The Lost Codex Read Online Free PDF

over the side, and hung there, his length stretching down until he dropped and landed with a thud on his feet.
    Okay, you made it. Not bad. But now you’ve gotta deal with me.
    “That’s far enough,” Vail said, leveling her Glock at the man’s heart. But she forgot she was dealing with a suicide bomber—or someone affiliated with that mind-set.
    He charged her.
    Three things flashed through her mind:
    1) Shoot the asshole.
    2) Don’t shoot the asshole because we need to question him.
    3) If you draw your gun, you’re shooting to kill—a lesson she learned her first year on the job as a patrol cop.
    But he hit her full on before she could reason it out.
    Vail fisted his shirt and clamped onto it like a Rottweiler, refusing to let go. She twisted hard right as he bulled past her, but kept her hold and bent her knees, bringing her center of gravity to the ground and pulling him down with her.
    Before he could squirm away, Vail slammed her pistol against his temple and said, “It’s a little different having a gun pressed against your skull. Isn’t it, dickhead?”
    Uzi came running up and the six other OPSIG men surrounded the prisoner and took control, five submachine guns—with their green lasers—trained on center mass while Uzi applied the handcuffs.
    As they led the perp away, Uzi nudged Vail. “Nice job.”
    “Thanks,” Vail said, seating the Glock in its holster.
    “Bullshit, that was horrible. What the hell were you thinking, Karen? You drew down on him. You had the guy dead to rights. He was five feet away. And you let him run you over?”
    Vail ground her jaw. “We needed to question him, not kill him.”
    “You don’t really want me to respond to that, do you? With all the experience you’ve had?” He looked her over. “Did you freeze?”
    “I told you. We needed him alive so we could sit him down, sweat him. Can’t do that if he’s got a chest full of .40s.”
    “Yeah, well, we need you alive too. So do Jonathan and Robby.”
    I hate it when he’s right.
    “Don’t do that again. You were lucky.”
    “I was not—” Vail stopped herself. “You’re right. I was lucky.”
    Uzi gave her a long look, then nodded.

3
    D ouglas Knox walked into the briefing room at the Hoover Building, a.k.a. FBI headquarters, or in Fed-speak, FBIHQ. Agents dubbed it the Puzzle Palace because its hallways and doors all looked the same. Getting lost or turned around was a regular occurrence.
    An oblong walnut table dominated the space. Water bottles—and nothing else—were set out at each seat. No pads and pens. No laptops or tablets.
    Vail instantly knew why. This was a classified meeting and no record of its proceedings would be created. Notes were forbidden. In essence, the gathering never happened—officially or unofficially.
    Given what she had just witnessed, with OPSIG operators cloaked in nondescript black tactical uniforms and explicit instructions to keep Metro PD and Fire away, this did not surprise her.
    As Knox took a seat at the head of the table, he combed back a lock of gray hair that had fallen across his forehead. To his right sat defense secretary Richard McNamara, and to McNamara’s right was CIA director Earl Tasset. At Tasset’s elbow was the secretary of Homeland Security, Laurence Bolten.
    Across from the men were Vail, DeSantos, and Uzi.
    “Hector, give us a sit-rep,” Knox said, using operator-speak for situation report.
    “We’ve got one dead tango at the location of the explosion on Irving Street. Bomb-making equipment was found in the nearby building, enough to make several suicide vests, along with materials for constructing corresponding explosives. We don’t have an ID on the body yet—or what’s left of it—which isn’t much.”
    “Anything of use to us?” Bolten asked. “Papers, manuals—”
    “We’ve got a team standing by, ready to comb the apartment for intel, but our EOD unit is making sure it’s clear of booby traps and defusing existing bombs that