Lethal Agent (Mitch Rapp #18)(97)

“The rumors spreading around the Mexican government have finally made the press, Mitch. A story just appeared online about the U.S. tracking an anthrax shipment across Mexico without the government’s knowledge.”

Rapp swore under his breath and glanced at his watch. The truck’s time to the border had just gone under the hour-and-a-half mark.

“No need to panic yet,” Claudia said. “It’s one very speculative story on a pretty sensational Spanish-language site. All anonymous sources.”

“Halabi’s people aren’t just going to be monitoring CNN,” Rapp said. “And I’m pretty sure they know how to use Google Translate. If we found it, he’s not going to be far behind.”

“You’re probably right,” she admitted. “The question is when and what’s he going to do with the information?”

“Mas,” Rapp said. “Slow down. I want eyes on that truck. Wick and Bruno. Maintain your position.”

“Roger that,” Joe Maslick said. “But if I can see him, he’s going to be able to see me. I won’t be able to match his speed for long without making him suspicious.”

Coleman turned his laptop toward Rapp and tapped a blue dot on the screen. It represented a vehicle their people had stashed in the trees just off the main road.

“Copy. We’ve got a car about twelve miles ahead of your position. You can pull off and make a switch. Bruno, when he does, you can close in and take over surveillance. From now until the border I want one of you close. Claudia, you’re going to have to coordinate personnel and vehicle changes along the route.”

“I’m already working on it.”

“Mitch,” their pilot cut in. “I’m seeing brake lights on the target.”

“Is there an obstacle?”

“Not that I can see. Looks wide-open. Wait . . . He’s turning into the median.”

Rapp put the binoculars to his eyes as Fred Mason banked in an effort to keep their interval. All that was visible was a dust cloud. When the truck emerged, it had reversed course.

“The target has crossed the median and is accelerating back west,” Rapp said. “I repeat, the target is now westbound. Bruno, cross over and get in front of him. Stay out of sight. Wick and Mas, cross over and get behind. Wick, close the gap and get eyes on him. Mas, you stay back far enough to keep out of sight. Claudia, patch in Irene.”

A moment later, Kennedy’s voice came on the line. “Go ahead.”

“Looks like Halabi reads the news. Attia’s jumped the median and he’s headed toward Monterrey.”

She started to speak, but Wick drowned her out. “I’ve got him in sight and he’s hauling ass. Eighty-nine miles an hour by my speedo.”

“Mitch,” Kennedy said when she came back on. “Monterrey is an urban center with over a million people. Based on the satellite image I’m looking at, he can make it to the outskirts in less than thirty minutes. If he has a way to offload those people, they’ll scatter and we’ll never find them. Letting him reach Monterrey isn’t an option.”

Rapp considered her words for a moment. “We’ve got an RPG. We could go for the cab and crash it.”

“That just puts us back in the situation that we talked about earlier. The scattering of Attia’s potentially contaminated body parts. The chance of infecting animals. Possible damage to the trailer, blood, police, Good Samaritans . . .” Her voice faded for a moment. “The plan hasn’t changed. We need to get that truck over the border and into the hands of Gary’s team.”

“From where I’m sitting, that’s easier said than done, Irene.”

“I’m going to call the president and see if there’s anything he can do. But I’m not hopeful. Time is against us and his counterpart in Mexico is—”

“A scumbag with the IQ of a head of lettuce?” Rapp offered.

“I’m afraid so. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. In the meantime do not let that truck reach Monterrey.”

She disconnected and Coleman spoke up. “He’s got the hills in front of him. The first time he went over them, he was barely able to hold twenty-five miles an hour.”

“Yeah, but we have the same problems at twenty-five miles an hour that we do at eighty-nine.”

“We’ve got the chopper, a few guys, and some weapons,” the former SEAL said. “If we disable the truck and take him out inside the cab, we could keep the cops and any bystanders back for a while. Maybe long enough for Alexander to explain the situation to the Mexicans?”

Rapp shook his head. It left too much to chance. The only thing more unpredictable than viruses was politics.

“Fred,” Rapp said to their pilot. “Get us over those hills ahead. Let’s see if we can find something.”

Mason pushed the chopper to its less-than-impressive top speed while Rapp examined a tractor-trailer hauling pipes on the road below. Less than a minute later, they buzzed another semi, this one pulling a trailer emblazoned with the logo of a fast-food company.

“You got something?” Coleman said, recognizing his expression from years of working together.

Rapp remained silent, craning his neck to keep eyes on Attia’s truck as it disappeared behind a rise.

? ? ?

“That one’s not going to work,” Rapp said, watching a tractor-trailer make its way up the steep slope they were hovering over. It was already more than a hundred yards into the climb and had barely slowed. Likely empty.