"That was pretty punchy."
Sam shrugged. "If I wasn't going to accept any alternative, then why not?"
He switched the engine on, slid the car into reverse, and began to back out. "We need to get down there and get you and the team in position."
"And by the way, what are we going to tell the world once this is over?"
"Leave it to me, we'll think of something. You'll leave Ann Arbor cleaner and whiter than a whistle, don't worry. Now there're a few things I want you to remember when you talk to him..." He started to explain as he hit the gas and drove off.
Chapter 14
Jobert parked the car a couple of hundred yards from the same gate of the cemetery that Sam and Lucy had used earlier that morning, and turned off the engine. Sam's head was still spinning from everything that had happened, and all the points that Jobert had made in the short drive. But one random thought popped up.
"Our bags are stashed here. We've got a bit of time, we could go and get them," she said.
Jobert looked at her.
"We were holed up here last night."
He glanced at his watch. "I don't think so, I don't want to take any chances that he's going to try and get here early. We can pick them up afterwards."
"Are your team here?"
"I'm going to sort that out now. Stay here, I need to get you wired up when I get back." He got out of the car and walked off.
Sam sat in silence for several minutes. She pulled out her phone and stared at it. She wondered if she should call Pete. He wasn't going to pick up if he was in critical care, but maybe she could leave a message and tell him what the hell was going on. Just in case something happened. Then she started wondering what she might say... Sorry I got you shot... She put the phone away and tried not to think about anything. She just wanted this over.
A few minutes later she heard the trunk ping open and looked round. Jobert was back. He rummaged in the trunk for a couple of minutes and then came round to the driver's door.
"There's a seat about 50 meters up from the gate to the right." Jobert got in beside her as he spoke. "He can see you easily enough from the gate. Just be patient and wait for him to come to you. My guys all have good spots marked out, so we'll have you well covered. Put this wireless mic on," he held out a piece of flat rubber about half the size of a credit card. "I'll be able to hear everything that's said, and as soon as we have what we need I'll walk up to you and sit down beside New. Just get up and walk off, come back to the car and wait. I'll take it from there."
"Ok." Sam took the microphone.
"It sticks, just peel off the backing and put in on the skin on your chest under your clothes."
Sam looked at him. Jobert turned away and she fastened the mic under the crop top.
"You go first, I'll follow you down. Remember what I told you."
Sam nodded, her stomach was churning now. She walked down towards the gate and turned into the cemetery. She headed for the seat. It was a wooden bench, the regular kind that you find in parks all over the world, worn shiny. A tarnished brass plaque announced that it was a gift from friends and family, in memorial to Robert Schmidt. She sat down and checked the time. It was eleven thirty. It was going to be a long half an hour.
She saw Jobert arrive and disappear into a stand of trees maybe a hundred yards further into the cemetery. Sam went through everything that he had told her again. Then she tried to concentrate on what she could see and hear around her. Leaves rustled in the wind. A car droned past on the road behind. There was no one else around. She could see no sign at all of the CIA agents. On the one hand that was good. On the other, some sign of their presence would have been reassuring. She glanced to her left. Come on. Let's get it over with.
A man walked through the gate.
This was it.
It would all be over in a few minutes.
She took a breath.
Then another one.
The man looked around, saw her, and then started towards her. Sam checked her watch. He was early, Jobert had been right. She had a sudden compelling urge to raise her hand and check the microphone that was stuck to her ribs. She managed to resist. She watched him come closer, better dressed than she had expected. That was a nice suit. His hair had definitely been dyed, which she always found a turn-off, but he certainly didn't look dangerous or threatening. He sat down beside her, but looked straight ahead.
"You're very trusting Sam Blackett. I could have had the cops meet you instead."
Sam smiled at him. "I don't think so, Mr New. Like I said, you've got a lot more to lose than me."
"And what might that be?"
"A very nice house, and a pretty fancy car... your wife, kids, the mistress. And the business, of course — although I think that's probably already gone."
"Whatever you think you know is mistaken. I'm not going to lose any of those things." He picked at a hair on his immaculate jacket as he spoke, and then finally looked up at her.
"You will if I go to the police, and repeat what Roger told me before he died in China."
"What on earth are you talking about?"
Sam could hear the lack of conviction and thought Jobert probably could too, but it wasn't going to stand up in a courtroom. "Mr New, you know why Roger went to China. You know he went there to investigate what you were up to with the Chinese. He figured it all out. He laid it out for me; I have the documents he gave me as evidence. There's no way you can duck this one."
"I still don't know what you're talking about."
"In which case, you will have no problem if I leave right now, and go and show everything to the Feds." Sam stood up as she spoke.
"They will put you in jail."
"No, they won't. They will come and put you in jail."
New remained seated. Hands folded in his lap. Sam heard footsteps and glanced round. A man was jogging towards them in loose, dirty track pants and a hoody. She turned back to New. He was proving tough to break down, she needed to shock him.
"Five million buys my silence. Or I walk out of here right now, and you take your chances with the cops."
"Ah yes, you said you had a proposal."
Sam shrugged. "It doesn't look like you're a man that I can do business with, Mr New." She started to take a step towards the gate. It was the very slight change in the sound of the jogger's gait that alerted her. He was adjusting to her movement and there was only one reason he might be doing that. She looked round; he was just a handful of paces away and coming right at her. One hand raised at her head, the other held low at his waist and now holding a slim knife.
"Help!" shouted Terry New, jumping up behind her.
The distraction could have been fatal. It was too much to process at once. She had barely moved when he got a hand round her throat.
"Shut up, dude!" screamed the jogger. The knife flashed up and waved in her face. "Give me your fucking money, right now!" he screamed. "Both of you, or I'll stick her like a pig."
"Stop!" shouted New, "don't hurt her!"
"Give me the fucking money!" the man repeated.
He was right in her face. Hot stale breath, but she was catching up fast. She had got nothing like an admission from New. If the CIA broke cover now, it was over before it had started. This idiot mugger was going to destroy everything.
"I have money, don't hurt me." She raised her hands to placate him, taking a half-step back with one foot. "In my shorts."
His eyes flicked down instinctively and that was the moment she had been waiting for. The chin jab was the first self-defense move she had learned. She had already got her hands up in preparation, her feet balanced and her abdominals braced. Only inches of movement were required to ram the heel of her hand into his chin. She made the strike with everything she had.
He was quick and strong, and rode some of the blow with the most subtle of movements. He let go of her throat and staggered back with a snort of surprise and pain. She glanced around, New was looking at the mugger, and there was so
mething else, something unexpected in his face.
Sam turned back, just in time to see the man straighten. The air of a drug-addled mugger fell away from him as he rolled his head on his neck, as if to ease stiff muscles. It was the gesture that settled it, she'd seen it before. In the corridor outside Roger Ravert's room. And now it all became clear. Jobert had been horribly wrong. Terry New wasn't some patsy being played by the Chinese. He was at the murderous centre of this.
For the first couple of minutes, Paul Jobert thought that he had it all under control. He was worried about being so far from the action, but there was no other decent cover within a hundred yards of the bench. If anything happened he was probably six or seven seconds from being able to intervene. It would take him that long to close the distance to the point where he could shoot and have a decent chance of hitting what he was aiming at.
He wished that there had been someone to call for support. He wished that he'd got the protection team that he'd promised Sam. Instead, all he had was a rush job. If they'd had more time he could have picked a better spot, but he had no doubt that the Agency would be beating under every bush trying to find him by now. He had to finish this and he had to do it fast, before the Feds or the local cops picked them both up.
The meet had started out ok, she was playing New nicely. But as the conversation had ticked along and New stonewalled her, Jobert started to get anxious. And then the mugger attacked.
There was no operation so well planned that something random couldn't fuck it up. And this one wasn't even planned well.
He'd got nothing from New, and if he moved, he'd lose everything. New would recognize him, see the set-up and shut down. Probably call the cops for good measure and have them both arrested. He had to stay put, watch and pray. He couldn't move until Sam got New to admit the treason. She was on her own.
The killer backed away from Sam, dropping the knife and reaching inside the hoody. She had a single moment to both react and to act. The killer was a professional. He was quicker, stronger, probably better trained and certainly much more experienced in violence. The only thing she had going for her was surprise. After the chin jab some of that would be ebbing away. He was being more respectful — reaching for his gun rather than closing with the knife — but he would still be expecting her to react as though he was a mugger. He wouldn't be expecting her to try to kill him. So that's what she did.
The move was instinct tempered by her father's training. Sam charged him. She had to get up close before he could get the gun out. The gap between them was still small and she closed it in a fraction of a second, throwing her body into him so that he had no space for the draw, trapping his arm between their bodies. She grabbed for his shirt with her left hand to hold them tight, and went for his face with her right. She got a grip across his cheekbones and a finger into his eye socket. He took another step backwards under the combination of her momentum and his desire to shake her loose and clear his weapon hand.
Sam had pushed off her left leg and now swept with her right. He started to go down under her and as he fell she extended her right arm with all her strength. His head slammed into the paved pathway with a crack of bone. She felt his body go soft under her as the lights went out. She rolled off him to her feet, came up balanced and turned to New.
He had got the bench seat between them. He was looking at her with complete confusion, and a pistol in his right hand. Nothing in his head had prepared him for what had just happened. No plan survives contact with the enemy, but he thought his wasn't just damaged, it was dead and buried.
Sam was panting hard, struggling with the adrenaline that was flooding her body. It had got her through the last few seconds, but now she could feel her hands start to shake. Where was the CIA? Why hadn't they taken him out? What the hell were they waiting for?
Proof.
She was the only one that knew that the mugger was Roger's assassin. She was the only one that understood that New was the epicenter. He'd said nothing to incriminate himself. And if that weapon was licensed for a concealed carry, he'd done nothing either. At any moment New might realize that he could still kill her and claim it was part of the mugging. Once he thought it through, he had no reason to believe that his story wouldn't hold; that his original plan wouldn't still work.
And the CIA were going to just sit and watch; either they had no idea what was really going down, or they were happy for it to play out if it meant that they got their man. This was it, this was where it ended. Terry New was going to kill her and the CIA was going to let him. She was going to die right here. She felt the anger and adrenaline pump through her.
No.
"He's the one that killed Roger. Did he kill Madeline too?" Sam twitched her head at the body as she spoke. Her fists were clenched, everything tensed and ready.
New's eyes widened. "How the hell do you know that?"
"I told you, I was there. Did you tell Chinese intelligence that he was onto you? You might as well have killed them both if you did."
New blinked.
She could almost see the wheels going round inside.
"Traitor, murderer," she spat the burning rage at him.
"Maybe, but no one can ever prove it once you're gone." He started to lift the muzzle towards her as he spoke.
He'd finally worked it out, but surely that threat was enough. It would have to be enough. She was all out of time. But nothing happened. No shot rang out. No sniper fired. Maybe they weren't clear on what she wanted.
"Thanks for that — I'm wired up to the CIA and you're now done," she snapped at him.
She watched New's eyes flicker around the cemetery.
"Really? So where are they?" he said.
Sam hesitated. What the fuck? She turned and held out her arms. "How much more do you need?" she yelled at the stand of trees where Jobert had hidden. Jobert broke from cover and started to run towards them. He was a hundred yards away.
"What the hell?" muttered Sam.
Where was the team, the sniper...?
She turned back to New. For a moment he looked as confused as she felt. Then she saw him come to a decision. Terry New's face cleared and his hand shifted to grip the weapon more tightly. She was so ready for it. She ducked left and rushed him. The first shot crashed loud through the cemetery. She had no idea where it went, but she was a couple of steps closer and leading with her right to vault the seat when something burning hot smashed into her.
She crumpled, momentum carrying her forwards, crashing into the bench and then onto the floor with a deep howl of pain. Sam rolled onto her back, her legs in spasm, drumming the ground. Another shot banged out from just a few feet away. More distant firing made its way through the pain. She rolled away from New and saw Jobert running towards them, shooting steadily. There was a shower of splinters from the bench. A scream and the firing stopped. Then Jobert was at her side, tearing off his jacket, folding it and pushing it onto the bleeding.
"Goddam, Sam, I am so fucking sorry. I did not see that coming... Damn, I think I shot you."
She felt more pressure on the wound. The initial searing pain had subsided to a dull roar.
"Hold on, kid, you're going to be ok. Help's on its way."
She felt darkness crowding in at the edges of her vision. Could she hear sirens?
"Where..." she started to say. And then it all slipped away.
Chapter 15
Sam woke with a start and opened her eyes.
"How are you feeling?" said a woman's voice.
Sam turned towards her, feeling a rush of panic. "Who are you? Where am I?" she said. She recognized nothing; she had no idea what she was doing in a bed in this room.
"It's Lucy, Sam, it's Lucy."
It all came back to her. "Pete, how's Pete?" she said. She started to sit up and was rewarded with a spasm of pain from her arm. She gasped and slumped back down.
"He's going to be fine, he was hit in the back, it missed everything vital, but still tore him up pretty bad. He's in th
e room next door; he's still not come round from the operation. It will be a while, you both need to rest."
Sam relaxed back against the sheets and the soft pillow, the pain in her arm was subsiding. A wave of tiredness washed over her. She gingerly felt the bandage.
"It's going to scar I'm afraid, but there's no damage otherwise," said Lucy. "Jobert shot you, trying to get New. Fortunately, it was pretty long range without much power, and just nicked you."
"Doesn't feel like it nicked me," Sam whispered. "What happened to New?"
"Dead."
"Holy crap, and where the hell is Jobert?"
"He told me to tell you that he'll come back to explain everything."
Sam nodded, as though that made perfect sense. She looked around at the white walls and brand new furnishings. Clouds drifted across blue sky out of the window, someone had brought some chocolates and fruit. It was a very modern looking hospital room. Spotless.
"It's a military facility," said Lucy. "These days they're the best at dealing with trauma wounds. They said you can stay here for as long as you need too... but I think you should try to rest some more. He'll be in to see you when he gets back."
Sam sighed, the tiredness lapped over her again. She settled a little deeper into the crisp linen pillows. It had been a hell of a few days, and she was exhausted. A moment later, she was asleep.
Paul Jobert shut his office door behind him, walked to his desk and sank wearily into his chair. It was just over four days ago that the whole thing had started. And now it was done. It was a hell of a mess, but at least he wasn't in jail and he hadn't been suspended. It looked like the credit he'd got for shutting down Terry New's operation was going to negate the fact that he'd been deep off the reservation and shot a couple of civilians, but it was far from a sure thing... there were months of god-awful reports to write, and endless hearings to sit through.
He needed to get back to Ann Arbor, but he had made Blackett one promise that he had to keep before he saw her again. He logged into his computer and accessed the Marine Corp's personnel files. He typed in James R Blackett and hit enter. It was right there at the top of the first page.
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