David Rosenfelt - Dog Tags

But losing him wasn’t what Willie was worried about; he was trying to figure out where Greer was going and why he was going there. And in the back of his mind was the very real possibility that it wasn’t Greer at all; that he’d been mistaken all along.

But every instinct Willie had told him he was right.

Greer reached an area above the water, and then turned onto a winding road that led downward, past a sign that said NO THROUGH STREET. Willie decided not to follow him; since it was a dead end he would be easily noticed at best, and a sitting duck at worst.

Instead he parked along the road at a spot from which he could see the rest of the road below. He watched as Greer parked his van almost directly below Willie. Both of them overlooked the pier and had a view of the water, though Willie’s was from a higher elevation. Off to the left was a huge industrial plant with enormous tanks, though Willie did not know exactly what its purpose was.

This seemed to Willie to be suspicious behavior, and reaffirmed his feeling that it was, in fact, Greer. But it didn’t tell him what to do, and worst of all, he had no way to call anyone for advice or backup.

So he waited, by himself, without even a room-service guy to provide sustenance.

CHAPTER 90

I TELL CINDY SPODEK’S ASSISTANT TO INTERRUPT HER MEETING, THAT IT’S URGENT I SPEAK WITH HER. Apparently it isn’t FBI protocol to interrupt important meetings when defense lawyers call, and he resists doing so. So I up it a notch and describe it as a matter of life or death, and he relents.

Fifteen seconds later Cindy is on the phone. “Life or death?” she asks. She doesn’t sound that worried, since she knows I’ll say anything to get what I want.

“Many lives and many deaths,” I say, and relate the situation as quickly as I can, without leaving out anything important.

“Have you spoken to Benson?” she asks.

“I can’t reach him.”

“So what do you want me to do?”

“Make sure that nothing is happening at that terminal, and maybe find Willie in the process.”

“Andy, I can’t order an FBI terrorist operation on your hunch. That’s not how we operate.”

“Cindy, this is real; I can feel it. If you don’t stop it, we could be looking at a catastrophe. If I’m wrong, we’ll be embarrassed. I’ll take whatever heat I can take. But I know if I spoke to Benson, he’d move on it.”

“Hold on,” she says, and I wait for about three and a half endless minutes before she gets back on the phone. When she does, the stress in her voice is unmistakable. “Andy, I’m on it; I have to go.”

“What’s going on?”

“There’s a tanker due in port in twenty minutes.”

I hang up the phone, then I stare at it and mentally beg for it to ring. Billy and Laurie do the same; we are silent, knowing that there is nothing more we can do, other than wait.

It is five minutes later that Benson calls, and I quickly tell him what has happened, and that I have already spoken to Cindy, who said she was on the move. If he’s annoyed by my intervention in bureau affairs, he certainly doesn’t sound it.

What he sounds is worried.

As he’s about to get off, I say, “I believe the guy behind all this is Colonel William Mickelson; he’s based at the Pentagon.”

“How sure are you?” he asks.

“Eighty percent. But if I’m right, he’s about ready to leave the country.”

Click.

Benson has hung up on me. I hope and believe he did so because he was in a desperate hurry to act on my words. The other possibility is that he hung up for the same reason that people have been hanging up on me my whole life, that they find me an insufferably annoying pain in the ass.

So we wait again.

CHAPTER 91

THE SHIP HEADING IN WAS THE LARGEST WILLIE HAD EVER SEEN.

It seemed to be a tanker of sorts, and Willie guessed that whatever it was carrying would be transferred to the tanks looming over the industrial plant. He thought it might be something like oil, and if so it would make an inviting target.

There was still no movement from the van. Willie was sure that Greer was still in there, but he couldn’t see him in the driver’s seat.

Small tugboats went out to the tanker to bring it in. At least they looked small next to the tanker; Willie figured the Titanic would have been dwarfed by it as well.

The tanker was about a quarter mile from the pier when Willie saw the back of the van open. Greer climbed out the back, pulling something behind him. It was covered in canvas, and Greer dragged it out on to the road, carefully placing it down.

Willie’s mind was racing, not sure when to act, and more importantly not sure how to act when the time seemed right. For the moment he watched, transfixed, as Greer looked around warily and saw no one. He did not think to look up at the road in the distance where Willie stood, but would not likely have perceived him as a threat anyway. Finally, secure that he was alone, he took the cover off.

It was a missile.

There was no doubt in Willie’s mind; he had seen enough war movies to know for sure. It was the type that you put on your shoulder and fire, the type that can bring planes down. And if there was something combustible in those tanks, the kind that could do unbelievable damage.

There wasn’t going to be any way for Willie to approach Greer unseen; there was only one way in, and his presence would be obvious. He also felt that there was no time to move in on foot; if Greer was taking the missile out now, with the ship so close, he was about to use it.

Willie jumped in his car and pulled away, the tires screeching from the sudden burst of speed. Willie feared that Greer would have heard it and prepared himself for Willie’s arrival, but there was nothing he could do about it.

Willie came flying around the curve, leading down to where Greer was standing. He was going so fast that he almost lost control of the car, but he managed to straighten it out.

Up ahead, Greer was paying no attention to him. He had hoisted the missile launcher to his shoulder; it seemed larger than he was. He was standing just behind the van, turned toward the pier, facing the tanker and apparently ready to fire at any moment.

Willie made the instant assessment that he had no time to stop the car, jump out, and prevent Greer from firing the missile. And he had no time to worry about whether the missile would explode as a result of the impact it was about to have.

Greer was intent on his mission, and if he knew that Willie was bearing down on him, he didn’t show it. When Willie was just a hundred yards away, traveling at more than sixty miles an hour, he finally sensed it and turned to look.

That turn caused him to take the impact head-on. Willie crashed into Greer and the missile, crushing them into the van, and totaling both the van and Willie’s car in the process. Greer was killed instantly, but the missile did not explode; it just fell harmlessly to the ground.

Willie was slammed into the front of his car, breaking four ribs and a kneecap, and smashing his head into the window. Just before he lapsed into unconsciousness, he had one thought.

That better have been Greer, and that better have been a real missile.

CHAPTER 92

IT’S AN HOUR AND FORTY-FIVE MINUTES BEFORE WE GET THE PHONE CALL. They are the longest hour and forty-five minutes I’ve ever spent; the same time on a treadmill would fly by in comparison.

The call is from Cindy. “It’s over Andy. Willie stopped it, and Greer is dead.”

The feeling of relief I have is overwhelming, and I repeat Cindy’s words for Laurie and Billy. Then, “How is Willie?”

“He’s hurt pretty badly; he smashed up his car. The medics say he’ll be okay, but he’s going to be recuperating for a while. He just regained consciousness.”