Silent Threat Page 24

  He grinned. The overconfidence showing again. Or was he good enough to fake that weakness to lure her into a trap?

  “It’s a small world you and I inhabit,” he said. “I know of you.”

  “I don’t know anything about you.”

  He grinned again, maddening in its casualness. “I believe that makes me better than you, yes?”

  “We’ll see.”

  She pressed the attack, feigning a stabbing motion at his abdomen before switching to a slash up to his chin.

  He blocked her with his forearm, but it was what she expected.

  She rolled in, her right fist slamming into his face. Then she sprang back, just as his right hand cut through the air with the knife.

  Her hand ached, it was about as good a punch as she could land. And it had barely fazed him.

  A small trickle of blood from his left nostril was the only evidence she’d landed on the attack.

  He licked his lips, tasting the blood.

  “My turn,” he said.

  The man came in fast, a whirlwind of jabs and feints. He started high, but then crouched low to the ground, stabbing up at her.

  She was on her heels, backing up on unsteady ground, but she blocked him again and again. She made a few weak counterattacks just to slow him down, but they were ineffective against the onslaught.

  Her lungs burned, but she ignored it. Adrenaline brought everything into high focus. She knew one mistake and someone was going to die.

  No sooner had the thought come to her than it happened.

  The man lunged, leaving an opening. She reacted to it on instinct, even as another part of her brain screamed that it was a trap.

  Once she stepped into her attack, the man closed off the opening and twisted into a plunging motion, the point of his knife directed at her neck.

  But her right hand rose to block it. The knife skewered the center of it, the blood-covered blade sticking out of the back of her hand.

  Her hand that had not been holding her knife.

  The man’s eyes opened wide in recognition of his mistake. Mara had sacrificed her hand to lure him in. And he’d fallen for it.

  Mara’s left hand slammed her knife into the man’s rib cage.

  He cried out, gasping as if amazed at the intensity of the pain.

  Mara twisted her right hand, the man’s knife still in it, and ripped it away from him.

  He staggered backward, fear in his eyes.

  “I guess you weren’t better,” she said. Then kicked him in the groin like she was a World Cup soccer player.

  * * *

  Mara felt satisfied the man was tied well enough. As an extra precaution, she found a thick branch on the ground and smacked him over the head with it. She wanted the man alive when this was all over. He wouldn’t break easily, but he would eventually give up the answers she wanted. They always did.

  Once he was secure, she rewrapped her hand with a strip of cloth she’d torn from her shirt. It hurt like a son of a bitch, but being dead would have been a lot worse. From what she could tell it’d been a clean puncture through the meat of her hand. She hoped there’d be no permanent damage, as it was the hand she liked to kill bad guys with.

  She grabbed the man’s rifle. She’d lost her binoculars in the fight and she wanted to see what was going on down at the meet.

  Using the shooting sticks to balance the gun so that she could get a clear view with the high magnification, she took a look.

  First, she saw her dad and Hawthorn, standing side by side. That wasn’t the plan. Something had gone wrong.

  Then she turned to the right, going too far at first so that the person they were speaking to was only in the frame for a split second.

  She edged the gun back to the left, centering the scope on the woman.

  Mara blinked hard, trying to clear her vision, because there was something wrong with her. The woman below looked exactly like her mother.

  CHAPTER 41

  Scott walked toward her, hands out to his sides, unable to say anything. He felt numb. A buzzing sound filled his ears. Hawthorn turned toward him and then looked away, as if the sight of him was too much to bear.

  Wendy had no such problem. She stared at him, chin thrust out as if challenging him to look her in the eye.

  “Hello, Scott,” she said. “I heard you were dead.”

  “I heard the same about you.” He pulled his gun from his jacket and aimed it at her head. For a second, his anger and his pain nearly proved to be too much. But his need to have his questions answered stopped him from pulling the trigger.

  “We need her alive,” Hawthorn hissed.

  “What the fuck is going on?” was all Scott could manage. He hardly recognized his own voice. It sounded like someone was strangling him.

  He swore there was a flicker of doubt in her face, not fear of the gun he held, but a softening. The barest sign of the woman he once loved. Then, just as fast, it was gone. “Nice that you haven’t changed much. Then again, Townsend’s still alive, so maybe you have. Maybe you’ve gone soft.”

  Scott regripped the gun like it was trying to squirm out of his hand. “Maybe I learned from that mistake.”

  “Scott,” Hawthorn said. “We take her in. We’ll have years to question her.”

  “I want answers,” Scott said. “Now.”

  “What do you want me to say? I’m sorry? Well, I’m not.” She pointed to them both. “Think of the things the two of you have done for your country. The laws you’ve broken. All the people killed in the name of national security, both targets and collateral damage.”

  “I saw you die. I saw you go over the bridge,” Scott said.

  “The first shot was staged. My gun, remember? I just needed a clean way out. I knew Hawthorn was on to me.”

  “How did you know?” Hawthorn asked.

  She smiled as if talking to a little boy. “There’s little Omega doesn’t know.”

  “And the second shot?” Scott asked.

  “That was a little surprise gift from my employer. Shoulder wound to make it even more convincing. There were divers in the water waiting for me.” Her eyes burned as she recalled the memory. A shudder passed through her, maybe a recollection of the freezing waters.

  “You went into the water as Wendy Roberts and came out as the Director of Omega,” Hawthorn said.

  “No, that took a while to work up the food chain once I was out of deep cover.” She smirked at Scott. “But you know how competitive I am.”

  “Why?” Scott hated how weak his voice sounded. Waves of nausea crashed over him as a lifetime of belief and identity collapsed in on itself. Even the words she’d said on the bridge had been lies. She’d never loved him. She hadn’t kept the charade going to protect their daughters. None of it was true. And that left him with nothing to cling on to.

  Then a new thought hit him even harder. Mara couldn’t know. It would crush her. He refused to have her endure the betrayal all over again. As Wendy spoke, his brain rifled through a way to protect his daughter.

  “Omega is more important than us. More important than any one country. It’s the future of humanity.”

  “How can you say that?” Hawthorn said.

  “The world is failing. You can see the signs everywhere. When nations crumble, there has to be something there to rebuild it from the ashes. Omega will be there, even when everything else is gone.”

  “Do you really believe this bullshit?” Scott said. “Or is someone listening in on us? Because this is class A looney bin prepper talk here.”

  Wendy expression changed, adopting the look of a teacher speaking with the slowest student in the class. “You don’t get it. We’re not waiting for the world to end. The cataclysmic fire that would come on its own might destroy everyone. No, like good stewards, we intend a controlled burn. Destruction of only what is necessary for new growth to take root.”

  Scott heard the certainty in her voice. Saw the seething fire in her eyes as she spoke. It was the look o
f madness, found in messiahs and zealots, priests and penitents alike. This was her new religion. Or maybe it had been her religion all along.

  “Our family,” he whispered. “Our two daughters. You just left them. You left me. You left Lucy to die alone.”

  Wendy blinked hard twice, but that was the only outward sign she gave that his words made a damn bit of difference to her. He realized he didn’t know this woman. That he never had.

  She turned to Hawthorn. “I know you met with Townsend. Was there a message for me, or was it all subterfuge to get this meeting?”

  “No, he had a message he wanted me to deliver to you and the Council.”

  “And it is?”

  “That you and the hairy bastards you serve can go straight to hell.”

  Wendy inclined her head, as if in resignation. She raised her right hand and then lowered it, quickly. If it was a signal to someone, that someone wasn’t watching.

  Scott’s reflexes twitched as he anticipated gunfire. But when none came, he knew there was only one likely explanation: Mara had neutralized whatever threat had been out there. But that meant she might have seen whom he was talking to. He couldn’t bear that thought.

  Wendy raised her hand again and snapped it down.

  Fear replaced the smug look on her face.

  “Expecting someone?” Scott said.

  “How about me, Mom?” Mara said, walking out from the darkness. “Were you expecting me?”

  CHAPTER 42

  Asset squinted his eyes open, feeling like he had to crawl out of a dark hole trying to pull him back down into unconsciousness. A burst of pain in his side and in the back of his head took his breath away. Light flashed, exploding into a million points of pain that cascaded through his body.

  There was comfort to be had if he just let himself slip back asleep, but he fought against it. The person who’d hit him was still alive. And he needed to take care of that.

  Even in his urgency to get loose, he knew the importance of calm. He closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing. On his heartbeat. And he slowed them both down, clearing his head of both pain and panic.

  Once he was in control, he tested his bindings. His hands were zip-tied together behind his back, then connected by a short rope to his feet, forcing him into a prone position with his back arched.

  The pain radiating from the knife wound in his side threatened to make him black out again. The way he was tied pulled his rib cage taut, making it hurt even more.

  But he knew that if he didn’t concentrate that he’d be spending the rest of his life in some CIA interrogation hellhole. He had to escape, and he had to do it now.

  He took inventory of the area around him and the state of his bindings. There was some play in the rope between his feet and hands. The woman had been in too much of a hurry, or had relied too much on his staying unconscious. Either way, the mistake was going to cost her.

  He rolled three full times over to a metal fence surrounding ground under repair, each rotation sending another shock wave of pain through his rib cage. It took only a few seconds for him to find a sharp area on one of the posts and set to work on the rope. The first binding snapped clean, and his arms and legs were no longer connected. His shoulders screamed with the release. He pressed his forearm against the wound on his side, wincing from the pain.

  The zip ties on his wrists were harder to break. The burr on the metal post kept slicing into his wrist. After his hands were slicked with blood, he decided to try a different tack. He leaned against a tree, resting his shoulder against it. Lifting off only a few inches, he slammed his shoulder, popping the joint out of its socket. He was amazed at the next level of pain his body was able to deliver. He clenched his teeth, his training reminding him that pain was purely biology. Fear brought by the pain was what hurt performance. And fear was all mental.

  He took a deep breath, willing the pain to disappear into his body. Carefully, he rotated his arm around until his hands were in front of him.

  He sat on the ground and untied both of his boots. He pulled one of the laces through the small gap between his wrists and then tied it to the lace on his other boot. Once the knot was tight, he rocked back so that his legs were off the ground, tension on the laces. Carefully, he moved his legs in a bicycle motion, working the laces back and forth like a saw. Within seconds, the zip ties popped, freeing his hands.

  He stood, unsteady on his feet at first, but quick to stabilize. He didn’t bother feeling his pulse. It was jackhammering. For once in his professional life, he didn’t give a shit.

  He went back to the same tree and leaned against it, kneading the muscle around his shoulder socket. With a sudden thrust, he jammed it back into place.

  Next, he searched the area for his rifle. She’d taken that, of course. His knife was gone, too.

  But under a nearby bush, he found his backpack of supplies. She’d missed that. He pulled out a Sig Sauer handgun and the extra clip, shoving it into his pocket.

  Then, holding his side and gritting his teeth against the pain, he struggled toward the Korean War Memorial, hoping he wasn’t too late to join in the fun.

  CHAPTER 43

  Mara felt a burning in her chest as she walked toward her mom. She did her best to control the emotional reaction to seeing the woman she’d mourned for years standing in front of her, but it was a losing battle. Tears formed in her eyes, but they were as much anger as anything else.

  For her part, Wendy looked unsteady at the sight of her daughter. She took a half step back. A show of weakness and hesitancy, but one that Mara registered as being a calculated movement. She knew she couldn’t trust anything this woman did. The fact she was still breathing instead of being at the bottom of the Vltava river was proof of that.

  “You did all of this?” she asked. “You had Joey taken?”

  “He was never going to be hurt,” she said.

  “Bullshit,” Hawthorn said. “Those weren’t the orders you gave.”

  “Jesus, Wendy. Why?” Scott said. “Betray your country. Betray me. All right. But sacrifice your daughter? Your own grandson? For what?”

  Wendy set her jaw, held her head higher, eyes signaling nothing but scorn. “The movement of history is greater than all of us. Just think for a second. What is a single family in a world of billions of people? What is a single life compared to the drive and thrust of all humanity?”

  “There’s a homeless guy in Lafayette Park who says crazy shit like that to all the tourists,” Scott said. “Maybe you can hang out with him after your prison term.”

  “The difference is that guy in Lafayette Park is crazy. I’m just telling you the truth.”

  “The truth?” Mara spit out. “Nothing about you has been the truth. Not ever.”

  Wendy’s features softened. “I never wanted children, but it was determined it was better for my cover. To anchor my relationship with your father. For what it’s worth, I enjoyed it more than I ever imagined.”

  “For what it’s worth?” Mara said, raising her gun to point it at her mom’s head. “Nothing. That’s what it’s worth. Absolutely nothing.”

  “Mara, no,” her dad said.

  “Why not? We thought she was already dead. Why not make that a reality? What would change?”

  It was Hawthorn who answered. “We need to know what she knows. We need her to get inside Omega.”

  “She won’t talk,” Mara said. “Look at her. She’ll never talk.”

  “Everyone talks,” Scott said. “Eventually.”

  Wendy pursed her lips as if in pity. “No, I’m afraid Mara is right. Besides, I’m not going anywhere.”

  The first two shots hit Hawthorn in the chest. The involuntary clench of his right hand discharged his gun, but it fired harmlessly up in the air.

  Mara, gun still trained on her mom, saw the muzzle flash in the shadows behind the monument less than thirty yards away. Nine-mil fire. It was the woman who had first pretended to be Hawthorn’s contact.

  “Mara!
” her dad yelled.

  Her training told her what to do. Even if it meant more exposure to fire, secure the primary target. A wounding shot to disable her mom, a bullet in the shoulder or the leg. Then turn her attention to the threat in the shadows.

  She moved the gun from her mom’s head to her shoulder, going for the minimum amount of movement, knowing every split second counts. Her brain was running hundreds of options, weighing odds and probable outcomes. It all came out the same. Either her or her dad was going to take a bullet from the shooter. It just mattered which target the asshole chose first.

  Her finger pressed on the trigger of the Sig Sauer. Slowly, as she’d been trained, even with the very real possibility that more than one bullet could already be in flight toward her.

  She’d nearly reached the exact pounds of pressure to fire her gun when she froze.

  It was her mom standing in front of her.

  She couldn’t do it.

  In that split second, her mom knew it, too. And the look she gave Mara was one she would never forget.

  Pure disdain.

  A grunt of pain to her left and she knew her dad had taken the next bullet.

  She lowered to a knee, double-handed her gun, and fired five shots at the muzzle flash in the shadows.

  A woman’s voice cried out, and Mara saw the outline of the woman as she stood, clutching her side.

  There was no hesitation this time. Two more shots and the target went down hard.

  Mara pivoted to her right to see her mom running. She trained in on her as she ran, her brain screaming at her to take the shot.

  She did, aiming low at her legs, and was rewarded with a spark off of one of the metal statues of the memorial. Missed. Her mom continued to run, south toward the Lincoln Memorial.

  “Jim!” her dad yelled to her left.

  Her dad ran with his right arm hanging limp, a red stain spreading through his shoulder. He reached Hawthorn and turned him over.

  Even from where she was, she heard him groan in pain. A good sign. Dead men didn’t make a sound.

  Her dad said something to Hawthorn she couldn’t hear. “How bad?” she shouted.