outside the police blockade they just put up. Near F and 12th.”
“Stay right there, I’m coming out of the station.”
VAIL EMERGED FROM THE METRO where she, Uzi, and DeSantos had entered before they split up. She saw Uzi standing near his Tahoe, phone pressed against his ear.
She brought her prisoner to him and said, “Ghazal. Hang onto him. I gotta go look into something. Give me a few minutes.”
Uzi’s brow rose and he shifted his phone to take custody of the handcuffed man. “Hoshi, we’ve got Ghazal. Call you back.”
Vail headed for the police barrier Jonathan had mentioned—and then saw him beside a Metro officer, chatting him up. To his credit, the cop was doing his best to maintain crowd control while keeping Jonathan engaged.
“Sweetie,” she said as she hugged him. “When I got Robby’s text …” She pushed away and held him at arm’s length. “I was so worried.”
“We were just coming into the station when I felt the car shake. It was like an earthquake or something. It kind of jumped off the tracks but we weren’t going very fast. They finally got the doors open and we evacuated.”
She hugged him again.
“What happened? What caused the explosion?”
“Can’t say. But since I’m here with Uzi and Hector DeSantos …” She winked. “Figure it out.”
His jaw went slack. Before he could ask any more questions, she said, “You going back to class?”
“I—I guess so. Unless they cancel it.” Which they’d definitely do once they figure out what’s going on .
An ambulance screamed down F Street and stopped a few feet ahead of a fire engine.
Jonathan turned to her. “Is there—is there anything I should do? Anywhere I should go? Anywhere I should avoid?”
She wished she had something to tell him. But that was the point with these types of terror attacks: there were no safe places. All she could come up with was, “Avoid crowded, popular areas.”
He scrunched his face. “You serious? In DC? How am I supp—”
“I don’t know. I—I’m working on it.”
Vail gave him a peck on the cheek, then headed back toward Uzi while jotting off a quick text to Robby letting him know she saw Jonathan and that he was safe. As safe as one can be with suicide bombers setting off explosives around town.
“Nice work,” Uzi said as she got into the SUV. Ghazal was in the backseat, flexcuffs securing his ankles together and his wrists to the door.
“Where we going?”
Uzi turned over the engine. “To get some answers.”
THEY PULLED INTO THE UNDISCLOSED LOCATION that, according to Uzi, was known only to a handful of operatives—and until sixty minutes ago, that exclusive list did not even include himself.
They had injected Ghazal with a mild sedative supplied by Rodman on the side of the road, just outside the district. They blindfolded their prisoner, then with Rodman seated beside him, they drove an hour into a sparsely populated area of Spotsylvania County. During the ride, Vail had an opportunity to read through a dossier Knox and Tasset had assembled on Ghazal and Aziz. It was incomplete, but she hoped it would be helpful.
From the exterior, the building was a nondescript, cheaply constructed tilt-up warehouse with a loading dock in the rear and a faded black-and-white aluminum sign that read, Newman Industries. Uzi pulled the SUV into the parking lot, which was well shielded by hedges, shrubs, and trees.
Inside, however, after passing through a solid steel door, the structure was a highly secured lockdown facility.
Uzi, Vail, and Rodman led their prisoner along a cinderblock lined corridor. DeSantos was waiting at the end, arms folded across his chest.
“I don’t like the road we’re headed down,” Vail said. “Been there. Done that. Didn’t enjoy it.”
They handed off Ghazal to two stocky men in jeans and sweatshirts, who took him inside an adjacent room.
“What happened in London was extraordinary because of the circumstances,” DeSantos said.
“Stay right there, I’m coming out of the station.”
VAIL EMERGED FROM THE METRO where she, Uzi, and DeSantos had entered before they split up. She saw Uzi standing near his Tahoe, phone pressed against his ear.
She brought her prisoner to him and said, “Ghazal. Hang onto him. I gotta go look into something. Give me a few minutes.”
Uzi’s brow rose and he shifted his phone to take custody of the handcuffed man. “Hoshi, we’ve got Ghazal. Call you back.”
Vail headed for the police barrier Jonathan had mentioned—and then saw him beside a Metro officer, chatting him up. To his credit, the cop was doing his best to maintain crowd control while keeping Jonathan engaged.
“Sweetie,” she said as she hugged him. “When I got Robby’s text …” She pushed away and held him at arm’s length. “I was so worried.”
“We were just coming into the station when I felt the car shake. It was like an earthquake or something. It kind of jumped off the tracks but we weren’t going very fast. They finally got the doors open and we evacuated.”
She hugged him again.
“What happened? What caused the explosion?”
“Can’t say. But since I’m here with Uzi and Hector DeSantos …” She winked. “Figure it out.”
His jaw went slack. Before he could ask any more questions, she said, “You going back to class?”
“I—I guess so. Unless they cancel it.” Which they’d definitely do once they figure out what’s going on .
An ambulance screamed down F Street and stopped a few feet ahead of a fire engine.
Jonathan turned to her. “Is there—is there anything I should do? Anywhere I should go? Anywhere I should avoid?”
She wished she had something to tell him. But that was the point with these types of terror attacks: there were no safe places. All she could come up with was, “Avoid crowded, popular areas.”
He scrunched his face. “You serious? In DC? How am I supp—”
“I don’t know. I—I’m working on it.”
Vail gave him a peck on the cheek, then headed back toward Uzi while jotting off a quick text to Robby letting him know she saw Jonathan and that he was safe. As safe as one can be with suicide bombers setting off explosives around town.
“Nice work,” Uzi said as she got into the SUV. Ghazal was in the backseat, flexcuffs securing his ankles together and his wrists to the door.
“Where we going?”
Uzi turned over the engine. “To get some answers.”
THEY PULLED INTO THE UNDISCLOSED LOCATION that, according to Uzi, was known only to a handful of operatives—and until sixty minutes ago, that exclusive list did not even include himself.
They had injected Ghazal with a mild sedative supplied by Rodman on the side of the road, just outside the district. They blindfolded their prisoner, then with Rodman seated beside him, they drove an hour into a sparsely populated area of Spotsylvania County. During the ride, Vail had an opportunity to read through a dossier Knox and Tasset had assembled on Ghazal and Aziz. It was incomplete, but she hoped it would be helpful.
From the exterior, the building was a nondescript, cheaply constructed tilt-up warehouse with a loading dock in the rear and a faded black-and-white aluminum sign that read, Newman Industries. Uzi pulled the SUV into the parking lot, which was well shielded by hedges, shrubs, and trees.
Inside, however, after passing through a solid steel door, the structure was a highly secured lockdown facility.
Uzi, Vail, and Rodman led their prisoner along a cinderblock lined corridor. DeSantos was waiting at the end, arms folded across his chest.
“I don’t like the road we’re headed down,” Vail said. “Been there. Done that. Didn’t enjoy it.”
They handed off Ghazal to two stocky men in jeans and sweatshirts, who took him inside an adjacent room.
“What happened in London was extraordinary because of the circumstances,” DeSantos said.
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