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  “She just got off a job,” Diaz said. “We weren’t even supposed to be here.”

  “And yet, here you are.” Perry picked the file back up and finished thumbing through it. “She’s been undercover quite a bit. You think she’s burnt out?”

  “Honestly? I still don’t know how she’s sane. Nobody’s been on as many undercover operations as she has. There are guys who lose their minds after one sixth-month stint, and I’ve seen her do at least a half dozen of those. She’s a fighter. Fighters are passionate.”

  Perry tossed the file back on the ground, and his phone rang. “Perry.”

  “We have a fire just south of Boston. Local PD are on the scene, but it looks like we’ve got a lot of traction. Three vans, big tire tracks leading into the city, and the dogs picked up a scent heading into the swamps.”

  “Pull a stats report of all the different routes that truck could have taken, and then track every available camera on those routes. I want video, goddammit.” Perry hung up the phone then walked to Diaz until he was nose to nose. “Do you trust your partner?”

  “Of course.”

  “Even with all the rumors circling her? The kickbacks, the fact that half of the agents in the DEA think she’s been undercover for so long that her head’s not on straight?”

  “There isn’t another person I would trust my life with, sir.”

  Perry shook his head, brushing past Diaz. “My director spoke with your boss, and they’ve reached an agreement that we should combine our resources to find out what’s going on. I’ll need your man power.” He was almost out the door before he called back, “Better go find your partner. We’ve got work to do.”

  Chapter 6 – Saturday 7:30 a.m.

  Kasaika peeled his dirty clothes off and washed and cleaned himself, but even after the soap and cold water, he still couldn’t remove the stench of the swamp off him. Once dry, the alarm on his watch went off, as it did five times every day. He pulled out his mat and went to the living room, where the rest of his comrades waited. He expected to see them cleaned, washed, and ready for their morning prayers, but every single one of them, including Sefkh and Zet, were loading ammo, checking their weapons, or stuffing their face with food. “What is this?”

  The only ones that stopped their actions were Sefkh and Zet. “We need to hurry, brother,” Sefkh said. “The bombs are already in place. We need to head south. Our contact will be meeting us there.”

  “It is time for prayer, Sefkh,” Kasaika replied harshly. “Or have you forgotten why we are doing this? Why so many of our brothers and sisters have died? Or the oppression and ridicule these westerners have done to our people, our religion, our way of life?”

  “We have not forgotten,” Zet replied. “But I’m sure Allah will forgive us this blasphemy for our greater purpose.” He loaded a magazine into the rifle and slung the weapon over his shoulder. “After all, we do all things in his name.”

  “La Hawla wala quwata illa billah,” Kasaika replied. “I have not forgotten, but I think I may be the only one who hasn’t.” His voice boomed, and the room filled with quiet where there had once been the busy scuffle of routine.

  Sefkh stepped between Kasaika and the circling mob of stern looks. “Everyone, please. My brother is right.” He clasped Kasaika on the shoulder. “It would be unwise to break our laws and tradition in such a moment.” Sefkh was the first on the ground, and with him praying, the others soon followed. The last to lower himself was Zet, and he did so with disdain on his face.

  Once the prayers were said, Kasaika and the men rose from their positions, and Sefkh received the first confirmation that the bombs were in place. “We have thirty minutes. We must hurry.”

  ***

  The garbage truck rumbled along the downtown streets of Boston, the air brakes squeaking whenever the driver slowed and stopped. Two men rode on the back, and at each stop they looked for their physical marker of where to set the bomb that they pulled from the back of the garbage truck’s carrier. The bags were no bigger than a backpack and placed strategically all over the city. Small enough to stay out of view, large enough to inflict damage.

  The empty sidewalks and streets were easy to navigate. Early Saturday mornings offered minimal congestion, which is exactly what they wanted. No one to call and offer suspicious tips, all law enforcement still too groggy and tired to have any real vigilance. With the dew still fresh on the morning grass and leaves of the city, it was a perfect time to strike.

  Bombs were placed at power sub-stations, bridges, water utilities, market places, federal and state buildings, and the port. The blasts of the bombs were minimal, but the initial structural damage wasn’t what was so critical. All they needed to do was stir the pot enough to trigger a lockdown of the city. Once Boston was clogged to keep anyone from getting in or out, there would be enough chaos to get away with almost anything they wanted.

  The garbage truck came to a stop at a red light, no traffic heading in either direction. The massive vehicle rumbled even as it sat still. The driver checked the side-view mirrors and saw the distinct black and white of a police vehicle pulling up in the left lane beside them. The driver looked to his partner in the passenger seat, exchanging a wordless glance.

  The police cruiser stopped right next to the garbage truck. The cab of the garbage truck was too high for them to see the police officers and vice versa. The driver gripped the wheel tighter, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. The red light glowed its steady crimson, and the driver flexed his fingers over the wheel then glanced back down at the cop car.

  A drip of sweat rolled down the side of his face and then, just as the light turned green and the truck lurched forward, the lights on the cruiser flashed red and blue, and the two Egyptians exchanged the same look of terror. The driver slowly turned right, pulling over to the side of the road.

  The inside of the garbage truck’s cabin was bathed in the blue-and-red lights flashing in the side mirrors. The driver reached for the pistol next to him. He kept his hand low, concealing it from view, and then flicked the safety lever off.

  Each police officer approached on either side of the truck, escorting their two comrades riding on the back to their squad car, where one of them stayed to keep an eye on them. Then, the second officer made his way toward the driver-side door, where he stopped at the window. “Sir, I’m going to need you to step out of the vehicle.” The police officer kept his hand on the butt of the pistol around his belt.

  The garbage-truck driver measured the distance between the two of them and the time it would take for him to bring the barrel of his gun and fire at the officer before he could shoot back. The garbage truck’s engine sputtered and rumbled as it idled, and the driver felt the vibrations through the handle of his gun.

  The officer hung back, not allowing for the driver to obtain a good shot. “Sir, shut the engine off, and exit the vehicle now.”

  The driver watched the officer’s shoulder twitch as he went to pull the pistol from his holster, and in the same instant, the driver brought the barrel of his gun over the door and fired through the open window. The driver squeezed off three rounds, all three armor-piercing rounds tearing through the officer’s Kevlar.

  The second officer still positioned with their two comrades by the squad car fired at the passenger side of the garbage truck, but the driver’s partner wielded his AK-47 and fired a series of rounds that cut the officer down where he stood. The two detained comrades by the squad car rushed back over to the rear of the garbage truck and hung on as the driver sped away, leaving the police lights to cast their red-and-blue colors over the bloody officers on the asphalt.

  ***

  Agent Cooper checked the timeline of the feed again, just to make sure, then moved to the map in their makeshift situation room, where Diaz and a mix of Homeland, police, sheriff’s officials, and DEA agents had gathered. “All right, so we’ve got the garbage truck entering the city at 6:45 a.m. We have confirmed stops at these locations.” She circled twelve different spots along the route that they managed to project. “And these are just the ones we were able to find. We already have crews en route, but we don’t know when the bombs are set to go off. What we need help with right now is evacuation.”

  Diaz stepped up and joined Cooper at the front. “Since it’s still only 7:30 a.m. on a Saturday, a lot of the local residents are still sleeping. We just sent out a press release telling citizens of those areas of the city where we know the bombs are located to leave, and then cordon the area off. However, we want to avoid any panic and looting, so that’s where you guys come in.”

  “In addition to assisting in the evacuation, we’ll need your help in crowd control. The marathon bombings from a few years ago are still fresh in everyone’s mind, and we don’t need anyone trying to go all Jane Bond and start making citizens arrests for anyone that looks suspicious,” Cooper said. “Your COs will give you a specific breakdown of the areas you’ll cover.” She clapped her hands together in three quick smacks. “Let’s go, people!”

  The room scattered until it was just Diaz and Cooper. “Look out, Perry incoming.” Diaz whispered in her ear, but it was barely enough time to brace herself before Perry shoved a file in her face.

  “Can I help you, sir?” Cooper asked.

  “Why did you issue an APB on Dylan Turk? I told you he doesn’t have anything to do with this investigation! You’re wasting time and resources, Agent Cooper!”

  Cooper jammed the file back into Perry’s body and followed it up with a powerful shove that sent the thin man backward. Despite his size, she managed to move him back fairly easily, and she watched a look of shock spread across his face. “I don’t give a shit what you do with my application for Homeland, because if it’s just full of pompous assholes like yourself, I’d rather stay where I’m at.” She stormed out before Perry could offer a rebuke and before she shot him, which was an urge she’d been fighting since the moment they met.

  The file said the local PD had picked Captain Turk up at his ex-wife’s place. As Cooper looked over the file as Diaz drove both of them to the precinct where he was being held, she took the time to look at the captain’s history. DUI, trespassing, drunk and disorderly, all of it starting around three years ago. Before that, the captain’s record was clean as a whistle. “Something happened to this guy, and whatever it was, it cost him quite a bit.”

  When they arrived at the precinct, the place was chaos. The officers were balancing their day-to-day and getting caught up to speed on the situation with the bombs. Cooper found the officer that booked the captain, and he led her to the holding cell.

  The moment the captain saw her, he rushed to the front of the cell, gripping the bars. “Thank God. I didn’t think they would let me see you.”

  “They’re letting me see you, Captain. I thought you were trying to avoid being detained so you could be with your family? Or do they just not feel the same way?”

  “Agent Cooper, please, you have to get my children out of the city.”

  “Your children will be fine, so long as they stay at home, Captain. We’ve tracked the bombs, and the terrorists aren’t targeting the suburbs. Unless you have some information that suggests otherwise?”

  The captain slumped to the floor, still gripping the bars as he slid down. A stressed sigh of relief and pressure escaped him. Cooper hovered over Dylan while he buried his face in his hands. “Captain, I need to know what happened on the boat.”

  “I already told you what happened. I already told you what I know. They popped the flare, I went over to help, they took over my boat, then they killed one of my crew right in front of me.”

  “Earlier you said that you checked the boat, correct?” Cooper reached for the notepad that Diaz had used to record their conversation. She flipped through a few pages then came to rest on the quote. “You said, ‘I thought something was off since I couldn’t see any structural damage, so I circled the boat, trying to see what was wrong with the vessel.’” She snapped the notepad shut. “And did you see anything wrong with the boat?”

  “No. Nothing that I could see from the helm. When we boarded, they said it was engine trouble, but I don’t even know if that was true. A diesel like that would have been billowing smoke. They wanted to lure someone in.”

  But why? If the boat was in good condition to complete the journey, then why risk exposing themselves? For cover? No, they’d made it that far. Why stop so close? What was she missing? “Captain, who knew about your trip?”

  “My wife”—he shook his head—“ex-wife. The men on my boat, their families and friends.”

  “Anyone else? Anyone that you could think of that would be a part of the routine of you going out?”

  The captain closed his eyes, but Cooper wasn’t sure if he was thinking or sleeping. He lowered his head and rubbed the creases in his forehead. “The harbormaster,” he finally said, softly tossing his hands up into the air in exasperation. “He knows everyone’s routine. We give him our planned routes and return date. If we don’t check in or we miss our date back, they check in on us through the coast guard. It’s a safety precaution.”

  “Does the harbormaster post any of this to the public?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  Cooper left without another word, and Captain Turk leapt back to his feet, shouting through the iron bars. “When do I get out of here?” She didn’t bother answering and instead immediately found Diaz talking to a group of officers. She pulled him aside and kept her voice low. “We need to track down the harbormaster of the port where Dylan Turk docks his boat.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think he might know something. There’s a—”

  The explosion knocked Cooper into Diaz, and the two tumbled to the ground. Bits of ceiling fell from above, lights flickered on and off, and the only thing that could be heard after the blast was the screaming of everyone inside the police station.

  Chapter 7 – Saturday 8:30 a.m.

  The first blast knocked Dylan to the floor and rattled the concrete cell. The blast was close. It felt as though it was just outside the wall of his cell. Another explosion concussed the building, sending a rippling wave through his body.

  The lights ceased their flickering and shut off. A solid ringing filled Dylan’s ears. He pushed himself off the flat, cold concrete, his arms and legs wobbling as if he was on rough seas. When he made it to his feet, he stumbled to the front of the cell and clung to the iron bars as though they were a life raft.

  Dylan shook his head, trying to rid himself of the ringing and the drowsiness that plagued him. The hallway was filled with dust, broken-off bits of ceiling, and concrete that had disintegrated from the blasts. Dull thuds replaced the ringing in his ears, and the longer he stood, the more he was able to discern what the thuds were: gunshots.

  Officers sprinted down the hallway past the cells, and Dylan reached out his hand to try and flag one down but did so unsuccessfully. “Hey!” The gunshots grew louder, more frequent.

  Finally, Agent Cooper appeared, key in hand. She swung the iron doors open and then crashed into the side against the other iron bars. “Two bombs just detonated outside the station, and power just went out in half the city.”

  The moment Dylan stepped out of the cell, Cooper spun him around and handcuffed his wrists behind his back. “What are you doing?” Dylan’s face was pressed back up against the bars of the cell, and he felt Cooper applying all of her body weight to restrain him.

  “You’re connected to this somehow,” Cooper answered. “I don’t know how, and I don’t know why yet, but I know you are. Even if you don’t.” Cooper spun him around marched him through the shattered police station.

  The glow of dull emergency lighting made the entire place look like a prison yard, and an escape alarm had just sounded. Gunfire continued its ominous thundering outside, and Cooper guided him through the cluster of officers reaching for their guns, Kevlar, and ammo, pushing outside into whatever chaos and mayhem awaited them.

  Dylan and Cooper were joined by Cooper’s partner when they made it to the front of the building. “I think we may have lost our window here.”

  “We need to get him someplace safe, and then we need to go and visit our friend,” Cooper yelled over the gunfire. “Did you find him?”

  “Didn’t have time.”

  Between the pounding in Dylan’s head, his NASCAR-like racing pulse, and the sharp pain from the handcuffs digging into the flesh of the wrists, he struggled to keep up with everything that was happening. A cluster of officers were at the front entrance, the glass from the doors had completely shattered, and Dylan almost rolled his ankle tripping over the dozens of shell casings lying about on the floor. Bursts of gunfire caused the ringing in his ears to return with ferocity, and Cooper shoved him to his knees. He hit the floor hard and was maneuvered behind a concrete pillar that had cracks running up and down the side like spiderwebs.

  Dylan managed a peek outside before Diaz shoved him back behind the safety of the column. Fires had been set to many of the police vehicles, and smoke had shrouded the attackers under the cover of black clouds. Every once in a while an officer would try and dash out of the cover of the station but was immediately brought down and joined the growing number of bodies outside.

  “They’re bottlenecking us!” Diaz shouted.

  Cooper sprinted to the other side of the door, revealing herself to the pirates outside but making it to the opposite side without incident. Dylan tried watching her mouth, trying to decipher what she was yelling at the officer, but before he could figure it out, bullets peppered the concrete column. The sharp ping of the ricochet filled his ears, and he quickly lurched back behind the cover of the pillar. Diaz shoved him with an angry glance. “What the hell is the matter with you?”

  “Take the cuffs off me,” Dylan said.

  “No way.”