The mirror in her hand now, she loosened her grip on the wire just enough to allow the lid up about an inch. If their kidnapper was watching the trunk, he might realize it had been opened, but she still wasn’t giving him enough space to make a decent shot. Not that she imagined he would, without knowing exactly who he was shooting at.
But Quinlan was right. That was still only a theory. Sabrina saw no need to put it to the test.
Instantly, she knew she was going to need a better angle in order to use the mirror effectively. She turned again, this time even slower, until she was once more on her belly, her legs stretched out over the folded-down seat. She eased the mirror out through the gap she’d left and surveyed the area surrounding the car.
Morning had turned the sky a sort of purplish hue. It was cloudless, which helped the visibility, and she found she didn’t have a problem making out the leafless trees a few feet in front of her.
“What do you see?”
“Trees,” she reported. “Lots of them. He’s parked us in the middle of the damn woods.”
“Can you see him?”
Sabrina angled the mirror first to her right, then to her left. Then back to the right, only this time not as far. Thick trees, thin trees, a squirrel and…there. Behind an oak tree that faced the front of the car so he could see if either car door opened. She could make out the bulky black sleeve of a coat that was slightly exposed, but not much else. The guy was staying low.
“I see him.” She pulled the mirror in through the space she had created, then tugged on the wire slightly to shrink the gap without actually closing the trunk. Turning her head, she saw Quinlan’s face in the opening by the car seat.
“I think I can make the shot.” She watched as suspicion immediately crept into his eyes.
“Do you even have a shot?”
He wasn’t going to like her answer. But it was the best chance they had. “It’s sort of an angular shot.”
“Jesus, Bri,” he groaned, knowing exactly what she meant by an angular shot. “Someday you’re going to learn that you’re not Annie Oakley, but today is not going to be that day.”
“Do you have a better idea?”
“We can wait. I’ve got my cell, we can call for backup.”
“Backup? That means we have to wait until they get there, then sit out the standoff. All that is going to take time. Time we don’t have if Kahsan is truly en route.”
He paused, then asked, “Can we toss something out of the trunk, cause a distraction and make him give up his position?”
“He’s too far away. All we’ll do is give up our position. What do we have to lose if I take a shot and miss?”
“Your life. This guy took out Horner, who, trust me, was no slouch. If you miss and he gets a chance to return fire he won’t see who is doing the shooting.”
Quinlan was right. But his prophecy of doom wasn’t going to change her mind.
“
Quinlan’s expression remained grim.
“The more time we waste, the more time we lose to Kahsan. And I mean it… I really do have to pee.”
“Don’t get cute on the shot,” he said, relinquishing the battle. “Take what you know you can hit.”
Removing the Defender from the back of her jeans, she moved it in front of her head. Then she inched her way closer to the edge of the trunk so she could use the mirror to once again find her target. This time there was a forearm exposed. And part of a shoulder.
His position now committed to memory, Sabrina pulled the mirror back inside and dropped it beside her. She turned again until she was on her back. In order to get off the shot that she wanted, she was going to need to open the trunk a little wider. Enough to get her hand over the side of the car. The position and the angle of the gun was key.
She closed her eyes and saw the trees in front of the car exactly as they had existed seconds ago in her view through the mirror. She saw the target. Slightly to the left of the car. Behind an oak. His left forearm and left shoulder exposed.
The fact that he’d exposed his left side meant it wasn’t his gun hand. So a shot at his shoulder, even if she hit him, wouldn’t-shouldn’t, depending on his training-stop him from returning fire.
In the picture in her head, Sabrina saw the tree immediately to the target’s left. The bark on the tree looked thick and rough. A shot fired at the perfect angle, at the perfect height would ricochet sharp right. Exactly where the target’s head should be.
Even if she missed, his natural instinct would be to duck. Giving her more than enough time to close the trunk or get off a second shot. The latter wouldn’t be likely, but she didn’t rule it out as an option.
“I mean it, Sabrina. Don’t get cute.”
She didn’t bother to answer. Strange, she thought. It wasn’t like him to say anything at this point when it would serve as nothing more than a distraction. It signaled to her just how worried he was. She wondered at the cause of it. Did he fear for her life, or was he more worried that with her death Arnold’s precious data would be lost forever?
She didn’t think she really wanted to know the answer to that question and decided it didn’t matter. Her job was to stay focused on the task. The shot was there. She’d done it a hundred times in the woods out in the back of her house. All she needed to do was let it happen.
After a calming breath, she sprang into action. Sabrina gently pushed on the trunk top, moving her gun hand out over the edge of the car’s frame as it lifted ever so slightly. She knew where the gun needed to be pointed, knew how high the shot needed to be. In anticipation of the kickback, she lifted the sight of the Defender three- quarters of an inch and squeezed the trigger.
Because the position of the gun was close to her ear, the sound of the shot practically exploded inside her head. The resonating buzz echoed so loudly she almost missed it. But not quite.
It was the brief high-pitched sound of her target howling in pain.
Then there was only silence.
Chapter 9
A loud knock on her door broke the silence and startled her.
Sabrina didn’t get many visitors at the convent. Converted convent, she corrected herself, enjoying the irony of that phrase. The CIA had bought the building just outside of Langley near McLean, Virginia, from a group of Carmelite nuns who had seen their numbers dwindle to two. She’d been assured from several sources that the CIA had no part in their demise in an attempt to scoop up the property, but she wasn’t all that sure she believed it.
The fourteen-room building consisted of a kitchen that Sabrina made little use of, preferring to order in; a common living area that had no TV so basically was always empty; a library; a chapel; several spartan dorm rooms; and an attic that had been converted into an apartment for visiting agents who didn’t have a permanent residence in the D.C. area.
When Sabrina first arrived there had been only one other member of the Youth Adoption Program, a language whiz named Chet, in residence. Chet had left a few weeks after her arrival to begin his career. Since then she’d been the sole student. Apparently super genius teenagers weren’t that easy to come by.
And there was Quinlan. He always claimed the attic apartment whenever he was back in the country from assignment. She liked to imagine it was so he could check up on her and, of course, fuss about the volume of her stereo. But the reality was, it was probably just convenient for him, rather than maintaining a separate residence when he was so often gone for long stretches at a time.
This time he’d been gone for over six months.
Actually, it was six months, one week, three days and well, she wasn’t going to count the hours even though she could. After he’d successfully, as he put it, settled her in and had healed completely from his earlier injuries, there had been no point in sticking around. His real skill was recruiting and cultivating assets in the field. It’s what
