Collateral Damage - Marc Cerasini [38]
Jack turned to Layla. "You'll need your weapon for this trip. And tactical assault gear, too."
The woman's lips parted in surprise. "You're taking me?"
"You wanted fieldwork, didn't you?"
"I... I'll secure my gear from the armory," Layla stammered.
* * *
2:16:06 P.M. EDT
Property Room
Newark General Hospital
It took Tony a while to locate the property room. Finally, he cornered an orderly in the ER and asked him where to go.
"Through that door over there and down one flight. You make a left and follow the corridor. The property room will be on your right. You can't miss it. The sign on the door says morgue."
Tony frowned. "Morgue?"
The orderly shrugged. "That's the way it is, mon."
Tony thanked the man and entered the stairwell. He took the stairs two at a time, the heels of his shoes clicking hollowly in the cavernous space.
At the bottom of the steps, Tony bumped into a youth in a white smock.
"Sorry," he muttered.
The dark-haired Hispanic did not reply. Hands in his bulging pockets, he hurried up the stairs. Tony shrugged off the encounter and followed the corridor until he spotted the door to the morgue. To his surprise it was ajar, cool air from the massive refrigerators streaming into the stuffy corridor.
Suspicious, Tony slipped his hand into his jacket and drew the Glock from its holster. He peered around the open door, into the room. A security guard was sprawled on the floor. Tony moved forward, examined the guard. Dead. Then he noticed the banks of steel lockers lining one wall.
The one marked "Room 424" had been pried open. The axe used for the job lay on the floor. Tony stepped around the corpse and examined the contents of the small square locker. Agent Foy's purse, wallet, and CTU ID were still inside, but her cell phone and the digital surveillance camera were both gone.
Tony cursed, recalling the man who'd bumped him. Glock pointed at the floor, he chased after him, certain the Hispanic youth was the culprit.
In the corridor, Tony collided with a nurse. "Call the police," he told her. "The security guard in the morgue has been shot."
* * *
2:19:36 P.M. EDT
Administration Level B
Newark General Hospital
The woman saw the gun clutched in the dark-haired man's hand, and her eyes went wide. The man turned his back on her, raced up the stairs and out of sight.
Alarmed, the nurse proceeded to the morgue and pushed through the door. Only after she saw the man on the ground, and checked his pulse, did the woman use the emergency phone to call the security desk.
She reported the murder, and gave the security chief a description of the dark-haired man she'd bumped into.
"He still has the gun! I saw it..."
* * *
2:28:42 P.M. EDT
On the road to Kurmastan, New Jersey
Inside the church bus, Brice Holman sat beside a scarecrow of a woman named Mrs. Hocklinger. During the entire trip from the Nazareth Unitarian Church of Milton, New Jersey, she'd spoken only once. As they pulled out of the church parking lot, Mrs. Hocklinger used the condescending tone of an elementary schoolteacher to order Holman to fasten his seatbelt.
Now, as the minibus rumbled along a narrow rural road, the Reverend James Wendell Ahern closed the issue of Sojourners magazine he'd been reading and tapped it against his knee.
"I'm really surprised to see anyone from the press here today, Mr. Holman," the Reverend said, turning to face him. "Outreach to other faiths and other cultures doesn't sell newspapers, I'm told. And since the Congresswoman had to cancel at the last minute..."
"Good riddance, I say," an older man interrupted from the back row. "We all know Congresswoman Williams is in bed with these people. She's defended that crazy mullah or wallah or whatever they call him..."
Reverend Ahem raised a hand. "The Imam's name is Ali Rahman al Sallifi, Mr. Simonson."
The older man sneered. "If you know his name, then you know this Sallifi character is wanted by the law in his native country. He's a terrorist."