Pray, Dr. Peterson wanted him to pray. Savich watched two men roll Giffey by on a gurney on a dead run. She as white as the sheet pulled up to her neck, an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth, blood running into IVs in her arms. Her own blood was everywhere, surely more blood than a body could lose. If Giffey died, it would be his fault, because he’d been arrogant enough to assume three SWAT teams could control the perimeter, could protect Fleurette—Giffey—from this monster. Dear God, not Giffey. She was a good agent, he’d watched her volunteer for a myriad of assignments, always eager, ready to take on the world.
Savich stood with his back against a brick wall, aware of all the activity going on around him as the helicopter lifted off the pad right outside the Jefferson Dormitory. He knew that Captain Ramsey was searching methodically, that the captain knew a lot more than he did about how to cover the grounds as quickly and efficiently as possible to find Gunter. There was nothing he could do to help out there. All he could do was stand here like a dolt and know that he’d been the one to bring it all about.
Jimmy Maitland came striding up to him. “I just spoke to Chip Ramsey. Dammit, Luther Lindsay is dead, but thankfully, everyone else is accounted for. Gunter penetrated the lines all the way to Luther without being spotted. That means he was in a camouflage uniform, just like the SWAT guys, his face blackened. He obviously knew the terrain well enough to pick a rise he could shoot from.
“Chip doesn’t know how long he waited there before he took out Luther, but he’s thinking it wasn’t long at all. Someone would have noticed. Gunter saw Fleurette flanked by two bodyguards, standing right in front of the Jefferson Dormitory, took Luther out, and took his shot. Dave and Joe heard the struggle and headed to Luther’s location. Gunter heard them, and that’s probably what saved Giffey’s life—threw his aim off.
“The thing is, Savich, why would he think that we’d actually put Fleurette out there in harm’s way? He knew we’d set a trap for him.”
Savich said, “I saw Fleurette and Giffey standing side-by-side after Fleurette had finished Giffey’s makeup, done her hair this morning, given her one of her dresses and her coat. I swear I couldn’t tell them apart. Could be twins.”
“Well, Gunter must have believed it was her, too. I’m willing to bet he was ready to spend a couple of hours watching, may have been surprised anything could come of it this quickly. The bastard.”
“How did he get Luther?”
“Chip says Luther was on his belly, looking toward Giffey sweeping the area, and Gunter jumped on his back, looped the wire around his neck, and that was it. Luther probably managed to fight, and that’s what Joe Boyle and Dave Dempsey saw—the bit of noise, the shadow of movement was Luther trying to save himself. But he couldn’t. Then Gunter sighted in on Giffey—he actually used Luther’s own rifle—but before he could shoot, he heard Joe and Dave and that, thankfully, pulled his aim off a bit. He fired, saw her fall, saw it was a chest shot, and he was out of there.
“This is a tough one, Savich. I’ve known Luther for more than a dozen years. Chip and I will speak to his family as soon as I can get away. Amanda Lindsay is a great lady, and their teenage girls are terrific. Dammit, dammit.”
Savich nodded, swallowed. He’d met Luther about six years before, admired his skill, his humor, his love for his family. But his skills hadn’t saved him. He tried to think of something to say, but couldn’t. All he saw was Giffey on that stretcher, lying in her own blood, and he couldn’t stand it. He said then, “Giffey might die, and I know it’s my fault if she does.”
“We all knew the risks, Savich, Giffey, too. We all went along with this plan as our best opportunity. It may have been the only way we had to get Gunter.”
It was in that moment Savich realized they still had a chance to pull it off, to protect Fleurette and get Gunter. “Sir, I’ve got another plan, although since this one was such a spectacular failure, I wouldn’t blame you for telling me to shove it.”
“Lay it on me, Savich, let’s see.”
When Savich finished, Jimmy Maitland sucked in a deep breath. “I like it, and it might work. Your brain is good, Savich, keep using it. You need to go see Fleurette. She’s with her parents and Sherlock, and she’s really shaken. I’ll keep in touch with Bethesda, have Dr. Peterson call you as soon as he knows Giffey’s status.
“Yeah, this might work. You can bet Gunter will be glued to the TV, waiting to hear the breaking news that Fleurette is dead so he can celebrate.”
Savich said, “We’ve got to outthink him. That’s why we can’t come out and announce she’s dead, and that’s why we’ll delay announcing who was taken to Bethesda in the helicopter.”
“Director Mueller sure won’t like holding back like this, dancing around the truth, but I think he’ll agree. Then we have Callie. You think you can convince her to go along with this?”
“In a heartbeat.”
“Maybe we’re being premature. There’s still a chance we can get our hands on him today. Chip has the SWAT people spread out all over. Since we don’t have anything more reliable, we’re looking particularly hard at any late- model cars, Toyotas, you know, like Mr. Avery described last night, and anyone fitting Mr. Avery’s description. We might get this guy.”
He stopped talking, saw that Savich looked frozen, as if stuck to the wall he was leaning against.
“Savich, stop blaming yourself. I need you sharp and focused on getting this plan of yours to work.”
“Dr. Peterson told me to pray.”
“I’ll wager a lot of people at Quantico are praying. Do your job, Savich. Where’s Sherlock when I need her here to punch your lights out?”
“You told me she’s with Fleurette and her parents.”
“Yeah, so I did. And look at what else I forgot—it must be senility that I clean forgot that you’re God and you make all the decisions around here. Well, you’re not, so get over it. Do your job. Get Gunter.” Jimmy Maitland turned, his cell phone already in his big hand. He turned back, frowned. “Hey, what’s Giffey’s name short for?”
“Gifford. She told me her mom named her after Frank Gifford, lived near him in New York City, at One Lincoln Plaza. Her dad liked Gifford too, he’s a real football nut. Giffey told me once it was the only thing she could ever remember her parents agreeing about.”
“I’ll talk to her parents too. They need to get to Bethesda.” Mr. Maitland looked down at his watch. “I’ve got to speak to Director Mueller right away, tell him about your plan. I’ll bet the media are calling already.”
Savich was grateful to his boss for dealing with Giffey’s parents and Luther’s family. One phone call, and your world, as you knew it, was gone. Just gone. He thought that if he had to speak to them, he’d start crying.
CHAPTER
34
SAVICH FOUND FLEURETTE in his office, sobbing in her father’s arms, her mother standing by looking helpless. Sherlock was watching them, sitting on the edge of the desk.
Sherlock looked up. “Giffey?”
“She’s on her way by helicopter to Bethesda.” And then he saw Fleurette’s white face and lied clean. “She’ll be all right. She’s fit and strong. Giffey will be all right. They’re going to be in touch with us constantly. I’ll let you know immediately if something happens. Okay?”
Mr. Malcolm LaFleurette, a tall, handsome man dressed like a diplomat in a gray cashmere Italian suit, looked up over his daughter’s head. “How did this happen, Agent Savich?”
“It shouldn’t have, Mr. LaFleurette. It shouldn’t have.”
“The shot the guy made—I can’t imagine shooting that far and actually hitting someone.”
“It was over three thousand feet.” Savich paused a moment, saw that they were all trying to make sense of the distance, and said, “That’s more than ten football fields.”
Elaine’s head snapped up. “Ten football fields? I don’t think I can even see that far.”
“He had a very powerful scope, the very best of everything.” Savich looked toward Sherlock, even managed a small smile. “Excuse me a moment,” he said to Fleurette, nodding solemnly to her mother, Norma Lee, who was looking at him as if he were their savior, and how could that be? He took Sherlock outside and leaned his forehead against hers.
Sherlock smiled up at him, gave him a hug, and cupped his face between her palms. “Giffey will make it,
