Loyalty in Death:In Death 09

By: J. D. Robb

“Communism, Marxism, Socialism, Fascism.” Roarke jerked his shoulders. “Democracy, republic, monarchy. One is the same as the other to them. It’s power, it’s glory. It’s revolution for the sake of it. Politics, religion, for some it remains their own narrow and personal view.”

“Conquer and rule?” Eve wondered.

“To feed. Have a look. On-screen,” Roarke ordered, and the wall unit flashed on. “We have schematics and blueprints, security codes and data. These are the Apollo targets, starting with the Kennedy Center.”

“They kept records,” she murmured. “Property damage and cost, number of dead. Jesus, they list the names.”

“War records,” Roarke said. “So many for them, so many for us. Tally the count. Without blood, war’s losing its sexuality. And here . . . secondary data, split . . . screen. This is the data and images of Radio City. Note the red dots indicate the positioning of the explosives.”

“Following in daddy’s footsteps.”

“I have names and locations for members of the group.”

“Feed them to my home unit, to Peabody. We’ll start rounding up. Are all the targets listed?”

“I haven’t gone past the first two. I thought you’d want to see what we’ve got so far.”

“Right. Get the data to Peabody first, then we’ll go on.” She glanced down at the letter in her hand as he started the transmission. And her blood froze.

“Jesus, the Pentagon wasn’t the next target. They had an abort between the arena and the Pentagon. It doesn’t say what it is here, just equipment problems, financial difficulties. ‘Money is a necessary evil. Line your coffers well.” ’ She tossed the letter aside. “What’s after the arena? What was next on Apollo’s list?”

Roarke called it up and they both stared at the white spear on-screen. “The Washington Monument, targeted for two days after the complex.”

She laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezed. “They’ll move tonight, tomorrow the latest. They won’t wait, they won’t contact. They can’t risk it. What’s the target?”

He called it up. Three images popped. “Take your choice.”

Eve yanked out her communicator. “Peabody, get an E and B team to the Empire State Building, another to the Twin Towers, one more to the Statue of Liberty. You and McNab cover the Empire State, get Feeney down to the Towers. Have one of the long-range scanners ready for me. I’m on my way home. I want everybody to move, move fast. Riot gear and armed. Evacuation immediately, cordon off entire sectors. No civilians within three city blocks of locations.”

She jammed the communicator into her pocket. “How fast can that jet-copter of yours get us to Liberty Island?”

“A lot faster than those toys your department uses.”

“Then shoot this data off, add your copter’s computer to the spread. Let’s go fire it up.”

She raced through the door, out and down the steps. Roarke was behind the wheel of his car and had the engine engaged before she could slam her door.

“The Statue’s your target.”

“I know it. They’ll go for the symbol. The biggest one we’ve got. She’s female, she’s political.” He took the blocks home at a speed that had Eve pressed against the seat. “And I’m damned if they’re going to take her down.”

chapter twenty-two

“Lieutenant! Dallas! Sir!” Peabody scrambled out the front door as Eve leaped out of the car.

“Go,” Eve told Roarke. “I’m right behind you.”

“Your data’s still coming in.” Peabody slid over the frost on the lawn, grabbed her footing. “I relayed to Central. Units are being mobilized.”

Eve took the scanner. “Full protective gear. You scan before you go in. I’m not losing anyone else.”

“Yes, sir. The commander wants your destination and ETA.”

Eve whirled around as the silky drone of the jet-copter blurred the air. She watched it sweep out of the mini-hangar, purr. “God help me, I’m going up in that. Liberty Island. You’ll know my ETA when I do.”

She crouched to avoid the blast of air, tossed the scanner to Roarke, then hooked a hand on the door opening, propped a boot on the runner. She gave Roarke a brief glance. “I hate this part.”

He grinned at her. “Strap in, Lieutenant,” he advised as she boosted herself through the door. “Secure the door. This won’t take long.”

“I know.” She hooked the strap across her body, braced. “That’s the part I hate.”

He went into a steep vertical lift that had her stomach flopping as she contacted Whitney. “Sir. En route to Liberty Island. Data should be coming through to you now.”

“It is. Mobilizing backup and E and B teams to each location. ETA to Liberty Island, twelve minutes. Give me yours.”

“What’s our ETA, Roarke?”

They rose over trees, buildings, engine purring. He sent her one quick look out of wickedly blue eyes. “Three minutes.”

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