Collateral Damage (Stone Barrington 25)

“Getting their asses in gear would be a major achievement,” Stone said.

“Tell me about it. This job is more fun when I don’t have to deal with people outside the Agency. I haven’t really learned yet how to push the buttons of people like the commissioner and the AIC at the Bureau.”

“Sounds like you’re doing pretty well, getting Kelli in on the action. She can be a bulldog.”

“Are you worried about her book coming out?”

“I’m a little anxious,” Stone admitted. “Not because there’ll be anything terrible in it, but because a lot of people will read it, and I’ll get a lot of calls, and so will Peter. It will probably haunt me for years to come.”

“Are you worried about what Peter will think?”

“Not so much. There’s a lot he doesn’t know, and some of it will be in Kelli’s book, saving me from having to tell him about it.”

“I’m lucky I didn’t have kids,” Holly said. “I’d be in the position of having them ask about what I do all the time.”

“And eventually, they’d find out.”

“Maybe more than I’d want them to know.”

/> Holly slipped into sleep on Stone’s shoulder, and Stone followed shortly.

Holly was working at her desk when a security guard rapped on her door. “You ordered a sandwich delivery?” He held up a paper bag.

“Yes, thanks. What do I owe you?”

He looked at the receipt stapled to the bag. “Twelve-fifty. I gave him fifteen.”

Holly got the money from her handbag and handed it to him. “Thanks for not making me look like a cheapskate.”

He waved and went back to his post in the downstairs lobby, where he was one of four these days, two of them posing as people waiting to see people upstairs.

Holly unwrapped the sandwich and set it on her desk, then opened the can of diet soda that had come with it. She was extremely hungry and was about to bite into it when she heard a muffled explosion from the direction of the avenue. The reinforced walls and armored triple glazing in her building kept out nearly all noise; something she could hear at all would have to be big.

Holly went to the window and looked outside. Down the block a few doors and at street level she could see the facade of a building blown away and twisted cars in the street, lying in disarray. A few people were picking themselves up from the rubble, and they were all bloody.

Holly picked up the phone and pressed the paging button. “Security, this is Assistant Director Barker: call nine-one-one, ask for every available policeman and ambulance. Everybody who’s armed, on the street, but stay away from the site of the explosion. Whoever did this is in a car or a cab nearby. Look for a woman in the rear seat. Compare to the flyer on the downstairs reception desk. Move!”

She slung her bag on her shoulder and ran down the hallway, skipped the elevator, and ran down the stairs. The four security men in the reception room were looking out the small window in the door. “One of you man the phones, the rest of you follow me!” she yelled at them. She stuck her hand in her bag, held her hand on her pistol, and stepped into the street, looking both ways. “You and you,” she yelled to two of them, “go down the block that way. You,” she said to the other one, “follow me.”

Holly ran up the block in the street, her hand still in her bag, looking into every vehicle as she went. At the next corner she looked both ways, then ran across the street and into a subway station, waving for her man to follow her.

She leaped the stile and headed down the escalator, holding one position and looking at every person ahead of her.

There, she thought, standing on the platform, back to her, waiting for the train.

“That one,” she said to her man, pointing. “Approach with caution, but fast. Police!” she yelled, parting the people ahead of her on the escalator and pushing past them, the gun out now. As she hit the bottom, she flicked off the safety with her thumb; one round already in the chamber. Her man moved up beside her. The train came rumbling into the station, the air brakes hissing as it stopped. The crowd on the platform surged forward onto the car, blocking her way.

She was nearly to the car when the doors closed. Swearing under her breath, she ran alongside the car as it began to move. A woman sat down on the other side of the car, facing her. Jasmine. Holly brought up the weapon, but a wall was coming at her as the train went into the tunnel, and she had to stop.

She dug into her bag and came up with her cell phone, pressed a button.

“NYPD. Commissioner’s office,” a male voice said.

“Emergency! This is Assistant Director Holly Barker of the CIA. Give me the commissioner now!”

The commissioner came on the line five seconds later. “Holly?”

“Explosion across the street from our building—a restaurant, I think. I’ve already called it in. One of my men and I pursued Jasmine into a subway station on Lex. She’s headed downtown. Have them stop the trains.”