Backfire

by Catherine Coulter

  Sherlock hadn’t realized her voice had risen. He moved the gun fast, shoved it against her ear. He hissed, “Keep it down. If that bodyguard of yours comes in here, I’ll blow his head off. You want him to die with you?”

  She shook her head, whispered, “No, I don’t want him to die. I don’t want to die, either.”

  He laughed.

  “You want to know who helped me?”

  She nodded at the fat bedraggled scrub nurse with coarse black hair and puffed out cheeks and smeared dark mascara looking back at her. He met her eyes in the mirror, used his nose to push aside her hair and whispered against her ear and the Beretta’s gun barrel, “No one looks at ugly people. That’s what she told me.”

  “Who?”

  “Crazy Charlene. She told me this getup was my best chance of killing you.”

  Charlene? For a moment, Sherlock couldn’t get her brain around it. “Charlene was driving the second car out of the motel parking lot?”

  He grinned at her, worked the gun barrel a bit deeper into her ear. “She found me, took care of me. She’s crazy as a loon, but the weird thing is, I like her. She’s committed. She’s got exactly two minutes to get to the roof. Then we can get this done.”

  The gun in her ear hurt, but it was the fear roiling in her belly that was threatening to bleed panic into her brain. No, you can’t let fear kill you. Time, you need time.

  She whispered, “Charlene is here? Did she kill Jerol Idling at the Skyline Motel?”

  “Yep. That gunshot brought down the house, and so we had to move out fast. I thought my arm was going to fall off running to the car. That’s when I first thought of killing you, of watching the light go out behind your eyes. I gritted my teeth and knew before I left I’d come for you.” He shoved the Beretta in hard. She couldn’t help it; she made a small yipping sound of pain.

  She didn’t look away from his face next to hers in the mirror. He was standing so close she felt his hot breath on her cheek, saw his flat, dark eyes, eyes that had watched dispassionately as he’d killed. She knew she’d see death in them if she looked closely, knew she’d see her own death. She thought of Dillon, of Sean, of a stranger walking through the bathroom door and Xu calmly shooting her. She said, “Why isn’t Charlene here wanting to kill me?”

  “Charlene’s got other plans. I promised her I’d provide a nice big distraction soon so we can both take care of business.”

  “Charlene won’t get near Judge Hunt.”

  “Goes to show what a tiny little imagination you Feds have.” His voice lowered. “You don’t have much time, so I might let you in on it. You won the first round, I’ll admit it, but the game goes to me.”

  “Why would Charlene follow you? Take care of you?”

  He kept his voice low, whispered, “Charlene apologized to me for not killing you, but I didn’t mind. It meant I’d get to kill you myself. All the others, they were just business, but not you. You’re my bonus.”

  Ramsey’s safe; no way can Charlene get to him. “What’s your distraction?”

  “A nice big boom, like at the Fairmont, but you won’t hear it, you’ll be dead. You think Charlene’s going for that judge? Even though her brain visits Disneyland a lot of the time, Charlene realizes Judge Hunt is a no-go for now. She’s willing to let the judge lie in bed, suffer for his sins. She’s going to kill another man she blames for her son’s death, and that’s Agent Savich, your husband. Talk about hate, Charlene lives for it. I don’t think she can live without it. She seriously wants him dead.”

  Sherlock’s vision blurred, and her heart stuttered. She felt Xu’s hand touch her hair. “A pity this pretty hair will be covered with your blood and your brains soon. Say good-bye to your hubby, if you want. You think Charlene’s telling him right now to say good-bye to you?”

  Savich was leaning against the corridor wall, a couple dozen feet from the guards outside Ramsey’s room, speaking on his cell to Jimmy Maitland at the Hoover Building. Maitland put him on hold to connect him to the director, who wanted a status report directly from Savich. Great, Savich thought, and what am I going to say? All I can tell you, sir, is that everyone you’re worried about is still alive and at large, but there are lots of dead people, too, one of them a doctor who never hurt anyone in his life, and one a young kid who loved video games and worked with his mom in a motel.

  As he waited, Savich decided that as soon as he finished his attempt at raising Director Mueller’s spirits he would put an extra guard on Emma. They had kept Sean safe from Charlene, and he would make sure she couldn’t turn her attention to Emma. At least right now, she was safe in her father’s hospital room.

  He’d just finished giving Director Mueller a rundown when a skinny tech came slouching toward him in a long white coat and high-top sneakers. He had thick blond hair on the long side, and a stethoscope around his neck. Savich registered in that second that something wasn’t right. Despite all that blond hair, the guy was older than he’d originally thought, lots older. The man looked at his watch, and Savich saw his wrist. It wasn’t a man’s wrist.

  He wasn’t fast enough. The man already had his gun jammed into Savich’s side.

  He leaned close. “No, Agent Savich, I don’t think you want to do much more than breathe and accept that your trip through life is coming to a dramatic end. Long overdue, I’d say.”

  Savich didn’t move. He said, “Hello, Charlene. Pretty good disguise, except that all that hair doesn’t match how old you are. Why didn’t you wear a white wig?”

  The gun shoved hard into his side. “Smart mouth on you, but you’re right, I could have done better than this wig, but I didn’t have much time. Turns out it didn’t make a lick of difference, now, did it? I might be older than you, baby boy, but I’ve got lots of experience handling punks like you.”

  “No,” Savich said, “I don’t think you do.”

  She gave a low laugh as she jerked his SIG out of his belt clip and slipped it into her coat pocket. “Now, don’t you move or you’re dead where you stand.” She leaned closer. “I can tell you want to have a go at me. I read all about your martial arts demos and how everyone oohs and aahs over you, but you move a muscle and I’ll shoot you, and then I’ll kill those guards in front of Judge Hunt’s room, then all the nurses down at the nurses’ station. If one of the guards shoots me, who cares? I don’t.” The gun jammed hard again against his kidney. Savich didn’t make a sound, even though the shot of pain nearly sent him to his knees.

  “Now, you and I are going to take a little walk to the stairs at the end of the corridor. We’re going to walk up those stairs to the roof. I’ve given this a lot of thought, and I decided I’d like to see you do a lovely swan dive from seven floors up.”

  She moved behind him, kept the gun pressed into the small of his back. “Don’t forget, I can pull this trigger faster than you can do any of your fancy kicks. You’re real quiet, aren’t you? You’re thinking about going for it? Be my guest. At the very least you’d be strapped in a wheelchair for the rest of your days. That’d be okay, but I’d rather see you lying splattered on the ground seven floors down. You wanna know something really ironic?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your little wife is enjoying herself with Joe Keats—you call him Xu, I think. Only he doesn’t look like Xu right now. No, he’s a butt-ugly scrub nurse with lots of black hair and glasses. I even put some lipstick on Joe, stuffed his cheeks to fatten them up, strapped a pillow around his middle, smeared on some eye shadow. Think it’ll fool your little wife?”

  Savich lost the spit in his mouth. No, Harry will take care of Sherlock. No one’s going to get past Harry, but Harry isn’t expecting Xu. No, let it go, focus. You’ve got to get out of this alive before you can get to Sherlock. Pay attention.

  “Yep, Joe called me a few minutes ago. He should have her away from her guard by now, and in a co
uple of minutes we’re going to hear a big honker boom—this floor’s going to turn to dust and ashes. That will roust and rumble all your buddies, make them think Judge Hunt’s under attack. Joe’s good with bombs. Then Joe and I are going to walk away.

  “Hey, I wonder if she’s bitten the big one yet? He was stone-cold pissed that she brought him down since she’s half his size, not to mention she’s a woman. She humiliated him. Joe told me a professional has to take pride in his work or he isn’t worth spit. She stomped on his pride. A man like Joe shouldn’t have to suffer humiliation like that unless he’s as mean as a snake like that vicious bastard of a husband I had to shoot in the face—” She paused, shook her head. Stop it, shut your mouth. He doesn’t need to know all this, STOP IT.

  She snapped back and focused. “For what you did you deserve this. I’d say that sounds real good, don’t you? Has a real ring to it. Killing you is going to beat shooting that judge who murdered my boy, because you’re the one who made it happen. Keep walking. Up the stairs, boy. Move out.”

  A nurse called out, “Agent Savich, wait a moment. Judge Hunt asked to speak to you.”

  Savich saw the gun jerk in her hand and wondered if he or the nurse would be dead before he could answer her.

  A toilet flushed. Both Xu and Sherlock froze. The stall door opened, and a hugely pregnant woman squeezed out the stall door. She was pulling out earbuds blasting the end of Barenaked Ladies. “Twins,” she said. “Isn’t that—”

  She saw Sherlock, saw the gun, saw the ugly guy who was dressed like a woman and a nurse, and she opened her mouth and screamed as loud as she could, and didn’t stop. Xu’s gun jerked toward the woman. Sherlock pivoted, brought up her knee hard in his crotch, and slammed her fisted hands down on his wounded arm as the bathroom door burst open and Harry came flying through.

  The woman didn’t stop screaming, she kept it up, a lovely ear-splitting blast, but those screams were lovelier than the “Hallelujah Chorus” to Sherlock. Xu was trying to raise his arm from the floor to shoot Sherlock or the pregnant woman or Harry, she didn’t know which. She kicked him in the head and stomped her boot heel down on his hand, heard the bones crack. The Beretta clattered across the linoleum. Xu was cursing her, an odd mixture of Mandarin and English, and she kicked him in the ribs.

  Harry fell to his knees beside Xu, turned him on his stomach, and grabbed his hair, only to have it come off in his hand. Xu’s hand came out of his pocket fast, a knife clutched in his fingers. He slashed out at Harry once and again, trying to break free. Harry wanted to kill him, wanted it very much, but instead he jumped back and raised his SIG. “Xu, if you don’t throw that knife away and put your hands on your head I will shoot you in one second.”

  Xu froze. He didn’t release the knife.

  “You die holding a knife, that’s rich.” Harry brought his SIG down against Xu’s face. “Hey, you got another flash bang with you?” Harry smiled. “Three, two—”

  Xu let the knife fall. Harry kicked it against the counter. Harry was cuffing Xu as Sherlock grabbed her cell and punched in speed-dial. Dillon’s cell rang once, twice, and kept ringing four times until it went to voice mail. Charlene had him, otherwise he would have answered. She had to get to him, but the pregnant woman was choking, gasping for air, she was so scared looking down at the man lying handcuffed on the floor moaning and cursing. She grabbed Sherlock, hugged her as hard as she could, and began, of all things, to pat Sherlock’s back. She cleared her throat. “You’re the greatest kicker.”

  Harry yelled, “Look what I found, a damned detonator.” Harry disarmed it. “So much for this part of your plan, Xu.”

  She’d forgotten the bomb. Sherlock pulled away from the woman. “Thank you. Sorry, I’ve got to go.”

  But the woman grabbed her again and kept squeezing. “I’m sorry you can’t get closer, but it’s twins. I have to wear mules, since I can’t even see my feet.”

  “I know.” Sherlock knew the woman was going into shock, and so she said gently, “It’s all right now, I promise.” Then Sherlock simply lifted her away. In the next second, she pushed out the bathroom door. She shoved her way through the growing crowd of people and yelled, “Get security, fast!”

  Savich called out to the nurse still walking toward them, “It’s okay. Tell Judge Hunt I’ll be in to see him in a few minutes. Thank you.”

  “Smart move,” Charlene said out of the side of her mouth, watching the nurse give Savich a smile and a finger wave and turn back to the nurses’ station.

  “Cute little gal. From the look she gave you, I think she’d like to fool around with you. You faithful to your wife?”

  Savich saw the nurse turn once more and look from him to Charlene, puzzled. Keep going, everything’s okay. Keep all your mad attention on me, Charlene.

  “Not going to say anything, huh? You’re probably not faithful, no guy is, including that dog of a husband I had, and do you want to know what—” She stopped again in mid-sentence. Shut up, shut up, Charlene.

  Savich opened the stair door and started climbing. What she was saying, it was bizarre, but it was more than that. It was as if her brain suddenly went skydiving, and she was barely able to bring herself back to focus. Could he use that?

  They reached the fifth floor, two more floors to go. Thank God no one opened the doors. He wondered how much longer that luck would hold, kept glancing toward her, looking for his chance. His cell rang, and he felt her jump. He listened to it go to voice mail, then silent.

  “Keep those legs moving, Savich. I heard your cell ringing; leave it alone. Two more flights, then we’ll get ourselves a nice suntan. It’s actually sunny today, and would you believe it this time of year in San Francisco?”

  “Yes, it’s remarkably pleasant.” Savich could hear her breathing. She couldn’t be as fast as he was any longer, no matter how trained up she was. Only one more floor. Should he try for her on the stairs?

  He took another quick look back. She was walking three steps below him, her gun steady on his back. “What you looking at, Savich? Are you wondering about your little sweetie? I’d have to say there isn’t much hope for her, Joe—Xu—is a remarkable man. Can you believe that, a real live spy for the Chinese right here in San Francisco, California? He never told me what he took, only that he’d had some problems. Everyone has problems, I told him, and I took care of him. I like him, he’s a gentleman and he said thank you to me for it. So live and let live, I say.” She paused, panting a bit, then, “It’s sad, though, even though we’re supposed to hook up after the bomb goes off, I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

  Did she realize she probably wouldn’t get out of the hospital alive? She sounded philosophical about it. Let her talk, Savich thought, talking would take more breath and a bit of her attention. He said, “You don’t think you’ll see him again?”

  She surprised him. “Joe asked me to come to Beijing with him, but I can’t imagine such a thing anyway. I mean, all those people who don’t look like me or talk like me and would probably hate me on sight, you know?”

  “Yeah, I know. The thing is, Charlene, I think Joe is in trouble with those people. He’s not going to China, no matter what he told you.”

  “You think he’s lying to me? Well, he did say then that he was probably through doing what the Chinese told him to do, so maybe we’ll go to Tuscany—that’s a real pretty place in Italy where he told me he wants to buy a villa, become a local eccentric, he said, because he has lots of money saved.

  “You’re slowing down, Agent. Yeah, I can see you’re thinking about jumping me. If you try it, I promise I’ll shoot you in midair. You got that? I’d rather follow the plan I had with Joe. I mean, we’re nearly to the roof, how about it?”

  Less than one flight left. They heard a door open down a floor, heard fast footsteps going down.

  “Lucky day for that bozo,” Charlene said. She
glanced down at her watch again, breathing heavily.

  “Here at last. Now we exit. The roof stairs are to the left, down the hall. Shove open the door and don’t move.”

  Savich did as she said.

  She was right behind him. He felt the gun pressed against his spine. They walked only six feet to another, more discreet door that led to the hospital roof.

  They heard a man’s voice.

  “Hey, what are you doing here? What’s going on?”

  A young man wearing a nice blue suit came striding toward them, waving his hands. “You’re not supposed to be up here. Who are you?”

  Savich knew Charlene wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him. He said quickly, “I’m Agent Dillon Savich, FBI. We need to check out the roof. We’ll be okay by ourselves.” Please believe me and turn around. Go back to your office.

  The man seemed to think about asking to see his ID, but then he shook his head at himself, said, “Hurry it up. No one’s supposed to be up here. Security should have told us. Everyone’s on edge, I guess. Sorry, do what you’ve got to do.” He flapped his hand at them and walked away.

  Charlene said, “Good dresser, but he’s got a whine in his voice. I wonder if he’s married. Bet he is and his wife can’t stand him, probably wants to walk out the door and take some loser lover—” She looked blankly at him for a moment. “Now move it. That’s right, you open the roof door.”

  Another disconnect, Savich thought, but it hadn’t lasted long enough for him to make a move. He had to be ready when she did it next. She said, “Another dozen steps to the roof, then there’s a door latched on this side.

  “I know what you’re thinking, but don’t do it, not unless you want to live five minutes less. And you really want to live, don’t you? Even if your little FBI wife isn’t breathing anymore, you still want those five extra minutes for yourself.”