Footsteps, upstairs again.
I work frantically, but the knot’s stuck, I’ll never get it in time.
The steps are on the stairs now, coming down—
I drop the rope and pull out the gun again. Alex takes my place behind Owen, thank God, starts in on the knot—
He’s at the bottom of the stairs now. I start walking toward the sound, gun drawn, because I can’t let him round that corner, can’t let him in the same room as—
“Mommy, I’m scared,” Mia cries, and I hear the sound of her little footsteps running toward me, only they’re on a path to reach him before they reach me—
A scream.
There’s Falcon, in my sights—
And my daughter’s in his grasp, and he’s holding a gun to her head.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Jill
“Drop the gun,” he yells, and I don’t, because I have him in my sights. Barely, though, because he’s moving, ducking behind Mia, making it so I can’t get a clear shot, and he knows it. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Drop it!” he yells again, louder this time. He digs the barrel of his gun into the hair on the side of her head, and she squeezes her eyes shut, cries harder.
I focus on the sights, because he’s there, and this is my chance to end it all, to get out of here with my children, to get out of here alive, but Mia’s in the sights, too. I can’t get a clear shot, and I can’t pull the trigger, not when I might hit my daughter.
I lower the gun to my side, because if I don’t, I know he’ll shoot her. “Let her go.”
“I said drop the gun!”
I open my hand, and it clatters to the floor.
He keeps the gun pressed to my daughter’s head. “Kick it this way.”
I reach for it with my foot, send it sliding across the floor toward him.
He glances down, ever so briefly. Then in one swift move he lowers his own gun, shoves Mia toward me. I catch her in my arms, wrap her into an embrace, my eyes immediately finding him over her shoulder. He’s already picked up my gun, holstered it. And he’s aiming his own at me.
It’s that face I know so well, the one from the cable, the one that’s been in my mind all these years.
Mia’s crying, shaking uncontrollably, and I feel the strangest cocktail of relief and fear running through my veins. Relief because she’s in my arms and not his, but fear because I’ve just lost the only chance I had to take him on, because my gut feeling is that both of us aren’t walking out of here alive.
“Let my kids go,” I say.
“You don’t get to make demands.” He nods toward the kitchen, behind me. “Walk.”
“Let them go and—”
He levels the gun at my chest. “Walk.”
He has the upper hand here. I don’t think for a moment he wouldn’t shoot. I pick up Mia, rest her on my hip, turn and walk toward the kitchen, toward Owen. God, I hope Alex managed to free him, that the two of them have somehow gotten away, or hidden at least.
The chair’s empty. They’re gone.
“Where’s the boy?” he asks.
“I don’t know.”
“Get him back here.”
My heart’s pounding. I turn toward Falcon. He’s right there in front of us, and he has that gun—
“Get him back here or I kill the girl.”
Oh God. This just keeps getting worse and worse. Mia wraps her arms tighter around my neck, buries her face in my shoulder.
“Owen,” I call. “Come out here please.”
The house is silent, thank God. I realize I’m holding my breath.
“He’s not here,” I say to Falcon.
“He’s here. Get him.”
Is he here? I have no idea. The back sliding door looks closed, the blinds still tightly closed. I know they didn’t leave through the front. There’s the open basement door—could he and Alex be down there? If so, they’re trapped, because there’s no reaching that window.
Falcon looks deadly serious right now, and I know I have to do something.
“Owen, it’s Mommy. I need you to come out, honey. It’s okay.” I say the words, even though I know it’s most certainly not okay.
There’s no sound in the house, no movement.
“If you don’t come out right now,” Falcon calls, “I’ll kill your sister.”
Mia whimpers into my shoulder. I squeeze her tightly, my entire body tense with fear.
Silence. More silence, more stillness, and I’m relieved Owen isn’t here but overwhelmed with a wave of terror that Falcon will hurt Mia—
A creak. Movement. The door to the coat closet is opening—
Owen steps out. He looks as scared as I’ve ever seen him, and my heart breaks for him, for the position he’s in.
His gaze lands on me and his eyes fill with tears. He starts walking toward me—
“Were you alone in there?” Falcon asks.
Owen goes still. His eyes are still locked on me, and they widen, like he doesn’t know what to say, whether to lie and protect Alex, or tell the truth and give her away.
“Come here,” I coax him, crouching down, Mia still on my hip, because I need them both close to me, and because I don’t want him to answer this question, one with no good answer. He walks the rest of the way and falls into my open arm.
He reaches over and tightly touches Mia’s back, like he wants to make sure she’s okay, and my heart breaks again.
“Were you alone in there?” Falcon asks again.
Owen glances back ever so briefly at the closet—
“No,” comes a voice from the closet. Alex steps out, hands up.
Relief washes over me, that she didn’t put Owen in a position where he had to lie, didn’t force him to give up her location, either.
I set Mia down gently on her feet, press Owen closer to her. “Go sit over there,” I whisper, pointing to the other end of the kitchen, away from Falcon, away from the coat closet, praying they listen, that they obey, that I can put some space between them and Falcon during this moment of distraction.
Owen reaches for Mia and she silently follows him. Falcon glances at them and I’m filled with fear that he’ll object, that he’ll try to stop them, but he says nothing, turns back to face Alex. “I had a feeling you weren’t far away,” he says to her. “Move over there.” He nods toward where I’m standing, and Alex walks slowly over, hands still raised, eyes locked on mine.
I can see fear there, but also a quiet strength, a determination.
She comes to a stop beside me, turns around slowly to face Falcon.
I glance over at the kids. Owen is sitting with his back against the cabinets, Mia snuggled into his lap, his arms around her. He’s watching me, and he looks far older than his age right now.
“Who else knows about this?” Falcon asks, and I realize why we’re standing in front of him, why he hasn’t done anything yet. Because it’s not enough to just kill us. He needs to kill the whole story.
“Just us,” Alex answers, and I don’t know if that was a good move or not. If he thinks it’s just us, there’s no reason not to kill us, is there?
“Bullshit,” he says. “How’d you find the story in the first place?”
“A tip,” Alex says.
“From who?”
“I don’t reveal my sources.”
He levels the gun at her. “Who is he?”
Alex gives him a defiant look. “I protect my sources.”
“Even if it costs you your life?” He gives her a wry smile. Makes a show of lining up the sights.
It’s utterly silent. I’m holding my breath. I wouldn’t blame Alex a bit for revealing the name of her source. God, I hope she does, because he’s going to kill her otherwise, and this is Natalia she’s protecting, someone who would
n’t protect my own kids by giving us the information we needed.
“Was it the Gang of Three?” I ask. Because I need to distract him, take his focus away from what he’s about to do.
“Gang of Three plus me.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m Falcon.” He smiles, a creepy smile.
“Why’d you do it?” Alex asks. I glance over, and she meets my eye. I think she understands what I’m doing, the distraction technique.
“You can’t help yourself, can you, Lois Lane? You just have to know the truth.”
“What’s the harm, at this point?”
“I guess there isn’t any.” He shrugs, the gun waving ever so slightly.
I glance back at the kids. Mia’s lifted her head and is watching now, her thumb in her mouth. She hasn’t sucked her thumb in ages.
“We did what needed to be done,” he says, and I don’t know if he’s talking about the fake intelligence, or the attack at the Farm—
“Why Syria? Why anthrax?” I ask, and this time it’s because I want to know.
“Because the American public is terrified of both. Because as soon as this threat becomes public, we’ll get all the resources we need. We’ll have a decent budget again, be able to afford sources, and technology. Congress will stop demanding specifics, and start listening to us.”
“Because we’ll be at war?” I ask.
“If war’s what it takes, so be it. The CIA’s never stronger than when we’re at war.”
So it was war, but not for the reasons we thought. Not because someone—or some group of people—would benefit financially. Because an agency would benefit, in terms of prestige. Because West would, too. Power was the currency, not money.
And the Gang of Three’s complaints were key, like we thought. We just underestimated what they’d do to right those wrongs.
“What about Harris and Chen?” I ask.
“We couldn’t let them ruin everything.”
“Is that what happened with A. J. Graham, too?” Alex asks. “Were you afraid he was going to ruin everything?”
“He would have, if we’d let him. He figured out I was a fake.”
“So you killed him?”
He shrugs. “West’s orders. Ensure success of the operation at all costs.”
Something changes in his expression, like he remembers where he is, who’s in front of him, what’s going on.
He takes a step forward, levels the gun.
He’s about to shoot, and I can’t let him shoot.
I could lunge at him. I stare down the barrel of the gun. The odds that the bullet wouldn’t hit me are slim to none, but a slim chance is better than nothing.
I take one last look at my children—
And then there’s a shot.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Jill
It’s loud, almost deafening in the small space, and terrifying, because Falcon was just pointing that gun directly at me.
I duck, a reflex, a delayed one, since if the bullet was going to hit me, it already would have, and spin toward Falcon. He’s ducking, as well, and swinging his gun away from me, toward the opposite side of the room—
Three more shots, rapid-fire, and I realize they aren’t coming from him, they’re coming from across the room, from the door that leads down to the basement—
I drop to the floor and turn toward the sound, and it’s Natalia, standing in front of the open door, gun aimed at Falcon—
Natalia’s here. In front of the open basement door, the same place Alex and I entered the room. She must be the one who was following us—
A burst of gunfire, from Falcon this time, and now it’s Natalia who dives out of the way, out of the line of fire.
I crawl on all fours toward the kids, shield them behind me, because who knows if there’ll be a stray shot—
Natalia gets off another burst of shots, but they go wide, and Falcon aims—
Nothing.
The room’s silent, my ears ringing. His gun’s jammed, or he’s out of ammo—
I spin toward Natalia, but she’s in the corner, reloading—
Falcon drops his gun, reaches into his waistband for mine—
It’s not there.
At the same moment, I see it, on the floor, halfway between us. It must have fallen out when he dove.
I don’t hesitate. I lunge for it, and just as I start to move I see him notice it, too, and I know he’s going to go for it, and the only hope I have now of getting out of here alive, of getting my kids out of here alive, is to get to that gun first—
He doesn’t go for it. He turns toward the back door. Pushes the blinds out of the way, yanks it open—
I pick up the gun and aim it in one fluid motion, but he’s just barely out the door, and I don’t catch him in my sights in time. I follow him outside, search for him in my sights—
But he’s gone.
There’s the firepit, and the Adirondacks, and the giant trees all around, leaves rustling in the breeze—
And no Falcon.
A sound, in the driveway, around the front of the house. An engine, starting. I bolt out into the yard, around the house, toward the driveway—
Tires peel.
I reach the driveway just as the Sentra is speeding out onto the street. I raise my gun, catch the rear of it in my sights—
But it’s too far away. The best I could hope for would be a glancing shot, not enough to do real damage, and I can’t risk firing a shot when I don’t know what else is around.
I lower the gun to my side.
Natalia runs up behind me. The two of us stand at the top of the driveway and watch the taillights disappear into the distance.
“I missed,” Natalia finally says. “I can’t believe I missed.”
“You saved us,” I say.
Another breeze blows through, sends a chill through me.
The front door to the house opens, and I see Alex framed in the doorway. I turn and walk back inside, Natalia following behind me, then straight over to my kids.
Mia’s face is streaked with tears; Owen’s ashen. They’re still clutching each other. I drop down to the floor in front of them, wrap my arms around them, pull them into a hug.
I look up, and Alex is turning the deadbolt on the front door. I glance around and see that the sliding door is tightly closed again, and the basement door is shut and locked.
I hug the kids tightly. My God, how close did I come to losing them? Owen’s trembling, and I can hear Mia’s heartbeat, fluttering away, much too fast. I bury my face in her baby-soft hair. It smells like shampoo, but not the no-tears kind, the hotel variety, maybe.
Natalia’s watching us, a strange expression on her face. Wistful, I think. She catches me looking at her. “I should leave.”
“Stay,” Alex says.
“The police will be here soon.”
“Natalia, you helped us,” I say. “You don’t have to fear the police.”
“Oh, but I do. I don’t want anyone to ever know that I helped you.”
“You’re afraid it’ll get back to Russia?”
It doesn’t seem like she hears me. She’s still staring at my kids.
“Natalia?” I say.
She blinks, focuses on me. Outside, a gust of wind whips by the house.
“I had two boys, you know,” she finally says. “Sacha and Misha.”
In my mind I see that picture on her bedside table.
“The service took them into training when they were seven and eight. So when you said your kids were taken…” She shakes her head. “I always felt like mine were taken. Like I missed out on the chance to raise them.”
I hug my kids just a little tighter, feel a pang of sympathy for her.
“My dream was always to one
day be together again, with both of them.” She says it almost sheepishly, like it’s a foolish hope. “Working an operation together, side by side. That’s why this was so hard—” Her voice breaks, and she stops. She blinks quickly, like she’s trying to maintain her composure. “Doing this…it meant giving up on my dreams.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, and it seems completely inadequate.
“I once thought I’d have it all.” She shrugs, again like it’s foolish.
Alex and I exchange a glance, an uncomfortable one. I’m not sure either of us knows how to respond.
“Now I have nothing. My kids are gone. I just betrayed my country. My husband is in prison—”
“He’s in prison?” I ask, even though I know he is, because I want to hear more.
“Thanks to Langston West,” she says bitterly.
“That’s why you were watching him,” Alex says.
“Like a hawk. I hated him.”
“And you found out about Falcon.”
She nods. “It was gold. It was blackmail. The kind of blackmail that we could have used to convince Langston West to release Viktor.”
“It didn’t work?” Alex asks.
“We didn’t try. If it was up to me, we would have. But the higher-ups, they wanted more. They wanted West to lead the U.S. into a conflict with Syria, or do something terrible with that anthrax, because the blackmail potential would have been that much greater.”
“And you didn’t want that to happen.”
“Of course not. Innocent people would have perished.”
“That’s why you wanted me to reveal that Falcon was a fake,” Alex says. “To put an end to whatever West had planned.”
“Yes.”
“But you wanted West’s involvement to stay hidden,” I say. “To hold on to that blackmail potential. That’s why you wouldn’t give us his name.”
“That blackmail was the one thing that could have gotten Viktor released from prison. Blackmail West into agreeing to a spy swap, you know? He’s the one who refuses to trade.”
It’s all making sense now. “You’ve helped us a great deal, Natalia. We can look into whether anything can be done about Viktor—”
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