“Keep them safe, and get them the hell out of here,” King said to Sam in the passenger seat. “I’m going in to get Dbie.”
“Xander.” Sam grabbed his arm before he could jump out of the SUV. “If this is Doug, this isn’t like going after Saajid. Or even dealing with Saajid’s men. He’s been trained as you have, and he’s good.”
“He’d better be.”
King opened the door and stepped out into the sunshine. His shoulder was still aching from the mini surgery Sam had performed on the plane ride back to Kentucky. She’d pulled the bullet out herself and stitched him up. Patching it up had hurt worse than the gunshot wound itself. He took a quick look around at his property. The familiar smells of home on his Thoroughbred horse farm engulfed him, and once again he swallowed his rising emotions. He rounded the SUV to find two guns pointed directly at him.
“Sam is in the car, Mr. Gibbons. Are you all right?”
“We’re fine,” Bobby said. He lowered his gun with a sigh of relief. “But I don’t know where Dbie is.”
“What do I need to know?” King said.
“Doug Chapman took out the guards at the front and back. My wife shot him upstairs, but not sure how bad he’s hurt. We didn’t see him again, but the blood from the wound trailed off to the right of the stairs on the second floor.”
King’s bedroom.
His adrenaline spiked, because that’s where Dbie said she was when she called. Dbie was only involved with King and Sam because of her tech skills. She was not trained in weapons or tactics. If Doug was in there with her, she was in trouble. King and Doug had crossed paths a couple of years back when King was doing vigilante work. One of King’s targets was also a target of the CIA. King had gotten there first, and the entire reason the CIA caught wind of King and his underground missions was because Doug ratted him out. The next time, and the last time, King saw him, it took three men to separate them. This time there was no one around to step in, and King hoped he could have another shot at him while Dbie moved to safety.
“Get in the car,” King told them. “You’re safe with Sam.”
King moved toward the front door, his Glock and a full magazine in his hand. He walked over to the fallen guard, but he didn’t have to investigate to see that Bobby was right about him. The pool of blood told the story. He listened at the door for any sound, but as expected, he heard nothing. Then a memory came to him. A couple of years ago he was asleep in the master—where Doug and Dbie supposedly were right now—when he was attacked by a mercenary group that had come to kill him. They nearly killed both him and Natalie, the woman he was seeing at the time, that night.
One of the ways they got to him and Natalie was by entering through the windows upstairs.
If Doug was in King’s bedroom, he would be focused on the bedroom door. While King didn’t have a helicopter to swing through the window from like the men who attacked him that crazy night had, he did have a ladder. It wasn’t a fancy James Bond way of getting to the bad guy, but it was a Kentucky boy way of doing it, and as long as he made it to Doug, that was good enough for King. Sometimes knowing your surroundings was as helpful to winning a battle as anything else. And there was no place he knew better than his own home.
King sprinted for the garage. The side door was open, and inside he found the twelve-foot ladder where he’d always kept it. He rushed over and picked it up, walked it out the door and around to the back of the house. He walked up his back patio, staying as close to the house as possible in case Doug might glance out the window. He stepped over the other dead guard, and a few feet later he was situated under his bedroom. Directly under the bathroom window. He was hoping this would allow him to have look inside without being noticed.
As quietly as he could, he opened the ladder and locked the spreaders in place. The patio was raised close to eight feet, so the twelve-foot ladder would easily reach. He took out his Glock and climbed until his head was just below the window. Inch by inch, he raised his head even higher. The angle at which he was looking enabled him to see through the bathroom door into the bedroom. But just by a sliver. And he saw nothing in that sliver. He knew the window wouldn’t be unlocked, but he tested it anyway to be sure. No such luck.
King ducked back down and took out his phone to call Sam.
“What do you need?” Sam answered.
“Have you left yet?”
“We’re not quite beyond the driveway. What do you need?”
“A distraction. And make it a loud one.”
“Count to thirty. I can give you five seconds.”
King put the phone back in his pocket, took the barrel of his pistol in his hand, and counted. Twenty-seven seconds later, he made himself ready.
Three.
Two.
One.
Gunshots rang out from inside the house, and they didn’t quit. Sam must have borrowed the two guns Bobby had as well, because it was a chorus of gunfire. King struck the window in front of him with the butt of his gun, once at the top and once at the bottom. The middle of the window hollowed out, and just as the last of his five-second cover blasted through the house, he pulled himself inside the bathroom, immediately raising his pistol in front of him. He was ready in case Doug had heard the shattering glass.
The silence after the fact was as loud as the gunshots beforehand. The crunch of glass underfoot as King moved forward was impossible to avoid. It was most certainly the reason Doug had been ready to fire as soon as King peeked his head out of the bathroom door. King jerked back inside the bathroom. The bullets crashed through the first window in the bedroom as Doug fired from inside the bedroom back toward the bathroom doorway. Doug was at the bedroom door along the same wall as the bathroom door, only a wardrobe cabinet and fifteen feet separated them. King hadn’t seen any sign of Dbie, but he’d only had a brief glance.
“Let the girl go. Let’s keep this between you and me, Chapman.”
“I expected someone to be guarding Bobby, but I didn’t expect it would be a ghost. Though the man in the video in Athens looked awfully familiar.”
King kept the conversation focused on the moment at hand. “You’ve already lost Bobby Gibbons. And now that you’ve come here to kill him, it won’t be hard to prove you also killed Mary Hartsfield.”
“You think so?” Doug said. “But if I kill you, then go and get Bobby, there’s nothing linking me to any of it.”
“Sam’s already called it in, Chapman. There’s no way out of this. Save yourself an extra life sentence and surrender now.”
Doug laughed. “Is that what you’d do in my situation, King? Surrender?”
“I’d never be in your situation. I have this little thing called loyalty.”
For the first time, he heard Dbie squeal. It sounded muffled, like something was over her mouth.
“You’re still young, King. Give it a few years. The CIA will screw you over too. You’re nothing but a pawn to them.”
King answered by firing around the door a couple of times, trying to catch Doug off guard. He immediately jumped out the door and behind the wardrobe cabinet. Doug returned fire, and King gave the wardrobe cabinet a push with all the strength he had. It immediately began to topple over, and Doug had no choice but to move outside the bedroom to avoid King’s follow-up gunfire. The bullets splintered the door just beside Doug as he jumped into the hallway.
“Get back here!” Doug shouted.
Dbie had squirmed free. King knew Doug wouldn’t hesitate to shoot her. King hopped up on the side of the fallen cabinet, sprang forward off of it, and as soon as his shoes hit the carpet, he dove diagonally out the door, plowing into Doug’s legs. Doug’s gun went off, but as King was beginning to climb on Doug’s back, he saw Dbie run around the corner and down the stairs.
She was safe. But the impact jarred King’s gun free, and now he had to deal with Doug. Already that was proving to be anything but easy. On his way down to the ground, Doug managed to turn toward King,
and he brought hi
s gun around with him.
49
As Doug’s gun was swinging around toward King, King managed to get his right forearm up and knocked the gun’s aim toward the ceiling. Doug was on his back, so King pressed forward and put both hands on the arm holding the gun. He was able to pin Doug’s arm down on the floor, but it threw his weight off on top of him, and Doug was able to shrimp out from beneath him, causing King to lose his dominant position. King would have to worry about that next, because all that mattered in that instant was working the gun free. Which he was finally able to do, but not until after the final round was fired and the slide locked back.
The second Doug dropped the gun, he rolled over on top of King. King’s Jiu Jitsu instincts kicked in, and he immediately repositioned to get his legs free, wrapping them around Doug’s waist in a closed guard. This kept Doug from advancing, so when King wrapped his arms around Doug’s shoulder and neck, Doug was prevented from raising up on top of King and raining down punches. King could feel wet against him, most likely blood from where Bobby’s wife had shot Doug somewhere in the torso. It must not have been too bad, because it wasn’t slowing him down.
“I can hold you here all day, Chapman. The police will be here any minute.”
Saying nothing, Doug struggled against King’s arms to free himself. But King was too strong.
“Ain’t gonna happen,” King said.
Doug switched gears and kicked his leg over to get into a side mount. But his transition was too loose, and as soon as King felt Doug’s weight shift in the same direction, he pushed off with his arms, and shrimped his butt and legs back away from Doug. Once he was free, King popped up to his feet. As soon as King was gone from beneath him, Doug did the smart thing and stood up himself.
Seeing Doug’s face made King even more enraged. The man who had killed his friend, Mary Hartsfield, was standing right in front of him. And he couldn’t wait to get his hands on him.
“Did you really think Saajid Hammoud could fix a presidential election?” King said through labored breath.
“Fuck Saajid Hammoud. I only wanted his money. I’ll be as good as president myself when John Forester gets elected.”
Sam’s theory had been right. Doug was really working for Forester, Bobby Gibbons’s only real competition.
“You tipped Saajid off about our agent in place in Athens, didn’t you?”
Doug smiled. “I had to give Saajid something. Otherwise, he wouldn’t trust me enough to give me the last of my money.”
King stepped forward and took a couple of swings at Doug, but Doug was quick to move, and he pushed King away with both arms. But he didn’t advance further.
“You were the one who interfered in London with Bentley Martin, weren’t you?”
“It wasn’t Bentley,” King said. “But why would you want her dead anyway? She could have only helped you bury Bobby Gibbons by tying him to Everworld’s terrorism funding.”
“As I’m sure you’ve found out by now, Bentley Martin isn’t who any of us thought she was. She was closer to Saajid than anyone. They talked almost every night. That’s why I had to lie to him when she was missing from the safe house in Bruges. If I hadn’t said I got her back, he wouldn’t have wired the money. Crazy thing, huh? My guy that went to get her back said the scene he found was nasty. He said what that little teenager did to your agent friend was brutal.” Doug laughed. “Bet he never saw that coming.”
King stepped in again and tried to wipe the smile off the smug bastard’s face. When Doug shifted again, King merely hit him in the shoulder. Doug countered with a right hook to King’s stomach. It was a good shot but didn’t deter King too much.
“You weren’t the one who sent him into that lioness’s den, were you?” Doug mocked King as he stepped back toward the stairs. “Wait, you were, weren’t you?”
King stood and stared a hole through Doug.
Doug continued goading him. “That was you on the phone when I shot that bitch in her office, wasn’t it?”
The rage inside King grew.
Before he had a chance to react, they both detected sirens in the distance. Sam had called the police after all. Doug’s smug grin dropped as he turned to run. King glanced behind him to locate his gun, but in the shuffle it must have been kicked back into the bedroom. He didn’t have time to search for it. King knew the surrounding landscape well. There were plenty of places to hide. If Doug ran out of his sight, he might get lucky and manage to get away.
King couldn’t let that happen.
He bolted for the stairs and watched Doug rounding the bottom, heading toward the back door. The sirens were close now. King raced down the stairs and headed for the back patio. Doug was already outside, moving toward the patio stairs. King put his head down and sprinted after him. He crossed the patio, turned, and jumped down the stairs, keeping his stride as he passed the pool. Doug veered right and took to the pavement that led to the stables. Beyond that, there was nothing but pasture, thousands of acres worth, stretching out in all directions.
Doug had missed his opportunity to go where there were places to hide, to the right away from the patio. Now there was no way he could escape. Even if Doug was in his own top shape, there were few people alive who went harder at staying fit than King. Over the last year, working out and taking out targets had been the only things for him to do with his time. And King wasn’t one to half-ass anything.
Doug ran past the stables. King was catching up to him with every stride. After another hundred yards or so and a third glance over his shoulder, Doug realized he wasn’t going to get away. And rather than exhaust himself before the fight of his life, he made the decision to stop and wait for King to catch up.
Tactically, it was a smart move.
Realistically, King still had the upper hand, and he couldn’t wait to tear him apart.
50
When Doug turned around to face him, King slowed his run to a fast walk.
Doug moved into a fighting stance. “I figure it will be easier to get away after I keep you from being able to chase me.”
King didn’t stop walking. “Then stop running your mouth and get to it.”
Doug began walking too, and King lowered his head and rushed right in to tackle him. Doug sprawled, dropping his hips on top of King and pushed himself off. King kept coming at him. Doug threw a left jab. King parried right while twisting his hips right, then uncorked a right hook to Doug’s ribs. King followed it with a left uppercut that not only shut Doug’s mouth but also broke a couple of teeth when it connected with his chin.
King could still hear the gunshots from the phone call he had been on with Mary. The picture played in his head of this man shooting his unarmed friend. Doug had staggered back after the uppercut, and King landed an overhand right to his forehead that hit so hard, he heard bones in his own hand break.
Doug fell to the ground, badly injured but not unconscious. King flexed his hand open and closed. It was definitely broken, and it hurt, but it wasn’t bad enough to stop him. His adrenaline was so high that the real pain wouldn’t come to him until the fight was over. King walked over to where Doug was struggling back to his feet. He was on all fours. When King reached down and grabbed his collar, he felt something sharp slide into his left thigh. Doug had pulled a knife. For a moment King had been too overconfident, and it cost him.
Doug pulled the knife out and took another swing, but King was able to jump back, the knife just missing him this time. King stepped forward before Doug could get to his feet and soccer-kicked him right in the nose, making a loud pop sound. Doug collapsed face-first onto the ground.
King looked back over his shoulder. He could see three people running down the stairs of his patio. While he couldn’t make them out individually, it was clear they were all dressed the same. He knew it was the police. A couple of things computed at once.
One: he couldn’t let the police see him. He was supposed to be dead. And though his blood was on the knife that Doug had stabbed him
with, and probably on Doug himself, King knew Sam could keep all of that under wraps. Perks of being CIA. But what he wouldn’t be able to overcome would be the police that would have to arrest him. And he obviously couldn’t be brought in. This wasn’t Men in Black. There were no magic wands that could erase people’s memories, and there would be far too many people who would see him to keep the truth from getting out. A viral video of a man, who looked like King, fighting a terrorist in Athens was one thing. Fingerprints and probably some people at the precinct who knew him would be another story—impossible to cover up.
Two: he wanted to end Doug’s life himself. Saajid Hammoud could call it the same as playing God, like Saajid killing for his religion, but King knew better. His moral compass might not be that of the most upright, God-fearing civilian, but it read pretty damn true. He knew the difference between right and wrong, and giving this scum the chance to escape his confines was something King just couldn’t leave up to chance.
The three police officers disappeared behind the stables as they ran toward him. King pulled out a knife of his own. He walked around behind Doug Chapman and straddled his back. This monster wasn’t going to come back and haunt King. There were enough ghosts from his past to worry about in the world as it was. He grabbed the hair on top of Doug’s head and pulled it back toward him. He flipped the blade open on his knife, then sliced in such a way that no one would ever be able to stop the bleeding.
As he stood, King grabbed Doug’s knife , then turned to his left and began to run. He heard “Freeze!” shouted from a distance, but he did not comply. It was an odd feeling being the good guy who’d just killed the bad guy, but running away from the scene. It was even crazier that he was doing so on his own property. It was a cruel twist to this story that was his life as a person trying to get revenge. A man only trying to do good. Running away couldn’t have felt more wrong. But he knew it was the only thing he could do.
The Secret Weapon Page 23