dozen small fires burning in the damaged house. Beside him, holding the shovel, was a short girl with curly blond hair. She was holding Jack’s pistol in her hands. She didn’t hold it well, but her hands were steady and her eyes were clear and determined. She had cleared and racked the weapon. She could certainly pull the trigger.
Al-Libbi shouted in Arabic from across the yard. He sounded as if he was in pain. Abbas stepped behind the girl, out of her line of fire. “I’m going to check on him. Kill this one.” He ran into the shadows.
The girl stepped forward. One shot rang out and Jack flinched, but at the same time he knew that the girl had not fired. A hole erupted in the girl’s shoulder and she screamed, dropping the weapon. Sharpton, it had to be. Jack lunged forward, grabbing his SigSauer. He grabbed her by the hair and shoved her down onto the ground, making her eat grass as he turned to reacquire the terrorists. He saw them, two shadows moving in and out of the darkness. Jack fired, tracking them, but the shadows kept moving until they reached the corner of the house.
The girl. Sharpton. Al-Libbi. Jack had three elements to prioritize. Jumping to his feet, he stepped toward the girl’s feet and stomped hard on her ankle, hearing it crack. She screamed, and he knew she wouldn’t be going anywhere fast. Jack ran across the yard, parallel to the house, and saw Sharpton on the ground, his body lying across the threshold. His clothing was shredded on his body and his skin had been half flayed from his bones. His arms were stretched out, the gun lying under his right hand. He ran past Sharpton and reached the corner of the house. Firelight illuminated the corner, and Jack knew he’d be visible. He leaned around the corner quickly, then pulled his head back as someone discharged rounds from a pistol. Two of them tore chunks of wood from the frame of the house. Jack kept his body on the safe side and stuck his gun around the corner, firing several rounds. Then he dropped low and sprinted down the side of the house. He zigzagged forward, but no more shots came. Jack reached the front end of the house where an open gate led to the front yard. Jack hoped for more gunfire; if al-Libbi and Abbas stood and fought, it gave him a better chance of getting them. But the front of the house was quiet. Jack ran to the sidewalk. Lights were on in the houses down the block, and a few people stumbled out with cell phones in their hands and shocked looks on their faces. Jack saw the lights of a car hurrying away, but it was too dark to catch the make or license plate.
The last of the food servers and administrative staff for the Vanderbilt had been evacuated. Ambulance sirens approached, and Mercy heard Secret Service agents confirm that National Health Services personnel were en route.
Inside the sealed Main Gallery, the Chinese security officers were shouting into cell phones and radios. Agent in Charge Carter was alternately talking and listening on his radio incessantly, while the other two Secret Service agents kept the waiter pinned down and peppered him with questions. But the waiter had sealed his mouth and refused to speak, smiling smugly as though the questioning was all part of the plan.
Mercy knew something had been happening for the last few minutes. A sound rolled through the Vanderbilt Complex, a muffled roar like distant thunder that resounded off the mountain canyons around them. Half the agents in the complex had suddenly rushed off, weapons drawn.
Surprisingly, the two calmest men in the entire complex were President Barnes and Xu Boxiong. Mercy, who had never been so close to real power, watched them intently. They seemed to find their focus in the midst of the crisis; their answers to questions succinct, their decisions made quickly and surely. Mercy had no idea what sort of man the Premier of Communist China was, nor did she really know much about Barnes, but this, she decided, was leadership: the ability, in fact the desire, to make decisions when decisions needed to be made.
Suddenly President Barnes was standing in front of her, his eyes studying her through the glass. He spoke to her through a radio. “Who are these people? If we capitulate to their requests, will they give up the vaccine?”
“That’s — that’s a problem, sir,” she stammered “The man who organized this is already dead. Murdered by one of his people.”
Barnes scowled. “Are you telling me there’s no one to negotiate with?”
“Yes, sir.”
Jack hung up the phone after a thirty-second conversation with Henderson telling him that al-Libbi was at large, that the explosions were caused by a stray RPG, that he had one suspect in custody, and that he needed an ambulance immediately. He ran through the house to the back patio. The blond girl was curled up in a ball, bleeding from her shoulder and holding her ankle.
Bauer knelt down beside Sharpton. The former agent had rolled onto his side, his chest heaving. The skin on his neck and one side of his face was seared. One of his eyes was closed. The other looked up at Jack.
“Kelly,” Jack said, “hang on. You’re going to be okay.”
Sharpton coughed. “Lie — liar.”
“Thanks,” Jack said. “You got her for me.”
Sharpton nodded as his good eye closed. “That’s…two times.” He never spoke again.
Jack paused, though he did not have a moment to spare. Sharpton had been a good man. Then he walked over to the girl, who looked up at him. Her eyes were moist, but she wasn’t crying. “You broke my fucking ankle!” she spat at him.
He knelt down and checked her shoulder. Sharpton’s round had passed through her shoulder blade and exited the hollow of her clavicle. Her shoulder was probably shattered, but she was going to live.
Jack’s phone rang. He answered and heard Mercy’s voice. “Jack, they told me there’s something going on up the hill from here. I have a feeling you know about it.”
“You could say that. You talked about a girl before,” Jack said. “I think I have her.”
Mercy paused. “I’d like to talk to her again,” she said ominously. “There’s an emergency down here. The Presi
dent and the Chinese leader have been exposed to the virus.” Jack swore under his breath. “Jack, you there?” “Yeah,” he said. “We need to get this girl into an interroga
tion room. We have to find a vaccine for this virus right now. If we don’t, by morning people are going to start dying.”
14. THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 8 P.M. AND 9 P.M. PACIFIC STANDARD TIME
Teri sat on the edge of her daughter’s bed and laid a cool wet
washcloth over her forehead. “Does that help?”
“It’s better,” Kim said. “I hate being sick.”
“I know, honey, I’m sorry. I called the Tashmans but they weren’t home. As soon as they get here I’m going to go out and get you something from the pharmacy.”
“You can go now, Mom,” Kim said drowsily. “I’m—”
“You’re not okay, honey. And if your father were here like he’s supposed to be, I wouldn’t have to wait.”
“You sound like you hate him.” Kim’s words sounded both pouty and honest in the way only a teenager could speak them. Teri realized just how much of her anger she’d allowed to show. She had to fix it.
“I don’t hate him, honey. I don’t. But I get frustrated when he’s gone so much. Sometimes I worry that he’d rather— well, sometimes I just wish he had more time to spend at home.”
All President Barnes could think was,
He exerted every effort to sit through the crisis in complete calm. He could feel the eyes of Xu Boxiong on him at all times. Xu, who must also be exerting enormous self-discipline, seemed eager to take Barnes’s measure. Through a sheer act of will, Barnes remained cool, delivering orders in measured tones, even nibbling at the hors d’oeuvres that had been trapped in the room with them.
It wasn’t easy. Barnes had seen video of Ebola victims as the disease ravaged them. He did not want to die that way. And even if he didn’t die in body, his political death was surely imminent. How had his security people allowed this to happen? Where were all his goddamned counterterrorist teams?
