Terror Bounty (19 page)

It was without surprise that Rick was
flown back to Dar es Salaam – blindfolded, naturally. He purchased a ticket out
of the country with his own credit card and he couldn’t wait to leave.

He boarded a plane for Turkey, suffered
through a four-hour layover, and then he got onto another Turkish Airlines
aircraft to Dulles International.

He pretty much slept for 20 hours
straight.

During the layover in Istanbul, he
located a payphone and called the CIA’s official number which he found online
during a visit at an Internet café. He tried his best to get in touch with
Hertz but as expected he was given the runaround.

He decided that once he got to America he
would go to Langley in person and try to get this sorted out. Or maybe he would
bypass them altogether, go to the FBI instead. But for the moment all he wanted
to do was go home and sleep again.

~  ~  ~  ~

He woke up slowly.

His apartment wasn’t anything to write
home about but it was his. The smell, the sounds, everything was familiar. His
bed might as well have been made from the flowing hair of a thousand virgin
mermaids. It was comfortable. It was home.

He stirred, blinked, and gradually became
alive again. He glanced at the clock on the nightstand; it read 11:04am.

Rick shook the cobwebs away and sat up.
He picked up the cheap mobile phone he had purchased at the airport until he
could get a new permanent one, and dialed a number.

“Peter Travis” the voice answered.

“Hey, Uncle Pete. It’s me. I’m back.”

“Thank God.”

“I just wanted to let you know that
Greenwood is coming over to America within a few days.”

“Jesus, what did you do?”

“He trusts me,” Rick said, the words
making him want to throw up.

“I hope you didn’t do anything you’ll
regret, kid. This is dangerous.”

“No, it’s necessary.  As soon as I know
his schedule I’ll call you and we can catch that son of a bitch.”

He said goodbye, promised to come over
for dinner to tell him about his ordeal, and then hung up.

The only thing he could do now was wait for
Greenwood to come to him and fall into his trap.

~  ~  ~  ~

For the next day and a half, Rick tried
to get his life back together. He bought a new iPhone, paid his bills, and
compulsively checked his e-mail.

In between all that, he came to the realization
that his life had changed dramatically. He had no job to go to, his savings
were dwindling away, and he couldn’t stop thinking about Olivia.

What have I done?

It had started as an adventure, a way to
get money and put his crappy, disappointing life behind him. Maybe he’d wanted
to make up for his father’s mistakes, to do something good for once.

And what had he gotten in return? He got
involved with a terrorist and ultimately became the catalyst for the murder of
a British intelligence officer.

Sure, she’d had to know what she was
getting involved in, danger was her job, as corny as it sounded, and she’d been
trained for it.
Christ
, she had insisted on coming along with him. On
the other hand, it didn’t change the fact that it was his fault if she was
dead.

Did she have a family? He’d never asked. All
he knew was that she didn’t have a husband or boyfriend. But what about her
parents? Or siblings maybe? He had destroyed all their lives because he was an
amateur and had gotten himself involved in something way out of his league.

And there was that upcoming attack.

Every single moment that passed he wanted
to call the CIA again or his uncle Peter, warning them about what they were
dealing with. But he didn’t, he kept that information private.

He justified this to himself by saying
that it was to catch Greenwood. He didn’t want to spook him. If he was as
connected as he pretended to be, then maybe he’d get wind that the authorities
knew about the biological agent and he would change his plan. They’d never be
able to catch him.

But deep down, Rick had another motive
for not telling anyone. He felt guilty, responsible. He’d been the one to personally
transport the briefcase from Johannesburg to Greenwood.

If this thing went sideways, he’d wind up
on death row.

He was finishing his shower when his
phone buzzed. He made sure it was constantly charged and was bringing it
everywhere with him, even in the bathroom. The phone bounced off the counter
and landed heavily on the bathroom rug.

Rick caught sight of it and didn’t even
bother to dry himself as he stepped out of the shower.

It was an e-mail from Greenwood demanding
his number. He wrote it back to him. The phone rang a minute later.

“Hello?”

“Glad you could make it.”

“Sorry, I was in the shower. I’ve been
waiting night and day for your call.”

“It’s okay, Rick. I appreciate your
enthusiasm. Are you still committed to changing the world?”

“I’m as committed as ever.”

“Good, good. And I’m committed to helping
you.”

“I really appreciate it, thank you so
much.”

“Rick, find a way to be in Cleveland at
noon today. McAdoo Motor Inn, off Euclid Avenue, room four. And don’t forget
your notes. I’m about to change your life.”

The line went dead and Rick’s heart was
racing. It was time to put an end to this.

Screw the CIA deal. He called the FBI.

It was raining hard in Cleveland,
curtains of water falling down without relent. A SWAT team from the FBI
advanced slowly against the brick wall of the motel. The rain didn’t bother
them at all, like they couldn’t even see it.

The men were highly trained and they were
wearing enough gear to invade Russia. Their submachine guns were at eye level,
aimed forward. Most of them had seen combat in the military. Taking down bad
guys by surprise was what they did best.

Across the street, not quite hundred
yards away, was a government-issue blue sedan. Jason Vanstedum was behind the
wheel, watching his men through binoculars.

In the backseat, Rick and Uncle Peter
were still, on pins and needles. It was especially stressful for Rick because
his freedom was on the line.

Immediately after getting the call from
Greenwood, he had phoned his uncle so he would act as a go-between. Thankfully,
Peter was acquainted with Vanstedum. They never really worked together but he
knew him enough to make the introduction. Even better, he could convince the
Counterterrorism Division that Rick was for real.

Time was an issue and there was no
argument. Peter arranged for Rick to be allowed to come along and he boarded a
Gulfstream jet belonging to the FBI as they all flew from Washington to
Cleveland. Meanwhile, a SWAT team from Ohio was scrambled into action.

Rick looked at the assault team,
squinting to see through the rain. The guys looked badass and, even better,
they still had a few minutes to spare.

The motel was in a bad part of town. It
was a brick structure three stories high. It looked like it had been built 100
years ago but this didn’t make it classy and elegant either. It seemed like the
kind of place a second-rate accountant took a hooker for 30 minutes of pleasure
and a venereal disease.

The neighborhood didn’t fare much better.
It was littered with low-rise commercial buildings, half of which were in
foreclosure. With the rain, the air smelled of rotting trash. It was definitely
a step down for Greenwood, Rick thought, recalling the four-star hotel in South
Africa.

Special Agent Westerbeck jogged through
the rain and entered the car, sitting in front next to Vanstedum.

“The guy at the front desk confirms
Greenwood rented the room. He IDed the picture.”

Vanstedum snarled. “I got you, you
bastard.”

Excitement was building inside Rick as
well. They were close to the end. “But I get the four million.”

“Yeah well, we’ll see about that.”

“Hey, don’t fuck with me on this! You don’t
know what I had to go through to get him to come over.”

The Assistant Director turned on his
seat. “You’ll have things to answer to, young man.”

“I did more to track down Greenwood than
you guys were ever able to, okay? You just remember that.”

“Somehow it seems too easy,” Vanstedum
said. “If the guy’s gonna be in Cleveland then he should be at the Key Tower.
That’s where Garfield Plastics and Consolidated Stokes Polymer are announcing a
merger today. If you’re on his side I swear–”

“Come on now, Jason,” Peter said in a
conciliatory tone. “Rick is with us. For once the good guys get a break. Can’t
we appreciate this for a minute?”

Vanstedum winced and shook his head. “It’s
weird, I get all kinds of breaks today.”

“What are you talking about?”

The senior man retrieved a letter from a
pocket inside his jacket and handed it over to Peter. Rick immediately
recognized one of the two pages as a photocopy of the envelope he had mailed
for Greenwood while in South Africa.

“This is a letter the
New York Times
got this morning, telling the world how plastics are the new evil of this
world, how mergers are destroying our economic system. Doesn’t take a goddamn
rocket scientist to figure this out. We’re at the wrong place.”

Rick sighed. “Look, what’s the problem?
So we hit him before he strikes, we stop him in time.”

Peter shot Rick a “don’t worry about it”
look. It didn’t boost the young man’s confidence in the least.

“You better pray I don’t find out you’re
in cahoots with Greenwood,” Vanstedum said. “All right, here we go.”

He gave a nod to Westerbeck who lifted
his radio to his lips.

“You have a green light, take him down.”

~  ~  ~  ~

The SWAT leader didn’t say a word but
clicked his radio to acknowledge the order. Then he tapped the man in front of
him on the shoulder.

This man placed a small explosive charge
against the motel room door and backed away. Holding the detonator in one hand,
he counted down five seconds with the other.

The officers readied their MP5s, seconds
stretching into eternity.

The charge exploded and the door was
breached!

The eight men kicked the door in and
poured inside the room. It was hazy, there was smoke everywhere. Their laser
sights were cutting through the smoke in what would otherwise be a beautiful
light show.

“FBI! FBI!”

They stopped as they aimed at a figure on
the bed.

“FBI, asshole! Put your fucking hands up!”

They came closer…

~  ~  ~  ~

In the car across the street, Vanstedum
ripped the radio out of Westerbeck’s hands.

“What the hell do you mean, it’s empty?
You said you saw the guy inside, for Christ sakes! You verified, you reconned,
you saw somebody sitting on the bed.”

Rick closed his eyes at the terrible news
and buried his face in his hands.

Vanstedum drove the car closer in a flash
and rushed into the motel room. It smelled like detcord and old chicken curry.
Westerbeck was right behind him. They both had a pistol in their hands. The
SWAT officers were standing still, having cleared the room.

“What’s this?” Vanstedum said, coming
closer to the bed.

There was a plastic mannequin propped up
against the headboard. It was dressed up like it was advertising the best Sears
had to offer. There was a small rectangular sheet of paper taped to the abdomen
area.

Westerbeck put on a latex glove and
lifted the note before reading it.

“Hi Rick, sorry I couldn’t be here with
you right now. Other business has come up. Signed, Greenwood.”

He handed it to his boss who merely
glanced at it.

“Get it to the lab.”

“Sure.”

“The son of a bitch played us. It was a
diversion. Get everyone ready to go to the Key Tower. We’ve already wasted too
much time.”

When he came out, Rick and his uncle were
standing in front of him, in the rain. The situation had obviously been blown
to smithereens and he couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Looks like your boy fucked you,”
Vanstedum said. “Greenwood left a message addressed to you, says he has other
plans, something different from what he agreed to do with you.”

Rick ignored him. He had to speak up, no
matter the consequences.

“There’s something you have to know.”

“There are a lot of things I ought to
know.”

“When I was in Africa, Greenwood had me
pick up a briefcase in Johannesburg, something he said was already paid for. I
was only supposed to bring it back to wherever the hell his village was.”

Comprehension dawned on Vanstedum. “Don’t
say what I think you’re gonna say…”

“I figured out the combination on the
lock,” Rick said. “Inside was some biochemical vial. I don’t know what it is
but it’s filled with a greenish liquid. I saw the biohazard symbol on it.”

Vanstedum shook his head, he was
bristling. “Now you’ve done it, you’ve really fucking done it. If so much as a
house fly dies following this, I’ll charge you with crimes against fucking
humanity.”

He ran to his car as Peter went to his
nephew.

“I think you should sit this one out,
Rick.”

“But I could have information, I know
this man.”

“I think you’ve done enough for now. Go
to a restaurant or a hotel, or something. If you’re not here he won’t be able
to detain you. I’ll call you as soon as we get something new.”

Peter jogged to Vanstedum’s car,
Westerbeck next to him.

Rick had thought about the worst-case
scenario during the last few days. This was beyond anything he could have
imagined.

~  ~  ~  ~

Key Tower was 57 stories high, the
tallest building in Ohio. Even though the motel was nine miles away by taking
I-90, Vanstedum could see the skyscraper from a long way off.

Westerbeck brought the car to a
screeching halt off Public Square and the Assistant Director for
Counterterrorism barely noticed. He was on the phone, coordinating with FBI
headquarters and local authorities.

It was one thing to prepare for the
possibility of biochemical warfare, but in the heat of the moment it was
nothing but chaos.

Catching Greenwood before he acted wasn’t
even on the table anymore. In a dream scenario, they would intervene covertly
without him being aware of it until it was too late. However, the priority
right now was to keep people safe.

In the park across the street – the Mall
– was a huddle of Cleveland police and agents from the local FBI field office
which was located nearby, incidentally. Vanstedum joined them and introduced
himself. There was no question that he was in charge.

“I want the building sealed off. No exit is
to be left unattended, that includes the parking garage. Anyone getting in or
out is to be checked thoroughly. My people are working on having pictures of
Greenwood distributed.”

A Cleveland Police lieutenant ticked
something off his clipboard. “Our bomb squad’s already checking the cars in the
garage.”

“Good.”

A fat uniformed sergeant looked perplexed
as a mobile command unit van showed up on the scene. “Why don’t we just
evacuate the building?”

“Not until we have a verifiable threat.
You wouldn’t believe how stupid you can look when you do something like that.
Uncle Sam doesn’t buy better safe than sorry.”

This was in fact wrong, had been ever
since the advent of Islamic terrorism. The policy these days was never to take
any chances. That was how TSA agents wound up detaining 80-year-old
grandmothers with knitting needles and why five-year-olds ended up on the
no-fly list because they had names that were hard to pronounce.

But Vanstedum was still holding onto the
idea of catching Greenwood. And for all he knew, it was already too late. What
if they evacuated the building and people were infected with a virus?

What if evacuating led to a deadly pandemic?

~  ~  ~  ~

Rick was at a loss about what to do. He
had come to Cleveland with his uncle, on the FBI private jet, now he felt
abandoned. He even wondered if his credit card still had enough wiggle room to
get himself a ticket back to Washington.

Peter had told him to just wait things
out and that’s what he would do because he couldn’t think of anything else. He
was out of his depth and things were only getting worse.

He could have gone to a restaurant, have
some lunch while he considered what the future had in store for him, which
would probably be a nice long jail sentence. But he didn’t trust himself not to
freak out. So instead he took a taxi and went to a hotel – an affordable one,
he made sure to tell the driver.

He wound up in some monolithic hotel on
the other side of Cleveland State University. It wasn’t too expensive and best
of all it offered him the privacy he genuinely wanted at the moment.

The only downside was that it offered a
view of the Key Tower. He was torn between staring at it and closing the
drapes. A part of him wished he was over there, helping somehow to save lives,
to catch Greenwood. Conversely, he was ashamed of what he’d done.

How could somebody fuck up so bad?

He must have a special talent for this,
he thought. He stood in front of the wide window, the rain splashing against
the glass without obscuring his view in any way. There was a knock at the door.

“Can’t you read the Do Not Disturb sign?”
he shouted.

He wanted to be left alone no matter
what, if anything to savor his last moments before they put him in jail.

“Bugger off, will you? I’m wet and I’m
cold.”

The voice was female, the accent British.
Unable to breathe, Rick hurried to the door and opened it.

Standing before him was Olivia.