Act of Terror

CHAPTER THREE

Jabiri shot Miss Suzette in the stomach and shoved her cruelly out of the way. The brave woman lashed out with a foot as she went down, connecting with the terrorist’s legs. The pistol flew from his hand as he tried to break his fall.

The Saudi’s knees hit the wooden floor with a sickening crack. He cried out, but scrambled to his feet in an instant. Scooping up a startled Mattie as he ran, he hoisted her tiny body in front of him as a shield.

Quinn moved up the aisle with the superhuman speed of a terrified father, arms pumping as he shoved his way through the paralyzed crowd.

Mattie in tow, Jabiri dove behind black side curtains and disappeared into the shadows.

Quinn vaulted up onto the stage, using the hollow thud of the Saudi’s footsteps and his daughter’s muffled screams to guide him. Just yards ahead, past a series of heavy ropes and counterweights, Quinn caught a glimpse of black hair as Jabiri ducked down a narrow flight of stairs that led beneath the stage.

The Saudi was high enough up on the sheikh’s food chain that he was used to a life of pampered leisure. Running was something done by servants. Quinn caught him at the entrance to the men’s dressing room in the under-stage catacombs of music stands and prop tables.

Jabiri turned like a cornered animal, panting through bared teeth, his back pressed against the dressing room door. A thin shaft of light from the orchestra pit cut across the harsh angles of his face, adding to the menace of his sneer. A cheap black suit bunched at narrow shoulders. His white shirt was rumpled and loose at his heaving waist. A thin arm snaked around Mattie, pulling her close to his chest. The other hand gripped her face like a claw, pinching her cheeks between bony fingers. Her little legs, still in the frilly white tights, hung loosely in front of him. One of her patent leather shoes had fallen off during the run.

Quinn slid to a stop-just out of reach, heart pounding in his throat. He raised both hands to show he had no weapon. Mattie’s lips quivered, but she didn’t cry. Her blue-gray eyes focused hard as if trying to send a message.

“Stay back!” the Saudi hissed. “I will break her neck if you come one step closer…”

“It’s me he wants, Jabiri. You know that.” Quinn’s eyes flicked methodically, taking in the scene, deciding his next move. “Let the girl go.”

The Saudi laughed maniacally. His eyes narrowed to black slits.

“So…” His lip pulled back into a snarl. “You know who sent me? Impressive.”

“Whatever you say. Just put down the girl.”

“I think not, Mr. Jericho Quinn.” The muscles in Jabiri’s face twitched as he spoke. “I am ordered to make you suffer defeat, even as the sheikh has suffered-”

“Okay.” Quinn nodded. “I will suffer. Do to me what you will. Just put the girl down.” He swallowed back the panic rising in his chest. He’d seen too many children die horrible deaths in the mean streets of Iraq. None of them deserved it, but the guiltless often died in far greater numbers than the guilty. Mattie didn’t deserve the violence. Quinn’s life had brought it crashing down around her. Deserving had nothing to do with it.

“Oh, brave Mr. Quinn. You are an intelligent man.” Jabiri’s words dripped like poison from twisted lips. “How do you believe this will end? You want so badly to kill me. I see it in your eyes.” He cocked his head to one side, as if teaching an important point. “The question, Mr. Quinn, is not if I will die, but how you will live after you watch me take a life of one so precious to you…”

Mattie’s eyes suddenly brightened as if jolted with electricity. She began to pedal her legs as fast as she could, her heels slamming into Jabiri’s unprotected groin. That same instant, she turned just enough to sink her teeth into the base of his thumb.

The Saudi threw his head back, screaming at the sudden onslaught of pain. He shoved the girl away as if she was on fire, twisting his hips to protect his groin.

Quinn grabbed Mattie’s hand and pulled, passing her back behind him. In the same fluid movement, he drew Yawaraka-Te from the scabbard along his back. Rushing forward, he drove the length of the Japanese blade into the startled Saudi’s throat, nailing him to the dressing room door.

“You’re right, Jabiri,” Quinn whispered, leaning against the hilt as the Saudi struggled and gasped. “There was never any question that you would die.”

Jabiri’s hands fluttered momentarily at the blade, then fell to his side like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Quinn turned and dropped to his knees beside his daughter. The ruffles on her blue dress fluttered like a frightened bird. Gently, he turned her head away from the dead man.

Bo came sliding up behind them, gun in hand.

Quinn looked up, still holding Mattie. “Kim?”

“She’s okay. Anchorage cops have her.”

A sob caught in Mattie’s throat as she gazed up at Quinn with doe eyes. “They killed Miss Suzette.” She buried her face against his neck. “They didn’t even know her. Who would do that?” She pushed back to look at him again, crying with abandon now. “What about Babette? I dropped her on the ground…”

Quinn patted her head, smoothing her mussed curls. Sirens blared in the background. Hollow shouts echoed beneath the stage. All this had happened because of him. He’d gone away to fight a war-and now he’d brought it home.