The End Game (A Brit in the FBI 3)

KNIGHT TAKES F2

Yorktown, Virginia

Andy tapped the computer screen, cursed, yelled, “Matthew, someone’s into our code. We have to hurry.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll get it done in time.”

Matthew always knew they’d have a short time frame to get the bomb into place. His bomb, not Vanessa’s. He was going to turn the heat up higher, make the refinery light up the world. Turning off the lights was only the first step. Now they had to get the truck into the facility. Matthew knew it wouldn’t be a problem—they were dropping off a load of tungsten for the plant, a scheduled delivery. With a lovely surprise inside.

He’d spent days working on the ID cards. The black-coded magnetic strip wouldn’t work, but it didn’t have to. Since the power was down there would be no way to double-check.

But they needed more than ID cards to get into the facility.

He stripped the other unconscious body of his gear and stepped into the blue coveralls. He slapped a new patch on his breast to match the name on his ID.

Andy stood, watching, already in the other worker’s uniform. He’d wanted to kill them, safer that way, but Matthew said no. And why? He’d already killed at Bayway, not to mention Ian and Vanessa. Whatever. So they’d taken the time to tie them well and hide them in the woods.

Matthew looked over at Andy. He was moving his fingers, mentally writing code. He could easily imagine what Andy was thinking, probably how lovely it would be to blow up the world—all those flames shooting up into the sky—he knew him that well. He also knew Andy didn’t have a clue that things could be unraveling, though Matthew felt to his gut something was wrong, the wheels were coming off. But Andy knew only what was dancing in his mad brain.

And yet again, Matthew saw Ian’s face, Vanessa’s face, and wondered for an instant if Darius was right, if this was the way to bring down the terrorist nations. To bring such havoc that the United States would have to act. But President Bradley—Matthew believed he’d kill his own mother before he’d make a move toward the terrorist nations. Matthew smiled. Soon it wouldn’t matter if everything got screwed up. He’d still have time to deliver the ultimate blow.

One big surprise, though. He hadn’t expected any of the computer agents to be on par with Andy and Gunther. It made it interesting, gave him brief periods of excitement to cover the pain and rage at Vanessa and Ian. Would things play out as he and Darius had originally planned? He didn’t know about Darius, but his part would play out perfectly. He was ready, eager. Darius had promised him it was all set up, only a matter of time.

He said to Andy, “Come on. Get in the truck. We have to hurry.”

Matthew drove, Andy navigated. Within five minutes they pulled into the drive that led to the entrance of the plant.

With the power down, every check would be by hand. As expected, there were two guards stationed at the entrance. They looked alarmed, as well they should, since the news was out that the power was down all over Virginia and no one knew why. One of the men stepped forward, stretched out his hand.

Matthew braked the truck and rolled down the window. The guard said, “I can’t believe you still came considering what’s happening. Where do you need to go?”

Matthew unclipped his ID from his shirt pocket, handed it out the window, and checked his manifest. “South Four-G. Got a shipment of tungsten to drop off.”

“With all the power out, it might be a while before they can open the bay doors.” He handed the ID back. He’d barely glanced at it. “This is a pisser. You got any idea what’s going on? Did you see any trucks working on the lines on your way in?”

“Nope, I don’t have a clue what’s going on, been driving forever.”

“Well, keep to the lanes, watch for the Secret Service guys. They’re crawling all over the place getting ready for the president’s big speech here tomorrow. If it happens, that is, and sure it won’t unless they fix this power mess.”

“Got it.” Matthew rolled up the window and reminded himself to breathe.

Andy was flushed with pride. “Imagine, Matthew, everyone’s afraid, isn’t that great? They’re afraid because of me. I like that, I really do. Don’t you think this plant would make a fine burn?”

“Yeah, everyone’s afraid because of you, Andy. Now, keep an eye out. How goes the outage?”

Andy pulled his laptop from back under the seat. “It’s all the way to the Pennsylvania Turnpike. It’s slowing down, though. Whoever is into the back doors is good, but we have time. Even if they counteract it now, it would take at least a few hours to get the grids reset and the power back on. Am I good, or what?”

“You and Gunther. Make sure it’s down long enough so we can place the bomb.”

“I’m doing my job. You do yours,” Andy said. “More me than Gunther; you think about it. Hey, everything would be perfect if you hadn’t gotten me shot.”

Patience, patience. “Right,” Matthew said, “and you’re the idiot who left the memory sticks behind, you’re the one who ran when the FBI saw you. If you’d played it cool, you would have been fine. But you panicked and got yourself shot.” How many times had he said this already? His hand fisted on the steering wheel to keep from punching Andy, maybe knocking him out of the truck and running over him, the idiot.

The little idiot pouted, no other word for it.

“Matthew, you’re going to have to place the bomb yourself. I can’t limp in there, now, can I? I’d draw attention. The police aren’t stupid; you know they’re looking for us. This place is crawling with Secret Service, too. I’m staying in the truck.”

“Grow a pair, Andy. We’re in this together.” He sounded calm, in control. Wasn’t he the Bishop?