Baxter drew closer, cold anger on his face. He was going to finish the job.
Adam fumbled for the door handle. It moved, but only a little. Jammed. He pulled harder, but the damaged mechanism still refused to give. He looked up. Baxter continued to limp toward him.
The laser sight flicked on, the beam rising toward Adam. He heard someone shouting but couldn’t make out the words. The edges of his vision began to roil, darkness growing. His body was desperate to shut down, to stop the pain.
He couldn’t allow it. Not yet. He tugged the handle again, shifting painfully to push at the door with one knee. It still wouldn’t open.
Trapped.
Baxter was only a few yards away, the laser dazzling. Somebody shouted again, more urgently, but the words were still distorted.
Baxter’s bloodied mouth twisted into a victorious smile—
A dark flower burst open on his chest. The former marine staggered, the laser line swinging crazily—and a second entry wound erupted beneath the first. Baxter toppled backward to the ground as blood gushed from the bullet holes.
Adam looked back. Two cops were running toward him, one keeping his smoking gun fixed on the fallen man. The other hurried to the Mustang, pointing his own weapon at its occupant. Words finally resolved through the ringing. “Hands where I can see them!”
Adam tried to respond, but a wave of dizziness overwhelmed him. He slumped, head lolling. The cop shouted again. “Get your hands up! Now!” The gun’s muzzle moved closer, the black hole swelling as if to swallow him …
“Don’t shoot!”
A new voice. The cop lowered his gun. Adam gathered all his strength to turn his head. Several men were running around the corner from 17th Street. Most were in dark suits—Secret Service agents, guns at the ready. Among them was a thinner man, his clothing far more expensively tailored.
Alan Sternberg.
“Call an ambulance!” shouted the national security adviser as the agents spread out to contain the scene. He peered through the Mustang’s window. “Jesus,” he said at the sight of the battered man inside. “Agent Gray? Can you hear me?”
Adam squinted up at him with his one open eye. “Sir, I’ve … got the disk,” he managed to say, reaching weakly into his jacket to produce it. “It’s got … the proof about Harper. Just before the … bombing in Islamabad …”
Sternberg gently took it from him. “If the proof’s on this, we’ll find it.” He looked back at the Secret Service men. “Where’s that damn ambulance?”
Adam’s vision began to tunnel again. He peered past Sternberg toward the intersection. The street was crawling with cops, holding back traffic and pedestrians—but one car had come through. A Cadillac CTS. Harper’s.
The rear window wound down. A face looked out. Even in his state of fading consciousness, Adam still felt the odd, dislocated sensation of seeing himself, as his borrowed persona reacted to the sight of Harper staring back at him. “Sir,” he gasped. “Open the door …”
Sternberg pulled at the handle. The catch finally released. “Someone help me with him!” A pair of agents rushed over to give assistance.
Adam barely held in a pained cry as he was lifted out of the car. His injured left arm hung limply at his side, but he managed to bring his right up to point at the Cadillac. “Harper … over there …”
Sternberg looked around in surprise. He started to speak, only to freeze as he saw Harper emerge from the car with a gun in his hand.
The Secret Service agents saw it too, moving to shield Sternberg. But Harper had already brought his weapon up.
He fired—
Screams came from the onlookers as the white-haired man collapsed beside the limousine, the fire-blackened hole of a bullet wound at point-blank range in his temple.
Adam watched as Harper fell, a mixture of emotions hitting him. Shock at the sight of someone taking his own life; anger that the architect of so many deaths, including Michael Gray’s, had found a cowardly way to escape justice. But he also knew exactly why Harper had done it. His thoughts were clear. I’m a patriot, right to the end. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect America. There would be no humiliation of a public trial.
There was another feeling in Adam’s mind, this one all his own. Completion. His mission was accomplished.
He could rest. Perhaps forever.
The last thing he saw as his perception faded to an all-consuming nothingness was Bianca climbing out of the Cadillac, her eyes locked fearfully onto his.
Kyle watched gloomily as the Bullpen’s video wall was switched off. “So. We’re suspended. Again.”
“Cheer up, man,” said Levon, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “At least it’s a paid suspension.”
“Rather than the ‘thrown in a cell awaiting possible criminal charges’ kind,” Holly Jo added. She gave Morgan an embarrassed look. “Thank you for letting us off with just a reprimand, sir.”
“Don’t think I didn’t consider taking matters further,” Morgan replied sternly. The three young specialists wilted under his gaze—until he unexpectedly winked at them, a small smile breaking through his stony mask.
“Well, I still think it’s an outrage,” said Kiddrick, glaring at him. “I mean, I was assaulted in my own office! I suffered injury and emotional trauma, to say nothing of the—”
“Oh, come now, Nate,” boomed a stentorian voice from the back of the room. Everyone turned to see Albion enter, riding in an electric wheelchair. “Consider it an injury sustained in the line of duty. It’s a badge of honor! I got shot by a terrorist; you got a bump on the head. Practically the same thing.”
The others laughed—with one obvious exception. “I’m not going to let this lie,” Kiddrick whined. “I deserve recompense. I should sue!”
Morgan’s unsympathetic eyes turned upon him. “I would seriously advise against anything that might expose STS’s operations in an open court, Dr. Kiddrick.”
“Well, I should—I still intend to take this higher,” spluttered the scientist.
“To whom?” said Albion, rolling up alongside him. “The deputy DNI? He’s got enough on his plate right now, trying to deal with all the fallout. And I don’t think trying to sully Adam’s name will win you much favor with Alan Sternberg.”
Kiddrick glowered at him, then looked around for support. He found none. Face twitching, he stalked away. “Don’t forget we have a meeting,” Morgan called after him.
Kyle made a rude gesture behind Kiddrick’s back, stopping when he caught Morgan’s disapproving look. He hurriedly tried to camouflage his hand movement by brushing imaginary fluff from his chest. “So, Doc! Welcome back!”
“How are you feeling?” Holly Jo asked Albion.
“As good as anyone who can see daylight through their torso can feel,” he replied. “But I should be up on my own two feet in a few weeks.”
“And until then, you’ve got that sweet ride,” said Kyle, eyeing the wheelchair. Holly Jo tutted.
Albion grinned. “No, he’s right. It is rather cool.” He nudged the joystick, the chair doing a full 360 spin in place. “And it grants me unlimited license to quote Dr. Strangelove.” He turned again, more slowly, to survey the Bullpen. “So. Did I miss anything while I was away?”
Groans and giggles came from his co-workers. “Nah, nothing worth commenting on,” said Levon. “We barely noticed you were gone.”
“Mm-hmm,” added Holly Jo. “Dr. Childs filled in for you really well.”
“Some might say, almost too easily,” said Morgan. Albion blinked up at him with an expression of total innocence. “Speaking of Dr. Childs,” he added, looking at his watch, “I’ve got a meeting to attend. In the meantime, the Persona Project will be officially placed on administrative suspension until further notice, so if anyone’s got any personal effects in the facility, make sure you’ve removed them by eighteen hundred hours. Otherwise, you won’t be able to get at them for some time.”
Levon glanced at the toys cluttering his worksta
tion. “Any idea how long that’s likely to be, sir? Days, weeks?”
“Months?” Kyle said hopefully. “You know, since we’re on paid leave and all …”
“I should have an answer shortly. Until then, carry on in here. Roger, are you coming?”
“Let’s roll,” Albion said with a chuckle. He and Morgan left the Bullpen and headed to one of the briefing rooms.
Waiting for them were Bianca, Tony … and Adam, his left arm in a sling and a bandage around his right biceps bulking out his shirtsleeve. More dressings covered the cuts on his forehead and cheek. Kiddrick was also present, sitting at the opposite end of the table from them and frowning in sullen silence. “Well, now,” said Morgan, regarding the trio, “among you, you’ve caused a very complicated situation. I don’t know what’s going to come of it.”
Adam stood. “Sir, I accepted all along that there would be consequences for my actions. I’m fully prepared to take them.”
Tony joined him. “So am I.”
Morgan’s gaze turned to the Englishwoman. “Dr. Childs?”
“Well, I … yeah, I’ve got to take responsibility for what I did,” she said unhappily. “But I’d really rather not go to prison for the rest of my life.”
“That’s not up to me.” He gestured for the two men to sit back down, then took his place at the head of the table and made a phone call. “This is Martin Morgan at STS. Tell Mr. Sternberg that we’re ready for him.”
There was a delay of a couple of minutes, which did nothing to ease the tension in the room, before the screen on the wall came to life. Alan Sternberg looked down owlishly at them. He didn’t bother with small talk. “I’ll get straight to the point—the Persona Project has caused the biggest political nightmare for any administration since Iran–Contra. Agent Gray, Agent Carpenter, Dr. Childs: You deliberately engineered a major security breach … which in turn exposed a conspiracy to commit an act of outright treason at the highest levels of the US government. It’s a catastrophic intelligence failure and a diplomatic disaster, and if the truth got out to the world it would cause immeasurable damage to the United States.” He was silent for a moment, staring down at his uncomfortable audience like Big Brother. “Which is why it never will get out.”
Morgan was first to speak. “What do you mean, sir?”
“I mean, none of this ever happened.”
“You’re going to cover it up?” said Bianca.
“Yes, Dr. Childs, we’re going to cover it up,” said Sternberg scathingly. “What, did you really think we were going to proclaim to the world that the director of national intelligence personally subverted a black operation in order to supply classified information to al-Qaeda, so that they would assassinate his political rival to promulgate the War on Terror?”
“Well, not when you put it that way,” she mumbled, abashed.
“Damn right. Harper committed a terrible crime that cost hundreds of lives, but exposing it would cost thousands more—terrorist groups around the world would be emboldened, and US credibility in fighting them would be shattered. And there’s no telling where the loss of confidence in America’s democratic institutions would lead. Harper was approved by Congress, remember. This isn’t something either side can make political capital out of; everyone’s in it together.”
“How are you going to cover it up?” asked Tony. “Harper killed himself one block from the White House in front of dozens of witnesses. There’s probably a video on YouTube already.”
“NSA can take care of that,” said Sternberg, the statement ambiguous enough to suggest that the intelligence agency might already have done so. “But we can handle it; it’s just a matter of presentation. Harper was divorced, in a high-pressure job, the assassination of the secretary of state took place on his watch, et cetera. A story line that ends in a self-inflicted gunshot wound practically writes itself.”
Bianca was appalled. “So the truth just gets buried?”
“As the saying goes, Dr. Childs, the truth hurts.”
“So do lies,” Adam said quietly. “Harper will get a eulogy that paints him as a patriot and a loyal servant of his country, won’t he?” Though his tone was even, the bitterness behind it was unmistakable.
Sternberg at least had the courtesy to look uncomfortable before quickly changing the subject. “Anyway, that’s one side of the matter. The other is you. Only a few people know the full story. The president has made it very clear that he expects that to remain the case. In return for a promise of absolute silence on the subject, he’s willing to grant all three of you full pardons.” Kiddrick made a flustered sound, but Morgan’s stare muted him before he said a word.
Bianca hesitated before asking: “And the alternative?”
The national security adviser laughed sarcastically. “I hear it gets very hot in Cuba. Especially at a certain US military facility on the southern coast. Lots of insects carrying tropical diseases.”
She sighed. “Yeah, I thought it would be something like that.”
“What about the Persona Project?” said Tony. “Is it being shut down permanently, or is this just a temporary suspension?”
“A lot of that depends on Agent Gray,” replied Sternberg. “If he’s fit to return to duty … and if he’s willing. I can understand that after what he discovered, he might have certain reservations.”
Everyone turned to Adam. “I haven’t made a decision,” he said softly, not meeting anyone’s eyes.
“As for the Persona Project itself, it’s definitely proven its worth—even if not in the way anyone expected,” Sternberg continued. “You stopped the RTG plot—and the whole affair provided a kick in the pants to the Russians that they need to step up their nuclear security, thank God—but al-Rais is still out there somewhere. He won’t give up, so we can’t afford to either. An intelligence asset like Persona is too valuable to relinquish, so I’m sure it’ll be reactivated in one form or another. So, Dr. Kiddrick, Dr. Albion—good to see that you’re recovering, by the way—don’t send out any résumés to the private sector just yet.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” said Albion cheerily.
“I’ll send over the paperwork regarding the president’s offer,” Sternberg went on. “The option is open for Agents Gray and Carpenter and Dr. Childs to go through it with a USIC-approved lawyer, but”—steel entered his voice—“I would strongly advise that they just sign it, because the terms are not going to change.”
“I’m sure they’ll do that,” said Morgan, giving the three a warning look.
“Good. I’ll be in touch.” Sternberg’s image vanished from the screen.
Morgan leaned back in his chair. “Is all that acceptable?” There was general, if in some cases begrudging, agreement from around the table. “I’m glad to hear it. Now, is there anything else?”
“What about the PERSONA equipment?” asked Bianca. “Was it recovered?”
“What was left of it,” complained Kiddrick. “The main unit was badly damaged. I don’t even know if it’s repairable—we’ll probably have to build a new one.”
Albion gave him a wry smile. “Try to make it lighter this time.”
“And what about the disk?” said Adam.
Morgan and Kiddrick exchanged glances, the former hesitating before answering. “We found it at Harper’s. It had been destroyed.”
“Oh no,” said Bianca, dismayed. She turned to Adam. “I’m sorry …”
He was stone-faced, at least on the surface. “It told me what I needed to know.”
“But there was more on it than just—”
“I know. It’s okay.”
Unwilling to accept that, she turned to the two other scientists. “Is there any way Adam might be able to recover his memories without the disk?”
“No,” said Kiddrick firmly. “Not a chance.”
Albion made a scoffing sound. “Ah, that renowned can-do spirit! Don’t be so quick to write him off, Nathaniel.” He looked at Bianca and Adam. “There might be a way—a modifi
ed version of Hyperthymexine to force recall, maybe. I’d have to put some work into it, but all might not be lost.” Kiddrick still displayed clear antipathy to the mere idea, but said nothing.
“Anything more?” said Morgan. Nobody replied. “All right. Tony, you and I have a lot of paperwork still to do. Everyone else, I hope to see you again if and when the project’s restarted.”
The group left the room. Albion paused outside the door. “Bianca? I’m sorry I dragged you into all of this.”
“Thanks, Roger,” she replied, letting the others past. “Still, while I wouldn’t exactly say it’s been fun, it’s certainly been an interesting experience. Even if I’m not allowed to tell anyone about it on pain of death.”
“Oh, I’m sure they wouldn’t actually kill you. Just waterboard you for a couple of decades.”
She cringed. “You say that as a joke, but …”
“What’s the situation with Jimmy’s company?”
“The sale’s still going ahead, but everything’s bogged down with legal and financial stuff—just like you said. I wouldn’t have been able to do any work even if I’d stayed there.”
“Good, good. So are you going back to England?”
She looked down the corridor at Adam and Tony. “Yes, but not right away. I want to do something here first.”
“Help Adam through this?”
“Yes.”
He smiled. “That’s another reason why I knew you were the right person to do my job.”
“Don’t expect me to make a habit of it, okay? It’s far too stressful.” She kissed his cheek. “I’ll see you around.”
“Always a pleasure,” he replied.
She hurried to catch up with the two men. “Hey.”
“Hi,” said Tony. “Something up?”
“No, I just wanted to let you both know that I’ll be staying in the States for a little while longer.”
“Finally taking up that offer of an apartment?” Tony said, grinning. “Let me know if you need a hand moving in.”
She smiled. “I may do that.”
He stopped as they reached an office door. “Sorry, I’ve got some bureaucracy to deal with,” he told her. “That’s what happens when you let someone wreck a building. But whenever you need me, just give me a call.”
The Shadow Protocol Page 48
