Operation Stealing Christmas Read online

  Colonel Drake’s level look proved she didn’t like this circumstance a bit better than Maggie, but her hands were tied. “I’m aware of that, which is why I’m telling you, Maggie, if the rules get in the way on this mission, you break them.”

  Maggie frowned. Often in the S.A.S.S., rules had to be broken, but that didn’t mean Maggie had to like breaking them. Actually she hated it, and the colonel well knew it. Hence, the reason for the direct order—and there was no mistaking by anyone at the table, except maybe for Crowe, that this remark had been a direct order. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Right now, we work with what we’ve got,” Colonel Drake said. “And what we’ve got is Intel, Homeland Security, the Pentagon and the President all stating their belief that this threat is credible. In our post-9/11 world, that compels everyone responsible for defending the public to act. The S.A.S.S. unit has been activated, and we will defend Santa Bella, whether or not it wants to be defended.”

  Justin Crowe frowned. “What if one of the other targets Intel identified is attacked? Will this S.A.S.S. team then stand down?”

  “No.” Colonel Drake sent him a regretful look. “We can’t assume Kunz and GRID intends to attack only one target. He could launch simultaneous strikes at all identified targets.”

  “Or none of them,” Maggie said.

  “Or none of them,” Colonel Drake agreed. “Which is why we must be on-site and prepared to intervene if Santa Bella comes under biological attack.”

  Kate laced her hands atop the table. “At what point do we activate the locals?”

  “Eminent threat stage.”

  Everyone groaned. That was far too late for any type coordination and effective response.

  “Sorry—” Colonel Drake raised a hand “—agree or disagree, with multiple potential targets and no hard Intel pointing in our direction, that’s the best we can do.” She let her gaze glide down the table. “General Shaw’s named this Operation Stealing Christmas.”

  “More like Stealing Christmas.” Justin mumbled. “That is what Kunz is trying to do.”

  Simply put, it was. The colonel didn’t respond to Crowe, but expressions all around the table mimicked agreement with him.

  Colonel Drake continued on. “Maggie, you’re primary.”

  “But, Colonel,” Kate called, no doubt to oppose Maggie being given primary rather than Kate, who also had bio-expertise and was senior in experience. “I—”

  “Yes, Kate?” There was steel in Colonel Drake’s eyes, and if Kate was half as smart as her dossier and records stated, she’d shut up now.

  Evidently she noted it. “I, um, will be happy to provide backup, ma’am.”

  Naturally she wouldn’t object this one time when Maggie wouldn’t mind. The last person in the world Maggie wanted to work closely with was Dr. Justin Crowe. He was too disturbing. Kunz had infiltrated high-level government positions before. Crowe could be a body double. If not, then his history still proved he couldn’t be trusted, and she just didn’t need the challenge of a disturbing man who could be a double and couldn’t be trusted added to the mountain of other challenges on this mission.

  “Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind,” the colonel said. “Dr. Crowe will assist Maggie, of course, having developed the antidote.”

  “Meaning no disrespect—” Maggie looked at Crowe but spoke to Colonel Drake “—but has Dr. Crowe’s DNA been cleared as authentic?”

  “I’m not a body double, Captain Holt.”

  “Glad to hear it, Doctor.” Maggie looked to the colonel for verification. “Colonel?”

  “Dr. Crowe has been cleared, Maggie,” the colonel said, and sounded oddly pleased that the question had been asked. “Now, there’s a meeting set up for you two with Santa Bella management.” She flipped through her notes then went on. “Daniel Barone is in charge—Mall Administrator. He’s your point of contact, though you’ll actually work more closely with Will Stanton, Chief of Security. Maggie, you and Dr. Crowe meet with them and the store owners in an hour. Do what you can to get them to voluntarily close the mall.”

  “And if they refuse?” Lost revenue would play a huge part in their decision, and only someone who’d flunked Business 101 wouldn’t acknowledge it.

  “If they refuse, and they likely will, then draft a defensive plan and implement it. The entire unit is at your disposal for whatever you need. You’ve got my full support to act at will.”

  Maggie nodded, accepting the mission.

  Colonel Drake slowly looked from person to person around the table. “This incident is now officially an active S.A.S.S. mission, Priority Code Three.”

  Around the table, all the operatives responded, “So acknowledged.” Maggie added her voice—and so, surprisingly, did Dr. Crowe.

  The status gave Maggie a lot of leeway and she feared she was going to need it. “Darcy, review all employee files for any three-month absences. Flag new employees, too. Anyone hired within the last six months.” Darcy looked up at her. “Anything else?”

  “Yes, please,” Maggie said, letting her gaze slide to Justin. “I want a full report on Dr. Crowe for the last six months. Projects he’s worked on, trips he’s taken, the works. I’ll also need a similar report on Barone, the mall administrator, and on the head of mall security. I want to know his credentials, as well.”

  “You got it.”

  “Dismissed.” Colonel Drake stood.

  Maggie looked across the table at Crowe. “Let’s move, Doctor. We have less than twenty-four hours.”

  “Dr. Crowe,” Colonel Drake said, a warning bite in her tone. “Should this crisis arise, please remember that it is not a handy field test for your antidote. If you must administer it, please do so judiciously.”

  “Of course,” he said, not taking offense. He slid back his chair. “I’ll do my best to assist with the store owners, too, Colonel. If they understand the results of exposure, surely they’ll cooperate.”

  “Maybe,” she said, though it was evident she thought their odds would leave space on a pinhead.

  When Maggie and he left the conference room and entered the hallway, she spared him a glance. “I trust you’ll also do your best to not get in my way.”

  “Your way?” The soft curve in his lips flattened into a firm line. “No problem,” he said. “But do clip your claws, Captain. Otherwise, they’re sure to get in your way.”

  “I beg your pardon?” She stepped into the elevator. He followed and she pushed the button to take them up.

  “Look, Captain Holt,” he said. “I overheard enough of your chat earlier to realize how you feel about men and why, but I haven’t done a thing to you, and until I do, I think it’s fair to insist you keep your bias to yourself. If Kunz attacks, our preparation will be critical. That warrants our total focus and, frankly, I don’t need the distraction of your attitude.”

  “My attitude, Dr. Crowe, is precisely what it should be.” She pulled her teeth back from her lips and lifted her Jeep keys. “Are you riding with me or following?”

  “Riding,” he said, though it was clear he’d sooner face the tortures of the abyss. “We’re waiting for Captain Cross to bring a remote unit so I can get in and out of here on my own.”

  “Fine.” She walked to the Jeep and unlocked the doors. “Then get in and buckle up.”

  Maggie and Justin entered Santa Bella Mall through the main entrance, then looped around Rothschild’s, cutting between it and Macy’s, to enter the mall’s administration wing. Only one door stood open along the corridor. Customer Service. People working inside were hustling. On the other doors hung discreet brass signs for Security and Medical Services, and tucked in the corner was Maintenance. At the far end of the hallway, positioned dead-center was the mall’s administration office.

  Justin opened that door and Maggie walked through. A man nearly as tall as Justin stood waiting for them in the middle of the luxurious office, talking softly to a petite woman seated at a tidy desk. Impeccably dressed in a discreet gray suit, he glan
ced into a sleek mirror hanging above a table. On it sat a large vase of sweet-smelling fresh flowers. Not a single, perfectly groomed brown hair on the man’s head dared to be out of place.

  He smiled, his teeth gleaming white and perfectly aligned. “You must be Captain Holt—” he extended his hand, then turned to Justin “—and Dr. Crowe.” They shook. “Welcome. I am Daniel Barone, Santa Bella’s administrator.”

  “Mr. Barone,” Maggie said, half expecting him to pull out a snowy-white hanky and wipe his hand.

  He turned to the woman at her desk. “This is my assistant, Linda Diel.”

  Maggie and Justin said hello, and Barone looked at his watch. “Excellent,” he said, shifting his gaze to the door. “You’re right on time.”

  As if on cue, a second man appeared in the doorway. This one looked like an all-American mutt in his mid-forties with silvering blond hair. He wore a security uniform. His facial features were blunt and his eyes held a healthy amount of concern. Maggie innately reacted much more positively toward him than to Barone.

  “Will, come in.” Barone turned to Maggie. “This is Will Stanton, my chief of security. Will, may I introduce Captain Holt and Dr. Crowe.”

  Will extended his beefy hand, shook warmly. “I wish I could say I’m glad to meet you, but under the circumstances...”

  “I understand completely,” Maggie said, sensing an earnest quality in Will Stanton that enormously appealed to her. Her father had that same steadfastness, and she had mistakenly assumed all men did—at least until Jack had proved otherwise.

  Barone covertly checked his watch again. “Are the owners ready, Will?”

  “Yes, sir. There’s a rep from each of our 520 stores.”

  “I told you owners were to attend this meeting,” Barone said, his tone sharp.

  “Only three have sent their assistants. Unavoidable, they said.”

  Barone grimaced. “Well, if that’s the best you can do.”

  “It is.” Will lifted his chin.

  “That’s an excellent response,” Maggie said. “Anything under twenty percent is considered amazingly good. Congratulations, Chief Stanton.”

  “Thanks, Captain.”

  “Very well.” His haughtiness diffused, Barone looked from Will to Maggie and softened his gaze. “The auditorium is this way.” He motioned to the southeast corner of the facility. “Let’s not keep the owners waiting. Time is money.”

  Justin rolled his eyes heavenward, and whether she trusted him or not, Maggie couldn’t help but agree with him. Barone was going to be an insincere pain in the neck.

  When they walked through the back of the auditorium to the stage, Maggie heard the owners grumbling and speculating. Barone hadn’t given them a clue about the reason for the meeting. Nor had he told them what they could be facing. She held off a sigh by the skin of her teeth. Why wasn’t she surprised that he would leave the dirty work of explaining to her?

  Barone introduced Maggie and Justin to the owners, and then Maggie succinctly laid out the challenge, including the fact that Santa Bella was but one of several potential targets.

  The auditorium went silent. Tension escalated. Maggie could almost feel the owners’ stomachs dropping. She spoke candidly, omitting any reference to S.A.S.S., GRID or Thomas Kunz, of course, and then turned over the mike to Dr. Crowe to explain the virus and its impact in layman’s terms.

  He gave them the basics, then opened the floor for what Maggie feared would be hours of questions.

  Left of center and three rows from the front, a sleek woman stood up. “Cassy Brown, Celebrity.” She identified herself and then her store. “What are you asking us to do, Dr. Crowe?”

  Justin turned to Maggie, lifted a hand. “I’ll trust Captain Holt to answer that.”

  Maggie stepped up to the mike. “We’re asking you to close your stores for the day.”

  The grumbling grew deafening—and overwhelmingly negative.

  “George Halstead. Halstead’s, Jewelry Row.” A balding man stood and shouted to be heard over the din. “Captain, I’m afraid I didn’t hear you correctly. You’re asking us to close our stores on one of our busiest days of the year based solely on threat of an attack that might or might not happen, and if it happens, might or might not happen here?”

  One bump at a time. “That is correct. Yes, sir,” Maggie said. “The threat is considered credible at the highest levels. You must understand, Mr. Halstead, that the only way we can say there will absolutely be an attack is after there is one.”

  A stout redhead shot out of her chair. “Forget it,” she shouted. “I do a fourth of my annual business on Christmas Eve. Closing would put me out of business—and I’m not the only one.”

  Others stood and agreed. Far too many for Maggie to delude herself into thinking she could turn them around. “I understand the challenges. But you’ve been apprised of the lethal impact of this virus. If it is turned loose within these walls, you must understand your customers won’t be shopping Christmas Eve or any other day. They’ll be dead. So will you.” She paused, let the finality of that reality sink in. “I understand your challenges, I really do, but the risk to human life, to your own lives, is—”

  “Is Homeland Security ordering us to close?” the same redhead asked, interrupting.

  Maggie hesitated. “No,” she confessed. “Due to the multiplicity of potential targets, it isn’t. Not yet, anyway. But—”

  “Then forget it,” the redhead interrupted again. “I’m not losing my business because some crazy psychos might hit us. Everyone in the country has been half-expecting to get attacked every day we’ve been open ever since 9/11. So far as I’m concerned, this day is no different than any of the rest, and we haven’t been attacked yet. Odds are in our favor.”

  Maggie waited for the initial roar of agreeing voices to fade. “This threat is different. It’s much more dangerous. We’re convinced that there will be an attack.”

  “Yeah, but you’re only sixty-five percent sure it’ll be here,” Halstead from Jewelry Row said. “You guys are always telling us, live our lives. We can’t give in to fear. To go about our business like normal.” He waved an expansive hand, sweeping the air. “We can’t close our businesses out of fear. Not when we face it every single day of every single year.”

  He had a point, and Maggie agreed. They couldn’t close indefinitely or with every potential threat, but this threat was more solid. “You’re making a huge mistake. This isn’t a general, garden-variety threat. This entity is known to us. Past experience with this specific attacker proves he will do anything to achieve his objectives. Anything. To anyone.”

  “We’ve seen dozens of suicide bombers on the news. They’re all nuts.”

  “Call a vote.” The first woman who’d stood, Cassy Brown, said. “Simple majority rules.”

  Maggie didn’t like it, but it was more than she had expected. “Fine. Vote. But there is a provision I’ll be adding to your decision.”

  The auditorium again went quiet. “If you vote to open the mall on Christmas Eve, then each owner must be onsite from the time your store opens until it closes. You will not risk the lives of your employees—” she shot a look at Barone “—and protect your own by not being here. I will be all over this mall, from long before it opens until long after it closes, and I’m telling you now, when I come into your store, you’ll either be there or I’ll shut it down.”

  “Can she do that?” an unseen woman yelled toward Barone.

  He stood, feet apart, his arms folded in front of him, and shrugged to let the owners know his hands were tied on the matter. “She can.” He solemnly nodded. “So can I, though I would never do so without a majority vote. I believe everyone should have a voice, and that voice should be heard.”

  Spoken like a true bull-spewing politician, protecting his own back, Maggie thought. Shifting responsibility to the owners. Very like Kunz, in that regard. Suspicious, she looked over at Barone and wondered if he was the real Daniel Barone or a Kunz body double
.

  “I assure you, I not only can, I will.” Maggie absorbed the gasps, shocked stares, dragging jaws and outrage aimed in her direction. “Now go ahead, cast your votes.”

  It took thirty minutes, but the final tally was 501 to 19 in favor of staying open.

  Justin conceded, sent Maggie a defeated look laced with sympathy and worry.

  “Okay, then,” Maggie said, unwilling to waste energy on regret. Facts were facts, and the sooner they were accepted, the sooner everyone moved on to working within the allotted framework toward protection. “Being open, there are preparations to make and not a lot of time to make them.”

  Daniel Barone interrupted with a raised index finger. “Captain Holt, I won’t have a large number of security forces cut loose in this facility. That would certainly unnerve shoppers. Our primary responsibility is to make them comfortable.”

  So the idiot would have them dead? That was some kind of whacked logic he’d embraced. No doubt, inspired by numbers. Sales. Bottom lines.

  “My primary responsibility is to keep them alive.” Maggie swallowed a grimace. “We will need some things done to better our odds of protecting everyone, including you.”

  “Like what things?” the redhead said. “We can’t do much. We’re swamped already, Captain.”

  “You’ll have make time for these things,” Maggie said without apology. “Mr. Stanton from Security will send out a list.”

  Justin stepped in. “An example of what we’re asking is to remove all aerosol cans from your shelves. That’s not optional,” Justin said. “The most effective means of spreading the virus is through an aerosol spray. We can’t risk your cans being confused with the terrorists’ cans. See what I mean?”

  “So what?” a man sitting beside the redhead said. “We consider any spray can the virus?”

  “Once you clear your shelves, yes. That’s it exactly,” Justin said.

  “That’s unreasonable,” the man said. “I own a hair salon.”

  Justin’s jaw firmed. “Do you see any other option? Do you have another fail-proof way to differentiate the cans? Because if you’re not a hundred percent accurate, everyone in this room and everyone in the mall could be dead in twenty-four hours.”