The List (29 page)

“I assure you gentlemen I had nothing to do with that outburst. I just wanted to sell some cars...”

They hauled him off. The room became a hubbub of commotion, everyone talking at once, everyone unsure as to what had just happened. Bert checked his watch. Seventeen minutes after four. They had done their job.

But how about Joan and Tom?

At 4:12 in Montreal, Tom had almost succumbed to panic. The authorities weren’t evacuating the building, and there was no sign of Joan.

Then, like an angel sent from heaven, Joan stepped into the hotel lobby, more Secret Service agents around her. She had an official-looking clip board at her side and Tom’s cell phone in her hand.

“Oh my God. Can you smell that? What are the levels, Tom?”

“Three percent.” Tom broke the last vial, almost gagging at the stench.

“We’ve got to clear these people out of here now!” Joan dialed a number on the phone and pretended to talk to their home base. Sirens could be heard in the distance, getting closer. Before showing up, Joan had called all six of the local fire departments and told them about the gas leak. In a few minutes it would be pandemonium.

Tom checked his watch. It would be close. Were these lunkheads going to get the President out of there or what? Finally, six agents went running off down the hallway. Bravely rushing to save their leader, Tom hoped.

“There’s a gas leak!” Tom shouted to everyone in the lobby.

“Nobody panic!”

They panicked. Tom flowed out of the lobby with the rest of the people, just as several fire engines arrived. He met up with Joan and they melded into the crowd and watched. The Secret Service allowed the firemen in, and shortly began to assist in evacuating the building.

When Tom saw people coming out wearing tuxedos, he guessed the Presidential dinner had been evacuated as well.

“Looks like we did it.”

Tom nodded. “They probably ushered the President out a side door.” He checked his watch and noted it was 4:17. If the assassination had happened, the Secret Service would be corralling people for questioning rather than letting them leave. The relief he felt was like a drug, purging everything bad from his body.

Joan made a face. “For just saving the world, that was kind of anticlimactic.”

“You think so? I was fighting the whole time not to throw up.

Let’s get out of here, find out how the others did in DC.”

Tom made his way through the crowd, having to push and shove because it was so densely packed. When he got to the car he took off his hat and turned around to talk to Joan.

She was gone.

Montreal

The guy to Joan’s left uttered a small gasp, and then dropped dead on the asphalt.

Before she could even react to what was happening, someone had grabbed her arm and pulled her away.

“Poison dart. Move, or you’re next.”

The man had a beard and mustache, and he was wearing glasses.

He had a large, odd-looking nose, too big for his face. But the eyes—

those deep green eyes—were instantly recognizable.

Vlad.

He was pressing a camera up against her. Joan guessed it was just a housing for his weapon—that’s how he’d planned to kill the President.

“I said move, or you’ll die where you stand.”

She looked for Tom, but he’d vanished into the crowd. Then she turned to Vlad. His face was red, his lips pursed. He was seriously angry, and Joan had no illusions that he would kill her if she didn’t move. But would it be better to die here, quick and easy, or go with the psycho someplace private, where he could take his time?

Her feet began to move of their own volition and he led her away.

Joan could guess the horrors in store for her, but she didn’t want to die.

Even if she’d regret it later. They made their way to the other end of the street, Vlad with his arm locked around hers, the camera pressed to her side. He cut through an alley, taking her away from the commotion, the people, Tom. Every muscle in Joan’s body was coiled.

She kept waiting for something, anything, that would give her an opportunity to get away. The further they walked, the less likely it seemed she would get one.

“How do you think Stang will react when he hears you failed?”

Vlad’s rage was instantaneous. In one motion he released Joan’s arm and backhanded her across the face. She hadn’t been prepared for such a sudden blow, and found herself falling backward, landing on the tarmac. Her hard hat had flown off, bouncing against a Dumpster.

Bright motes swam in her vision. She brought a hand up to her face. It came away red. Nosebleed.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” He reached up and pulled at his own nose, removing the fake latex one, exposing the swollen, discolored one underneath. “Put this on to hide the bruise.”

The rubber nose bounced off of her chest. Joan blinked back tears of pain and tried to quell the ringing in her head. The camera was at his side, no longer pointed at her. Now was the time to escape.

She didn’t have the chance. Quick and savage, Vlad kicked her in the right side. Joan managed to shift so he mostly hit her arm, but the blow sent her rolling. She’d taken kicks before, by shoeless opponents of equal size. None hurt like this. Her entire arm began to go numb, and the motes she saw became blurry.

Vlad came again, grinning lasciviously. Joan tried to bat away his hand as he reached for her, but he managed a good grip on her hair. He yanked, forcing her head back.

“I’m not going to beat you to death in the alley. It won’t be that easy. I have a place nearby. Someplace private. All my tools are there.

We’re going to have hours of fun.”

Joan flailed out her leg, kicking at the camera. He kept it out of reach.

“What’s going on?”

A man was standing at the mouth of the alley. Young, short hair, muscular build. He took a step towards them.

“Don’t...” Joan started to say.

Too late. Vlad pointed the camera and a second later the guy was doubling over, blood foaming from his mouth.

“Now there’s a Kodak moment.”

Joan ground her teeth together and made her decision. If she was going to die, she would die trying to get away, not cowering in a corner. She scrambled to her feet and ran for the mouth of the alley. At any moment, she expected to feel a dart penetrate her skin. It looked painful, but quick. Better than being dragged back to his place.

But the dart didn’t come. Instead, something hit her in the back of the head. Joan lost all motor function. Her world began to spin and she fell onto all fours. Vlad kicked again, his foot burying itself in her stomach and sending her rolling into a brick wall.

“Get up.”

Joan coughed, spit some blood. She sat up. “No.”

Vlad began to shake, and then went from zero to psychotic is less than a second, kicking and punching and swearing at her. Joan tried to keep her head, blocking some blows, letting others land where they didn’t do much harm, until he made the biggest mistake of his entire life.

He swung at her with the camera.

Joan met the swing with a flat palm, knocking the weapon from his hand, sending it spinning through the air and cracking against the ground. Now they were evenly matched.

Vlad, in a rage state, was oblivious to the loss of his weapon. He continued to punch and pummel, snarling like an animal, spittle spraying from his mouth. Joan saw the opening and lashed out her foot, hitting him solidly in the solar plexus. Vlad stumbled back, holding his gut.

Joan got to her feet. She hurt all over, but she pushed the pain aside. She’d beaten him once. She could beat him again.

She widened her stance. Vlad attacked. Joan spun into a reverse kick and connected solidly with Vlad’s jaw. He left his feet and smacked hard against the asphalt, landing on his back, arms and legs splayed out. His head bounced on his neck.

Joan wiped blood off her face, using her sleeve. Then she took a running start and punted Vlad right between the legs, trying to kick his testicles up into his skull. He howled, curling up into a ball. Joan knew she needed to kill him. For what he did to her. To Marty. She had to end this, here and now.

But in her mind’s eye she saw Bill, his dead eyes wide open after she’d shot him. It made her feel sick, empty. And that had been done to save Tom’s life. She hated this man cowering before her, but he was defenseless. As much as he deserved to die, Joan couldn’t find it in herself to do it. Not with her bare hands. Not like this.

As she hesitated, Vlad managed to get to his feet. He limped out of the alley, heading for the street. She thought of all the people Vlad must have murdered, and all the ones he would eventually murder if she let him get away. She thought about spending the rest of her life looking over her shoulder, wondering when he was going to try to get her again.

Joan made her decision. Maybe she couldn’t kill him, but she could take him out of the game. Permanently.

She took three steps and launched herself into the air, aiming her flying kick at Vlad’s back. He fell, face forward, onto the sidewalk.

She ran to him, knowing what she had to do, wondering if she had the courage, the stomach, for it. Fate made it easier. Next to Vlad, in the gutter, was an empty beer bottle. She broke it against the pavement and grabbed Vlad’s head by the hair, turning it to face her.

Two pokes, and Vlad’s green eyes were gushing red. His screams were shrill, almost inhuman. Joan released him and he scrambled to his feet, bleeding and howling and permanently blind, his hands clamped to his eyes. He ran straight into traffic.

Joan watched it happen as if it were slow motion. Vlad staggering into the street. The sound of the horn. The screech of brakes.

The bus hit him head on. Vlad’s arms reached out and grabbed the bumper as his legs went under the front tire. He wasn’t dragged, exactly. It was more like he was erased. Pinned between the wheel and the street, Vlad’s lower half was scraped away, leaving a wide streak of gore for almost thirty yards, like a big red skid mark.

Joan limped out of the alley, holding her side. She followed the trail up to the bus. The driver had gotten out, staring at Vlad in utter disbelief.

“He just jumped out. He just jumped out.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Joan placed a hand on his shoulder. “He was trying to kill me.”

The driver looked at Joan, dazed. Vlad’s upper body was still pinned under the tire. His lower body was... gone. Joan watched as his face contorted, his mouth opening and closing like landed fish. The pain must have been unimaginable.

Then, after a moment, the twitching stopped.

Joan turned on her heels and walked away. She hadn’t gotten half a block when someone honked from the other side of the street. Tom.

He parked and hurried to her, his face awash with concern.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded, unsure of her voice. At any moment, Joan felt as if her legs would give out.

“What happened?”

“Vlad.”

Tom looked around, focusing on the traffic back-up. “Where is he?”

“He... caught a bus.”

Tom reached out to her, took her hand. Joan hurt in a dozen places, and her emotions were fried. She made a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a sob, and then she hugged him. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, patting her back, rubbing her hair, rocking her gently to and fro.

“I talked to Roy. They saved the VP. You okay?”

“Remember what I said earlier, about it being anticlimactic?”

Tom nodded.

“I take it back.”

Joan buried her face into his chest, letting go of the fear and pain.

They stood like that, embracing each other, until the ambulance came and scraped up what was left of Vlad. The horrors of the last few days, and the emptiness Joan realized she had been feeling for years, all seemed to melt away in Tom’s arms. For the very first time since she moved away from home, she felt safe.

And it was the best feeling in the world.

Washington DC

“I want them dead.”

Phil had never heard his father so upset. He stared at the speaker phone, trying to imagine the look on his face, but none came to mind.

There was no precedent for it.

“Dad, calm down, we’ll have another chance.”

“Have them killed, Junior. Hire mercenaries. Pay the Mafia. I want them hunted down and gutted like deer.”

It unnerved Phil more than he cared to say. Dad was always a pillar, a rock. But his voice was cracking and he seemed to be losing all control.

“We’ll get them, Dad. We’ve got the airports covered. We froze their credit and their bank accounts. I’ve got people in LA tying Joan and Tom in with the murder of her assistant. And we also have Abe in custody.”

“Is he giving anything up?”

“So far he’s not saying anything. We can only hold him for 48

hours without pressing charges.”

“Then charge him with something, dammit!”

“He really didn’t do anything, other than disturbing the peace.”

“Make something up! Use your brain!”

Dad went on a coughing jag, and Phil poured himself some Scotch. For the first time, the very first time, he was beginning to doubt his father. It scared Phil, because it was like doubting himself.

“Dad, I’m taking care of it. You need to rest. The operation—

maybe it’s left you a little unnerved.”

There was a pause. Phil wondered if he had perhaps pushed too far. When his father finally answered, his voice was small, quiet.

“This is our dream, Junior.”

“I know, Dad.”

“Thirty-five years in the making. We’ve sacrificed so much. Even with a new kidney, I won’t be around forever.”

“You’ll always be around. I’m your legacy.”

“Cut the sentimental bullshit. I’m the one who started this. I want to be around to reap the rewards. If I can’t be there to see you take the oath, it was a waste of my whole life.”

“I spoke to the Secret Service. They don’t even know that there were any assassination attempts. We can try again soon, same plan.

There will be another chance later this month.”

“First we have to get rid of those damn clones!”