“What is it, then?” she asks, looking past the iron bars of the driveway gate, spotting an unmarked DC police cruiser parked in front of a hydrant.
The man says, “My name is Aldo Sloan. I’ve been working for Noa Himel these past couple of months, working on some delicatedomestic operations, and now she’s disappeared. I mean, people who should know about her whereabouts now claim they don’t know anything about her and her job. Which is bullshit, ma’am. Excuse my language.”
“I’ve heard worse. Go on.”
“The last op we were on, we intercepted an Iranian terrorist cell that looked like it was about to strike at an intelligence center in Virginia.”
Hannah says, “Yes, I know. The National Ground Intelligence Center.”
Aldo allows himself a slight smile. “Good. You know about it. Well, that day we smoked three of the Quds guys, but there was something else there, too. A black Lincoln Town Car, filled with C-4, RPG-7s, and AK-47s. It looked like we got to the Iranians just before a transfer was to take place. Noa, she was going to wait a day, but decided to hit them early.”
Noa last night, telling her that the president had authorized the purchase of a Lincoln Town Car, along with weaponry and explosives.
“Wasn’t there a man with the Town Car who made an escape?”
Aldo reaches into his coat pocket, pulls out a folded-up piece of paper.
“Noa tasked me to find out who the driver was, what connection he might have with those Iranian terrorists,” Aldo says. “It took a while—I mean, the ownership of that Town Car was behind so many cutouts you’d think it was made of cardboard—but then I thought about going back to the source. Or the scene.”
He slips the paper through the ironwork.
Hannah slowly unfolds it.
Sees a man running in a dark suit, necktie flopping, holding a pistol, running past a large pine tree.
“From the outer perimeter surveillance cameras at the National Ground Intelligence Center,” Aldo says. “He’s on governmentproperty but not close enough to the perimeter fence to cause a response. But … there he is.”
Hannah stares at the man, caught in mid-run. Thinks of a phone call she will be making shortly to an acquaintance of hers, FBI Deputy Director Edie Hicks, with whom she spent several miserable weeks at the Farm years ago.
Aldo says, “Noa said it was very important. But with her absent … I thought I should give it to you. Is that all right, ma’am?”
“It is,” Hannah says.
“So it’s important?”
Hannah folds up the paper, puts it carefully in her jacket pocket, like it was a loaded weapon. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”
CHAPTER 108
IN THE UTTER darkness in the basement of the Chinese intelligence facility, Liam’s first response is,Oh, damn it all to hell. He starts fumbling through the pockets of the firefighters’ coat, looking for a flashlight, but there’s abangandhumas a distant generator kicks in, and the lights return.
Shit,he thinks,that was too close. Lin had slipped him a couple of key pieces of equipment but he doesn’t want to waste precious seconds looking for a light.
He shoulders the door open, breathing hard through the air mask, holding the heavy hose over his right shoulder, as he emerges into a concrete corridor.
Alarms are ringing and red lights hanging from the concrete ceiling are flashing.
Breathing is hard through the mask—the air tank and hose must weigh close to a hundred pounds. Add in the turnout gear and heavy boots and helmet, and it’s hard to keep balance, hard to keep moving fast and true, but he has no choice.
He’s got to get Benjamin out.
He moves past a locked metal door and finds the standpipe Lin told him would be here. He thankfully drops the rolled-up hose,spins the cap off the standpipe, and hooks up the hose, for the benefit of anyone passing by or any surveillance cameras that may be operating.
Move, he thinks, unrolling the hose.
Smoke is starting to drift into the hallway, drifting up to the concrete roof.
Past another door—someone in there is screaming in terror, but he shuts that off in his mind—he comes to the fourth door.