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"Debbie, we've got Mitch Rapp from the CIA, and Skip McMahon on the line."
"This is the trailer we've been looking for and it's hot just not as hot as we expected it to be."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Rapp asked.
"They've either shielded it, or the device is no longer in the trailer and we're seeing contamination."
"Debbie," said Reimer. "Get an HPG count and skip the X-ray. Have the FBI drill a hole in the side of the trailer. Do it nice and high. You know the routine."
Hanousek relayed the order to one of her techs who grabbed a black case and ran over to the trailer. Another man pulled out a cordless drill and Hanousek pointed to a spot on the top third of the trailer. It took little effort for the drill to pierce the thin metal skin. A small fiber optic camera with an infrared light on the end was fed through the fresh hole like a snake.
Hanousek cupped the small video screen in her hands, shielding it from the rain with the brim of her hat. She strained to make sense of the grainy black-and-white image. After a second she closed her eyes and said, "The trailer is empty."
* * *
Eighty-Five
WASHINGTON, D.C.
Rapp and McMahon had both been hovering over the speaker phone, one on each side of the conference table. Neither man asked Hanousek to repeat herself. They'd heard the disappointment in her voice as well as her words. They both stood there in deafening silence, too caught up in trying to calculate the implications of what they'd just learned to respond. The bomb could be anywhere.
McMahon finally straightened up. He placed his hands on his hips and let out a sigh of frustration. "Do you want to call the president, or do you want me to do it?"
Rapp didn't answer right away. He hovered over the speaker phone, palms flat on the table, arms locked, brow furrowed. There was no way these men had simply vanished. Rapp looked up at McMahon. "They didn't just walk out of there. They had some mode of transportation."
Hanousek's voice came out of the speaker. "I don't think so. The son of the owner just told me his parents' car is still here."
"Where are the parents?" asked Rapp.
"No one knows."
"What's their car look like?"
"It's one of those big four-door Cadillacs. Brand-new."
"That doesn't make any sense. Why wouldn't they just take the car and drive out of there?"
"Maybe they met someone there?" McMahon guessed.
Rapp shook his head. "Not likely. They were on the run."
"What about the neighbors?" asked Reimer. "Has anyone checked with the neighbors?"
"That's a good idea," replied McMahon. "I'll make sure the Sheriff's Department gets on it right away."
Rapp finally stood. He turned around and looked at a map on the wall. They were missing something. He'd been on the run before in a foreign country, and none of this made any sense. The Cadillac was a golden opportunity to change vehicles and get away. "Are we sure they only had one vehicle?"
There was a moment of hesitation and then Hanousek said, "I never thought of asking. Hold on a minute."
About five seconds later Rapp could hear Hanousek repeat the question, and then he heard a man say, "No. They only had the one car."
Rapp was still staring at the map trying to get an idea of the lay of the land. He only had a general idea of the house's location. "Debbie, describe for me what the setting is like there. How big is the lot, how close are the neighbors anything that might be useful?"
"It's a nice place big. Probably around ten acres or more. You can't see the neighbors. The road in is real private. You cut through the woods and down a sloping drive to the house and then beyond that there's the river."
Rapp froze for a second, and then returned to hovering over the phone. Something she had just said struck a note of familiarity. "Did you sayriver?"
"Yeah."