Part 12 (1/2)
”Any sign of Stuart Quinn yet?” said Riggs.
”You'll be the first to know if we get a hit on him, though I'm not holding my breath.”
”Sounds like they're getting the band back together.”
”It certainly looks that way,” said Flagg. He paused a moment, considering how to proceed. ”All right. Check out the Clearview Way address very carefully. Use some of Miss Keane's team if necessary. No offense, but your guys don't exactly look like the suburbs types. From what I'm seeing on Google Earth, this is a tidy townhome development.”
”Believe me, you'd be better off with my guys. Have you ever seen her team? They look like aliens. We can head over to the Gap and pick up some clothes.”
”Just be careful. One pa.s.s only. Multiple cameras running so you can a.n.a.lyze the exterior. I see a few opportunities for surveillance nearby, but you'll have to wait for nightfall. You know the drill.”
”Got it,” said Riggs.
”I want Jon and Leah Fisher alive. I can't stress that enough. Taking Stuart Quinn alive is a bonus, but not required. I'll pay a kicker either way. Thirty percent for everyone involved. Standard rates.”
”You say alive would be a bonus,” said Riggs. ”That means you're paying one if we deliver him alive?”
”You manage it without f.u.c.king anything up, I'll pay more.”
”How much more?”
”I'm not going to tell you. I'll roll a pair of dice after you deliver.”
”I hate when you do that,” said Riggs.
”I'd rather you pursued the easy money and just took him out, but if a no-s.h.i.+t, zero-risk opportunity arises, there's no reason you shouldn't get paid a premium. He could have information we can use.”
”Sounds good,” said Riggs, the call ending.
Flagg ran both hands through his thick black hair. Riggs gave him pause sometimes, but he'd never failed to produce results. Same with Nissie Keane, which was why he'd paired the two teams together. If initial reconnaissance of the town house revealed more than the Fishers and their host, he could have a second contract team in Missoula within six hours.
He clicked on a few commands to upload everything he'd found on Scott Gleason to Nissie Keane. She might find something useful in the glut of career information contained in the compiled data.
With the Montana situation moving forward, he turned his attention to the screen detailing the progress made in Mexico-or lack of progress. Hopefully, that was about to change. The Russians sounded just as unsavory as he had hoped, more than willing to ignore convention and spill some blood to appease their paymaster. The Russians would unearth Fisher soon enough.
He'd give the Mexicali drama time to play out before recalling Leeds. He needed Nick to shepherd the next big step in his plan to completely bury any realistic hope of an independent California. The pendulum of public opinion had swung squarely in favor of keeping the status quo favored by his clients, thanks to Flagg's skillful manipulation of events.
It made no logical sense for the California Liberation Movement to sabotage the nuclear triad plant in Del Mar, but throw Nathan Fisher's role in the murder of a police detective and a nuclear plant engineer into the mix, and conspiracy-hungry Californians were off and running. Fisher's bank accounts flush with cash and digital evidence suggesting frequent contact with CLM leaders sealed the deal. Top that with Lieutenant Governor McDaid's a.s.sa.s.sination, and it was hard to shed a sympathetic light on the only radical group with a reason to kill the blatantly antisecessionist lieutenant governor. Even the blame for Congresswoman Almeda's a.s.sa.s.sination back in Was.h.i.+ngton, DC, had started to migrate in CLM's direction.
It was endlessly amusing for Flagg to watch the public respond to the media's foregone conclusions, all influenced if not outright purchased by Cerberus money. Now Californians needed one more push, and Flagg intended to deliver it-just as soon as he took care of a few annoying loose ends.
CHAPTER 18.
Nathan checked the makes.h.i.+ft ballistic vest provided to Owen by Jose's team. Not a bad fit for something put together in a hurry from extra pieces of gear. Nathan pressed against the enhanced chest plate protecting his son's critical organs from small-arms fire, wis.h.i.+ng they could have fitted him with one of the liquid-gel vests. Not only was the latest-generation liquid-gel armor lighter, but it also dispersed the blunt force trauma of a bullet strike far more efficiently, cutting down on cracked sternums and internal organ damage.
He slapped the back plate. ”Looking good, buddy. Mr. Quinn said this plate will stop a 50-caliber bullet.”
”Why can't I have one like yours?” said Owen, pressing against Nathan's vest.
”The gel inserts were too big to work with. They had some extrasmall plates used in concealed vests that better fit your chest. They tried, but the only way to get it to work was to fold the gel packs. Doing that messed with the gel's sheer thickening effect.”
”I've seen this stuff on the Military Channel. If something hits it, it hardens. I don't see why they couldn't use it.”
”Is that what the two of you watch when I'm not home?” said Keira, who pulled the MP-20's sling over her shoulder like David had shown her.
”The Military Channel is the least of your problems when the guys are hanging out,” Nathan said, then turned back to Owen. ”It needs to lie mostly flat to function properly. Something about dispersing energy over a wider area. You'll be fine, buddy. We won't need any of this.” He grabbed both of Owen's shoulders. ”You ready?”
His son nodded, a nervous look pa.s.sing over his face.
”You, Keira?”
”As I'll ever be.”
”All right. Let's do it.”
The guard outside their door stood from his chair as they approached and was leading them up the cramped hallway when the door at the end burst inward. The young man dropped to one knee and raised his rifle as David rushed into the corridor, stopping at the sight of the rifle barrel.
”Jesus,” said the guard, lowering his weapon and rising to his feet. ”You trying to get killed?”
”Didn't they call you?” said David.
”No. n.o.body called to say you'd be kicking the door in.”
”That's not my problem,” David said, gesturing for Nathan to step forward. ”We're going right now. Quick briefing with Jose, then we're out the door.”
”Is something wrong?” said Nathan.
”Jose didn't say, but considering the fact that they've moved up the timeline by thirty minutes, I'd say something wasn't right.”
”Great.”
David led them through the tunnels to the operations center, where they gathered with Jose and two serious-looking men in front of a city map. Jose handed Nathan a tattered, compactly folded AAA map.
”I highlighted the route you need to take to reach Nogales. Do not alter the route under any circ.u.mstances. Route 2 is generally safe, but the side roads can be a different story.”
”What if Route 2 is blocked?”
”Then you'll have to take one of the side roads. Not a lot of choices. Do you want to rethink my offer to escort you north?”
”We're good,” David interjected. ”What's up with the fire drill?”
”A jet just landed at one of the private strips to the south. The same guys that have been spreading money around the city all afternoon picked up the pa.s.sengers.”
”Pa.s.sengers?” said Nathan.
”Eight men,” said Jose, handing Nathan a digital tablet. ”Professional soldiers, by the look of them.”