Blood Vengeance

CHAPTER FOUR

The restaurant was truly unique, and Jonathan Gates’ favorite haunt these days. The inner decor was the perfect mix of blond woods, intimate tables and intricately carved ceiling scrolls. Gates certainly did not surprise himself when he chose it as the place to take Sarah Moxley on their first date. It was a comfortable retreat for him, a home from home, an office away from work, only a few minutes from his workplace and the White House itself. Gates had organized more than one power lunch here, partaking of politics and fried green tomatoes, the food good enough to distract even the most resilient of campaigners and lobbyists.

As Sarah Moxley took the seat opposite, he knew there would be no shop talk tonight. Despite her position as a reporter for the Washington Post, she had never once prodded him for information or brought up a story she was working on. It was one of the many good reasons that had brought them to this point.

“You look lovely tonight,” Gates said, once his four DoD bodyguards had retreated to a respectful distance.

“I do like the ‘no tie’ look,” Sarah replied. “I take it that means you’re ‘off duty’?”

Gates poured the wine. “President Coburn is directly across the street, giving a rousing after-dinner speech. What do you think?”

“That you would rather be here.” Sarah clinked glasses and tasted the Burgundy. “Wonderful.”

Gates signaled the waiter. “Let’s take a look at the menu. The Perlau is superb here, by the way.”

“With head-on shrimp?” Sarah winced as she read the menu. “Maybe not.”

“Well, I’m sure the chef would…” Gates made a slicing motion with his knife. “You know.”

“Still.” Sarah hid provocatively behind her menu. “Black-eyed pea cake for me please.”

Gates nodded, feeling a sudden bloom of affection for this woman which he carefully concealed. Despite his position, the US Secretary of Defense was a vulnerable man, even if only on an intimate level. Slow and steady was the right way to go with any potential affair of the heart.

He made a quick decision, one of honesty. “In truth, Sarah, I must say I’m not entirely yours tonight. A situation developed this morning about which they are keeping me fully briefed at all times.” He paused. “A group of particularly dangerous inmates took over a prison earlier today and continue to hold the authorities at bay even now.”

“Really? It wasn’t on the news.” Her eyes twinkled.

Gates raised his eyebrows. “And never will be. I mention it only to explain if I start acting…” he shrugged, “Odd.”

Sarah laughed out loud, then covered her mouth with the back of her hand. “I’ll be sure to watch out for that.”

The appetizers were served, followed by entrees. The quiet atmospheric buzz of the restaurant and the absorbing company he kept, not to mention the wine, began to put Gates at his ease more than at any time since his wife had died. He enjoyed the mix of clientele, the sight of the passing businessman alongside the idling congressman, the intimate couple. And of course the tourist crowd. Gates found himself posing for more than one passing photo, and not once did any of his guards have to step forward.

“Is there always another crisis?” Sarah asked as she finished off her entree.

Gates nodded, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Everything is always in crisis,” he said. “The country wouldn’t run right otherwise.”

“I understand,” she said, and Gates knew that she really did. Out of chaos, and out of the sharply challenged minds of men and women, came order.

Another couple stepped in through the front door of the restaurant, letting in a quick gust of cold air. Gates flicked a brief glance their way, more out of habit than curiosity, and didn’t immediately understand the plain fear written across both their faces. The scene held his attention as they entered the dining area.

Sarah frowned at his expression. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m not sure.” Gates half-turned toward his protective detail, but then the couple parted and a lone man stepped between them. He was dressed as a tourist: jeans, jacket, white training shoes, even the black rucksack slung across his back wasn’t unusual in the Capitol. But what might once have been a wool hat fitted over his head had now been pulled down so that it covered his face. Skull-like eye sockets glared straight ahead. The right hand held a big pistol, possibly a Magnum.

It was aimed at Jonathan Gates.

The Secretary of Defense stared in horror. He heard his bodyguards shout, sensed them move, even caught the snick as their weapons came free of their shoulder holsters. And then he heard the masked attacker’s words, “The Blood King sends his regards.”

All he could think about was Sarah. If Kovalenko had sent a man to kill Gates, he would surely have orders to kill Sarah too. She sat between him and the gunman, and Gates was damned if he was going to let another woman die because of him. He stood up fast, skirting the table, focusing the gunman’s attention, and no doubt getting in the way of his own bodyguards.

“Down!” one of them screamed, but Gates made himself as threatening as possible. The hard blue eyes regarding him from behind the homemade mask showed nothing other than cold implacability. The gun didn’t waver. The man was a pro.

Shots rang out. The first hammered into the gunman’s shoulder, sending him to one knee without a sound. The second, again from Gates’ protective detail, flew through the space the gunman had just been occupying. The third came from the assassin, striking Gates’ upper torso and driving him back.

At first he felt no pain, just fear for Sarah and regret that he would never accomplish most of the dreams he had already set in motion. He landed heavily on his knees, but still held the gunman’s stare, still struggled to approach. All around, waitresses, officials and tourists were screaming, ducking for cover, or were just frozen in place, hands held across pure-white terrified faces. A second bullet struck the gunman, this one slamming into his gun hand, giving Gates a millisecond of hope. But the pro didn’t hesitate, instantly picking up his weapon with his other hand and discharging it at the Secretary of Defense.

Gates shuddered under the hammer blows. Three bullets hit him, one glancing across his temple. As he collapsed, the world was already fading. Sarah’s mouth was open; she was diving toward him and would no doubt beat his bodyguards. A third bullet hit the gunman, but his aim did not waver.

In a terrible split-second, three things happened. Jonathan Gates died, Sarah Moxley landed across his body in a desperate, selfless act of heroism, and the gunman fired his last round.