The Patrick Bowers Files - 05 - The Queen (52 page)

The fire was slowly growing large enough to warm Tessa and Amber, and they'd pulled a couch close and now sat together, silently watching the flames. Amber had lit some candles, and the room smelled of sweet vanilla and crackling, burning pine. Just a few feet away, the storm churned outside the window.

Amber drew out her cell, called the bait shop. “Sean, the electricity went out.” Tessa could tell she was leaving a message. “Pat and Lien-hua had to leave. I'm here with Tessa.” A long pause. It seemed like Amber might start crying again. “I'm sorry about everything tonight. About things with Patrick back . . . I love you . . . um . . . if you get this, call me. Okay?”

After she hung up, Tessa tried to reassure her. “I'm sure he'll be back soon. You guys'll figure things out, okay?”

“Okay.”

Even in the dim, flickering light Tessa could see a storm of loneliness burdening Amber's face, but before she could say anything else to try and cheer her up, Amber said, “Did Pat give you some sleeping pills earlier tonight?”

“Yeah, they're in my room.”

“I think maybe I could use one to calm down.”

“Okay. Sure. They're on my dresser. On the left.” Tessa scootched forward to retrieve them, but Amber stood first. “That's all right. I've got it.”

From the edge of the couch Tessa watched her stepaunt head toward the hallway, and then disappear into the shadows lingering just beyond the fire's light.

8:26 p.m.

34 minutes until the transmission

I stared at the door.

Rusted, located at the back of the Schoenberg Inn near the dumpsters beside the food service loading bay. Though the door had a keycard reader and a numbered touch pad, since it was just an unobtrusive exterior door around the back of the building, I imagined it wouldn't draw much attention from anyone.

That's how they could transfer staff and supplies into and out of the base without being noticed.
The thought gave me hope that there would be a motorized way to get to the base after all.

Julianne, Lien-hua, and Weatherford stood beside me. He'd taken bribes, wasted our time, endangered lives. I was so angry with him, but I kept my mouth shut. I was on the brink of saying something I would seriously regret.

“How much did the Navy pay you?” Lien-hua asked him irritably.

“They don't pay me, it's just a condition of my employment.” He sounded rattled but also slightly defiant. “All I know is that the door is here. People come. They leave. I almost never even see 'em.” He gestured toward the flat surface of the door where a doorknob or handle should have been. “I don't even know how to get in.”

I do.

“Get him to the sheriff's department,” I said, pulling out the biometric ID card.

Julianne began to escort Weatherford back to her cruiser, but as they reached a strip of ice just past the dumpster, he kicked at her leg and she went down hard.

“Hey!” I yelled. I started for him, but he rabbited toward the woods, and with my ankle slowing me down, Lien-hua was able to pass me and get to him first. She tackled him with authority.

I was moving toward her, but she shook her head. “Get that door open, Pat. We'll take care of him. I'll be right back.”

She and Julianne hustled Weatherford out of sight around the edge of the building, and I went back to insert Donnie's biometric ID card into the scanner.

Tessa heard the water running in the bathroom sink.

“Did you need one?” Amber called.

“Naw, I actually took one earlier. Thanks.” Now that the topic had come up, Tessa realized she
was
starting to feel a little mellow, the medication-induced drowsiness catching up with her.

“I'll leave them here in the medicine cabinet.” Amber's voice sounded more muted than it should have, as if the hungry darkness in the hallway were swallowing some of the sound.

But Tessa did manage to hear the faint click as the medicine cabinet opened, and then another as Amber shut it again. And for some reason she thought of Patrick, of his mission to find that kidnapped woman. Though it was a little uncharacteristic of her, Tessa said a brief prayer for his success. And a short prayer too, for Amber, that she would be able to find the rest and peace that she needed tonight.

The keycard didn't open the lock.

Instead, on the screen just above the number pad, a prompt came up asking me to enter a password, and I had no idea what that might be.

Remembering the cipher I'd passed along to Angela and Lacey, I tried 27219.

Nope.

I entered Donnie's work ID, the phone number we were tracking related to Valkyrie, even alphanumeric ways of spelling Queen, all to no avail.

The clues circled around, sliding into place, then dislodging again.

Squirming away.

Revelation 21:9.

What did it say again? Seven plagues? Seven vials?

Maybe there's something in that verse. Something you can use.

Having left my computer in Julianne's cruiser, I used my phone to pull up an online Bible: “And there came unto me one of the seven angels which had the seven vials full of the seven last plagues, and talked with me, saying, Come hither, I will shew thee the bride, the Lamb's wife.”

Seven angels. Seven vials. Seven plagues.

I tried 777.

No.

As I scanned the next few lines I felt my heart plummet: “And he carried me away in the spirit to a great and high mountain, and shewed me that great city, the holy Jerusalem, descending out of heaven from God.”

Jerusalem?

Is Jerusalem the bride? The queen?

Pulse racing, I read the verses again, hoping to establish if that's what the apostle John was referring to. It seemed to be, but I wasn't certain of the interpretation, there might be more to—

Secretary of State Nielson is in Tehran this week . . .

Iran and Israel? Is this something to do with Jerusalem and Tehran?

Alexei had mentioned that Russia sold its military secrets to Iran.

Jerusalem.

The bride. The queen.

What else had Alexei said?
The Beriev A-60 can shoot down a satellite, even from hundreds of kilometers away . . . It heats the outer casing, causes structural damage.

It was the Russian version of the Boeing YAL-1.

None of this was certain, but if Alexei was right, it played in our favor. I called Margaret again and asked her to check on any Boeing YAL-1s we might have stationed in the Persian Gulf.

She didn't even question why I was asking this but took a minute to make a call on another line, then said, “No. That aircraft was only experimental. The program was scrapped. There are only a couple left at Edwards Air Force Base.”

That was in California. “Hang on a sec.”

A quick online search told me that the Vahdati Air Base was the closest Iranian Air Force base to Israel.

That would be the most likely one.

If you're right, Pat—yes—

Timing . . . location . . .

I told Margaret what I was thinking about Jerusalem, and she listened intently. “If anything happens,” I said, “Israel is going to strike back at the most likely country to fire a nuclear missile at them. Get in touch with Secretary of State Nielson. He needs to call his counterpart in Israel, get them to put up whatever missile defense shields they have around Jerusalem. And we're going to need Iran to scramble some planes.”

When I mentioned the Beriev A-60s Margaret scoffed at first but finally committed to calling Nielson. Before we hung up I remembered the web-based encrypted message from the base, realized there was a way to communicate with the outside world, and informed her I'd follow up as soon as I could. “Keep this line open.”

She hung up and I saw Lien-hua jogging toward me, her sable hair whipping wildly behind her in the wind. “No luck?” she called, pointing to the door.

“No. Any ideas?”

She studied it. “Step back.” I was surprised to see her crouch into a ready position for kickboxing.

“It's a metal door.”

“Step back, Pat.”

“Lien-hua—”

I saw the intensity in her eyes and I stepped back.

She took a calming breath and then burst forward with a fierce front kick, landing her left foot against the door right beside the keycard reader. The impact didn't appear to do any damage to the lock.

“We need to find another way—”

“Quiet.”

I was quiet.

She went at the door again, aiming for the lock itself, and when she kicked it, the door shuddered, but still the lock didn't give. She backed up a third time, took a deep breath, then flew forward with a brutal spinning side kick, and this time when her foot smacked against the door I heard a pop inside the lock.

Nice.

If Eco-Tech used this entrance, they might have left someone to guard the entryway.
I drew my weapon and pressed against the door to test it, but it wouldn't give.

“One more shot,” she said softly.

I moved aside, and she exploded toward the door—another carefully placed spinning side kick—and the lock finally shattered. Immediately, the door snapped open. She had her weapon out now too.

“I never doubted you for an instant,” I said.

“Uh-huh.”

I signaled that I'd go first; she covered me.

“FBI!” I shouted into the darkness. “On the ground. Arms outstretched!”

No verbal response. I drew out my Maglite and clicked it on, held it between my middle and ring fingers of my left hand, cap end against my palm so I could use a standard two-handed grip on my weapon.

Swung through the doorway.

Empty. Nothing, except a downward-sloping tunnel of hard-packed earth.

So they could roll supplies in
, I thought, once again hopeful that there'd be some means of transport to the base.
It's at least five miles. Surely they don't just walk the whole way . . .

Before going any farther I contacted Tait to get backup on the way, but in this weather I knew that'd take awhile and I wasn't about to stand around here waiting for them.

“Let's go,” I told Lien-hua.

Weapons drawn and ready, we entered the tunnel.

One of the interrogators searching Terry's room discovered the spliced section of cord from the lamp beside his bed, the wires Terry had used to charge the cell phone.

“He's got something here,” he announced. “And I want it found. Now!”

Terry watched the three men carefully, noting which of them appeared least vigilant about keeping his weapon protected.

The youngest agent, a guy Terry had heard the others refer to as Riley, seemed to fit the bill.

It wouldn't be easy, Terry decided, and he might not be able to kill all three men before they could get a shot off at him, but if it came down to it, he was willing to take that chance rather than risk having them move him out of here before Abdul's militants arrived.