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A N Y M E A N S N E C E S S A R Y

(A LUKE STONE THRILLERBOOK 1)

J A C K M A R S

Jack Mars

Jack Mars is an avid reader and lifelong fan of the thriller genre. ANY MEANS NECESSARY is Jacks debut thriller. Jack loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit www.Jackmarsauthor.com to join the email list, receive a free book, receive free giveaways, connect on Facebook and Twitter, and stay in touch!

Copyright © 2015 by Jack Mars. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If youre reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Jacket image Copyright wavebreakmedia and Michael Rosskothen, used under license from Shutterstock.com.

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

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

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 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

PART ONE

Chapter 1

June 5th, 1:15 a.m.

Fairfax County, Virginia - Suburbs of Washington, DC

The phone rang.

Luke Stone lay somewhere between asleep and awake. Images flashed in his mind. It was night on an empty rain-swept highway. Someone was injured. A car wreck. In the distance, an ambulance approached, moving fast. The siren wailed.

He opened his eyes. Next to him on the bed table, in the dark of their bedroom, the phone was ringing. A digital clock sat on the table next to the phone. He glanced at its red numbers.

Jesus, he whispered. He had been asleep for maybe half an hour.

His wife Rebeccas voice, thick with sleep: Dont answer it.

A tuft of her blonde hair poked out from under the blankets. Soft blue light filtered into the room from a nightlight in the bathroom.

He picked up the phone.

Luke, a voice said. The voice was deep and gruff, with the slightest hint of a Southern twang. Luke knew the voice all too well. It was Don Morris, his old boss at the Special Response Team.

Luke ran a hand through his hair. Yeah?

Did I wake you? Don said.

What do you think?

I wouldnt have called you at home. But your cell phone was off.

Luke grunted. Thats because I turned it off.

We got trouble, Luke. I need you on this one.

Tell me, Luke said.

He listened as the voice spoke. Soon, he had that feeling he used to getthe feeling that his stomach was in an elevator rapidly descending fifty stories. Perhaps this was why he had quit the job. Not because of too many close calls, not because his son was growing up so fast, but because he didnt like this feeling in his stomach.

It was the knowing that made him sick. The knowing was too much. He thought of the millions of people out there, living their happy lives, blissfully unaware of what was going on. Luke envied them their ignorance.

When did it happen? he said.

We dont know anything yet. An hour ago, maybe two. The hospital noticed the security breach about fifteen minutes ago. They have employees unaccounted for, so right now it looks like an inside job. That could change as better intel comes in. The NYPD has gone nuts, for obvious reasons. They called in two thousand extra cops, and from where I sit, its not going to be nearly enough. Most of them wont even get in until the shift change.

Who called NYPD? Luke said.

The hospital.

Who called us?

The Chief of Police.

He call anybody else?

No. Were it.

Luke nodded.

Okay, good. Lets keep it that way. The cops need to lock down the crime scene and secure it. But they need to stay outside the perimeter. We dont want them stepping on it. They also need to keep this away from the media. If the newspapers get it, its going to be a circus.

Done and done.

Luke sighed. Assume a two-hour head start. Thats bad. Theyre way out ahead of us. They could be anywhere.

I know. NYPD is watching the bridges, the tunnels, the subways, the commuter rails. Theyre looking at highway tollbooth data, but its a needle in a haystack. No one has the manpower to deal with this.

When are you going up there? Luke said.

Don didnt hesitate. Now. And youre coming with me.

Luke looked at the clock again. 1:23.

I can be at the chopper pad in half an hour.

I already sent a car, Don said. The driver just called in. Hell be at your place in ten minutes.

Luke placed the receiver back in its cradle.

Rebecca was half awake, her head propped up on one elbow, staring at him. Her hair was long, flowing down her shoulders. Her eyes were blue, framed in thick eyelashes. Her pretty face was thinner than when they first met in college. The intervening years had lined it with care and worry.

Luke regretted that. It burned him to think that the work he did had ever caused her pain. That was another reason why he had left the job.

He remembered how she was when they were young, always laughing, always smiling. She was carefree then. A long time had passed since he had seen that part of her. He thought that maybe this time away from work would coax it to the fore again, but progress was slow. There were flashes of the real Becca, sure, but they were fleeting.

He could tell that she didnt trust the situation. She didnt trust him. She was waiting for that phone call in the middle of the night, the one he would have to answer. The one where he would hang up the phone, get out of bed, and leave the house.

Theyd had a good night tonight. For a few hours, it had seemed almost like old times.

Now this.

Luke… she began. Her scowl was not friendly. It told him this was going to be a difficult conversation.

Luke got out of bed and moved fast, partly because circumstances demanded it, partly because he wanted to leave the house before Becca organized her thoughts. He slipped into the bathroom, splashed water on his face, and glanced at himself in the mirror. He felt awake but his eyes were tired. His body looked wiry and strongone thing all this time off had meant was he was in the gym four days a week. Thirty-nine years old, he thought. Not bad.

Inside the walk-in closet, he pulled a long steel lockbox down from a high shelf. From memory, he punched in the ten-digit combination. The lid popped open. He took out his Glock nine-millimeter and slid it into a leather shoulder holster. He crouched down and strapped a tiny .25 caliber pistol to his right calf. He strapped a five-inch serrated fold-out blade to his left calf. The handle doubled as brass knuckles.

I thought you werent going to keep weapons in the house anymore.

He glanced up and of course Becca was there, watching him. She wore a robe pulled tight around her body. Her hair was pulled back. Her arms were folded. Her face was pinched, and her eyes were alert. Gone was the sensual woman from earlier tonight. Long gone.

Luke shook his head. I never said that.

He stood and began to dress. He put on black cargo pants and dropped a couple extra magazines for the Glock into the pockets. He pulled on a tight dress shirt and strapped the Glock on over it. He slid steel-toed boots onto his feet. He closed the weapon box again and slid it back onto its perch near the top of the closet.

What if Gunner found that box?

Its up high, where he cant see it and he cant reach it. Even if he somehow got it down, its locked with a digital lock. Only I know the combination.

A garment bag with two days of clothing changes hung on the rack. He grabbed it. A small bug-out bag packed with travel-size toiletries, reading glasses, a stack of energy bars, and half a dozen Dexedrine pills sat on one of the shelves. He grabbed that, too.

Always ready, right, Luke? Youve got your box with your guns and your bags with your clothes and your drugs and youre just ready to go at a moments notice, whenever your country needs you. Am I right?

He took a deep breath.

I dont know what you want me to say.

Why dont you say: Ive decided not to go. Ive decided that my wife and son are more important than a job. I want my son to have a father. I dont want my wife to sit up for nights on end anymore, wondering if Im alive or dead, or if Im ever coming back. Can you do that, please?

At times like these, he felt the growing distance between them. He could almost see it. Becca was a tiny figure in a vast desert, dwindling toward the horizon. He wanted to bring her back to him. He wanted it desperately, but he couldnt see how. The job was calling.

Is Dad going away again?

They both turned red. There was Gunner at the top of the three steps that led to his room. For a second, Lukes breath caught in his throat at the sight of him. He looked like Christopher Robin from the Winnie the Pooh books. His blond hair poked up in tufts. He wore blue pajama pants covered with yellow moons and stars. He wore a Walking Dead T-shirt.

Come here, monster.

Luke put his bags down, went over, and picked up his son. The boy clung to his neck.

Youre the monster, Dad. Not me.

Okay. Im the monster.

Where are you going?

I need to go away for work. Maybe a day, maybe two. But Ill be back as soon as I can.

Is Mom going to leave you like she said?

Luke held Gunner out at arms length. The boy was getting big and Luke realized that one day soon he wouldnt be able to hold him like this anymore. But that day hadnt come yet.

Listen to me. Mom isnt going to leave me, and were all going to be together for a long, long time. Okay?

Okay, Dad.

He disappeared up the steps and toward his room.

When he was gone, the two of them stared across at each other. The distance seemed smaller now. Gunner was the bridge between them.

Luke…

He held up his hands. Before you speak, I want to say something. I love you, and I love Gunner, more than anything in this world. I want to be with you both, every day, now and forever. Im not leaving because I feel like it. I dont feel like it. I hate it. But that call tonight… peoples lives are at stake. In all the years Ive been doing this, the times that Ive left in the middle of the night like this? The situation was a Level Two threat exactly twice. Most of the time, it was Level Three.

Beccas face had softened the tiniest amount.

What threat level is this? she asked.

Level One.

Chapter 2

1:57 am

McLean, Virginia - Headquarters of the Special Response Team

Sir? someone said. Sir, were here.

Luke snapped awake. He sat up. They were parked at the gate of the helipad. A light rain was falling. He looked at the driver. It was a young guy with a crew cut, probably just out of the military. The kid was smiling.

You dozed off, sir.

Right, Luke said. The weight of the job settled on him again. He wanted to be home in bed with Becca, but he was here instead. He wanted to live in a world where murderers didnt steal radioactive materials. He wanted to sleep and dream of pleasant things. At the moment, he couldnt even imagine what those pleasant things might be. His sleep was poisoned by knowing too much.

He climbed out of the car with his bags, showed the guard his identification, and stepped through the scanner.

A sleek black helicopter, a big Bell 430, sat on the pad, rotors turning. Luke crossed the wet tarmac, ducking low. As he approached, the choppers engine kicked into another gear. They were ready to leave. The door to the passenger compartment slid open and Luke climbed inside.

There were six people already on board, four in the passenger cabin, two up front in the cockpit. Don Morris sat next to the closest window. The seat facing him was empty. Don gestured to it.

Glad you could come, Luke. Have a seat. Join the party.

Luke strapped into the bucket seat as the chopper lurched toward the sky. He looked at Don. Don was old now, his flat-top hair gone gray. The stubble of his beard was gray. Even his eyebrows were gray. But he still looked like the Delta Force commander he once was. His body was hard and his face was like a granite bluffall rocky promontories and sharp drop-offs. His eyes were twin lasers. He held an unlit cigar in one of his stone hands. He hadnt lit one in ten years.

As the helicopter gained altitude, Don gestured at the other people in the passenger cabin. He quickly made the introductions. Luke, youre at the disadvantage, because everybody here already knows who you are, but you might not know them. You do know Trudy Wellington, science and intel officer.

Luke nodded to the pretty young woman with the dark hair and the big round glasses. He had worked with her many times. Hi, Trudy.

Hi, Luke.

Okay, lovebirds, thats enough. Luke, over here is Mark Swann, our tech officer on this job. And with him is Ed Newsam, weapons and tactics.

Luke nodded to the men. Swann was a white guy, sandy hair and glasses, could be thirty-five, could be forty. Luke had met him once or twice before. Newsam was a black guy Luke had never seen, probably early-thirties, bald, close-cropped beard, stacked and chiseled, broad chest, tattooed twenty-four-inch pythons bulging from a white T-shirt. He looked like hed be hell in a gunfight, and even worse in a street fight. When Don said weapons and tactics, what he meant was muscle.

The helicopter had reached cruising altitude; Luke guessed about ten thousand feet. It leveled off and started moving. These things tapped out at about 150 miles per hour. At that speed, they were looking at a solid hour and a half to New York City.

Okay, Trudy, Don said. What do you got for us?

The smartpad in her hands glowed in the darkness of the cabin. She stared into it. It gave her face an eerie quality, like a demon.

Im going to assume no prior knowledge, she said.

Fair enough.

She began. Less than an hour ago, we were contacted by the New York Police Department counter-terrorism unit. There is a large hospital on the upper east side of Manhattan called Center Medical Center. They store a great deal of radioactive materials onsite, in a containment vault six stories below street level. Mostly, the materials are waste products from radiation therapy for cancer patients, but they also stem from other uses, including radiographic imaging. Sometime in the last few hours, unknown persons infiltrated the hospital, breached the security system, and removed the radioactive waste housed there.

Do we know how much they got? Luke said.

Trudy consulted her pad. Every four weeks, the materials are removed by truck and are transported to a radioactive containment facility in western Pennsylvania jointly controlled by the Department of Homeland Security and the Pennsylvania Department of Environmental Protection. The next delivery was scheduled for two days from now.

So about twenty-six days of radioactive waste, Don said. How much is that?

The hospital doesnt know, Trudy said.

They dont know?

They inventory the waste and track it in a database. The database was accessed and erased by whoever stole the material. The amounts differ from month to month, based on treatment schedules. They can recreate the inventory from treatment records, but its going to take several hours.

They dont back up that database? said Swann, the tech guy.

They do back it up, but the backup was also wiped clean. In fact, records for the past year were wiped.

So someone knows what theyre doing, Swann said.

Luke spoke up. How do we know this is an emergency if we dont even know what was taken?

Several reasons, Trudy said. This was more than a theft. It was a well-coordinated and planned attack. The video surveillance cameras in strategic parts of the hospital were turned off. This includes several entrances and exits, stairwells and freight elevators, the containment vault, and the parking garage.

Did anyone talk to the security guards? Luke said.

The two security guards who manned the video console were both found dead inside a locked equipment closet. They were Nathan Gold, fifty-seven-year-old white male, divorced, three children, no known ties to organized crime or extremist organizations. Also Kitty Faulkner, thirty-three-year-old black female, unmarried, one child, no known ties to organized crime or extremist organizations. Gold worked at the hospital for twenty-three years. Faulkner worked there eight years. The corpses were undressed, their uniforms missing. They were both strangled, with obvious facial discoloration, swelling, neck trauma, and ligature marks associated with death by garroting or similar technique. I have photos if you want to take a look.

Luke held up a hand. Thats okay. But lets assume for the moment that it was men who did this. Does a man kill a female security guard and then put on her uniform?

Faulkner was tall for a woman, Trudy said. She was five foot ten, and heavyset. A man could easily fit into her uniform.

Is that all we have?

Trudy went on. No. Theres a hospital employee who was on shift and is currently unaccounted for. That employee is a custodial staff member named Ken Bryant. Hes a twenty-nine-year-old black male who spent a year in pre-trial detention on Rikers Island, and then thirty months at Clinton Correctional Center in Dannemora, New York. He was convicted of robbery and simple assault. Upon release, he completed a six-month jail diversion and job training course. Hes worked at the hospital for nearly four years, and has a good record. No attendance issues, no disciplinary issues.

As a custodian, he has access to the hazardous waste containment vault, and may have knowledge of hospital security practices and personnel. He once had ties to drug traffickers and to an African-American prison gang called the Black Gangster Family. The drug traffickers were low-level street dealers in the neighborhood where he grew up. He probably affiliated himself with the prison gang for personal protection.

You think a prison gang, or a street gang, was behind this?

She shook her head. Absolutely not. I mention Bryants affiliations because hes still a loose end. To access and erase a database, as well as hijack a video surveillance system, requires technical expertise not generally associated with street or prison gangs. Were thinking the level of sophistication and the materials stolen suggest a terrorist sleeper cell.

What can they do with the chemicals? Don said.

It has radiological dispersion device written all over it, Trudy said.

Dirty bomb, Luke said.

Bingo. Theres no other reason to steal radioactive waste. The hospital doesnt know the amounts that were taken, but they know what the stuff was. The chemicals include quantities of iridium-192, caesium-137, tritium, and fluorine. Iridium is highly radioactive, and concentrated exposure can cause burns and radiation sickness within minutes or hours. Experiments have shown that a tiny dose of caesium-137 will kill a forty-pound dog within three weeks. Fluorine is a caustic gas dangerous to soft tissue like the eyes, skin, and lungs. At very low concentrations, it makes eyes water. At very high concentrations, it inflicts massive lung damage, causing respiratory arrest and death within minutes.

Wonderful, Don said.

The important takeaway here, Trudy said, is high concentrations. If youre a terrorist, for this to work, you dont want a wide dispersal area. That would limit exposure. You want to pack a bomb with the radioactive material and a conventional explosive like dynamite, and you want to set it off in an enclosed space, preferably with a lot of people around. A crowded subway train or subway station at rush hour. Commuter hubs like Grand Central Terminal or Penn Station. A large bus terminal or airport. A tourist attraction like the Statue of Liberty. The enclosed space maximizes radiation concentrations.

Luke pictured the narrow, claustrophobic stairwell that climbed to the top of the Statue of Liberty. On any given day, it was mobbed with people, often school children on field trips. In his minds eye he saw Liberty Island filled with ten thousand tourists, the ferries jammed with even more people, like refugee boats from Haiti.

Then he saw the subway platforms of Grand Central Terminal at 7:30 a.m., so crowded with commuters that there was nowhere to stand. A hundred people would be lined up on the stairs, waiting for a train to come in and the platform to clear so the next group of people could descend. He pictured a bomb going off amongst that crowd.

And then the lights going out.

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