him, trying to pull him upright so they could move him to safety. “Dear God in heaven-not again!”
On the stage, Agent Tom Gatwick left his colleagues once a secure defensive perimeter had been formed around the president. Even though he knew this could make him a target, he was determined to convey as much information as possible from his key vantage point.
“I think he’s in the second balustrade, stage right,” Gatwick murmured into his sleeve.
“Roger that.”
“Either of those turrets could make a suitable sniper’s nest. I thought we posted guards.”
“Must assume he took them out somehow. Commandeered their weapon.”
Which meant it was possible they had lost even more lives. Gatwick didn’t allow himself to dwell on the thought. He had to keep his head clear. They might not be able to prevent attacks like this, especially when the president was being so bullheaded. But they could at least make sure that this time they caught the bastard. Or killed him. Personally, Gatwick hoped for the latter.
This one was for Emily. Not the plastic Barbie doll her husband was trying to turn her into up on that stage. The real, vital, flesh-and-blood woman he had come to care so much for. And miss so desperately.
“Dick? Deploy the SWAT teams.”
“Already moving into position.”
From the stage, Gatwick saw the wave of black fatigues infiltrating the amphitheater. Good. All they needed was to get a bead on the target. Those guys never missed.
“Tom, I’m moving in.”
“Zimmer, is that you?”
“Roger. I’m leaving my post. Heading for the balustrade.”
“Negative. I repeat, negative. Do not move.”
“I’m practically there.”
“Zimmer, listen to me. The SWAT team is on their way. Let them take him out.”
“They might not arrive in time. This guy knows how to disappear.”
“Zimmer-!”
“Look, Tom, last time you changed the protocol. This time, I’m changing it.”
“This is completely different!”
“Not to me. We’re both trying to do the same thing-make sure this son of a bitch doesn’t take any more lives.”
“Zimmer-!”
“I’ll update you at the first opportunity.”
“Zimmer!”
Too late. Radio communication was silent.
Stupid kid-what was he trying to prove? But Gatwick already knew the answer to that question. The first lady had been killed while he protected her. Or perhaps he just wanted to prove that the Secret Service was still able to protect the president-and anyone else in their ambit. Zimmer wasn’t a hero and he certainly wasn’t a martyr. He was doing his job. It was still a mistake-there was no excuse for ignoring protocol or direct orders-but Gatwick couldn’t help admiring him a little, just the same.
“Dick, tell your men to watch out for Zimmer. He’s making a play for the sniper. He’ll get there before they do.”
“Understood, Tom. But if he gets in the line of sight-”
“I know. Just-tell them to do their best.”
“Roger that.”
The instant he stopped talking, Gatwick heard another gunshot. But this one didn’t come anywhere near the stage. This bullet ricocheted somewhere off to the right. Near the balustrade.
The sniper had found a new target.
Gatwick just hoped to God it wasn’t Special Agent Zimmer.
Zimmer crept up the stairs. Logically, the place to build a sniper’s nest would be at the top. But there was nothing typical about this killer so it was best to be careful. One step at a time…
He heard a sound and froze. It was a miracle he could hear anything. With the screaming down below, the frenzied rush of the panicked crowd, the buzzing in his communicator that he was pointedly ignoring, there was a blanket of white noise muffling ambient sound and rattling his brain. But he had always had good hearing. He could distinguish all that background clatter from this last sound, something that was coming from somewhere much closer to him.
Just around the bend at the top of the stairs. Barely five feet away.
The sniper could be waiting for him. Zimmer would be entirely vulnerable as he rounded the corner.
He took another tiny step closer. What should he do? The whole point in coming up here was to grab the killer before he had a chance to pull another miraculous escape. He couldn’t do that by taking baby steps all the way to the top.
At the same time, he had no desire to die. He admired heroes who had given their lives, but he wasn’t ready to join their ranks.
If he didn’t want to die, why the hell was he making this suicide plunge?
Easy to answer. Because he had sworn to serve and protect. Because the Secret Service’s reputation had been seriously tarnished by the last attack. He was ready for a little payback, and more important, he was ready to show the world that his department still had what it took.
He was doing it for Emily Blake.
This time they were bringing home the bad guy.
Zimmer stepped closer to the bend in the stairs. Then ever so carefully and silently, he took one more step and prepared to pivot around the bend…
“Turn around!” Nichole Muldoon shouted.
Behind her, Director Lehman frowned. That was as expressive, certainly as visibly worried, as he got. Over the years he’d managed to develop a perfect poker face. Worked well in his line of work.
But he was plenty concerned.
“Can you see him?” Lehman asked.
“I can see his thermal image,” Muldoon replied, peering through what might appear to the untrained eye to be a pair of binoculars. She was stationed at the highest point of the amphitheater, where Homeland Security had built its watch post so it could keep an eye on all the proceedings. The suspected sniper’s nest was below her and to the right. “And another thermal image creeping up behind him.”
“I thought the sniper was at the top.”
“So does Zimmer. But if we know anything, it’s that this guy knows how to move.”
“Maybe it’s one of the counterassault team members. SWAT.”
“No. I’d pick up their beacon.”
“Damn!” Lehman pounded the glass panel that separated them from the rest of the amphitheater. “And you tried calling him?”
“He’s turned off his radio. Probably so the killer won’t hear him coming.”
“This is unacceptable.” Lehman’s fists clenched. “I’m going in.”
Muldoon grabbed his arm. “You can’t do that.”
Lehman shrugged free. “Watch me.”
“You’re not a field agent.”
“I was.” He marched toward an elevator at the side of the room.
“But you’re not anymore. You’re the director of Homeland Security. You’re fifty-three years old! You don’t go running into dangerous situations.”
“This time, I do. I’m not letting any more of our men be killed.”
“Carl, listen to me. I’ll call the SWAT leader-”
“I can get there first. This elevator will take me to the base of the stairs. If I run, maybe I can get to the killer before he gets to Agent Zimmer.”
“Carl, no. You’re too important to this department.”
“Sorry, Nichole. I’m doing this.”
