Capitol murder

Chapter Forty-seven

“Kill them,” Mustapha said.

Brad was surprised that he was resigned and sad but not terrified. In seconds, he would be dead, and that meant he would never see Ginny again or have kids or take any of the trips they had planned. This was it. The last moment of his life-and the last thing he would see was the smirk on a terrorist’s face.

Brad waited for the shot. There was an explosion, and Brad was showered with blood and brains. At first, he assumed the gore belonged to Lucas Sharp or the senator. Then Mustapha dived for his weapon and there was another shot. Mustapha’s left kneecap shattered. He collapsed, screaming.

“How are you doing, Brad?” Clarence Little asked.

Brad’s mouth gaped open, but he couldn’t speak. Carson and Sharp stared wide-eyed at the most wanted man in America. Little walked over to Brad and used a handkerchief to wipe the gore off his face.

“Sorry about that. I’ll get you a wet towel in a bit. And before you start worrying, I’d have to be a complete ingrate to harm even one tiny hair on your head after you saved my life. And don’t worry about Ginny, either. She’s certainly delectable, but she’s off limits as far as I’m concerned.”

Little turned to Carson then Lucas Sharp. “These two are another story. I don’t like them. Especially you, Mr. Sharp. Imagine my surprise when I learned that I had been in Washington, D.C., killing Jessica Koshani. I do tend to be forgetful at times, but you’d think I’d remember traveling cross-country and playing with someone that tasty.

“Then I heard Senator Carson admit to shacking up with Dorothy Crispin on the day Koshani was murdered. I decided that things were not as they seemed, so I drove from Seattle to Portland and had a chat with Miss Crispin. In between screams, she told me that the senator had been stabbed and needed a place to hide out and recuperate.

“Like Sherlock Holmes, I have considered all of the evidence and deduced that I did not murder Miss Koshani and that the real killer is someone in this room. Unfortunately, the senator ruined my dramatic unveiling of the killer’s identity by confessing before I had the opportunity to reveal my startling deductions, but you’ll have to take it on faith that I really did figure out that you and your boss committed the dastardly deed.”

Clarence placed the barrel of his gun under Lucas Sharp’s chin and pressed his head up.

“Tell me, Luke, do you have any idea how inconsiderate it is to frame someone for murder? Gosh, there are so many consequences, I have trouble keeping count of them. But the biggie is that people who are successfully framed for murders they don’t commit have to spend years in teensy, weensy cells living like animals until they are taken out to be slaughtered like a Thanksgiving turkey. Did you think about my feelings when you decided to frame me to save your pathetic boss?”

Little turned his head toward Carson. “And for the record, Jack, I agree with the raghead. You are pathetic.”

While Little was talking, Mustapha had been dragging himself toward his gun. Little watched for a moment, then stood over the terrorist.

“I happen to be a big pro football fan, Osama, and your plan to disrupt the season pisses me off.”

Little shot Mustapha between the eyes. Then he walked over to Lucas and pulled a hunting knife with a serrated blade out of a scabbard he had fixed to his belt at the small of his back.

“You are the second person who has framed me for a murder I did not commit. Enough is enough.”

Little slashed the knife into Sharp’s crotch. Brad had never heard anyone scream like that.

“Please, Clarence, don’t do this,” he begged.

Little considered Brad’s plea. Then he nodded.

“I owe you big time, so I’ll make this quicker than I would have liked. He’s a murderer anyway, so I’m just carrying out his inevitable sentence.”

Little walked behind Sharp, pulled up his chin and slit his throat. Brad turned away, unable to watch.

“Don’t kill the senator,” he begged. “You heard what he said. He was being blackmailed, he acted in self-defense. It was Sharp’s idea to frame you.”

Little smiled. “I have no intention of killing Jack Carson, Brad. Death is too quick for him.”

Clarence walked over to the television and took out the DVD.

“We have a lot in common, Jack. I’m into S and M and bondage, too, although I prefer to be the bind er and not the bind ee. And I must say, what I saw of your adventures lacked imagination. But I could be wrong. Let’s see what the public thinks when this runs on the Internet.”

Clarence left for a moment. Brad heard water running. When he returned, he was carrying a damp towel and a dry one. He cleaned the blood and brains off Brad’s face, then inspected his work.

“I’m going to call the police,” he said when he was satisfied. “They’ll set you free. All I ask, Brad, is that you tell them about the senator’s confession so I can stop worrying about defending myself for a crime I didn’t commit. And please tell them about Mr. Carson’s part in Miss Koshani’s murder and how he committed treason by telling that lady terrorist state secrets.”

Little patted Brad on the shoulder. “I know I can count on you,” he said, and Brad sensed an unspoken threat.

Then Little turned to Senator Carson. “When I’m settled in my new home, I’ll send you my address, and you can tell me how you enjoy prison life.”

Clarence pocketed the DVD. “Sorry I can’t stay and chat some more, Brad, but I’ve got to run. Give my best to Ginny. I meant what I said in my letters. You two are the best.”

As soon as Clarence was gone, Carson began to sob.

“You can’t tell them,” he begged. “I can’t go to prison.”

“You knew the terrorists were targeting FedEx Field, and you never told a soul.”

“I couldn’t,” Carson pleaded.

“What if the plot had worked?” Brad asked. “You would have been responsible for a mass murder.”

“But it didn’t work. No one was hurt.”

Brad felt sick to his stomach. He looked directly at his boss. “Tell me, Senator, what did you and Lucas have planned for me if I didn’t tell you how I knew about Koshani and Crispin?”

“Nothing. We’d never hurt you. You’ve got to believe me.”

“No, I don’t, Senator. No, I don’t.”