President's assassin

CHAPTER THIRTY

Hank put down his beer, grabbed a knife and coil of rope off the counter, approached me, and swiftly tied my hands behind my back. Next he drew black tape across my lips, as MaryLou pushed another outdoor chair into the center of the living room. Without a hint of gentleness, Hank shoved me toward and then into it. He then tied the rope around my hands to a rear chair leg, and my feet to a front leg.

Hank was quick and strong, with a sailor's dexterity with knots. Probably he had worked with cattle at some point in his life, and it showed. The bonds were so tight I would have gangrene within the hour.

But it was interesting, I thought, that MaryLou failed to inform him that their identities were now known to the cops, or that her, his, and Clyde's asses might be a little exposed.

Maybe she was worried that Hank might fly off the handle. Or maybe she didn't care what Hank thought. Or maybe Mary-Lou did care and was preserving her edge.

I noted Jason's gray eyes following me throughout this drill. I was surprised to observe that he did not look at all like a crazed dog or even a schizoid nut. In fact, he looked like a perfectly ordinary guy in an utterly helpless state, a little afraid, monumentally befuddled, and more than a little curious about the new guest.

It further struck me that Jennie had been right about what was happening here-as she had been right about so many other matters in this convoluted case.

As they are wont to do, the thieves had had a falling-out. The Texans wanted their money now, Jason still frothed for blood, and the odd man found himself out, with a mutiny on his hands. I wondered, though, why the captain of this ship hadn't been forced to walk the gangplank in the venerable tradition. Why keep this guy alive? The Texans had the money, the killing was over-or nearly over, I reminded myself-and I couldn't see how Jason was still useful to them.

Then I recalled MaryLou informing me that her cut was about twelve million. Divide fifty million four ways, and it sounded like Jason was still getting his share. Honor among thieves? Why was I having trouble believing that?

MaryLou said to Hank, "C'mon, let's git packed and ready to split."

"Okay."

For the next fifteen minutes I could hear the sounds of Hank and MaryLou opening closets and drawers and throwing clothes into suitcases. Jason sat quietly beside me, breathing easily, apparently bored out of his mind.

Then the front door opened and a guy walked in. He was about my size, dark hair sprinkled with gray a broad, hard-looking face, thick nose, and mean eyes.

He looked at Jason, then at me, and yelled, "Hey, what the hell we got here? MaryLou, you sneakin' men in here behind my back?"

From the bedroom, MaryLou yelled, "Damn it, Big Daddy, you took yer damned time."

"Traffic," he yelled. "Seems like some crooked people did a bad thing somewheres, and the cops shut down a buncha roads." He laughed. "Ain't that some bullshit?"

Dressed in only her panties and bra, MaryLou came traipsing down the hallway, straight toward Clyde, then into his arms. He lifted her off the floor with his hands on her butt and they kissed for a long time. Uh-oh. Maybe she and Clyde were closer than she'd let on.

Clyde said to her, "Well, baby, you'n me are now rich as shit. What'd I’d tellya, huh?"

"You said it jus' right, Big Daddy."

He laughed. "Tol' you we should take the deal."

She leaned away from him and said, "Only we got a big problem we din't figure on."

"How's that?"

She pointed at me and said, "That asshole there. Said the cops got you ID'd already Said they know all about the weapons we stole." Shit. I was hearing the sounds of my best-laid plans falling apart. Actually, my only plans.

Clyde asked, "He said that?"

"Yep. Also said a buncha cops are runnin' 'round Killeen dig-gin' up our histories."

Clyde stared at her a moment. He appeared at first astonished, then his mood shifted and his face turned dark. He looked at me. "Yer sure he wasn't jus' bullshittin' ya? MaryLou-y'know all them lawyers lie."

She laughed.

He said, "Seriously, baby."

"It ain't bullshit, Clyde. He knew way too much."

Clyde crossed the floor. He ended up directly to my front, sort of looking down and studying me. He said to MaryLou, "I don't like the sound of this, baby. We shoulda learned about that"

She crossed her arms and said, "You got it. That's what I'm wonderin'."

I was really interested in this conversation, and Clyde had his lips open to say something I was sure was going to be really interesting, but before he got a word out, the front door blew right off the hinges with a loud boom. At almost the same instant, the glass doors to the porch exploded inward, showering us with glass.

MaryLou screamed. For a fraction of an instant, she and Clyde stared at each other, mesmerized. Then they came to their senses and immediately spun and dashed for the bedrooms.

Instinctively I tipped my chair sideways and toppled over, ending up on the floor. The room filled with smoke and dust and stunk of cordite. Then, through the smoke I saw a squad of men in dark pants, dark shirts, bulletproof armor, and black helmets rushing from the front door, and more pouring through the now gaping rear porch entrance. Hopefully somebody had remembered to brief the cavalry that we weren't all Indians in here.

But it looked like somebody with a body heat sensor was directing the traffic, because they ignored me, and they ignored Jason, and they sped right past us, straight for the bedrooms.

In an instant, I heard shots being fired and men yelling. I looked at the front door again, and through the haze and smoke I saw another figure, and after a moment I made out Agent Jennifer Margold, in her blue FBI windbreaker, with her blue FBI ballcap, in the shooter's crouch, scanning the room, pointing her FBI pistol directly at me. I saw her face, and I saw it tighten, and then the barrel shifted slightly upward and went off.

I heard the first bullet strike tissue, make a soft thudding sound, and even through his gag, Jason Barnes emitted a sort of muffled groan. I tried yelling through my gag and I tried kicking his chair over, but I was too late. Bang, bang-Jennie fired two more shots-his chair flew backward, and Barnes ended up on his back.

Jennie kept her arms straight and her pistol up, just as they teach at the FBI Academy, and she rushed toward me. More shots and loud cursing were coming from the back bedrooms, where the Texans were apparently making their last stand.

Jennie tore the black tape off my mouth, then rushed behind me, bent down, and untied the ropes. She asked, "You okay?"

"I'm… yes."

"We kept turning your tracker off and on. You were still moving. We had to wait till you stopped."

I was free of the restraints and I stood up and rubbed my wrists, which would be sore for a week. I pointed at Jason's body. "Why did you do that?”

"To keep him from shooting you."

"The guy was tied up, Jennie."

Jennie looked down at the body She studied Jason Barnes for a moment, and then looked at me, her eyes wide, her mouth hanging open. "I… oh, Jesus. Sean, I… I had no idea. Through the smoke, I saw you… on the floor… then… and then him. I thought he was.. was standing over you, and I thought…"

I regarded Jason's corpse. One shot had entered his mid-chest, and two had punched into his forehead and gone straight through, blowing his brains across the room. His eyes were locked open, his pupils rolled upward-as though he had tried to watch the bullets pass through.

From down the hall, by the bedrooms, came a really loud boom-we both recoiled from the shock. Another percussion or stun grenade went off, followed by more yells and more shots. A real battle was going on back there.

"Come on." Jennie took my arm and pulled me along. I followed, a little dumbstruck. Outside and about fifty yards from the townhouse were parked two armored trucks, and we sprinted down the sidewalk and ended up taking cover behind the nearest one.

We stood for a moment, winded, a little unsteady. Then Jennie reached over and touched my face. Actually, not touched, she wiped. She said, "You're bleeding a lot."

Until that moment, I hadn't realized that glass splinters from the porch door had sprayed me. Blood was streaming into my face from my scalp, and a quick visual inspection revealed a number of cuts on my chest, my arms, even my legs. Now that I realized they were there, they hurt like hell.

An agent dressed in an urban commando getup, a flak vest, and a royally pissed-off expression approached. He walked straight to Jennie, got two inches from her face, and barked, "What in the hell were you doing?"

"Getting my man out."

"I told you, Agent, nobody enters till the Hostage Rescue Team gives the all-clear."

"I recall that."

"This was an outrageous breach of procedures. I could care less if you're a supervisor. I'm gonna report this."

Jennie looked at him, not giving an inch. "Go ahead. I told my hostage I'd guarantee his safety. I meant it."

Mr. Macho saw this was going nowhere, apparently remembered he had a firefight on his hands, and stomped off in a nasty huff.

Did I suddenly feel bad, or what? I said, "You were coming in to get me?"

She did not reply

I squeezed her hand. "Thank you."

She looked very unhappy, distracted even, and I thought I knew what was going on here.

After a moment, I asked her, "Jason was your first kill. Right?"

"Yeah. My first kill. A man with his hands tied behind his back. I… well, I…" Her eyes became misty.

"It happens, Jennie. You couldn't know his hands were tied behind his back. For all you knew, he had a weapon. Through the smoke and dust, that's what your eye saw, and what your mind registered. In the heat of action, the eye overrules the mind, and the finger on the trigger doesn't discriminate."

She looked at me and said nothing.