Hunter had nothing left to shield from these agents. “Yes, but I had no idea he’d try to make a hit on Gwen. After dropping Abbie at her apartment with a transmitter I’d planted on her, I drove away, parked down the street, and doubled back. I was inside the building when I heard Jackson grab her. He wanted to see my face, but he didn’t kill either of us. He popped a flash bomb and released a tear-gas canister. I carried her out and took her with me.” He looked at Retter and said, “I was bringing her here that night until she told me about her mother dying. In hindsight, I should have put Abbie in protective custody and dealt with the guilt of pulling her away from her mother, because now he’s got her.”
Hunter turned to Rae in the silence. “That’s why I didn’t want you to be connected to me at the Wentworth party. I had no doubt of your ability to pull off being my companion. I was putting the mission first, but if the opportunity presented itself I was not going to pass up a chance to take down Eliot’s killer. I didn’t want you or anyone else hurt because of me.”
Rae gave Hunter a look he hadn’t expected. Her eyes softened with understanding.
Korbin said nothing, but the glare subsided.
“Abbie was in play before she met you,” Gotthard said.
“Why do you say that?” Hunter crossed his arms. Felt damn good to utilize the expertise of this group to find Abbie. Gotthard had tried to get him to realize they were greater as a team than as individuals. Too bad Hunter hadn’t accepted that sooner.
“Rae figured out the Jackson Chameleon puzzle,” Gotthard said. “Jackson disappeared from the U.S. at three years old, but Abbie’s mother had to donate blood for him five years later. I searched customs for that period of time and found clearance within a couple hours after she’d donated. The blood was delivered to a hospital in Shanghai for a child with the last name Jack.”
Rae picked up the thread. “In the Asian culture a male child is called Son of, as in Jackson, meaning Son of Jack.”
“So what did that give us?” Hunter asked.
“That opened up a world of information on one Sigmund Jack who lived in the United States at the right time to have gotten Abbie’s mother pregnant.”
“Where is he now?”
Gotthard took over. “Dead. We traced his son’s life until Jackson went into MI6 in his early twenties then disappeared two years ago. Joe tapped his UK contacts to find out MI6 is after Jackson, too. They think Jackson is behind the death of two powerful supporters of the former prime minister and possibly behind the former prime minister’s death.”
“So why would Jackson kill the current one, who basically opposes so many things the prior prime minister supported?” Hunter wondered aloud.
“Only the Fratelli can answer that one,” Rae said.
“Then we have to find him.” Hunter stood away from the desk. “He wants me there for some reason. I’m going.” He looked at Retter to let him know he wouldn’t be stopped.
“We’ll let you go,” Retter countered. “But I’m telling you now if you make any move that doesn’t put the security of this nation first I’ll take you out myself.”
“Done. I’ll leave for Colorado tonight.”
Retter added, “You’re not going anywhere alone.”
Hunter started to argue, then realized he needed someone with him. One agent in particular. “Do I get to pick who goes with me?”
Korbin looked at Rae, then at the others. No one spoke up.
Retter said, “That’ll be up to the agent.”
Chapter Forty-three
Hunter stopped hiking within a stand of bare aspens protected from the wintry winds by a snow-capped granite ridge rising on his left. A single mountain chalet straight ahead sparkled bright as a spotlighted diamond in a dark room. The helicopter had deposited him and Brendan “Mako” Masterson two miles away, where they’d donned winter gear. The temperature plunged into the thirties, mild for nighttime in the Rocky Mountains in spring.
He studied the brightly lit trilevel lodge positioned innocently in a dip in the mountains north of Idaho Springs, Colorado.
A perfect spot for a private party to celebrate the visit of an international dignitary.
A perfect spot for an assassination attempt.
Mako dropped his pack alongside Hunter’s, white puffs striking the cold air when he breathed. He read his watch and quietly said, “Time: twenty-one oh two, sixteen seconds.”
“Check,” Hunter answered.
Fifty-eight minutes until someone died.
He considered where the sniper might choose to position himself along the ridge west of the house. Tall windows stood around the curved third floor, which faced west, toward the spectacular sunsets. “Shooter could be anywhere from one hundred feet to three hundred feet up there.” He nodded, indicating the obvious location for the closest shot through the glass windows. “I’ll determine the prime minister’s position in the building. You cover the grounds and see if the shooter’s got any eyes down here. Once we split up, stay far enough off me that he doesn’t see you or he’ll change the game.”
“Got it.” Armed heavily and dressed in a pewter-gray arctic suit just like Hunter’s, Mako’s wide frame melded into the night when he moved away.
Hunter owed him for agreeing to be his backup. No one volunteered, that’s for sure. With a little luck, he’d figured Jackson’s intentions correctly.
If not, Abbie would pay for his mistake.
Bile stung his throat at the thought of her out here terrified, because Jackson would have to keep her close enough to play out his next move.
Thinking about that instead of the mission was fruitless and dangerous. He had to focus to have any hope of getting her back alive.
Hunter moved around to the left, lifting his binoculars to study the quiet cocktail mixer going on. All activity appeared to be contained on the third level of the seven-thousand-square-foot vacation home belonging to British friends of the prime minister.
The UK leader came into view among a group of men, allowing no clear shot… yet. Hunter’s radio clicked once.
Mako had detected someone on the grounds.
Hunter lowered his binoculars, searching for… there. A tall man with a thick build moved carefully from the building to vehicles strewn across rutted, snow-covered ground to…
Hunter focused in on the man’s right cheek… a scar.
Fuck a duck. There was the guy who had been in Brugmann’s compound in Kauai and at the Wentworth party.
Need a location, Gotthard,” Joe said, striding across the research analyst’s area in BAD’s underground operation center.
Gotthard hit the refresh button on the chat board where he and Linette left posts on Saturdays. They used a different site for every day of the week and the seven chat boards changed monthly. “Everyone set?”
Joe paused. “Yes. Twenty teams spread across the country, ready to contact bomb squads and emergency warning systems in every city. Plus our five best bomb specialists. If the detonation time for the bomb was twenty-two hundred Eastern Standard Time it would have happened already. Must be tied to the Colorado event if it’s really going down tonight.”
“Too bad we don’t have twenty demolition experts as good as Korbin.”
“No shit.”
Gotthard hit the refresh button and Linette’s message appeared. “Got something.” He decoded as he copied her text. “She sent coordinates. Strike is in Chicago in twenty-three minutes.”
Joe stabbed the air with his fist. “Fucking A! Retter and Korbin are in Chicago. Get the coordinates to Retter and I’ll contact local authorities for emergency management in Chicago.”
Gotthard picked up his phone, hoping Linette had covered her ass with the Fratelli. She was obviously involved up to her neck.