WASHINGTON,D.C.
There was an accident on the expressway. Traffic was thick in both directions with people who felt the need to gawk at the crash, and it was nearly 4:00 by the time Rapp got back to the Joint Counterterrorism Center. He wasn't so sure he'd made the right decision to miss his plane. He wanted al-Yamani in the worst way, but at this point it was law enforcement that was going to have to catch him. There was something in McMahon's voice, though, that had been slightly pleading and very uncharacteristic for the thirty-plus-year veteran.
Rapp found McMahon standing in the elevated glass-enclosed bridge located at the rear of CT Watch. He was monitoring the situation in Richmond and trying to separate the facts from the white noise. Without speaking, McMahon signaled for Rapp to follow him, and the two men entered a small conference room at the back of the bridge and closed the door. Rapp plopped down in a gray fabric chair and rested an elbow on the shiny wood-laminate conference table.
"I assume from the look on your face that they haven't found the truck."
"No, they haven't."
Rapp glanced at his watch. "It's been what...almost three hours since the traffic stop? That's not good."
"You're not telling me anything I don't already know."
"Has the deputy come out of surgery yet?"
"He just made it out, but he's not awake yet."
Rapp tapped the shiny surface with his forefinger. "They're sure our guys are still in the Richmond area?"
"They're convinced."
Rapp looked at him skeptically. "I find that a little hard to believe."
"I know. I feel the same way, but let me show you." McMahon briefly left the room and returned with a map of Virginia. He laid it out on the table and said, "Here's Richmond and here's D.C. The traffic stop occurred over here on the northeast side of town. The State Patrol says they had all the major roads already covered when the call went out. They checked the traffic cameras on ninety-five and two-ninety-five and came up with nothing. That means they didn't get on the interstate, which is by far the quickest way to travel the hundred miles between here and there."
The FBI man tapped the four points of the compass around Richmond and said, "Everything was covered. This is one of the busiest traffic weekends of the year. People headed to the beach, people headed to the mountains, people headed up to D.C. for the memorial dedication. The roads are packed."
"I know. I was just out there."
"Well, there's something else that we didn't hear right away, but it went out over the police net. This Ford pickup was pulling a trailer. The head of the State Patrol tells me there's no way his people or the locals would miss something like that."
"Trailer?" Rapp repeated in a concerned tone.
"I know...I know what you're thinking. What's in the trailer? Paul and I have already talked about it."
"Has he heard back from the Russians?"
"They're at the test site and beginning their search."
Rapp stood and let out a long exasperated exhale. He studied the map. He thought about the trailer. "What if these assholes have another bomb?"
"We don't have any intelligence that would point to that. You know it yourself. You guys didn't find a thing in Pakistan that would point to a second bomb."
Rapp knew he was right, but he had to assume these guys weren't driving around in a pickup with a covered trailer for nothing. "How can the State Police be so sure they aren't already in Washington?"
"They had a plane patrolling ninety-five and Highway One when the call went out. They had a helicopter over Richmond within fifteen minutes, and they had over one hundred cops, deputies, and troopers on patrol between just D.C. and Richmond alone. They think these guys are holed up somewhere, and I happen to agree with them."
"Or they switched vehicles."
"Or we could have a jumpy deputy who got himself run over, and has no idea what he's talking about."
Rapp studied the map, and then glanced up at McMahon. "Then why'd you call me back here and ruin my vacation?"
"Because I don't believe in coincidences, and I think before the night's over I'm going to need you to do some things that...well let's just say...I can't."
"You mind telling me what they are?"
"Not yet, but you'll know soon enough."
"Have you kicked this up to the White House yet?"
McMahon shook his head. "I brought Brian up to speed on it, but that's it." McMahon was referring to his boss, FBI Director Roach.
Rapp looked surprised.
"Listen...I've got every cop in the five-state area looking for these clowns. Telling them," McMahon pointed to the ceiling, "means that I'll have to drop everything I'm doing and run over to the White House and brief the entire damn cabinet, and then the next thing you know the Department of Homeland Security will be trying to run the show, and we'll all be tripping over each other."
Rapp nodded in agreement. "So what's your plan?"
"The tape of the traffic stop is on its way up here right now. I want to review it, and I want to talk to this deputy when he wakes up. Other than that I want to stay out of the way of the locals and let them run these guys down."
"And would you mind explaining to me again why I missed my flight?"
"I told you already. Trust me, if we don't find these guys pretty quick, your talents are going to be very much needed."