Firepower, John Cutter [best summer reads .txt] 📗

said. “And I have to be there in case it doesn’t. Meanwhile — is there a place in the area has breakfast twenty-four hours?”

*

I don’t see how you can eat at a time like this,” Deirdre said, shaking her head as Vince ate his second plate of eggs and hash browns. Chang — not wanting to know too much about Vince’s plans — had dropped them off here. They were in a back corner booth of a Denny’s, almost the only customers. Willie Nelson sang “Crazy” from the sound system. He sounded lost in the nearly empty restaurant.

“Need to eat at a time like this,” Vince said, refilling his cup from the carafe. “Going to need the energy. I’ll burn through it all before the day’s over…”

“Or we’ll just sit twiddling our fingers.” Deirdre had ordered orange juice. She took a sip of it, made a face, and said, “I don’t see what we can do — we could’ve been misled about their target.”

“I don’t think so,” Vince said. He drank some coffee and added, “Anyway, I can’t ask you to go with me and do what I’m going to do. You can do it if you choose to — but I can’t ask it of you.”

“Which is what?”

“There’s plan A and plan B. Plan A, I would need you to fly the heli. That’s probably what would work best. But it’d ruin your career — more than this bullshit smear going on right now. So I guess Plan B… I show up on foot and do what I can. Maybe you and Richie can help me on the ground.”

Deirdre crossed her arms and rubbed her shoulders. “I’m going to stop Gustafson no matter what it takes. Career or not.”

“How’s the pain in your shoulders?”

“Hurts. There’s some swelling. But the ibuprofen helped. I’ve made up my mind I’m going to fly that heli…”

The phone in Vince’s pack rang. The small pack was on the seat beside him, and he opened it, putting the phone to his ear. “Yeah?”

He half expected to hear a threat from Gustafson. But it was Shaun Adler’s voice, whispering, “Can you hear me okay? I can’t raise my voice…”

“I can hear you. You at Wolf Base?”

“No. West Virginia. Place called Ostrovsky House, big stone place right at the end of Greenville Road, a little south of a town called Wersted in the Adirondacks. They’re holding me here, Vince — they’re making me put on a suicide vest.”

Vince felt a sick chill go through him. He had bad memories of suicide bombers. And forced suicide bombers were something he’d seen too; a monstrous terrorist practice carried out more than once by ISIS.

“Do you know where they’re going to deploy you?”

“Police precinct. Third district, and I heard the number three-oh-five. But I’m not sure. Maybe a cop shop, man. I just know it’s happening not long before the attack, around nine and — shit!”

“Shaun?”

Vince heard Mac Colls’ voice then, in the background. “Who are you talking to, Adler? What are you doing with that phone?”

“It’s my dad, I just wanted him to know I’m okay—”

Then the connection cut off.

Vince slapped the phone down on the table. “That was Shaun Adler. I am very much afraid I’m not going to be able to help him…”

“Anything about the Brethren’s plan?”

“There was one thing — third district, three-oh-five… You know what, I need you to call Agent Chang…”

*

The Uber driver had been surprised when they asked him to let them off at the edge of the old airport. But he didn’t seem to have reported it to anyone, because Vince and Deirdre Corlin had been here for hours.

Deirdre was stretched out on the deck of the helicopter, dozing with her head on her arms; Vince was in the co-pilot’s chair. The horizon to the east, between buildings, was glowing gray-red in pre-dawn. He glanced back at Deirdre; saw she was in a fitful sleep, her eyes opening then fluttering shut.

He had thought about flying to West Virginia. Thinking if he could capture Gustafson, he could force him to stop the attack. And rescue Shaun at the same time.

But he suspected the whole thing was autonomous by now. The attack would go ahead. And Gustafson might well not surrender peacefully, anyway.

Right now, Vince was considering calling an old friend who worked at the Pentagon. Major Gus Gresley. Gus was now the Delta Force officer at the Pentagon, with an office in the DIA. There was some risk in a call like that. Maybe Gresley had heard that Vince had “gone rogue”. With Dawson in the Justice Department, and connections between Dawson and Gustafson, there was a good chance of it. Question was, would Gresley believe Vince — or the rumors?

Vince shrugged. Worth a try. He got out his phone. He remembered numbers, always had. And he remembered Gresley’s home phone number.

After four rings, Gresley answered, his voice thick. “Who the hell?”

“It’s Vince Bellator, is who the hell. Sorry to wake you, Gus, but I ran into some guys who plan to attack the Joint Chiefs tomorrow. They want to kill them all. There’s a meeting with the generals and the DIA — that right?”

“How’d you know about the meeting?”

“A certain Professor Gustafson. Who has friends on the inside at the Justice Department and the Pentagon. He’s a Nazi asshole, Gus. It’s the Germanic Brethren. They’re planning a group of attacks, including the Joint Chiefs. Tomorrow, sometime before nine…”

“A group of attacks?”

“Yeah. Me and… my associate here… we’ve tried to tell the Bureau and the D.C. police but we’re getting no headway. Same with Homeland Security. They told us to call the FBI who told us to call Homeland Security… The Attorney General has poisoned the waters. My understanding is, the main attack is at nine-thirty