The Rescue(108)

“Stop. Just stop. You know why I’m here, and it’s not the vote on Monday—though I can pretty much guarantee that’s not going to happen.” Decker pulled out a second one-pound block of C-4.

The intercom activated for a second, Frist yelling, “How does he know about the goddamned vote?” before cutting out. Decker had them right about where he wanted them. Just a little farther and he’d seal this deal. He set the first block of C-4 on the desk and held the second up for the hidden camera.

“I’m pretty sure this is enough to fragment the titanium walls and shred your bodies like pulled pork. When they finally get the fire under control and cut through the walls with a plasma torch, Senator Frist’s shredded, slow-cooked remains are sure to make North Carolina proud.”

“Decker. You’re a smart man. I have close to sixty men headed back to the house. You’ll never get out of here alive. If you leave now, I’ll call them off.”

A sharp crack ripped through the study, and the walls rattled for a moment.

“That must have been the quick-reaction force coming through the service entrance,” said Decker. “I can’t imagine the next team using the same access point. Not after seeing the mess left behind by a point-blank claymore explosion. By the way, WARHAMMER said hello. Well, he didn’t actually say hello. He was too busy with the missing leg and all.”

Pierce stepped inside the study a moment later, tossing a fist-size object into the room and closing the door behind him.

“Never got to the Steinway. Blew all my time setting up my grand claymore opus. I hope it’s appreciated,” said Pierce, taking a smartphone-size, touch-screen controller out of the pouch on his vest and checking the screen. “We’re in business.”

The touch-screen controller was wirelessly connected to the camera grenade Pierce had just thrown into the room. Shaped like an egg, the impact-resistant device was self-righting and contained a 360-degree, maneuverable, night vision–capable camera. Pierce could pan the camera around the room and view the feed from the handheld controller.

“Neither of you will get out of here alive,” said Harcourt, cutting all pretenses. “It’s not too late to make a deal. Leave now, and my security teams stand down.”

“I’ll take my chances against your third-rate army,” said Decker, turning to Pierce. “Lock the study door and help me prep the C-4.”

Precious seconds passed while Pierce locked the door and Decker affixed the smaller C-4 charge to the cherrywood panel he guessed would access the hallway outside the safe room.

“Decker,” said Harcourt, “it pains me to do this, but I need you to open the laptop on my desk and click the link in the email on the screen.”

“I’ll take a pass on the YouTube video.”

“You’ll want to see this video,” said Harcourt. “Harlow Mackenzie and her partners have their own channel. You really should check it out.”





CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

Jacob Harcourt studied Decker on the fifty-inch, wide-screen monitor mounted to the wall, anxious to see his reaction to the live video feed. Decker’s threat to bring the entire house down on the safe room and cook them alive under the wreckage seemed awfully plausible at this point. Everything depended on Gunther Ross’s insurance policy, which was ready and waiting.

Harcourt’s security team was moving cautiously through the house, checking for trip wires. Pierce had been too far away from the service hallway to remotely detonate the claymore mine. Likewise, with the study door closed, he couldn’t electrically detonate anything he had planted while pretending to admire Harcourt’s Steinway. Harcourt just needed to keep Decker and Pierce occupied until the team could breach the study door and put an end to this annoying and costly distraction.

“Can you put it up on the screen?” said Frist, holding at least two thousand dollars’ worth of rare scotch in his trembling hands.

Harcourt played with the tablet in his lap until the monitor’s screen split in half, one side displaying the static picture of his study, the other mostly occupied by Harlow Mackenzie’s bloodied and bruised face. A silver strip of duct tape reached from ear to ear, a line of dried blood running down her chin.

“How does that look?” said Harcourt, motioning for him to take a seat.

Frist drained half of his glass with an uncertain look before surrendering to the seat next to him. “This better work,” he said, downing the rest of the scotch and glancing at the bar.

“We can polish off the bottle when this is over,” said Harcourt, taking a sip of the Balvenie, Frist’s desperate eyes watching his glass.

He leaned back in the rich-smelling leather chair and connected to the videoconference.

“Mr. Ross. I trust you understand the stakes here?” said Harcourt.

The camera zoomed out to reveal a masked figure holding a pistol to Mackenzie’s head. The rest of Mackenzie’s partners knelt in the background with duct tape over their mouths.

“I understand the stakes,” said Gunther, his voice muffled by the mask. “Just say the word.” He pressed the pistol into Mackenzie’s temple.

“Decker. Can you hear me?” said Harcourt.

Decker nodded, staring vacantly at the computer. Checkmate.

“You can speak into the computer,” said Harcourt. “We’re on videoconference.”