Dick Stivers - Deathbites

"Gadgets and I have a business there. My sister, Torn, runs it. We suggest that you arrange for the FBI to take Toni along and meet the next couple of flights from Boston. The idea is to try to find a reason to hold the terrorists and prevent them from beefing up the locals. If we schedule things correctly, Gadgets, Carl and I can take care of Kansas City and have Jack fly us to Minneapolis, and later, on to Salt Lake City. If we put a four-or-five-hour time differential in their attack orders, we should be able to handle all three cities ourselves."

"Besides," Gadgets added, "we'll have Toni keeping an eye on things in case they break wrong."

"Sounds okay," Brognola agreed. "I could get the FBI to help on a watchdog basis — as long as they weren't involved in the actual fighting. That leaves Texas and California. I can reach Texas easily enough, but California is a long way away."

"So you go straight there by military jet," Pol said. "We'll schedule it about last to give you the most time. Babette can keep an eye on the activity in their office in Santa Clara and alert you if something goes off schedule.''

"What about Houston?"

"We thought you could bring Manning and McCarter down from Boston. That will leave Stony Man without a temporary commander. We suggest that Aaron get there as quickly as possible to coordinate all our activities," Ti said.

"What about keeping this place running?" Brognola asked.

"Deborah and I will just have to manage somehow. With the Atlanta office wiped out, it's unlikely we'll have an attack to deal with. I'll stay in touch with Aaron and help with the coordination."

Brognola thought for a few seconds before deciding. "With only ourselves to rely on, you've come up with the most workable plan. Get those messages out and let's go to work. I just hope we can..."

He was interrupted by the telephone. He scooped it up and growled, "Brognola." Then he sat and listened. "Good work," he said, finally. "Stay at the airport. I'm arranging for you to be flown to Houston to stop a raid there. Stand by, Kurtzman will give you the intel."

The Bear wheeled over to the computer terminal, taking the telephone with him.

Brognola updated the rest of the group.

"Your analysis is depressingly correct. By identifying most of the bodies and finding out where they were booked to fly, we know that professional terrorists are on their way to Minneapolis-St. Paul, Los Angeles, Houston, Salt Lake City, Kansas City and Seattle."

July 13, 1602 hours, St. Paul, Minnesota

FBI agent Tim Williams looked at his partner Carlos Sanchez. Sanchez shrugged. Neither of them liked the assignment, but orders were orders. They would delay the flights from Boston and try to question the passengers. That was routine, but why was a civilian keeping an eye on them? A licensed private detective at that. It was degrading. Williams glanced at the detective. Not hard to glance at.

She was a small woman. She looked as though she was in her early twenties, but there was a poise, a sense of experience. She wore her hair long, and brushed until it gleamed. The makeup was subtle. It could afford to be; she had big dark eyes that could drive a man wild. A good figure, too. Williams tore his eyes away to get his mind back to the unpleasant assignment.

"Miss Blancanales," Sanchez said to the woman.

"Friends call me Toni," she said.

"Miss Blancanales," Sanchez continued, "we can't stop every passenger from these flights and say 'Are you a terrorist?' What do you expect us to do?"

"Well, Mr. Sanchez, you might pay special attention to anyone who doesn't wait for his or her luggage, or who has to read tag numbers in order to identify it," Toni said.

Williams reflected that it was a solid suggestion. If the terrorists killed for the airline tickets and bookings, they would have no use for any luggage that was checked. He hastened to agree with the woman and save Sanchez from having to do so.

"A good suggestion, Miss Blancanales. We'll do that."

"Thank you," she answered. Then she spun on her heels and walked away, later standing far enough from the agents not to be associated with them, but close enough to observe. The location was not lost on Sanchez.

"Fink dame," he muttered under his breath.

There was no more time to simmer. The flight they wanted was in and the first passengers were trickling into the terminal building. Of the first half dozen, two men and a woman headed straight for the exit. With an uneasy glance at Toni Blancanales, the two FBI men moved to intercept the three.

All three were calm. Too calm. Each asked if they were under arrest. Each insisted that they had an important appointment and could not be delayed. Finally, each insisted that they be charged or released. Williams glanced at Sanchez.

"Do we hold them?" Williams asked.

"On what grounds?"

"Come off it, Sanchez. You know we can always dream up a reason. These three are too smooth for my taste."

Sanchez shrugged. "Let's lay it on the queen and let her decide." He glanced at where the female detective had been watching. She was no longer there. "Hell, she doesn't even care enough to stick around. We've got no grounds to hold them."

Sanchez turned back to the three. "Go ahead," he told them. "Sorry to have had to delay you."

The trio hurried out of the terminal. Just as the doors closed behind them, Toni came from the other direction.

"I managed to look into the baggage that's supposed to belong to two of them," she told the FBI agent. "The clothing couldn't possibly fit."

Sanchez turned dull red. "You can't search baggage without a warrant," he bellowed at her.

People stopped to stare at them.

"For Christ's sake. Cool it," Williams warned his partner.

"Where are they?" Toni demanded.

"We had no reason to hold them. I let them go," Sanchez said in a lower tone of voice.

"You did what!"

"Listen, lady," Sanchez said, obviously deciding the best defense was an offense. "If you went into luggage without a warrant, I'm arresting you right now."

Toni ignored the threat. "You'll never find a witness," she told Sanchez. "My firm supplies the security here. When I read about innocent people being killed by those terrorists, I'll be thinking of you."

She turned and stalked away.

Sanchez watched her go, before leading the way to the agency car. He threw the keys to Williams, and then hunched himself low in the passenger seat.

"So will I," he muttered to himself. "So will I."

July 13, 1738 hours, Kansas City, Kansas

Carl Lyons watched the twelve men come out of the terminal building and divide into three taxis. The drivers stowed the heavy dunnage bags, two per cab, in the trunks and the cars pulled out in procession.

Lyons spoke into a microphone. "That's our boys. Let's follow them."

From a van farther along the road, Gadgets acknowledged. "We have them in our rearview mirror."

Lyons pulled his rented T-bird in behind the three cabs. He could see the van ahead, innocently leading the way. Pol would be driving, Gadgets keeping track of the quarry and the communications.

After a few miles the cavalcade turned into a doughnut-shop parking lot. Terrorists clambered out of all three taxis and went inside. Lyons saw the van pull over to the curb, three blocks ahead.

"Keep a parallel track," he told Gadgets over his radio. "If you stop and then pull back into the parade, they'll spot you for sure. It shouldn't be too hard. We know where they're headed."

"We know where we think they're headed," Gadgets answered.

"That'll have to do. Hold position until you see them start up. Then get out of sight. Something smells here. I'm going to go in."