The Last Second (A Brit in the FBI #6)(90)

Mike raised her face, let the rain clean off the mud.

Nicholas called, “Hurry up there, mate,” and Vinny’s face appeared over the edge of the cliff, his beardless jawline white as a specter’s in the darkness.

He shouted, “Bad news. The road’s washed out ahead. We can’t get the SUVs any farther. We’re going to have to go in overland, carrying our gear, so salvage what you can from our vehicle. We’re coming to get you.”

Nicholas looked down at his watch, wiped off the mud, and said, “Bloody hell,” followed by a few more choice phrases under his breath. “Five miles through the bloody jungle, in a bloody hurricane, in the bloody dark? With gear? We’re never going to make it in time.”

Mike shook his arm. “Stop that. We’re going to make it. We’re trained professionals, to us five miles is nothing.”

He pulled a huge machete from the back of the SUV and handed it over, handle first. “Fine. You want to be an optimist? You can lead.”

She took the heavy blade, swung it in front of her a few times in dramatic Zorro fashion, grimaced only slightly at the bruises across her chest from the safety belt. “Not a problem. All right, boyo, follow me.”



It took them twenty minutes to get up the hill, hand over hand on a rope let down by Vinny and Bernard, then another ten minutes to get everyone geared up and ready for the trek. Nicholas was able to reach Adam with the sat phone, and he triangulated their position to Aquarius and mapped the easiest route. It was slightly longer than five miles, but Adam didn’t think it would be as dangerous as the more direct route.

They were about to sign off and get under way when Adam said, “Hey, hold on. I see another option. Looking further east, there’s an older road leading to the facility, one I assume they stopped using when they built the main thoroughfare. If you can reach it, you’ll have a straighter shot in. It’s basically a path now, you couldn’t get a vehicle through it, but on foot, it will be manageable. It’s two klicks to your west, then another three and some change to the gate.”

Bernard said, “We must be very careful if we choose that path. Tamil Tiger rebels once controlled the area. There could be IEDs along the route, left over from their camps. They were defeated and the area cleared, but I can’t be certain we’ll be safe.”

Mike swiped her hand over her face. “We can do it, Bernard. It is the shortest, quickest route, and believe me, time is of the essence. We’ll be careful.”

Vinny said, “It’s come to this? I’m actually agreeing with an FBI agent? Maybe I lost my macho when I shaved off my beard. Yeah, we have to chance it.”

Bernard said, “All right. It’s been ten years . . . If you feel the risk is worth it, then this is the way we’ll go.”

Adam pushed the route to Nicholas’s phone. He said to the others, “I have the new route, we’re heading in. Adam, keep an eye out. And when do we talk to the White House?”

Gray answered, his voice hyper even though he had to be dragging. “Hey, team. Afraid that’s being handled by the CIA—Carlton Grace. They liked your idea, Nicholas, and they’re moving forward. You won’t believe this, but it’s too classified for even the FBI to know about. We’ve been looped out. I’m going to keep my ear to the ground, see what I can find out.”

“That figures. Copy that, Gray. We’ll be in touch.”

Adam said, “I’ll keep watching you, Nicholas, we have a stationary satellite and the feed is relatively clear. We’ll be following the heat signature. The rain is making it hard to see you, so if a bear comes out of the woods I won’t be able to warn you. Do me a favor and squawk your phone every five minutes, just in case we lose sight of you in the trees.”

“Will do, Adam. Thanks.”

Nicholas turned to Mills. “We’re out of the loop? Only the CIA? I’m tempted, if a bear comes along, to throw you in its path.”

Vinny had the gall to laugh. “Long live the CIA, the true power in the world.”

It was close, but Mike didn’t belt him.





CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE


The White House

Washington, D.C.

Carl Grace presented his ID at the gatehouse to the White House grounds. The agent looked it over carefully, even shined a black light on it, verifying its unseen markers. Since the attempts on President Jefferson Bradley’s and Vice President Callan Sloan’s lives last month, White House security had been tight as a drum. No Secret Service detail wanted to lose a president.

As the CIA’s counterterrorism director, Grace was well known to the gatehouse, and to the agent inside. He was half-annoyed at how long it was taking, and half-pleased. If only they were as careful with the people who weren’t supposed to be on the grounds.

Finally, the agent handed him back his ID and waved him through. He parked in the side lot and went in the portico doors.

He was surprised to see Callan Sloan waiting for him.

“Madam Vice President.”

“Carl. We’re in the Situation Room.”

She turned and he followed, stepped through the door at the end of the room, then down the concrete stairs to the Situation Room.

Inside, President Bradley and a dozen advisers were studying a screen showing a satellite view of Sri Lanka, and another showing a scattering of photos. Dr. Nevaeh Patel and Kiera Byrne’s faces stared at him—one older woman with dark hair in a ponytail and black glasses, the other younger, red-headed. Grace had always believed Byrne could tear a man’s head off and go eat a sandwich. As for Patel, she looked terrifyingly smart, a dominatrix more like it, like she could wield a whip with the best of them. He saw no mercy in those dark eyes of hers.