Conor wasn't sure if they knew he was the same man they'd already taken into custody earlier. It would have been hard to tell in the low light. There was a flash of light from the far end of the hallway and bullets stitched the wall near Conor. He had to get out of the hall or he was a dead man. Except for the shallow doorways, there was no cover to be had.
He sprinted down the hall, bouncing from wall to wall like a pinball, trying to make himself a hard target. He spotted another stairwell and ducked inside. He paused there, heart pounding, then began counting down.
"Five...four...three...two...one."
He burst back into the hallway, sub-gun raised. The security man was running in his direction as hard as he could, ready to pursue Conor up the stairs. Conor caught the whites of his eyes, the shocked expression, as the man looked for cover. There was no time. Conor squeezed the trigger and the gun climbed in his hands, the rounds chewing up his pursuer's torso and dropping him dead to the floor.
Conor's desire to find Barb pushed him to keep going but he needed more ammo. Before the shooting drew more guards, he swept the bodies, taking all the mags he could find for the crappy Chinese submachine gun. He decided to leave by a different stairwell than the one both he and the men had used to reach this floor. He ran to the opposite end of the hallway and ducked into that one.
Conor sprinted the stairs two at a time, his mind racing, torn between his mission and his obligation to his daughter. To some degree he was aware this was exactly why Shani didn't like the idea of him working with Barb. Split loyalties. Torn between family and duty. He had to focus. At some point, he had to hope he'd trained Barb well enough that she could handle herself. Of course, being able to handle herself was no guarantee of success. All he had to do was look at what had already happened to him that very day. He'd been overwhelmed and taken prisoner despite all his skills, abilities, and natural charm.
After ten flights, he fumbled his leap and faltered. His legs were tiring so he slowed to one step at a time, though he was still jogging. He'd lost track of how many floors he'd scaled when he came upon the body. Blood ran from the head wound, pouring down several steps like a morbid fountain.
Conor rolled the body onto its back and stared at the face. A bullet had shattered the bridge of the nose. The eyes were bulged and Conor knew that look. It came from the contents of the skull absorbing the energy of a round fired at close range. Despite those deformations, Conor recognized the man from his mission packet. This was Senator Boorman, one of the targets on his list, and there was only one person who could be behind the trigger. This was Barb's handiwork.
She was out there somewhere doing her thing. She somehow knew he'd been discovered and that she needed to get on with business. Good for her. For him, that only left the question of what his next step should be. Whatever it was, he suspected it would happen on the penthouse floor. That was where he'd find his targets and hopefully where he'd find his daughter as well.
32
The Shandong
The Mediterranean
"My key will open Shoe's room," Dana said as they rushed up the stairs. "She's always having me run back to her room to get something for her."
When they reached the landing on the penthouse level, Barb reached out and stopped Dana from rushing into the corridor. "Take a moment and get your breathing under control. You won't be able to smile and act normal if you're wound up. Bring it down a notch."
After a few deep breaths, Dana let out a long exhalation and braced her shoulders. "I'm ready."
The two stepped boldly from the stairwell. They had no reason to skulk around. With Dana's position and Barb's uniform, they had every reason in the world to be there. Dana led the way, Barb following in her tracks, close enough that she heard Dana mumble, "Oh shit."
Barb glanced around Dana's shoulder and saw that one of the Chinese security force had been stationed at the congresswoman's door. "Don't panic," Barb whispered. "We got this."
Dana didn't slow as she approached the door, whipping out her key and holding it up for the guard to see. "The congresswoman is expecting me."
The guard appeared to have no issue with that, recognizing Dana from having seen her around the ship. He was less certain about Barb, staring intently at her. He asked a question in Chinese that neither understood.
"She's with me," Dana said. "She's delivering breakfast."
He reached to lift the napkin stretched across the serving tray. Barb beat him to the punch, jamming her hand under the napkin, and turning the pistol into his face. She fired two quick shots, killing the man before he even knew what happened. He sagged backward and slid down the wall, his eyes lifeless and unfocused.
Dana was stunned, never having seen anyone take a life before. She continued to stare at the body as if her circuits were overloaded and she was going into shock.
"Open the door, Dana." Barb's words were firm and commanding.
Dana snapped to attention and held the keycard to the lock again. There was a whir and a click, then she twisted the knob and stepped inside. They immediately heard a hairdryer coming from the interior of the suite. Barb tugged the dead guard inside, pleased to see she hadn’t even left a single drop of blood behind as evidence of what had taken place there. She relieved the dead man of his weapons, slinging the clunky submachine gun over her back.
Weapons squared away, Barb moved toward the sound of the hairdryer, the suppressed Ruger leading the way. She turned a corner and saw the bathroom door open, a severe-looking older woman in a bathrobe blow-drying her hair. Congresswoman Shoe.
The congresswoman caught a flicker of movement from the corner of her eye. She must have dismissed it at first, thinking the captain had found Dana and sent her to the suite. "It's been a long night, Dana. I'll need a fresh pot of coffee."
When there was no response, the congresswoman turned her head in Barb's direction, finally catching sight of the woman coming in her direction with a raised pistol. The congresswoman shrieked and dropped the hairdryer, then tried to slam the door, but Barb was too close. She wedged a foot in the doorframe, then dropped a shoulder and shoved with all her might.
In the heat of the moment, she used significantly more force than was required. The congresswoman, with her slight build and twiggy arms, barely held the door with the force of a three-legged Pomeranian. Barb's shove sent the congresswoman staggering backward and she fell over the toilet, where she lay squawking on the floor like a damsel in a slasher film.
Barb stepped inside, Dana at her heels. When Dana appeared at the bathroom door, the congresswoman shouted, "Stop her, damn it! Do something! She has a gun!"
Dana smirked. "I let her in."
The congresswoman instantly ceased her histrionics and curled a lip in disgust. "You're working for them now? I should have known."
"I figured out what you did. You were preparing for the terror attacks weeks in advance. You knew they were coming and you didn't tell a soul. I lost my entire family because of you."
"I'm sorry for your loss," the congresswoman said, not entirely convincing. "There were sacrifices that had to be made for the greater good."
"What did you sacrifice? What have you ever sacrificed?" Dana demanded.
Congresswoman Shoe looked at Dana like she was an idiot. "My whole fucking career has been a sacrifice. I've spent my life trying to make this a better nation. I gave this country everything I had."
Dana's mouth contorted in rage. She wheeled on Barb. "Can I have a moment with the congresswoman?"
Barb smiled. "Certainly."
Dana stepped into the bathroom and slammed the door behind her. From inside, Barb heard the sound of slapping and punching, a shriek of pain, and a cry for help. Barb offered no help. Dana needed to get this out of her system. Closure was important for good mental health. Barb let it go on for a few minutes before she opened the door.
"That's probably enough, Dana. We need her functional." Barb stepped into the bathroom to drag the congresswoman from the room
and noticed that her lips were wrinkled and curled inward. "Dana, did you knock out all her teeth?"
Dana raised her hand and dropped a clump of the congresswoman's hair. "Nah, she has dentures. They came out of her mouth when I slapped her. I threw them in the toilet and flushed it."
Barb appreciated a gesture like that. It was the same kind of petty, childish thing her dad might have done. She latched onto the hood of the congresswoman's bathrobe and tugged her out of the bathroom. Her steering wasn't the best and the congresswoman cried out when she banged off the doorjamb.
"My bad," Barb said, her smile belying her amusement. In the main living area, she dumped the congresswoman on the floor and stood over her, the pistol leveled at her face. "I'm assuming you've met my father?"
The congresswoman stared up at Barb with as much condescension as a woman in her condition could muster. "And who would that be, dear?"
"Smart-assed Irish guy. Probably insulted you if he had half the opportunity."
The congresswoman flashed a bitter smile. "Ah, I do believe I had the pleasure then."
"Where would I find him now?" Barb asked.
"He's safely under guard."
"How many guards you put on him?"
"One," the congresswoman replied. "Why?"
Barb started laughing. "Oh, no reason. How about we go look for them?"
"Aren't you going to kill her now?" Dana asked, clearly disappointed.
"Not at this point," Barb said. "She's the master key. As long as we're holding her, people will do as we ask."
"She doesn't deserve to live," Dana spat. "If I'd known you weren't going to finish the job, I'd have killed her myself in the bathroom."
Barb patted Dana on the back. "Patience. She'll get what's coming to her. I promise."
Dana looked doubtful but helped pull the congresswoman to her feet.
"Surely you're not going to make me walk through the ship like this?" Shoe asked, gesturing at her robe. Her hair stuck out like she'd been electrocuted. Without any makeup, she looked like a corpse touched up with a lot of wax filler.
Barb grinned. "Yeah, think I will." She looked at Dana. "Would you like to escort our guest?"
Dana grabbed the congresswoman and yanked the older woman alongside her. "Gladly."
They were headed toward the door when someone knocked. Despite her circumstance, the congresswoman smiled. "That's probably Max. He's a little early."
"Max?" Barb asked, flipping through her mental rolodex, the names on their hit list.
"Max Treadwell of the Houston Treadwells,” the congresswoman replied. “Are you acquainted?" Her arrogant smirk conveyed that she already knew the answer to this. Of course, this crass young woman didn't know the man at her door.
"I know a Max Treadwell of the traitorous bastard Treadwells," said Barb. "Same family?"
"We are not the traitors here," the congresswoman fired back. "There's no one working harder to assure the future of the American republic than we are."
There was another insistent knock.
"We had a meeting," the congresswoman explained.
"A booty call?" Dana countered.
The congresswoman frowned at the very idea of it. Barb had had enough of the conversation. She stalked toward the door and whipped it open. The man at the door was startled by her abrupt appearance, but she put a round in Max Treadwell's high forehead before he even had a chance to figure out what was going on. He fell flat on his back, dead as Elvis.
The congresswoman covered her mouth with one hand and gasped. "Oh my God!"
Barb grabbed Max by the legs of his expensive suit and dragged him into the room. This guy didn't need another round. His cranium contained nothing but blood pudding at this point and he'd be having no more thoughts, traitorous or otherwise.
Barb replaced the mag in the Ruger with a fresh one and stuck the pistol in the waistband of her skirt. She slung the submachine gun around to the front and waved Dana toward the door. "Let's go."
Dana yanked the congresswoman toward the corridor. They brushed by Barb and headed toward the elevator. They were halfway there when a loud voice boomed behind them.
"Excuse me, but who are you and what are you doing?"
Barb spun to find a tanned man in his sixties wearing a white tracksuit. He'd just come out of his room wearing not one but two gold chains and a glistening diamond pinky ring. Barb imagined he was headed to the pool to work on that tan. "Who's asking?"
"That's J. Sanford Bauer," Dana said from behind Barb. "He runs a political action committee out of Boston."
Bauer heard his name mentioned and straightened his spine. "That name mean anything to anything to you, little lady?"
Barb smiled. "As a matter of fact it does. It means you're on my list." She squeezed the stiff trigger on the Chinese weapon and unleashed a burst of full-auto fire at the man. He sagged against the wall, flinching as more rounds impacted his body, then slumped over dead. A smear of blood on the wall marked the arc of his descent.
Firing the unsuppressed sub-gun in the confines of the corridor marked the end of stealth mode. Doors opened and heads poked into the hall. There were screams and shouting. Barb and Dana charged toward the elevator, dragging Shoe along with them. The stairwell door flung open violently as they passed it. The congresswoman screamed when Barb snapped in that direction, leveling her weapon on this new threat.
Conor stood in the doorway, his own Chinese Type 06 leveled on Barb. It was a sobering moment, the awareness that something so minuscule as a few pounds more pressure on the trigger would leave one or both of them dead.
"Barb!" Conor barked. "Good to see you, girl."
Barb turned her weapon in a safe direction but did not switch on the safety. In this chaos, there could be a new attack at any moment and she didn't want to be left struggling with an unfamiliar weapon. "It's good to see you too, Dad. We were on our way to find you."
Conor nodded at Shoe. "I see you've met my friend."
"Yeah,” said Barb. “She's a bitch. You need to choose your friends better."
Conor threw a glance down the hall. "Since we're all together now, we should probably stay on this floor. This is where most of our targets are. Let's round them up and have a little chat."
33
The Shandong
The Mediterranean
It took several minutes to wrangle everyone on that deck into a single penthouse suite. The group consisted of politicians, lobbyists, and the heads of powerful agencies who’d allied themselves with this traitorous cabal. Most were in robes, pajamas, or gaudy workout clothing. All among the group were tough talkers when standing at the podium with cameras and microphones in their faces, but there wasn't a real fighter among them. No one resisted. Not one fought back. They cowed and begged when threatened.
"There's only nine," Conor said, pulling Barb to the side. "How many have you killed already?"
"Three," Barb said. "Boorman, Bauer, and Treadwell."
"Then that's everyone on our list."
Overhearing their conversation, Dana stepped closer. "This isn't the whole group. We're missing Shihab Abbas. He's the Saudi ambassador to the United States and a member of the Saudi royal family."
Conor looked stunned. "Prince Abbas is on this ship?"
Barb looked confused. "A Saudi prince?"
"He's more than a Saudi prince, Barb. He's been their ambassador to the U.S. through several administrations. He's the primary conduit through which Saudi money flows into the U.S. He invests in every political action committee, campaign, and presidential library. If a congressman or other official writes a book, Abbas buys tens of thousands of copies to help inflate sales numbers and win a friend."
"Then he's important to this?" Barb asked.
Conor nodded. "He could be very important. He could have been a key player in setting this whole thing up." He turned to Dana. "Does your key open his room?"
“Yes.”
"Then let's check his room. Barb, you keep an eye
on our guests."
They were back in a few minutes, Conor's grim expression confirming they'd found nothing.
"He could be at the juice bar," Dana said. "He usually starts his day in the gym and heads to the juice bar next."
"Should we go after him?" Barb asked.
Conor looked uncertain. "It could be risky. The whole ship is probably on lockdown after the gunfire."
"It's Abbas you want," one of the prisoners said. "The rest of us were only doing what we were told."
Conor stared at the eavesdropper. "Who are you?"
“Senator Leonard Best," the man replied. "You need to let us go. Abbas and Shoe are in charge here. The rest of us only participated to keep our families safe. They threatened us. They told us our families would die if we didn't do what they asked."
Somehow Conor doubted that was true. Senator Best, and every other politician in the room, had been lining their pockets with Saudi and Chinese contributions for as long as they'd been in office. It was how both of those nations stayed in such great favor with American politicians despite their shortcomings. Both were rampant with human rights abuses. China continued to work against the U.S. by stealing trade secrets and intellectual properties. Saudi Arabia wanted American arms and protection, yet they continually worked to undermine the United States by supporting extremists. Conor found it funny how big contributions could make a politician forget who their enemies were.
"What do you say to that, Shoe?" Conor asked. "You and Abbas coerce these people into cooperating with you?"
The disheveled woman in the bathrobe shrugged but didn't answer the question. Her failure to respond was as good as an answer.
"Barb, I'm going after Abbas," Conor said. "Don't shoot any of the prisoners unless they get rowdy. If they start to cause trouble, you have my permission to kill them all." Conor looked around the room, pleased to see that his words had a chilling effect on the faces that gazed back at him.
Conor charged out of the room, sprinting by the body in the white tracksuit. He'd halfway expected to find Chinese security forces in the hallway but they were probably in disarray. Conor had killed Fat, the man he suspected to be the leader of the security team, and Barb had secured the captain of the ship. Conor had also taken out several of the guards, reducing the size of their force. With the normal pattern of leadership disrupted, it was possible that the security men were paralyzed with uncertainty, no one wanting to take responsibility for making a bold move that might get their valuable passengers killed.
Punching Tickets: Book Five in The Mad Mick Series Page 16