“No, I’ve got it. Scapegoating works. I experienced that firsthand.”
“This is not scapegoating,” Soren said. “It’s about forging a strategic alliance with someone who can control hundreds of millions of people and billions of dollars in resources. If you took just a moment to listen to him, you’d realize that Faakhir Zuabi is a great visionary and a great leader. And I think our partnership with him will be of benefit to all of us. Including you.”
Jack balked. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You’re a wonderful communicator, Jack. You have a friendly, trustworthy manner about you, but you can be a bulldog when you need to and people respond to it.”
“That’s all in the past, thanks to you.”
“Something that can be easily remedied. What if, in the face of devastation, you were to become the spokesperson for America? Our spokesperson.”
“Wait-you want me to join you?”
Soren shrugged. “It’s either that or die.”
Sara stood now, her eyes blazing. “You wanks are certifiably insane.”
Hearing that expression come from Sara’s mouth shocked Jack nearly as much as anything else he’d heard here.
Soren offered her a patient smile as the bodyguard nudged her back into the chair. “We’re merely pragmatists, my dear. You cannot blame anyone for that.” He looked at Jack again. “So what do you say, my friend. Are you with us or no?”
Jack stared at him, the urge to leap across the table still burning in his gut. “Up yours.”
Soren sighed. “I expected as much. But I had to try.” He rose from his chair and gestured. “Gentlemen, shall we adjourn to the parlor upstairs? I believe Mr. Hatfield and his lovely friend here have an appointment.”
Chairs scraped back around the table, the men all glancing at Jack and Sara as they filed out past the thug with the Glock and disappeared from sight.
Soren, however, stopped just shy of the doorway and turned. “It’s a shame, Jack. You and I have been at odds for so long. Imagine what we could do if we were to come together for a common cause.”
Jack reiterated his earlier words by raising a fist and showing Soren his middle finger.
Soren stood there for a moment, smiling almost sadly, then stepped out of sight.
Now Jack turned his head toward the bodyguard behind him. “Real nice people you associate with. So what now?”
“I believe I can answer that,” a familiar voice said from across the room.
Jack jerked his head around as Adam Swain stepped in through the opposite doorway, accompanied by two more of his men, including the ape with his magic wand, who grinned at Jack as he walked into the room.
Wonderful.
Jack reached under the table and gently squeezed Sara’s hand. It was a signal for her to wait for his move. He had no idea if she’d gotten the message, but she squeezed back firmly and that was good enough.
She hadn’t even flinched when Swain entered.
Good girl, he thought.
Swain said, “It looks as if we’ll be playing another round of touch my pole, old boy. You understand. As a precaution?” He smiled. “But not to worry, we’ll be gentle this time.”
“Now why do I doubt that?” Jack said.
“True enough, but perhaps you’ll be more forthcoming this time. Shall we adjourn to the fog signal building? We’ll have more privacy there.”
Jack and Sara didn’t move.
Swain frowned now, then took his own Glock from under his jacket and waved it at them. “I’m not very good at begging.”
The two slowly got to their feet. Jack had no way of signaling Sara again, so he hoped she was ready for what he was about to do.
The senator’s bodyguard was still behind him and shoved the gun into his back again.
“Move.”
Jack did as he was asked. As soon as he was clear of the chair he kicked back and down, a low Krav Maga blow to the bodyguard’s kneecap. The man grunted but did not go down; Jack hadn’t wanted him to. As the foot came down he was literally standing beside the bodyguard. That brought him right beside the gun-another Glock 9mm. Helped by the momentum of his backward step, Jack ripped it from the bodyguard’s hand by twisting his hand outward, a painful pronating wristlock.
At the same moment, Sara took hold of the edge of the dining table and, with a loud grunt and a heave, flipped it sideways, sending dishes and whiskey glasses and ashtrays flying.
Swain and his men ducked the debris as Swain fired a shot in Sara’s direction. But the bullet went wild and she dove to the floor, behind the table. Meanwhile, Jack had continued turning the man’s wrist until he was on the floor, on his back. Jack stomped on his face and ripped the laser pointer from the bodyguard’s breast pocket.
Another shot flew past Sara, who snatched one of the ashtrays from the floor. She stood and hurled it hard at the gunman’s head. It hit his mouth hard and he fell back against the wall, spitting blood.
Flicking the laser pointer on, Jack shone its penetrating red beam directly into Swain’s eyes, blinding him, then squeezed off two quick shots as he grabbed hold of Sara’s forearm and spun her toward the door. “Go! Let’s go!”
They moved together into the foyer and burst through the main doorway onto the concourse and into the cold night air.
“The boats,” Jack said. “We have to get to the boats.”
They took off running, but the dock was on the other side of the concourse and they had several yards of cement to traverse before they’d reach it.
Halfway across they heard a shot, a bullet scorching the cement behind them. Jack jerked Sara sideways and glanced over his shoulder. The shot seemed to have come from on high, and as he looked up toward the lighthouse, he saw shadowy movement; one of Swain’s thugs was stationed up there.
The thug squeezed off shot after shot but the fog made it difficult for him to see. Jack and Sara dropped behind the cistern in the center of the concourse, using it for cover. They kept their heads low as bullets pinged around them mercilessly.
“You all right?” Jack asked.
She nodded.
The foghorn building stood several feet behind them. “I’m gonna give you cover,” Jack said. “Get into that shack as quickly as you can. I think there’s a door on the other side that’ll lead down to the dock. Get to the white Novurania next to the dinghies, and get it started.”
“What about you?”
“If I’m not along in about thirty seconds or so, get the hell back to shore and contact a friend of mine at the Shoreside Marina. Tony Antiniori. Can you remember that?”
“Yes, yes. Who is he?”
“The only one I can trust at this point.”
Another shot echoed through the fog. They ducked as the front door of the Victorian flew open and Swain and two of his men strode purposefully onto the concourse.
“There’s nowhere to go, Jack! You spend five minutes in that water and we’ll be carving an ice sculpture out of you just for the fun of it. You might as well give it up.”
“On the count of three,” Jack whispered to Sara. “One, two, three — ”
Jack and Sara jumped to their feet simultaneously, Sara zigzagging for the shack behind them, Jack flashing the laser pointer again and opening fire, taking down one of the thugs as Swain and another gunman dove for low ground.
The guy in the lighthouse tower started firing again, and Jack returned several shots before ducking back behind the cistern.
Sara slammed through the door behind him.
Jack checked his magazine, saw that he had just a few more rounds, then mentally counted to three again and jumped to his feet. He headed for the foghorn building, firing indiscriminately as he ran. Just as he reached the
