"Any sign of Stuart Quinn yet?" said Riggs.

"You'll be the first to know if we get a hit on him, though I'm not holding my breath."

"Sounds like they're getting the band back together."

"It certainly looks that way," said Flagg. He paused a moment, considering how to proceed. "All right. Check out the Clearview Way address very carefully. Use some of Miss Keane's team if necessary. No offense, but your guys don't exactly look like the suburbs types. From what I'm seeing on Google Earth, this is a tidy townhome development."

"Believe me, you'd be better off with my guys. Have you ever seen her team? They look like aliens. We can head over to the Gap and pick up some clothes."

"Just be careful. One pa.s.s only. Multiple cameras running so you can a.n.a.lyze the exterior. I see a few opportunities for surveillance nearby, but you'll have to wait for nightfall. You know the drill."

"Got it," said Riggs.

"I want Jon and Leah Fisher alive. I can't stress that enough. Taking Stuart Quinn alive is a bonus, but not required. I'll pay a kicker either way. Thirty percent for everyone involved. Standard rates."

"You say alive would be a bonus," said Riggs. "That means you're paying one if we deliver him alive?"

"You manage it without f.u.c.king anything up, I'll pay more."

"How much more?"

"I'm not going to tell you. I'll roll a pair of dice after you deliver."

"I hate when you do that," said Riggs.

"I'd rather you pursued the easy money and just took him out, but if a no-s.h.i.t, zero-risk opportunity arises, there's no reason you shouldn't get paid a premium. He could have information we can use."

"Sounds good," said Riggs, the call ending.

Flagg ran both hands through his thick black hair. Riggs gave him pause sometimes, but he'd never failed to produce results. Same with Nissie Keane, which was why he'd paired the two teams together. If initial reconnaissance of the town house revealed more than the Fishers and their host, he could have a second contract team in Missoula within six hours.

He clicked on a few commands to upload everything he'd found on Scott Gleason to Nissie Keane. She might find something useful in the glut of career information contained in the compiled data.

With the Montana situation moving forward, he turned his attention to the screen detailing the progress made in Mexico-or lack of progress. Hopefully, that was about to change. The Russians sounded just as unsavory as he had hoped, more than willing to ignore convention and spill some blood to appease their paymaster. The Russians would unearth Fisher soon enough.

He'd give the Mexicali drama time to play out before recalling Leeds. He needed Nick to shepherd the next big step in his plan to completely bury any realistic hope of an independent California. The pendulum of public opinion had swung squarely in favor of keeping the status quo favored by his clients, thanks to Flagg's skillful manipulation of events.

It made no logical sense for the California Liberation Movement to sabotage the nuclear triad plant in Del Mar, but throw Nathan Fisher's role in the murder of a police detective and a nuclear plant engineer into the mix, and conspiracy-hungry Californians were off and running. Fisher's bank accounts flush with cash and digital evidence suggesting frequent contact with CLM leaders sealed the deal. Top that with Lieutenant Governor McDaid's a.s.sa.s.sination, and it was hard to shed a sympathetic light on the only radical group with a reason to kill the blatantly antisecessionist lieutenant governor. Even the blame for Congresswoman Almeda's a.s.sa.s.sination back in Washington, DC, had started to migrate in CLM's direction.

It was endlessly amusing for Flagg to watch the public respond to the media's foregone conclusions, all influenced if not outright purchased by Cerberus money. Now Californians needed one more push, and Flagg intended to deliver it-just as soon as he took care of a few annoying loose ends.

CHAPTER 18.

Nathan checked the makeshift ballistic vest provided to Owen by Jose's team. Not a bad fit for something put together in a hurry from extra pieces of gear. Nathan pressed against the enhanced chest plate protecting his son's critical organs from small-arms fire, wishing they could have fitted him with one of the liquid-gel vests. Not only was the latest-generation liquid-gel armor lighter, but it also dispersed the blunt force trauma of a bullet strike far more efficiently, cutting down on cracked sternums and internal organ damage.

He slapped the back plate. "Looking good, buddy. Mr. Quinn said this plate will stop a 50-caliber bullet."

"Why can't I have one like yours?" said Owen, pressing against Nathan's vest.

"The gel inserts were too big to work with. They had some extrasmall plates used in concealed vests that better fit your chest. They tried, but the only way to get it to work was to fold the gel packs. Doing that messed with the gel's sheer thickening effect."

"I've seen this stuff on the Military Channel. If something hits it, it hardens. I don't see why they couldn't use it."

"Is that what the two of you watch when I'm not home?" said Keira, who pulled the MP-20's sling over her shoulder like David had shown her.

"The Military Channel is the least of your problems when the guys are hanging out," Nathan said, then turned back to Owen. "It needs to lie mostly flat to function properly. Something about dispersing energy over a wider area. You'll be fine, buddy. We won't need any of this." He grabbed both of Owen's shoulders. "You ready?"

His son nodded, a nervous look pa.s.sing over his face.

"You, Keira?"

"As I'll ever be."

"All right. Let's do it."

The guard outside their door stood from his chair as they approached and was leading them up the cramped hallway when the door at the end burst inward. The young man dropped to one knee and raised his rifle as David rushed into the corridor, stopping at the sight of the rifle barrel.

"Jesus," said the guard, lowering his weapon and rising to his feet. "You trying to get killed?"

"Didn't they call you?" said David.

"No. n.o.body called to say you'd be kicking the door in."

"That's not my problem," David said, gesturing for Nathan to step forward. "We're going right now. Quick briefing with Jose, then we're out the door."

"Is something wrong?" said Nathan.

"Jose didn't say, but considering the fact that they've moved up the timeline by thirty minutes, I'd say something wasn't right."

"Great."

David led them through the tunnels to the operations center, where they gathered with Jose and two serious-looking men in front of a city map. Jose handed Nathan a tattered, compactly folded AAA map.

"I highlighted the route you need to take to reach Nogales. Do not alter the route under any circ.u.mstances. Route 2 is generally safe, but the side roads can be a different story."

"What if Route 2 is blocked?"

"Then you'll have to take one of the side roads. Not a lot of choices. Do you want to rethink my offer to escort you north?"

"We're good," David interjected. "What's up with the fire drill?"

"A jet just landed at one of the private strips to the south. The same guys that have been spreading money around the city all afternoon picked up the pa.s.sengers."

"Pa.s.sengers?" said Nathan.

"Eight men," said Jose, handing Nathan a digital tablet. "Professional soldiers, by the look of them."

The screen showed a group of deeply tanned, unshaven, dark-haired men carrying overstuffed duffel bags. They wore an uncoordinated array of street clothes, with a few hip holsters visible under loose-fitting, b.u.t.ton-down shirts. Their attention was focused on two sharply dressed men standing in front of a three-vehicle convoy.

David pulled his arm to get a better view of the tablet screen. "They're pros, all right. What do you know about the two suits?"

"We've identified the paler gentleman as Nick Leeds. Sources indicate he's former CIA. Special Operations Group. Based on what little we know about the Cerberus operational structure, my guess is he's the operational area's second in command."

"And the other guy's number one?" said Nathan.

"Doubt it," said Jose. "This is just an errand run. An important one, maybe, but not important enough to drag an operational head to this s.h.i.thole."

"This is a Cerberus team?" David asked. "Kind of rough looking compared to what we've seen so far."

"Not sure. Logic says they're Cerberus, but something is off," said Jose, checking his watch. "We need to get you out of here. This picture is forty minutes old."

"Forty minutes!" hissed Keira. "How far away is the airport?"

"I'm confident this location hasn't been compromised yet. They drove to a location even farther away, so we've got a buffer."

"Still," David said. "Can your team brief us on the way out? I'd like to get moving."

"Give me thirty seconds of your undivided attention, and I'll turn you loose." Jose pressed his finger against a street-level map tacked to the wall next to him. "This is your starting point. You'll-"

"Jesus, I didn't realize we were this close to the border," said David. "What is that, two hundred feet?"

"More or less," answered Jose. "Foot and vehicle traffic are light on Francisco Madero at night, so it's our best option. You'll be in a tunnel for about a hundred feet to get there, and it'll put you out at the back of a vacant lot facing the road. Do exactly as your escorts say. Getting out of that exit might be a little tricky."

"I presume this is our escort?" said David, nodding at the silent duo standing behind Jose.

"Meet Alpha and Bravo. We kept it simple for you. You can tell them apart by the A and B duct-taped to the front and back of their ball caps. No names, just Alpha and Bravo."

David nodded.

Nathan looked them over. Fit, no-nonsense types wearing local clothing over concealed tactical vests. Compact night-vision headsets fitted under their hats. Each carried a short-barreled version of Nathan's rifle, fitted with a hefty suppressor and magnified optical sight. An imposing pair, for sure, but he'd expected a slightly larger group-like an infantry squad.

"Only two of them?" he said.

"We're moving an armed group on foot through a dense urban area. The six of you will attract enough attention. Can we get back to the map?"

Nathan nodded, following Jose's hand.

"Your escorts will determine the best route, so follow them closely. If you get separated from them, head east until you reach Calle H, then turn south. Your destination is located between Calle H and Calle I on Avenida Marmoleros Sur. Just get yourself to that block and we'll take care of the rest. Two point one miles total."

"Why can't we drive there?" Nathan asked. "It would take us three minutes."

"Noncartel vehicle traffic is rare in Mexicali, especially at night."

"And six people dressed in tactical gear carrying weapons is common?"

Jose smirked.

"Can we get going?" David asked.

"We're going to knock out the power grid for about twenty minutes to cover your movement," Jose said. "You'll be deep into the neighborhoods when the lights return. Power outages are pretty standard in Mexicali. Any questions?"

Nathan turned to his wife and son, who shook their heads. He turned back to Jose. "We're ready."

"All right. Good luck to you and your family, Nathan. I hope our paths cross again. We could use your help," said Jose, extending a hand.

He accepted the gesture, then watched as the man shook Owen's hand and patted him on the shoulder, then grasped Keira's hand firmly. "Keep him out of trouble," he said.

"We wouldn't be here if I had any say in that," she said.

Jose smiled. "It's not too late to reconsider my offer. We can protect your family."

"Man, you're relentless," said David, breaking in. "We're be fine. Thank you for saving the rest of my Marines last night. Good luck with your mission. G.o.d knows California could use a break."

Jose raised a handheld radio. "Cut power in nine-zero seconds."

A digital voice responded. "Copy that. Cut power in one and a half minutes."

"Let's go," said Alpha, hustling to a closed door set in the far right corner of the wall holding up the maps. He reached for the door handle, pausing to address the group. "We move single file, in the following order, until we reach our destination or you're given different instructions. This is our default formation: Alpha and Bravo first, followed by Nathan, Owen, and Keira, in that order. David brings up the rear. The three Fishers keep their safeties engaged. Everyone else exits the tunnel cleared hot."

"My son isn't packing," said Nathan, immediately regretting his joke.

"He should. Especially out here," said Alpha, cracking a short-lived smile. "Don't worry. We'll take good care of Mr. Owen. Just stay close at all times, and stay down if the s.h.i.t hits the fan. Clear?"

"Clear," said Keira.

"Clear," he added.

"The missus beat you to it," said Alpha. "Time to boogie."

He yanked the door open, exposing a mostly dark void, lit sporadically by light green chem lights. The lights barely illuminated the tunnel, serving little purpose beyond proving that the murky abyss indeed continued forward.

"Night vision on," said Alpha, pushing his goggles in front of his face. "Hands grab the person in front of you. Short, quick steps until we get to the exit."

Nathan pressed a hand against the front of his helmet and slid the integrated visor down, suddenly able to see all the way to the end of the shoulder-width tunnel. He turned to his son, who had already lowered his visor.

"Good to go, buddy?"

His son nodded, apparently too excited to use words.

Keira pulled the night-vision goggles mounted to her helmet down in front of her eyes. A faint green glow illuminated her face.

"I'm good," she said, giving him a thumbs-up.