Balance of Power

FORTY-FOUR

As he moved down the corridor, Darrell McCaskey felt naked without a weapon. But it had been more important to him that Maria have one. It had been a while since he’d used the aikido skills he’d learned when he joined the FBI, but they would have to suffice.

McCaskey slowed as he neared the next corridor. He stopped at the corner and peeked around stealthily, the way he used to do when he was on stakeouts. He took a mental snapshot of the scene and then withdrew quickly, his heart jumping from slow to hyperactive.

There was a tall man standing part of the way down the corridor. He was a general with Francoesque layers of braid and an array of medals. He was armed with a handgun and he was wearing a gas filter and goggles. He was also bleeding from a wound in his leg.

It had to be Amadori.

The man had been looking behind him as he approached. McCaskey was sure Amadori hadn’t spotted him. He swore at himself for having left his gun with Maria. He had nothing to use against the man. Nothing except his fists and the fact that Amadori didn’t know he was here.

The FBI had taught McCaskey that if an agent didn’t bring superior firepower to a situation he should back off until he could muster that firepower. A standoff always favored the pursuer. Failure favored the pursued.

But with everything that was at stake, McCaskey couldn’t take the chance of letting Amadori go.

McCaskey looked up and mustered his resolve. He listened to the general’s limping footsteps. Amadori was approximately ten feet away. McCaskey would crouch and swing around, try to pin his legs to the wall, then grab his arm before he could fire.

Just then, McCaskey heard footsteps behind him. He turned and saw Father Norberto walking toward him. That wasn’t all he saw. Above the music room, McCaskey noticed a red eye looking down from the ceiling.

It was a camera eye. And Amadori was wearing goggles — Remote Surveillance System goggles.

The footsteps stopped. McCaskey swore. He’d been too damn tired to think this through and now he was at a serious disadvantage. Amadori knew precisely where he was.

There was nothing to do but retreat. He turned and ran toward the door that led to the courtyard.

“What is it?” Father Norberto asked.

McCaskey motioned him back. The priest just stood there, confused.

“Jesus!” McCaskey cried in frustration. He didn’t think Amadori would shoot a member of the clergy. But a Catholic priest would make the perfect hostage. No one would dare order an attack for fear of hitting the priest.

McCaskey had to get the priest out of here. Reaching Father Norberto, he put his arms around him and tried to move him toward the courtyard door. A moment later he heard a shot and felt a punch in his back and then everything went blindingly red.