Dead Aim

by Iris Johansen

  Her eyes narrowed on his face. “Runne.”

  He nodded. “But you're right. No one else could tell who he was. And you may need to know.” He got his sketch pad and his pencil moved quickly over the paper. “This is Runne.”

  She looked down at the sketch of a handsome young man with intense dark eyes, sensitive lips, and an expression so tormented it almost jumped from the page. “You did this sketch incredibly fast.”

  “I could do it in my sleep. I'm used to drawing him. You might say he's been my favorite subject for a long time.” He smiled. “Except for you.”

  “His eyes are slanted just a little. Is he Asian?”

  “Half Korean. Half American.”

  “He . . . looks tortured.”

  “He is.” He took the sketch back. “This isn't correct now. It looks as if he's been wounded in the cheek and lips. He'll probably have to have stitches.” He altered the sketch to reflect the wound. “That's as close as I can come. If you see anyone who looks like this, run like hell.”

  “Is that what you're doing?”

  He nodded.

  “Because you're afraid?”

  “Yes.”

  She studied his face. “I don't believe you.”

  “He's been hunting me for a long time. Why else would I be hiding from him?”

  “You tell me.” She smiled crookedly. “But you won't tell me, will you? That would mean you'd have to lessen the distance.” She turned and went to the camp stove across the room. “I'm going to make myself some instant coffee. Do you want some?”

  “I guess.”

  His gaze followed her as she moved around the kitchen. A few minutes passed before he said abruptly, “He's only twenty-two years old.”

  “I hear rattlesnakes have their venom from birth.” She handed him the cup. “I saw what he did to Powers's wife. I can't believe you're feeling pity for him.”

  “I don't. I suppose it's empathy. I look at him and see myself. I know what he's going to do next, because it's what I'd do.” He gazed unseeingly at the cup in his hand. “His name is Runne Shin. He's the bastard son of an American prostitute and Ki Ho Shin, a North Korean general.”

  She froze. “The North Korean general you were sent to kill.”

  “The general I did kill.” He lifted the cup to his lips. “I had no problem with taking on the job. Shin was as anti-American as they come. Not only was he involved in several human-rights abuses, but he was the guiding hand behind a terrorist training camp near Pyongyang. Runne attended the camp from the time he was fourteen until he was almost nineteen. Before that he lived in Tokyo with his mother. She wasn't permitted to resume her profession, since she was the mother of Shin's son, but she didn't have much to do with him. Evidently Shin kept her docile and cooperative with drugs until she overdosed when Runne was fifteen. His father's visits were the highlights of Runne's life, and when he decided to take Runne back to North Korea for training he was more than eager to go.” He smiled sardonically. “He became a star pupil, and a star pupil had to be used. When he was nineteen, his father thought he should go back to Tokyo to the American university there and soak up a little red, white, and blue ambience before they shipped him out to the States. He'd absorbed too much propaganda and political zeal in the camp and would stick out like a sore thumb.”

  “Political zeal. Terrorism?”

  “Oh, yes. He'd developed into a great killing machine. He was excellent with explosives and magnificent with a rifle. He'd successfully taken down four targets by the time he was sixteen. But he preferred knife work for close quarters.”

  “How did you learn all this about him?”

  “I couldn't get to his father. He was too well protected. So I had to find a way under his guard. I went to Tokyo to the university where Runne was studying and enrolled in the same art course he was taking.”

  “Art?”

  He shrugged. “He had a passion for it. His father had one of the finest art collections in the East, and I suppose he wanted to imitate his father in all things. The kid was a lousy painter, but he thought he was wonderful. And that's what I told him. It's amazing how quickly a bond can form when it's based on ego.”

  “And he was impressed by your work too.”

  “I didn't say it was all his ego.” He shrugged. “He was young and eager and he reminded me of myself when I first went into the service. Hell, I . . . liked him.”

  “But you used him.”

  He nodded. “I found out that Runne was going back to North Korea to visit his father. They were going hunting and Runne was very excited. His father sometimes arranged very special hunts at his place in the country.”

  “Special?”

  “Political prisoners. No one important. No one who would be missed.”

  Alex felt sick. “Charming.”

  “I found out exactly where and when they'd meet. I was there before them and I took my shot. I never saw Runne again.”

  “My God.”

  “It was my job.” His voice was harsh. “I had to find a way to get to the target.”

  “But you didn't kill Runne.”

  “He wasn't my job.”

  Alex shook her head. “I don't think that's the reason.”

  “You believe I felt guilty about betraying Runne?”

  “Maybe on some level. What do you think?”

  “I think it was much more selfish. Like I said, I saw myself in him. If I'd taken him out it would have seemed like suicide.”

  “You're nothing like him.”

  “How do you know? You say I won't let you near.”

  “I'm getting there. It's just tough going. Is Runne the man you said loved to kill?”

  “Yes. I went hunting with him a couple times, but not for his preferred prey.”

  She sipped her coffee. “And how did Runne find out it was you who killed his father?”

  “My guess is that Betworth had the CIA pick him up and tell him after I slipped out of the trap they were setting. Al Leary probably brought him here, furnished him with papers and a mission. He'd be the perfect tool. He had all the skills and a hatred and obsessive desire to kill the target.”

  “And now Betworth has him working for him.”

  “But Runne doesn't like to be under anyone's thumb. He's an arrogant bastard.” He smiled. “He almost caught me a couple times. But I've developed an instinct where he's concerned. I can feel him.”

  She shivered. “That's not something to bank on.”

  “Sometimes it's the only thing to bank on.” He tapped the sketch. “Remember him. He won't stop. He won't hesitate. He won't let anything stand in his way.”

  “Like you?”

  “Like me,” he said quietly. “Now you're getting the picture.”

  “Well, you're not. I don't know what twisted bond holds you two together, but I don't think it's anything you've told me. Maybe on some subliminal level you want to save the son of a bitch.”

  “I'm no missionary, Alex.”

  “And you're not Runne. You're not the kid you were when you joined the service to see the world. You're not the man who shot Ki Ho Shin. You've changed, evolved.”

  He smiled mockingly. “You seem damn sure.”

  “I'm sure.” She walked to him and put her head on his chest. She whispered, “I have to be.”

  He went still. “Don't do this to me.”

  She rubbed against him. “You started it. Live every minute. . . .”

  “I've changed my mind.”

  “Too late.”

  His hands closed on her shoulders. “Listen to me. I'm not up to this.”

  “I'm trying to remedy that.”

  “Dammit, Alex, I want you safe.” His voice was harsh. “I'm not safe. I've never been safe. Not for myself, not for anyone.”

  “Everyone makes their own safety.” She kissed his chin. “Screw safety. All I want from you is a little companionship and a damn good lay. I'll take care of the rest.”

  “That isn't all you want fr
om me. You want something I'll never be. You want a hero. That's who you've been searching for since your father died. That's why I keep trying to— Oh, hell.” His arms closed around her. “It's a mistake. I'll hurt you.”

  She drew his head down. “Not if you stay alive . . .”

  “Why?” Morgan stared into the darkness. “It's a big mistake, Alex.”

  “You didn't think so when you first convinced me that going to bed with you was the most sensible thing I could do.”

  “For God's sake, I'm a guy. You shouldn't have listened to me.”

  “I would have missed a heck of a lot of fun.” She rubbed her cheek in the hollow of his shoulder. “And I wouldn't have listened to you if I hadn't been almost there anyway.”

  “It's not permanent. This is just—”

  “Wonderful. And stop giving me warnings. I'll settle for temporary for the time being.” She raised herself on one elbow to look down at him. “Hey, we're terrific together. Why don't you relax and enjoy?”

  “Because you're not—you'll get hurt. I've taken care of you and seen how vulnerable you can be. I can't stand it if—”

  “You're getting boring.” She moved on top of him. “And I'm getting tired of being aggressive. It's not my nature.”

  For a moment he continued to frown up at her, and then a slow smile touched his lips. “The hell it's not.” He rolled her over. “Boring? What a challenge. I'll show you boring. . . .”

  Galen called the next morning. “Lontana is in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean somewhere.”

  “Dead?”

  “No, on his big-ass schooner, Last Home. My guy, Coleman, says he came straight down to Nassau from Fairfax a few months ago and weighed anchor the same day. He was in a hell of a hurry and no one's seen him since.”

  “No radio?”

  “Yes, but he's not using it. I'd say he's on the run. You can't blame him for taking off for the high seas.”

  “What about crew?”

  “Usually has three men, but there's no word on them either. They've been with him for years, and it's not likely they'd rat on him.”

  “Doesn't he have any friends or associates? Isn't anyone talking?”

  “We're not the first who have been down there beating the bushes trying to find him. But I guarantee we're the least abusive. A couple of Lontana's friends got roughed up, and they're not trusting anyone.” He paused. “But Coleman has one lead. Lontana has a foster child, a daughter, Melis Nemid. They usually work together, but Coleman heard she'd returned to their island in the Lesser Antilles.”

  “Then Lontana might be with her?”

  “Possible. Or she might know something.”

  “If she did, then Betworth would have killed her. Whatever Coleman found out, Betworth's men would have found out.”

  “It may not have been so easy. They live on a private island Lontana purchased with his prize money from salvaging that Spanish galleon. There are difficulties reaching there. It's surrounded by rocks except for one inlet, and that's barricaded by nets.”

  “What?”

  “His daughter studies and trains dolphins. She needs the nets to keep predators out of the waters.”

  “Human as well as our fishy friends. Lontana shouldn't have gotten mixed up in dirty tricks if he didn't want to deal with predators.” Morgan paused. “Does she have a telephone?”

  “Yes, a satellite phone, but you'll get her voice mail.”

  “Give me the number.” He jotted the number down on a pad. “I'll call and see if I can leave a message that will get her to call me back.”

  “Good luck. In the meantime, I'll tell Coleman to keep on it.”

  “Get who to call you back?” Alex asked as Morgan hung up.

  “Lontana's foster daughter, Melis Nemid. She's on some island in the Antilles studying dolphins.”

  “And her father may be with her?”

  He shrugged. “Who knows? If she saw him before he took off on his ship when he came back from Fairfax, he may be with her. Or she might know something we need to know.”

  “Let me call her.”

  “Why?”

  “I'm less intimidating.”

  He smiled. “Only to people who don't know you.”

  “Let me try.”

  “Shucks, and I thought I was going to get something to do around here.” He handed her the phone and the telephone number. “Be my guest. Galen said you're going to get her voice mail. What are you going to say?”

  “The truth. What happened at Arapahoe Junction. What we're afraid is going to happen next. What else can I say? If she cares, she'll call back. If she doesn't, there isn't much we can do.”

  “Except storm the island and kidnap her dolphins.”

  “You seem to thrive on kidnapping.” She dialed the number. “I think we'll skip that option.”

  Alex received a call back from Melis Nemid four hours later.

  Morgan handed her the phone. “It seems she cares—I hope.”

  “Alex Graham,” she said into the phone.

  “Phil isn't to blame,” Melis Nemid said. “He didn't know what they were going to do. He didn't know anything about it.”

  “Phil?”

  “Philip Lontana. He didn't know. No one can blame him for— Of course they can blame him. No one is going to believe him. They're going to try to crucify him.”

  “Is he there with you?”

  “Do you think I'd tell you if he was? How do I know you're not some con artist that Betworth hired?”

  “If you've watched the news, then you must know that I'm on the run.”

  “I don't watch the news. And you could have made a deal.”

  “That's true. But I didn't, and if you don't help, then you'll be responsible for anything else that happens.”

  “Don't try to give me a guilt trip. All I want is to be left alone.”

  “So did all those people at Arapahoe Junction.”

  “It wasn't his fault.”

  Alex wasn't getting anywhere. Try to find a hole in the armor. “I can understand how you'd want to be left alone. You're a scientist, aren't you? You study dolphins?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have a friend, Sarah, who has a search-and-rescue dog. Monty's wonderful. Sometimes I think I like him better than I do most people. Maybe you feel like that too.”

  “Is that supposed to soften me up?” She was silent a moment. “If you want to talk to me any more, it won't be on the telephone. Come to the island.”

  “It's difficult for us to travel, as you can imagine. It may be impossible.”

  “Then forget it. It's difficult for me too. I don't care about your problems. I care about Phil. And I need to see your face.”

  “How the heck do you expect us to get there? We can't move about freely.”

  “Come to the island.” She hung up.

  “She wants us to come to her,” Alex told Morgan. “And I think it might be worth the trip. She wouldn't say whether Lontana was there, but she was very defensive. Can we manage to get to her without getting caught?”

  “It's risky.”

  “I know it's risky. Do you think I'm an idiot? Can we do it?”

  He thought about it. “With Galen and Logan pulling out all the stops, we have a good chance they can smuggle us down there. But we'd still be a hell of a lot safer right here.”

  “And we'll be safe right up to the time when they blow up another dam and kill more people. Get us there. If she knows anything at all that can help, then it's worth going.” She moistened her lips. “Do you remember what you told me about having a feeling when Runne was near? Well, that's the way I feel about Z-2 or Z-3 or whatever: It's going to happen. And it's going to happen soon.”

  “You're preaching to the converted. I was just giving you the possible consequences.” He added, “And wondering if maybe I shouldn't go down there alone. You could go to Galen and Elena and—”

  “No.”

  He sighed. “That's what I thought. I'll call Galen
.”

  The White House

  “You're not eating.” Andreas smiled at Chelsea across the candlelit table. “Fred's going to be upset and blame me. He always thinks it's my fault if you don't have an appetite.”

  “That doesn't surprise me. Why shouldn't that be your fault too?”

  He slowly put down his fork and leaned back in the chair. “Would you like to explain that remark?”

  “Not particularly.” She took a sip of her wine. “I have to have my own secrets. Why should we share confidences? After all, we've only been married a decade or so.”

  She was glittering, barbed, and he'd better be very careful. “Would you like me to tell you exactly how long we've been married? I know it down to the minute.” He stared her directly in the eye. “Because every minute has been a treasure.”

  She finally tore her gaze away. “Damn you. Why do you have to be so goddamn sincere? It's not fair.”

  “You're angry with me. May I ask why?”

  “I didn't think it would be like this when you ran for the presidency. I knew it would be tough and I was willing to go for the long haul. But I didn't know everyone in the country would believe you were some kind of god.” She waved a hand. “Andreas points his finger and lightning flashes. He touches a child and hunger vanishes.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “What do you think?” Her eyes shone with unshed tears. “I'm scared to death. Since September eleventh you mean too much to too many people. That's why Matanza is so determined to kill you. They can strike a blow at the entire country by murdering you.”

  “Cordoba's only threatened, Chelsea. I've been threatened before.”

  “But he's getting closer. If he wasn't getting closer, then you wouldn't have sicced Nancy Shepard on me.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Don't you dare be evasive. You know very well that you told her to ask me to kick off the National Foundation for Abused Children's fund-raiser in Pittsburgh. Did you think I wouldn't guess?”

  “No, but I hoped you'd pretend you didn't.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it would have made it easier for both of us.”

  “I'm not going anywhere. I told her to get someone else.”

  He shook his head. “You're going to Pittsburgh.”