But what danger? Where might it come from? Surely not from the quiet, manicured and finely groomed Lobsang. He looked the part of any other typical businessman. Dark-skinned with a precise part to his thinning black hair, Rory noticed the man’s intelligence and Western upbringing when they were introduced to each other at the airport.
Mr. Lobsang approached the honored monument to heroes unknown and bowed his head to the east, then to the west before facing the Tomb again. Reverently, he whispered into his long steepled fingers pressed against his lips. The audience stilled to hear. Rory only caught his final remark. “Bless those who guard my daughter to see farther, to hear clearly, and to know in advance from whence danger will stab at them. Shield them from my adversaries as they strive to protect my Nima.”
An irksome twinge shivered up Rory’s neck, ending at his still too tight shirt collar. What adversaries? See what? Hear what?
As if in answer to his unspoken questions, Mr. Lobsang pivoted slowly until, out of the crowd of hundreds, his eyes pinned Rory. Lobsang bowed. The crowd faded away. There were only two men in that very private dimension caught between time and space. Two fathers. No words were spoken, but Rory clearly heard the beseeching message pour into his mind: I beg of you. Please. Save my daughter.
Ember’s sharp intake of breath from the other side of Nima Dawa caught Rory’s ear. She had to have also heard, or rather felt that same shift in reality when premonition whispers imminent danger to a well-trained sniper’s psyche. The national FBI Director stepped forward and asked the audience to stay in place until the dignitaries were escorted to the waiting motorcade. Again there was no indication of anything out of order. The audience was reverent and accommodating.
But Rory couldn’t get his clients into the safety of the limousine and out of sight fast enough. Mr. Lobsang appeared calm, motioning for his daughter to join him. Obediently, she did, and like a dutiful little preschooler, took his hand. Dressed in the black velvet dress and patent leather Mary Janes, she’d become a child once more.
The FBI agents were swivel-necked and anxious, too. In a stifling formation of black suits and broad shoulders, they escorted the Tibetan dignitary around the back of the amphitheater to the limousine at the curb out front. Rory and Ember were as glued to the child as Drake and Sachs were to her father. If anything, there was more danger of Mr. Lobsang tripping over one of his overzealous bodyguards than anything else.
Scanning the audience one last time over the top of the limo, Rory couldn’t fathom where the sensation of being watched came from. It was sniper rule number one. If you feel like you’re being watched, you probably are. Pay attention. Think. Stay sharp. Stay alive.
The crowd had nearly all dispersed. Dress whites, dress blues, and honor guards were at ease and disassembling. Chatting. Logic whispered there was no threat, but instinct told him different. It was real. It was waiting. He slipped into the vehicle, closing the door tightly behind him.
Nima Dawa sat next to her father on the back seat. Rory sat with the FBI agents on the bench seat opposite, while Ember sat beside Nima. Again he was struck with how self-possessed the child was for her age.
With long brown hair and a pudgy build, she sat sedate and calm, gazing down at her hands serenely folded on her lap. Most children would’ve been petulant, spoiled, or excited. Not her. She displayed none of the typical toddler attributes Rory expected. Were all Tibetan children so docile? So disciplined? And she did not speak, another odd trait for a child her age. Tyler would’ve been all over the limo by now, pointing out every sight he’d never seen before. Heck. Tyler would’ve been jabbering a mile a minute, asking questions, but not waiting for the answers, just basically being his overexcited self. So what was up with this girl?
Her mother had died too young from a heart attack. Could that be the reason for her peculiar adult behavior?
Only when they arrived at the Buddhist Temple did another fleeting look pass between father and daughter. Again a single tear dropped from Nima’s eye, glistening like a diamond as it fell to the floor. Her lower lip quivered. Mr. Lobsang gave her a tender look Rory recognized for what it was. The purest love. Rory’d seen this look before on one of the hardest days of his life. On the tarmac before he’d shipped out to Afghanistan. On the faces of his mother and father when they were afraid they might never see him alive again.
The kind Tibetan patted his daughter’s hand. In the darnedest display of adult compassion, she placed her other hand over his, comforting him as if he were the child.
Rory stared, daring her to pull that mind trick one more time and turn into some kind of a shaman, or whatever it was she’d done last time, but she didn’t. And yet, some silent communication had passed between father and daughter. It was as real as his mother’s love that day. Anxiety spiked higher. Rolling his shoulders to push it away made no difference. His companion agent seemed affected as well. Ember’s jaw was tight, her eyes sharp, intense.
The limo passed beneath an arched iron gate on its way inside the temple grounds. A three-tiered, pagoda-styled building with ground level red colonnades sat back from the street, shaded by tall oaks in brilliant reddish oranges. In front of the temple, a fifteen-foot tall white marble statue of Buddha drew everyone’s attention.
A very modest crowd already waited at the entry of the temple where Mr. Lobsang’s speech would be given. Rory scanned the crowd for Senior Agent David Tao. He was supposed to have been here. Given the spooky sensation creeping across Rory’s shoulders, one more agent on the job certainly wouldn’t hurt, but David, a devout Buddhist, was nowhere to be seen.
The limo braked to an easy stop on the circular drive. Mr. Lobsang’s hand rested on his knee, his focus on his daughter when the car stopped moving. She gave another small nod. Rory watched the silent exchange, wondering what he was witnessing—and missing.
Exiting the vehicle ahead of Mr. Lobsang, Rory scanned the grounds and the crowd, searching for any sign of a threat. When nothing revealed itself, he motioned Mr. Lobsang to follow. Nima Dawa scooted off the car seat and stepped solemnly to the ground, her head held high as if she were the center of attention instead of her father. She looked—regal. There was no other word for it. The four-year-old acted as if she’d been prepared for this day all of her short life. Like she was queen.
The FBI agents flanked Lobsang. Ember followed Nima, again hovering as close as possible without picking the child up and carrying her. Rory stepped in closer than usual, the odd sensation tainting every step. His pulse quickened.
Show time.
Several monks welcomed Mr. Lobsang with bowing and soft voices. The temple grounds were definitely a place of peaceful meditation. Flowers filled the circle around the Buddha. Birds flitted across the lawn and from bush to flowerbeds. A gray squirrel bounced along the temple veranda as if it were invited to listen, too.
Senior Agent David Tao arrived. An elegant Chinese American, no one could tell he also carried a holstered revolver beneath his suit jacket, nor that he was an ex-Marine scout sniper. Five good agents ought to be able to protect one man and a little girl. Right?
Mr. Lobsang stepped to the small podium and began to speak, his words calm and assuring in the morning sun. There was no raised platform, nothing fancy at all. Nima Dawa stood with Rory and Ember to the left of Lobsang. The agents had positioned themselves between the child and the street. Drake and Sachs had done the same, both to Lobsang’s immediate right.
But nothing appeared out of place here, either. If anything, these well-wishers were more reverent than the crowd at Arlington. Rory could see it on their faces. They loved this gentle Tibetan and his tiny daughter. No threat. Hyper-vigilance was becoming very annoying.
Whatever Mr. Lobsang said to his fans in Tibetan must have been humorous. The crowd chuckled, and the speech was over. Rory sighed, ready to dismiss the anxious feeling in his throat once and for all, but Mr. Lobsang waved for his daughter to join him at the podium. Rory and Ember glanced at each other.
Center stage. Not good.
The gesture put the child out of their protection and in full view of the public. Mr. Lobsang made it worse, picking Nima Dawa up like the child she was, he showed her off to the audience.
Definitely not good.
The audience bowed from their waists in one simultaneous wave of respect or adoration or whatever. Rory didn’t much care. His client was center stage and vulnerable. If everyone present loved this gentle father and his daughter, then why was his gut screaming?
He moved to at least block the view from the street. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ember’s hand reaching out to the girl.
Nima waved her hands, a happy child again. And all hell broke loose. A single shot rang out. With a soft grunt, Lobsang crumpled to the ground with Nima.
“Get the girl,” Rory barked to Ember, but there was no need. Both he and Ember reached Nima at the same moment, colliding as they buried the child and her father beneath them in the ensuing chaos. The two FBI agents instantly joined the protective huddle. The crowd screamed and scattered. The monks at the temple converged on the pile of bodyguards. They circled the prone group, providing yet another wall of bodies to protect the honored guests from the assassin’s bullets.
“Shit,” Ember swore, somewhere within the pack of bodies beneath him. Her elbow stabbed Rory’s ribs while she writhed to extricate herself. The smallest hand reached up into the light. He took hold of it. Thank God.
Nima Dawa was still alive.
Two
“Let me have her. Get out of my way.”
Ember grasped the child’s blood-spattered body through the closely packed males in her way. She had to get to Nima. Now.
The men eased away enough so Ember could reach her. She pulled Nima into the security of her shaky arms. The little girl appeared calm considering what had just happened. The shot seemed to have come from directly across the street. Rory crouched protectively between them and the street, his hand on Ember’s thigh holding her to ground level. “Stay down.”
“Are you hurt, baby?” Ember smoothed both hands over the child’s arms, back, and head in one long, motherly sweep. Blood covered the side of Nima’s face and her arm. Only Mr. Lobsang remained down. Ember shielded Nima from the view of her father’s prostrate body. A puddle of bright red expanded onto the concrete beneath his head. Sirens screamed as D.C. Metro flooded the courtyard with cruisers, noise, and an army of armed officers.
“Get us out of here, Dennison,” Ember demanded, clutching the girl to her chest.
Rory pulled them both off the ground under his arm. For one brief moment, Ember wanted to stay there, tucked into the wall of muscle and heart that stood ready to die for Nima and her. He had them inside the stone temple in no time, pressing her to the floor with his hand on her shoulder and a terse, “Sit. Stay.”
She did, huddled to the floor with Nima on her lap. “Are you okay?” she asked again, still examining the child for signs of injury. Other than a scraped knee and torn tights, which she most likely received when she fell, Nima appeared uninjured. Ember expected hysterical crying, kicking, and tears. A runny nose. Anything but the unusual calm the girl exuded.
She didn’t have time to worry about that now. David had joined Rory at the temple door, their weapons drawn. Ember tried to control her own shaking. The fear of losing the precious toddler to what sounded like a thirty-five millimeter rattled her to the core. Dying in the line of duty was part of the job. She’d been trained. It could happen. Hell, she’d seen it happen to the man she loved. But a baby? A sweet little girl with pudgy cheeks and stubby legs? Shot down in cold blood like her daddy had just been? The oddest sensation swept up from the soles of Ember’s feet to the top of her skull. No little girl was going to die on her watch.
Nima’s silence bothered her the most. Was she in shock? Had she struck her head when she’d fallen? Over the little one’s head and down her neck and shoulders went Ember’s probing fingers and hands again. “Tell me, baby girl. Are you hurt?”
Nima didn’t answer. Ember followed the direction of her stare. The child seemed keenly interested in Rory and David at the temple entrance.
“The FBI’s in transit,” David said calmly. “The boss, too.”
“The shooter was not in the crowd. I’m sure of it,” Rory said tersely. He scanned the area beyond the temple grounds through his rangefinder. “The shot came from up above.”
“Maybe from one of those buildings?” David nodded across the street. “We should’ve cleared them before we allowed him to speak.”
“Why? He wasn’t a high profile target,” Rory insisted, his voice grim. “I heard one shot. You?”
“Yes. One. Given the distance, the shooter knew everyone would bow the second Nima’s father presented her. The paramedics are waiting around the corner for the all-clear signal to enter the crime scene.”
Rory glared over his shoulder at Ember. “She hurt?”
“No. It’s her father’s blood, not her’s.” Ember spoke in a whisper while holding her palm over Nima’s ear, the girl’s other ear pressed to Ember’s shoulder to keep her from hearing. “But I think she’s in shock or something. She’s awful quiet. You guys see anything yet? Anyone?”
“Nothing.”
“Who would do this? Who would—”
Rory’s sardonic glare cut her short. Ember leaned against the wall behind her to steady her nerves. It had been a long time since she’d been in the middle of a battle. Even then, it had been aboard a Navy vessel and miles away from the action. A sailor didn’t need to worry about incoming when the U.S. Navy lobbed Tomahawk Land Attack Missiles miles onto enemy soil.
But here in the reverent temple, her noisy heart sounded as loud and out of place as her breathing. She pressed Nima against her to comfort the child. It seemed to work the other way around. Nima’s little hand patted Ember’s arm while Ember patted Nima’s back. For a moment, Ember calmed.
“Let’s get out of here,” Rory said, his hand extended to pull her up from the floor. The words were no more than out of his mouth when a louder explosion tore through the building, blasting the wall just feet from where Ember had been sitting. Shards of concrete, tile, and wood zipped through the air, transformed into shrapnel.
She yelped and rolled to her side, shielding Nima. Scooping the girl into her arms, Ember scrambled around the corner.
“Where are they?” Rory growled angrily, pointing to the twelve-story building across the street. “I’m not seeing— Wait. David. Top floor. Third window from the right. You see him?”
Ember paused to listen. The hallway to her left led into the inner room of the temple. Straight ahead, a rear exit sign beckoned. Either way would be safer than staying here.
Should I run? Without Rory?
“Sniper. Top floor. Got him. Contacting FBI to—” David’s update was interrupted as another cannon shot pulverized the same front wall of the temple, hitting near Ember’s previous location.
“They’re probing,” Rory shouted. “Where’s your car?”
David tossed him the keys. “Out back. Blue Taurus. It’s, umm, new.”
Ember heard the consternation in her senior agent’s voice, but it didn’t slow Rory down. He snagged the keys in midair without apology. “Move,” he ordered, grabbing Ember’s elbow as he pushed her to the rear exit.
Another mortar shell blasted the front wall. Debris imploded into the inner hallway. Sheltering Nima from the cloud of flying sheetrock and dirt, she glanced behind to make sure David was safe. Rory didn’t give her the chance. “Keep moving,” he commanded, his hand between her shoulder blades and his jaw set.
She hesitated. There was no way to know who waited beyond the rear exit. Hell could be out there, the same assassins who had murdered Nima’s father. Rory’s flat palm brooked no time to second-guess his command decision, but still. What if—
“Don’t you dare quit now,” he growled.
The soldier within snapped to. Ember obeyed with N
ima held tightly to her chest. Quitting was not on her mind. The fear of dying—maybe. Saving Nima from danger—absolutely.
“You ready?” he asked, his other hand on the exit handle.
“Yes,” she answered, but her heart felt ready to climb out of her throat. One more close call like the last one and she’d turn to mush.
“I’m right behind you. Go. Now.” Rory pushed her as they bolted out the exit and into the shrubbery that ran along the temple fence. A third blast hit the front of the building. She cringed, biting her lip hard enough to make it bleed. Together, they bee-lined through the brush to the parking lot beyond. A chain link fence hidden within the shrubbery blocked them momentarily, but Rory scrambled over it in no time at all. Once on the other side, he snapped enough branches to clear a large enough place for them both to stand.
“Come on over,” he muttered, his eyes on the temple grounds behind her. “I’ll catch you.”
“Don’t catch me.” Ember handed Nima over the fence. “Catch her.”
He tucked the girl into his side. “I’ve got her. You next.”
Ember barely made it over the fence when another blast sounded around front. She fell to her hands and knees. Both breathing hard, they crouched as return gunfire finally sounded. Half of her wanted to run, the other half to scream.
“Damn,” she muttered. “They’re blowing the temple apart.”
“Keep moving.” Rory passed the child back to Ember, pointing out David’s shiny new car. “You ready to make a break for it?”
“Yes, but the minute you hit the remote unlock, we’re made.”
“Nothing I can do about that,” he muttered. “Get in. Stay out of sight. Keep her on the floorboards. Got it?”
“Got it,” she answered, thankful he was with her on this disastrous op. What if she’d been alone? Yes, she was a trained sniper, but this was real world. Rory’s world. He was the one renowned for record-breaking long shots. He was the sniper who’d taken out terrorists and insurgents in the Corps. Not her.
Rory (In the Company of Snipers Book 6) Page 2
