“No shit,” the sergeant said. “That’d spread radioactive crap everywhere.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The bodies were from the nuclear explosion in Pakistan. They’re hot.” He gave McGarvey and the cops one last look and left.
“I want you out of here too,” McGarvey told the cops. “Right now.”
“Good luck, sir,” one of them said, and they headed back to their truck.
In the distance McGarvey spotted a blue air force sedan followed by a white hearse heading his way.
The coffins were waiting on two trolleys just inside the small processing center, which wasn’t much larger than a five- or six-car garage. Double doors at the back presumably led to the morgue itself, where coffins were in storage for pickup. The concrete floor was coated with a gray epoxy and the entire space was spotlessly clean and empty. There was no place to hide.
Pulling out his pistol, McGarvey stepped inside just to the left of the open door and flattened against the wall.
The coffins were marked with the three-bladed-propeller symbol: CAUTION RADIOACTIVE MATERIALS. McGarvey had to give Haaris credit for coming up with the way to make certain that no one would try to open the coffins, and at the same time offer a good explanation in case the bombs were leaking and someone detected the radiation.
* * *
Haaris backed the hearse to the open bay door and got out. No one was around, which he thought was strange. He could see the two coffins on trolleys just inside the pickup area.
“Will someone be out to help me load?” Haaris asked the escort driver.
“Should be, sir,” the driver said through his open window. He swung the car around and headed away.
Haaris didn’t know the entire procedure for picking up bodies, but he was reasonably certain that he would have been required to show his papers and sign something.
The hairs at the nape of his neck stood on end.
He took out his cell phone again and brought up the detonation number. He was armed, but getting into a gunfight here would guarantee that he would never get off the base. If this was a trap, he would push the button.
No one else was heading his way, and the escort car had disappeared somewhere behind one of the hangars.
Everything was wrong. Everything screamed at him to make a one-eighty and get the hell out. Survive to fight another day. Push the speed dial button once he made it to Wilmington. Or perhaps when he was in the air, flying away. The mushroom cloud would be interesting to watch.
Maybe back to Pakistan as the Messiah. It would be dangerous but exciting. Revenge came in many different guises.
Perhaps he would go to ground instead. Fight back in a different way, just as Snowden had done. Could be he would become someone else’s hero.
He’d never had any belief in fate, though he understood the concept. What happened was of your own making.
* * *
Haaris came through the doors, the cell phone in his left hand.
McGarvey stepped forward and batted the phone out of his hand, sending it skittering across the floor facedown. “It’s over now, David.”
“Fuck you,” Haaris shouted. He rolled forward, shoving McGarvey against the concrete wall.
McGarvey’s damaged hip went numb, but leaning into Haaris for balance, he slammed a knee into the man’s groin.
Falling back, Haaris managed to grab Mac’s pistol, but before he could bring it to bear, McGarvey fell forward with him, twisting the pistol away and sending it sliding across the floor.
Their bodies intertwined, they fell down hard, Haaris banging the back of his head on the floor, and McGarvey further damaging his hip, a very sharp, nearly incapacitating pain shooting up his spine.
Haaris managed to get himself free, roll away and get to his feet. He reached inside his still-buttoned suit coat as McGarvey got up and lurched forward, landing a roundhouse punch to the man’s face.
Blood suddenly gushed from Haaris’s nose. Dazed, he stumbled backward just out of McGarvey’sreach as he pulled the Glock out of its shoulder holster.
“It’s not over until I say so,” he shouted, a wild smile on his face.
He started to raise his pistol when he was suddenly flung forward, the pistol dropping to the floor the moment before he felt his face bouncing off the concrete, a small hole at the back of his skull oozing blood and brain matter.
Pete stood in the doorway, in the classic shooter’s stance, half squatting, the pistol in a two-handed grip, a crazy look in her eyes.
McGarvey turned without a word and went to Haaris’s phone. He stared at the display for a long beat, not wanting to comprehend what he was seeing. The number was ringing. Either Haaris had pushed the speed dial before he’d dropped the phone, or when it had hit the floor, facedown, the button had been pushed.
“It’s ringing,” Pete said just behind him. “But the bombs didn’t go off.”
McGarvey looked up at the coffins, with their radiological warnings. “He out-thought himself,” he said. “In case the bombs leaked. The coffins were lined with lead. The phone signal couldn’t get through.”
EPILOGUE
Three Weeks Later
At the Blessed Savior Anglican Church Cemetery outside London, Charlie Wilde and Manley Stroud used a small front-end loader to guide the aluminum coffin into the grave. It had been shipped here from Pakistan and was marked with the radiological caution symbol and warnings.
The military hadn’t wanted a thing to do with it, nor had any family come to claim the body.
“Bloody heavy thing,” Wilde said as he picked up a shovel and began filling the grave.
“Lined with lead, I suppose,” Stroud agreed, pitching in with the shoveling. “Even if it was my aunt Myrtle I don’t think I would have wanted to come here to claim her. Rest in peace, I always said. Rest in peace.”
* * *
At the kitchen counter in the Rencke’s safe house, four-year-old Audi, sitting between her grampyfather Kirk and Miss Petey, was beside herself with happiness. “My boys at the Farm were fun and all,” she said. “But this is infinite better.”
They all laughed, but Otto and Louise were beaming so hard they could scarcely contain themselves. “Something, isn’t she?” Otto said.
“You two are doing good,” McGarvey said.
“Okay, Miss Rencke, time for bed,” Louise said, taking the girl by the hand. “Say good night.”
After hugs and kisses all around Louise took her upstairs and when she got back, she opened a second bottle of Valpolicella as Otto was taking the baby lamb chops out of the marinade, ready to put them on the grill.
“I’ve been meaning to bring something up,” Pete said.
“Things are finally settling down between Pakistan and India,” McGarvey said. “So hopefully this has nothing to do with work.”
“No, but related. Has to do with a promise made to me.”
McGarvey didn’t have a clue, but Otto and Louise knew.
“Quote: ‘If there’s going to be any future for us, you’ll’—meaning me—‘will have to start listening to me’—meaning you. ‘At least every now and then.’”
“I was under duress,” McGarvey said, remembering every word.
“I don’t know,” Otto said. “We’ve been friends for a long time now, and I’ve never seen you rat out on a promise.”
“This is different,” McGarvey said.
“Coward,” Louise told him.
“Damned right.”
“How about a Rémy?” she asked. “Will that help?”
“A little, I suppose,” McGarvey said, and despite the complications he knew damned well would follow, and despite the fear that would ride with him like a tremendous weight on his shoulders, he figured that he hadn’t been this happy in a very, very long time.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
David Hagberg is a former U.S. Air Force cryptographer who has traveled extensively in Europe, the Arctic, and the Caribbean and has spoken
at CIA functions. He has published more than seventy novels of suspense, including Blood Pact, Retribution, and the bestselling Allah’s Scorpion, Dance with the Dragon, and The Expediter. He makes his home in Sarasota, Florida. You can sign up for email updates here.
BOOKS BY DAVID HAGBERG
Twister
The Capsule
Last Come the Children
Heartland
Heroes
Without Honor*
Countdown*
Crossfire*
Critical Mass*
Desert Fire
High Flight*
Assassin*
White House*
Joshua’s Hammer*
Eden’s Gate
The Kill Zone*
By Dawn’s Early Light
Soldier of God*
Allah’s Scorpion*
Dance with the Dragon*
The Expediter*
The Cabal*
Abyss*
Castro’s Daughter*
Burned
Blood Pact*
Retribution*
FICTION BY BYRON DORGAN AND DAVID HAGBERG
Blowout
Gridlock
NONFICTION BY DAVID HAGBERG AND BORIS GINDIN
Mutiny!
*Kirk McGarvey adventures
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Author’s Note
Epigraph
Part One: The Messiah
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Part Two: The Mission
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Part Three: The Operation
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Part Four: The Countdown
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Epilogue: Three Weeks Later
About the Author
Books by David Hagberg
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THE FOURTH HORSEMAN
Copyright © 2016 by David Hagberg
All rights reserved.
Cover photographs by Getty Images
A Forge Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
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New York, NY 10010
www.tor-forge.com
Forge® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Names: Hagberg, David, author.
Title: The fourth horseman / David Hagberg.
Description: First Edition. | New York: Forge Books, 2016. | “A Tom Doherty Associates book.”
Identifiers: LCCN 2015033361 | ISBN 9780765334633 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781466814349 (e-book)
Subjects: LCSH: McGarvey, Kirk (Fictitious character)—Fiction. | Terrorism—Prevention—Fiction. | Intelligence officers—Fiction. | Assassins—Fiction. | Pakistan—Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Thrillers. | GSAFD: Suspense fiction. | Spy stories.
Classification: LCC PS3558.A3227 F68 2016 | DDC 813/.54—dc23
LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2015033361
e-ISBN 9781466814349
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First Edition: February 2016