The Rescue(43)

Decker looked stunned. “You know where they are? Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

“I needed you to stay focused,” she said.

“Seriously? That’s a little cold.”

“What else? We’re running out of time.”

The distant brake lights started to disappear in a chain reaction, as two lanes of vehicles accelerated through the intersection. She pressed “Send” on a prepared text message as Decker spoke.

“Something Reeves said—actually, it wasn’t something he said, it was his reaction to something I said. I told him I was the only one that could set this right, and I swear the strangest look flashed across his face. Like he knew something I didn’t.”

“I need you to talk faster,” she said, guessing that they’d be on the move soon.

“I think someone from World Recovery Group survived the Russian purge,” said Decker.

From what her people could tell, all of the company’s principal members and everyone present in Hemet had either committed suicide or had been murdered, in or out of prison. Decker had been the sole survivor, having somehow thwarted multiple attempts on his life.

“We didn’t find any survivors, but I’ll have my team look into it again,” said Harlow.

“I don’t know if you have this capability, but I’d check into the federal witness protection program.”

“I might. Are you sure you want to dig into that?”

“I don’t have a choice,” said Decker. “Whoever sold us out to the Russians had to be inside WRG. I didn’t share detailed information about the operation with Harcourt. I learned early in this line of work that the less a client’s proxies know about the specifics, the better.”

“But Penkin denied being involved in the explosion and murders,” she said, easing her foot off the brake. “And he’d have no interest in bringing the FBI into the equation.”

The car edged forward, the traffic barely crawling toward the intersection.

“Then the mole played both sides, giving the location of our tactical operations center to the FBI—for a deal.”

“That’s a stretch, Decker.”

“Is it? Everything happened simultaneously. I’d always wondered, but with everyone supposedly dead—I quit torturing myself with it. Reeves got me thinking about it again.”

“I’ll look into it,” she said. “And take care of the other stuff. You about ready?”

Decker looked around. “Here?”

“Almost,” she said. “Disengage your seat belt but hold it in place.”

“I can’t escape on foot. It won’t happen. There’s too many of them,” said Decker, pressing the orange button on the seat belt.

“Just do exactly what I say, when I say, and you’ll be off the grid in a few minutes.”

“This makes no sense,” he said, shaking his head.

“You said you trust me.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Not really,” she said, accelerating to fill the gap that had formed in front of her car.





CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Reeves scanned the road ahead of them with binoculars, keeping Decker and Mackenzie in sight. He wasn’t worried about losing them, since his agents had placed two nearly undetectable GPS trackers on the vehicle. He also had a total of ten vehicles on the job. Four tailing, four working the side roads, and two more merged into the traffic ahead.

And just in case that wasn’t enough, he had access to the nearest LAPD helicopter, which he’d been assured could arrive within five minutes. Mackenzie knew the city, but she couldn’t run this gauntlet. Not tonight. He lowered the binoculars and raised his handheld radio.

“We have a busy intersection coming up. Stay frosty,” he said.

Agent Kincaid eased them forward as the traffic started moving. “What’s their game?”

“I guarantee it’s not dinner and a movie.”

“Sounded reasonable,” said Kincaid. “It is his last night out on the town.”

He glanced at Kincaid, who was smiling. “I should have grabbed him when they left the apartment. This is a waste of time and resources.”

“You know he’s going to make a run for it. He has nothing to lose,” said Kincaid. “When he does, we take him out for pizza and beer to thank him for Penkin, then put him in an interrogation room until BOP comes through.”

“He certainly did us a favor with Penkin,” said Reeves. “But don’t ever let anyone hear you say something like that. That stays between you and me.”

His radio squawked. “This is Tail One. I got a delivery truck trying to cross over to the northbound lanes. Dammit! The car just let him in. I lost sight of the target.”

Reeves raised his binoculars. An organic-grocery delivery truck had indeed pulled across the southbound lanes, right behind Decker’s vehicle, edging into northbound traffic. What the hell?

“Anything from the lead units?” said Reeves, hoping the vehicles in front of Decker had been closely monitoring the situation behind them.

“This is Lead One. Negative,” reported the vehicle in the outside lane.

“Lead Two. Nothing. Everything looks the same.”