Playing A Losing Game

by MF Bishop

  Chapter Ninety Two

  Bobby's shaking hand knocked the phone to the floor, then continued to shake. His other hand joined in. Christ on a crutch, he thought, I can't come apart now.

  "Doctor," he said aloud, "I don't understand it. I have these terrible anxiety attacks when people try to kill me and my friends."

  I have got to get a grip on myself, he thought. He grabbed two handsful of hair and pulled hard. It hurt. His hands stopped shaking.

  The phone emitted the "if you want to make a call..." litany. Bobby picked it up and pushed disconnect until he got a dial tone. He punched in a number, taking three tries to get it right. He held his breath as it rang, then sighed in relief at the answering click.

  "Hallo," said a voice muffled with sleep.

  "Alexa," Bobby said, "thank god you're there."

  "Where else would I be at three in the morning? I don't stay up all night working on those damn computers...."

  "Alexa, I'm not working on a computer. I'm home. Helen Holtzman just called."

  "In the middle of the night?"

  "She wants to talk to me. Now. She said the country won't be safe until I'm dead."

  "Call the police."

  "She has Mary."

  "Mary?"

  "Mary Grier. Major Mary. She has Mary. She said if I meet her Mary won't be hurt. I have thirty minutes, oh god, less than that, now, to get to the corner of Southeast 7th and D." Bobby's hands started to shake again. "Alexa, what am I going to do?"

  "I'll be right over. Call the District police." Alexa thought for a moment. "Better yet," she said, "call Frank Jervis. He can organize some backup for us."

  "Yes, yes, good idea. Will do. Thanks, Alexa."

  "I'll be right over," she said again, and hung up.

  Bobby called the Jervis home number. Frank's wife answered. Frank was traveling with the President, she said. This particular night they were in Berlin.

  "Erethia, I've got to talk to him right now." Bobby's voice quavered. "It's a matter of life and death. Please, please, Erethia. Can you reach him?"

  "I can try. Are you at home? Bobby, what's wrong?"

  "Am at home. Can't talk. Need Frank's help. Please." Bobby hung up.

  What should I do now, he thought. Get dressed, yes. What to wear? Something casual...my god, my god, I'm cracking up. What the hell difference does it make what I wear? Jeans, jeans are good. And a sweatshirt. And basketball shoes. My new Air Jordans. Maybe I can out-jump whatever deadly trick Helen has for me. Bombs? High places? Bullets? He was moving as he thought, throwing on the jeans, sweatshirt (Georgetown School of Law), and Air Jordans. The lobby buzzer sounded as he splashed water on his face.

  "Alexa?"

  "Yes, let me in."

  "You sure you're Alexa?"

  "Dammit, Bobby, open the fucking door."

  "Ok, it's you." He buzzed her in.

  Knocking on the door. He checked. Alexa. He opened the door. She came in, carrying a large shopping bag. She was wearing camouflage fatigues and black high top tennis shoes.

  "Oh, Bobby." She hugged him. "You ok?"

  He tried to smile. "As well as can be expected, under the rather trying circumstances."

  "Get hold of Frank?"

  "He's in Berlin with the President. Erethia's trying to contact him."

  On cue, the phone rang. Bobby snatched it up.

  "Frank? Christ on a crutch, Frank, thank you, thank you...yeah, I know you're busy...will you listen to me? Ok." Bobby told his story in a few sentences, listened, then looked at Alexa. "What do we want to do, he asks."

  "Well, what do you want to do?"

  "I've got to do as she says, and Christ on a crutch I've only got fifteen minutes."

  Alexa took the phone. "Frank? Alexa. Bobby's going to roll. I'll follow. Patch the backup through to my car phone." She gave Frank the number and hung up.

  "Frank's contacting the District police, the Capitol police and the Secret Service. They'll try here first, then my car phone." Alexa reached into the shopping bag. "Put this on."

  "A bulletproof vest?"

  "Yeah, it's mine."

  "It's too small," Bobby objected, "except in the chest."

  "Sexist jokes to the end, huh, Bobby? Put the damn thing on." Alexa threw the vest at him.

  "C'mon, Alexa, I'm trying to be cool. I'm not used to this shit. I told you before, the biggest danger I ever faced was burning myself with a soldering iron."

  "Welcome to the real world."

  Bobby took off his sweatshirt and struggled into the vest. It was too small.

  "Ouch," he said, "it won't lace. I can't breathe."

  "Shut up and put on the sweatshirt." She looked critically at him after he obeyed. "It'll do. You look too heavy, but Holtzman won't know that."

  "Five minutes," he said, "I'll never make it."

  "I'll be right behind you. Let's go."

  Bobby jogged down the street and turned north on 7th. Alexa started to follow in her Astro, then realized she couldn't just idle along behind him, so she cut back to 4th, crossed the Southwest Freeway, and waited at the corner of 7th and E.

  As Bobby crossed the freeway on 7th, a battered Jeep pulled up beside him. Helen Holtzman leaned across from the driver's seat and opened the passenger door.

  "Get in, Britton," she said. She wasn't holding a gun, Bobby saw. Instead, she had a portable telephone in her left hand. She was alone.

  "Where's Mary?"

  "Safe and comfortable. For now. Get in."

  "I don't think so. 7th and D, you said."

  "I changed my mind. Get in now."

  "And if I don't?"

  Helen held up the phone. "See this? If I touch autodial, and the phone next to your chubby girlfriend rings...." She smiled. "Kaboom. A little trick some friends taught me. She'll lose a lot of weight in a hurry."

  Bobby clambered into the jeep. Helen stomped the accelerator. They passed 7th and E at better than 80.

  Alexa saw headlights stop on the overpass. Although she couldn't see him clearly, she was sure that Bobby was in the Jeep that hurtled through the intersection. By the time she had the Astro around the corner and heading north, the taillights of the Jeep were barely visible.

  In the Jeep, Bobby was almost gibbering with fear. "Slow down," he screamed, "you'll kill us! These things are dangerous."

  They were crossing the Mall. Helen stabbed the brakes and made a screaming left turn onto Madison Drive, then slowed slightly as they passed the Museum of Natural History.

  "What's wrong, Britton?" she asked calmly, "Can't take real life? This isn't one of your damn video games." But she took the corner at 14th on all four wheels and looked both ways before running the light at Constitution. They were heading west on Constitution at only slightly above the speed limit when she spoke again. "You're a coward, Britton, a sniveling, yellow coward. I just proved it."

  "I've never liked cars much, that's all," he protested.

  "What kind of American are you?" She accelerated hard, throwing Bobby back in his seat.

  As Alexa's truck matched Helen's tire squealing, smoking turn onto Madison Drive, the phone buzzed. Alexa grabbed it.

  "Allbright," she snapped.

  "Captain Allbright, this is Lieutenant Parsons, MPDC. What's the situation?" Alexa realized she was gaining rapidly on the Jeep; Holtzman must have slowed down. Slowing sharply herself, Alexa pulled to the side of the road and turned off her lights. Then she swung back onto the traffic lane and pushed the gas pedal to the floor.

  "Pursuing CJ5 model Jeep west on Madison Drive...suspect vehicle just turned north on 14th." Alexa could see the lights of the Jeep flickering through the trees that line the street. As she reached 14th, the Jeep turned west on Constitution. Alexa passed the news to Lieutenant Parsons.

  "We'll have backup units o
n the scene in three minutes," he promised.

  "Go easy," Alexa said, "we have a hostage situation here, at least one, maybe two." She told the officer what she knew as the Jeep passed the Ellipse with the Astro two blocks behind.

  Moments later, the Jeep pulled over by the Federal Reserve Building. Alexa turned onto 19th and stopped. Where are they going? she wondered.

  "Where're we going?" Bobby asked as Helen brought the Jeep to an abrupt and jerky stop.

  "Where you've probably never been," Helen answered, "get out and cross the street. Remember, I still have this phone." Across Constitution, Helen directed Bobby straight into the park. As usual, the grass needed mowing. They should take better care of this place, she thought. Once Loughlin, no, not Loughlin...Halloran, then...Halloran would see to it that they mowed the grass, here, of all places.

  The long grass was damp. My new basketball shoes are getting wet, Bobby thought, I hope it doesn't ruin them. If I had known we were going to tramp around in the woods, I would've worn hiking boots.

  "Ok," Helen said, "over here."

  "Where..." Bobby stopped. "Good God," he said, "the Vietnam Memorial."

  Helen stood on the grass above the wall, her back to the sunken V. "My uncle's name is on this wall," she said, "right below us. I come here a lot. Stop right there, facing me. That's good." Bobby saw that she had the phone in her left hand and a gun in her right.

  "Apparently one hostage," Alexa said, "two people just went into the park. I'm going to hang up and follow; this isn't a portable phone."

  "Better wait for us," Lieutenant Parsons began, but Alexa was already on her way. She crossed the street a block east of Helen's Jeep and worked her way quickly and quietly through concealing bushes, wondering what the devil Helen was up to.

  In two minutes Alexa was in the open. The floodlit spire of the Washington Monument gleamed on the hill to the east. She crouched down and looked west, toward the Lincoln Memorial and....

  "My God," she breathed, "the Vietnam Memorial." The moon was already down, but the lights from the city faintly illuminated two figures standing on the grass above the wall, slightly past the apex. Above them, a few bright stars glittered in the sky. Alexa went down on her knees and elbows and crept slowly toward the wall.

  Bobby tried to keep his voice calm. "What do you want with me?"

  "You're a traitor," Helen answered, "you're working against me, trying to keep me from saving the country. Now everything will be Ok."

  "You," Bobby said, "I'm not working against you. I just tried to clean up the Game, make it even. I was working against Enterprise Magnetics." Where, oh where is Alexa, he thought, and how can I get the phone away from this woman? He decided to work on that. "I've done everything you've asked," he said, "how about you put the phone down before you press the wrong button."

  Helen glanced at the phone. "Oh, yeah," she said, "no problem there. It was just a bluff, anyway." She threw the phone on the grass.

  Bobby felt a surge of relief. "Mary's all right, then?"

  "Hell, yes, she's all right. I left her tied up in Loughlin's office. I'll go back and let her loose as soon as I take care of you." Helen giggled. "Then I'll unpack. The staff will be so surprised in the morning. We can get right back to work on electing, um, the right man."

  "You can't kill me and just walk away," Bobby protested, "people know I'm with you, the police even know...."

  "Yes, I can," Helen interrupted, "with you gone everything will be like it was." Her voice rose, became shrill. "You're trying to confuse me, you're trying to keep me from doing what's right." She raised the gun.

  "Wait," Bobby said desperately, "I don't understand what you have to do with this. I thought it was Howard Green and Enterprise Magnetics."

  "Ha!" Helen snorted, "that quitter, that fair-weather patriot. Without me, Howard couldn't have done anything." She lowered the gun to her side.

  "So you arranged for John Holtzman...," Bobby prompted. He had to keep her talking and hope that Alexa was up to something.

  "John was going broke," Helen said, "I saved his business and I destroyed the Game. Or would have." She raised the gun again.

  "What did Holtzman do?" Sweat rolled down Bobby's back under the tight bulletproof vest. He couldn't get his breath.

  "He got the contract, and all he had to do was hire two of Howard's men - good electricians - and not ask any questions. That's all he had to do. It worked just great." The gun was back at her side.

  "Except," Bobby said, "except, uh, he got cold feet?"

  "Right," Helen said disgustedly, "a bad case of the come-cleans."

  "He was going to talk?"

  "He was. Howard stopped him." Helen's voice became anxious. "I didn't know what Howard was going to do. But Howard was right. John was a traitor. Like you." She raised the gun.

  Christ on a crutch, Bobby thought.

  "So you helped Howard Green fix up Omniac," he said quickly, "but what else did you do that was important?"

  "I did everything," Helen said. "I kept that Metro cop from recovering and telling about the computer line from Omniac to Enterprise Magnetics."

  "So you did that," Bobby said slowly. He had no idea what she was talking about. "How did you pull that off?"

  "Dressed as a nurse, walked in during the shift change, hit him with some kind of fancy gas Howard gave me. Nothing to it."

  "Christ on a crutch," Bobby said. In the dim light she looked like a young girl, a teenager with a bubbly personality and a saucy way of talking. A deadly young girl. "Does Senator Loughlin know about any of this?" There, a good conversation starter.

  Helen snorted. "Of course not. He's a true patriot and a wonderful speaker, but he's not really very smart. He just did what Terrell told him to do."

  "Terrell Dennerman?"

  "Yeah, right," Helen sneered, "tough, smart Terrell Dennerman, who was such a pansy that even you scared him."

  Bobby's heart caught in his throat. "Is that why, that why he...died?"

  "Damn right that's why he died," Helen said grimly. "He was advising Loughlin to pull out of the race. He thought he looked like Clark Gable, and he liked to act brave and debonair, like Clark Gable. But one little threat from you, and he folded." She laughed. "He didn't look much like Clark Gable when I got through with him."

  "You, you...."

  "Killed him?" Helen said. "Yeah, I pushed him off that overlook in Virginia. He wanted to ruin everything."

  Bobby was fascinated and amazed. He forgot about Mary. He forgot about Alexa. "The marks on his hands," he said excitedly, "what were the marks on Dennerman's hands?"

  Helen was quiet for a moment. "Marks on his hands?" She said slowly, "I'm not sure...." Then she laughed. "Oh, yeah. I bet that was from my high heels."

  "Your high heels?"

  "He grabbed onto the rocks and I had to beat on his hands with one of my heels to make him let go. It worked really good."

  "Christ on a crutch," Bobby said.

  "Why do you keep saying that?"

  "What?"

  "Christ on a crutch, Christ on a crutch," she mimicked, "it sounds stupid. Anyway, it's sacrilegious."

  "It's a habit. It's just something I say," Bobby protested.

  "Well, it's a bad habit. Stop saying it," Helen snapped.

  "Chr...uh, ok, so after uh, Dennerman, uh, so after Dennerman, you started giving Loughlin advice." Bobby was rattled and started wondering again where Alexa could have got to.

  Alexa pressed against the wall of the Memorial, sliding slow step by slow step toward the two figures standing on the grass above her. She couldn't see them, but she could hear the murmur of their voices. More than once, Helen's voice rose in anger. Alexa moved steadily, feeling the names of the dead slide by under her groping hands. She was at the apex. Only a few more feet....

  "Advice!" Helen waved b
oth arms. "I did it all. I arranged the engagements, I wrote the speeches, I met with Halloran and the generals...."

  "Halloran?" Bobby interrupted, "The FBI type? The President fired him, didn't he?"

  "On that trumped up investment charge," Helen said bitterly. "But we'll get him back. He was our leader, and he'll lead us again."

  "And generals? You met with generals?"

  "Generals and admirals. And the heads of the service organizations, the Air Force Club and the Marine Convocation. They listened to me, too."

  It suddenly occurred to Bobby that Alexa might be close enough to hear. Maybe she was waiting because of Mary. "Now that Mary's safe," he said loudly, "and we've had our talk, it's time you got back to work."

  Alexa crouched against the wall. She hoped she was directly below Helen and Bobby. She could hear their voices, but even at four in the morning the noise of the city kept her from hearing more than an occasional word. As she thought about it, the sound of traffic seemed to be louder and more directed; the police were probably arriving over on Constitution. Looking back toward the Washington Monument, she thought she saw movement on 17th Street. At that moment she heard Bobby say clearly "Now that Mary's safe, and...." his voice died away, drowned out by truck noise from Highway 395. Now she could act without worrying about Mary. But what to do? The wall was over seven feet high where they were. Maybe if she moved down to where it was lower, she could get over it and nail Helen with the short barreled .32. Have to be close though, or lucky.

  "No," Helen said, "now that you understand, I'm going to make everything right again. Then Halloran can be President."

  "Halloran," Bobby said quickly, "what about Loughlin?"

  "He's not, uh, well," Helen answered, "but he turned out to be a spineless traitor like the rest of them. He didn't deserve to be President."

  Bobby choked. "Loughlin? You, you...."

  "Damn right," she snapped. "He was a doddering old fool. I should have seen that long ago."

  "Christ, uh, my God," Bobby sputtered.

  "Enough chit chat," Helen said calmly, "I've got things to do."

  "You know, it's kind of ironic that you were so instrumental in fixing the Game, since you're the reason the plot failed." Maybe I can shake her up, Bobby thought.

  Helen raised her gun. "what do you mean?" She asked.

  "I mean I found out you were connected with John Holtzman. I mean I followed you to Enterprise Magnetics. I mean I got into the building through a basement window and saw, or heard anyway, the computers. I couldn't have figured it out without you."

  "That's not true," Helen screamed, "it wasn't because of me. It couldn't be because of me. I'm saving the country. I'm willing to die for my country. Are you willing to die, Britton, are you?" She fired twice. The bullets hit Bobby in the chest. The bulletproof vest held, but he cried out in surprise and fear. Helen cursed, remembering the low power of the .22. She pointed the gun at Bobby's face.

  Alexa was moving down the wall when Helen cried out. At the sound of the shots, she jumped for the top of the wall and got both elbows onto the grass. Yes! Helen stood with her back to Alexa, less than two feet away. Alexa grabbed Helen's ankle as Helen fired another round. Bobby screamed in pain. Helen went down on one knee and pulled away from Alexa's grasp. Alexa rolled herself over the wall as Helen fired again, this time at her. The bullet hissed past Alexa's head. A clean miss.

  "Damn you to hell, you bitch," Alexa yelled as she scrabbled for the .32 in her boot holster.

  Helen screamed wordlessly and leaped from the wall. Alexa had her gun out, but Helen was out of sight. Bobby sat on the grass holding a hand to his left ear.

  "Bobby, are you all right?"

  "Ow, ow, ow." He pulled his hand away. Blood ran down the side of his face. "Yeah, I'm Ok, I think. She nicked me in the ear. Christ on a crutch," he suddenly screamed loudly, "Christ on a fucking crutch."

  "Well, if you're Ok," Alexa said, "where did Holtzman go?"

  An MPDC Traffic and Special Operations Division squad clattered up, three men and two women dressed Army style in camouflage and helmets, carrying automatic weapons. Behind them, the park was suddenly alive with running figures as police units moved in from Constitution and 17th. A helicopter swooped overhead, blinding them with its powerful searchlights. A second helicopter appeared over the Lincoln Memorial.

  The leader of the TSOD squad threw a sketchy salute. "Captain Allbright? Major Britton? Right. Where's the perp?"

  "She went thattaway." Bobby pointed over the wall. "Headed up the path toward the Lincoln Memorial."

  "Damn," the officer said, "we may not be covered in that direction." He snapped orders to his unit. They loped along the top of the wall and he followed.

  "Help me up," Bobby said. Alexa pulled him to his feet. "Let's go." He started after the police.

  "But, Bobby, you don't even have a gun. And you're still bleeding."

  "I don't care," Bobby snarled, "She scared me and she hurt me. I want to help run her down." Pulling Alexa after him, he jumped off the wall.

  Helen ran toward the lights of the Lincoln Memorial. She would have fought it out with the Allbright bitch, she told herself, but the police were too close.

  "They called the cops, those shits," she gasped as she ran, "nobody keeps their word anymore." Armed figures loomed before her and she almost screamed. She threw herself to the ground, then realized the figures were the three bronze soldiers guarding the west end of the Memorial. "Oh, if only you were alive," she muttered as she rushed past them, "you'd help me, you'd help me save this country."

  Another figure in the darkness, dressed in dark clothes. An ordinary man carrying a rifle. He grabbed at her, cried out for her to halt. Helen pushed her gun at him, pulled the trigger twice. He fell silently to the ground. Helen stepped over him, exulting. She got one! She would beat them yet. Light from a helicopter washed over her and she dodged under the trees, running again toward the solid bulk of the Lincoln Memorial.

  As Bobby and Alexa neared the statues, they saw the men and women who had preceded them huddled together just off the path. Someone called for a medic.

  "What happened?" Alexa asked.

  "A Uniformed Secret Service agent is down," one of the women answered, "we think he's been shot."

  "Mallory," the squad leader snapped, "go back to Constitution and find a medic. Hansen, you stay here with the casualty. The rest of you come with me." They clattered off toward the lights of the Lincoln Memorial.

  The woman who had spoken sighed and jogged toward the street. She passed more police moving up from 17th. The man squatted by the dark figure on the ground and unslung his rifle.

  Bobby and Alexa started to move on when the policeman spoke. "How many are there?" he asked.

  "How many what?" Bobby responded.

  "Terrorists. How many?"

  Alexa laughed. "One very pissed-off woman, buddy."

  "No shit?"

  "No shit," Alexa said, "hang in there." They joined another group of police advancing on the Lincoln Memorial.

  Helen left the covering of the bushes and trees and sprinted for the solid marble bulk of the Memorial. The man she shot had company; voices called out for her to halt. She ducked her head and ran faster. The Memorial was being restored, and plywood panels surrounded most of the building. Helen scrambled through an opening between two of the panels and pressed against the marble, gasping for breath. She heard shouted commands and the stamp of running feet.

  Looking around, she saw that the panels were made of plywood over 2x4 frames. There was a gap of several inches between the bottom of the plywood and the ground. Helen threw herself down and peered through the opening. Several figures crouched on the sidewalk, the nearest one less than ten feet away. She snapped off two shots and was rewarded with a scream. One of the figures fell to the pavemen
t. Others dragged the body away. Helen tried to fire again, but the gun clicked on empty.

  Swearing under her breath, Helen ejected the clip and snapped in the full one. She started to refill the empty clip from her ammunition supply. A fusillade of shots smashed through the plywood and into the marble wall behind her. The air filled with splinters and marble fragments. Ricochets whined into the darkness. Something stung Helen's cheek and she dropped the clip. Damn! Dust and sweat blurred her vision. She couldn't find the clip. Another series of shots smashed through the plywood and into the wall behind her.

  Time to move along, Helen thought. She scrambled carefully over concrete blocks and pieces of lumber littering the ground between the plywood and the wall of the building. They're tearing hell out of a national treasure, she thought, just what you'd expect.

  Someone with the police may have realized the same thing. A man using a bullhorn commanded a cease fire. Then he addressed Helen: "You by the Memorial. We have you surrounded. Throw down your weapon and step into view. You will not be harmed."

  Helen laughed to herself as she moved quickly to the back of the Memorial. There were more bushes and trees behind the building; she could slip away and make it to the bridge. The going would have been a lot easier in jeans and tennis shoes, but it was hard to dress properly for the occasion when the occasion kept changing.

  She stopped to catch her breath and ponder her next move. She'd blown it with that clown, Britton, she thought. Big mistake not to have gunned him down as soon as they got to the Memorial. There was nothing she could do but fall back, regroup and try again.

  Helen peered under one of the panels. Lots of bushes just a few feet away. She pushed against the panel. The panel and the concrete blocks that weighted it moved far enough to make an opening she could squeeze through. She inched through the bushes on her stomach, listening intently for any sounds of pursuers. She heard the roar of the helicopters as they circled overhead, and the faint sound of the bullhorn. Those fools, she thought, they think I'm still around in front.

  Alexa and Bobby arrived as the second casualty was being tended. A uniformed patrolman cut away his pants leg. "It's just a flesh wound," he said, "you'll be alright."

  "Fuck you," the casualty moaned, "it hurts like hell."

  A short, wide, black man in plain clothes was using a bullhorn, urging Helen to give herself up. An officer stood next to him, muttering into a microphone clipped to his uniform blouse. Alexa approached the man in uniform.

  "You in charge?" she asked.

  The uniform jerked a thumb at the bullhorn. "He's in charge. What are you doing here?"

  "Captain Allbright, US Army military police," Alexa snapped. "This is Major Britton of the CIA."

  The uniform looked impressed. "CIA, huh," he said, "I'm Sergeant Tom House, Metropolitan Police of the District of Columbia. This guy is Lieutenant Parsons." He patted the Lieutenant's shoulder. "Hey Loot," he said, "the CIA's here. Who the hell are we chasing?"

  "Lieutenant Parsons," Alexa said quickly, "I'm Captain Allbright. This is Major Britton." The Sergeant went back to his mike, alternately talking and listening.

  "Captain, we meet at last." The Lieutenant shook their hands.

  "Thanks for the quick response, Lieutenant," Bobby said.

  "We'd do the same for any President of the United States," the Lieutenant answered dryly.

  "How many men have you got?" Alexa asked.

  "Twenty from the Department so far, with another twenty on the way. Some from the TSOD, some uniforms, three detectives. Whatever I could get in fifteen minutes at two-thirty in the morning. Half dozen agents from the Secret Service Uniformed Division, courtesy of Frank Jervis. She got one of them. The choppers are ours, too." The Lieutenant waved his bullhorn toward the Lincoln Memorial. "You sure there's only one person in there?"

  Alexa laughed. "One white female, about 5 feet 4 inches, about 130 pounds. Name's Helen Holtzman."

  "Good," Lieutenant said, "I'll give it a try with her name." He turned on the bullhorn. "Mizz Holtzman," he began.

  "Ah, shit," Sergeant House said.

  Parsons lowered the loudspeaker. "What's that about?" he asked.

  "She's around back," the Sergeant said disgustedly, "she just smoked another Secret Service agent. Killed this one."

  "Sonuvabitch," Lieutenant Parsons said. "Excuse me, Captain. Sergeant, leave three men to cover the front. Send four around the left side. The rest can come with us. And get a cruiser up here so we have some light around back."

  "Ok," Sergeant House answered. He gave orders, some into his microphone, some to officers nearby. The Lieutenant jogged heavily across the grass toward the rear of the building. Alexa and Bobby and several police trotted after him.

  Before they reached the Memorial, the Sergeant caught up with them. "Hey, Loot," he said, "more news. The Secret Service type was carrying an M16. They can't find it. They think she's probably got it."

  The Lieutenant stopped so quickly Alexa almost ran into him. "Shitburgers," he said, "excuse me, Captain."

  "Don't mind me, Lieutenant," Alexa said, "was the Secret Service covering the back?"

  "Yeah, six of them." The Lieutenant paused. "Well, five, after she nailed the one over by the statues. What kind of gun did she have?"

  "Something small," Bobby answered, "I could hardly see it in her hand, and it didn't make much noise."

  "She's brought down three men with a toy gun," Parsons said, "and now she has an M16. I hope to hell she doesn't know how to use it."

  "I wouldn't count on that," Alexa said, "she's from out West somewhere, Oregon, I think."

  "That's just great," Parsons answered, "she probably grew up fighting Indians or shit like that. The Deputy Chief will be here in a few minutes. If we lose any more men, he'll hand me my balls on a platter."

  Sergeant House joined the crowd. "Are you really CIA?" He asked Bobby, "you don't look like CIA to me."

  "It's a long story," Bobby said.

  Parsons spoke again. "Spread the word, House, all personnel are to shoot this woman on sight. Just be sure it's her, and not one of our own."

  Helen felt better than she had in weeks. She chuckled at herself; bruised, bloody, clothes torn, one shoe gone, and she felt absolutely terrific. And, best of all, she finally had a decent weapon. That little pop gun worked good, though. The last one, that soldier or cop or whatever he was - it was so easy. He walked right by her, never saw a thing. She jumped to her feet, put the gun behind his left ear, and pulled the trigger three times. She chuckled again at the memory.

  The M16 was a newer model than the one she and Daddy had played with on the farm, blasting bottles, cans and the occasional rabbit. Straining in the dim light, Helen examined the rear flip sight, moved it back and forth, decided the large aperture was for night work, and left it there. She clicked the selector switch from 'safe' to the automatic position.

  Crouching under a tree, Helen looked across the road toward the river. The helicopters circled overhead, but there was no one in sight on the ground. The roar of the Water Gate mixed with the sound of the engines. Helen wasn't sure what to do next. She felt so good, so powerful, it seemed as though it would be easy to kill them all, but that probably wasn't realistic thinking. No, better to get away, find Howard Green and Gunnar. Once she could talk to them, they would help her. Howard was a good organizer.... She glimpsed movement around the curve of the road. A police car came into sight, illuminating the road with its searchlight. Well, the Arlington Bridge was less than two hundred feet away. Once across the Potomac, she could hoof it home, take Alan's car - surely he was in bed by now - get cleaned up again, and locate her friends. First, she had to clear her tail.

  "Time to rock n' roll," she muttered. Settling on her stomach and elbows, she cradled the gun against her cheek. Now remember what Daddy taught you, she told h
erself, breathe, hold, squeeze.… The noise and the flash surprised her. She had forgotten the sound a military rifle made. The flash came from tracers; every other round was a tracer, and their burning paths streaked down the road toward the police car. The rifle fired three times and stopped. Omigod, is it jammed? She squeezed the trigger again and got three more rounds. Ah, burst mode. Very clever. The car stopped, but its light still illuminated the road. Steadying herself, Helen fired another burst. The light went out. While the sound of the M16 still echoed, she ran for the bridge.

  There were surprised shouts from her right, but no shots. The helicopters swooped in, swinging their lights across the grass and asphalt. She was almost to the bridge when a searchlight caught her, its brightness turning the grass and the pavement white. A machine gun chattered and bullets threw sparks as they glanced off the granite railing of the bridge. Helen threw herself to the side, went down and rolled across the grass, came up running, still clutching the M16. She had missed the bridge; the abutment was on her left, solid concrete lifting the roadway ten feet over her head. The Water Gate roared on her right. She headed for the river, the helicopters darting after her.

  One of the helicopters caught her in its light again, and kept her there as she dodged through the few small trees. Helen remembered the rifle. She turned and fired, sweeping the gun toward the glare of the searchlight and squeezing the trigger after each burst. The tracers arced into the sky. The pilot threw his ship hard to the right, away from the deadly streaks. The other helicopter was too close; their rotors touched briefly, for the smallest fraction of a second. A sound like gigantic gears clashing filled the air; pieces of rotor whirred into the sky. One of the helicopters staggered away; the other plunged straight into the ground, exploding as it hit.

  A wall of flame washed over Helen. She ran from it, toward the river. Her hair was on fire, but she didn't feel the pain, was hardly aware she was burning. Small waves on the river reflected the light from the blazing wreck, each ripple a little orange star gently rocking back and forth. Helen stood for a moment on the bank, then plunged through the field of stars. The Potomac took her in.