Page 81 of Every Last Breath

“We’ve got a shitload of threat scenarios to comb through,” Castle said. “He picked a prime spot with that hotel. Easy walk to the White House, National Mall, National Gallery of Art, National Portrait Gallery, Capital One Arena, Washington Convention Center. Hell, there’s even a Walmart Supercenter.”

“Great.” Maddox chugged more coffee. They could find him. They just had to be smarter.

Castle and Harper went through the threat matrix, detailing various scenarios. Cutter chimed in at every opportunity to offer his two cents, garnering a death stare from Harper.

The Ghost most likely had already picked his target, with a possible contingency site. They had to separate the wheat from the chaff.

It’d only take one piece of information, the right one, to steer them to whatever Novak was planning.

While listening to the threat scenarios, Maddox reviewed the information on Kassar’s death. What Harper had found substantiated her hunch about Novak’s personal code. Kassar’s wife and daughter were found bound but otherwise unharmed. It fit. Novak valued the lives of children, had a tendency not to kill women, and avoided unnecessary loss of life.

Understandable, considering what had happened to Novak’s family. She fingered through the new file on Novak, stopping on the date his family had been accidentally killed. May 26, 1999. The anniversary of their deaths was just over a month ago.

She was close to something, felt it in her bones, but what?

Hours had passed by the time Castle and Harper were done and Cutter had finished his litany of interjections. Maddox’s stomach was clawing like an angry cat for food. She should’ve taken up Janet’s offer to bring in dinner. As much as she wanted to eat, they had to cross-reference the events section in the Post.

The weekend leisure guide that’d been missing from Novak’s paper could possibly indicate when and where he planned to act. There was also an equal chance he’d wait until the heat died down, but who’d want to tote around a biological weapon any longer than necessary?

Facts about Novak and dates from the file cycled in her mind. She turned back to the page regarding the accidental bombing of the civilian convoy. America had acknowledged the mistake and issued an apology with deep regret on June 29, 1999.

Novak didn’t have the opportunity for his revenge to coincide with the anniversary of their deaths, but this was the next best thing.

Tomorrow was June 29.

The knots in her gut tightened. The date was significant enough to outweigh Novak lying low, but it was best not to draw too much attention to it. Their leak might give the Ghost a heads-up. Better to seem as if they were simply following procedure. They were focused on time-sensitive, high-profile events anyway.

“On the calendar for tomorrow,” she said, “a concert at the National Gallery of Art, summer cinema series at the Washington Convention Center, comedy show at the Capital One Arena, and charity event at the Hirshhorn Museum.”

“And there’s a heads of state dinner at the White House,” Harper added.

Too many pieces of the puzzle. They needed to issue a warning order, a precautionary message giving only the essential elements of information to help the FBI and Secret Service to take the necessary safeguards.

Sanborn waltzed into the conference room. “How’s it going?”

“It’s possible Novak might deploy the weapon sometime this weekend,” Maddox said. “We’ve picked key locations as possible targets, but we have to issue a warning order, running through the DNI’s office down to the Secret Service and FBI.”

“I’ve already given the Secret Service an unofficial tip-off.” Sanborn sat at the head of the table. “I’ll make it official when I make the calls and issue the warnings. Narrow down the threat matrix as much as possible. Then get food and rest. Hit this hard at the crack of dawn.”

Famished and fatigued didn’t skate across the surface of how she felt, but they had to press on. She rubbed her temples, sneaking a glance at Castle. He gave a subtle shake of his head. He must’ve been thinking the same thing.

“Sir,” Castle said. “Maddox and I’ll disseminate the message and make the calls.”

“No need to tack on extra hours of work. Use the time to refuel. You’re useless running on fumes. I know for a fact that you, Maddox”—Sanborn pointed a stiff finger at her—“got three hours of shitty sleep in the break room last night. Castle”—that finger swung to her brother—“you came back at zero five hundred, which doesn’t have you sitting much better.”

“You know a lot,” Cole said. “You ever leave this place? Or do you live in your office?”

“Where I live and how much sleep I get don’t matter. Nor are they any of your business, because I’m the one responsible for these operatives. You’ll go home and get rest. That’s an order.”

“Castle and I are staying to make the calls.” This mission wasn’t going to earn her any brownie points with her boss. “That’s our responsibility.”

No one outside their circle of five could be trusted.

“Give me the room.” Sanborn’s tone turned to molten steel. “Except Castle and Maddox.”

The room cleared.

Sanborn let the door shut, his flinty gaze cut between them.