Perfect killer

CHAPTER 70

"I'll be back," I whispered.

I slipped through a siding gap and scrambled toward the Jeep on all fours. After seeing no one else in the vehicle, I tapped on the window.

Shanker's startled face whined toward me, wide and white. It took him several seconds to recognize me. Then he got out.

"Where's Jasmine?"

"Inside."

Shanker followed me through the hole.

Jasmine shook his hand and without preamble asked, "Did you bring the second CD?"

Shanker shook his head. "There isn't one."

Jasmine and I stood speechless.

"There never has been," Shanker said, his voice heavy with regret. "They got to Talmadge before he told me where he hid the rest of the documents. But they don't know that. They would have killed him by now if they knew the CD didn't exist."

"You lied!"

"I'm sorry. I had to. It was the only way to save his life. I had to get you involved."

"That's no excuse-"

"Please, hear me out."

Pain colored Shanker's words. "More's at stake than Talmadge. Braxton's a psycho car bomb headed for the White House. Even if he doesn't disintegrate like Talmadge, Braxton has no compassion, none at all. We can't afford to have his finger on the trigger of the world's most powerful military power."

Something rustled against the tin siding. Instinctively I ducked and pulled Jasmine down with one hand and brought the H amp;K up with the other, thumbing the safety off as I did. The rustling stopped. I let go of Jasmine and scanned the room with the night-vision scope. Nothing.

"Possums," I said as I stood up and offered my hand to Jasmine.

Shanker exhaled loudly.

"Jay, do you have any idea where the documents might be?" Jasmine asked.

"I suspect they're buried in or near one of the duck blinds he used, but those are scattered all over the state from the Ross Barnett Reservoir down in Jackson all the way up this side of the Mississippi River to Tunica. It might be anywhere."

"Do we have to have those documents to make the case?" I asked.

"Absolutely" Shanker said. "Without the original records, and preferably Talmadge's testimony to establish the trail of evidence, Braxton just might get off the hook."

"Meaning we somehow have to spring Talmadge, recover the documents, and keep him alive to tell his tale."

"Not an awfully practical matter," Jasmine said. "He's being held in a guarded, topfloor room at the VA hospital in Jackson."

Suddenly, the shrieking syncopation of a helicopter shattered the silence, followed by a swift blur of simultaneous terror. First came a red laser dot's lethal dance, which found its mark faster than I could react. The unmistakable crack of a Heckler and Koch MP5 reached my ears an instant after Jay Shanker's head opened up like a dropped melon.

Before Shanker hit the ground, the red dot danced over Jasmine like a red wasp heavy with death. I threw myself against her and prayed.