Her lips moved, but nothing came out.
“Charlene.” He gave her a slight nudge.
“I . . . love you, Vince.”
“I love you too.”
She closed her eyes.
The ER doctor entered the stall. “I’m sorry, Mr. Beaumont, but we have to go right now.” Without waiting for his approval, the doctor nodded to the orderly.
“Vince . . . ,” said Charlene.
“I’m here.”
“My phone . . .”
“What about it?”
“My purse . . . pictures . . .”
What was she saying? What pictures? “Charlene . . . Charlene!”
He watched in horror as her head lolled to the side. Had she just died? No, the heart monitor was still beeping. Thank God.
With the ER doctor and one of the nurses in tow, the orderly pushed the mother of his children out of the ER.
This can’t be happening.
He wanted to scream until his throat bled. Who did this? Where were his sons? Someone had tortured his secretary to find his wife and children? Seriously? Why hadn’t they targeted him? Why his family? Charlene had no enemies.
His mind felt ripped in half as feral rage boiled to the surface.
He intended to find whoever did this and make them suffer.
And he knew who’d help track them down.
Vincent pulled his phone and called Nathan McBride.
While it rang, he narrowed his eyes at the remaining nurse and put iron in his voice. “Where is my son?”
CHAPTER 11
Jin Marchand liked Washington, DC, especially the downtown area. Over the last three days, she and her sixteen-year-old daughter, Lauren, had worked their way around the National Mall, visiting the various museums and memorials. One thing impressed her more than anything else. The incredible number of capitol police. Washington certainly knew how to take care of its own. Nothing but the best security for the lawmakers.
They’d spent most of their vacation in public, something Jin didn’t much like. If she didn’t wear contacts, people stared at her unusual genetic trait: heterochromia. Her left eye was blue, like the color of deep arctic ice—the same as her father. The other? Dark brown, nearly black. When it came to her eyes, her genetic fusion had been evenly split. The rest of her, not as much. She had fairly dark skin and black hair with a smattering of gray strands here and there.
Being half-Irish and half-Korean, it was a small wonder she hadn’t drunk herself to death. Not a fair thought, she knew. The Irish and Koreans didn’t own the franchise on self-medicating destruction.
Lauren? Well, she looked stunningly beautiful. No other description fit. Three-quarters white, one-quarter Korean, she got an amazing mix from both genetic sources. Deep-blue eyes. Jet-black hair. Flawless pale skin. Jin’s half brother, Nathan, had once likened Lauren to a mysterious science-fiction heroine, and Jin had a hard time disagreeing.
Her ex-husband, Lauren’s father, was a tall, handsome, and blue-eyed Frenchman serving a ten-year sentence in a minimum-security prison for insider trading, money laundering, and tax evasion. The cartel criminals he’d aligned himself with had nearly cost Lauren’s life. Had it not been for Nathan’s heroic intervention, Lauren would’ve been captured, tortured, and eventually killed by a psychopath. Jin owed her half brother for that one, something he never mentioned.
People often mistook Lauren for her granddaughter, and while it used to bother her, it didn’t so much anymore. She’d been in her mid-forties for Lauren’s conception, a surprise pregnancy just before leaving Paris to begin a secret new life in America with her future jailbird husband. You sure know how to pick them, Jin.
Looking around, she couldn’t help but notice how clean and litter free downtown DC was. She supposed tourism and trash didn’t mix well.
“Can we move here?” Lauren asked. “I really like it. The Metro’s cool.”
Jin answered noncommittally. “It’s a nice system.”
“I really liked the natural history museum. There’s so much left to see. Can we stay longer?”
“I wish we could, but we’d have to change our airline reservations.”
“I’ll bet Grandpa could do it. He’s in a position of political power and influence.”
Jin nearly laughed. To be young again, when life was simple—except she’d never had Lauren’s life. She’d grown up in poverty. Hungry. Cold. And at times homeless. Existence for the unprivileged in DPRK was a mire of constant stress and suffering. Making things worse, she’d been arrested for stealing food when she was Lauren’s age and sent to a prison labor camp for “reeducation.” At age twenty, her life improved when a kind man—who’d held an office of power in the government—offered her a fresh start as a covert operations officer. He’d discovered her during a tour of the prison. He’d liked her eyes and looked past the bigotry that so many of his comrades couldn’t.
She went on to become a highly skilled and deadly covert operations officer in North Korea’s Ministry of State Security. In the MSS, she’d conducted all kinds of assassinations and spy missions. Over the years, she’d tried to convince herself she wasn’t that person anymore, not altogether successfully. And there was still a price on her head—dead or alive.
“Lauren, I want you to put your cell phone on silent and keep it in your pocket during lunch. You can take it out for some photos, but nothing else.”
“Okay.”
Their lunch date was at Mabel’s Diner—just down the street from the Willard, where she and Lauren shared a luxurious room, thanks to her brother’s generosity. She’d heard a rumor about the term lobbyists being credited to the Willard, but when she researched it online, it turned out to be one of DC’s many myths. The label of lobbyist had been around long before President Grant used it to describe the power-hungry vultures lurking in the lobby.
Walking in, she gave the dining room a quick scan before spotting her father seated at a table by himself. He waved and got up as she approached.
“Grandpa!” Lauren rushed forward and wrapped him in a bear hug.
“How’s my angel doing? I hope you’re not making your mother prematurely gray.”
“I’m not.”
“Jin, you look positively stunning.”
“Thank you, Senator.”
“Can’t you call me Stone?” He smiled. “Since you won’t call me Dad, at least use my first name.”
“That just seems really awkward to me. How is your hip? I don’t see a cane.”
“I stopped using it three weeks ago.” He lowered his voice. “It makes me look so old.”
“How is Martha?” she asked.
“The woman’s immortal. I swear she doesn’t feel pain like the rest of us.”
Have her try on a prison labor camp for size, thought Jin uncharitably. Four years on the verge of starvation had prematurely aged her. Not to mention, clearly twisted her psyche. The man sitting across from her had fought in her birth country long before it became the North Korea everyone knew today. She’d read Stone’s bio on Wikipedia. Korean War hero. Small town mayor. State senator. Congressman. US senator. He’d spent his postwar life climbing the political ladder. No wonder Nathan rarely mentioned his childhood. She and Nathan had talked about it a few times, and from what she could gather, Nathan felt a certain amount of resentment toward his father’s career choice.
She motioned with her eyes to the corner table near the window. “Who’s the muscle with the subcompact?”
“You don’t miss much. Secret Service. He’s got the most boring job in town.”
A server approached their table. Tall and lanky, she looked to be in her mid-sixties.
“Good morning, Senator McBride.”
“Mabel, it’s nice to see you again.”
The people at the next table looked over at the sound of Stone’s name.
“This is my daughter, Jin, and my granddaughter, Lauren.”
Mabel couldn’t hide her surprise. “I never knew you
had a daughter.”
“Until recently, neither did I. It’s a long story. Her mother and I were going to be married. We lost track of each other during the Korean War and never saw each other again.”
Jin watched her father’s expression closely. The pain on his face couldn’t be faked. For Lauren’s sake, she hoped Mabel wouldn’t pursue the subject further, a tragic chapter in her family’s history. Her mother had loved this man, and he’d loved her. Because of her pregnancy by an American, Jin’s mother had been subjected to the worst kind of ridicule and bigotry imaginable. Having an “impure” child was akin to birthing a monster from an alien planet. People accused America of racism? What a joke. North Korea’s xenophobia made America’s problems look paltry in comparison.
Mabel must’ve sensed the unease gripping their table and didn’t inquire further. “Coffee, Jin?”
“Yes, please. With cream and sugar.”
“Senator?”
“Earl Grey, please. With milk and sugar.”
“You got it.”
“You know something?” Stone asked. “I just realized I’ve never asked you how long you’ve owned this diner.”
“Six presidents. And I’d always hoped you’d be one of them.”
Stone offered a politician’s smile, then winked at Lauren. “This town chews people up and spits them out.”
“It broke a few teeth on you.” Mabel looked at Lauren. “What would you like to drink, young lady?”
“A triple latte, please.”
Mabel raised a brow and headed for the coffeepots behind the counter.
“That’s quite a caffeine buzz you’ll be working on,” Stone said, taking a drink of water.
“Since I no longer get kid benefits, I might as well cash in on early adulthood.”
Stone nearly choked.
“What exactly does that mean?” Jin asked.
“You know, the maturation thing. I’m getting in touch with my metropolitan side.”
“Your metropolitan side?” Jin asked.
Lauren gave a sweet smile to her grandfather. “I feel very comfortable in DC. I could definitely live here.”
“Well, aren’t you full of surprises,” Stone said.
Jin wouldn’t spoil the lighthearted moment. Despite the offhand remark, it couldn’t be denied. Her daughter was maturing into a beautiful . . . person. She had a hard time thinking of Lauren as a woman, perhaps because Jin had been forced to “grow up” at an early age, much younger than Lauren was now. Thanks to Nathan, the mother-daughter lines of communication were open. For a while, it had been touch and go. Nathan played a major role in Lauren’s life, often filling in for her incarcerated father. He possessed an intuitive and empathic personality and knew how to connect with Lauren on an emotional level. They weren’t afraid to share their lives, to be open and honest with one another. She cherished Lauren’s respect and admiration of Nathan.
Jin owned too much baggage to be an ideal parent, but love went a long way. And she did love her daughter. Immensely. Despite having trouble showing affection, she did her best to make Lauren feel safe and appreciated.
Without a doubt, Lauren had already lived well beyond her years. At age twelve, what she’d done in that abandoned desert building to help Nathan defeat Hans Voda fell nothing short of miraculous. How many kids would’ve kept their cool in that situation? One in a thousand? A million? Adding to her arsenal, Lauren knew how to turn on the charm. She’d ensnared her grandfather the first time they’d met, forming an instant bond.
When Mabel returned, Jin found herself smiling at the owner’s exchanges with Stone, and she couldn’t help but notice the familiar tone of their conversation. It became clear Mabel had known Stone for a long time.
And from the look of things, her father wasn’t alone in that regard. Every square meter of wall space was covered with autographed pictures of Mabel smiling arm in arm with what Jin guessed were politicians. She recognized three presidents and a few other retired legislators who’d found second careers in cable news.
Jin started scanning the photographs.
“Above your head to the left,” Mabel said, answering Jin’s unspoken question.
She and Lauren turned and spotted it right away.
“Seems like yesterday,” Stone said. “Hard to believe that was taken thirty years ago.”
Lauren asked Mabel if they were all politicians.
“Not all, but mostly. All three branches of government are represented.”
“The judicial, legislative, and executive.”
“I’m impressed, Lauren. Maybe you’ll be on my wall someday.”
Jin watched her daughter glow from the compliment. Fun to see. Lauren needed more experiences like this.
Jin waited for Mabel to leave, then lowered her voice. “Who’s the other guy under the restroom sign? Private security?”
Stone’s gaze brushed past her. “There’s no one else.”
Using the glass reflection from a large portrait, Jin watched a Middle-Eastern-looking man slide his right hand from his coffee cup to the inside of his coat.
He doesn’t know I’m watching him.
“Lauren, don’t turn your head,” she said. “Just hold still.”
It’s been said things happen in the blink of an eye; in reality it happens much more slowly. Jin saw the unmistakable shape of a pistol-gripped AK-47 emerging.
She shoved her daughter in the chest, knocking her backward to the floor along with her chair.
“Mom!”
“Stay down!”
Stone’s expression changed to disbelief just before his mouth opened to say something.
In a continuous motion, Jin grabbed her silverware and hurled it at the gunman. Flipping end over end, the chromium-iron alloys flew toward the threat.
The man’s weapon came up at the same time the knife and fork reached their halfway point.
Jin’s aim with the silverware was good, but not good enough. The utensils struck the man in the chest, not the face, but it saved lives.
The man flinched as he pulled the trigger, sending the salvo into the ceiling. The roar was beyond deafening, becoming its own weapon and drowning out Lauren’s scream.
Jin upended their dining table, flipping it on its side to give Lauren and Stone some cover.
The gunman recovered and took aim again. More thunder slammed the room.
Jin saw the Secret Service agent start to rise from his corner table, then shudder from the impacts. He’d managed to pull his weapon free but not in time. In moving to save Stone, he’d made himself a target.
She caught motion in the hallway leading to the bathroom.
Two dark forms materialized, both holding the same kind of compact AKs. She thought she saw a third silhouette in the hall but wasn’t sure.
Despite taking multiple wounds in the chest, the Secret Service agent returned fire before sliding from his chair to the ground. His three-round burst missed, but it made the killer flinch, buying Jin the precious seconds she needed.
She grabbed a captain’s chair with both hands and hurled it toward the hallway behind the first gunman. With a little luck, the move should distract the new threats.
Less than a second later, the chair smacked the wall and broke apart. She’d thrown it with adrenaline-charged strength.
The gunman under the restroom sign crouched as shattered photograph frames and chunks of glass rained down around him.
Using his body as a shield, her father dived to the floor and wrapped Lauren up, but there wasn’t time to admire his heroics. Jin needed a weapon. Fast.
If she could get the Secret Service agent’s MP5 before the first gunman opened fire again, she’d have a fighting chance.
It didn’t happen.
The underside of the table shielding Stone and Lauren exploded into splinters as multiple bullets sliced through its wooden surface.
And in that instant, she knew the shooter had purposely targeted Stone.
Lauren’s scre
aming changed from fear to pain.
Her father yelled, “Get the MP5!”
More thunder pounded the diner, overpowering the collective screaming of people being slaughtered. The carnage intensified when the other two gunmen opened fire. Three fully automatic Kalashnikovs sounded like something out of hell.
Flesh tore.
Bones shattered.
Blood flew like wind-driven rain.
Fighting instinct, she ignored her daughter’s shrieks of terror and leaped toward the dying federal agent.
CHAPTER 12
“Lauren, don’t turn your head. Just hold still.”
Stone McBride frowned. What the hell’s she talking about?
The next thing he knew, his daughter shoved Lauren to the floor, grabbed her silverware, and threw it toward the rear wall of the diner. He couldn’t believe how fast she’d moved.
Arms pinwheeling, Lauren went sprawling. Jin then overturned their table to hide Lauren from a man pulling a gun.
Pulling a gun? It was a compact AK-47, its distinctive shape unmistakable.
Jin yelled to stay down as an ear-splitting growl compressed the air, a sound he knew well from his time with the Marines.
He looked left and watched in horror as the Secret Service agent tasked with guarding him—a man he considered a friend—ignored two bullet wounds to the center of his chest and leveled his MP5 at the threats. Firing his weapon, the agent slumped, then slid out of his chair as more bullets tore through his midsection. Sadly, he’d seen this before—a severed spinal cord—all the man’s motor function below the waist quit.
Stone might be pushing his mid-nineties, but that didn’t make him useless. Ignoring the agony of slamming his knees on the hardwood floor, he thrust himself forward and wrapped Lauren up against his stomach, shielding her from the gunfire.
The table shuddered from impacts at the same instant he felt multiple punches to his lower back and legs. Not punches. Bullets.
Lauren screamed an ear-piercing, inhuman sound of pain and terror. She tried to fight her way out of his arms, but he kept a solid grip.
Someone was firing a fully automatic Kalashnikov into this room full of people.
He tried to deny it, but the truth slammed home.
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