Anderson didn’t know who thisNatashaperson was, but tough luck for her. It wasn’t Anderson’s problem that her boss believed Natasha was working for the KGB.
Killing the man in Paris would be a little more challenging, but she looked forward to making him die a painful death. After all the shit she had endured because of this asshole, payback would be a bitch.
The idea of killing Nathan Phillips was a different story. A mental tiger trap. She poured herself another vodka and looked out at the Georgetown night.If I don’t kill Nat Phillips, Ming Yu will snipe me at 1,000 yards or put a .22 bullet in my head or kill me some other shitty way.
If she was to have any chance of surviving, she would have to kill Nat, then make her way to Dulles Airport and out of the country.
Killing Elise Courville would start the clock ticking fast.
Anderson intended to use Courville’s Peugeot as the murder weapon. Maybe she could turn the French sports car into an Al-Qaeda–style VBIED. Every news agency would blame the militant organization first. Or she could plant an explosive, return the car to the French embassy, then detonate it remotely when Courville was behind the wheel.
That plan needed some work. The French press had made Anderson a hero for “rescuing” the ambassador’s daughter, but the old man and every frog in Europe would ask why the Chief Security Liaison Officer for the Secret Service had failed to protect Elise Courville from a terrorist hit.
This Natasha would have to be a one-two punch, so to speak. Same day, within hours or even minutes. Anderson would make it quick—a bullet to the head or back or whatever target the Russian woman presented. Rowan knew the safe house where Natasha was hidden, and she knew its access codes. Hell, she could go over there and kill her right now.
That would leave a very small window in which to kill Nat Phillips. Not knowing his current location was especially problematic. He might still be in Florida. With any luck, she could make it look like she had tried but failed as the clock ran down.
Sirens of some distant DC police chase sounded an exclamation point.
Rowan Anderson drained the vodka, pleased with herself. She had her plan.
CHAPTER 97
R Adams Cowley Shock Trauma Center
Baltimore, Maryland
CSTC pilots Felix Green and Tommy Lopez had the Little Bird touching down on the roof at the R Adams Cowley Shock Trauma Center exactly eight minutes after they picked up the package.
Felix had called ahead to the hospital while Rudy worked on Meg inside the tiny space behind the pilots and Oliver and I rode the assaulter benches affixed to the port and starboard skids. Felix had given the dispatcher the patient’s vitals, as well as the code that an unnamed government agency was making the delivery. The latter officially qualified the patient as aJane Doe.
It was a through and through,I repeated to myself.She’s going to be fine. Just need to plug the holes and keep her calm.
A five-person trauma team was waiting on the roof to rush Meg inside the building and into surgery.
I called Tristan. He’d been following the action from the SCIF in Easton and knew everything I knew—and then some.
“So they found the Egorov twins—what’s left of them, anyway—at a rest stop in Aberdeen, Maryland. They are two crispy critters, and the truck was baked pretty good.”
“It wasn’t my money,” I reflected, “so oh well. Bomb, maybe? Remote-detonated, of course. Could have been called in from Virginia—or from anywhere, really. But by who?”
“Not sure,” Tristan said evenly. “Could be the Russian mob, could be the KGB—no idea.”
“I’ve had no time to look at the information in that envelope Egorov handed me,” I said. “But every one of these events has to be connected.”
“Talk it through, Nat.”
“All three Egorovs got stung on the same night, in two different places. Meg took one in the shoulder. Bad shooting or bad luck? I’m thinking bad shooting. The driver didn’t anticipate me returning fire.”
Tristan murmured encouragingly to keep me on track.
“For whatever reason, he had to kill Egorov—and the sons, too. Did he see Egorov pass me the envelope? If he figures out Meg is alive, he’ll make another try at her. Suggest we get a protective detail up here ASAP.”
“Roger that, Nat.” Tristan being Tristan, he got to worrying about everybody else, starting with me. “You doing okay, buddy? Meg’s going to be fine. Sam Starnes will be up soon to make sure the hospital plays nice.”
“Okay, Tristan—cool. Oliver and I will take turns until they get here. I’m going to stick around ’til we get news on Meg.”
CHAPTER 98
