David Morrell - The naked edge

Emergency personnel ran toward the ambulances. Smoke drifted from the open doors.

"That's where this started." Cavanaugh stepped deeper into the building, Jamie and Kim following. "A hit team tried to kill me there, also."

Russell stared.

"When two members of the team were about to be captured, their car blew apart," Cavanaugh told him.

Russell stared harder.

"We think the team's leader planted a bomb under the car and used a remote control to detonate it-to keep them from being questioned. Earlier, somebody on the team shot a sniper working for them, presumably because he couldn't be counted on to keep his mouth shut."

"You're telling me, the guy who organized this attack watched from down the street and blew up his men when he saw them being carried out alive?" Russell asked in dismay.

"He might be out there even now," Cavanaugh said, prompting Russell to turn and scan the street with the intensity that Cavanaugh did.

"How the hell could he put a bomb on his men without them knowing about it or us finding it?"

A frenzied voice shouted from one of the ambulances, "They're blown in half at the waist."

"The plastic sheaths," Cavanaugh said.

"Sheaths?" Russell's voice was raw.

"For the knife each man had. Your people took the knives but left the sheaths. The plastic must have had explosive in it, along with a miniature detonator."

For the first time, Russell was speechless.

"Carl was here, watching us go into the building." Cavanaugh felt a chill. From the building's vestibule, he stared toward the crowd across the street. "Maybe he's still watching. Maybe he's up on a roof with a rifle. Lieutenant, have you still got that earbud and microphone?"

Russell pulled them from a suit pocket.

"Put the radio receiver in my ear," Cavanaugh said, feeling helpless with his hands cuffed behind him.

Russell hesitated, then did what Cavanaugh wanted.

"Please put the battery back in the microphone and raise it to my mouth," Cavanaugh said.

After less hesitation, Russell did.

"Carl?" Cavanaugh asked.

All he heard was static.

"Carl, I know you're out there. You're probably watching the entrance to this building."

More static.

"Carl, I think I know how you've been training your recruits. Remember those visualization courses our special-ops instructors arranged for us to take. We couldn't get over how fast visualization accelerates the learning curve. You used that technique reinforced by movies and video games, right? It's an efficient way to program someone."

Only static.

"I don't know what your objective is," Cavanaugh said into the microphone Russell held in front of him. "But I know you're behind all this, so there's no point in continuing to try to kill me. It won't make a difference. Nothing's going to divert suspicion from you. So quit taking the risk. I'm a worthless target."

Cavanaugh strained to listen to the plug in his ear, to ignore all the distracting shouts, doors slamming, the drone of automobile engines before him, the rumble of footsteps on stairs behind him.

The static changed subtly. Carl's voice, unheard for so many years, said, "You should have been a better friend."

Then the static changed again, as if the transmission ended.

Cavanaugh told Russell, "You can put the microphone away. He's gone."

"Carl?"

"Carl Duran," Cavanaugh said. "You and I have a lot to talk about."

Russell pulled a two-way radio from his belt. "Randall, get a SWAT team down here. Tell your men to check the roofs."

"What are we looking for?" a voice asked.

"If I'm to believe what I'm hearing: the prince of darkness."

"Who?"

"A guy who doesn't leave loose ends. I'll get you a description as soon as-"

"Six feet tall," Cavanaugh said. "Lean. Women find him attractive until they discover he almost never smiles. Strong arms, particularly his forearms, from working with a hammer and anvil."

"A blacksmith?" Russell asked.

"A master knife maker," Cavanaugh said. "He spends a lot of time thinking about blades and sheaths. I guess it finally occurred to him how sheaths could be weapons, also."

Russell stared toward the ambulances and the blood on their shattered windows. "Yeah," he said, "you and I definitely have a lot to talk about." PART SIX:

Kim threw up again.

A policeman hurried toward a door in the harsh corridor, only to be blocked by Lt. Russell, who suddenly opened the door. Russell was accompanied by two other grim-faced men, one white, the other black: William Faraday and John Rutherford.

"… sick," the policeman explained to Russell, pointing toward the holding cell. "The Chinese woman's throwing up."

"My client demands medical help," William said.

"And believe me, counselor, she'll get it. I'll send for the police chief's personal physician if that'll make you happy."

"Nothing makes me happy."

"I already got that impression." Russell turned to the policeman. "Send for a doctor."

The group marched along the corridor, stopping in front of the cell, where Russell motioned for an officer to unlock the door.

"Hi, William. Hello, John," Cavanaugh said as they stepped in.

Kim threw up again.

"What's wrong with her?" Russell asked.

"Back injury," Jamie explained. "She needs a pain killer."

"Like more of those OxyContin pills we found in her apartment?" Russell asked.

"Those pills belonged to the attackers," William said.

"Yeah, right," Russell said.

"In the frenzy of the moment, the pills fell out of a gunman's pocket," the attorney said. "That's the sort of man who'd be capable of that kind of violence. A pill popper. A drug addict."

"Whatever you say," Russell told him.

"And you had plenty to say." William turned to Cavanaugh. "I told you to volunteer nothing but your name and your vital statistics."

"It's nice to see you, too, William."

"But the lieutenant tells me you pretty much gave him your life history. If you want to be your own attorney, why drag me down here?"

"Hey, I thought I was doing you a favor, freeing you from your safe site," Cavanaugh told him.

"Well, you didn't do me any favor-" Lt. Russell pointed toward the black man next to him. "-bringing in the FBI. At the start, I figured you were bullshitting me to try to talk your way out of that shooting. Now the director of the FBI's counterterrorist unit invokes national security."

"Bottom line," Rutherford told Cavanaugh. "You're coming with me."

"But that doesn't stop me from trying to untangle this mess," Russell said. "We managed to get fingerprints from the men who were killed in those blasts. It won't be long before we find out who they were. Maybe that information will lead us to your ex-buddy Carl Duran."

"Won't help," Cavanaugh said. "You'll discover they got out of prison recently. Probably within the past six weeks. They were doing time for violent offenses, but they each went to a different prison, and they didn't know each other before they went in."

Russell asked Rutherford, "Is this more bullshit?"

"Afraid not."

"Then enlighten me," Russell told Cavanaugh. "Show me how smart you are. How did these guys wind up together?"

"Carl approached them when they got out of prison, and in a brief time, he turned them from being rough criminals into operators."

"How?"

"I think Carl selects his recruits on the basis of their capacity for violence, their ability to learn, and their need to be somebody important. They're wannabes, guys who'd love to be in Marine Recon, the Rangers, Special Forces, or the SEALs, just to show how tough they are and force people to look up to them. But they don't have the character and the discipline to make the grade. Approach them when they're fresh out of prison with no prospects and no money but a powerful urge to let off the anger they've been building up. Pay them. Flatter them. Use visualization and other accelerated instructional techniques. Give them a chance to play with guns. Six weeks later, their egos are so pumped, they'll do anything to prove to Carl they deserve his respect. Just as important, they're the kind of guys nobody cares about and nobody'll miss. If Carl thinks they're in a position to be captured and questioned, he blows them up. It's like they never existed."