Джеймс Паттерсон - Killer Instinct

Even without Foxx saying it, I knew the server he was referring to. So did Julian. As the CIA’s New York section chief, Foxx had access to the Agency’s tactics and operations protocol, including standing counterterrorism measures—most of them having been created and implemented after 9/11.

But the Agency took extraordinary measures to ensure that Foxx was actually Foxx. In addition to a password, he needed a simultaneous fingerprint and voice match. With Foxx on the phone, the voice wouldn’t be a problem for Julian. The challenge was the fingerprint.

“Your iPhone, Dylan. Give me the serial number. It’s listed in the settings,” said Julian.

I quickly found it, reading it off to him. He then asked for my IMEI number. As soon as he did, I knew what he was trying to do.

“I’m resetting my Touch ID,” I said. “Tell us when you’re ready.”

The FBI was limited by privacy laws, not to mention the likes of Apple, when it came to unlocking the phones of suspects. The CIA, however, really hates to be told no. By anybody.

Julian was setting up my iPhone’s Touch ID to take Foxx’s fingerprint. “Okay, ready,” he said.

I held out my phone to Foxx, trying to steady my hand as he whipped the steering wheel left and right. He was mimicking the van’s every lane change, zigzagging between cars with only inches to spare. “Thumbprint,” I said.

His thumb was on my phone before I’d even finished saying print .

“Got it,” said Julian. “I’m in.”

He now had access. The question was why.

“Homeland Security, DOT override,” said Foxx.

I knew DOT was the Department of Transportation, but I still had no idea what Foxx was planning. Julian did, though.

“You want the exit ramp or before the bridge?” he asked.

“Exit ramp,” said Foxx.

“The timing has to be perfect,” said Julian.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” said Foxx.

“Or maybe tell me what the hell is going on!” I said.

Pushing over one twenty, Foxx slid in right behind the back bumper of the van in the middle lane. Like a NASCAR driver, he was drafting them. The exit for the GW Bridge was only hundreds of yards away.

For the first time, he glanced over at me. “You ever try to back out of a rental car lot?”

Before I could ask what on earth he was talking about, he swerved into the left lane and pulled up alongside the van. We weren’t just close. We were touching. Metal grinding against metal, as Foxx began forcing the van toward the exit.

“Tell me when,” came Julian’s voice.

“Not yet,” said Foxx. “Not yet…”

The van tried to straighten out, but Foxx wouldn’t let it. Like a battering ram, he kept pounding the side panels, riding it harder and harder off the highway. The van had two choices, crash into the median or take the exit.

“Now!” yelled Foxx. “NOW!”

Chapter 106

IT HAPPENED so fast. It was as if I hadn’t seen it. I had to piece everything together in reverse.

You ever try to back out of a rental car lot?

The tires of the van exploded, all four of them, strips and chunks of rubber flying through the air. Followed by the van itself.

I whipped my head around as Foxx skidded to a stop in the breakdown lane by the exit. That really just happened, didn’t it?

Right before the tires ruptured, right before the van crossed into the exit lanes, the row of spikes had popped up from the pavement like magic. Only it wasn’t magic. It was real.

And it was why Foxx didn’t want to tell me—until it was done.

The van landed with a horrific thud on its side, crashing into the far guardrail, before flipping over on its roof. What remained of all four tires were still spinning amid a cloud of smoke and dust as we started running toward it, guns drawn. The cruiser, bringing up the distant rear the whole way, nearly hit us as it slammed on its brakes. The two cops had barely opened their doors when Foxx tossed one of them his ID.

“Two ambulances,” he said. “Call it in.”

I was pissed at Foxx. Not because he might have just gotten Sadira killed or that he’d kept me in the dark leading up to it. No. I was pissed because I knew he was right and there was nothing I could do about it. He did what had to be done.

Whoever wanted Sadira wasn’t one of us. And if she wasn’t in our hands, she couldn’t be in anyone else’s. It was as simple—and cutthroat—as that.

“I’ve got the driver,” I told Foxx.

He nodded, sidestepping to the passenger side of the van as I hung by the taillight for a moment in case he needed backup. “Unconscious. Pulse, though,” he called out.

I edged up to the driver’s side door, what remained of it. The van had landed so hard upside down, the door was half collapsed against the road. Bending down, I could still see behind the wheel. Only there was nothing to see.

“Over here!” came a voice behind me.

It was one of the cops from the cruiser. Before I even turned around I knew what he’d found. The driver.

Foxx stayed with the van as I went over to look. The driver had been thrown. More like launched. He was on his back. No pulse. No face either. The impact and his sliding across the asphalt rendered the front of him a bloody mess of ripped flesh and exposed bone.

“Jesus,” muttered the second cop, joining us. He quickly looked away while gagging.

“I need your cuffs,” I told the first cop.

I hustled over to Foxx. He’d just pulled out the guy from the passenger seat and was giving him a quick frisk as he lay on the ground. He was now conscious, moaning. I could barely hear him, though, over the backdrop of honking horns. We’d turned the Henry Hudson Parkway into a parking lot. Right in time for rush hour.

“You recognize him?” asked Foxx, taking the cuffs.

“Not a clue,” I said.

“What about his partner?”

“His own mother couldn’t recognize him now.”

“Any ID on him?”

But by then I was already on the move again.

There had been no thinking when Foxx and I first approached the van. Only training. First things first, eliminate any threat.

With one guy wearing cuffs and the other about to be fitted with a toe tag, I could think of only one thing now. The back of the van.

Sadira.

What would I find when I opened the door?

Chapter 107

IF I could open the door.

It was jammed shut, the hinges buckled and wedged against the frame. I tucked my gun and pulled as hard as I could on the handle, but nothing was budging.

Sadira had been bound and gagged when they loaded her into the van. All I wanted was some sort of signal from her. Any sound would do. I pounded my fist against the door. “Sadira? Can you hear me?”

Only I couldn’t even hear myself. The car horns had been joined by a chorus of sirens off in the distance.

“What?” I said to Foxx.

He was still alongside the van. I couldn’t make out what he’d said. He tried for a second time, yelling. “We need to get out of here!”

I heard him. Sort of. The words went in my ears, except they didn’t register. I was only focused on Sadira.

Again, I pounded while calling her name. Was she conscious? Was she even alive? I pressed my ear hard against the door, desperately trying to listen. I was about to keep pounding when suddenly I heard it. Her. Ever so faintly. The muffled sound of her trying to say something through whatever they’d used to gag her. It was one word. “Help.”

I called out to Foxx. Maybe the two of us pulling could open the door. “Get over here!”

“No, you come here!” he said.

I stepped around to the side of the van to see him lifting the guy he’d pulled out. Foxx was putting him over his shoulder. He didn’t have to explain why.