Silent Threat

by Jeff Gunhus

  “Crafty son of a bitch was wearing a vest,” he said. “He’ll be all right. Go. Don’t let her get away.”

  Mara sprinted toward the last spot she’d seen her mom, cussing herself for choking on the shot to disable her. At least she wasn’t armed. She at least had that advantage.

  She ran past the soldier statues, cutting diagonally on the path that led to the Lincoln Memorial. There was a drop-off area right next to the Memorial and easy access to Independence Avenue. She worried her mom might have a driver waiting for her there. Or at least a car. She hoped that the woman with the 9mm and the man she’d left tied up were the only two operatives in the field. She thought that if there were more, they would have brought their firepower to bear already.

  As the wooded path opened to the concrete plaza in front of the Lincoln Memorial, Mara’s stomach dropped.

  A man was curled up in a ball on the ground, his neck twisted unnaturally. A uniformed cop.

  Mara knelt next to the body, gun raised toward the dozens of places her mom could have been waiting for her. She took a chance and reached out to check for a pulse. Nothing.

  She didn’t need to look, but she did anyway. Her suspicion was right. The man’s gun was gone.

  Her mom had just evened the playing field.

  CHAPTER 44

  Scott watched Mara run into the night, fighting the urge to follow her. The gunshot was the same shoulder that’d been hit when they escaped the prison. It felt like the slug was lodged in his flesh, burning its way through the muscle. But he’d been shot enough times to know that wasn’t the case. It hurt like hell but getting shot always did.

  He gathered his gun that he’d dropped when he was hit and then propped up Hawthorn, who groaned as his eyes fluttered open.

  “You took a couple in the vest,” he said. “Are you hit anywhere else?”

  Hawthorn’s eyes bolted wide open, as if just realizing where he was. He tried to sit up. “Where . . . you have to . . .” Then he groaned and slouched back to the ground.

  “Easy,” Scott said. “Let me take a look.” He tore at Hawthorn’s shirt, popping the buttons off. He inspected it for any sign of blood. Nothing.

  “Can’t breathe. Get this thing off me.”

  Scott pulled him up into a sitting position, peeling his suit jacket off first, then the dress shirt. The Kevlar vest had thin armored plates, an advanced body armor Scott had never seen before. Courtesy of the CIA tech masters. Fortunate given the firepower they’d gone up against. Scott wrangled it over Hawthorn’s head using only his good hand.

  Finally, he got it off and Hawthorn slumped against him, eyes clenched in pain. “I don’t think I’m hit.”

  Hawthorn had worn a white T-shirt beneath the vest, which made an inspection quick and easy. “I don’t see anything. You got damn lucky.”

  “Few broken ribs, I think. Hurts like hell, but I’m okay. Leave me here. I’ll call in backup. Go help Mara.”

  Scott hitched his good hand under one of Hawthorn’s arms and dragged him over to the Korean War Memorial wall so he had something to lean against. Hawthorn already had his phone out.

  “Have them send a medic for you. I’m going after—”

  The phone exploded in Hawthorn’s hand, the unmistakable sound of a bullet ricocheting off the granite inches from his head.

  Scott knew a second bullet would come, and he instinctively stepped in front of his friend.

  A searing pain in his leg made his shoulder feel like a bee sting. He had the presence of mind to realize the shot would have been directed at Hawthorn’s head. Whoever was shooting would aim at him next. And he wasn’t likely to miss.

  With a yell, he dove for the vest on the ground in front of him, hearing a bullet whiz past his head. He just hoped it hadn’t found its mark with Hawthorn.

  Adrenaline helped mask the pain as he grabbed the vest, held it up, and crouched behind it.

  Two rounds hammered into it, twisting the vest violently in his hand. But the bullets didn’t penetrate. The geniuses in the CIA lab had done their work well.

  He fired three quick shots in the general direction of the onslaught. Hoping to get lucky. Or to just slow his attacker down.

  To his surprise, he heard a grunt of pain.

  A quick look revealed his target. The operative from the farmhouse. Slouched to one side, injured from a lucky shot, but with his gun still in hand.

  On instinct, Scott rushed forward, keeping low to the ground. Kevlar vest held in front of his chest and head, not sure if it would do a damn bit of good, he fired, hoping to keep his adversary pinned.

  His legs churned as he closed the distance.

  But then another round hit his already injured leg and he lost his balance.

  His momentum carried him into the shooter, crashing into him with all of his bulk like a linebacker making a highlight film tackle.

  Scott kept the vest up in front of him, covering the man with it as they fell to the ground together.

  The pain that had somehow taken a backseat during his rush forward came flooding back. It hit him so hard that he thought he might black out. If he did, he was as good as dead.

  The man beneath him recovered quickly. Scott’s upper body was covered by the vest, so the man ducked down and landed a rapid series of punches on the bullet wounds in Scott’s leg.

  Scott yelled and dropped an elbow on the man’s neck, a shaft of white-hot agony shooting up through his shoulder.

  He connected and the man rolled away, crouching like an animal, favoring one side.

  Neither of them had their guns. Scott had lost his when they collided. He didn’t know if his adversary had lost his, too, or if he was out of ammo. The fact Scott was still alive now that they had separation between them meant it was one or the other.

  The two men stood face-to-face with each other, gladiators in the ring, bleeding and ready for blood.

  Sirens erupted nearby. First to their left. Then their right. The cavalry was on the way. Hawthorn’s call must have gone through. Then again, the gunfire in the nation’s capital was enough to spin up a dozen or more law enforcement agencies into action.

  “In a minute or two, this place will be sealed off,” Scott said, hoping to put off another attack. He swayed unsteadily on his feet, not sure he would last longer than one punch if the man charged him.

  The observation surprisingly had an impact. Scott watched as the man raised a hand to his own neck and rested it there. As if taking his own pulse.

  The sirens grew louder. The thump-thump-thump of a helo rose in the distance.

  “You were injured before we met,” the man said.

  Scott put a hand up to his gunshot wound. “Shoulder.”

  The man stood upright, no longer in a fighting position. He had the look of a man who had reached a decision. “Next time, we’ll start on even ground. I want your best.”

  “My best was twenty years ago,” Scott said, stretching for time. “But if you come for me, you’ll find what I have now can still kick your scrawny little ass.”

  The man smiled, as if he truly relished the insult. Then he turned and half-ran, half-staggered into the night, clutching his wounds.

  Scott scrambled for his gun on the ground. It took him ten long seconds to find it. It might as well have been an hour. When he spun to where the man had run, there was nothing but shadows.

  He remembered the shot that had gone past him. He feared the worst as he turned back to the wall. But Hawthorn was still there, raising his hand to signal he was okay.

  Scott pulled his belt from his pants and wrapped it around his leg as a tourniquet, cinching it as tight as he could stand. The leg was turning numb, which wasn’t a good sign, but he didn’t have time to worry about that.

  Grunting with each step, he hobbled in the direction he’d last seen Mara chasing her mother. He just hoped he wasn’t too late.

  CHAPTER 45

  Mara heard the sirens as she ran around the left side of the Lincoln Memorial.
Flashes of blue and red light reflected off the white marble walls told her they were close.

  She spotted her mom running across the street, waving her gun at motorists, trying to get them to stop. DC residents, hardened by years of terrorist threats, weren’t about to stop for someone with a gun. If anything, they sped up.

  Mara dropped to a knee and lined up a shot. It was fifty yards and her hands were shaking. She waited until her mom was clear of traffic and then squeezed off a round.

  By her reaction, the bullet hit the pavement just beside her. Where Mara had aimed. Just to get her attention.

  She had it. Her mom spun toward her and unloaded several shots at her.

  Mara pressed herself flat to the ground, hoping her mom wasn’t a very good shot.

  The shots faded and she risked a look up just in time to see her run toward Memorial Bridge.

  Mara climbed to her feet and gave chase.

  By the time she reached the bridge, passing by the gilded Arts of War statues that guarded the entrance, police cars sped toward her from all directions.

  The far end of the bridge was already lit up with emergency lights and a blockade of police cars blocking the width of it.

  The last civilian cars sped off the bridge as she ran onto it. Her gun was raised and she considered the risk that some fresh-faced police officer might mistakenly take a shot at her.

  The safe bet was to surrender to the flood of cops rushing into position behind her. But she knew how that would go. They’d throw her on the ground, cuff her, then spend the next ten minutes trying to confirm her identity. That didn’t work for her. So she rolled the dice and sprinted toward her mom.

  “Stop,” she yelled. “It’s no use.”

  Her mom was in the middle of the bridge when she finally stopped. Mara didn’t think it had anything to do with her command, but simply that she’d run out of options. That made her dangerous.

  Mara held out her hands, the gun still in one, but now pointed away toward the dark Potomac River flowing beneath them. “It’s over,” she said, getting closer so she didn’t have to shout. “There’s no way out.”

  A helo approached from downriver, a powerful spotlight painting the area around them. Her mom grinned as she watched it approach, the harsh white light giving her eyes a crazed look. Mara saw the cop’s gun she’d stolen was still in her hand. To her relief, she saw her mom was pulling the trigger over and over. Out of bullets.

  “C’mon,” she said. “Let me take you in.”

  Her mom looked around with a mix of disbelief and jagged amusement. “Hard to believe I ended up on another bridge.”

  “I don’t think you’d get away with a jump over the edge this time.”

  She made a show of looking down at the black waters below. “You’re probably right. No SCUBA divers waiting for me this time.”

  “I’d ask you why all this happened, but I don’t think you’d give me an answer,” she said. “Not a real one. Not one that would matter.”

  “How about the truth? Would the truth matter, Mara?”

  She felt her throat tighten. The way she said her name made her feel like a teenager again. “Try me.”

  Her mom smirked, as if amused by the whole thing. She pointed back to the end of the bridge they’d come from. It was now cordoned off with rows of police vehicles. “Do you know what those statues are called? The ones on horseback?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Valor and sacrifice,” her mom said. “Fitting, isn’t it?”

  “Valor is courage, especially in battle. I don’t see how that’s fitting at all.”

  “That’s because you don’t know the ways of the world. Not yet. Not really,” her mom said. “There are forces at work greater than you can appreciate.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  “The world is already dead, Mara. It just doesn’t know it yet. We can’t escape population growth, global warming, nuclear proliferation in the hands of terrorists, the rise of automation that will create massive revolts from the working class. The coming unrest will tear down every structure of civilization we know. The future will destroy us all, unless someone is ready to take control.”

  “Omega.”

  “I have sacrificed everything for this fight, but it was necessary. And I’ve been proven right. Things have deteriorated worse than imagined. Everything hangs on a thread, you have to sense that. You always were the smart one, Mara.”

  She hated the swell of pride she felt at the compliment. She pushed past it, not wanting to give her mom the satisfaction of seeing it.

  “Smart enough to know bullshit when I see it. What’s this really about? Money? Power? Who do you really work for?”

  Her mom looked disappointed. “You must see it. The evidence is everywhere. Even here in America, the police have been equipped with military vehicles. DHS last year stockpiled over two billion rounds of ammunition, for training purposes they say. They know it’s coming just like we do. Only they won’t be ready to do what’s necessary.”

  “So this group, this Omega, they’ll be ready? They’ll be the ones to save us all?” Mara said, feeling sick to her stomach. She found herself wishing the reason for her mom’s betrayal was more simple. Misplaced nationalistic fervor. Patriotism to Russia. Anything but this madness.

  “Oh no,” her mom said, looking at her like she was too slow to be believed. “Omega isn’t going to save everyone. It’s going to make certain most of the world dies. But the important people live. We are the Omega and the Alpha. The end and the beginning. The right people will live so that civilization can be reborn.”

  Mara didn’t want to hear any more. “The right people? You mean the smart ones like you who got taken down by an old man and a washed-up CIA operative? A two-man operation against big bad Omega and they really stuck it to you. I got to say, if you guys are supposed to be the world’s salvation, then maybe we really are screwed.”

  Her mom’s smirk disappeared and Mara raised her gun. “While I can’t stand to hear another goddamn thing you say, the people at Langley are going to have a great time talking to you.”

  Her mom walked toward her. “I’m not going in. I can’t. I think you already know that.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” Mara said. “There’s no way out.”

  She took a deep breath and then slowly pulled a knife from a side pocket. “I’m sorry I didn’t reach out to you, Mara. With enough time, I think I could have opened your eyes to the truth. What a force we could have been working together. I see that now.”

  Mara’s eyes were locked on the knife. “You try to hurt yourself and I’ll put a hole through your hand,” she said.

  “I’m not going to hurt myself,” her mom said. “You don’t think Omega has people at either end of this bridge? We’re everywhere.”

  “They’ll never get you out of here,” she said.

  “You could have learned so much from me.” She glanced up at the helo, staring into the light for a few seconds before closing her eyes, swaying slightly in place.

  “It doesn’t need to end here,” Mara said. “You can come in.”

  Her mom opened her eyes at the words. She gave the barest inclination of her head as her eyebrows raised, a gesture straight out of Mara’s childhood. “Don’t be silly, Mara. You know better.”

  Her mom lunged forward, knife raised.

  “No!” Mara shouted, holding her hands out toward the police at the bridge.

  But it was no use. Her mom’s movement was precise, fast enough to sell it, but slow enough to give the SWAT teams a clean shot.

  Multiple bullets entered her from both directions almost simultaneously. High-powered rounds that left puffs of red in the air, illuminated by the helo floodlights from above.

  The violent twisting of her body was made worse because the bullets effectively propped her up as more rounds slammed into her. Finally, the shooting stopped and she fell to the pavement.

  Mara stood in stunned disbelief as pools of
blood spread from her mom’s body. She staggered forward and then dumped to the ground so that her face was next to hers.

  She was surprised when the tears came, then the wracking sobs as she pulled her mom to her. The feelings came from somewhere deep inside, the same place that had prevented her from taking the shot earlier. The same place that had so desperately wanted her to surrender. The same place that made it impossible to hate her own mother.

  Police cars roared in from either side, and the air filled with men shouting for her to move away from the body. They sounded distant, nothing more than echoes.

  But then another voice shouted over them all and it quieted down.

  A hand touched her shoulder, but she didn’t flinch. Somehow, she knew who it was.

  “C’mon,” her dad said. “Let her go.”

  Mara shook her head. She knew it made no sense, she knew she ought to hate this woman, but she couldn’t make herself move.

  “This isn’t your mom,” he whispered. “Your mom was the person we both loved years ago. Kind, genuine, brilliant. It doesn’t matter what she said tonight, or what she became since you saw her last, that past life with her was real. You still have that. And so do I.”

  Mara let go of the woman’s body and leaned into her dad, clinging to him. He wrapped an arm around her and they cried together, the police waiting respectfully around them. As Mara’s head cleared, she glanced around at the group of them, thinking about what her mom had said, wondering which of the men here worked for Omega. There was no way to know, but she resolved to one day find out.

  CHAPTER 46

  Ryker read the message on his tablet device a second time; then he threw it at the nearest wall, shattering its glass screen. One of his men ran into the room, gun half-drawn from his shoulder holster. Ryker turned on him. “Leave me,” he roared.

  The man followed the orders without hesitation.

  Ryker stood and paced the room. It was his favorite in the house. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, his prized collection of ancient scientific texts. Da Vinci, Copernicus, Newton, Edison. Rational men who had all dared to think outside the constraints of the accepted wisdom of their ages. They were creators. Visionaries. And he would one day join their ranks.