The American. Andrew Britton
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Название: The American
Автор: Andrew Britton
Издательство: Ingram
Жанр: Шпионские детективы
isbn: 9780786022601
isbn:
And she hadn’t backed down from Hendricks either. He liked a woman who could stand up for herself. He angrily shook the intruding thoughts from his mind, telling himself to stay focused. Naomi had asked him a question, and he had to scramble to recall it.
“Just to have his people check the cars. He listens…That’s a good quality in an SAC. How do you know him?”
“We’ve worked together before,” was her tart reply. She did not offer further insight.
Ryan could see the corner of her mouth turned up in a bemused smirk. He hoped that she hadn’t misinterpreted his look. His life was already complicated enough as it was.
The venetian blinds in his apartment were closed, denying access to the prying eyes of the snipers located on the rooftops across the street. Shakib moved slowly, almost gracefully, through the drafty rooms, past the luxurious furnishings and other trinkets acquired over the course of a lifetime. None of it mattered to him.
On the other end of his expansive living room, a flat-screen Sony television was mounted on the wall. Behind the glass, CNN was running silent images of the Kennedy-Warren apartment complex. He was pleased to note the mobile command unit set up in the courtyard below, the agents swarming around it like bees around a hive.
After the plans for the assassination of Senator Levy had been examined and confirmed, the American had brought many materials to Shakib’s three-bedroom apartment overlooking Cleveland Park. When he had described to his visitor the expensive restoration of the building and the fact that it had been recently named a National Historic Landmark, the man had smiled and nodded, clearly pleased by the news. The American had demanded solitude while he poured over blueprints and floor plans. Michael went out for sandwiches and coffee while his guest walked through the rooms examining the walls, ceiling, and door frames. A great deal of time had been spent on the balcony, as the man inspected the intricate ironwork combined with cement emplacements that kept the heavy structure secured to the building.
After many hours, his visitor had settled on a single pillar, 4 feet in diameter tucked halfway into a wall. Although he had previously despised the oversized intrusion into his living space, Shakib listened while his guest explained the importance of this single load-bearing structure, how it supported the three floors above him. He had listened while the man described the properties of the heavy marble and stone used in the construction of the building, and the quantity of SEMTEX H that would be necessary to cut through such material.
Shakib had appreciated the patient explanation, and absorbed the information attentively with few interruptions. Although the American understood nothing of Islam, his technical expertise accorded him some measure of respect. Shakib admired diligence in one’s chosen profession. In the end, the months of preparation had come down to this one moment.
It was time.
Eight floors down, the reporters were angrily berating the police officers pushing them farther down the street. The nasty edge to the elevated voices carried high above the crowd, adding to the collective tension. New barriers were erected and more men stationed behind them. Luke Hendricks was holding a cell phone in each hand, barking orders into each as lesser agents hovered around him, vying for his attention.
Ryan and Naomi had been pushed aside by the agents milling around the command vehicle, so that they were now on the perimeter, almost as far away from the action as the buzzing reporters. This was moving too fast. Kealey wouldn’t breathe easy again until Shakib was on the ground in handcuffs, and everybody was clear of the area. Instinctively, he began looking around for potential cover, his gaze settling on the heavy transport van located just a few feet away. Far above his position, a sniper from the FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team spoke into his headset.
“All ground units, this is Sierra Three. The doors to the balcony are open, over.”
On the ground, eyes shot skyward in unison. Hendricks lifted a radio to his mouth, walking away from the crowd of people surrounding him. “Sierra Three, this is Command. Do you have a shot?”
“That’s affirmative, over.”
“Okay…Okay, sit tight. We need to—”
“Hold on,” came the sudden interruption. “Command, he’s got something in his hand. I can’t identify—”
Luke briefly wondered what it could be as various scenarios raced through his mind. When he hit upon the worst possibility, he was shouting into the radio, “Sierra Three, take the shot, I say again, take the shot now!”
Special Agent Mark Silverstein peered through the Leupold Vari-X scope mounted to his custom-made Remington 700P LTR rifle. The cold wind whipping across the top of the building scraped at his nerves, but he had already adjusted his sights accordingly. There was nothing more he could do, except to put his faith in his training. At such a short distance, he elected for a head shot, and was surprised to see the target smiling in his direction as he eased back on the trigger.
As the .308 round violently exited the back of Michael Shakib’s head in a pink cloud, the spasm caused by his sudden death caused his right hand to squeeze tight around the electric detonator it contained. It could have gone either way, but the fist was squeezed tightly…The circuit that his visitor had carefully constructed less than two weeks earlier was finally completed.
Before Hendricks even issued the order to fire, Ryan Kealey was already pushing his way through the crowd of agents and police officers who were staring at the top of the building. He was dragging Naomi behind him and screaming at Hendricks to evacuate the area, and then at the crowd: “GET DOWN, GET DOWN!” Even as the words left his mouth, he knew that they wouldn’t make a difference. He pulled Naomi toward the transport van, his eyes locked onto the open rear doors of the vehicle.
Far above, a brilliant white light erupted from the side of the building, immediately followed by an ear-splitting crack as the cutting charge ripped the pillar in half. Before the loudest part of the explosion reached them, the crowd below was momentarily blinded by the initial flash. Fortunately, many were spared the sight of the eastern face of the building collapsing out toward them.
Assistant Special Agent in Charge Luke Hendricks had been distracted by the figure racing through the crowd. His vision was not obscured, and so he was able to watch in disbelief as death rained down from above. Falling awkwardly to the ground, he pressed his face into the freezing asphalt, covered his head with his hands, and opened his mouth to scream.
The thunderous roar of the explosion echoed in Kealey’s ears as he threw Naomi into a corner of the armored vehicle and covered her body with his. Her muffled screams vibrated through his chest as thousands of pounds of cement, marble, and iron from the building’s façade crashed down onto Connecticut Avenue. He could hear no other sound of human life, only the deafening sound of the world falling down around them. A sudden impact crushed the opposite end of the vehicle, flipping the van onto its side like a toy. He felt something sharp tear into his face as the walls caved in, the wheels ripped from the axles, the polycarbonate glass crumpling in the windshield and passenger doors. Then the noise was gone and everything went black.
CHAPTER 8
WASHINGTON, СКАЧАТЬ