Дэвид Балдаччи - Long Road to Mercy

Pine put the SUV in gear and hit the gas.

They shot forward and pulled to a stop with a screech against the curb.

Pistols came out of holsters and were pointed at the SUV until Pine and Blum got out and showed themselves. Pine had grabbed a bag and slung it over her shoulder.

Dobbs looked apoplectic. “What the hell are you doing?”

Pine strode over to him. “Waiting for you to show, sir.” She looked at the other agents. “I asked for HRT, long guns, armor, sir. Why is this all you brought?”

“I have five armed agents with me. What are you expecting? A war?”

“Pretty much. But it is what it is now. No going back now. Let’s go.”

Pine strode off toward the building.

Dobbs looked incredulously at Pine and then his gaze shifted to Blum. A spark of recognition came over his features. “I know you, don’t I?”

“Carol Blum. I was your secretary back in your Flagstaff days.”

“That’s right.” He looked around. “Well, I’m sorry you ended up here working for what looks to me to be an agent unraveling.”

“Oh, don’t feel sorry for me, Mr. Dobbs. Agent Pine is the sort of agent the FBI should be proud of. And when you find out what she’s done, you’ll see that she’s far from unraveling.”

“Exactly what is she doing?”

“Saving the world, more or less.”

She hurried on after Pine, leaving Dobbs looking bewildered and a little put out. He motioned to his men. “Well, all right, let’s go.” He looked warily around but the quiet surroundings seemed to appease him.

“War, my ass,” he muttered.

Inside, Pine let them all into the office and turned off the alarm system.

She closed the door behind the last agent and made sure it was secure.

“All right,” said Dobbs. “Now you’re going to tell me what the hell is going on.”

“If you would step into my office.”

She led them into the inner space and closed the door.

Pine walked over to the closet door of her office, opened it, and pointed to the bulky object set in the corner with a canvas cover over it.

“What is that?” asked Dobbs.

In answer Pine unzipped the canvas covering the object.

Dobbs said, “What the hell is that?”

“That is what is called a tactical nuclear weapon,” said Pine.

Dobbs and his men took a collective step back. Dobbs barked, “What in the hell... A nuke!”

“It was hidden in a cave at the bottom of the Grand Canyon.”

“Hidden? Hidden by whom?” demanded Dobbs.

“Ah, now that goes right to the heart of the matter, doesn’t it?” She closed the door.

“And you will tell me right after I call Washington and tell them that we have a nuke in a damn FBI RA office.”

“Sir.”

He strode over and pointed a finger in her face. “Not another word. My God, Pine, of all the screwups I thought I had seen, this just—”

“Oh, Clint, for God’s sake, can you just close your mouth for one minute and let her explain?” said Blum in exasperation. “This is important.”

He glared at her. “Clint? You will address me as—”

“I think I’m retiring, so I’ll just leave it at Clint.” She looked expectantly over at Pine. “Special Agent Pine?”

Pine looked at Dobbs. “I take it that you saw the AED of the National Security Branch was on the email chain about the dead mule and missing person case.”

Dobbs’s expression turned petulant. “I don’t read down the cc list.”

Before Pine could respond, the sounds of boots hammered up the stairs and rolled like a tidal wave down the hall. A few moments later, the sounds of the front door being caved in by a hydraulic ram reached them.

“What the hell is that?” exclaimed Dobbs as he and his men whirled toward the only remaining door between them and whatever was out there.

Pine took out her pistol and pointed it at the door. She looked at the other agents and held up her gun. “Gentlemen?”

They all looked at each other, drew their weapons, and stood next to Pine, their guns pointed at the door. Even Dobbs took out his weapon.

“What the hell is coming, Pine?” hissed Dobbs.

“That would be the war, sir,” she replied.

The inner door was hit so hard, it fell off its hinges. Into the breech charged a dozen heavily armored personnel with combat helmets and carrying either M4s or M16s.

With his free hand Dobbs immediately held up his badge and barked, “Federal agents, weapons down.”

Not a single combat weapon was lowered. The armored men formed a wall across the width of the room, shoulder to shoulder, their long guns pointed at the FBI contingent across from them.

“FBI!” barked Dobbs again. “I said weapons down.”

Still, not a single weapon was lowered.

“Who are you with?” demanded Dobbs as his men nervously fingered their pistols.

Twelve auto assault rifles wielded by armored shooters against seven semiauto pistols held by agents in suits in a confined space would not be much of a fight.

Suddenly, the middle of their ranks parted and a man in his fifties, dressed in a dark suit, white shirt, striped tie, and scuffed wingtips, stepped through this void.

He appeared to be in charge of the assault team.

Dobbs focused on him and barked, “We are the FBI, so unless you put your weapons down now, you’re going to be in a world of trouble.”

The man said, “I was about to tell you the very same thing.”

There was a commotion in the other room. The next moment, five ICE agents carrying AR-15s burst into the room and pointed their weapons at the armored men and the man in the suit.

Half the armored men pointed their guns at the ICE agents while the other half-dozen kept their guns trained on Dobbs and his agents.

“Federal agents,” cried out the ICE point man. “Weapons down. Now!”

The three groups of armed people seemed to be in a standoff.

Dobbs stared triumphantly at the man in the suit. “Okay, we’ve got you surrounded. So now you’re going to put your weapons down.”

The man said calmly, “No, we’re not. We’re here to collect these two women.” He pointed at Pine and Blum.

Dobbs said, “For what?”

“Treason against the United States.”

One of the ICE agents stepped forward and looked at Pine.

“Bullshit. Atlee Pine is no traitor. Now who the hell are you?”

The man drew out a phone, punched in a number, and spoke into it in a low voice.

He held the phone out to the ICE agent. “Your director wants to speak to you.”

The man blinked. “The director?”

“Harold Sykes? Director of DHS? Yes, he’s on the line.”

The agent took the phone. “Who is this?” He snapped to attention after no doubt recognizing the voice of the head of Homeland Security.

“Yes, sir. What? No. I mean. But she’s an FBI agent. I know her. No, I’m not saying... But a traitor. I... no sir... Yes, sir, right away, sir.”

Looking thoroughly beaten down, he handed the phone back to the man and looked over at Pine with a helpless expression. “I’m sorry, Atlee.”

“It’s okay, Doug, we’ll get this figured out.”

Doug slowly turned to his men. “Okay, let’s move out.”

“Sir?” said one of them.

“I said let’s move out!” barked Doug.

In a few seconds, ICE had vacated the field of battle, leaving the men in armor and the FBI agents.

The man in the suit turned to Dobbs.

Dobbs pulled his phone from his jacket and said, “Okay, I’m calling my director right now, asshole.”

The man smiled. “Better yet, how about I call his boss, the attorney general, and have him order you to turn these women over to us?”