Veil

39

Robert and Thorne lay spread eagle on the cold marble floor. Guards surrounded them, guns drawn. Robert wanted to get up and make a break for it, but he’d be shot on the spot.

“He’s here,” Robert barked. “The Bear is here! Check with the White House! Call her house! I’m her bodyguard, dammit, she’s in danger!”

“Robert,” shouted Thorne. “Listen!”

Robert shut up and listened close. As if following the same orders, the guards listened too, their jaws on the floor.

“We repeat, we repeat. Assailant is on the first floor at Justice Patrick’s chambers! We have three men down! Send paramedics! We repeat! Three men down! Assailant is armed and barricaded inside Justice Patrick’s chambers!”

“Get up there,” Thorne yelled. The guards scrambled. Another radio call came over the air.

“We’ve got two down in the control room,” a quivering voice said.

“One is Captain Reasons. I repeat. The Captain is down.”

“My God,” one of the guards said, in a hushed voice.

Robert nodded to Thorne. She snatched two guards down to the floor and beat them unconscious. Robert pushed himself up and disarmed the two that remained, tossed a gun to Thorne, and took off toward the gunfire.

They ran to Fiona’s chambers and saw two guards shooting inside, bullets streaking back at them, splintering the doorpost and walls. One of the guards took a shot to the throat and fell backwards to the floor.

Dead.

“Thorne, take the other side of the door,” Robert yelled, and they joined in the fight.

A barrage of bullets exploded from the office. The remaining guard hit the ground dead.

Robert took his position and peeked inside. More gunfire exploded against the doorframe just above his head. He caught a glimpse of the Bear stooped behind a flipped over desk and fired, sending Andre sprawling to the floor.

“The swat team’s here. Pull back, but keep him contained,” a voice screamed through one of the dead guard’s radio.

“I repeat, pull back. The swat team’s here, and the negotiator is on his way.”

Robert looked over at Thorne. “This asshole’s not the negotiating type.”

“My thoughts exactly. How do you want to play it?” Robert heard a loud crash. Fiona screamed. He looked inside. The Bear kicked in the inner-office door and rushed inside.

Robert erupted and tore inside with Thorne right on his heels, both pointing their weapons. Robert saw Fiona duck down behind her desk.

“She’s in the line of fire, Thorne!”

They hesitated. The Bear fired. They rolled inside her office on opposite sides of the room.

“Stay down, Fiona,” Robert screamed.

He rushed Andre, staying low. The Russian fired, missed, and Robert body slammed him to the ground. Both lost their weapons as they hit the floor.

Robert gave Andre a head butt in the mouth. Thorne screamed for him to move. He did. She pulled the trigger. Empty.

Andre caught Robert in the jaw, knocking him backwards. Thorne dove on top, but he flipped her over and sent her crashing into a table.

He jumped up screaming in Russian, crazed, frothing at the mouth, a long silver knife in his hand. Fiona ran to the back of the office and stood against the wall.

Robert and Thorne scrambled to their feet and circled.

Andre continued to rant in his native tongue. Robert didn’t understand what he said, but understood he wanted to kill Fiona. He wanted to see her dead.

Robert charged. Andre sliced his arm. Thorne came up from behind, bear-hugged him, and reverse slammed the Russian to the floor.

The Bear scrambled to his feet, still gripping the knife. Thorne tried to take him. He stabbed and slashed, holding her at bay.

Andre looked at Fiona, mouth frothing, eyes red. He screamed and rushed toward her. Fiona raised her hand, which held Robert’s gun, and fired, hitting him in the shoulder.

Andre stopped and admired the wound, smiled, and rushed again.

Robert dove for him and missed. Shots exploded, then stopped.

Robert rushed to his feet and looked down. Andre Perchenkov, the Bear, lay on his back, blood oozing from his chest. Thorne knelt down and checked his pulse. “He’s dead.”

Robert looked at Fiona. “It’s over honey, it’s…” Fiona stood against the wall shaking. The Russian’s knife in her chest. “Robert.” She collapsed.

Robert rushed over. The SWAT team rushed inside.

“Get an ambulance! She’s hurt! Get an ambulance!” He examined the wound. Half the blade made it inside her chest, and blood oozed, soaking her blouse. Fiona tried to raise herself up.

“Don’t move,” said Robert, bracing himself behind her. “They’re on their way.” He looked down at her through watery eyes. She smiled.

“I missed you,” she said, tears rolling down her cheeks.

“I missed you too,” he said.

“Where’s that ambulance?” Thorne screamed.

“Jessica,” Fiona whispered. “Where’s Jessica?”

“Don’t try to speak. Rest. Jessica’s just fine. You’re going to be fine.”

“Is he dead?” Fiona asked.

“Yes, he’s gone.”

Fiona closed her eyes and her breathing fell shallow. Robert gave her mouth to mouth. She didn’t respond. Paramedics rushed inside and went to work. One called hospital emergency to report her condition, while the other pressed gauze on the wound. Robert heard them say they couldn’t detect a pulse. He could barely swallow.

They carefully loaded her body on a gurney, tubes in her nose and arm. He followed them outside, Thorne at his side. The ambulance sped off. Robert’s stomach cramped.

“I should have been here,” he whispered, lowering his head. “I never should have left her side.”

“You did the right thing,” Thorne told him. “How could you know the bastard would be inside the building?”

“I should’ve put her first.”

“You put the country first. We did the right thing.” FBI agents made their way over. They’d be questioned all night, but Robert didn’t care. The woman he loved died and at the moment, the world didn’t matter.