Agents formed their protective box. Then he stepped from the car and went to a lone figure waiting nearby. He asked, “How are you today, Mr. Hart?”

Levi Hart had on a beige London Fog over a beautifully tailored black pinstripe, and gleaming Bally lace-ups. His blue tie, knotted rakishly against his starched collar, matched the color of his eyes. A shadow of auburn hair was sprouting across his entire scalp. The tattoo on his forehead was gone, the henna scrubbed away.