Page 41 of Hawk on the Hunt

“He’s gonna go wherever he’s hidden the data of the brain scans. He can’t let that fall into our hands,” Dylan mused. “He would have hidden it close-by in case of an emergency like this. Not in his office, where we’d find it once we knew his identity, and not at his home, because who knows how long it would take him to get there from his office.”

“Yes, somewhere close. Somewhere in the Capitol,” Zara echoed and took Dylan’s hand.

“Which is being evacuated right now,” Dylan said with a shake of his head. “We can’t stay here.”

“He won’t trigger the bomb as long as he’s still in the Capitol himself. We’re safe for now.”

He met her gaze. “The Capitol is huge. Where would we even begin?”

“I know where. Follow me,” Zara said confidently.

Dylan took in a deep breath, and allowed her to usher him and Tiger down another corridor. He could only hope that Zara was right. And that Polo was still in the building.

He addressed Tiger, “Call Fox and Yankee, and update them. I’m calling Michelle.” He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and tapped on the main number for the mansion. Michelle picked up almost instantly.

23

“Alarm is disabled,” Fox whispered.

Yankee nodded. They were outside of John Bancroft’s house in Fort Washington, disguised as workers from the power company so none of Bancroft’s neighbors would find it suspicious that they were working on the fuse box and the cables that brought internet and phone service to the property. They were both wearing gloves so as not to leave any fingerprints.

“Okay,” Yankee whispered back. “Time to pick the lock.”

“Hurry,” Fox advised. “If he checks his camera feeds frequently, he’ll realize pretty quickly that it’s been disabled.”

“I’m on it,” he confirmed, while he already went to work on the side door that led into the three-car garage. It didn’t take long. The lock was flimsy at best. “Here you go.”

Yankee pressed down on the door handle and pushed the door slowly, not wanting to hit any obstacles that would cause noise and therefore alert Bancroft to their arrival. He peered inside the garage, and saw that an SUV was parked there. It was the same one they’d followed months earlier to figure out who Bancroft—whom they only knew as Mr. Smith back then—was, and where he worked.

Seeing that the garage was otherwise empty, Yankee waved Fox to follow him. They entered the garage, and Fox closed the door behind them quietly. Yankee walked toward the door that led into the house, and listened intently. He heard a female voice, but couldn’t make out the words. Did Bancroft have a visitor? There’d been no cars in the driveway.

“You hear that?” he whispered to Fox.

For a few moments, they both remained silent, when Yankee could suddenly hear a few musical notes that he recognized as the introduction to a TV news program.

“He’s watching TV,” Fox confirmed.

Yankee drew his gun. Fox already held his in his hand. “Let’s do this.”

Yankee eased the door open slowly, and the sound coming from the TV grew louder. It came from the left. He made a sign to Fox, then opened the door fully and entered the short hallway that opened up to a large kitchen. The remnants of a breakfast—a dirty plate and bowl, a half-empty French press, butter, and a jar of jam—was on the kitchen island together with a newspaper. The kitchen was otherwise empty.

Yankee tipped his head in the direction of the sound of the TV. What he knew from the blueprints Fox had been able to pull from the city records, he was aware that there were two doors leading into the living room, as well as one leading onto a terrace that overlooked the Potomac.

Fox pointed to a door at the other end of the kitchen, indicating that he would approach the living room from the other side. Yankee nodded wordlessly, and tiptoed toward the half-open door leading into the living room, while Fox continued straight. Fox lifted his hand, spreading his five fingers to indicate a countdown. Yankee understood. He was to give Fox five seconds to get into position.

At the door to the living room, Yankee waited while he scanned as much as he could from his vantage point. He saw part of the TV, where a news program was reporting that the president and VP were taken to the bunker underneath the White House, and speculations were rife as to what exactly had taken down Marine One.

There was a large sectional and two large armchairs in front of the TV, but Yankee couldn’t see if anybody sat on the sectional. The backrest was high enough to hide anyone if the person was slouching.

The five seconds were up, and Yankee ripped the door open wider and burst into the room. Fox did the same from the other door. Like he’d learned in the army and as a CIA agent, Yankee surveyed every corner, gun drawn. But the room was empty. He made another step, and almost lost his balance. He looked down at his feet, and noticed that an indoor golf mat lay along the wall, and several white golf balls were strewn about. A putter leaned against the armrest of an armchair. He quickly surveyed the rest of the room. To his right, along the wall opposite the TV, was a large sideboard made of decorative wrought iron and colored glass. The monstrosity fit perfectly with the heavy curtains adorned with tassels and the flower-heavy wallpaper covering the walls. It looked like he’d stepped into the 1960s.

Yankee looked at Fox, when he suddenly heard a toilet flush in the distance.

He hurried to the origin of the sound, a powder room underneath the stairs leading to the second floor. He pointed his gun at the door, and Fox joined him just as the door was opened, and Bancroft emerged.

Recognition lit up in his eyes and a shocked gasp rolled over his lips. He stepped back and tried to shut the door in Yankee’s face, but the powder room was small, and there wasn’t much space to maneuver. One push against Bancroft’s chest, and the idiot landed on the toilet.

“Mr. Smith,” Yankee said, drawing out his words to prolong the pleasure of finally capturing the asshole who’d sent assassins after him and his brethren—and had ordered Lilly’s death too. “We finally meet again.”