by Jeff Gunhus
“Lucy’s the fisher. Wendy can’t stand it.”
“So do two different trips,” Hawthorn said. “Take Wendy to New York. See a show. Take a ride through Central Park. You’ll have the time for it.”
Scott walked over to the ceiling-to-floor window and stared out at the White House next door.
“You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you? If you were going to try to put me out to pasture, why’d you fight so hard to keep me on?”
“I guess I’m like you,” Hawthorn said. “I hate my boss telling me what to do.” He put a hand on Roberts’s shoulder. “And I want you to leave on your terms. You’re owed that much. Think it over, Scott. Take a week. Mara’s on leave before she ships out for her second tour, right?”
“Afghanistan,” he said, the pride evident in his voice. “My daughter the jarhead. Who would have thunk it?”
“Only anyone who ever met her,” Hawthorn said. A long pause stretched out between the two men. “You’ll seriously consider this?” he finally asked.
“Out of respect for you, I’ll give it some thought.”
“I hope you will.” He held out his hand and Scott shook it. “It’s been one hell of a ride. And no matter what happens, I’ll always have your back.”
“I know you will,” Scott said. “I trust you.”
The words gave Hawthorn a sensation he almost never felt. The emotion was so rare, in fact, that he had trouble identifying it at first.
Guilt.
As the two men ended their handshake and parted ways, the feeling hung with him along with Scott’s last words.
I trust you.
As Hawthorn walked away from his friend, he knew he didn’t deserve that trust. He just hoped Scott never had to discover why.
CHAPTER 3
Mara stared at the phone, trying to process the implications of what she’d just heard.
They had Joey. But why? An insurance policy to make sure she did the job assigned to her? But what reason had she ever given them to think she wouldn’t go through with it? Why would they ever involve Joey in something like this? While she didn’t know the answers to those questions, there was something she knew for sure. By taking her nephew, someone had wildly miscalculated.
“I’m sorry,” her dad said. “This should never have happened.”
She startled at the sound of his voice. She was in the car next to one of the world’s deadliest field operatives—a man who knew she’d been assigned to kill him. She considered pulling the Glock out right there and then, finishing the job and then getting down to the business of figuring out whose idea it’d been to grab Joey out of his school. When she found out, that guy was going to have a bad day regardless how far up the totem pole his bureaucratic ass was parked.
“Your shadow’s on the move,” her dad said. “That’s not good.”
She twisted in her chair. He was right. The pickup had pulled forward slowly so that it was a row closer to them. The shadow didn’t move unless the primary operative had failed the mission. But she hadn’t failed. Not yet.
“I told you calling the school was a mistake,” her dad said.
“Shut up,” she said. “I need to think.”
The pickup rolled forward one more row. It was still fifty yards away, behind and to the right of their position. There were enough cars in the parking lot that each time it stopped there was just a sliver of the truck visible, but it was enough.
“I see a driver,” her dad said. “Guessing one in the back.”
“Yeah, there’s a cutout in the shell. There was a scope in it earlier.” She cringed as she said the words, clearly meant to try to prove she was good at her job. Why she felt she still had to try to impress this man was beyond her.
She shoved the idea aside. None of that mattered. They had Joey. She needed to concentrate and figure out the moving parts. Her stomach turned over as the stakes of the game struck home. She was used to risking her own life, but not Joey’s. That changed everything.
“Moving again,” her dad said. “C’mon, Mara, he’s closing the space. That can only mean one thing.”
She looked across her dad and out the window. The pickup rolled slowly between the rows of parked cars, working a parallel line to their position on the passenger side.
“They’re not going to do anything here,” she said. “Not right in front of the prison. It’s why they sent me here to begin with.”
He shook his head. “No, they sent you here to get me to talk. Pretty smart, actually. Might have worked if they hadn’t screwed up with Joey. But in the end, they were going to get rid of us both. Two Roberts with one stone. Just in case you knew something you shouldn’t.”
The vehicle came to a stop with a direct line of sight between them.
“I don’t think—”
The small, circular cutout in the side of the pickup shell reappeared, but this time there was no scope. Just a rifle barrel extending out of the hole.
“Down,” she yelled.
The passenger side window exploded. Mara half expected to find herself coated with blood, but her dad’s reflexes were still good. He was low in the seat next to her.
“Time to go,” he said.
Still half lying on her side, she reached up and put the car in reverse. The small screen in the dashboard came to life, and the backup video showed her the parking lot behind them.
“You can exit to the southeast corner,” her dad said.
“We’re not leaving yet.”
She hammered the gas and the car surged backward. It swerved wildly as she got used to steering using the rearview camera.
“Hold on,” she said.
The pickup appeared in the center of the screen and she punched the gas. Bullets smashed the rear window. Rounds zipped overhead. Whoever was doing the firing wasn’t discriminating between targets in the car. And he was about to pay for that.
The car hit the pickup going thirty with a violent crush of metal and broken glass. She guessed the shooter in the back had gone for a ride. Last she checked, sniper stations didn’t come with airbags.
But the driver cab did. When the car hit the pickup, it spun to the right so that the passenger window lined with the driver’s side of the pickup.
She risked a glance up over the busted-out window. The deployed airbag had pushed the driver back in his seat. He had a gash on the side of his head and looked disoriented as the airbag deflated. Thankfully, she didn’t recognize him. That was a small grace. It would have been a hell of a lot worse if it was a friend of hers trying to kill her.
Trying to kill her dad, she reminded herself. She was just in the way.
The man in the pickup seemed to get his wits about him. He turned sharply to his left and saw Mara looking back at him. He immediately reached down for something. She didn’t have to guess what it was.
“Oh shit,” she said, reaching for the Glock under her seat. But there was empty air where the gun ought to have been. Gone.
Then her dad sat up in his seat, her gun in his hand. He fired two shots into the pickup cab. The sound of the Glock in the enclosed space was deafening.
She saw the man in the pickup jerk backward and disappear inside the cab, a spray of red on the airbag.
Immediately, her dad twisted in his seat and pointed the gun at her head.
“Oops,” he said. “Looks like you’re not as good as you thought you were.”
* * *
Mara scowled. She hated looking down the barrel of any gun, but especially when it was her own being used against her.
“About time you showed your true colors,” she said.
“Just making sure you don’t do anything rash.”
“Too late.”
He winced as she pressed the tip of her nine-inch blade against his rib cage. She’d grabbed it from where it was strapped to her leg the second she realized he had her weapon. In close quarters a knife was just as lethal as a gun, and they both knew it.
“Give me the gun,” she said.
&n
bsp; The alarm klaxons inside the prison went off.
“Things are about to get complicated unless we get out of here,” he said.
“You think? Now give me the goddamn gun.”
He kept the gun leveled at her. “Do you believe me now? They’re willing to kill you in order to get to me. That call to the school changed all the math. The fact I’m still breathing has put doubt in their heads about your loyalty.”
“You’re only still breathing because of Joey. That’s where my loyalty is.”
“And they’re going to kill you for that,” he said. “Like it or not, we’re in this together.”
She pressed the knife harder into his ribs and he grunted. She guessed if she looked down she might see a trickle of blood on his white shirt. But she kept her eyes on his, searching for any sign that he was going to make a move. “The gun,” she demanded.
“Joey’s in real danger. I’m the way you get him back. I’m the only way you get him back.”
“Really? And why’s that?”
Using her peripheral vision, she saw uniformed guards scrambling inside the prison perimeter. She was running out of time before this scene became a complete shit show.
“Because you don’t know the real reason the Agency wants me dead.”
“I know what you did. I saw the confession.”
“That was all cover,” her dad said. “Only a handful of people ever knew the truth, and most of them are dead now.”
“That’s such bullshit. You can’t play me.”
“I’m not playing you.” He looked out the windshield at the rising activity in the prison yard. “We’re running out of time. Get us out of here and I promise we’ll save Joey.”
Two police cars roared into the far end of the parking lot, sirens wailing.
“These guys don’t like loose ends. They’re going to kill you as sure as they’re going to try to kill me. You think they’re going to hesitate to make a five-year-old kid disappear?” He turned the gun around so that he held the handle out to her. “I’m the one chance Joey has. Your call how you want to play it.”
Mara grabbed the gun and cocked the hammer.
“I ought to finish this right now,” she said.
Her dad didn’t flinch. “It wouldn’t finish anything. And I think you have enough pieces of the puzzle to know that now.” The sirens from the police cars grew louder. “Either way, time to make a move.”
Her adrenaline was pumping, but she was trained to think through complex problems under pressure. But with her nephew in danger, she knew her objectivity was shot. Still, the facts were clear. They had Joey. The shadow had tried to kill them both. The Agency wanted Scott Roberts dead, damn the consequences.
And after having two operatives try to mow her down, she didn’t feel like giving the Agency anything they wanted.
She lowered the gun, her decision made. For now, her dad was more valuable to her alive. But once that stopped being true, all bets were off. “Okay, but if I find out you had anything to do with Joey being taken . . .”
“After the Agency kills me,” he said, “you’re more than welcome to kill me again. Now, can we please get the hell out of here?”
She threw the car into drive and hammered the gas as her response. The Range Rover’s engine responded with a roar and it accelerated past the row of parked cars. She cranked the steering wheel and the Rover’s rear tires slid out on the pavement until she corrected and punched the gas again. Only now they were facing the approaching cop cars.
“You might want to go the other way,” her dad said.
“Do you want to drive?” she said.
“Uh, yeah. I do.”
“Too bad,” she said, gunning it.
The two cop cars raced toward her, side by side, flanked by cars on either side. It was a game of chicken, and the closing speed meant someone had to blink quick or there was going to be a big mess for the prison maintenance crew to clean up.
At the last second, the cop cars veered away, each slamming into the backs of parked cars. Mara’s foot never left the accelerator as the Rover split the difference between them, scraping by with a whine of metal-on-metal.
Her dad spun in his chair and looked out the rear window. A few seconds later, he turned back with a grunt. “Lucky.”
Mara grinned but didn’t say anything.
But once the cops who’d crashed their cruisers got their wits about them, they would find the body of the operative in the truck. After that, there would be roadblocks, helicopter support, and all the makings of a manhunt. It was time to head to the side roads to throw off any search that might be mounted.
“We should turn off and use secondary roads,” her dad said. She noticed strain in his voice, like someone sitting in an uncomfortable chair for too long.
“I know,” she said. “Next exit. I know what I’m doing, Scott.”
Using his name instead of Dad was petty, but it felt good to see him flinch from it. The satisfaction was short-lived, because the truth was that she didn’t know what she was doing. Less than twenty minutes ago, she’d had a well-crafted plan to avenge her mother and punish her dad for the operatives he’d betrayed four years ago. The ones the world had seen executed in Syria on live television. Now she was on the run, aiding and abetting the man she was sent to kill. Worst of all, Joey was being held by God knew who. No, she had no clue what she was doing.
“You better have a good explanation for what’s going on,” she said.
“It’s a long story.”
She shot him an incredulous look. “Try me.”
He leaned to his right, slumping against the window.
“Are you going to sleep?” she asked. “Hey, listen up. You’re going to tell me how . . .” Her voice trailed off as she noticed the blood soaking his shirt and pant leg on the right side. He’d been blocking her view of it until now. “How bad?”
“Had worse,” he said. “Been shot in the back before—literally and figuratively. Literally’s worse, in case you were wondering.”
“There’s a med kit in the backseat,” she said.
“I’ll get it later,” he mumbled, closing his eyes and leaning up against the window. “Just going to rest for a second.”
“That’s the blood loss talking. Hey, c’mon.” She swerved the car to the left, which lifted his head off the window, then swerved right, causing him to whack his head against the glass. It woke him up.
“Easy,” he said.
“If you’re how I’m getting Joey back, then I’ll be damned if you’re going to bleed out in my car,” she said. “Put some more pressure on that wound until I find a place to pull over.”
“No time for that,” he said, but his voice was getting weaker. Mara knew the signs. The human body did strange things once it leaked enough blood.
She checked her rearview mirror. Empty. Just the way she liked it.
“There’s an old barn up here. We’re stopping.”
“I said no time for that.”
“Thing is, you’re not in charge,” she said. “I am. And this whole escape thing is based on the idea that you know a way to get Joey back. I think it’s time you start telling me exactly what the hell’s going on here. Hear that, Scott? Hey, wake up.”
But it was no use. He was out cold, his head thumping against the window as the Rover bumped down the country road. Even so, she noticed his face contort, eyes darting back and forth behind his lids. His lips curled back and his body trembled.
From what little she knew about her dad’s career at the Agency, she figured he had his share of nightmares to haunt him. Clearly, he was locked in one now. She sped toward the barn to take cover and tend to his wound. As she drove, the whimpering sounds coming from the man next to her made her feel sorry for him for the first time in a decade.
She wondered what could have been so terrible to make a man like Scott Roberts cry out that way. Some of her own kills revisited her in the night, plaguing her with nightmares of the dead coming back t
o life to confront her. She was curious if her dad fought the same battles.
Judging by the way his muscles clenched and by the periodic groans, she guessed that he did. Part of her wished she could see what was going on in his head, but then again she knew it was better that she couldn’t. His demons were his own, and as far as she was concerned, he deserved whatever hell they were giving him.
CHAPTER 4
Four years ago
Scott Roberts shot the man in the stomach because he knew he’d die slow that way.
Even though the man sprawled on the carpeted hotel floor was a terrorist, rapist, child-killer and an all-around dirtbag, Scott almost felt bad for the whimpering cur. His psych profile pointed out that his ability to feel empathy for other people’s pain is what kept him from tumbling toward sociopathic behavior, but he didn’t buy that. When he looked at the man clutching his abdomen, desperately trying to hold his organs in place, he simply knew that there was a good chance he’d be on the receiving end of a bad mission outcome one day. When that happened, he just hoped the son of a bitch who got him did it quick and wasn’t a bastard like himself.
He knew if Khalil Al-Saib, the man dying in front of him, had been the one to win this particular game of cat and mouse that the Egyptian would have gladly taken his sweet time killing him. He would have ordered room service and performed any one of his trademark methods. Perhaps flaying the skin from his back, like he did to the Russian agent in Cairo. Or extracting all his teeth with a pair of pliers, like he did to the courier he suspected of spying on him in Limassol. Maybe, like the CIA agent the man had killed in Copenhagen, Al-Saib would have cut off Scott’s genitals and shoved them down his throat.
No, Al-Saib would have likely gotten even more creative for him. Their game had been going on for over a year, and each man had come to at least acknowledge the other was a capable operative in a world filled with amateurs.
“Hurts, doesn’t it?” he said.
“Ayreh feek. Telhas teeze.”
“My Arabic’s a little rusty, but I’m pretty sure your mother would be embarrassed to hear you say that. Maybe stick to English. You grew up in Jersey, for Christ’s sake.”
