Jake turned around and saw O’Rourke holding his H&K gun pointed at McGill. He fired a shot at O’Rourke. Missed. He hit the leather recliner, pieces of foam and leather flew in the air.
O’Rourke dove behind the chair.
Jake moved closer to McGill.
“Pat, Pat,” he said. Jake checked his neck for a pulse. “Pat, hang on, Pat.” McGill looked at him, then grimaced. His eyes remained open as his head fell to the left.
Collins dove toward the Beretta, grabbed it and rolled away from Jake.
Kaplan was running toward Jake when O’Rourke fired.
The H&K’s bullet missed Kaplan but hit Beth in the side of the neck. The bullet passed through her neck. Blood spurted from her neck as she fell back onto the sofa.
Jake turned toward her and yelled, “Beth!”
He ran to the sofa, where blood was pooling on the leather upholstery and running down the front cushion onto the floor. He grabbed Beth’s neck, holding pressure on it. Blood gushed through his fingers. ”No. Beth, no.” He kept his hands on her neck and pulled her into his chest and sat on the floor.
“Beth …Beth. Hold on, Beth, hold on. I’m so sorry I got you involved in this.”
Sullivan fired three rounds at Collins, as Collins rolled across the floor. Sullivan missed three times. One bullet shattered a lamp, one hit a bookcase and the third bullet shot through a window sending shards of glass over the sidewalk. Pedestrians screamed as they scurried away from the house and the gunfire.
Kaplan rose up from behind the arm of the sofa, steadying the H&K. He aimed the pistol at Sullivan and squeezed the trigger. Sullivan’s head exploded. Brain matter splattered against the far wall.
Jake winced at the sight.
“Michael.” O’Rourke muttered.
Jake saw O’Rourke lean down and grab Sullivan by the shoulder. O’Rourke pulled Sullivan’s body upright and yelled, “Michael, Michael.”
Sullivan had only half his head. An eyeball dangled from its socket.
The odds had swung.
Jake saw O’Rourke stand and flee down the hall toward the rear of the house.
Jake saw Collins make a move toward Kaplan. “Gregg, watch out.”
Kaplan made a leg sweep, knocking Collins down. He kicked the Beretta from Collins’ hands.
Then Collins’ hands were on Kaplan’s gun. He slammed Kaplan’s head against the wall and kneed him in the stomach
Kaplan head-butted the assassin in the left shoulder, right on the bullet wound. Blood from Collins’ wound smeared across Kaplan’s forehead. Jake couldn’t tell whose blood was whose.
Collins groaned and loosened his grip on Kaplan.
Jake cradled Beth’s head in his lap, rocking back and forth. He knew he had to keep pressure on Beth’s wound or he’d lose her. The battle raged in front of him.
Kaplan pushed Collins back but the assassin held onto the gun.
Kaplan elbowed Collins on the side of the head, but the assassin didn’t waver.
The two men fell to the floor. Kaplan and Collins now had both hands on the H&K.
Four hands grappling for control.
The two of them rolled across the floor and Collins pulled the gun down between them. Kaplan head-butted Collins in the chin. It didn’t seem to faze him.
Jake saw Collins’ fingers grabbing at the trigger. Every move Kaplan made, Collins countered. He was good.
And strong.
Too strong.
They rolled over and over, struggling for control of the weapon.
On the third roll the H&K fired.
CHAPTER 56
Jake jumped at the sound of the muffled pop. All he could see was the two men rolling on the floor. The rolling stopped. He heard Kaplan groan.
He used his foot to grab for the pistol lying next to McGill’s body. He struggled to reach it and still manage to hold pressure on Beth’s neck. With his heel, he slowly slid the gun across the hardwood floor until he could grab it with his spare hand. Jake wrapped his fingers around the butt of the gun and pointed it at Collins.
Collins raised his head and appeared to look around. He stood up and looked at Kaplan.
Collins pointed the gun at Kaplan’s head.
Before Collins’ finger could squeeze the trigger, Jake fired a shot.
Collins jumped then turned toward Jake.
Jake aimed his pistol dead center at Collins’ chest.
Collins eyes were expressionless and he slowly raised the gun.
Jake pushed the barrel closer, stretching out his arm toward Ian. “Give me an excuse to shoot you, you bastard. Now, just put the gun down.”
Collins lowered his gun.
“I said put it down.”
Collins dropped the gun to the floor.
Before he could move, sirens wailed in front of the house.
Cars screeched to a stop.
Footsteps clambered toward the front door.
Collins looked at the door and ran down the hall toward the back of the house.
“Stop.” Jake yelled. He fired a shot at the assassin but the man had already disappeared.
Jake held Beth’s head in his lap, still holding pressure against her neck wound. The bleeding had slowed. Beth was barely conscious. Her voice weak, barely audible.
“Jake?”
“Shhh, Beth, don’t talk.”
“But—”
“Don’t talk. You need to save your strength,” he said softly.
Jake looked around the room. During the commotion the curtains were pulled slightly apart. The afternoon’s fading rays of sunshine beamed through the windows.
Long shadows played across the room.
The world seemed at peace, almost serene.
The last few seconds had lasted an eternity. And now it was over.
Jillian Ann Bulloch laid sprawled across the coffee table just two feet from him. Blood pooled on the hardwood floor beneath her.
Patrick McGill had died sitting against the front door. Two bullets had entered his chest and passed all the way through. Blood trailed down the door and ran underneath his body, finding its way under the quarter-round floor molding.
Michael Sullivan lay dead in the hallway, the back of his head missing.
Gregg Kaplan inched forward, clawing his way across the floor toward Annie’s body.
Jake became aware of the sound of the police beating on the front door and yelling something he couldn’t understand.
Laurence O’Rourke and Ian Collins were gone.
CHAPTER 57
Office of the Director of Central Intelligence
Central Intelligence Agency The next day, Admiral Scott Bentley sat behind his oversized executive mahogany desk looking at the stack of files his executive assistant, Jean McCullough, left for his reading. Framed photographs of naval vessels and naval aircraft adorned the walls. His mahogany bookshelves brimmed with intelligence manuals, and military books—mostly of United States Navy.
On his desk was his most recently acquired photograph. A picture of the decommissioned aircraft carrier USS John F. Kennedy, a prized possession for Bentley. The photograph was signed by all the officers aboard the Kennedy at her decommissioning. He walked across the room, framed photo in hand, and hung it next to his other picture of the Kennedy, a photo signed by all the original officers on board at the time of her commissioning. He smiled with satisfaction. Now his collection was complete.
He walked around and sat down behind his desk. Morning light glinted through the tinted bulletproof windows of his corner office. He glanced at his messages. On top was a message from Jake Pendleton.
“Urgent, Please call ASAP.”
Bentley stared at the message—wondering why Jake would call after all these years.
Several flat panel monitors were mounted on the wall above his bookcases, each tuned to a different news channel and numbered to make volume adjustments easier from his universal remote. The volume was set on monitor number seven, FOX News.
He pulled off the top file, labeled “EYES ONLY,” and opened it. The top page was an old letter from the Department of Justice written by former United States Attorney General, Alberto Gonzales. He read the cover letter, then riffled through all the attached pages. He placed the letter back in the folder and closed it.
He pushed his glasses up with right thumb and forefinger and gently rubbed the bridge of his nose, still pondering the mysterious message from Jake Pendleton. He turned to his computer and did a dossier search for Jacob Pendleton. Within seconds, Jake’s life history was displayed on Bentley’s computer monitor. He studied the information carefully.
Jake had attended the Naval Academy in Annapolis, a political appointment made possible by his father’s political influence. Upon graduation, Jake immediately commenced his obligatory service in the U.S. Navy. His tour of duty as a Naval intelligence officer consisted of a one-year stint with the Office of Naval Intelligence at the National Maritime Intelligence Center in Suitland, Maryland, followed by a ten-month tour on the aircraft carrier U.S.S. Mount Whitney, the most sophisticated command, control, communications, computer and intelligence ship ever commissioned.
Then Jake was assigned duty at the Pentagon. For nearly two years, he served directly under the Naval and joint commanders. His Pentagon assignment was an obvious result of his father’s political clout. He’d served directly under Bentley, then Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Bentley’s forte was covert operations. The admiral coordinated covert operations with military operations squads from all branches of the armed services and the civilian agencies of the Central Intelligence Agency, the Federal Bureau of Investigation and the National Security Agency.
Bentley looked up from the computer and noticed a crashed aircraft on the television monitor number three, CNN Headline News. He quickly pressed the 3 button on his remote control, which turned on the volume to monitor number three, automatically muting the sound for all other monitors.
St. Patrick’s Day in Savannah, Georgia, home of the nation’s second largest St. Patrick’s Day parade, is generally known for its color green. Green river, green fountains, even green beer. But this year St. Patrick’s Day in Savannah turned red, blood red, in what will no doubt be one of the bloodiest shootouts in modern-day Savannah history.
I’m Amber Larsen reporting live from Savannah, Georgia. What started as an aircraft accident investigation in Savannah has left a trail of blood leading all the way back to Dallas, Texas. NTSB investigators from the Atlanta, Georgia, Field Office came to Savannah to investigate the crash of the corporate jet carrying the controversial Northern Ireland peace activist Laurence O’Rourke. In a strange twist of fate, NTSB lead investigator Patrick McGill and his cousin, Savannah air traffic controller Jillian Ann Bulloch, along with friend and alleged former Irish Republican Army assassin Ian Collins, plotted the death of Laurence O’Rourke.
According to the FBI, Collins planted an explosive device in the jet with the assistance of a Dallas mechanic, who Collins later shot and killed. He brutally raped the mechanic’s girlfriend.
Savannah air traffic controller Jillian Bulloch detonated the device as O’Rourke’s jet was making an approach into the Savannah airport. The motive is suspected to be a personal vengeance.
O’Rourke was scheduled to make a public announcement here today revealing what he described as “proof of the biggest sham against the people of Northern Ireland,” and denouncing the parties to the New Northern Ireland Assembly as “liars.”
Thus far the death toll has reached a total of ten with three injured. Investigator Jake Pendleton was treated and released for a stab wound and a bruised shoulder. Savannah air traffic controller Gregg Kaplan suffered a gunshot wound to the abdomen and is in stable condition.
Kaplan is reported to be Jillian Bulloch’s long-time boyfriend. His part of this conspiracy is under investigation.
Pendleton’s fiancée, Catherine Elizabeth McAllister, is on life support in a coma after being shot in the neck. The bullet pierced her carotid artery and she suffered massive blood loss. Among the dead are Jillian Bulloch, Patrick McGill, and Laurence O’Rourke’s long-time assistant and bodyguard Michael Sullivan. Other fatalities include Duane Sanders, the Dallas mechanic, and Dave Morris, an NTSB investigator, believed shot by Collins yesterday.
Also killed were two pilots and a flight attendant, all from the Dallas area, and three passengers aboard the jet, including O’Rourke’s decoy double. Identifications are still outstanding for those three, who are also believed to be from Northern Ireland.
At this hour the whereabouts of Laurence O’Rourke and Ian Collins remain a mystery. The FBI believes both to be fleeing the United States and has activated a tight web of surveillance in an attempt to capture them before they can escape the country.
Amber Larsen, CNN Headline News, Savannah, Georgia.
Bentley remembered Jake and now understood why he left him the urgent message. He recalled that three months prior to the end of Jake’s tour of duty with the Navy, Admiral Bentley sat him down and confided to Jake that he was about to tender his resignation from the military. That proclamation solidified Jake’s decision not to reenlist.
Jake’s dossier went on to outline how he came to be employed with the NTSB. Within a week of Bentley’s resignation, the chairman of the NTSB offered Jake a position as an accident investigator at the Atlanta Field Office, a less than subtle intrusion into Jake’s affairs by his father.
Less than a year later, Bentley had been named the new Director of Central Intelligence for the CIA in Langley, Virginia, the first African-American to hold that position.
Bentley pressed the buzzer on his phone system paging his secretary and said, “Jean, come in here, please.”
“Yes, sir,” the pleasant female voice replied through the speaker phone.
Jean McCullough walked in with her pencil and steno pad. She raised a hand to flip back her smooth strawberry-blond hair, which bobbed on her shoulders as she walked. At fifty-six, she still had a shapely figure. She wore black dress pants that fit snugly against her hips and a gold leopard-print top underneath her black jacket.
“Yes, sir?” she asked.
“Call Flight Ops and have them prep the jet. Tell them I’m going to Savannah, Georgia ASAP and I don’t know how long I’ll be there. They’ll need to be prepared to stay overnight. Also find out what hospital a Catherine McAllister was taken to in Savannah.”
“Certainly, sir. Will there be anything else?”
Bentley scribbled two file names on a Post-It note and said, “Yes, have Fontaine bring me these two files. I’m taking them with me.”
CHAPTER 58
Collins fled Jillian’s house in hopes of spotting O’Rourke. O’Rourke should be dead, but he was still alive. He had sent Sullivan the message to ensure O’Rourke’s safety, knowing Sullivan would devise a ruse to keep O’Rourke alive.
He also had known he would eventually encounter O’Rourke in Savannah. That’s when he intended to kill O’Rourke, but not before extracting from him the location of the “grey fortress near the ridge of two demons,” the only information one of his employers had given him. He had no idea what that meant but he knew O’Rourke and Sullivan did.
Collins’s plan didn’t go as designed, thanks to the meddling of Jake Pendleton. Revenge will be sweet.
He had watched as his half-brother’s head was blown off in the fire fight at Jillian’s house. He’d wanted to kill Kaplan for shooting his brother, but Pendleton had stopped him.
His ambivalent emotions about his brother and the deaths of his childhood friends had flamed into numbness. Now, he truly had no one. No friends. No relatives. Alone.
His rage had narrowed into a searing weapon aimed at only one person—O’Rourke.
He drove around the Savannah area in his Escalade for nearly an hour trying to spot any sign of O’Rourke. A nearly impossible task with the throngs of revelers leaving town after the festivities. Once again, O’Rourke was a ghost.
/>
He had lost the trail in Savannah but knew where he could pick it up again, Belfast. That’s where O’Rourke would go. That’s where he had to go. He figured he had the luxury of time because O’Rourke was in the same predicament he was in, getting out of the United States and back to Ireland without getting caught. Both of them were now wanted men and no doubt the FBI would turn up the heat at all the airports. His advantage was there were no photos of him. The authorities would be working from sketches. O’Rourke didn’t have that edge.
But Collins knew a way out, a covert way out, a way to avoid the FBI and Homeland Security dragnet. An avenue he had used before and would likely use again. Payment from a past job in the form of a bartered exchange with the client. Paid with transportation. Anywhere, anytime, anyplace—a valued asset in his line of work.
The Savannah Project (Jake Pendleton series) Page 21