Robbie nodded. “Good luck.” He began to head off when Val stopped him with his palm.
“If I don’t make it out—”
“You don’t have to talk like it’s—”
“If I don’t make it out,” Val said again, his eyes steeled, “I want you to know that I’m glad to have met you.” He held out his hand, and Robbie shook it. “Take care of that family of yours.”
Robbie studied him, gave a quick nod, and then disappeared into the crowd.
Val stood watching for a minute, letting him gain some distance. He was definitely nervous for this meeting, though he would never have confessed it to anyone. Readying himself, he moved toward the square.
The crowd was thicker here, and it was quite a challenge to even move. Val looked everywhere for Blake, only half-expecting to actually find him. He knew damn well what the Agency was like, and it was doubtful they would play fair today. That was why, as a precaution, he’d chosen a place so public; they couldn’t hurt civilians without attracting attention.
Val pushed between hordes of people, making extra sure he hadn’t just passed his son. It was busy enough that he could have easily missed him. He was stepping to the corner of a hook-a-duck stall, where there was a small gap for him to stand and observe. It was something he could put his back to and not have to worry so much about a stray knife being driven into his spine.
He looked out over the crowd, scanning each face to see who he could recognize. He expected agents and plenty of them, but all these faces were young and none of the telltale military signs were there: the smart appearance from years of heavy discipline, the curious eyes that kept moving, the miserable and concentrated look of someone who knew he might have to kill today.
There was a break between the people, where one teenage boy bent over to pick up the pack of cigarettes he’d dropped, and then Val Salinger saw him.
Charlie, taking slow and steady steps while looking all around. Blake wasn’t with him.
Val had a choice now: he could turn and walk away unnoticed and let Blake suffer the cost, or he could approach his ex-employer and put an end to his story, in whatever form that may come.
Praying that Robbie was looking out for him, Val stepped forward and into the crowd.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Blake lay on a shooting mat on the rooftop of the Mango Tree Hotel. His good eye was pressed to the rifle’s scope, and his finger was coiled around the trigger. His hands were shaking, despite the training that had taught him to steady them.
How can I be expected not to shake when aiming a gun at my father?
He had yet to see him; the crowd was growing thicker with people celebrating the arrival of New Year. There were still hours to go until the countdown, but nonetheless they threw confetti and yanked on the strings of party poppers as a brigade of drummers and saxophone players marched past. Their chorus was lively and cheerful, but it did nothing for Blake’s mood. He was here for one purpose only.
Houston was stood at his side with a handgun. He’d been assigned to make sure Blake took the shot. If he failed, Blake would feel the brief wheeze of a bullet as it entered his skull, tossing his brains into the air like the confetti downstairs. “Do you see him yet?”
“No.”
“Well, when you do…”
“Shut up,” Blake said. He’d never felt such contempt for a man. Not even Charlie. Not even Greg, now that he paused to think about it.
“Watch your mouth, little man,” Houston said, nudging Blake’s leg with his foot. “I could just as easily pop your head off and tell Charlie that you’d put up a fight.”
Blake rolled his eyes. He supposed it was true, but he would never get away with it. There were other snipers here, watching from different buildings around the square, ready to take the shot if he failed to do so. If Houston was to pull a dirty one on Charlie, one of the snipers would probably see it.
Across the street, Blake caught sight of his father. He was with a man who Blake had only seen files of. It was easy to identify him as former detective Robert Parker, a humble family man who’d spent years working his way to the top. Unfortunately for him, it’d taken only seconds for the Agency to pull his career out from under him.
“No sneaky business, Salinger,” Houston said. “Even I can see him from here.”
Blake gulped, watching Val walk into the square where they’d arranged to meet. Charlie was down there, too, and at this rate they’d soon be acquainted. Charlie had said that he wanted to exchange words with him before Blake killed him. The signal would be a clap above his head.
Blake was not ready.
His father was maneuvering the crowd, a lost expression on his face, while Robert Parker stalked off in a different direction. Perhaps that’s for the best, Blake thought. If I can’t spare both lives, I can at least spare one.
He imagined squeezing the trigger, feeling the recoil burn into his shoulder as the bullet whistled down and ripped through Val’s flesh. He could envision the horrified expressions of the people around them as blood spattered onto their faces and into their hair. It wasn’t something he wanted to do. Could he do it? He thought not.
“Come on, Salinger. Your time is here.”
“Go fuck yourself,” Blake said through gritted teeth. He looked at Val through the scope, could clearly see the eyes that had looked into his as he’d taken him out on his birthdays, taught him how to ride a bike. Blake couldn’t do it. He couldn’t pull the trigger. If that meant his life, so be it. But he wouldn’t die without trying to escape.
Blake climbed to his feet.
Houston stood smiling at him. “I was hoping you’d rebel.” He lifted the pistol to his waist, and his finger stretched for the trigger.
“Go to hell.” Blake lunged forward, pushing the gun down. That was what his trainer had told him to do when forced into this scenario; the gunman would be reluctant to pull the trigger through fear of shooting off his own toes.
“Cut it out!” Houston screamed and dashed a headbutt at Blake.
But Blake dodged it, fast as lightning. His legs were in a powerful stance, and he threw his fist into Houston’s shoulder, rendering his right arm useless. The gun clattered between their feet. It was a quick disabling technique that he’d favored since his third combat challenge.
Houston swung a left hook. It caught Blake above the eye and knocked him off balance.
Blake stumbled, regained his balance, and gathered some momentum, throwing in all his weight as he tackled Houston to the ground. They both hit the concrete slab with a thud, wrestling each other with hands tightening around each other’s throats. Houston’s grip was firm. He was far stronger than Blake, but Blake had the benefit of being a few years younger. Speed was on his side.
Making the most of his agility, Blake pushed his body up so his stomach was level with Houston’s face. Now that the man’s arms were outstretched, the strength he had in them was at least halved. Blake used this to his advantage, bringing up his knee and driving it into Houston’s nose. Blood gushed from it as it crunched, but it didn’t stop him.
While he had the upper hand, Blake rushed to his feet and went for the gun. A hand grabbed his ankle, and he went tumbling to the ground. His chin hit the floor, and a numbing pain shot through his jaw. He spat thin traces of blood and felt a tooth come loose. It didn’t matter now though—it was a fight to the death, and he didn’t want to lose.
Houston dived onto his back. Blake shot forward, quickly dodging it, but the weight was too much for him, and he fell back to the ground. The handgun was within arm’s reach now. He extended an arm to grab it. He was an inch short, if that. With his energy draining fast, he contorted his body and pummeled his elbow into Houston’s face. Once didn’t do it, so he went a second, third, fourth time, until Houston dropped back, clutching his nose with a whining sound as tears filled his eyes.
Blake scrambled forward and scooped up the gun. His body was sore, and the adrenaline flooded through him like the g
lass of a whale tank had burst open at Sea World.
“You son of a bitch,” Houston said, looking at the gun and then at his cupped hands, where a pool of blood was filling. “If you’re going to shoot me then hurry up and—”
Blake fired the gun. He saw the agent’s face explode as the bullet made contact with it. As soon as he pulled the trigger, he knew that everything had come undone; everything inside him that had ever made him a straight arrow, everything that had kept him alive at the Agency. Everything. Everything. Everything.
The explosion of the gunshot rang into the air. It was muffled, saved by the screaming of the parade down on the street. Blake picked up the rifle, looked down the scope to see if he could take a shot at Charlie. Would it put a stop to the Agency, or would Charlie simply be replaced? It didn’t matter—he’d lost sight of them both within the crowd; both Charlie and Val were gone.
Blake lowered the gun, still shaking with adrenaline from the scuffle with Houston. He observed the entirety of the square from where he stood on the rooftop, calming himself to think straight and take control of the situation.
I’ve got to get down there and help him.
His meditation was broken as a puff of dust jumped up at him, the pang of a bullet as it hit the dirt beside him. The snipers. How had he been so careless?
Blake stepped back and another shot hit the wall beside him, right where he’d been stood only a fraction of a second ago. He leapt to his side, taking cover behind the table, where the hotel handyman was growing an array of flowers.
He kicked over the table, using the wood for cover.
Another bullet came at him, splintering the wood as it tore right through. The sniper was firing wildly, round after round, but he was shooting blind. Blake crawled along, desperate to make it to the door that led back into the building. There was a three-foot gap between the upturned table and the door.
Blake steadied himself and then made the leap.
As he made a dive for it, Blake felt the hot kiss of a bullet as it entered his arm. The power of the shot sent him spinning in a circle, and he fell through the half-open door. He checked the wound, which spat blood furiously. He climbed straight to his feet and ran down the stairs, tearing off the sleeve of his tight black shirt and tying it round the wound. He couldn’t think about the pain right now—he had to get down there and find his dad.
He made his way through the hotel. People stopped and watched in bewilderment as this sweaty, bloody man rushed past them, his heavy footfalls echoing through the lobby. Blake made it outside and crossed the street. Someone dressed as a large, pink elephant knocked into him, sending him straight onto his ass. Blake froze, looked up at the elephant—who’d only been there to entertain the small children—and saw a large red circle growing on its chest. It took seconds for either of them to realize—in trying to shoot Blake, a sniper had missed and hit the performer.
Before anyone else could spot it, Blake climbed to his feet and ran into the crowd, where the snipers might have trouble getting a clear shot of him. As he merged with the partying teens, he heard the shrill scream of a young girl. The elephant has been seen, Blake thought. He felt a surge of sympathy for the performer, but there were bigger things at stake right now, and he wouldn’t lose. He couldn’t lose.
Blake sprinted into the square, where even more people had gathered to stand on the benches and steps, hoping to get an elevated view of the parade. The smell of frying burgers was in the air, and everything was too loud: the banging drums of the parade, the screaming of the people watching it. Everything within him tensed as he knew the snipers could spot him at any moment.
As if to answer his prayers, a gap broke open in the crowd, and Blake saw Val. He ran to him, desperate to tell him—to let him know that he was being led into a trap. To tell him how sorry he was that he’d fucked things up so badly. To save him, if at all possible.
Blake put a hand on his shoulder, stealing his attention.
Val’s eyes widened. “Blake.”
“We have to go. It isn’t—”
“It’s too late, son.”
Blake stopped, trying to understand exactly what he meant. But then he saw Charlie behind him. He was stood apart from the crowd, smiling the way cartoon lions do when they trap their prey. Charlie walked toward them, silently pushing people out of his path. Everyone around him seemed to sense the hostility and cleared out of his way before he even had to tell them. Charlie had been like that. For as long as Blake had known him, that was.
“Both of the Salingers, together.” Charlie smiled, shouting over the parade’s march as he approached them. “How utterly delightful. So you failed again, Blake?”
Blake seized up. Whatever happened next would be the death of them. There was nowhere they could run and nobody there who could come to the rescue. Snipers were ready to fire, and Charlie stood before them, smirking, knowing he had won.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“I was wondering when you might show up,” Charlie said. He was wearing sunglasses, cowering under the sun and stepping toward them little by little.
“You’ve caused a lot of trouble,” Val said.
Blake could feel the chemistry between these two; it was thick with hostility.
“Oh, boo-hoo,” Charlie teased. “So what, you had to keep your heads low for a couple of months, and now you think I owe you something?” He stepped closer. “Did you ever stop to think there was a good reason to have you killed? Don’t you think it would have been better if you’d been silenced?”
“I kept your secrets for four decades, Charlie. I lost my wife defending them!”
Blake could hear the moisture of tears breaking into his father’s voice. To his left, outside of the heated triangle in which they stood, the ex-policeman spotted them.
Their eyes locked for a moment, and Blake gave a discreet nod. It was his way of saying, keep your distance—you don’t want to get involved in this.
“That was your own choice,” Charlie said, not noticing the communication between Blake and Robbie. “You didn’t have to retire either. But I suppose you had your day, like every other dog. But I confess you did well, Salinger. During your entire employment. Unfortunately, I just don’t like loose ends.”
“Your father—”
“My father was weak! He didn’t have the balls to cut anyone loose. He could never be the man I wanted him to be. That’s why he had to go, too.”
Blake looked to Val, who gave a thoughtful stare like he was making a huge calculation inside his head. “The poison. It was you.”
Charlie smiled, nodding. “No big loss.”
This was a history that Blake had no knowledge of. Still listening carefully, absorbing the information, he turned his head back to Robert Parker, but he was gone. Good, he thought, hoping that he’d run to safety. Blake turned back to Charlie and spoke up. “Why can’t you just leave us alone? It’s not too late.”
Val shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
Charlie laughed. “This only ends one way, moron.”
“How about you dismiss your snipers up there, and we can settle this like men?” Val said. “Yes, I saw them up there long before they saw me. The real question is, why haven’t they fired already?”
Blake wanted to interrupt—to tell him they had fired, and that an innocent parade mascot had been shot—but he didn’t want to make him look stupid. Besides, he’d probably meant (more specifically) why hadn’t they shot him yet.
“When you die, Salinger, I want to see the look on your face.” Charlie’s eyes narrowed into hate-filled slits. “I want to hover over you while the light leaves your eyes. The last thing I want you to see before you leave this world is your pathetic son bleeding beside you.” He pointed a finger at Blake.
“I figured as much,” Val said. “But you didn’t think I would come here unarmed?”
“Not at all.” Charlie was cool as ice, his expression unmoving behind the sunglasses.
“The fact is,”
Val went on, “I’m going to kill you. But how fast can your snipers shoot? Can they hit me before I put a bullet in you?”
Charlie took a small step back and held out his arms like a messiah. “Let’s find out.”
Blake could feel it then: the unmistakable sense that everything was about to change.
“We have a visual on all targets,” the voice said through the radio.
Terry was by the car, one leg inside and his arm leaning on the roof. From back here, he could see just enough without getting into the line of fire. He’d had his fair share of that over the years, and there was no point leaving his wife a widow now. “Do not fire until I give the command.”
“Understood. Standing by,” the voice said.
Robbie Parker passed by, squeezing between a large group of people. He was almost out of sight when he happened to spot the car. Terry waved to him, and he jogged his way over. “Good to see you, Terry.”
Their handshake was tight, trusting.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Terry said.
Rachel climbed out of the car and ran to Robbie, stopping short and analyzing him. From the look on his face, he recognized her, too, though it must have been through her photos. He had, after all, worked the case before he’d got sucked into this mess.
“Robbie, allow me to introduce Rachel Lawrence,” Terry offered.
Formal and awkward, Robbie held out his hand, but Rachel ignored it and slung her arms over his shoulders. “It’s good to finally meet you,” she said in his ear.
He smiled then—a sight that Terry hadn’t seen in years. “It’s good to meet you, too. I’m glad to see you safe.” Then he held her at arm’s length.
“Have you seen Blake or Val?” Rachel asked.
“They’re together back there, but I’d leave them to it. It looks like the shit’s about to hit the fan.” Robbie turned to Terry. “And what did you bring to the party?”
“My team found eight snipers, all with spotters, on rooftops around the square. They’re all dirty cops, too. My team will make a move on them as soon as shots are fired.”
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