He couldn’t take those risks, any of them.
He had to assume that Haddad’s mind would be in a thousand different places right now, concentrating on the tanker, thinking about his fate. So Jack made a choice. The tower was lit but, hoping there was enough darkness for cover, he carefully raised the hatch door and pulled himself through.
He tried not to look at the view below, at the moonlit waters of the bay, the lights of the city-they were a haunting, dizzying distraction. Instead, he took the Glock from his waistband and concentrated on his target, slowly inching down a short set of stairs. He stepped onto the catwalk and moved toward Haddad and Sara.
Haddad was looking toward the north, through his field glasses, and it was Sara who saw him first. Her eyes widened slightly as she realized who it was. She seemed to be warning him off with her gaze but he shook his head once, slowly, and kept creeping forward, trying to close the gap between them.
Then suddenly Haddad lowered the binoculars and turned, following Sara’s gaze and looking at Jack without surprise.
“Please stop where you are,” he said with the calmness of a man who had accepted his fate. Dropping the field glasses against his chest, he reached into his pocket and held up a small cell phone, his thumb hovering over the keypad.
A remote detonator.
“Another step and I’ll hit speed dial. I’m sure you can imagine what will happen then.”
Eerily, the winds died just then. Jack stopped where he was and looked past Haddad.
“Are you all right, Sara?”
“My hands are tied and I have a nuke strapped to my back. Other than that-”
“I should never have left you on that island,” he said mournfully.
Smart girl, letting him know she was tied up. The way she was standing, he couldn’t be sure.
Haddad frowned, studying Jack carefully. “You must be the man Swain told me about. The Jew. It’s very resourceful of you to show up here. I was expecting the FBI.”
“They’re waiting on the negotiators. They have this crazy idea that they can reason with you.”
Haddad smiled, gesturing to the Glock. “I see you don’t share that belief.”
“Not for a minute,” Jack said.
“Still, I’d advise you to put the weapon down or I’ll be forced to make my call prematurely.”
“Or I could just shoot you.”
Haddad’s smile widened. “You’d have to be a very precise shot to keep me from pressing this key.”
“Worth a try,” Jack said, starting to raise it.
Haddad’s smile vanished and he raised his arm menacingly.
“Moments are like a lifetime as death nears. You still have a little time to spend with each other as long as you put the weapon down and kick it to me.”
Jack hesitated, looked at that long, cruel thumb poised over the keypad, then slowly crouched. He laid the Glock on the catwalk floor and kicked it toward Haddad.
“Thank you,” Haddad said.
At least he was a polite lunatic.
Jack shot a glance at Sara and noticed at once that she had her game face on. She obviously had a plan of some kind, something that had occurred to her while he and Haddad were talking.
That meant, keep Haddad talking.
“So what’s the plan?” Jack asked. “You do realize they’re closing the bridge. So if you’re waiting on that tanker-”
“It’s already here, and right on schedule,” Haddad said. “They won’t turn any cars back. They’ll have to wait until they’ve cleared the bridge before they can seal it off.”
“Oh?” Jack said, looking over the rail toward the road below. “Because it looks to me like they’re already escorting the tanker back the way it came.”
Haddad frowned and swiveled his head, looking at the road. It took him a moment to realize his mistake, but by then it was too late. Sara made her move, swinging her bound hands at his face, knocking him sideways.
He fumbled the cell phone and it landed at his feet. But Jack was already in motion, leaping across the catwalk, grabbing for it. He felt it brush his fingers as his momentum knocked it spinning toward the rail.
Haddad lunged for it, but Sara threw her hands over his head and, with a grunt, yanked him toward her using her bonds as a garrote. His expression ferocious, Haddad snapped his head back, butting her face. Sara stumbled back, dazed, and he slipped from her grasp. He reached for the cell phone again but Jack was on his feet. He kicked it, sent it spinning to the opposite side of the catwalk. Haddad raced forward as it clattered against the steps.
Roaring, Haddad set out after it. Jack looked frantically for the Glock, couldn’t see it in the dark, and lunged after Haddad. He hit shoulder first. Jack had forgotten about his wound; the impact was a forceful reminder as his nerve endings exploded, sending pain down his arm and torso.
Jack couldn’t let that stop him. He dug in and continued to press the man forward, slamming Haddad into the rail. But Haddad was not an amateur. He turned as he went back, facing Jack, and brought a knee into his groin. Jack stumbled backward toward the opposite rail. The tower was slick with mist and he lost his footing. Sara screamed as Jack fell against the rail, hitting his head. Her cry kept him from losing consciousness.
Sara needed him.
But his body had had enough. It didn’t want to move.
Now Haddad was on his feet and moving toward him with feral eyes. Before he could reach Jack, Sara blindsided him, shoving him to the floor. The backpack and her bonds made it difficult for her to move and Haddad threw her off effortlessly. Then he was on his feet again, kicking her mercilessly in the head and stomach.
“Jack…”
Sara needs me.
Marshaling every scrap of his strength, Jack used the rail to pull himself up and he ran at Haddad.
Blinded by fury, by pain, Jack hit the man like a linebacker. They both went down. Climbing to his knees, Jack punched down, blow after blow, driving the man’s head against the metal of the bridge. Haddad’s hands came up defensively but Jack yelled and swatted them aside, continuing to slam his fists at that evil face, fueled by hatred for everything the man had done, everything he stood for. Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, Jack thought only about Sara and Copeland and Drabinsky and Jamal, thought about the havoc people like this brought to the world, used his fists to turn thought into action.
And then Haddad stopped struggling, his breath coming in bloody gurgles, his face raw and torn. But if he somehow expected Jack to be merciful, he’d picked the wrong night. Without a second thought, Jack grabbed hold of the man’s shirt and dragged him back against the rail, flopped him against it, stared at the pulped flesh and bloody wisp of a beard.
“Enjoy the virgins, asshole.”
Jack slammed his open hands hard against Haddad’s chest, the terrorist’s battered eyelids going wide with horror as he sailed over the side of the tower to the pavement five hundred feet below, his terrified screams rising into the night sky.
The fall took just three seconds. It ended with ugly abruptness.
A moment later, the wind kicked up again.
Once more, the city could breathe.
Jack staggered, dropping to one knee, and grabbed the rail for support. He heard Sara moan, and crawled over to her. Using what little energy he had left, he ripped the bonds from her wrists and unstrapped the backpack, laid it aside. He noted the location of the cell phone.
He’d get it later. Or someone would.
Right now, all he wanted to do was pull Sara into his arms and hold her as if he’d never let her go.
41
In the months that followed, the world did not miraculously change.
The good guys had won, but that didn’t necessarily mean the bad guys would be punished. Not in the way
