“Your gun.”
“Stay down!”
Josh saw the gun a few feet away, under a Lexus GS350. He started crawling for it.
“Hey!” yelled Broome.
“Stay down,” said Josh, grabbing the pistol.
The woman with the gun was three cars away. If the scientist wasn’t in the car, he would be with her.
Just as Hyuen Bo had been with him.
He would kill the woman. Kill her first, so the scientist saw what it was like, felt a shadow of the pain he had felt.
He edged forward, sliding. Walking on the bridge was like walking on the beam — it was an exercise he had done when small, an exercise that tested not so much his balance but his faith in the Way, his trust of what the monks told him.
“Close your eyes and walk,” said his mentor. “Walk simply, with your head erect. Trust that you will not fall.”
He did trust.
She was there, on his right. Jing Yo let go of the bridge post, lowering the P90 to fire.
“It’s me you want!” yelled a man’s voice.
Jing Yo turned toward the voice. As he did, his balance shifted, and he felt himself starting to fall.
The man twisted back, falling away from the third shot.
The assassin disappeared from the bridge.
Josh began to run. He didn’t have a conscious plan, wasn’t sure whether he was still in danger or not. He saw Mara on his right, yelled at her.
“Over the side!” he shouted.
He reached the rail and looked over, looked down.
The shooter was gone, somewhere in the water.
Mara grabbed his shoulder. “Don’t!”
Josh twisted around. “Don’t what?”
“Just let him go.”
His face was two inches from hers.
“I wasn’t going to chase him,” he said, staring into her face.
“Good,” she managed, before he kissed her.
32
“The most prudent thing is to get of here now,” said the agent. “We have a path north — we close down the FDR, have Marine One meet us at Yankee Stadium.”
“See, now, if it were spring and we stood a chance of catching a ball game, that might be a winning strategy,” said President Greene. They were sitting together in the presidential limo in the garage under UN headquarters. Green reached across and put his hand on the agent’s shoulder. “It’s all right, Ted. I know you’re only doing your job. Excuse my black humor.”
“Sir, we don’t know how many of them there are. We don’t know what else they may have planned.”
“You checked the building for bombs, right?”
“Three times. But — ”
“And nobody could come in or out in the last two hours?”
“Yes, sir — well except for your people. But — ”
“You think I’m going to let the Chinese win this without even taking a shot? They weren’t shooting at me, were they?” Greene glanced at his national security adviser. “Walt, you think they were shooting at me?”
“I can’t say at this time, Mr. President,” said Jackson.
“But I can. We go on as planned. What did you do with Josh?”
“He’s with the police on his way,” said the agent. “Mr. President — ”
“I’ll fire you if you say anything else,” said Greene. “Then I’ll have no protection. That’s not going to be a better situation, is it?”
“No, sir.”
“Well then, let’s move, gentlemen.”
Greene got out of the car. As best as he could determine, the situation was under control. The Chinese had tried to assassinate Josh Mac-Arthur on the Fifty-ninth Street Bridge. Josh and Mara Duncan had turned the tables on them. The NYPD had arrived and ushered not only Josh and Mara, but Senator Grasso across the bridge, then taken them through the line of protesters in an armored car.
The confusion had dulled the crowd a bit as well. People were shocked at the violence, not entirely understanding it. Even the Secret Service detail had reported the crowd had “diminished,” as close as the bodyguard ever got to saying things weren’t quite as dire as they had first appeared.
“There’s Senator Grasso now,” Greene said, seeing the senator across the garage. He was standing with two emergency medical technicians. “Senator! Phil! Are you okay?”
“George. George” — Grasso grabbed the president’s arm — ”the Chinese are
“You’re all right?”
“Yes. They’re out to kill everyone.”
“I’ve been trying to tell you that.”
“We have to stop them. They got Smith. My aide. They killed him. And my driver. My God!”
“It’s terrible,” said Greene. “It could have been you.”
“MacArthur shot him. He got the Chinese bastard. I saw the whole thing. I would have taken a few shots myself, if I’d had a gun.”
Greene had gotten a full description of what had happened from Jablonski; according to his blow-by-blow, the senator had cowered beneath an SUV for most of the encounter, and had to be pried out by the paramedics who responded. But Greene wasn’t about to contradict a senator, as long as his vote could be counted on.
“Where is Josh?” asked Greene. “Is he okay?”
“Mr. President, Dr. MacArthur is by the truck with Ms. Duncan,” said Jess Jordan, one of the NSC staffers traveling with him.
“Thank you. Senator, excuse me a second.”
Greene strode across the garage. He was a little apprehensive. He didn’t want to push Josh too far, and was genuinely concerned about his safety, and Mara’s. But his testimony was critical. Especially now — the delegates would know what had happened, or would hear of it before the end of the day. It would add an exclamation point to his testimony.
Josh and Mara were standing near the back of the armored car. A nurse was cleaning the cuts on her forehead.
“Josh! Mara! You’re all right?” said Greene, walking to them. He hugged Mara, then hugged Josh as well. “You’re all right? Are you all right?”
“I’m okay,” said Josh. “Where’s M??”
