Gideon’s Sword

by Douglas Preston; Lincoln Child

  Viv tries to scratch at his cheek, but Janos is ready. Lifting up both feet, he kicks her directly in the face. Viv flies backward, slamming into the metal side of the air conditioner. Her head hits first. She sinks, unconscious. Refusing to let up, Janos whips his head back, smashing me in the nose. The loud pop tells me it’s broken.

  Letting go of Janos, I stumble backward, my face a bloody mess.

  Janos doesn’t slow down. He marches right at me… a walking tank. I take a swing with my left hand, and he blocks the punch. I try to raise my right, but it sags like a tube sock full of sand. “P-Please…” I beg.

  Janos pummels me again in the nose, unleashing a sickening crunch. As I continue to stumble, he glances over my shoulder. Like before, he’s got his eyes on the open hole.

  “Don’t… please don’t…!”

  He shoves me backward, and I crash to the ground, hoping it’ll at least stop me from moving. Just as I look up, he clutches my shirt and tugs me to my feet. The hole’s right behind me. Unlike before, he’s not giving me any extra running space.

  Janos pulls me in for one last shove. My right arm’s dead. My head’s on fire. The only thing my brain processes is the smell of black licorice on his breath.

  “You can’t win,” I stutter. “No matter what you do… it’s over.”

  Janos stops. His eyes narrow with his smirk. “I agree,” he says.

  His hands burst forward, plowing me in the chest. I go reeling toward the hole. Last time, I made the mistake of trying to grab his shirt. This time, I go for the man himself. Stealing his own trick, I reach out, grip Janos’s ear, and hold tight.

  “What’re you—?!” Before he can even get out the question, we’re both heading for the hole.

  My foot slides down the edge. I still don’t let go. Janos’s head jerks forward. As I slip down, sliding off the edge, Janos grabs my arm, trying to ease his own pain. I continue to hold tight. He crashes down on his chest. It slows our descent, but I’m already moving too fast. The lower half of my body’s already in the hole… and slipping quick. As I slide, bits of gravel bite at my stomach. The concrete does the same to Janos’s chest. He’s following me, headfirst. As we continue to skid, he lets go of my arm with one hand and struggles to backpedal, clawing at the concrete; I kick at the inside walls of the hole, searching for a foothold to stop our fall. Janos shuts his eyes, digging in with everything he has. There’s a huge vein running down the front of his forehead. His face is tomato soup. He’s not letting me take his ear with me. And then, out of nowhere… we stop.

  A final cloud of dirt and dust rolls off the edge of the floor, landing on my face. I’m dangling by my left arm, which is the only part of me not in the hole. My armpit’s on the edge, which holds most of my weight, but my hand grips on to Janos’s ear with whatever strength I have left. It’s the only reason he’s holding my wrist. Flat on his chest, and realizing we’ve stopped, he continues to hold tight. If he lets go, I’ll definitely plunge down the hole, but I’ll be taking part—if not all—of him with me.

  Thanks to the pressure on his ear, Janos can barely pick his head up. His cheek is pressed against the concrete. But not for long. Twisting slightly, he glances my way—making sure I can’t get out. From inside the hole, my chin and arm sit just above the edge. He’s ready to send me the rest of the way down.

  “Janos, don’t…!”

  Trying to break my grip, he squeezes my wrist and shifts his position. He’s too off balance. We slide down again, deeper into the hole, then come to another sudden stop. Instead of my armpit, I’m down to my elbow, which now holds part of my weight. Janos is still on his stomach. His cheek’s in the dirt, and the way his body’s turned, one of his shoulders is already over the edge. My eyes barely peek above the rim. I still refuse to let go. I’m gripping his ear so tight, it’s turning purple. If I go down holding on to him, he’ll follow fast.

  Below my feet, the tiny plink of fallen rocks echoes from below. No question, it’s a long way to the bottom. Ignoring the risk, Janos digs his fingers into the underside of my wrist. The pain is indescribable. I can’t hold on any longer. My pinkie slides off his earlobe. He pulls his head back, trying to tug himself free. My ring finger slips off next. He’s almost there. The way he’s gripping my wrist, it feels like he’s about to puncture my skin. I rake at the concrete with my free hand, but I’m down too far. There’s no way to get a handhold. The pain’s too much. I have to let…

  “Janos, you drop him and you’ll race him to the bottom,” a familiar female voice warns. She puts a foot on his hip, threatening to shove him down.

  Janos freezes… and grabs my arm. My weight’s no longer on his ear, but I still hold tight to it. He doesn’t even try to turn his head toward the voice. I don’t blame him. As close as he is to the edge, one wrong move, and we’re both going down.

  I look over Janos’s shoulder. Viv’s on her feet, the golf club cocked in the air.

  “I’m serious,” Viv says. “You let him go, and I’ll tee your head up and knock you to Nashville.”

  80

  THAT’S IT… HOLD him tight,” Viv says to Janos as he grips my wrist. She thinks he’s listening, but as he lies there flat on his chest, he’s still just trying to protect his ear and buy some time.

  “Viv, watch him carefully!” I call out. My feet continue to dangle over the pitch-black hole, but I can see it in the dark crinkle between his eyebrows. Even with the pain, he’s plotting his final move.

  “Exactly… just like that,” Viv says, nine iron arched above her shoulder. “Now pull him up.”

  Janos doesn’t move. He’s clutching my wrist and keeping me afloat, but only because I’ve got his ear.

  “Did you hear what I said?” Viv asks.

  He still doesn’t budge. Even though he’s supporting most of my weight, he can’t support all of it. I keep up the pressure on his ear. His cheek is close to the concrete, and his head is cocked awkwardly toward the hole. His face is an even deeper shade of red than before. Janos is holding me, but the pain’s starting to burn. Closing his eyes, he presses his lips together, then breathes through his nose. The crinkle between his eyebrows fades, but not by much.

  “Janos…”

  “Drop the club,” Janos barks.

  “Pardon?” Viv asks. In her mind, he’s in no position to make demands.

  “Drop the golf club,” he repeats. “No fucking around, Vivian. Put it down, or I let Harris go.”

  “Don’t listen to him!” I shout.

  Viv stares downward, trying to get a better read.

  “You’ll hear him scream the whole way down,” Janos says. “Think you can handle that?”

  Her mouth opens slightly. For anyone, this is tough. For a seventeen-year-old…

  “You think I’m joking?” Janos asks. He digs his fingers back into my wrist.

  I scream out in pain.

  “Harris…!” Viv shouts.

  Janos lets up, once again just holding my wrist. “Harris, you okay?” Viv asks.

  “T-Take his head off,” I tell her. “Swing away.”

  “Do it and I drop him!” Janos warns.

  “He’s gonna drop me anyway,” I add.

  “That’s not true,” she says, refusing to believe it. “Just bring him up!” she yells at Janos. “I want Harris up here now!”

  In spite of the pain that comes along with it, Janos slowly shakes his head side to side. He’s done negotiating. I don’t blame him. The instant I’m back on level ground, he risks getting kicked into the hole himself. Not only that, but it’s back to two against one.

  Dangling by my arm, I feel reality settling in. There’s no way he’s bringing me up—which makes my decision that much easier.

  “Viv, listen to me!” I shout. “Hit him now while you have the chance!”

  “Not so smart, Vivian,” Janos warns, his voice unflinchingly calm. “You do that and Harris plummets with me.”

  “Viv, don’t let him get into your head!”
<
br />   Too late. She’s studying him, not me.

  “I need you to focus! Are you focusing?” I shout. She turns my way, but her stare is vacant. She’s frozen by the choice. “Viv, are you focusing?!”

  She finally nods.

  “Good… then I need you to comprehend one thing. No matter what you do, I go down in the end. Either Janos drops me on his own, or you smash him, and Janos and I go down together. Do you understand? I go down either way.”

  My voice cracks as I say the words. She knows it’s true—and she’s smart enough to catch the consequences: She’s seen how fast Janos moves. If she doesn’t take him out now, he’ll be all over her in an instant.

  I feel Janos’s grip tightening around my wrist. He’s ready to dump me and make a jump for Viv.

  “Do it now!” I shout.

  “C’mon, Vivian—you really ready to kill your friend?” Janos asks.

  With the nine iron poised in the air, Viv stares down—her eyes dancing from Janos to me, then back to Janos. She’s only got a few seconds to decide. She pulls the club back. Her hands begin to shake, and the tears roll down her cheeks. She doesn’t want to do it, but the longer she stands there, the more she realizes there’s no other choice.

  81

  HIT HIM, VIV! Hit him now!” I shout.

  Viv’s got the club up in the air. She still doesn’t swing.

  “Be smart, Vivian,” Janos adds. “Regret is the worst burden to bear.”

  “Harris, you sure?” she asks one last time.

  Before I can answer, Janos squeezes my wrist, trying to break my grip. I can’t hold on to his ear any longer.

  “D-Do it!” I demand.

  With his back to Viv, Janos stays focused on my wrist, digging his fingers in deep. He doesn’t even bother looking back at her. Like all gamblers, he’s playing the odds. If Viv didn’t swing by now, she’s not swinging at all.

  “Viv, please…!” I beg.

  Her whole body’s shaking as the tears come even faster… She starts to sob, completely overwhelmed—but the golf club’s still up over her head.

  “Harris…” she calls out. “I don’t want to—”

  “You can do it,” I tell her. “It’s okay.”

  “A-Are you…?”

  “I swear, Viv—it’s okay… I promise…”

  With one last stab, Janos jams his finger into my wrist. My grip pops open—but just as I slip, sliding down into the hole, he doesn’t let me fall. Instead, he grabs my fingers, crushing them together. A wide smile takes his face. He likes being in control… especially when he can use it to his advantage.

  I dangle by my arm, watching Viv carefully. “Please… please do it!” I beg.

  Viv swallows hard, barely able to speak. “J-Just… God forgive me,” she adds.

  Janos stops. He hears something in her voice. Twisting slightly, he turns toward her.

  Their eyes lock, and Janos checks again for himself. The rise and fall of her chest… the way she keeps readjusting her grip… even the way she keeps licking her bottom lip. In the end, Janos lets out a small, almost inaudible laugh. He doesn’t think she has it in her.

  He’s wrong.

  I nod at Viv. She sniffles up a final noseful of tears and mouths the word Bye. Turning back to Janos, she plants her feet.

  C’mon, Viv—it’s him or you…

  Viv pulls the club back. Janos again laughs to himself. And all around us, the air-handlers continue to chug. It’s a frozen moment. And then… as a drop of sweat leaves her nose… Viv puts all her weight behind the club and swings away. Janos immediately lets go of my hand and turns to pounce on her.

  Janos expects me to fall back and drop to my death. But he doesn’t see the tiny foothold I’ve been balancing on for the past few minutes—a manmade divot that’s dug into the interior wall of the hole. The tip of my shoe grips the two-inch ledge. I flex my leg. And before either of them realizes what’s happening, I leap upward just enough to grab Janos by the back of his shirt. Lunging at Viv, he’s totally off balance. That’s his mistake—and the last one he’ll make in our little chess match. In any sport, especially politics, nothing works better than a good distraction. Barely able to hold the edge of the hole with my right hand, I yank him backward with my left. He has no idea what’s happening. I give him a sharp tug toward the hole, duck down, and let gravity do the rest.

  “What’re you—?!” He never gets the words out. Tumbling out of control, Janos plummets backward into the mouth of the hole. As he passes, he clutches at my shoulders… my waist… my legs… even the sides of my shoes. He’s moving too fast to get a handhold.

  “Nooo…!” he screams, his final word echoing upward as he plunges and disappears in the darkness. I hear him bounce off one of the interior walls… then another. There’s a raw, scraping sound as he ping-pongs back and forth the whole way down. The screaming never stops. Not until the muted thud at the bottom.

  A second later, a shrill siren wails from the depth of the hole. I’m not surprised. It’s the air intake system for the entire Capitol. Of course it’s alarmed. Capitol police won’t be far behind.

  As the siren continues to howl, I clutch the concrete ledge and struggle to catch my breath. I peer downward, studying the depth of the darkness. Nothing moves. Except for the alarm, it’s a perfectly still black pond. The more I look at it, the more mesmerizing it gets.

  “Harris, you okay?” Viv asks, kneeling down toward the edge.

  “Get away from the hole!” a deep voice screams. Behind her, three Capitol policemen storm into the room, their guns aimed at both of us.

  “Stewie, I need a lockdown on all vents!” the tallest officer barks into his radio.

  “It’s not what you—!”

  In an eye blink, the other two officers grip my armpits and haul me out of the hole. Tossing me facefirst on the ground, they try to cuff my hands behind my back. “My arm…!” I scream as they bend it back.

  “You’re hurting him!” Viv shouts as the tall officer pins her down and puts her own set of cuffs on. “His arm’s broken!”

  Both our faces are dripping with blood. They’re not listening to a word.

  “Vents are going down,” a man’s voice squawks through the radio. “Anything else?”

  “We got a body in the hallway and an unconscious guy up here!” the officer with the radio adds.

  “Barry tried to kill me!” Viv yells.

  Barry?

  “We were attacked!” she says. “Check our IDs—we work here!”

  “She’s telling the truth,” I stutter, barely able to pick my head up. My arm feels like it’s snapped in half.

  “So where’s the attacker?” the shortest officer asks. “Down there!” Viv shouts, flat on her chest and pointing with her chin. “Check the hole!”

  “H-His body…” I add. “You’ll… You’ll find his body…”

  The short officer motions to the tall one, who lifts the walkie-talkie to his lips.

  “Reggie, you there yet?”

  “Almost…” says a deeper voice that comes simultaneously from the radio and the opening of the hole. He’s down at the bottom. “Oh, man…” he finally adds.

  “What you got?” the officer with the radio asks.

  “There’s some bloodstains down here…”

  “I told you!” Viv shouts.

  “… all the explosive sniffers are crushed… the trail keeps going… and from the looks of it, he ripped the grating clear off the safety gate…”

  Oh, no.

  “That’s a forty-foot drop,” the officer with the radio says.

  “Oh, he definitely did himself some damage,” Reggie says through the radio. “But I’ll tell you right now… I don’t see a body.”

  I lift my chin off the ground. My arm’s the least of my worries.

  “Jeff, make sure maintenance locks down those vents, and get Reggie some backup,” the shorter officer says to the one with the radio. “And Reggie…!” he adds, leaning over the edge
of the hole and shouting as loud as he can, “… get outta there right now and start following that blood! He’s hurt, with at least a few broken paws. He couldn’t have gotten far.”

  82

  THEY STILL HAVEN’T FOUND him. They never will.

  I’m not surprised. Janos was hired for a reason. Like any great magician, he not only knew how to keep a secret—he also knew the value of a good disappearing act.

  It’s been seven hours since we left the depths of the Capitol basement and air tunnels. To double-check that the air system wasn’t compromised, they evacuated the entire building, which hadn’t been done since the anthrax scares a few years back. They moved us, too.

  Most people know that if the Capitol is under a full-on terrorist assault, the bigwigs and hotshots get relocated to a top-secret off-site location. If the attack’s on a smaller scale, they go to Fort McNair, in Southwest D.C. But if the attack is minor and containable—like a gas canister thrown in the hallways—they come here, right across the street, to the Library of Congress.

  Standing outside the closed doors of the European Reading Room on the second floor, I sink down to sit on the marble floor. My shoulder eventually rests on the leg of one of the enormous glass display cases that line the hallway and are filled with historical artifacts.

  “Sir—please don’t sit there,” a nearby FBI agent with silver hair and a pointed nose says.

  “What’s it make a difference, huh?” my lawyer, Dan Cohen, threatens as he rubs a hand over his own shaved head. “Don’t be an ass—let the poor guy take a seat.” An old friend from my Georgetown Law days, Dan’s a half-Jewish, half-Italian matzoh-ball-meatball of a guy stuffed into a cheap, poorly tailored suit. After graduation, while most of us went to firms or to the Hill, Dan went back to his old neighborhood in Baltimore, hung out an honest-to-God shingle, and took the cases most lawyers laugh at. Proudly tracing his family tree back to his great, great-uncle, gangster Meyer Lansky, Dan always liked a good fight. But by his own admission, he no longer has any connections in Washington. That’s exactly why I called him. I’ve had enough of this town.