scoured the walls and other surfaces to ensure that no arterial spray had been missed.
Except for the faint chemical smell, and the soon-to-be faded splotches of carpet, his tracks were covered. The bullet holes in the alley would be attributed to gang warfare or a drug deal gone wrong, and nothing more would be thought of it. Enrique was safe. He found a few unscented tea candles in a kitchen cupboard and lit them, hoping to burn away most of the scent. Staring at the sword lying on the floor, he made a snap decision to take it with him. That would accomplish two things: remove potentially critical evidence, and, at least symbolically, disarm one of his enemies. He wanted to snap the sword in half, but he restrained himself. Focus your anger, he told himself. Channel it.
Next order of business: finish what he had come here for in the first place. He walked back to the bedroom and saw his prize. The laptop sat on the desk to the left of the doorway, just waiting to be taken. This was how easy it should have been. Pick the lock, walk in, grab the laptop, and leave. And it would have been that easy, if only Rickner’s brother hadn’t���
Enrique took a deep breath. He’d get to dealing with the other brother. One thing at a time. He didn’t need to be distracted and make yet another mistake. The laptop was unplugged, but, looking around, he spotted its coiled power cord lying in the open suitcase nearby. May as well take it too, Enrique decided, although the model was common enough.
He flipped open his cell phone and punched in a number.
“Yes?” replied Greer’s breathless voice on the other end.
“The package is secure.”
“Excellent.” Enrique thought he could hear a car horn in the distance on the other end of the line.
“Good to hear,” Greer responded. “I knew you wouldn’t let us down. Corner of Massachusetts and Eighteenth. Black Lexus with Nevada plates. Front passenger window will be cracked. Password exchange Bravo-Three-Seven-Romeo. After identity is verified, pass package through window to female EDA officer inside.”
“Massachusetts and Eighteenth. Black Lexus, Nevada plates. Bravo-Three-Seven-Romeo. Pass package through front passenger window. Understood. When, sir?”
“One hour. And Ramirez?”
“Sir?”
“You’ve done your country a great service. And loyalty like that will be rewarded. Sooner than you know, my son.”
Enrique swallowed. “Thank you, sir.”
“Until tomorrow morning at nine, then.”
The line disconnected, and the agent stared at the floor for a moment. It hurt him to lie to Greer – even if by omission – but revealing the truth of what had just transpired with the Rickner brother would hurt even more.
He took a dark blue sweatshirt from Michael’s closet and put it on, an attempt to hide the bloody wound his torn undershirt exposed. The sleeves were too long, Michael having been two inches taller than Ramirez, but it would do. He grabbed two plastic grocery bags from the recycling bin in the kitchen, placing the laptop and power cord into one, the wet sweatshirt, towel-wrapped sword, and scrubbing brush in the other. He snuffed out the candles, poured the liquid wax down the kitchen sink, and wrapped the rest of each candle in the towel in the bag. There certainly was no reason to tell Greer about his little slip-up. Something big was brewing over at the Division, and Greer didn’t need this as a distraction. No, Enrique Ramirez cleaned up his own messes, before they became problems for anyone else. He had sanitized the scene himself, and done a darned good job of it, all things considered. There was just one last loose end to tie up, and he would do that on his own. No, there was no reason to inform Greer, or even officially involve the Division at all.
Enrique would take care of the other Rickner brother himself.
Chapter 11
Blocks away from Michael’s apartment, Jon ducked into a clothing store, trying to catch his breath as he wandered
Except for the faint chemical smell, and the soon-to-be faded splotches of carpet, his tracks were covered. The bullet holes in the alley would be attributed to gang warfare or a drug deal gone wrong, and nothing more would be thought of it. Enrique was safe. He found a few unscented tea candles in a kitchen cupboard and lit them, hoping to burn away most of the scent. Staring at the sword lying on the floor, he made a snap decision to take it with him. That would accomplish two things: remove potentially critical evidence, and, at least symbolically, disarm one of his enemies. He wanted to snap the sword in half, but he restrained himself. Focus your anger, he told himself. Channel it.
Next order of business: finish what he had come here for in the first place. He walked back to the bedroom and saw his prize. The laptop sat on the desk to the left of the doorway, just waiting to be taken. This was how easy it should have been. Pick the lock, walk in, grab the laptop, and leave. And it would have been that easy, if only Rickner’s brother hadn’t���
Enrique took a deep breath. He’d get to dealing with the other brother. One thing at a time. He didn’t need to be distracted and make yet another mistake. The laptop was unplugged, but, looking around, he spotted its coiled power cord lying in the open suitcase nearby. May as well take it too, Enrique decided, although the model was common enough.
He flipped open his cell phone and punched in a number.
“Yes?” replied Greer’s breathless voice on the other end.
“The package is secure.”
“Excellent.” Enrique thought he could hear a car horn in the distance on the other end of the line.
“Good to hear,” Greer responded. “I knew you wouldn’t let us down. Corner of Massachusetts and Eighteenth. Black Lexus with Nevada plates. Front passenger window will be cracked. Password exchange Bravo-Three-Seven-Romeo. After identity is verified, pass package through window to female EDA officer inside.”
“Massachusetts and Eighteenth. Black Lexus, Nevada plates. Bravo-Three-Seven-Romeo. Pass package through front passenger window. Understood. When, sir?”
“One hour. And Ramirez?”
“Sir?”
“You’ve done your country a great service. And loyalty like that will be rewarded. Sooner than you know, my son.”
Enrique swallowed. “Thank you, sir.”
“Until tomorrow morning at nine, then.”
The line disconnected, and the agent stared at the floor for a moment. It hurt him to lie to Greer – even if by omission – but revealing the truth of what had just transpired with the Rickner brother would hurt even more.
He took a dark blue sweatshirt from Michael’s closet and put it on, an attempt to hide the bloody wound his torn undershirt exposed. The sleeves were too long, Michael having been two inches taller than Ramirez, but it would do. He grabbed two plastic grocery bags from the recycling bin in the kitchen, placing the laptop and power cord into one, the wet sweatshirt, towel-wrapped sword, and scrubbing brush in the other. He snuffed out the candles, poured the liquid wax down the kitchen sink, and wrapped the rest of each candle in the towel in the bag. There certainly was no reason to tell Greer about his little slip-up. Something big was brewing over at the Division, and Greer didn’t need this as a distraction. No, Enrique Ramirez cleaned up his own messes, before they became problems for anyone else. He had sanitized the scene himself, and done a darned good job of it, all things considered. There was just one last loose end to tie up, and he would do that on his own. No, there was no reason to inform Greer, or even officially involve the Division at all.
Enrique would take care of the other Rickner brother himself.
Chapter 11
Blocks away from Michael’s apartment, Jon ducked into a clothing store, trying to catch his breath as he wandered
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