Part 27 (1/2)

”Inside, quick,” a black youth said, gesturing to her.

Beyond the door, the interior was pitch-black, and Judith could see nothing. She stepped inside anyway, heart pounding in her chest.

Another rumble of machinery, and the door closed behind her. Then brilliant spotlights ignited, blinding her. Someone s.n.a.t.c.hed the package out of her hand; other hands frisked her.

They were obviously looking for a weapon. She had none, and when they found her pa.s.sport and Dubic's cell phone, they ignored them. She hoped they hadn't broken the phone circuit, but she couldn't check now.

”Is that the aerosol dispenser?” Ibrahim Noor demanded.

”Yes, yes it is,” an accented voice replied. ”I can install it in less than an hour.”

”Do it,” Noor commanded.

Judith blinked against the light, strained to see through her tears.

”Why did you come here?” Noor asked. ”Who sent you?”

”I told you. Dubic...”

”If Dubic told you to come here, he would have given you the remote control to open the door. All of my men have it. Dubic knows our security. Anyone stupid enough to bang on our door is either a neighborhood addict or a cop.”

”No! Dubic must have forgotten. He was very injured. He could hardly speak...”

”You are a fraud. An impostor,” roared Noor. ”Take her.”

Strong hands seized her arms. Judith struggled, then yelled out the panic phrase: ”Semper fi! Semper fi!” ”Semper fi! Semper fi!”

Someone punched her in the face, and the lab's bright lights faded.

4:38:43 A.M. EDT.

Schenley Park Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania From his position among the branches of a century-old oak, Detective Mike Gorman s.h.i.+fted the sniper rifle in his grip, then aimed his night vision binoculars at the trailer truck three hundred feet away.

The vehicle sat in the middle of Schenley Plaza, once the grand entrance to the 456-acre conservancy, now used as a parking area for county rangers and concession employees. The truck had arrived sometime between midnight and four A.M., when a sharp-eyed Allegheny County Parks Department ranger recognized the vehicle from a Federal government alert sent out to local authorities.

Two men slept in the cab. The driver's window was open, his arm hanging out. The guy in the pa.s.senger seat slouched so low, only the top of his New York Mets ball cap showed above the dashboard.

He's the tougher shot, and I got him, Gorman mused. Gorman mused.

For thirty minutes, Gorman and his partner, Chuck Romeo, had observed the sleeping targets, fearing they would awaken and drive away at any moment. So far they'd been lucky, but luck never lasted long - just one lesson Gorman had taken away from the McKee's Rocks mess.

I should have fired, Gorman thought, flas.h.i.+ng back to the hostage standoff. A young mother had been held at gunpoint by an escaped convict. Gorman thought, flas.h.i.+ng back to the hostage standoff. A young mother had been held at gunpoint by an escaped convict. I should never have waited for authorization. If I'd have pulled the trigger, that poor woman would be alive today and her murderer dead, instead of the other way around. I should never have waited for authorization. If I'd have pulled the trigger, that poor woman would be alive today and her murderer dead, instead of the other way around.

”What are we waiting for?” Gorman said into his headset.

”A biohazard team with a tent,” his boss, Captain Kelly, advised. ”Once it's in place, we can move.”

Gorman glanced across a gra.s.sy clearing at his partner, perched in a tall maple tree. He was sure Chuck was staring back at him. Then Romeo's voice crackled in his headset.

”A biohazard team? Is there something you're not telling us, Captain?”

”Relax, boys,” Kelly said. ”Just do your job and the Feds will do the rest.”

More baffled than alarmed, Gorman lowered his binoculars and s.h.i.+fted the fourteen-pound M24 sniper rifle into position. The composite stock against his armored shoulder, he peered through the infrared scope.

Placing the ball cap in the center of his crosshairs, Gorman once again adjusted the instrument for wind speed, temperature, humidity, and distance. Gorman knew he had only one shot. It had to be on the money. He wasn't going to mess up again.

Minutes pa.s.sed. Then Gorman heard the sound of an engine. He watched in disbelief as two white panel trucks rolled into the plaza and halted just inside the gate.

”I thought the road had been cordoned off to traffic,” Gorman hissed.

”It's the biohazard team. They'll be ready to go in two minutes.”

Gorman glanced through his scope again. His target was still snoozing, but the driver had s.h.i.+fted position.

Had he heard the vans, too?

”I think my mark's awake,” Chuck Romeo warned.

”Do not fire,” Captain Kelly commanded. ”I repeat. Do not fire until I give the command.”

”Son of a...” Gorman stifled his curse, remembering that everything he and the others said was being taped - just like McKee's Rocks.

Unbidden, the memory returned. Two A.M., outside a strip joint on the main drag of that sc.u.mmy little suburb. The drunk convict, using the dancer for a s.h.i.+eld, gun to her head. Gorman had a clear shot, begged Captain Kelly for authorization to pull the trigger, but it never came. The only shot fired that night went into the dancer's skull. The single mother from Wheeling, West Virginia, died because he'd hesitated.

Through his scope, Gorman saw the driver wake up the man beside him. Both stared at the vans with open suspicion.

”If he starts that engine, the men who are supposed to be hiding inside that frailer will know something's up,” Gorman warned.

”Do not not fire,” Captain Kelly repeated. fire,” Captain Kelly repeated.

”You ready to shoot, Chuck?” Gorman asked.

”Ready,” Romeo said after a short pause.

”Fire on three,” Gorman said, aiming.

”Stand down and wait for my command,” Kelly warned.

”Do not fire.”

”One,” said Gorman.

”Stand down, I said!” Kelly cried.

”Two.”