kicked clear. Cochrane suddenly jerked the noose at an angle with all his strength.
Fitzduane could hear the sound of the man's neck snapping.
Cochrane, his tie askew and his hair rumpled but ever the chief of staff, looked up at Fitzduane. 'We're okay, Hugo. Check outside. There may be others.'
It was a point that Fitzduane had considered. Reacting to immediate threat had been a matter of instinct. Now he left the shelter of the door frame with some caution.
There were going to be a bunch of trigger-happy Capitol police here any moment, and that thought did not fill him with a sense of well-being. Also, there could be other terrorists. There had been only two waiting in the reception area, but that did not mean that there were not more waiting nearby.
Space was so limited in the offices that his short journey from the door frame of Cochrane's office was through a corridor of filing cabinets. The distance was only about six feet until the space widened, but it represented temporary safety and Fitzduane was not enthusiastic about stepping into the unknown.
But some things just had to be done. He had to leave his steel-drawer haven and hope nobody was waiting around the corner with unfriendly thoughts. The image of Patricio Nicanor being decapitated was still emblazoned on his mind, and the unfortunate man's body and severed head lay just behind him.
He moved forward.
There was a cacophony of shouts and cries and moaning noise coming from the general office on the left, but the reception area seemed unnaturally quiet.
He tried to remember the layout.
There had been receptionists working either side behind built-in desks as he came in. One was Tanya. He did not know the others' names. There was a petite brunette in her late twenties. And there had been someone else filing, he seemed to recall. All he had seen was a man's white shirt and the kind of thick hair you have only when you are very young. An intern.
He heard a noise behind him. He had forgotten about Maury during the action. The uncharitable thought came to him that it would have been nice if Maurice had intervened earlier, but then he realized that there really had been neither time nor opportunity.
Only seconds had passed, and the leader had initially been cut off from the action by the sprawled bodies of Cochrane and Warner. So he had kept his head and moved when it was appropriate. Of course, Maury, though he was the antithesis of the man of action in appearance, had actually seen more combat than most. He knew about all this stuff, and in this situation that was reassuring.
Maury raised his fingers to his lips, indicated right and then at himself. He then indicated Fitzduane and left, and there was a question on his face.
Fitzduane nodded in agreement but felt a chill run through him.
He was getting sloppy. Congress was not in session. He had forgotten all about the empty congressman's office. Because maybe it was not empty, and if he had turned left as he had planned his back would have been to the office. He could almost feel the blade being hammered into his kidneys.
Both men were about to move when they were momentarily brought to a halt by a rivulet of crimson that flowed slowly around the last file cabinet.
Fitzduane was sick inside. He looked at Maury and held up three fingers and brought them down one by one. 'Three, two, one, GO!' they mouthed silently in unison, and both moved away from the cover of the cabinets into the reception area and to left and right, respectively.
Tanya lay sprawled on the ground, her arms up in front of her face as if to ward off her attacker. The upper half of her dress was saturated with blood and the material was ripped and torn as if she had been struck a series of blows.
The other receptionist had died at her desk.
She was slumped forward over the computer keyboard, and a bloody hole at the base of her neck showed how she had died.
There was a third body in the main doorway, slain while attempting to flee. The white shirt was now crimson but unperforated.
Fitzduane followed the blood line and saw that in this case the punch dagger had been slammed into the back of the skull.
He felt nothing but sadness. The young should not die, and certainly not slain casually like animals in an abattoir.
Fitzduane moved to the general office.
Several forms were sprawled over their desks and nearly every surface was pitted as if a grenade had gone off.
Unhurt figures rose from behind desks as he looked. Several were bleeding from cuts but seemed otherwise unharmed. Certainly, there were enough fit people to take care of the injured. One was already speaking into a phone.
'Stay here for the moment,' he said, 'while we check a little further. We've got two, but there may be others.'
Maury came out of the congressman's office. 'It's clear,' he said.
Cochrane emerged from his office, his shocked gaze only loosely focused on Fitzduane and Maury. 'He's – I think we killed him,' he said, his voice shaky. He looked around, and anger hardened his voice. 'Hell, where the fuck is Security?'
He stiffened suddenly as he noticed Tanya and the other two dead staffers. He brought up his hands to his face as if to hide the horror of what he was seeing. 'Oh, God!' he said. 'Oh, God! Oh God!'
He slumped to his knees beside Tanya and took her in his arms, though it was clear it was hopeless.
It came to Fitzduane that these were people the chief of staff worked closely with and felt responsible for, and now he had gotten them killed. These were office staffers and interns. This was not what they had signed up for.
Cochrane was sobbing, guilt etched into his face.
Fitzduane hunkered down beside him. 'Lee,' he said.
Lee looked at him in agony. 'Lee,' repeated Fitzduane sharply. 'How many were there in the Japanese party?'
Cochrane shook his head, trying to focus. 'I-I don't know,' he said dully. 'Two, I think. Does it matter?'
Fitzduane rose to his feet and looked at Maury. 'Maury,' he said, 'can you get me patched through to Security? Tell them the situation here, identify me, and tell them to bring along spare radios, body armor, and weapons. Do you know the right person to speak to? We need some juice here.'
'There is almost certainly one other terrorist loose. There is always a watcher, and sometimes more than one. You know that. You've been there. I think we should lend a hand. These cops won't have the experience.'
Maury nodded as he was picking up the phone. There were several brief verbal encounters in English, and then he broke into rapid colloquial French. ' D'accord,' he said finally, and put down the phone.
'Quebecois are like the Irish,' he said. 'We get around.'
'Who is he?' said Fitzduane.
'Number two on the Emergency Response team,' said Maury. 'But how do we know what we're looking for? There are Japanese tourists all over the place – and the others may not even be Japanese. We could be looking for any race or creed.'
Capitol police with drawn guns entered the doorway and looked around uncertainly. Maury's contact had not connected yet.
Fitzduane held up a hand just as one of the policemen was moving forward.
The policeman stopped, though he was far from being sure why he was paying any attention to a bloodstained civilian. Yet the man had a definite command presence.
Fitzduane bent down and picked up two pairs of black horn-rimmed glasses that had been placed neatly on the reception table beside two empty cups.
Maury pursed his lips, went into Cochrane's office, and then came back. 'Identical haircuts, suits, shirts, ties, and shoes,' he said. 'A neat and simple trick if you want to avoid being recognized afterwards.'
'But which may work in our favor now,' said Fitzduane. 'Well, it had better. We don't have much else.'
A short, stocky, fit-looking man appeared through the doorway dressed in SWAT fatigues. He and Maury had
