“Got it.” Cooper pulled a small notepad from the pocket of the second terrorist, and she tucked it inside her blouse. Both she and Dylan helped Diaz to the side of the road, where they traveled down back alleyways to the hospital.

  “Can you call anyone for backup?” Dylan asked. There had to be someone that could help them, someone that could get to them even with all of this. He refused to believe that the people she worked for didn’t have resources that could.

  “Cell towers are down,” Cooper answered. “I checked my phone the moment shit hit the fan back at the precinct. It must have been one of the terrorists’ targets. Bastards are smart.”

  Smart. It wasn’t the word that Dylan would have used. Their footsteps echoed in the alleyway as they pushed toward the hospital, but through the pounding of his head, a thought surfaced in Dylan’s mind. “What did you mean earlier?”

  “About what?” Cooper asked.

  “You said I was connected. The questions about the harbormaster. Do you think they picked my vessel on purpose?”

  Cooper tilted her head to the side. “It crossed my mind.”

  A cold shiver worked its way up Dylan’s spine as they walked. How did these people target him? And why? He’d never even traveled across the Atlantic, at least not far enough to make it to where these people were from. He had never been in the military, never even showed the slightest interest in any political affairs. Why would these people target him over the thousands, millions, of others?

  “I wouldn’t read too much into it,” Cooper replied, catching the looks that his face was going through. “These people, they don’t have rhyme or reason. They probably just picked your boat because it happened to be in the area where they would be entering US waters. Nothing more than that.”

  “Does this mean you’ve stopped thinking I was a part of this?”

  “I never did. I just needed to make sure I looked at you from all angles. But even I have to admit, you picked to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. In the worst possible way.”

  None of it was a comforting thought. A liquor store appeared when they exited the end of the alleyway, and Dylan caught the glowing neon in the window advertising beer and liquor, and he twitched his fingers.

  The slow tick digging into the back of his skull was beginning to burrow its way inside. Begging him to go inside the building, grab a bottle, and get as far away from the place as he could. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to look away as they passed right in front of the store. He broke out in a cold sweat, and he felt the weight of his past dragging him down to his knees, telling him any and every excuse of why he needed to go inside that store. But before the voice in the back of his head could finish, they were already past and down another alleyway. Dylan shrugged his right shoulder to adjust for Diaz’s growing weight, and the three continued their march to the hospital.

  Chapter 8 – Saturday 9:30 a.m.

  Nurses, doctors, police officers, and hundreds of other people crowded inside the hospital’s main entrance. The cries of patients and their families consumed the ER, each individual convinced their problems were more important than anyone else’s.

  Cooper managed to flag one of the doctors down, and he marked Diaz as a priority, since he had a gunshot wound. But the ER was filled with worse. Despite the early-morning hours, the bombs that had detonated in the city had caused severe casualties and injuries.

  Exposed flesh, limbs barely hanging on to their hosts, blood, gore—it was like something out of a war book. In all her years in law enforcement, even in her undercover work, she’d never seen anything like this.

  “Cooper,” Dylan said, bringing her attention away from a man clawing at the stump of what was left of his leg as a team of nurses and doctors wheeled him into a room for surgery. “My family.”

  “Right.” Cooper pushed past the wailing mothers, fathers, children, and spouses and found a frantic nurse at the reception desk, trying to do seven things at once. “I need to use your phone.”

  The nurse didn’t even bother looking up. “I’ll be with you in a second, ma’am.” She picked up a pile of folders and sprinted down the hallway, calling the name of some doctor.

  Cooper spotted the phone next to a pile of papers and reached over the counter and snatched it. She prayed the landline still had a dial tone, and when she pressed it to her ear, she let out a sigh of relief. “Good to know some of the old stuff still works.” She immediately dialed her superior in DC.

  After a few rings, a man answered the phone. “Director Moringer’s office, how may I help you?”

  “Jimmy, it’s Cooper.”

  The proper, formal tone dropped, and Jimmy hushed his voice. “Are you okay? The director’s been going insane since Boston went dark.”

  “I’m fine. Diaz was hit, but he’ll live. I need to know what’s going on beyond the city. The cell towers are down here, and I’ve just spent half my morning fending off terrorists trying to kill me.”

  “Homeland is dragging their feet with giving us anything. Moringer’s been on the phone with Perry, trying to keep the lines of dialogue open, but at this point we know about as much as you.”

  “What about the city? Has the news given anything to what’s been hit?”

  “Utilities mostly, and communications. There were some blasts at the port, but it was mainly structural damage to the docks themselves. No real damage to any of the ships.”

  “Is he available?”

  “For you? Yeah, he’ll make time.” Jimmy placed her on hold, and her attention returned to the ER. The nurse who’d taken the folders had returned and given her a passive-aggressive glare, which only lasted as long as the next patient took to start screaming at her for help.

  “Agent Cooper, it’s good to know you’re alive,” Moringer said. “Jimmy just told me about Diaz. Make sure you give him my regards.”

  “I will, sir. Listen, I need you to get in contact with the nearest unit and have them meet me at Boston General. I’ve got a lead in the case, but with the amount of firepower I’ve seen so far, I know I won’t be able to go in alone.”

  “I have Sanchez and his men heading over from Philadelphia. Cooper, we need to get a handle on this, and quickly. Homeland isn’t giving me much, but I think that’s because they don’t have anything. Whoever these people are, they caught them off guard.”

  “Yeah,” Cooper said, her voice drifting as she took a look at the crowded hospital around her. “Boss, my lead that I have here was the boat captain that got pulled into this. He has kids that we need to get into witness protection. And I’d prefer if it were our guys.”

  “You think Homeland’s hiding something?”

  “I think that we’ll start sharing information when they do.”

  “Risky, but I’ll tell Sanchez. He shouldn’t be more than twenty minutes from you now, pending the roads haven’t been destroyed on his route.”

  “Copy that, sir.” Cooper hung up the phone, and before she went looking for Dylan, she made her way to the operating room where Diaz was being treated. The doctor had already administered anesthesia and was digging into the shoulder to remove the slug.

  Dylan snuck up behind Cooper and placed his hand on her shoulder, causing her to jump. “I’m sorry.”

  “He’ll pull through,” Cooper said. “He’s been shot before, although I’m sure he’d preferred it not to have happened again.” The risks of the job were always prevalent, and the moment that she thought she was comfortable, ahead of the curve, in control of the world around her, incidents like this cast her back into the realm of uncertainty. “We have a unit of men coming over from Philly. My boss sent for them the moment I called all of this in, just in case. They should be here in less than thirty minutes.”

  Dylan exhaled, his body seemingly deflating within himself. “Thank you.”

  The doctor pulled the slug out of Diaz’s shoulder and dropped the bloody piece of lead into a bucket then began the process of stitching him up. “I wouldn’t thank me yet.”

  ***

  News coverage of the events put a smile on everyone’s face except Kasaika’s. He sat in the corner, watching from a distance as the rest of the group smiled with delight, jeering at the reporters, cursing and spitting at the mention of other terrorist groups taking credit for their work.

  The mangled bodies of those at the hospital seeking medical treatment caused Kasaika’s stomach to turn. He closed his eyes and remembered why he was there, why he was inflicting this pain on those people. They will know our pain.

  A hand slapped his shoulder, and he looked up to see a smiling Sefkh looking down on him. “Brother, we are one step closer to our final act.”

  Kasaika nodded. “Allah willing.”

  “Do not fret, Kasaika.” Sefkh sat down beside him, holding a plate of food in his hand. “My people here are very reliable. They want the same thing we do. Justice.”

  “I do not enjoy bringing outsiders into our fold.” Kasaika shook his head and spit on the ground. “And to tell them so much? It’s foolish. They should not know the intricacies of our plans.”

  Sefkh frowned, setting his plate down with some force. “Do you doubt what you sent me here to do? Do you think I would put us at risk? Put my family at risk?” Sefkh kicked the plate, sending its contents across the floor and diverting everyone’s attention from the television to the two of them. “Your patronizing is becoming tiresome, brother.”

  Kasaika rose to his feet, and Sefkh with him. The two men were nose to nose, and the crowd circled around them. Kasaika knew that he didn’t have any friends here, at least not as many as Sefkh. “And your arrogance has been irritable since I arrived. You do not think farther than your own needs.”

  Sefkh shoved his hands into Kasaika’s chest, sending him backward and into the arms of the circle of men, who tossed him back. “I am married to your blood! I have given everything I have to this! And I do not need you to come here and undermine my plans.”

  Hands gripped the butts of rifles and pistols. Kasaika looked to his own men, outnumbered three to one. He knew they were better trained and willing to do whatever it took, but this was not the way. Not now. “I speak out of turn, brother.” Kasaika gave a light bow. “It has been a long journey, full of struggles that you no doubt have experienced. I forget the burdens we all bear and the difficulties of keeping them lifted above our heads.”

  Sefkh’s face softened. “No.” The group of men loosened their grips on their rifles and pistols. “I have not forgotten your burdens, brother.” Sefkh reached for Kasaika, and the two men embraced each other.

  “How sweet.”

  The voice triggered every man in the room to reach for their weapons and turn around. Kasaika was one of the last to reach for his rifle, and when he aimed it, he could see the man who spoke with both his hands up at his chest.

  Sefkh waved them down. “Brothers, please, there is no reason for alarm.” Sefkh shook the man’s hand but ignored the two men with him then turned to introduce him. “This is Deputy Director Perry from Homeland Security. He’s been helping us gather intelligence against the Americans.”

  “This is your man?” Kasaika asked, keeping his rifle pointed at Perry while the others had lowered their weapons. “You have told this man our plans? Our secrets?” The closer Kasaika moved toward Perry, his men started to reach for their pistols. “He works for the very agency that’s trying to kill us!”

  Perry held up his hand. “I can understand your hesitation, Kasaika. I would do the same in your position. Jazaka Allahu Khairan.”

  The man’s Arabic was impressive. Kasaika had never heard the dialect spoken with such authenticity from an American, but still, it did not mean he could be trusted. “Allah will reward only who he sees fit.”

  “Enough!” Sefkh stepped between them with his hands thrust into the air. All it took was the look on his face to make his men lower their weapons. When Kasaika was the only one left standing with his rifle raised, Sefkh walked to him and gripped the barrel of the weapon then forced it down by hand.

  “I thank you for your audience, Sefkh,” Perry said, giving a light bow. “Now, I believe we have business to discuss?”

  “Yes.” Sefkh motioned to Kasaika, and the three stepped into a back room, where they could speak alone, leaving their weapons, and their men, outside.

  The only thing Perry carried with him was a briefcase, which he set on the small table. “I trust your trip over went smoothly, Kasaika?” Perry unlatched the briefcase’s latches and spread the documents on the table.

  “Yes, everything went according to plan,” Kasiaka answered, picking up a few of the papers.

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “Agent Perry has granted us much of the access that allowed us to get you here, Kasaika,” Sefkh said. “If it were not for him, I don’t believe your arrival would have been successful.”

  “It hasn’t been easy,” Perry replied. “The state department still has terrorism listed as its number one priority. There are hundreds, thousands really, of government agents looking for a chance to score big on locating some type of threat. It’s a career booster for those looking to climb the rungs of the government ladder quickly.”

  “People like you?” Kasaika asked, looking up from the documents.

  “Do you see what you’re looking at? These schematics have only been viewed by a handful of individuals with the clearance to see them. You’ve been planning this trip for what? A decade? What you see before you has taken a life’s work. My life’s work. You may not trust me, but at least have the respect for what I’ve done!” Perry’s face had flushed red, and his head tremored from rage. He closed his eyes, breathing in deeply, slowly, the color of his cheeks returning to normal. “My apologies, Sefkh. Kasaika. The events over the past twenty-four hours in preparation have been stressful.”

  Sefkh placed his hand on Perry’s shoulder. “It has been stressful on all of us, my friend.”

  Kasaika looked over the documents carefully, examining them the best he could. All of them had red stamps over them marked “classified” or “top secret.” If these schematics were truly real, if this man was not trying to fool them into some type of trap, then everything that Kasaika had dreamed of, all of the suffering, all of the pain, would not have been for nothing. “These are impressive.” Kasaika pressed the corner of one of the papers into his finger. “But the drawings are only half of what we need. How do you expect us to move all of this?”

  Perry pressed his hands against the front of his lapel, running his fingers down the soft fabric. “The boat captain.”

  “I don’t understand.” Kasaika looked to Sefkh. “The captain was working for you? For us?” Kasaika slammed his fist into the table. “He killed our men!”

  “Calm yourself, Kasaika,” Sefkh replied. “He was not working for us. Knowingly, at least.”

  “That man, the captain you let slip through your fingers, did you ever ask yourself why Sefkh wanted you to keep him alive?” Perry leisurely walked around the table. Kasaika didn’t appreciate the manner in which the man carried himself so casually, like nothing could touch him. Kasaika could touch him. He could kill him now.

  “The United States has warehouses with thousands of acres of servers, all containing and processing information on citizens, foreigners, religious organizations, anyone and everyone that could have an impact on this country’s interests. And do you know who is highly targeted once all those terabytes of data are processed?” Perry pressed his finger into Kasaika’s chest and locked his eyes with his own. “You. Your name, your family’s name with its radical Egyptian heritage, all of them are red flags for anyone working in this business, but I made sure your sister wasn’t hauled off to some cell fifty feet underground when she arrived in this country because of who you were. But do you know who the government doesn’t care about? Captain Dylan Turk.”

  Perry separated himself and returned to his briefcase. He pulled out a cluster of pictures and tossed them on the table, where they skidded to the edge next to Kasaika. “And that is Dylan Turk’s family. Aside from his job, it’s the one thing he loves more than anything. So what are we going to do? Use that love and twist it into whatever we want.”

  Chapter 9 – Saturday 10:30 a.m.

  The number of smoke plumes grew with every mile they drove. They dotted the city like a plague, each of them a festering wound. It wasn’t like anything Dylan had ever seen in his lifetime. The streets were clogged with traffic, people, police vehicles, ambulances. The peaceful Saturday morning so many Boston citizens had planned was immediately halted and thrown into chaos.

  Rumblings from the streets, the cries, the people running on stores and the local police doing their best to stop them. Cooper tapped the glass of her passenger-side window. “That’s what people are. That’s what we turn into when our backs are against the wall. It’s amazing we’ve lasted as long as we have.”

  The car was packed full with DEA agents, with Dylan sitting in the middle row of seats in the large SUV. They all murmured similar thoughts, watching the events they passed. The fear, the chaos, the ruthlessness that embodied everything that they tried to prevent had erupted from the city all at once.

  “Our demons always reveal themselves during moments of trial,” Dylan said. Every agent in the car looked at him, and he watched a few of their expressions through the reflection of the window. It was a phrase he repeated to himself often, whenever he felt himself tempted, tested. It was something he wished he could forget, but the truth of the matter was there was a piece of him that hungered for the pain that came with those words. The moments of release, the moments when he couldn’t control that pain, that’s when he felt it—a deep, burning desire for more. More hate, more vengeance, more power.