The Kill Shot (25 page)

Machine-gun fire burst from the woods. I dropped flat to the pebbled ground—just as men in the chopper let loose with a barrage of their own. Muzzle flashes sparked at three different points under the trees. I took note of their positions. Those were Philip's men—and they'd shed no tears if they killed me.

Katie pointed her .45 at anything.

She squeezed off shots at everything.

I dove behind some driftwood, a log that had washed ashore. I raised my weapon, the heavy M9 Wright had given me, and fixed the sight on the guy hanging from the 'copter. But then Ikaat scrambled to her feet and moved through my line of fire.

The guy in the harness grabbed for her, fisted a hand in her curling hair. She twisted and turned in his grasp. Until, with a jerk and leap, she threw herself into the rapid river below.

Katie let loose with a keening wail.

But the undertow didn't care and it dragged Ikaat down. She surfaced for a brief instant. Bound and gagged, she floundered.

She was drowning.

Philip's men continued to fire on the helicopter. But I dropped my handgun and ran. I splashed through the shallows—and fought the current to Ikaat's side.

We tumbled in the churning stream. I grabbed her clothes, then one of her limbs. My broken wrist made my entire arm cramp and complain.

I dragged her toward land. On a rocky shelf, crisscrossed with crevasses and pocked with potholes, I knelt beside her, stripped off her gag. She spat water and sucked in some air.

But she didn't have time to do more than that.

The chopper bore down on us. It blotted out the sun. Its side door yawned above us and I could see into the eyes of her crew, wiry men with long arms and unyielding determination.

They crouched, ready to grab Ikaat.

Ready to fly away with her.

I fumbled for my gun. But it wasn't in the pockets of my pants and it wasn't in the daypack at my waist. I'd left it on the pebbled beach.

But that didn't mean I was unarmed.

My fingers brushed a stick-like shape. I pulled it from the pack. And prayed the river hadn't ruined it.

Still, the flare felt solid in my hand. I struck its end like a match on the stone. With a hiss and a snap, it flamed. It launched its burning tip. The ember zipped and zagged. It arced into the helicopter's side and exploded among the men in a ball of gas and glow.

One man screamed, a dead man giving up the ghost. He soared from the chopper's open portal like a comet across the night sky. Flames, orange and red, devoured his clothes, his limbs, his hair, his face. As black and twisted as a spent matchstick, he dropped into the roiling river. The river whisked his remains away.

But the chopper still flew.

Black smoke poured from its belly. It stuttered and recovered and swept wide, toward the tree line. And then it turned.

The helicopter sped toward Ikaat and me, crouched among the rocks. When it reached us, the remaining crew would take Ikaat away. And they would kill me without a thought.

But the helicopter shot past us. Its engine coughed and gagged. The craft tilted, strafed a rotor on the rocky outcrop above the roaring river. The blades shattered into a million flying pieces. I threw up my arms to shield Ikaat's face and mine. Just as the chopper crashed and burned on the river's far shore.

“Step away from Doctor Oujdad.”

I looked up. Philip loomed over me. In his hand, he gripped a Russian Makarov semiautomatic pistol.

He pointed it at my face.

“You love me,” I told him. “You won't shoot me.”

And in my thundering heart, I prayed I was right.

But Philip's hand held steady.

And so did his aim.

His concentration was absolute. So much so, he didn't notice Barrett appearing on the rock table behind him. He didn't hear his approach.

Barrett trained his nine on Philip's skull. “Drop your weapon, you son of a bitch.”

Philip let the Makarov dangle in his hand.

Until he twisted and threw the gun at Barrett's head.

Barrett ducked and his nine fired skyward. Pea gravel slid beneath his boot. In horror, I watched as he scrambled, as his foot hit a crevasse and fell through.

I clearly heard his thighbone snap.

And my scream shook the pines where they stood.

Barrett tumbled into the cleft. It swallowed him whole. I was on my feet in an instant—just as Philip's men emerged from the scrub.

“Incoming!” one of them shouted.

And more choppers darkened the sky. But these helicopters weren't in the hands of our enemies. These flew to defend us.

Their approach had Philip sprinting for the woods. Ikaat and I ran for Barrett. Together, we climbed into the gash in the earth.

We found a cavern of sorts, narrow but long. The river had carved it with her force. I could hear the current rushing past us at opposite ends of the cave and imagined, at some point, it opened to the shore.

The river had also left a soft bed of sand to carpet the floor. Barrett lay sprawled there, his eyes slitted against his pain. Ikaat dropped to her knees beside him.

I knelt and took hold of his hand.

“It'll be all right,” I promised him. “The cavalry's coming.”

“Spencer-Dean?”

“Gone.”

And I hoped I never had to see him again.

But at the moment I thought this, a shadow passed over us. Like the Angel of Death had come to call. It wasn't Philip who'd found the way into the cavern from the riverbank, though.

It was Katie.

And in her hand, she brandished Barrett's gun.

“I'm so sorry,” she said, “but I made a deal for my sister's life. If I can't send Ikaat back home, I have to kill her. It's the only way.”

Slowly, I got to my feet—and inserted myself between Katie and her target.

“If you kill Ikaat,” I said, “you're as rotten as the people who kidnapped Annie.”

“That doesn't matter.
I
don't matter. Only Annie matters.”

“Listen to me. Even if you save her, you'll never see her again. Wright's got a platoon on the riverbank. If you shoot Ikaat, it'll be the death penalty for you.”

“I don't care.”

And she didn't.

That was plain.

I said, “Well,
I
care. So I'm going to phone my father. He's a powerful man. He's in a position to help.”

I pulled my cell from a pocket. It was soggy from the river, and the beautiful case Philip had bought me was slick in my hand. I was sure it couldn't receive a signal in this wilderness, let alone in this cave.

But I didn't need it to.

I tapped the screen with my thumb, slid a finger across its surface, and offered the thing to Katie. “This is his private line. You talk to him.”

My bluff almost worked. Katie's gaze shifted to the device in my hand. Tears glittered in her eyes. But then she blinked. And pointed Barrett's weapon at me.

“Get out of my way, Jamie. I have to do this.”

Katie wrapped both hands around the stock, but she was shaking so hard, the gun wobbled. Now, she was dangerous. Not before. Not when she'd tried to run us down on Capitol Hill. Not when she'd set the fire at the Hooch. No, now she was deadly. Because now she had no hope.

Panic scuttled along my spine like rats through a sewer. Still, I stood tall. Behind me, Ikaat pleaded with me to move.

But I wouldn't do it.

Instead, I stared Katie in the eye. Made her look into mine. Hers were as round and as dark as the pearls at her throat.

At my feet, Barrett moaned. On purpose? I couldn't say.

But the sound startled Katie. Surprised, she jerked her head to look at him. And that's when I lunged for her.

I crashed into Katie—and found her strong. She drove me backward, slammed me into the rock wall. The impact knocked the wind from my body before leaving behind spiraling pain.

She pinned me there, panted in my face. “Forgive me, Jamie.”

She dug Barrett's weapon into my ribs.

A single shot. A kill shot. That would be all it would take. I'd be gone in an instant. And then Katie would put a bullet through Ikaat and Barrett, too.

Except I wasn't willing to let that happen. I grabbed Katie's wrist with both hands. My broken wrist was weak, though, and my fingers wouldn't respond. So I let her go. And found the barrel with the heel of my hand.

I shoved.

The gun went off with a sonic boom and a blinding light. My hands burned and my head hummed. For an eternity, I thought I was dead.

But then Katie deMarco—dedicated sister, budding diplomat, conflicted friend—fell limp in my arms.

And Wright's troops charged into the cavern.

The morning I returned to Washington, my father suggested we take a stroll.

That's how we ended up at the Tidal Basin, ambling along the promenade that swept from FDR's memorial to Jefferson's. Much had changed in the week I'd been away. Then, as I'd hustled to my father's fundraiser in Georgetown, hot blasts of September heat threatened to keep autumn at bay. Now, the century-old cherry trees ringing the Basin had shed their glossy leaves. And their branches reached to a leaden sky like children for their mother's arms.

A cold rain sputtered and spat at us. The chill of it reminded me of London's fogs. I felt like I'd lived a lifetime since accompanying Katie deMarco there.

Yet my father hadn't changed a bit.

He said, “These clouds look as though they'll last through the weekend.”

I doubted he'd invited me here to talk about the weather.

“Jamie, why don't you pack a bag? I'll call my pilot at Reagan National. You could be on your way to the villa in Saint Croix within the hour. My treat.”

“No.”

My own vehemence stopped me in my tracks. My father halted alongside me. His brows arched as if he'd been slapped.

Ahead of us, Roger strolled along the concrete curve as if he were walking for his health.

In any case, he was out of earshot. I imagined he took walks like this with my father all the time. Little strolls where he was just past hearing anything important. Of course, he was always still within recall range.

Just in case my father needed a witness.

I said, “Katie deMarco tried to kill me on Capitol Hill. She would've killed me in the desert. You know why.”

My father took the time to tuck the hem of his glove into the cuff of his trench coat. “I may have heard something about her reasoning.”

Her reasoning.

When her beloved sister was abducted by a rogue regime, Katie had reasoned that giving in to their demands—and giving up a defecting physicist—was the only way she could save the person she loved most on earth.

I said, “That information would've been useful to me
before
I left for London. Hell, that information would've been useful while I was
in
London. Did it even occur to you to give me this information when I
got back
from London? Or was your thought always plausible deniability and hanging me out to dry?”

“Well, information can be hard to verify in the fog of war.”

“Who says we're at war?”

“Who says we aren't?”

My father's declaration stopped me cold.

“The bottom line,” my father continued, “is this nation gained valuable information about a growing nuclear concern. Never forget information is the name of the game.”

My father walked on.

I had to hustle to keep up with him.

He said, “I have some more information for you. Annie deMarco is dead.”

I'd expected to read just such an announcement in the back of some newspaper. Like some little aside that wasn't quite news. Still, my father's statement hit me in the solar plexus.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“As sure as we can be. An unknown person or persons dumped her body yesterday at the local offices of a British oil company.”

But that made one more question balance on the tip of my tongue. I wasn't certain I should ask it, though. Because I wasn't certain I'd like the answer.

“Did Annie deMarco die because I wouldn't give up Ikaat Oujdad?”

“That,” my father said, “we don't know.”

He walked on without a break in his stride.

But like the cherry trees, I remained rooted to the spot.

“Have a lovely weekend,” he called, “whatever you decide to do with it.”

He strolled to his car without a care in the world.

Roger met him there and opened the door of the sleek, glossy Lincoln. He closed my father inside. I couldn't see my father's outline through the heavy tint of the windows, and I doubted he spared a backward glance for me.

So, Katie's sister was dead.

And by defending Ikaat, I may've contributed to her death.

The seagulls seemed to scream accusations at me as I made my way blindly along the Potomac toward my Jaguar, parked in the tourists' lot off of Ohio Drive SW.

Information was the name of the game, my father had said. Of course, games have winners and losers. I wondered if it were possible for the Oujdads and deMarcos, for Philip and my father, and for Barrett and me to be both.

I kicked at the crispy leaves covering the footpath. But as I rounded the curve beneath the George Mason Monument, I halted. I'd left my car alone in the tourists' lot. Few out-of-towners came to the Tidal Basin in this season. So my car should've been solitary still.

Except it wasn't.

A man waited for me, leaning against its grille.

In corduroys the color of caramel and a half-zip navy sweater trimmed in tan suede, Philip Spencer-Dean looked as handsome as a wayward college student. Or maybe that was my memory playing tricks on me. In any case, I couldn't forget he'd intended to kidnap Ikaat—and that he'd been willing to sacrifice me to do it.

“You should've phoned,” I said, breezing by him to get in my car. “I can't talk now. I've got someplace I'm supposed to be.”

“Two minutes, Jamie. Please.”

I paused, key fob in my grasp. I'd sustained powder burns when Katie fired Barrett's gun in the crevasse, so my hands were raw and red. I'd get over it pretty quickly, though.

I didn't think I'd ever get over what Philip had done.

I said, “You know, I still haven't figured out what your game was. I don't know if your government really wanted you to keep Ikaat in Britain, or if you personally wanted to make a profit selling her and her secrets to the highest bidder.”

“Jamie, I'm shocked—”

“Dalmatovis may've been on some regime's payroll, but the motorcycle rider after our passports was your guy. Because you didn't want Ikaat to leave the UK's shores.

“Armand must've figured it out. He tried to get Ikaat to make a run for it when Dalmatovis attacked. But they got separated and Barrett ended up with him. Those were your goons who caught up with Barrett, weren't they? You had him beaten and left for dead—”

“No, truly—”

“—when you didn't find out what you wanted to know from him, you drugged me—”

“Darling, listen—”

“—and when all was said and done, you watched me board a plane you
knew
would crash at sea.”

That shut him up.

I reached for my car door.

Philip slammed it shut with the slap of his palm. “I was assigned to assist with the American plot to intercept a defecting physicist, yes. And why not? Whilst in university, I spent plenty of time in America, as you are well aware. Naturally, my government gave the job to me. Naturally, I saw an additional opportunity. You can't possibly blame me for that.”

“Can I blame you for showing up at Rabbit's Revenge? And in the New Mexico desert, too? Everywhere I went, it's like you had a road map, Philip. And I think I know why.”

I slipped a hand into the pocket of my raincoat, withdrew my phone in its beautiful, handcrafted case.

I said, “You wanted to meet your government's expectations. Hell, you wanted to meet your father's. You wanted it all so badly that that morning in Marylebone, you, knowing I was working on the American plan, installed a Space Raider on my phone.”

Space Raiders are specialized software that can turn smartphones into someone else's navigation device. Like a virus, the software will sleep deep in an unsuspecting person's mobile phone. And when the Raider is activated, it will collect sights, sounds, and GPS positions through the camera, microphone, and Location Services feature—even if the phone appears to be turned off.

The Raider can transmit this information at any time, including real time. So from the comfort of his chauffeur-driven Mercedes, Philip would've been in on my every move. He would've mapped out my every step. And he would've heard my every conversation.

“All right,” Philip conceded. He took the phone from my hand. “Your mobile has broadcast all the details of your location to me at regular intervals. I didn't do it because I needed to persuade Doctor Oujdad to remain in Britain or because I had any interest in Katie deMarco's subterfuge. I did it because I knew you could be caught in the crosshairs, Jamie. I did it because I care for you.”

“Funny that you mention crosshairs…”

But really, it wasn't funny at all. I remembered the way Philip had shoved that Russian Makarov in my face. And the way he'd threatened to blow me away.

I plucked the phone from his hand. Turning toward the river, I lobbed it as hard as I could. It sailed over the rail at the sidewalk's edge and splashed in the turgid water.

“Goodbye, Philip.”

He grasped the crook of my injured arm. “Before you left London, I begged you not to board that plane. I told you I'd fallen in love with you. I meant it.”

I brushed his hand away.

“In the RV and at the Persian restaurant, I toyed with your affections to entice you. But I love you, Jamie. I love you and I want to be with you. We can go anywhere you'd like. We can leave right now. Where do you fancy? Hong Kong? A cottage in the Irish countryside? We'll go. We belong together, Jamie. We're two of a kind.”

I couldn't bear to look at him. Couldn't bear to hurt one of my dearest friends. And I couldn't bear to see the kind of man that friend had become.

“That's the problem, Philip. We're not two of a kind any longer. Maybe we never were.”

I stood on my toes, brushed a kiss across his lips, and got in my car before any tears caught up with me. Philip didn't try to stop me. Not this time.

At the mouth of the parking lot, I hit the brakes. I turned to look at my friend one more time. But Philip was already gone.