by C. M. Palov
“Olivia presently attends boarding school in Switzerland.” As he spoke, tears welled in Eliot Hopkins’s eyes. “My hands are tied. I have but one child. She alone is my hope for the future. My legacy.”
“I can contact Interpol,” Caedmon pressed, using the only gambit he had to play. “Within the half hour your daughter will be placed in protective custody.”
“Entrust my daughter to strangers more than four thousand miles away?” The museum director wearily shook his head. “You ask the impossible.”
Refusing to surrender, Caedmon pressed a bit harder. “Yesterday afternoon, in your museum, Jonathan Padgham was senselessly slain. Let us stop this madness before anyone else is killed.”
“I can’t stop the madness,” the older man croaked, barely audible. “I am truly sorry. I have no choice but to—”
Quite unexpectedly, a lion roared in the distance, a deep-throated bawl that rumbled through the leafless trees and echoed off the ice-laden boulders. The stentorian bellow momentarily distracted the elderly angel of death as Eliot Hopkins nervously glanced about.
Caedmon had no way of knowing whether it was divine intervention or a bit of serendipity. He only knew it was the moment to act. Before the window slammed shut.
Carpe diem, he silently invoked, his thighs, buttocks, and biceps all tightening as he yanked the closed umbrella from where it hung on his forearm, hurling it like a spear. That done, he shoved Edie out of the line of fire, pushing her behind a massive cement trash receptacle. He watched as the umbrella hit its mark, the stainless steel tip hitting Eliot Hopkins square in the chest.
Stunned by the force of the unexpected blow, Hopkins dropped the handgun to the pavement, where it skittered along the icy surface.
About to retrieve the gun, Caedmon stopped in his tracks as a bullet whizzed past in the wrong direction, slamming into Eliot Hopkins’s heart and killing him on impact.
There was a sniper on the hillside!
It had been a setup. None of them was to have left the zoo alive.
Knowing that in combat, he who hesitates is lost, Caedmon lurched behind the trash receptacle, using his body to shield Edie’s quivering backside.
“I’m beginning to think that ‘the land of the free’ means free to shoot and kill,” he muttered against her ear.
“He’s on the hill, above the bald eagle, isn’t he?”
Caedmon nodded, knowing they’d been followed by a professional assassin, the man’s movements so smooth, so subtle that he’d tracked them into the zoo, then faded into the landscape. If they showed themselves, he would expertly fire two kill shots. Men trained to kill at a distance did so without remorse or regret, the action no different than breathing.
Edie peered at him from over her shoulder, a stricken expression on her face. “Please tell me that you’ve got a plan.”
“I don’t,” he truthfully replied. Although he had better come up with a plan bloody quick. They had only a few seconds before the sniper readjusted his gun sights.
Briefly he considered lunging forward and retrieving the Walther pistol. Just as quickly, he rejected the idea, certain he’d take a lead bullet to the head for his troubles.
“May I take a peek inside your tote?” he asked, tugging on the canvas bag she had clutched to her midsection.
Edie wordlessly complied, opening the tote for his inspection. With no time for niceties, he riffled through the bag’s contents, removing her khaki-colored waistcoat.
“Perfect.” Reaching beside him, he grabbed a fistful of snow.
“What are you doing?”
“Weighting the garment so I can toss it through the air. If we’re lucky, the sniper will see the sudden motion, take aim, and fire. The ruse won’t gain us more than a few precious seconds, but that’s all the time we’ll need to get our arses behind those rocks.” With a lift of the chin, he indicated the jumble of boulders some twenty meters from their current position.
If she had misgivings, and no doubt she did, she kept them to herself.
A brave woman, indeed.
Hoping the venture didn’t prove deadly, Caedmon quickly tied the ends of the waistcoat into a knot, securing the icy ball of snow. Silently mouthing the words On three, he counted to two before tossing the waistcoat through the air. A perfectly bowled cricket delivery.
There being no time to observe the arc and descent of the makeshift decoy, Caedmon snatched Edie by the hand. Bending at the waist, making himself as small a target as possible, he charged toward the clustered rocks. Behind him, he heard a bullet ping off the metal handrail that fronted the Mexican wolf exhibit.
The ruse had worked.
With Edie in tow, he dodged behind a waist-high boulder. Assuming a crouched position, they pressed themselves against the oversized stone.
Quickly, he glanced from side to side. In the hilly terrain above the bald eagles, he thought he detected a blurred figure in a black anorak. A deadly specter on the prowl.
“It would be suicide for us to retrace our steps to the main entrance,” he said in a hushed tone, fearful that if they didn’t find another means of escape they would meet the same fate as the dead museum director.
Edie lifted her head a scant few inches, enabling her to furtively glance about. Grimacing, she swiped the base of her palm across the trickle of blood that oozed from a scrape on her upper cheek. With the same hand, she gestured uphill.
“If we can get to the Think Tank at the top of the hill, there’s a path leading down to Rock Creek. This time of year, the creek should be low enough for us to cross on foot.”
“And the advantage to this escape route?”
“It’s the quickest way out of here.” Again she swiped at the scrape on her upper cheek. A blooded huntswoman.
He took a moment to consider the merits of her plan. Although the uphill route would put more strain on lung and leg, the pavement was hedged with clustered bunches of reedy bamboo, which would provide excellent cover. If they navigated quickly and carefully, they could remain hidden from sight. Assuming the sniper had no cohorts with him.
Caedmon deferred to her plan with a quick nod.
Once again snatching her by the hand, he led the way, running toward the uphill fork in the pathway. He considered it a good sign that he heard no whizzing bullets. However, the screeching bald eagle did not bode well, signaling that the sniper was in pursuit.
Midway up the hill, Edie started to lag, her exhalations loud and uneven. There being no time to rally the troops, he yanked her toward him. Letting go of her hand, he slung his left arm around her shoulder, pulling her to his side, forcing her to keep pace with him.
“You can catch your breath once we’re free and clear of our assailant.”
Propelled, no doubt, by a burst of fearful adrenaline, Edie managed to hasten her step.
A few seconds later, the path leveled out.
“The Think Tank is that stone building straight ahead of us,” Edie informed him, pointing to a quaint structure straight out of a Thomas Hardy novel.
Pulling her behind a stacked stone wall that oozed frozen icicles, he surveyed the area. Dismayed, he could see that they’d have to navigate a long stretch of open pavement, with no trees, rocks, or bamboo to obscure their movements.
“There’s thirty meters of open terrain between here and the Think Tank. Will you be able to sprint that far?”
She nodded. Then, sinking her fingers into his forearm, “Caedmon, I’m afraid. Really, really afraid.”
“No disgrace in that. I’m feeling a bit unmanned myself.”
Her brown eyes opened wide. “You’re kidding, right? You’re like one of those guys in the Light Brigade.”
“Yes, well, we know what happened to them, don’t we?”
“No, what happened?”
“Nearly half the brigade perished in the ill-fated charge.” Not giving her time to contemplate the dire significance of that bit of British lore, he snatched hold of her hand and took off running. His gait the
longer, she had to move her legs twice as fast to keep up. A lone zookeeper, attired in wellies and a pair of brown coveralls, rode past in a covered golf cart with several buckets of animal feed lashed into the cargo space with bungee cords.
“I’m halfway tempted to hitch a ride,” Edie muttered, huffing heavily as she spoke. Barely able to raise her arm, she pointed to a grotto-like area. “There’s the path . . . on the other side of the building.”
“Right.” He veered in the direction indicated, the path being a set of wood-planked steps that snaked down the side of a very steep hillside. At the bottom of the wooden steps, Caedmon could see a deserted car park.
“Rock Creek is on the other side of the parking lot,” Edie informed him between two noisy gasps of breath. “Once we cross the creek, we should be able to hike our way up to Beach Drive, where we can hopefully hail a cab.”
Caedmon redirected his gaze beyond the car park. Through a dense grove of leafless tress, he saw a winding creek burdened with tumbled rock. And though he couldn’t see it, he could hear a busy motorway on the far side of the ravine, autos speeding along at a fast clip. Somehow, he had his doubts about hailing a cab.
Keeping his reservations to himself, he led the way down the wooden steps.
They made fast time of it down the steps, which were layered in a broad pattern that allowed for an easy descent down the steep hill.
As they neared the bottom, Edie murmured an apology, her heavy-heeled boots repeatedly making a rhythmic thump on the weathered wood.
“It might help if you—” He stopped in mid-suggestion, suddenly picking up the reverberation of an unseen footfall.
He peered over his shoulder, catching a flash of motion at the top of the steps. His visibility impaired by the thick growth of shrubs and trees on either side of the steps, he had no way of knowing if the third party was a zookeeper, a by-stander, or a cold-blooded killer.
“We have company,” he whispered in Edie’s ear, motioning her to silence.
Frantically, she glanced behind her. He wasn’t certain, but he thought she mouthed the words Oh, God.
A few seconds later, reaching the bottom of the steps, they crossed a paved road. On the left side of the pavement was the deserted car park; on the right, an abandoned greenhouse with sheets of torn plastic eerily waving in the breeze. In between lay a wild hinterland that hadn’t seen scythe or blade in many a year.
“This way,” Edie hissed, lifting her skirt to knee height as she tramped through the underbrush.
Caedmon fell into step, reaching over top of her head to brush aside hanging limbs and scraggly foliage. Although the brambles and briars caught on hands, face, and clothing, the overgrowth provided excellent camouflage. Caedmon was still unsure who followed them down the steps, the intruder having yet to reveal himself.
Reaching the creek embankment, they came to an abrupt halt.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered, surprised to see that the creek was far more than the tinkle of water he’d foolishly envisioned. Instead of a tinkle, a calf-high torrent of water raged past, creating frothy whitecaps as it hit ice-covered rocks. “If we attempt to ford this so-called creek, we’ll break our—”
Just then, a tree limb plunged into the water, severed from its parent by a high-speed bullet.
As though pushed by the hand of God, the two of them barreled into the frigid creek, any lingering concerns about the wisdom of crossing the treacherous waters shoved to the wayside.
Within seconds of braving the creek, Edie lost her footing, her arms windmilling in the air as she attempted to regain her balance. Caedmon grabbed hold of her tartan skirt, preventing her from pitching forward. Yanking her upright, he released the fistful of fabric only to shove his hand into her waistband, that being the most expedient way to keep her from lurching into what was fast becoming numbingly cold water. Thusly linked, they sloshed across the aptly named Rock Creek.
“Oh, God!” Edie shrieked as a nearby rock shattered from the impact of another bullet, splashing them both in the face.
Retreat not an option, they emerged from the creek, skirt and pant legs saturated with cold water. Their goal being the nearby motorway, they clawed their way up the embankment.
After one near tumble and an ungainly scramble to keep from falling backward, they reached the top.
In front of them loomed a four-lane thoroughfare with cars whizzing by at forty miles per hour.
“There’s a cab!” Edie exclaimed, pointing to a bright yellow vehicle in the distance. “Start waving your arms so the cabbie can see us.”
Several feet from where they stood, a bullet embedded itself into the asphalt pavement.
Galvanized into action, Edie ran along the median strip, her arms wildly swinging to and fro. Almost instantly, car horns began to blare, and one motorist rudely gestured as he drove past. Caedmon had no choice but to give chase. Drenched to the knees, with twigs and debris clinging to their garments, they looked like a pair of escaped asylum inmates.
In a reckless show of heroics, Edie stepped into the roadway, frantically hailing the fast-approaching cab.
The driver swerved into a skid, barely managing to brake his vehicle to a screeching halt several feet from where she stood.
Rushing over, she yanked open the back door.
Like a jack-in-the-box, a wide-eyed passenger popped his immaculately groomed head through the opening. With an upraised arm, he prevented her from getting into the vehicle.
“In case you didn’t notice, this cab is already taken.”
Undeterred, Edie shoved her hand into her tote bag. A second later, she slapped a hundred-dollar bill into the passenger’s hand. “Now shut up and move over!”
Cowed into submission, the man obediently slid to the far side of the seat.
CHAPTER 29
“Drop us off at the next corner,” Edie ordered the cabdriver, handing him a ten. Still pissed that she’d had to pay a hundred dollars in bribe money to the Beltway bandit, who’d earlier disembarked at a K Street lobbying firm, she grudgingly signaled the driver that he could keep the change.
Having yet to utter a single word, the cabbie stopped in front of McPherson Square; the city park was overrun with homeless men huddled around metal subway grates, their worldly possessions stowed in plastic shopping bags.
No sooner did Caedmon slam the cab door shut than she turned to him. Confused, angered, and more than anything else, terrified, she said, “I can’t believe they actually killed Eliot Hopkins.”
“Like you, I didn’t foresee today’s deadly turn of events.” Sliding an arm around her shoulders, he led her to one of the vacant benches that rimmed the park. Although they were both soaked to the knee, no one in the park took note of their bedraggled state; more than a few of the benchwarmers were in far worse straits. It was no accident that she’d picked McPherson Square; the downtown park was an excellent place to fade into the city landscape.
“Just as they manipulated yesterday’s murder scene at the Hopkins Museum, no doubt Colonel MacFarlane had planned a similar artifice for today’s bloodshed.”
Edie derisively snorted. “I can see the headlines now . . . ‘Love Triangle Turned Deadly.’ ”
“Or some such tripe.” Caedmon’s red brows drew together. “I think we’re both in need of a fortifying cup of hot coffee,” he said, gesturing to the ubiquitous Starbucks, the chain coffeehouse located on the nearby street corner.
“Do you mind if I sit here and wait for you? To be honest, I don’t know if I’m capable of putting one waterlogged foot in front of the other.”
Caedmon surveyed the park grounds. Not only were there homeless men on nearly every park bench, there were homeless men bundled in sleeping bags, the only thing protecting them from the cold, flat pieces of corrugated cardboard.
“Go on. I’ll be perfectly safe. They might look dangerous, but these guys are perfectly harmless,” she assured him.
“A bittersweet irony to see so many men living rough while
others live in the lap of luxury.” He glanced at the nearby Hilton Hotel.
“Yeah, well, unless we can figure out a safe place to lay low, you and I may be reduced to the same plight come night-fall.”
“A topic we’ll discuss when I return.”
Edie nodded, inclined to leave the decision making to Caedmon. Without his quick thinking, she’d be lying in a puddle of her own blood, the second member of the imaginary love triangle. Whether she liked to admit it or not—and she didn’t—she needed his protection.
With a backward wave of the hand, Caedmon departed on his coffee run.
“Don’t forget the biscotti,” she yelled at his backside, the screech earning another wave.
Her legs about to give way, Edie sat down on a vacant park bench. Within moments it began to sleet, pellets of crystallized ice assaulting her person, hitting her on the face, nose, and forehead. She hunched forward, tucking her chin into her chest.
Miserable, she listened to the uneven tattoo of ice striking the wood planks of the weathered bench. With nowhere to run, and fast running out of places to hide, she felt imprisoned in a winter canvas of gray, taupe, and white.
How apropos, she dejectedly thought, her body starting to go into deep freeze. Her limbs becoming immobile, her thoughts were reduced to a sluggish meander of the nonsensical.
Seeing red instead of winter neutrals, she shoved her hand into her canvas tote bag, retrieving her BlackBerry. Hopefully, she had enough juice to make a local phone call.
She dialed 411.
The days of speaking to a real person a thing of the past, she slowly said, “Rosemont Security Consultants” when prompted by the automated operator. A few seconds later, the same computerized voice recited a seven-digit phone number. Edie hit the 1 key, requesting to be connected.
The call was answered on the first ring. “Rosemont Security Consultants.”
Edie was taken aback that the office receptionist was a man, not a woman.
“I want to speak to Stanford MacFarlane,” she brusquely demanded, hoping the lackey on the other end picked up on her don’t-mess-with-me attitude.