THIRTY-NINE
Bran’s cell phone vibrated. He saw the number Jessie had entered and hit the button. “Ramirez?”
“That’s right. SWAT’s here. We’re moving into position. What can you tell us?”
He relayed Ty’s location at gate 48, intel about the number of terrorists and the pallets loaded with munitions and wired with explosives. Ty’s estimated number of hostages.
“What are their terms?” Bran asked.
“The leader’s a guy named Sadiq Nazari. Claims dozens of Yemenis are being tortured in secret facilities in Yemen by the United Arab Emirates. He says the US is aiding the UAE with weapons and intelligence. They want the Pentagon to force the Saudis to release the prisoners, some fifty-five of them. That, and he and his men want to fly off in one of the planes parked at the end of the concourse.”
“The US doesn’t negotiate with terrorists.”
“If their demands aren’t met, he’s going to blow three thousand pounds of chemical weapons sky-high, killing hundreds of people and pleasing Allah.”
Bran scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “I’m not seeing this going down any way but bad.”
“Near as we can tell, Nazari’s the guy in control of the bombs. We think they’re designed to be set off by his cell phone. The negotiator will keep him talking as long as he can. My SWAT guys are good, better than good. We’re setting up to go in and take these pricks out. We want to do it with the fewest possible casualties. With inside help, we might have a chance to make it work.”
Bran spotted a long shadow approaching. “Gotta go.” He hit the end button and ducked out of sight, took out his six-inch folding knife and flipped it open.
As the terrorist walked in front of him, he locked an arm around the guy’s neck, hauled him back a few paces, and sliced the blade across his throat. He held on until the body went limp, then dragged it out of sight behind a line of equipment. With the hum of the machinery aiding his escape, he moved silently off down the passage.
The corridor stretched ahead. There was a lot of equipment down here, the steady whine muffling his footsteps. It also hid the steps of his quarry. He found a place where he could hoist himself up and look over the false walls to see what lay ahead.
A bearded man in black slacks and a white shirt, an assault rifle across his chest, stood beside two more pallets of munitions, five hundred pounds apiece, the last of the chemical weapons. There were wheels on the pallet, and an iron tongue for towing, which was probably how they’d gotten the weapons into position. The tarp that had covered it lay on the floor a few feet away, leaving the brass canisters exposed. Explosives covered the weapons, connected by a maze of red and yellow wires.
Bran eased back down and found a spot to wait. Noticing a pebble on the floor, he picked it up and tossed it down the corridor. It clattered as it landed, and the bearded man went on alert.
No way to get near enough to use his knife. As the man rounded the corner, Bran fired a quick burst of three, spraying bullets across the terrorist’s chest. The guy made a gurgling sound, his legs crumpled, and he went down.
Bran moved on.
Jessie raised her hands as she got out of the SUV, her cell phone tucked into the pocket of her jeans. SWAT vehicles surrounded the far end of the concourse. Police cars, uniformed officers, SWAT vehicles, people in hazmat suits.
A man dressed in camo and a tactical vest strode toward her, early forties, hard features, bulky in the chest and shoulders, a trace of silver in his hair.
“Victor Ramirez, Denver SWAT. You’re Jessie Kegan?”
“That’s right.”
“Come with me.”
She followed him to a portable command center being set up on the tarmac, a huge motor home with antennas on top. As they stood next to the steps leading to the entrance, she could see her breath in the freezing air.
Wishing she had her gloves, she rubbed her hands together to keep them warm. “Have you talked to Brandon?”
“We connected. He’s calling me back.”
She looked over at the concourse, thought of Hallie, Ty, and the kids, and the terror of being held hostage.
“Anything I need to know about your friend, Garrett?”
She forced herself to focus. “Bran was Delta. He knows what he’s doing.” She had to hang on to that. She had to trust him to do what needed to be done and come out alive. If she couldn’t do it now, there was no hope for them.
“And the guy in with the passengers?”
“Ty Folsom. Ty was a ranger. He’s traveling with his girlfriend and his two kids. He won’t leave them alone. That’ll limit what he can do to help.”
