C
HAPTER
42
I
mmersed in the noise of the cheering crowd below them, Natasha looked at Morgan and the gun in his hand without emotion. She took her hands slowly and deliberately off the rifle. She looked at him without speaking. Slowly, her lips curled into a smirk.
“Away from the rifle. Now!”
She got to her feet and raised her hands, palms out. “So, you’ve found me. I suppose you think that means you won, don’t you?”
“I seem to be the one with the gun,” he said.
“Maybe. But I know something you don’t.”
“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”
“Fail-safe. Redundancy. Shooting her, this whole business with the rifle, this is Plan B. The backup. You can kill me now, and she still dies. In fact, kill me now, and you have no possibility at all of preventing her death.” She continued to smile, and Morgan recognized that she was triumphant.
He kept the gun on her. “Is there any chance you’re going to tell me how to save her?”
“Perhaps, Cobra. As I see it, we are in a position to make an exchange here.”
“Yeah? What do you want?”
“Drop the gun and let me go. I’ll shout it to you as I run away.”
“You think I’m falling for that?” he asked, unmoved. “You’d say anything to get out of this.”
“A fair point. But do you think you have a choice in the matter?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I shoot you here and now.”
“You are going to gamble with the senator’s life?” she asked. “Perhaps I am lying. You know that I am perfectly capable of it. That if it were not true, I would make it up. But the cost of calling my bluff is too great.”
He stood there, the gun pointed at her chest, sweat dripping down his forehead from the heat of the stadium lights. The cheering of the crowd began to die down, and he heard McKay’s voice reverberate throughout the stadium, “Thank you! Thank you so much!”
“Tick-tock, Cobra. In a minute or two, the senator will be a corpse unless I tell you how to save her. Make your choice. What does Cobra care about more? His duty or a personal score?”
His hand twitched on his weapon.
“Move, slowly. Leave the bag, and keep your hands where I can see them,” he said.
She stood from her crouch. Morgan was standing between her and the ladder down to the stadium roof, and she had to get past him. She took her time walking toward him, never breaking eye contact.
“Thank you,” the senator said again. Then she began, solemnly, “We are living in a time of deep moral crisis in our government. A time when corruption has become so entrenched that we are no longer surprised by each new scandal.”
As Natasha squeezed past Morgan, brushing up against his body, she puckered her lips and blew him a kiss. He jabbed the barrel of the gun against her side.
“Okay, okay,” she said. “Such impatience.”
She descended the ladder, lingering just a fraction too long on each step.
“Our leaders have betrayed our trust, forsaking their oath of office for power and petty personal gain.” McKay’s voice was clear and passionate.
Natasha looked up at him, her eyes at the level of his feet.
“Well?” he demanded.
“The gun, Cobra. Toss it.”
Grimacing, he released the clip, which fell with a clang at his feet, then tossed the gun onto the stadium roof near where she stood.
“And for the sake of Beltway cronyism, this treachery”—McKay’s voice rang out over the speakers—“and it
is
treachery, folks, a betrayal of the trust of the American people—goes unchallenged and unreported.”
“That was my end of the bargain,” said Morgan. “Now let’s hear yours.”
“On second thought,” said Natasha, with a superior smile, “I think I’ll let you figure it out on your own. Let’s just say I left a little present for her. Now we find out whether you can still think on your feet, Cobra.”
She turned around and ran from him, toward the outer edge of the roof. He tensed, ready to go after her, but stopped midstride. Had she lied? If not, what was Plan A?
“Seeing all of you here tonight, I know that I am not the only one who thinks this cannot go on,” said McKay.
“Cougar, Cougar, come in,” said Morgan.
“I’m here, Cobra. What’s happening?”
“Cougar, she’s making a run for it. I need you to go after her. Keep as close to her as you can!”
“Got it,” said Conley.
“Lowry, did you catch that?” said Morgan.
“I got the gist. Do you believe her?”
“I don’t think I have a choice,” he said.
“What do you figure it is, a second shooter?” asked Lowry.
“No,” said Morgan. “That’s not her style. She likes to take care of things herself. She wouldn’t trust someone else with this.”
“Could be a bomb in the podium,” said Lowry. “Did she have a detonator on her?”
Morgan looked down to where Natasha had left her pack.
“But what do we do about it?” asked McKay.
The pack was mostly empty. The rifle, he figured, would have taken up most of the space, and apart from that there were some tools and some folded-up straps of some kind, like narrow seat belts. But as he rummaged, his hand found a small cylindrical object, bright orange with a white cap.
“No. But there is something here. A pill container. The label says it’s . . . ” He strained to read the tiny print, “Hydrosol . . . Hydroxocobalamin.”
“Hydroxo . . . cobalamin . . .” he heard Lowry murmuring and typing. “Apparently that’s another name for vitamin B12a. But I don’t know why that would be . . .”
It dawned on him almost immediately. “I know,” said Morgan. “It’s an antidote for cyanide.”
“Why would she . . . Oh, God.”
“She’s going to poison the senator,” said Morgan.
“How was she going to do that?”
“Not from a distance, she couldn’t. Whatever it is, it’s already in place.” He thought for a moment, looking at the senator through the scope. Then he said, “The water!”
“What?” asked Lowry.
“She said it’s going to be a spectacle. There’s no way she can deliver the poison from here. That means the cyanide is already there. The only way she could be sure the senator would take it when she was onstage would be to put it in the senator’s water. The water that’s sitting on the podium right now.”
“Are you sure, Cobra” asked Lowry. “This whole thing could be nothing but misdirection.”
“It fits her MO.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“The only thing I can do from here,” said Morgan. “I shoot at her and take care that I miss.”
He knelt at T’s rifle and looked through the scope.
“Cobra, are you crazy?”
“It’s the only way to save her now. The only way to interrupt this speech right now.”
“There are times when we despair,” continued McKay, “and it seems like there is nothing we, as citizens, can do to change anything.”
There was no wind. It was a straight, clear shot. The heat off the lights was a furnace, and sweat ran down his brow and dripped from his nose. He tore off the fake mustache, not needing it anymore. He took off the suit jacket and laid it on the platform in front of the rifle.
“Even if Natasha wasn’t lying,” exhorted Lowry, “and even if you manage to pull this off, you’ll cause a panic. They’ll think you’re shooting at her, and all twenty thousand people in this stadium are going to rush for the exits. People might die.”
“I need to do it. I can’t let Nickerson win.” He looked through the scope. A shot straight through the podium would do it. It would hit the stage, McKay would be unscathed, and her security detail would usher her off to safety.
“Cobra, think about this!”
“But I, for one, believe that in a democracy, it is in the citizens’ power to change things,” said McKay. “So consider this a call to action!”
The crowd erupted in wild cheering and applause.
And then it happened in a split second. She took the glass and began to raise it to her mouth. A shot through the podium would no longer be enough. He had to act immediately. There was no time to take careful aim, yet if he was off by a hairbreadth, he would be doing T’s job for her.
He squeezed the trigger.
The glass shattered in Senator McKay’s hand. Ten thousand screams rang out, a thousand cameras flashed, and her security detail sprang into action.
He didn’t have time to observe the aftermath. It wouldn’t be long until they worked out a rough trajectory from the bullet hole in the stage. They were probably scanning the roofline now for him. He’d done what he had come to do. Now he had to get the hell out of there. Morgan left the rifle where it was, climbed down onto the roof, and ran back in the direction from which he had come.
“Now you’ve done it,” said Lowry.
“How’s Cougar?” Morgan asked.
“Still on Natasha’s tail. He’s almost out to the parking lot. Cobra, you have to get the hell out of there. Guards are swarming up to the roof. At least five are going to be there in under two minutes.”
“Can I get down the way I came up?”
“Not unless you’re planning on shooting your way out of there.”
“Then find me a way to get the hell off this roof!”
“I’m trying!”
He was almost to the edge of the roof, with nowhere to go. “Lowry, which way did Natasha leave?”
“Same way you got there. Why?”
She couldn’t have counted on leaving the same way. If she had shot the senator, she would be in exactly the same predicament he was in now. She wouldn’t have trusted her escape to chance. There had to be another way out of there. He looked along the edge of the roof, and then he saw it.
“Lowry, I think I’ve found the way down.”
The rope was sitting in black coils, anchored tightly to a sturdy railing. He ran toward it and found it already threaded through the rappel device, with a locking carabiner attached to it. But there was no harness—that was in Natasha’s pack, two hundred feet away.
There was no time to go back for it now. He’d have to make do with what he had. Morgan attached the carabiner to his belt and pulled hard. He could only hope that it would hold. He removed his button-down shirt, leaving him in his undershirt, and wrapped it crudely around his right hand. Then he looked down. At the bottom of the first drop was the main body of the stadium, on which the roof sat, and over that edge was a long, sheer drop with nothing but thin, vertical slats for support. Below, people were swarming out of the stadium. He climbed over the railing and stood with his back to empty space.
I hate this part,
he thought.
He pushed off, and his feet flailed in the air. As he swung himself back in toward the side of the roof, he was thrown off balance, and he hit his shoulder hard. He released more rope but too fast. His feet hit the ground on the lower level, and the impact made him fall onto his right knee with a scream of pain.
“Cobra,” came Lowry’s voice. “They’re coming! Get out of there!”
He got up and tossed the rope over the side, down to the ground below. There would be no do-over this time. He stood with his back to the edge.
Only one way to go
, he thought, and he dropped backward into the air. He had better control this time, and he stabilized himself on the slats with his feet. He zipped down quickly, and soon his feet hit the soft ground no harder than if he had jumped off a curb.
“Conley, what’s going on?”
“Natasha’s got wheels,” said Conley through his earpiece. “I’m going after her. Where are you?”
“I’m right by the main gate. Where are you?”
He didn’t need a response when he heard the rumble of his GTO approaching, maneuvering through the crowd. The car stopped right in front of him. Conley got out.
“You drive.”
Morgan ran around the car to the driver’s door. As he got in, he looked up and saw three security guards looking down at him from the roof.
Hell with them
, he thought, and he sat down, feeling the powerful rumble of the engine through the wheel. Conley was already in the passenger seat.
“Get ready to see some real driving,” he said, and they peeled off, roaring down toward Independence Avenue, toward T, leaving a dozen guards scrambling behind them.
C
HAPTER
43
M
organ stepped on the gas, and the GTO roared down the avenue. Tires squealed as he swerved around cars, which he passed so fast, it looked as though they were hardly moving at all, honking at him as he cut them off. Far ahead, Natasha was threading an agile little Japanese sports car through traffic, driving west toward the National Mall. Her car was newer, lighter, and easier to maneuver through tight spots, but it couldn’t match the raw power of the GTO.
“Don’t let her get out of our line of sight!” shouted Conley over the roar of the engine.
“What the hell do you think I’m doing?” Morgan exclaimed.
And then, through the rearview mirror, he saw flashing red and blue lights and heard the siren of the police car.
That didn’t take long
, Morgan muttered to himself, stepping harder on the gas. But the police car came with one great benefit: the other cars, hearing the siren, were now parting, opening a way for Morgan and Conley to pass. But still, Natasha was getting farther and farther away.
“Lowry, do you copy?” Morgan said.
“Copy, Cobra,“ came Lowry’s voice, barely audible in his earpiece.
“Is there any way you can track her?” said Morgan.
There was a pause, and then Lowry said, “I can, but it’s going to take a few minutes.”
“We don’t have a few minutes!” said Morgan.
“I’m going to have to tap into a military satellite,” said Lowry. “This isn’t exactly a walk in the park.” There was a pause, and then he said, “Listen, Cobra. Once I’m in, I’m going to need to get a bead on her visually. I need to find her by tracing your signal. That means you need to stay on her tail until I can access the feed.”
“Can you say that to me in plain English?”
“If you lose her, I won’t be able to find her again.”
“Copy that.”
“Cobra!” yelled Conley. They were approaching an intersection, and the lights had just turned red. The cars in their lane came to a stop, blocking their way. With no time to stop, he veered into the opposite lane, narrowly missing a car that had turned into it. The cars at the intersection stopped as they saw him careering toward them, leaving a sliver of an opening for the GTO. Morgan scraped another vehicle as he negotiated the narrow gap between cars. The pursuing police car came to a screeching halt behind them, not daring to make the same dangerous maneuver. But the victory was short-lived. The tail they lost was soon replaced by two others.
They steadily gained on Natasha as they drove past Lincoln Park and merged onto Massachusetts Avenue, until Morgan was close enough to drive in her wake. The call had definitely gone out on the police frequency, because cop cars were now attempting to cut them off. There would only be more of them the closer they got to the National Mall.
“Lowry, do you have the trace on her yet?” barked Morgan.
“Almost! Keep her in your sight!”
They zoomed down Constitution Avenue, passing the illuminated Capitol on their left. Two more cop cars turned on their flashing lights, straight ahead and hurtling toward them. Natasha took a sharp left, tires squealing. Narrowly missing the oncoming police cars, Morgan turned in pursuit of her, so that the Capitol remained on their left. Up ahead, there were another two squad cars closing in fast.
“Only one way out!” said Morgan. And, sure enough, Natasha veered right, climbing onto the sidewalk at the access ramp and onto the lawn of the National Mall, barely avoiding the scrambling pedestrians.
“Oh, shit!” exclaimed Conley as Morgan turned hard, the GTO pitching violently when they hit the ramp. They followed Natasha’s car, which was whipping up dust in its wake. The police cars scrambled to pursue them by the road alongside the lawn. Morgan and Conley were trailing Natasha closely now, and their car handled better on the grass than hers.
Even though they had caught up with Natasha, they were faced with another problem. The police cars were converging around them, attempting to cut them off from any escape routes.
“Lowry, now would be a really good time for you to get a lock on her car!” Morgan snapped.
“Tracing now! Just keep with her for a few more seconds!”
They were fast running out of lawn, and the police cars were attempting to block their way forward.
“Cobra!” shouted Conley. “Forget Natasha! We need to get out of here!”
“Not until Lowry gets the trace!”
“We’re not going to be able to escape the cops unless we split off from her!” Conley insisted. “Now!”
He was right. The Mall was a wide-open space, but the cops were closing in. There was a far better chance of escape if they gave up the chase.
“Lowry! We can’t hold on much longer!”
Through the rearview mirror, Morgan saw that two police cars had climbed onto the lawn after them, far behind but gaining. If they didn’t separate, this was going to be over pretty quickly.
“Lowry?”
“Got it!” exclaimed Lowry triumphantly. “Now you two get the hell out of there!”
Morgan pulled the hand brake, making a 180 that pinned him against the door and sent dust up all around them. The car stopped mere feet from the curb, and he instantly hit the gas hard, back in the direction they had come from. Natasha raced on, just making it between two police cars that were attempting to block her way. Now turned to face the two police cars that had been coming up behind them, Morgan feigned a turn to the left, then made a sharp right. One of the police cars, trying clumsily to respond to Morgan’s maneuver, spun out and hit the other. Morgan could still see them, motionless, in his rearview mirror as he drove back onto the street and turned right at the National Gallery. He sped down Constitution Avenue, turning at the Canadian embassy. As they drove farther from the Mall, the sirens faded behind them, and Morgan pulled the car into a darkened alley.
Conley, sitting beside him, breathed a sigh of relief. “Jesus, Cobra. I’d almost forgotten how
crazy
you are behind the wheel.”
Morgan smirked. “A little fast for you, Grandpa?”
Conley grinned back at him. “How about you get on an F-22 with me someday, and we’ll see who the
grandpa
is.”
Morgan chuckled. “All right, Lowry,” he said. “Tell us where to go.”