Deadly Dozen: 12 Mysteries/Thrillers (298 page)

Brian reached for the telephone to call Tony, and that was when all hell broke loose.

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

Nick was more tired than he had ever felt in his entire life. Hell, exhausted was more like it. He wondered if he had suffered nerve damage because his left shoulder throbbed continuously where he had been shot and every now and then sent a sharp zing of tightly focused pain racing down his arm and into his hand, which was by now hanging limply at his side, useless. He was freezing and couldn’t stop shaking and felt like he might hurl at any moment. Time to proceed.

He was crouched in the tiny space between the thick, circular support pillar and the open door on the east side of the fishbowl. Nick had been watching for a few minutes from here, and it was clear that something was going to happen soon. The two terrorists—one seated at the head of the conference table with his back to Nick, the other pacing restlessly—were in the middle of a terse conversation.

Nick kept a constant eye on Special Agent Cunningham, who appeared to be unconscious but still clinging to life. She had let out a low moan once or twice, and Nick was actually close enough to her to see her eyelids twitch. It looked like she was dreaming or perhaps trying to wake herself up.

He realized he needed to get help for her immediately. The man sitting at the table glanced at the agent occasionally but was doing nothing to help her, and the other one paid no attention to her at all, not even when she moaned. It was as if she didn’t even exist to him.

Nick knew he had zero chance of catching these two terrorists off guard, especially with one of them walking back and forth, turning to face Nick every few seconds. Still, he had to try. What other choice did he have?

He needed a diversion, something that would buy him an extra second or two, enough time to get two accurate shots away—one per terrorist—before he got his head blown off by one of the men. With his left arm and hand useless, Nick was forced to set his gun on the floor to fish out his key ring. He felt terribly exposed while he did so, but he couldn’t think of any other reasonable method of creating the diversion he needed.

Reaching into his pocket, Nick withdrew his car keys, careful to keep his fist wrapped around them so they wouldn’t jingle and give his position away. Along with the key to his car, the ring contained two house keys and the key to Lisa’s car. Her car was now a total loss, impounded by the police following the accident, but Nick had been unable to get rid of the key. Keeping it was pointless and stupid, but tossing it would be like throwing one more piece of his dead wife away, and he was not prepared to do that.

In addition to the four keys, the ring contained a souvenir one dollar gaming token from one of the casinos the couple had visited on their honeymoon in Las Vegas five years ago, as well as a bronze medallion Lisa had given him for Christmas three years ago that was supposed to keep him safe under any circumstance. Nick had laughed like it was the most ridiculous thing he ever heard, but he had never been without it since that day. Now he wished Lisa had bought one for herself.

Hefting the key ring in his hand, Nick decided it was not quite as heavy as he would have liked, but it would have to do the trick. It wasn’t like he had a lot of other options.

He lifted the handgun off the floor and placed it in his left hand, wincing as the muscles in his arm spasmed from the effort it took to wrap his hand around the black matte grip. The throbbing intensified, and Nick could hear a faraway roaring sound in his ears. Slowly he rose from his crouching position until he was standing fully erect behind the corner of the open door. His knees cracked and he froze, praying neither of the men heard the noise, which sounded as loud as a thunderclap to him.

Nick held his breath and waited for the surprised shouts from inside the fishbowl that would tell him he had been spotted, followed immediately by the automatic rifle fire that would rip his body to shreds.

When it became obvious that his position was not compromised, he placed his eyes squarely against the inch-and-a-half opening between the hinged edge of the open door and the jamb. The terrorist sitting at the conference table would pose no immediate threat—his back was to Nick—but the other one continued to pace like a caged lion. Nick knew he had to time it perfectly, waiting to act until the man turned to march in the opposite direction. Nick figured this would give him maybe three seconds to clear the door and take down the two men. Maybe. If everything went according to plan.

For the third time this morning, Nick said a quick prayer to whatever gods were supposed to protect people locked in a life-and-death struggle with armed revolutionaries.

When the terrorist turned to start pacing in the other direction, Nick rushed into the fishbowl. He took one giant step forward and then flung his key ring as hard as he could at the opposite wall.

CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

Shudders racked Kristin’s body, rousing her reluctantly from her state of unconsciousness. The first thing she noticed was the pain in her mangled leg. She hadn’t thought it could get any worse, but she had been wrong. White-hot agony constituted her entire existence and was now joined by a traveling companion—the relatively pedestrian pain of a broken nose. Dried blood crusted her face, and every pulse beat caused her nose to throb in perfect timing with her ruined knee.

Her head was resting on the floor facing left, and at that angle she could see the combat boots of the man who had shot her. He was walking back and forth on the far side of the long conference table and talking to the other man, who was seated at the table behind her. She wondered how long she had been out and decided that it must not have been too long if they were still here.

The two terrorists were trying to decide whether to call upstairs to the radar room. They wanted to know whether Air Force One had been blown out of the sky yet, which meant there was at least the slimmest possibility that it had not. The president might still be alive. Kristin knew this would be her last chance to try to save him.

She twisted her head in the other direction, ignoring the pain in her broken nose, and searched along the base of the wall fronting the foyer, finding what she was looking for on the carpet by the door. Her stomach clenched as she thought about trying to move, remembering the debilitating pain that had ripped through her body the last time she attempted it, a pain so strong she had vomited and then passed out. She could still taste the sour puke in her mouth.

Kristin knew the terrorist pacing on the far side of the table could not see her. The angle was wrong; the table blocked his view. The other man she was not so sure about. It was entirely possible that he
could
see her, but from the intensity of the conversation and the fact that she was so gravely injured, Kristin felt the chances were fairly good that they had forgotten all about her. They no longer considered her a threat, if they ever had.

Once again, Kristin planted her elbows into the plush carpeting and prepared to move. This time she knew what to expect, so hopefully she could steel herself against the onslaught of pain. She closed her eyes tightly, preparing to fight off the roiling black clouds that were even now threatening to impinge on her vision and drag her down into unconsciousness again.

She had to stay conscious. If Kristin passed out this time, she would never wake up again. She didn’t know how she knew this, only that she did. When she reopened her eyes, she discovered that the clouds had diminished a bit.

It was time. Kristin balled her hands into fists, digging her fingernails into her palms until they threatened to draw blood, and dragged herself forward. One inch. Two.

She was still awake, although between the fire coursing through her leg and the sharp pain in her throbbing nose she felt as though she would get sick again at any moment. The terrorists didn’t seem to have noticed her yet. She kept going. Another inch. Her useless leg dragged behind her, trailing drying blood along the carpet. She felt woozy and ill. She gritted her teeth and kept going.

CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

Brian reached for the telephone on the conference table. It was amazing how many phones were inside this building. In this small conference room alone there were two. He had tried to figure out approximately how many telephones the building contained while sitting here bored out of his mind and discovered he couldn’t even hazard a guess. It was a lot; that was for sure.

Jackie was still doing his goddamned marching drill, and it was driving Brian crazy. He couldn’t wait for Tony to tell him that the guys were finished down at Logan Airport so they could make their escape. Brian had to admit it was starting to look like maybe they would actually get out of here alive, but either way, at least he wouldn’t have to put up with that lunatic Jackie anymore.

Brian picked up the phone, and as he did, a jangling silver blur whizzed past his head a couple of inches to his right. It smashed into a strange-looking modern art print hung on the far wall with a metallic crash, making him jump and cringe. He dropped the phone in surprise, and it bounced off the polished surface of the long table and fell to the floor.

Jackie ducked and spun around to face the threat, sliding the rifle off his shoulder where it hung from a leather strap. The cigarette dropped out of his mouth and fell to the floor. Instantly it began smoldering on the flame-resistant carpet. Thick black smoke of surprising intensity started to fill the room.

For one second everything was still; then the sudden silence was broken by the unmistakable staccato bark of a pistol shot. Brian reached for his weapon, the telephone forgotten on the floor.

CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

As soon as he threw his keys, Nick pulled the gun out of his unresponsive and numb left hand. It was a miracle he hadn’t dropped it in the short time it took to whip the keys against the fishbowl wall.

He aimed at the pacing terrorist, who was pivoting and bringing his rifle to bear on Nick. He squeezed the trigger, and the resulting blast was unbelievably loud, echoing off the walls of the small room and ringing in his ears. It was almost disorienting.