Collin looked at Burton, then stared back at Jack. “Secret Service Agent Tim Collin. You pack a nice little wallop, Jack. Must’ve played some ball back in school.”
“Yeah, my shoulder still remembers you.”
Burton sat down on the bed next to Jack.
Jack looked at him. “I thought I’d covered my tracks pretty good. I’m kind of surprised you found me.”
Burton looked at the ceiling. “A little bird told us, Jack.”
Jack looked over at Collin and then back at Burton. “Look, I’m heading out of town, and I’m not coming back. I don’t think you guys need to add me to the body count.”
Burton eyed the bag on the bed and then got up and slipped his gun back in its holster. Then he grabbed Jack and flung him up against the wall. The veteran agent left nothing unprobed by the time he had finished. Burton spent the next ten minutes examining every inch of the room for listening devices and other items of interest, ending his search at Jack’s bag. He pulled out the photos and examined them.
Satisfied, Burton secreted them in his inner coat pocket and smiled at Jack. “Excuse me, but in my line of work paranoia is part of the mentality.” He sat back down. “I would like to know, Jack, why you sent that photo to the President.”
Jack shrugged. “Well, since my life here happens to be over, I thought your boss might want to contribute to my going-away fund. You could’ve just wired the funds, like you did with Luther.”
Collin grunted, shook his head and grinned. “The world doesn’t work that way, Jack, sorry. You should’ve found another solution to your problem.”
Jack shot back, “I guess I should’ve followed your example. Got a problem? Just kill it.”
Collin’s smile evaporated. His eyes glittered darkly at the lawyer.
Burton stood up and paced around the room. He pulled out a cigarette and then crunched it up and put it in his pocket. He turned to Jack and said quietly, “You should’ve just gotten the hell out of town, Jack. Maybe you would’ve made it.”
“Not with you two on my butt.”
Burton shrugged. “You never know.”
“How do you know I haven’t given one of those photos to the cops?”
Burton pulled out the photos and looked down at them. “Polaroid OneStep camera. The film comes in a standard pack of ten shots. Whitney sent two to Russell. You sent one to the President. There are seven left here. Sorry, Jack, nice try.”
“I could’ve just told Seth Frank what I know.”
Burton shook his head. “If you had I think my little bird would’ve told me. But if you want to insist on the point we can just wait for the lieutenant to show up and join the party.”
Jack burst up from the bed and launched himself toward the door. Right as he reached it, an iron fist slammed into his kidney. Jack crumpled to the floor. An instant later he was hustled up and thrown back on the bed.
Jack looked up into Collin’s face.
“Now we’re even, Jack.”
Jack groaned and lay back on the bed, fighting the nausea the blow had caused. He sat back up, caught his breath as the pain subsided.
When Jack finally managed to look up, his eyes found Burton’s face. Jack shook his head, the disbelief clear on his features.
Burton eyed Jack intently and said, “What?”
“I thought you were the good guys,” Jack said quietly.
Burton said nothing for several long moments.
Collin’s eyes went to the floor and stayed there.
Finally Burton answered, his voice faint, as if his larynx had suddenly collapsed. “So did I, Jack. So did I.” He paused, swallowed painfully and went on. “I didn’t ask for this problem. If Richmond could keep his dick in his pants none of this would’ve happened. But it did. And we had to fix it.”
Burton stood up, looked at his watch. “I’m sorry about this, Jack. I really am. You probably think that’s laughable but it’s the way I really feel.”
He looked at Collin and nodded. Collin motioned Jack to lie back on the bed.
“I hope the President appreciates what you’re doing for him,” Jack said bitterly.
Burton smiled ruefully. “Let’s just say he expects it, Jack. Maybe they all do, in one way or another.”
Jack slid slowly back and watched as the barrel moved closer and closer to his face. He could smell the metal. He could envision the smoke, the projectile racing out faster than any eye could follow.
Then the door to the room was hit with an enormous blow. Collin whirled around. The second blow crashed the portal inward and a half-dozen D.C. cops bulled in, guns drawn.
“Freeze. Everybody freeze. Guns on the floor. Now.”
Collin and Burton quickly put their guns down on the floor. Jack lay back on the bed, his eyes closed. He touched his chest where his heart threatened to explode.
Burton looked at the men in blue. “We’re United States Secret Service. IDs in our right inner pockets. We’ve tracked this man down. He was making threats against the President. We were just about to take him into custody.”
The cops warily pulled out the IDs and scrutinized them. Two other cops pulled Jack roughly up. One began to read him his rights. Handcuffs were placed on his wrists.
The IDs were given back.
“Well, Agent Burton, you’re just gonna have to wait until we get done with Mr. Graham here. Murder takes a priority even over threatening the President. Might be a long wait unless this guy’s got nine lives.”
The cop looked at Jack and then down at the bag on the bed. “Shoulda taken off when you had the chance, Graham. Sooner or later we were gonna get you.” He motioned for his men to take Jack out.
He looked back at the bewildered agents and smiled broadly. “We got a tip he was here. Most tips are worth shit. This one. This one might get me that promotion I’m sorely in need of. Have a good day, gentlemen. Say hello to the President for me.”
They left with their prisoner. Burton looked at Collin, and then pulled out the photos. Now Graham had nothing. He could repeat everything they had just told him to the police and they’d just get him ready for the rubber room. Poor sonofabitch. A bullet would’ve been a lot better than where he was headed. The two agents picked up their hardware and left.
The room was silent. Ten minutes later the door to the adjoining room was eased open and a figure slipped into Jack’s room. The corner TV was swiveled around and the back was eased off. The TV was remarkably real-looking and an absolute sham. Hands reached inside and the surveillance camera was swiftly and silently removed and the cabling was pushed through the wall until it disappeared from sight.
The figure opened the adjoining door and went back through. A recording machine sat on a table next to the wall. The cable was coiled up and deposited in a bag. The figure hit a button on the recording machine and the tape slid out.
Ten minutes later the man, carrying a large backpack, walked out of the front door of the Executive Inn, turned left and walked to the end of the parking lot where a car was parked, its engine idling. Tarr Crimson passed the car, and casually tossed the tape through the open window and onto the front seat. Then he proceeded over to his Harley-Davidson 1200cc touring bike, the joy of his life, got on, fired it up and thundered off. Setting up the video system had been child’s play. Voice-activated camera. Recording machine kicked on when the camera did. Your standard VHS tape. He didn’t know what was on the tape, but it must be something pretty damn valuable. Jack had promised him a year’s free legal services for doing it. As he hurtled along the highway, Tarr smiled, remembering their last meeting where the lawyer had balked at the new age of surveillance technology.
Back in the parking lot, the car glided forward, one hand on the steering wheel, the other protectively around the tape. Seth Frank turned onto the main road. Not much of a movie-goer, this was one tape he was dying to watch.