tracks.
The other one didn’t pause in his charge. Grafton pointed the weapon and pulled the trigger again. Nothing.
Damn thing needs to recharge the capacitor.
Grafton braced himself to receive the charge — then he saw the gleam of the knife blade!
He turned and ran into the darkness. He stumbled on the ties, recovered, and ran hard.
Slap, slap, slap. His feet pounded on the gravel. Behind him he could hear the panting of his pursuer.
He was running into total darkness. Not a glimmer of light ahead… no, a faint glow. The track turned up there, and he now he could see the reflected glow from the next station.
He would never make it. The man behind was getting closer.
Grafton risked a look and saw only a blur, a few feet behind. He could hear the man’s rasping breath — he wasn’t in shape, but he was thirty or more years younger than the admiral.
Grafton felt a touch on his shoulder. He spun with the weapon leveled in his hand and pulled the trigger as he turned.
The knife went by his face. Then came the flash, the report — and a scream as the man fell onto Grafton, who was falling himself, going down on his back.
The man went on screaming in agony as the lightning pulsed between them.
When the darkness came again, the sound stopped. All sound.
Jake’s attacker was lying across him. And he wasn’t breathing. The admiral felt for the pulse in the man’s neck. There wasn’t one.
Jake Grafton pushed the corpse aside and rose shakily to his feet.
He heard the train get under way, felt the rush of air. He scrambled over the hot rail, carefully avoiding it, and hunkered down against the tunnel wall.
The headlight illuminated the bodies on the track, but the train continued to accelerate. The noise rose to a painful level. The wind became a gale; Jake braced himself against it. Then the train thundered by, its steel wheels singing on the rails. The sides of the cars passed inches from Jake’s shoulder.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
On Saturday morning Agatha Hempstead led Grafton and Goldberg toward the ambassador’s office. She marched in front and both men found that they had to lengthen their stride to keep up. The receptionist had anticipated their arrival and was manning the door. He opened it for Hempstead and her entourage, then closed it behind them.
The ambassador was on the scrambled telephone. When he saw them, he punched the button to put the audio on the telephone speaker.
“Mr. President, they are here now.”
“Very well,” the president said in his distinctive voice. “Well, Owen, please repeat your request for their benefit.”
“I would like Grafton and Goldberg recalled,” Lancaster said. “Last night Grafton killed two men in the subway with some kind of electric weapon. The police released him after verifying his diplomatic immunity. I have talked to the foreign minister, who is of the opinion that the government will declare Admiral Grafton persona non grata unless we act first and recall him. They are very unhappy that he had a weapon.”
“I assume they would be less agitated if he were dead?”
If Lancaster understood the irony in that remark, he ignored it. “Then it would just be a tragedy, you see. The minister would issue an official apology, routine condolences, etc. Now the press is screaming about a weapons violation, accusing the government of bias toward the United States.”
“Can’t we make some noise about Middle Eastern thugs attacking diplomats in subway stations?”
“Not unless you’re willing to be called a racist on the eve of the summit.”
“Uh-huh,” the president said. “What’s their gripe about Goldberg?”
“He is the CIA station chief, a fact of which the French are well aware. I think he’s worn out his welcome, too.”
“I see. Grafton, are you there?”
“Yes, sir,” Jake said.
“I read your report of last night’s incident. How are you coming on that matter we discussed before you left?”
“Still working it, sir.”
“Any way you can get someone to put in a good word for you with the French government?”
“Are you referring to Rodet?”
“Yes.”
“I can call him.”
“I suggest you do that. And I want a complete brief from you when I get over there.”
“We should have most of the answers by then, sir.”
“Terrific. Goldberg?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Better behave yourself if you expect to complete your tour.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Owen, I hate to put you on the spot like this, but you’re going to have to kiss some more frog ass. Tell the minister you’ve been chatting with that I ripped Grafton and Goldberg a new one and respectfully request that they be allowed to remain in France, at least until after the G-8 conference is over.”
Owen Lancaster didn’t turn a hair. He’d been doing this for more years than the president had been in government.
“Yes, sir,” he said evenly. “See you Tuesday.”
” ‘Preciate it, Owen. Knew I could count on you.”
The connection broke, and the speaker began buzzing. Lancaster pushed buttons to silence the noise. “I don’t appreciate being put on the spot like this,” he said.
Grafton and Goldberg were still standing in front of his desk. He hadn’t asked them to sit.
“This weapon the French said you have — do you have it with you?”
Grafton nodded affirmatively.
“May I see it, please.” It wasn’t a question. Lancaster held out his hand.
Jake Grafton removed the weapon from his pocket and flipped on the power switch. He held it so Lancaster could see it but didn’t offer it to him.
“I’ll take that, Admiral,” the ambassador said curtly.
“I think not,” Jake responded. “I may need it again.”
Lancaster’s eyes narrowed. “I understand you killed two men with that thing. That makes it a deadly weapon. There is a centuries-old tradition that diplomatic personnel will be unarmed— it’s really a point of international law — and it’s a tradition that I personally support.”
“I’m not going to become a victim of street thugs just to make your life more comfortable,” Grafton said. He pointed the weapon at the television set in the corner and pulled the trigger.
The laser beam shot out; a long second later, the electrical charge vomited forth in a clap of thunder that was painfully loud in that enclosed room. As the lightning strobed, the television picture tube exploded, showering glass fragments in all directions. Fortunately everyone slammed his eyes shut or managed to cover them.
The silence that followed was broken only by the patter of tiny bits of glass raining down until Grafton said, “Come on, George,” and headed for the door.
I was in a foul mood when I got to the embassy. I’d only had a few hours’ sleep, and each time I dropped off I awoke with nightmares. The corpse on the floor of the apartment below weighed heavily on my mind. It wasn’t right that her body should be left to rot.
Gator Zantz was manning the guard desk outside the SCIF. Apparently security guard was the one job in the
