The 13-Minute Murder

by James Patterson

  “What are you doing, you idiots?” she shrieked. “Shoot him!”

  “They can’t risk it,” Beck said to her, over his shoulder. “A stray bullet might trigger the bomb. Wouldn’t look good on the news if they accidentally blew up a presidential candidate because of an itchy trigger finger.”

  Pierce didn’t say anything. Good. At least she’d be quiet for a while.

  Then Beck noticed something. He got a weird sense of seeing a mirror in the corner of his eye. He looked up at the big TV screens again, and there he was. Holding a gun on the senator with a bomb strapped to his chest. Bruised and hollow-eyed. He looked very much like the stereotypical lone gunman. For a brief, idiotic moment, he noticed his hair looked terrible.

  The footage was going out live over the networks.

  He scanned the room and saw that one of the TV news crews covering the debate had not fled with all the other people in the lobby. They’d stuck around to get the story of the year.

  The Secret Service noticed at just about the same time. “Get those people out of here,” one of the agents snarled.

  That wouldn’t help Beck at all. He needed as many witnesses as possible.

  “Wait!” he shouted. “I want them to stay!”

  The more people watching, the less likely it was that he’d be shot. He knew Morrison and Howard and Pierce—and whoever else Damocles had here—wanted him dead. But they’d think twice before executing him live on TV.

  The agents hesitated. They seemed to be trying to judge how serious Beck was. He decided to amp up the crazy for a moment.

  “I mean it!” he yelled. “They can transmit my demands to the American people! I want the truth to come out! Or I pull the trigger!” He shoved his handcuffed hand in his pocket and came out with the useless plastic trigger, still connected to the vest via several wires.

  “No way!” shouted one of the Damocles personnel. But two of the Secret Service agents—a man and a woman—exchanged a glance. Beck realized they must be the senior agents on the scene. They were the ones really in charge.

  So he held the trigger up as high as its tether would allow, as close to Pierce’s head as possible. “You’ve got five seconds to decide!”

  Again, he was following Lucas’s advice. We always try to slow things down whenever possible, Lucas had told Beck. Drag it out. Suck the momentum out of the room. If they start pushing us to do things quickly, make snap decisions, we’ve lost control.

  The Secret Service agents nodded. “All right,” the woman said. “They can stay. Now just tell us what you want. Nobody else has to get hurt. What do you want?”

  Good question. Beck wanted to get this bomb off him. He wanted a cure for cancer. World peace. Maybe a pony.

  He wanted Susan to be safe.

  In other words, nothing the agents could supply.

  But then, he finally had an idea.

  “I want a limo!” he shouted.

  Pierce twisted in his grip. “What?” she said.

  Nobody else heard her. “We can do that,” the lead agent said, her hands up, her voice soothing.

  Beck had to keep them off-balance. “Not just any limo! Senator Pierce’s limo! Bring it out front! Right now!”

  The female agent made a face. She was confused. “Okay, we can certainly look into that—”

  Beck couldn’t let her waste any time. He had to keep things moving. Keep Damocles—and everyone else—guessing.

  “Now!” he said. “Right now!”

  “All right, all right,” she said, trying to placate Beck again. “We can do that.”

  She spoke rapidly into her radio.

  Beck waited. Pierce hissed at him, “What do you think you’re doing?”

  He ignored her. He felt the sweat slide down his ribs, under the suicide vest. He could feel his heart beating under the C-4. It could go off at any second.

  There was nothing he could do but wait.

  Another few minutes ticked by like an eternity.

  Then he saw the limo crawl slowly to the front steps, visible through the lobby windows. Just like the president’s car.

  “Let me see inside that car!” Beck demanded. “Open all those doors!”

  The agent frowned, but she spoke into her radio again. Outside, Beck saw an agent get out of the driver’s seat, and then open all the limo doors. Another agent reluctantly got out of the back. Beck could see the whole interior now.

  There were all the screens and radios that Howard had been using. It was the same car.

  But no sign of him, or Susan.

  Where were they?

  Chapter 41

  Susan was trapped in the mob. She couldn’t move. The crowd of people trying to escape from the performing arts center had come up against the people from the media trying to get in for a better look and the other cops, causing the mass of bodies to become gridlocked.

  The police and security were doing their best to manage the mess, but they weren’t helped by the sudden cry of alarm from someone near the front door: “He’s got a bomb! Run!”

  Susan was jostled back and forth as the panicked crowd surged for the security barriers. The media still wasn’t moving, despite the shouts and threats of the authorities.

  The only good news in all of this was that she hadn’t seen Howard or Morrison. At least, not yet. But she felt exposed, like she had a target on her head for a high-flying drone strike.

  She didn’t know what Randall was doing in there, but she had to find a way to help him. He was alone, and risking his life. So she’d have to figure out a way to help save them both.

  She had the laptop. It could prove everything. But there was no way to get it to the right people, not right now—

  Then Susan wanted to hit herself in the forehead. She was surrounded by the right people. They were pushing her from every direction.

  Susan looked around for the closest person with a video camera.

  While she was scanning the crowd, she saw two eyes burning behind a mask of bandages, a scowling face painted with drying blood.

  Howard.

  He locked eyes with her at the same moment, and began shoving his way through the mass of people, holding his badge over his head. “Secret Service,” he bellowed, loud enough for her to hear despite the distance and the noise of the mob.

  She started moving in the other direction, sliding between people as best she could.

  Then she couldn’t move any farther. She was pinned against a news van.

  She looked over her shoulder and saw Howard coming for her, moving through the crowd like a shark through the water, eyes fixed on her.

  She tried the van’s door handle and pulled.

  It opened.

  A woman wearing heavy makeup turned and stared at her. So did a man with a scruffy beard, and a producer sitting in front of a board of equipment.

  The woman spoke first. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Susan stepped up into the news van, and slammed the door behind her.

  She recognized the woman. Danielle Crain, one of the field reporters for CNN. She smiled a lot more on TV. Right now, she was glaring at Susan.

  “The guy in there with a bomb?” Susan said. “I know him. And I can tell you everything about him.”

  Danielle was suddenly all smiles. “Sit down,” she said. “Start talking.”

  Chapter 42

  Beck decided he didn’t have time to worry about where Susan and Howard were now. He had to move. Keep the momentum going. Keep anyone else from stopping him.

  He rushed out the door, pushing Pierce ahead of him. He had her arm pinned behind her like a perp, his gun aimed at her head. He tried to stay crouched behind her, walking as low as he could, continuing to use her as a shield.

  Then he pushed her into the limo.

  From the backseat, he slammed all the rear doors and pressed the button to close the screen between them and the front seat.

  Then he sat back in the plush leather.

  For a second, h
e simply took in a deep breath.

  Pierce stared at him.

  “Now what?” she asked. She sounded truly baffled. “Do you think you’re going to drive out of here?”

  “I don’t think we’re going anywhere,” Beck replied.

  “There’s nothing here that can help you, Beck! The whole world saw you! They think you’re a terrorist! The whole world saw you take me hostage and bring me into this car—”

  “That’s right,” Beck said, cutting her off. “Into this car. This car that your friend Howard was so proud of. Just like the president’s, he said. Bulletproof. And bombproof. If your men trigger the bomb now, the explosion will be contained in here.”

  Pierce looked at him with wide eyes. “But we’ll both still die!”

  “I’m dying anyway, Senator,” Beck said. “Remember?”

  She glared at him with pure hate. “You’re crazy,” she said.

  For some reason, that just made Beck grin.

  “Yeah,” he replied. “I get that a lot.”

  Chapter 43

  “That’s the most insane story I’ve ever heard,” Danielle told Susan. “You sound more like a mental patient than a doctor.”

  Susan had only had time to give Danielle Crain, her producer, and her cameraman the highlights of everything that had happened today. She knew Howard was outside the news van, and the clock was ticking on Randall’s life.

  From inside the van, they’d all watched on one of the small TV monitors as Randall forced the senator out of the lobby and down the steps into the waiting limo.

  And then they had waited, along with everyone else in America, glued to their screens.

  Nothing was happening right now. The police were trying to get the crowd and the news media away from the building. Nobody wanted to move. Nobody wanted to miss it when the crazy man was finally killed.

  Every camera was locked on to the limo, waiting for the moment they could broadcast Randall’s messy death to millions of viewers. The chyron at the bottom of the screen read:

  LIVE FROM THE PRESIDENTIAL DEBATE—ARMED MAN HAS TAKEN SENATOR PIERCE HOSTAGE.

  That left Danielle Crain outside and off the air during the biggest story of the year. She was annoyed, Susan could tell. Susan had to give her a way to get back into the action.

  All she had to do was convince her.

  Susan opened the laptop and quickly typed in Kevin Scott’s password. The Damocles e-mails and documents popped up immediately, still onscreen from when Susan had found them before.

  “Look,” Susan said. “Look at all of this. It will show you that I’m telling the truth. Randall is telling the truth. This is all part of an attempt to kill President Martin.”

  She turned the screen toward Danielle. There were e-mails laying out the plot in meticulous detail. There were schedules and maps and step-by-step instructions for assembling the bomb. Damocles, like so many other corporations, believed in proper paperwork. And any conspiracy is a complicated machine—it requires a lot of planning to pull off properly.

  Scott had documented all of it. There was even a video Scott had recorded using a hidden camera. It showed him meeting with Pierce and Morrison and Howard.

  But before the newswoman could go through the evidence, there was a heavy pounding on the door of the van.

  “Open up!” a clogged, nasal voice demanded. “This is the Secret Service! You’ve got a wanted criminal in there!”

  Danielle looked at Susan. “That’s you, I guess?”

  “Don’t open that door,” Susan said desperately. “Do not listen to him. He’s got a badge, but he’s a murderer. I swear, he will kill me if you open that door—”

  Danielle made a face. She reached past Susan, grabbed the handle, and yanked open the door of the van.

  Howard stood there, shocked for a moment.

  Then he saw Susan and smiled.

  Chapter 44

  Beck struggled to get out of the suicide vest. He knew it didn’t really change anything. If Morrison triggered the bomb, he’d still die. But at least he wouldn’t actually be wearing the thing.

  But it wasn’t as easy as just taking it off. He was still locked to Pierce, and he had to get his arm out of the raincoat and his jacket.

  Pierce wasn’t exactly being cooperative, either.

  She pulled against him, reaching for the door handle, as if she could drag him outside of the limo.

  He engaged in a useless tug-of-war with her for a few moments before Beck remembered he had a gun. He showed it to her. She stopped struggling.

  They both sat back in the limo’s seat, staring daggers at each other.

  Then Beck remembered something.

  He reached into his pocket. There it was.

  The shim, the metal strip that Louis had given him when he’d opened the cuffs before.

  It seemed like a lifetime ago. He hadn’t seen the YouTube video that Louis mentioned. But Louis had told him how it worked. He tried to remember the mechanic’s instructions. Louis. He was sure now that they had killed him. He just knew it. And it was all Beck’s fault.

  He put the strip of metal into the ratcheting mechanism of the cuffs. Then tightened. It hurt his wrist.

  And then, the cuffs slipped on the metal and popped open. Just like magic.

  Even Pierce looked impressed.

  “What did you just do?” she said.

  “Quiet,” Beck snapped. Now for the really tricky part. Taking off the vest.

  “Did they booby-trap this?” he asked Pierce.

  She just looked at him coldly.

  “If they did, you’re going to be the second person who hears the bang,” he reminded her.

  “I don’t know,” she spat. “I left the details to them.”

  “Right,” Beck said, suddenly even more disgusted. “You don’t get your hands dirty. You let other people do that. You just step over the bodies when they’re done.”

  She shrugged. “Sometimes sacrifices have to be made.”

  “And people like Kevin Scott and Todd Graham are the ones who make them,” Beck snapped. “And Jennifer Scott and Louis. They were good people.”

  Pierce smirked at him. “No such thing, Doctor.”

  She didn’t deny that they had killed Jennifer and Louis. So it was true. Beck was suddenly enraged again. He didn’t care what happened next. He just wanted to wipe that smirk off her face.

  He tore open the Velcro straps of the vest.

  Both he and Pierce froze, waiting for the explosion.

  Chapter 45

  Susan couldn’t move. Looking like something from a horror movie, Howard began to reach inside the van for her.

  No. Not for her. For the laptop.

  But before he could put his hands on it, Danielle grabbed it and pulled it back.

  Howard wasn’t pleased. “You’re interfering with a federal investigation,” he growled.

  “And you’re interfering with my interview,” Danielle shot back.

  Howard looked like he’d been slapped. “That woman is a fugitive from justice—” he began.

  But Danielle cut him off. “Really? On what charge?”

  “That’s classified,” Howard said.

  Suddenly he winced and stepped back out of the van as lights blazed in his face. Danielle’s cameraman had turned on his camera, and the light was pointed right at Howard.

  “Classified?” Danielle said with a snort of contempt. “Secret charges? Really?” She was thrusting a microphone at him. “That’s even crazier than what she was telling me. Do you want to try again for the viewers at home, sir? What is your name? Who is your superior? Do you have a warrant?”

  Howard stepped back, looking like each question was another blow to the head. His hand began to drift toward his holster.

  Susan froze. She’d seen Howard kill. She knew he would do it again.

  But Danielle had not. She was behind the camera, and she thought it made her invulnerable.

  “Why won’t you answer these questions,
sir? May I see your badge?”

  Howard took another step back. His hand was under his jacket now.

  Susan held her breath.

  “Again, sir, who are you, and what do you want with this woman? Is it related to the hostage situation inside? You’re live, sir. Please speak up.”

  Howard glared at the newswoman, then dropped his hand from under his jacket. He turned, and walked back into the crowd.

  Susan let out a deep sigh of relief. Apparently not even Howard was crazy enough to shoot a reporter live on camera.

  Danielle leaned forward and slammed the van’s door again, shutting out the noise of the crowd. “Asshole,” she said, not even remotely aware of how close she had just come to getting shot.

  She turned back to Susan. “All right,” she said. “That was interesting. Let’s get you on the air.”

  Susan thought, for a moment, she hadn’t heard the other woman properly. “You believe me?” she asked.

  “Oh, God, who knows?” Danielle said. “But you’ve got a hell of a story, and that’s enough for me.”

  Chapter 46

  Inside the limo, nothing happened.

  The bomb did not go off.

  Beck and Pierce both let out a huge sigh of relief.

  Beck stashed the vest behind the front seats, as far away as he could manage. Again, it wouldn’t make a difference. But it made him feel better.

  Small comforts. Like a kid hiding under a blanket to get away from the monsters. Even psychiatrists aren’t immune from that kind of thinking, Beck realized.

  He began to put his jacket and the raincoat back on. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do next, but it would probably be smart if people outside the limo thought he was still wired to explode.

  But he wasn’t paying attention to Pierce. He turned his head for a moment, and heard the clunk of the limo’s door opening.

  He’d forgotten they were no longer cuffed together. She was trying to get away.

  She was his only shield. Without her in the car, Morrison or Howard would be happy to activate the bomb.