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“That’s perfect. I need your friend Sylvie’s information.”
Kara gave her Sylvie Vaughn’s address, email, and cell phone. “Unless she’s moved, she’ll be there.”
Sherlock said, “Have you called Sylvie, told her about Alex?”
Kara shook her head. “No, I can’t. I mean, there’s nothing she could do.”
Sherlock got Brenda Love’s information next. She stood, put her small tablet back in her pocket. “It’s time for you to
meet the CARD agents now, Kara. Special Agents Haller and Butler are here to tell you what’s been done so far and what their plans are. There’s an Amber Alert out for Alex already.” She paused a moment, leaned down. “I can’t imagine my own son, Sean, being taken. You’re being very brave, Kara, and you’re smart. Talk to them about what happened in Baltimore, what happened yesterday with John Doe. Anything could help. I will make sure you know everything that’s happening.”
After she’d introduced Kara to CARD agents Haller and Butler, she met Dillon outside Kara’s room and walked to the elevator, no longer on lockdown.
Sherlock said, “I wonder what the kidnappers want. Not money, but what?” She pressed the elevator button. “Whatever it is they want, you know as well as I do that it involves John Doe.”
“And he can’t tell us,” Savich said. “I wonder if Kara’s friends can help us find out how Alex’s kidnapping is connected to him.”
15
PUBLIC GARAGE ON QUEEN STREET
ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA
Ruth nearly stumbled in the sudden pitch black. She righted herself and held perfectly still, pressed against a car door. No mystery here: This was a setup, Bowler the target. She heard an older man yell, “Hey, who are you? What are you doing? If you want money—” His voice hitched and she heard him groan, but that, too, was cut off. A woman screamed, went silent. Ruth knew the older couple she’d seen walking in front of Bowler was down, maybe dead.
Ruth punched in Ollie’s number, whispered, “Back up now, Ollie! It’s an ambush! I’m in the public garage across from the restaurant. I don’t know Bowler’s status. Hurry!”
She held perfectly still, straining to hear any movement, breathing, anything at all, but it was silent now. She shouted into the darkness, “FBI! Mr. Bowler, keep hidden! Don’t make a sound! Agents are barricading the garage entrance and exits!”
Silence.
How far out were the nearest agents and police? Ruth panned the darkness with her Glock waiting for her eyes to adjust to the pitch black, breathing as lightly as she could. She sensed no movement in the still air. She hoped the older couple was alive, hadn’t paid with their lives for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. There was nothing she could do for them right now.
Ruth made a decision, shouted, “Mr. Bowler, you realize now the person you were supposed to meet at the restaurant set you up. Come toward my voice. You need to tell me who hired you, and the assassin will have no more reason to kill you.”
A bullet struck a car fender right behind her. So the assassin wasn’t gone. He’d fired toward the sound of her voice. She dropped to her knees and crawled behind a van beside her. Another bullet rang out, this one not as close, then a third bullet struck the wall two cars away, sending concrete shards flying.
A man’s voice called out, “Hey, bitch cop, I don’t hear any backup. Hey, you leave now and I’ll let you live.”
Ruth aimed her Glock toward his voice and pulled off three fast rounds, then two more, lower down, to each side. She heard three pings off cars and glass shattering. And the fifth shot? Could she have hit him? There was no sound of a gun dropping to the concrete floor, no moan. She didn’t move.
Where were the agents? The police? She had to keep the assassin pinned down, keep him from finding Bowler. Then she heard a beautiful sound, faint at first, sirens coming closer. Ollie had called the Alexandria police. She heard their cars screeching up to the garage, knew they were blocking the entrance. She heard shouts.
Then, to her horror, lights flooded the garage.
Ruth yelled, “Get those lights off!”
She heard footsteps, a shout, then a single shot.
The lights went out again, and a score of flashlights came on to light the garage. But Ruth knew it was too late.
They found the older couple, thankfully not dead, but both unconscious, struck on their heads. She felt the pulse in their throats, slow and steady.
An Alexandria police officer yelled, “I found one. He’s dead.”
She’d failed, the assassin had killed Bowler. Ruth ran past the couple to where the police officer knelt. She looked down at a slight young man sprawled on his back behind a black Toyota, a bullet through his heart, a .357 Magnum on the concrete floor beside his right hand.
Ruth’s heart jumped into her throat. It had to be the assassin, which meant Bowler not only had a gun, he’d been close enough to the assassin when the lights came on to kill him.
