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Chapter 23
My motorcade advances up the freeway like an army marching into battle: slow and orderly, but numerous and imposing. Armored SUVs and vans full of mercenaries form a line in the right lane, with me in my limo near the back. Fifty men toting assault rifles, grenades and flashbangs joke around in their transports; they’re not the most professional crew, but they agreed to take the job. It wasn’t easy finding a team this large on short notice who knew the dangers of going after Anarchy, Inc.
Drivers look out their windows at us as they pass by, but see nothing through our tinted glass. Some honk and give us the bird, having waited some time to pass us. However, we can’t go fast: Brendan Zimmerman’s ride stays around the speed limit, forcing us to match it. Fifteen miles ahead of us, they head north into upstate New York in a green Maxima.
“Can we move in closer?” I ask. “I’d like to close the gap.”
“We shouldn’t, or we’ll risk being seen,” says Nick, following the freeway traffic cameras on a tablet.
“We should have a helicopter with us. We’re going to need air superiority.”
“They’d probably see it,” Nick says. “And eventually they’ll hear it.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
I’m not worried about losing track of the vehicle; we have it tagged and tracked, watching on satellite — as well as via our hack of Zimmerman’s cell phones.
I was right about him. He’s a smart guy for a bit player in the national media. He was curious about why Kate’s boyfriend disappeared and she suddenly made a strange career change, but the restraining order against him seemed to have worked at the time. He left her alone — but he didn’t abandon the case, obviously.
He didn’t abandon his friend. I respect that.
And now he’s going to help take down a terrorist organization, whether he knows it or not.
It’s vindicating to know my instincts were on point: he was lying to me. I haven’t had many wins lately; I’ll take this one. If working for the mob taught me anything, it’s that sometimes you have to start small.
It’s too bad Zimmerman got paranoid about our meeting. He went straight to his contact, confirming my suspicions but also necessitating immediate action. This is our chance to find Anarchy, Inc. where they live. It would have been interesting to gather more information from Zimmerman’s devices, but none of it will really matter if we find Death and dismantle his entire organization.
After we’ve eliminated the threat, then I can find out how much revenge I need to exact on Zimmerman.
“Target is passing exit eight,” says Jesper, our satellite monitor.
“Roger,” Nick replies. “Continuing pursuit.”
Ideally, I’d be nowhere near this fucking parade. Were it not for the fact that Death knows more about me than I can afford to let leak, I would simply tell the FBI to follow the green Maxima. They might bomb the shit out of Death’s base, but they might try to storm it and take prisoners. I can just picture the G-men at the NSA and Pentagon wanting some faces and names they can slap on a press release so they can take some of the credit.
No, this needs to be kept as quiet as possible, and if Death can be taken alive, that would be excellent. I’d love to see him suffer an excruciatingly painful death, after the hassle he’s caused me. I’d let the surviving mercenaries from the Brooklyn attack beat him senseless every day for six months. Maybe once a week I’d saw off a joint from one of his fingers and toes. When he runs out of them, I’ll pull a tooth with pliers. When he’s out of teeth, I’ll waterboard him. I’ll throw hot sauce in his eyes. I’ll leave him in solitary until he starves.
Sadly, I can’t imagine it’ll be easy to take him alive. I’d much rather the mercenaries focus on retrieving Kate and Zimmerman. They’ll probably be in some kind of prison cell, safe from the fight and easy to pick up later.
However, there is a question as to how winnable this fight will really be. If we strike now, we’ll have the element of surprise. They won’t know we’re coming. By the time they see us, we’ll be at their front door.
On the other hand, going in quickly puts us at one disadvantage: we won’t know what we’re getting into. We have enough well-trained fighters to mount a swift and effective incursion, even if Death’s dug in well. But, how many people belong to his ranks? His missions have shown a great deal of coordination, but very few individuals. If they have ten or fewer members, we’ll rip them to shreds.
What’s more, there are only so many places they can be hiding. We’ve been analyzing their route, trying to pinpoint potential destinations and mobilize additional units. Every mile cuts down the possibilities of where they’re going and brings us one step closer to ending Death’s threat.
“Alert: target is pulling over at a rest stop.”
“Roger. Hadley and Swarzak, follow them and keep us updated.”
“Copy that.”
“All other units,” Nick continues, “take Exit 11 and head north on local roads,” says Nick. “We’ll re-engage on the freeway once the target gets on the move once more.”
The other cars confirm the command, and soon we’re veering off the interstate en masse.
“They must be going pretty far if they’re making a pit stop,” I say.
“Probably,” says Nick. “It sounds like they don’t suspect anything.”
