Cold & Deadly (Cold Justice: Crossfire #1)(60)
Kurt threw back his shoulders and pushed away from the wall. “With the hostages being kept next to the outside exit door we can only assault through the cafeteria. I have a team figuring out exactly how much C4 we need to unequivocally blow the hinges without killing everyone inside. Hopefully once we perfect that part of the assault the siege will be over in under a minute.”
It only took a few seconds to slice someone’s throat.
From the look Kurt threw him, he knew it too.
“Let’s continue to tire them out. If things deteriorate, we’ll do it your way,” Dominic agreed. “But we need to be very sure we have exhausted all peaceful avenues first.”
Kurt looked surprised by that. Surprised Dominic would consider an assault at all.
“I’m worried about Milo,” Dominic admitted. “He’s not communicating with the negotiators, and he’s incarcerated for horrific crimes. He has nothing to lose by killing everyone in that room.”
“Maybe he’ll do us a favor and off the other two hostage-takers first,” Kurt quipped.
“It’s my job to try and get everyone out without them coming to any harm.” Dominic stared the man down.
Kurt’s lip curled.
“Obviously we prioritize the hostages.”
“That’s good of you.” Kurt sneered.
Dominic didn’t drop the other man’s gaze. “I’m sorry if this job is coming between you and your playtime back at Quantico but saving lives has always been CNU’s main goal.”
Kurt bristled.
“Even if we do stage an assault, I’d suggest waiting a few more days to prove we really did give negotiation time to be effective. Otherwise the senate oversight committee in DC will eat you alive.”
“Well, I’m sure daddy’s connections will allow you to sail right through that process.” Kurt got in Dominic’s face.
Dominic didn’t know what had crawled into Kurt’s craw, but they didn’t need it here. He kept his expression bland, but he didn’t back down. In fact, he took a step closer. “Following the code of conduct and doing everything we can to talk these hostage-takers out peacefully until such a time as the hostages are deemed to be in immediate danger is what will get me through any review. But you be sure to blame all your mistakes and fuck ups on me and not your inability to see past your dick. And remember, if any of your guys die when we decide to go in guns blazing if we haven’t exhausted all peaceful options, that will be on you. Now get the hell out of my way and let me get back to work.”
Chapter Seventeen
Fernando Chavez had done very well for himself over the years and was now a supervisor in the FBI’s Reno Field Office. One of his favorite pastimes was waterskiing on Lake Tahoe with his wife and their three young children.
Such a pity they all had to die.
Chavez’s ego had placed his family in danger. That and the desire to prove he wasn’t scared, or changing his routine just because of “some asshole.”
They were all so boringly predictable.
When Jamal Fidan had drowned, Bernie had spiked the man’s drink and when he was incapacitated, shoved him over the side of the boat, leaving him to flounder and flail until he finally sunk beneath the surface.
This was going to be a little different.
The “friend” accompanying the family on this beautiful Saturday morning was obviously some sort of undercover bodyguard.
The bodyguard glanced over to the other side of the parking lot and gave a nod.
Shit. A feeling of dread swept through blood and bone when the person in the driver’s seat of the white pick-up truck nodded in response. Bernie hadn’t noticed the backup.
With a shudder, Bernie put the 4X4 into gear and carefully reversed up the small gradient. No tire spins. No fast moves.
Watching the show would be a mistake. A foolish indulgence.
The eyes of the bodyguard on the boat followed the rented 4X4 as it traveled along the road beside the lake.
Fuck you, asshole.
Bernie hit dial on a pre-programmed number in the cell phone and sucked in a deep breath of anticipation.
Nothing happened.
Pulling over onto the side of the road Bernie tried again. The amount of plastic explosive in the cabin of that boat should be enough to incinerate everyone on board.
A third try had exactly the same results.
Goddammit!
Had they found the bomb? Was this whole scenario a trap? A setup? A cold sweat broke out over Bernie’s skin despite the heat of the day.
If it was a trap someone would be following, or maybe there was a surveillance plane high in the sky—or a drone. It would be virtually invisible. The pounding of blood through suddenly hot ears made it impossible the hear anything except for the erratic rush of panic.
Pulling back onto the highway, Bernie ignored the feeling of fear that wanted to consume. It was a glitch. A bad connection. Shitty cell service. Or they were blocking signals…
Bernie glanced up at the sky. The FBI was not following. The FBI was a bunch of incompetent fools. Bernie kept driving. For hours, going nowhere. In circles. Filling up with gas and taking in the sights. At the end of the day Bernie drove past the marina again but the Chavez family wasn’t there. The boat was though and the desire to go check why the bomb hadn’t gone off was almost overwhelming. But not being able to ignore stupid urges was why Peter was dead. The man could never resist a potential target and had picked up a female the Feds had planted.