The Cyclops Conspiracy (50 page)

Broadhurst pointed at Jason. “Keep up!”

Fairing studied the white field of the canvas through the infrared scope. The rifle barrel did not extend through the opening in the tinted window, because Secret Service agents would be watching for just such an indicator of trouble. The shades were drawn as low as possible, stopping above the two two-inch circles cut into the glass. Through one, his deadly projectile would fly. Through the second, Cooper’s invisible laser beams were lighting up the canvas screen.

He took several deep breaths. The words coming through the sound system relaxed his frayed nerves.

Penrose’s president was at the podium concluding his remarks.

For more than a century, the ships built here, like their builders, have rendered faithful service. Some of those ships serve today. Some met glorious ends in faraway seas, in defense of our way of life. Wood has given way to iron, and iron to steel. We progressed from coal-powered vessels to nuclear energy. But every vessel is a monument to our nation’s values.

Our first guest speaker is the seventieth governor of the Commonwealth of Virginia…

The governor of Virginia began the procession of speakers, addressing the soaked throng for nearly two minutes. He then introduced the chairman and CEO of Penrose Gatling Corporation. The junior senator from Virginia followed the chairman, and he introduced the next speaker three minutes later. The chief of naval operations took the podium. With the rain slanting in sheets, the admiral boomed platitudes over the loud speakers.

Senator Austin, thank you for that warm and kind introduction. President Hope and Mrs. Hope, thank you for being here. You honor us with your presence, and we greatly appreciate your leadership at this time in our nation’s history. And Mr. President, Mrs. Jacob R. Hope, thank you as well for sharing with us, not only this day, but your great name…

* * *

Jason and Broadhurst silently arrived on the fourth-floor stairwell landing.

“Stay here until I get back,” Broadhurst whispered.

“You can’t do this alone,” Jason replied.

“I’m going to the upper floors to get help. Stay here and don’t make a sound. If I can recruit their help, you’ll be relieved.”

* * *

Ten minutes later, Broadhurst returned. His features were ashen. “There are dead agents in the stairwells above us.” Broadhurst expelled an agitated breath. “Look’s like we’re the only party crashers.” He shot Jason a concerned look.

“Don’t look so worried. I know how to use this,” said Jason.

He waited and watched as Broadhurst inched to the stairwell door, his back scraping painted concrete. He silently cracked it and peeked out. Slowly, he pulled it open, swiveling and propping it open with
his back. His weapon, clutched with both hands, pointed at the floor. Broadhurst stuck his head partially around the doorframe to take in the hallway. Broadhurst held up a finger. One person.

After quietly closing the door, he returned to Jason’s side.

“What did you see?” asked Jason.

Before Broadhurst could respond, Jason saw the door move, opening slightly. A silenced pistol appeared through the narrow gap. Jason was about to yell a warning when burps erupted.

The fusillade lasted less than two seconds. The first shot hit Broadhurst in the back, exiting through the front shoulder, spinning him. He groaned, dropping to the stairs. Jason pushed him out of the way as he tried to merge with the wall. Shots two and three missed, whizzing past him. He lifted his weapon and answered with three shots toward the hand holding the gun. All three missed, splintering wood. The hand and the weapon disappeared behind the closing door.

* * *

The senior senator from Virginia took the podium after the admiral. He droned on for more than five minutes. After being politely reminded, he ended his speech and introduced the secretary of the navy, who kept his remarks succinct. Next was the secretary of defense, who began,

It’s a real privilege, a high honor, to be able to say a word about this mighty ship and the man whose name will proudly carry it across the high seas into victory…

* * *

Fairing jerked at the sound of the shots that seemed to emanate from the walls. His accomplices carried silencers, so their shots were
muffled. The loud reports had to have come from the weapons of their adversaries. The
real
Secret Service. Fairing swallowed and focused on his weapon. “Just a few more minutes,” he whispered. “Just give me a few more minutes.”

The “agent” posted inside stepped from the unit, crouched and weapon leveled, to check out the reports.

Fairing kept his eyes glued to the scope and the luminescent green image. Without looking up, he picked up the Mauser resting at his elbow and pointed at the now-quaking Cooper. “You move, you die!”

The president of the United States pumped the secretary of defense’s hand and replaced him behind the podium emblazoned with the presidential seal.

Thank you all. Mr. Secretary, thank you very much. Linda and I are honored to be here, to honor our dad. Appreciate your coming. Mom, good to see you. We’ve come a long way from the early days in Tennessee. I know you’ll join me in saying to my father, President Hope, “Your ship is about to sail…”

* * *

The bogus agent, sweat coating his face, managed a quick swipe with his sleeve to dry his forehead. He lay on his belly, eyes and gun focused on the white stairwell door, marveling at his good fortune and the poor marksmanship of the man behind the door. Three shots, all fired at close range, had missed.

He didn’t know how many others had amassed on the other side of the door. He’d only seen two men. One was wounded. If they burst through the door, they’d be caught in a lethal crossfire between two crack shots. His buddy was prone on the carpet beyond the stairwell, as was the third man, who had just exited the condo. The hallway outside the stairwell door was a perfect killing zone.

A door opened behind the shooter. He hazarded a quick glance. A man and woman stood outside their open condo door, trying to locate the source of the noise.

“Get back inside and do not come out!” he yelled, turning back to the stairwell door. “There’s a man with a gun!”

The frightened pair exchanged bewildered looks. Another door opened. A woman’s head popped into view.

“Move! Everyone back inside! Now!”

The residents quickly returned to the safety of their condos. Door latches caught, and the sounds of dead bolts being engaged sounded like thunderclaps in the corridor.

* * *

Blood seeped from Broadhurst’s chest wound. The bullet had entered Broadhurst’s back and exited the front through a half-dollar sized hole. His pressed white shirt was quickly turning crimson.

He wheezed, bubbles of red-tinted saliva gurgled from his lips. Broadhurst tried to key his mike. Jason guessed he was trying to order the presidents to be taken to safety. Broadhurst checked the unit with his left hand. It trembled as if he had Parkinson’s disease, moving haltingly, a heartbeat too slow. His eyelids wavered as he teetered on the edge of consciousness.
Radio must still be out
, Jason thought.

Broadhurst motioned for Jason to lean closer. His mouth formed words, but no sound came forth.

“What?” asked Jason.

A pained whisper slipped from Broadhurst’s lips. “Communications…still down…Save…POTUS!”

Then the man’s eyes rolled back in his head.

Jason put a bloody hand to the agent’s neck. The pulse was barely palpable and coming in unsteady intervals.

Shit!

This man was going to die without serious—and immediate—medical intervention, Jason knew. His pharmacy training and practice had imbued him with basic medical skills, but traumas of this magnitude were not part of that training. Even soldiers like his brother had more skill in dealing with such wounds than he did.

Jason quickly weighed the options. If he stayed and attended to Broadhurst, there was a good chance that two presidents would die. If he left the agent, Broadhurst was doomed.

Jason compromised. He pulled off Broadhurst’s shoes and removed both his socks, balling them tightly. With a grimace, he rammed one sock as far as he could into the gaping exit wound. He removed his suit coat and, rolling Broadhurst back over, did the same to the entry wound. He prayed the pressure would stem the colossal bleeding. It wasn’t much, but it was the best he could do. It was the agent’s only chance. The man’s life was being measured in minutes.

Ignoring the guilt of leaving a dying man, Jason picked up Broadhurst’s weapon, jammed it into his waistband beside the one already there, and vaulted the steps to the door.

With his back against the wall, Jason pulled the door open an inch.

A bullet whizzed past his head like an angry hornet. Jason shrank back, releasing the door.

Shit! Shit!

He had glimpsed the man lying on the carpet, his weapon trained on the exit. If he stepped out, Jason would be riddled with bullets. All they had to do now was wait him out while Fairing and Kader lined up their shots. Jason frantically scanned the landing, trying to think of a way to open the door without getting shredded.

He needed a diversion. Jason moved back to Broadhurst and picked up one of his shoes.

* * *

President Gary Hope concluded his remarks and introduced his father to the citizens of southeastern Virginia.

On this fine day, the children of Jacob R. Hope bless their father’s name. The United States Navy honors his name. May God watch over all the sailors stationed aboard her, all those who fly from her deck, and all those who pray for their safe return. I’m honored to bring to you the forty-second president, my father, Jacob R. Hope.

Jacob Hope, the octogenarian, walked haltingly across the dais.

Thank you, Mr. President, for that kind and wonderfully generous introduction. This is any aviator’s dream come true. I first want to congratulate every man and woman who has made this vessel into the mighty war ship you see today…

* * *

The shot bisected the narrow opening. The fraudulent agent could put a hole in a quarter from fifty yards. His marksmanship was unparalleled. But he didn’t know if he’d hit whoever had cracked the door. He flexed his fingers, his eyes never leaving the door. Ninety seconds had passed since he’d fired.

The door cracked again. The impostor held his fire for a brief moment, seeing nothing through the narrow slit. He pointed the weapon where he guessed a man’s waist would be. An eternity passed. The door opened wider. Then, from above, something began to fall. He lifted his eyes. An object fell over the top of the door. In that split-second distraction, a weapon moved around the door. He tore his eyes away from the falling object a fraction too late. A muzzle flashed from inside the stairwell.

The explosion ripped through the impostor’s brain, accompanied by a blinding whiteness before everything instantly went black. The black shoe bounced twice and came to rest on its polished side.

* * *

Jason pressed against the doorframe and pivoted, letting the door rest against his back as Broadhurst had done earlier. He
peered down the hall that angled to his right. All he could see was decorative wallpaper. This section of the corridor was empty except for the “agent” he’d just killed. Blood splattered the walls, not from the man he’d just dispatched, but from other victims. He crept to the bend near the elevators, hazarding another glance. Two silenced shots thudded into the wall behind him. Two more men lay on their stomachs at the far end of the corridor, several feet from each other.

The pain in his flank, temporarily blocked by his adrenaline, throbbed with each heartbeat. Moving the gun to his left hand, he sucked in four quick breaths and stuck the Sig around the angle, firing four rapid shots without looking.

He peeked again. All four shots had missed, but the two exposed men scrambled for cover, crawling to a condo doorway. Jason fired two more shots at the legs of the second man. The second shot pierced the man’s left leg below the knee. A howl echoed through the corridor as the bloodied limb disappeared through the open door.

A second later, return fire erupted from the condo. Jason hugged the wall, pressed the magazine release, and the near-empty clip fell into his hands. Two rounds left. He dropped the weapon and removed the second pistol from his back.

The elevator door opened with a loud, ominous chime.

Jason belly-crawled to within a few feet of the elevator, keeping the weapon trained on the door where the leg had disappeared. A head and pistol popped out of the open car. Jason recognized the agent. He was one of the men from Alpha One, the team they’d been waiting for. Jason held up a hand, hoping a bullet wouldn’t disintegrate it, and pointed down the hallway.

“They’re in that apartment! Follow me! Where’s your partner?”

“Dealing with what we thought was another threat. He stayed behind. It’s just us.”

Jason and his new ally crept to within two feet of the door.

“We need to get in there,” the agent whispered.

“How?”

“By kicking it in.”

Jason faced the closed door, lying on his belly, the pistol trained on the grainy oak. He sucked in a deep breath through a desert-dry throat, waiting for the hell that lay beyond.

“On the count of three,” the agent whispered, standing by Jason’s left shoulder. “I’ll kick it in. Shoot anything that moves.”

The agent rose to full height with a foot on either side of Jason’s shoulders.

“Ready…one…two…”

* * *