The Rescue(87)

Given the shape and size of Aleman’s bunker, it was conceivable that Green’s entire team could have been underground or standing on top of the seventy-five-foot-diameter roof when the place exploded. Gunther’s night had gone from a stunning triumph to a disaster in the span of minutes.

Not only did Decker slip through his grasp, but Aleman had also somehow pieced together the Praetor connection, undoubtedly passing that knowledge along to the one man they could least afford to possess it. Decker was no longer a loose cannon. He was a ticking time bomb—headed right in Jacob Harcourt’s direction.

He wandered over to the array of screens that had so far yielded nothing useful over the past forty-eight hours. He woke Cooper with a tap to the shoulder. Cooper’s head shot forward off the back of the seat, his hands finding their place on the keyboard in front of him.

“Sorry,” he said, rubbing his face.

“Anything?”

“Nothing. Not a single hit on LAPD’s facial-recognition network, and our surveillance teams report all quiet. Even the FBI has pulled most of their stakeout teams. Mackenzie and her team have gone dark. My guess is they skipped town.”

“They’re just as aware of the facial-recognition zones as we are,” said Gunther. “We can’t discount that.”

Cooper nodded. “I agree, but we don’t have any active measures to pursue. We’re locked in passive mode, waiting for them to make a mistake. Statistically, they can’t keep this up forever, but I get the sense that time isn’t on our side.”

“It isn’t.”

Gunther’s phone buzzed, ringing a moment later. A quick look at the phone’s screen confirmed the worst—Harcourt wanted an update that he couldn’t provide.

“I’ll be back in a few,” said Gunther, already headed for the one door leading out of the warehouse.

Halfway to the exit, he accepted the call. “Mr. Harcourt. I still haven’t heard from Green’s team.”

“That’s funny, because I just intercepted a call patched through the Aegis twenty-four-hour crisis desk—from one of Green’s operatives!” said Harcourt. “Are you aware of what happened out there?”

“I have some details. They suffered heavy casualties approaching Aleman’s bunker. A combination of IEDs and fifty-caliber rifle fire. Then there was some kind of explosion and I lost communications.”

“Some kind of explosion? That’s a bit of a whitewash, Gunther! Only eight members of the thirty-three-man team survived! The operative I talked to said the explosion was bigger than anything he’d ever seen. The only reason he survived was because a few of them had been ordered to help the wounded.”

“Aleman was ready for this,” said Gunther, opening the warehouse door and stepping outside. “Green’s team said his bunker was like something out of a postapocalyptic movie.”

The parking lot enclosed in razor-wire fencing was quiet, glowing orange from the perimeter’s inward-facing sodium-vapor lights.

“The operative I spoke with said an airplane took off from a nearby bunker, headed west,” said Harcourt. “Were you planning on sharing that information with me?”

“I’ve been collecting and analyzing all available information, which has been spotty at best. I didn’t want to bother you until I had something concrete.”

“From what I can tell, we have a concrete fuckup on our hands. So now’s the time to bring me up to speed.”

“Aleman set off a massive explosion, which killed most of Green’s team. I was on the phone with Aleman, communicating through Green, when a countdown timer was discovered on one of Aleman’s computers. Everyone panicked after that, and I lost the connection.”

“Son of a bitch. Did you confirm Decker’s presence?”

“Yes. Decker was there. Green reported three shooters. Two using fifty-cal rifles. Decker and his accomplice stuck around long enough to stop Green’s advance.”

“I was really hoping we could wrap this up tonight,” said Harcourt. “Well. At least Aleman’s gone. One less liability out there.”

Gunther started to reply but cut himself off, unsure how to proceed.

“What’s the problem?” said Harcourt. “You’re rarely at a loss for words.”

“I don’t know how to say this without just saying it.”

“I can already tell I don’t want to hear this.”

“Aleman referenced Praetor,” said Gunther.

“What?”

“He said he had a file on Praetor. And that he showed it to Decker.”

“No way,” said Harcourt. “Praetor is buried. It’s mentioned once in an Atlantic article, and that’s not an official reference. Lucky guess by a journalist that died in a skydiving accident.”

“He used the word repeatedly. What if he did more than show it to Decker? What if he passed on some kind of file?”

“A file on what? A bunch of paranoid theories?”

“The timing might raise the wrong eyebrows,” said Gunther, knowing he probably overstepped his authority with the observation.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing. We’ll triple up our efforts to find Decker and his associates.”

“No. I want to know what you meant by that,” said Harcourt. “I pay you to think, Gunther. What did you mean?”