Target Omega

CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

By the time Garin got there, it was over. Dwyer, Knox, and Matt were standing on the right side of the living room, still holding their pistols. Two other DGT men stood behind them. Differing degrees of disbelief registered on their faces.

Julian Day lay dead on the other side of the living room. Several entry wounds were grouped around his chest and abdomen.

Garin lowered his weapon and gave Dwyer a puzzled look.

“What could the son of a gun have been thinking?” Knox asked no one in particular.

“He went for one of the Iranian’s weapons,” Dwyer explained. “Crazy effin’ idiot. In a room full of operators, the lawyer goes for a gun. What kind of odds did he think he was playing?”

Garin walked over to Day’s body and kicked the gun away from his side. Out of habit, Garin checked for signs of life before securing his weapon.

Outdoors, the forest came alive with lights and sounds as a spotlight from a hovering helicopter shone on the cabin. Looking behind him out the living room window, Dwyer could see more than two dozen uniformed FBI HRT personnel moving about as an amplified voice announced their presence and their intention to enter.

“Did he actually think he had any chance of getting away?” Dwyer asked.

“No chance whatsoever,” Garin replied. “No, he knew exactly what he was doing. Suicide by cop. Or in this case, by operator.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Some criminologists say that suspects sometimes provoke cops as a way to commit suicide. Whether or not that’s true, Day knew he’d be cut down in an instant.”

“Day never struck me as the type,” Dwyer said. “But, hey, what do I know? I’m just a guy whose life he’s made miserable for the last five years. As if I needed another motive to shoot him.”

“He was looking at a possible death penalty for treason anyway,” Garin said. “And big-time public disgrace. Senate Intelligence Committee counsel working with the Russians to topple the United States. For someone used to running in the elite Washington circles, that alone would be terminal.”

Garin knew that his best chance of finding out who, if anyone, had been assisting Day died with the man. Although it was possible Day was the Russians’ primary contact, the operation seemed too sophisticated and complex for just Day to be pulling the strings. Then again, with a man like Bor executing directives from Moscow, perhaps Day needed no other assistance.

As the sounds of several FBI agents coming up the stairs echoed in the living room, Dwyer motioned for his men to lower their weapons so as not to accidentally provoke the new arrivals. Garin turned to go back into the kitchen.

“Yo, Mikey,” Dwyer called after him with a mischievous grin. “Aren’t you going to stick around for the FBI? I’m sure they’ve got lots of questions for you.”

“Can’t. Gotta call holding.”

“Who?”

“The president.”

“Well, look at you. From America’s most wanted to American hero in thirty seconds…”