Max Collins - Executive Order

Reeder said, “Bohannon was executed. No attempt to make it look like anything else this time.”

Her arm still around and supporting Anne Nichols, Rogers gaped at him, horrified. “ What? ”

“A mob-style double tap. Your people looking into any mob-related activity lately?”

“A few things, but...”

“So maybe I’m wrong, and this is somebody’s half-assed idea of covering up their latest kill.”

Rogers looked stricken. “Where was he...?”

“Still sitting surveillance outside Ivanek’s place.”

Nichols was quietly crying now. Rogers was shaking her head, saying, “I thought Jerry was on his way back to the Hoover Building.”

“So did I. For now, we have to stick a pin it, and get the hell out of here. See if you can find what they did with Anne’s shoes and get her into them. I’ll tidy up downstairs.”

“You’re not going to kill anybody are you?”

“I’ll try to restrain myself.”

It went quickly. The IDs of the captured minders were all Homeland. From the two downstairs, their hands already cuffed behind them, Reeder collected cell phones, and escorted them to the front closet and shut them in. The pair was too professional to squawk.

Shortly in the garage, Reeder was surveying the still unconscious Clayton and Simpson when Rogers and Nichols joined him.

Rogers helped him haul and dump the two Homeland agents into the trunk of their Ford, then the two women waited while Reeder fetched the rental vehicle from one street over. When he’d pulled into the driveway, Rogers ushered Nichols out and helped her into the back, then shut the garage door with an electric-eye opener she’d liberated from the Ford.

Reeder held the driver’s side door open for Rogers, who paused and said, “Those four kidnapped Anne. We just leave them behind for their people to pick up?”

“When somebody notices they haven’t checked in, yes. With luck that may be next shift change, but it’s more likely they have periodic call-ins.”

Her face was as clenched as a fist. “Clayton mentioned the Alliance. Probable that all four of them are part of that. They need to be arrested, Joe.”

“Who by? Us? The people who assaulted four federal agents?”

She blanched.

He said, “Who do we trust enough with that call? I’ve now tangled with both Homeland and Secret Service, and we know somebody in the CIA betrayed five of their own. Only thing we can do is get out of here.”

They did.

Within an hour, they were back at DeMarcus’s crib. Reggie Wade handed off a first-aid kit to Rogers, and she and Nichols disappeared into the bedroom and shut the door. Morris, duct-taped to his chair and blindfolded, head slumped forward, was snoring gently.

Wade smirked at Reeder. “Little man had a busy day.”

“Sorry about your partner, Reg. He was a damn fine agent.”

“That he was.” The dark eyes glistened. “And a better friend.”

“When did you last sleep, Reg?”

“Do I look like I got that good a memory?”

Reeder reached a hand up to set it on the big lanky man’s shoulder. “Go sack out on the couch awhile.”

“What, and dream about somebody double-tappin’ Jerry like he was some Mafia scum? No, Joe, I’ll keep my eyes open, you don’t mind.”

Reeder nodded. He went over to Miggie at DeMarcus’s desk, Wade following, and asked, “What’s the cop chatter on Bohannon?”

Miggie said, “Calling it a pro kill. FBI agent with a history of mob investigations.”

“What was Jerry doing still in front of Ivanek’s? Fisk had called him back to home base.”

There was something sorrowful about Mig’s shrug. “Guess the killer got him before he left.”

Reeder asked, “Ever hear back from Jerry about his Yellich text?”

Miggie shook his head, and Wade sourly offered, “And I still haven’t figured out what he meant.”

“Hell.”

Miggie said, “It gets worse.”

“How’s that possible?”

“Fisk is losing her shit. She wants all of us reporting back to the Hoover Building, like, yesterday.”

Wade asked, “Could somebody have whispered in her ear about our buddy Lawrence?”

“We made a few ripples,” Reeder said. “But now we’re making waves.”

Miggie said, “Fisk says if we’re not all back in her office by five p.m., she’ll start issuing arrest orders.”

“Not surprising. With such widespread government infiltration, anybody can be pressured. We hear from Hardesy yet?”

Mig nodded. “Right before you got back. Should be here soon.”

“Where the hell’s he been? What’s he been up to?”

A knock at the loft’s door made all three turn, and their prisoner’s head came slowly up, his rest rudely interrupted.

Miggie said, “Might be you can ask him yourself.”

The anonymous nine in his hand, Reeder went to the door and checked the monitor — Hardesy was out on the fire-escape landing, moving foot to foot, like he needed a restroom. Reeder let him in, shut and locked the door behind them.

“You had us worried,” Reeder said.

Hardesy was in a black windbreaker and black jeans, ready for ninja duty if necessary. “Had to take care of my family. I sent my wife and daughters away — don’t ask where.”

“Wouldn’t think of it.”

“What have I missed?”

Taking Hardesy by the arm and starting to guide him toward the sofa in the home-theater area, Reeder said, “You might want to sit down for this, Lucas. You’ve been out of the loop for a while...”

Reeder told him about Nichols’ kidnap and rescue, and Bohannon’s murder, news of which turned Hardesy blister pale.

“Jesus,” Hardesy said. Then, alarmed, he said, “Where the hell’s Trevor?”

Miggie said, “At the Hoover Building, apparently. Ignorance is bliss kind of thing.”

“Hell with that,” Hardesy said, leaning forward. “They’re fucking kidnapping and killing us! Trevor needs to be warned, or gotten the hell out of there.”

“No,” Reeder said firmly. “He’s behind enemy lines. Warning him is exactly what could kill him.”

Wade asked, “Then what’s our next play?”

Reeder said, “We get Nichols somewhere safe for the duration. She’s too traumatized to be helpful.”

The big man smirked. “What about Sleeping Beauty over there? You’re not really gonna cut him loose.”

“Don’t know,” Reeder admitted. “Still working that out. Listen, I need to step outside for a bit.”

The others exchanged curious glances, but nobody asked him what this was about. Everybody knew Joe Reeder had his secrets and his reasons.

From the landing, he slowly scanned the neighborhood. Mid-afternoon was pretty quiet around here, street people, tenants, merchants, denizens of a poverty-stricken area that got rougher when night fell. He trotted down the wrought-iron stairs, strode behind the building and into the shadowed recession of the tailor shop’s back doorway. He withdrew the phone he’d been given by President Harrison, took in half a bushel or so of air, let it out slowly, and made the call.

The President said, “Joe.”

“Sir.”

“Have you the information I need?”

“Not all of it, Mr. President. But there is a rogue group within the government. It calls itself the American Patriots Alliance.”

“I’ve heard that term. I’ve been assured it’s a conspiracy theory from the tinfoil hat crowd.”

“Well, I’m not wearing one and I can tell you it’s very real. It became necessary for me to recruit help and I’m working with Agent Rogers and her Special Situations team... one of whom has been murdered. That brings the total dead to eight.”

Silence for several endless seconds.