Daredevil Riders

69

It was no wonder the other driver had thrown up after seeing this, thought Herbert.

Anthony saw the cell phone on the front seat. Using a handkerchief, she scooped it up and checked the call log. “He got a call ten minutes ago. From a blocked phone. Maybe the techs can dig it out.”

Herbert nodded, looking around. “Right. Okay, he got the call, made a run for it.”

Anthony added, “They set him up. Knew somehow he’d have to take this route. Lined the shot up.”

Herbert was now looking straight ahead, searching for where the shot had probably come from.

One of the cops said, “What do you need us to do?”

Herbert kept looking while he talked. “Call in backup and secure the crime scene.”

He pulled his phone and called Ashburn, filling her in.

A string of expletives exploded over the phone. Having sufficiently vented, Ashburn said, “I’m sending reinforcements right now. We’ll coordinate with D.C. Metro.”

Herbert clicked off. “Cavalry’s coming.”

“How do you want to break down the search?” Anthony asked.

A woman who’d been standing on the sidewalk came running up to them. She was about twenty, with kneeless jeans and an iPhone clutched in her right hand and a shopping bag in her left.

“Sir? Ma’am?”

They turned to her. She pointed to a building farther down the street. “I was looking up at that building as I was walking and I saw a flash of light. Then I heard the car crash. I think that’s where… where it came from.”

Herbert said quickly, “Could you tell which floor?”

The woman looked at the building, silently counting. “Sixth. At least I think.”

They could hear other sirens coming as the backup flew toward them. Herbert yelled to the two cops first on the scene to follow him and Anthony. As they ran toward the building he pulled out his phone and let Ashburn know about this development, giving her the address.

Herbert put his g*n away and ran as fast as he could, his gaze darting up to the sixth floor, waiting for another flash of light to appear.

. 70

“YOU DON’T THINK THE SHOOTER is still in the building, do you?” said Anthony as they reached the entrance and ripped the doors open. Herbert had ordered one cop to guard the front of the building and the other the rear.

Herbert didn’t answer. He held up his badge to the security guard who approached them. “You have a possible sniper in this building. Did you see anyone come in today who looked suspicious or who was carrying an unusually shaped bag?”

The guard shook his head. “No one like that. But I just finished making my rounds, so someone might have slipped in then.”

Herbert said, “The FBI is on the way. What other exits do you have here beside the lobby?”

“This way.” He led them to a door off the lobby. “Down that hall and to the right. Takes you to the loading dock in the rear.”

As they started off the man said, “You want me to go with you?”

“No, stay here. There’s a police officer posted out front. Anything happens you get to him.”

“Okay, good luck.”

Herbert and Anthony darted through the door and down the hall. They had only gone about twenty feet when she grabbed his arm.

“What?” he said.

“That security guard?”

“What about him?”

“Do they normally wear gloves?”

Herbert flinched, wheeled around and sprinted back the way they had come.

The door was locked now. Anthony shot the handle off and kicked it open. They rushed back into the lobby. There was no sign of the guard.

Outside the cop told them that the man had come out and headed into the alley.

“He said you told him to help secure the rear of the building and—”

Anthony and Herbert ran off before he finished.

They found the security guard’s uniform next to a Dumpster. Herbert and Anthony peered around.

“He can’t be more than a few seconds ahead of us,” she whispered.

“Thanks to you,” said Herbert. “If you hadn’t figured out—”

She hit him hard, knocking him down an instant before the round slammed into the side of the Dumpster at the spot where Herbert’s head had just been. Anthony rolled, took aim and fired. Her shots chipped concrete off the side of the building, but the shooter was already gone.

Herbert had rolled over on his belly and had his g*n aimed at the same spot.

“See anything?” he hissed.

She shook her head. “He’s gone.”

The cop from the front, obviously having heard the shots, came running.

“Stay down,” exclaimed Anthony, and the cop went to his knees and then scuttled forward until he was behind the Dumpster too.

“Backup’s here,” he said. “You guys okay?”

Herbert sat up and looked at Anthony. “Thanks to her I am.”

Anthony shrugged. “More luck than skill, really.”

“I’ll take it. That slug was going right for my head.”

The three of them made their way cautiously down the alley. They picked up their pace when they heard the car race off. By the time they got to the next intersection, there was no sign of a vehicle or the shooter. Herbert and Anthony ran down the alley and then slowly jogged back.

They both stopped when they reached the cop.

He was squatting over his partner, who was lying behind some trash cans with his throat slit, his eyes staring blankly up.

As they knelt over the body, Anthony said, “There must have been more than one guy. He wouldn’t have had time to shoot at us and then do this.”

“He had backup of his own,” said Herbert quietly, as the cop sat on his haunches wiping tears from his eyes over the death of his partner.

“These guys are unbelievably organized,” said Anthony. “I mean, who the hell are they?”

Herbert put a hand on the shoulder of the cop. “I’m sorry.”

The officer glanced up and nodded and then returned to staring at his dead colleague.

Herbert straightened, turned and walked back down the alley as the wail of sirens reached fever pitch.

George Sykes, a D.C. police officer and a security guard were dead. They’d found the real security guard in a storage room of the lobby with a single gunshot wound burned into his forehead.

The sniper had disappeared.

Herbert had given descriptions of him to Ashburn and a BOLO had gone out, but none of them were holding out much hope. The consensus was that the killer was either laying low or already on private wings heading out of the country.

Herbert and Anthony were now in a car sitting outside the modest residence of George Sykes, located in Silver Spring, Maryland. It was in the middle of an ordinary neighborhood with kids on bikes, moms talking in front yards and dads cutting the grass. Or it would have been if the street hadn’t been evacuated and then shut down by the FBI.

Agent Ashburn was in the front passenger seat while another agent was at the wheel.

“What do we know about him?” Herbert asked.

“Wife died three years ago. Kids all grown and gone. Been with the National Park Service his entire career. No problems.”

“And six grandchildren,” said Herbert. He glanced down at the man’s file. “He’s not much older than me. He must have started early.”

“Money problems?” Anthony asked.

Ashburn nodded. “That was one of the first things we looked at. Didn’t find anything there. But we dug a little deeper and shook out an account that was tied to Sykes. Recent deposit of a hundred thou.”

“So someone paid him off to play along.”

Herbert said, “What exactly did they pay him for?”

Ashburn answered. “Bomb in the root ball. What if someone started to poke around there? He would steer them clear. Make sure wherever the bomb was in the dirt that no one got close to it.”

“So he betrayed his country for a hundred thousand dollars?” said Herbert. “A grandfather of six?”

Ashburn shrugged. “I’ve seen people do it for a lot less. And six grandchildren eat a lot.”

Anthony added, “And that might’ve only been the first payment.”

“Right,” said Ashburn. “And they made sure the only payment. MO is consistent. They’re eliminating their team, closing up the tunnel. So no leads for us.”

“The sniper took a risk by impersonating a guard,” noted Herbert. “We saw his face.”

“But like we concluded, the guy is long gone. And six months from now he’ll have a new face.”

“Lot of money behind this,” said Anthony. “That’s clear.”

Ashburn hiked her eyebrows. “Like a country’s treasury at work?”

“Russia,” said Anthony.

“I’ve heard that theory floated around more and more,” said Ashburn. “Cartel and government maybe working hand in hand. Tough competition.”

Herbert nodded at Sykes’s house. “So what are we waiting for? We don’t need a warrant. The guy was shot. We can go to his house to investigate. He was a federal employee.”

Ashburn said, “That’s true, but considering that these folks employ bombs, I’ve sent for a bomb detection dog to go in before we do. That’s also why we’ve evacuated the neighborhood.”

The canine unit came and Herbert watched as the dog methodically swept the yard and then entered the house through a back door opened by an FBI agent. Ten minutes later the search was complete and the all clear was given.

It didn’t take long to go through the house, but they found very little of help. As they walked back to their car Ashburn said, “We’ll send in a forensics team to give it a scrubdown, but I doubt it will yield much.”

“Still have to do it,” said Herbert.

“Still have to,” agreed Ashburn.

“Has his family been notified?” asked Anthony.

“In the process. That’s another place that might get us somewhere.”

“He might have let something slip to a family member, you mean,” said Anthony.

“If we’re real lucky.”

“I’m not feeling that lucky,” said Herbert.

Ashburn dropped them back at their car and they drove off. Anthony was at the wheel while Herbert seemed lost in thought.

“What do you think?”

“I’m thinking how much more c*****e before they yank Fuat Turkekul and make him talk.”

“So you think he’s really guilty?”

“I don’t have enough information to make that determination. But the status quo is not working for us.”

“What’s the alternative?”

“I haven’t thought of one yet.”

“So who might be the next target in the chain?”

“If Turkekul is involved?” Herbert glanced at her.

Anthony said, “That’s what I was thinking too. And I know she’s your friend, but what about—”

“Mrs. Penelope is not part of this.”

“Are you really sure? By your admission she’s been out of your life for a while.”

Herbert gazed at her and then put a hand on her shoulder. “How do you feel about breaking a few rules?”

“Until I met you, not too keen. But now I think I’m really getting good at it. So we’re going after Turkekul?”

“No,” said Herbert.

“Who, then?”

“I can feel the other side leading us around again. They expect us to go left. Instead, this time we’re going to the right.”

Herbert MADE ONE STOP to get some information he needed while Anthony waited in the car. When he climbed back in he gave the directions to her.

On the drive over he said, “They talked to one of Sykes’s coworkers. They said when Sykes took the call he got very pale and ran to his car.”

“What do you think happened?”

“I don’t know exactly, but I have a pretty good idea.”

They reached the address, a townhouse community in Chantilly, Virginia. Anthony parked where Herbert told her to, but he didn’t get out of the car.

“We wait,” he said.

A half hour later a truck pulled up to the front of a small town house thirty feet from where they were parked and a woman got out.

Anthony recognized her immediately. “That’s—”

“Yes, it is,” said Herbert as he opened the car door.

They reached her front door an instant before she closed it. Herbert stuck his foot in the gap. The woman turned around, startled. Herbert had his badge out.

“Remember us?”