“But I—”
“Now,” Bill yelled angrily.
“How could you do this to me?” Maddux gasped as he gazed up at Bill, who was now kneeling beside him. “After everything we’ve been through?”
“What are you talking about, Shane? You were about to kill me.”
“You were about to weaken a nation.”
“You don’t know that. All you really know is that I was looking at your plans.”
“How can you let the bastard win?”
“I’m sorry, Shane,” Bill murmured. “I’m sorry it had to come to this.”
“I can’t let you tell anyone,” Maddux whispered, his strength ebbing away quickly as the massive internal wound bled profusely. “I can’t.”
“I’m afraid you have no choice.”
With his last few heartbeats, Maddux released the four-inch blade that was attached to a leather strap around his wrist and hidden beneath the cuff of his jacket’s right sleeve. Then, with his last burst of strength, he drove the point of the knife into Bill.
Bill rose unsteadily with a desperate groan, clasping his neck as blood began pouring from the wound. He wavered for a few moments in the middle of the room, staggered three steps ahead, and then crashed face-first to the floor.
The kidnapper’s body lay sprawled out before him on the pavement beside the van. He’d been shot neatly once through the forehead.
“You killed him,” Jack murmured.
“I did what I had to do.” Troy clasped Little Jack tightly in his arms. The boy was still sobbing uncontrollably, and it had been several minutes since Troy had untied him and pulled the gag from his mouth. “Let’s get out of here, Jack, before anyone comes. We’ve gotta get to Harpers Ferry as soon as possible.”
Jack was still staring down at the dead man. “Did you ask him about Karen at all?”
“I thought you said Karen was in that Explorer you chased.”
“She was, but neither of us knew that when you were jamming your gun in this guy’s mouth.”
“Jack, I—”
“I want to know if you asked him about my wife before you killed him.”
As Troy was about to answer, his phone vibrated. “Hold Little Jack for me.”
Jack took his nephew and pressed the boy’s tearstained face gently to his chest as Troy read the text. As he gazed at his younger brother, Jack noticed that one shoulder of his brother’s shirt was torn badly.
He shook his head as he realized how that had happened. Troy had been standing near the front of the van when the first rifle shot had been fired from the forest, shattering the passenger window. The bullet must have grazed Troy’s shoulder.
“Jesus, Troy,” Jack murmured, “you’re indestructible.”
As the Gulfstream G650 rose smoothly from the runway and banked east toward the Atlantic Ocean and the Republic of the Congo, which was more than five thousand miles away, Karen’s eyes fluttered shut as she lay across two wide leather seats, still bound and gagged. They’d just administered another sedative, but it hadn’t been necessary. She was exhausted and would have slept all the way across the Atlantic even without the syringe full of amber-hued liquid they’d just pumped into her left arm.
She was exhausted, but worse, she was defeated. She’d thought for a few moments, as the vehicle had bounced around violently, that Jack was about to rescue her. She’d heard him yell from outside the truck; she couldn’t miss that voice anywhere.
But then the ride had smoothed out and the awful man in front had laughed loudly at her, assuring her that her fate had been sealed and that he was about to “sell her to the highest bidder.” He’d shouted to her triumphantly from the front that he’d just checked his account and now he was a rich man. But she had no idea what he meant — other than someone was paying him a lot of money to take her off his hands.
She’d fought and struggled through all of those terrible rehab sessions for the last nine months, never missing a single one, never giving up hope of walking and speaking normally again. And Jack had never once wavered in his love or support for her in any way.
Now all that effort seemed wasted. Jack was gone, and she didn’t want to live without him.
For the first time in her life, she wanted to die.
CHAPTER 35
At five o’clock this morning, three hours ago, Sterling had contacted Daniel Gadanz and, in code, informed the drug lord that Operation Anarchy had been officially aborted.
The warning signs against executing the mission had simply become too overwhelming, and for Sterling, the huge risks no longer justified the massive reward. No longer could the prospect of collecting three hundred million dollars persuade him to move forward with his team of assassins. No longer did all that money make him physically salivate the way it had just a few hours before.
After the aggravating series of calls with Kyle, Sterling had attempted to contact Wayne Griffin several times with no success — which had made him suspicious. Jennie wasn’t picking up, either, and then Kyle had delivered only Karen Jensen to the New Jersey tarmac and the waiting G650 that Gadanz had sent for the flight to the Congo. At that point Sterling’s antennae had gone way up.
Sterling wired Kyle the million dollars he’d demanded at the last minute, but Kyle had not been forthcoming with the men at the jet about what had happened to Troy Jensen’s one-year-old son. Sterling could only guess that somehow Troy had caught up, or nearly caught up, to Kyle, and intercepted half of what was supposed to be delivered.
All of which raised the specter that Red Cell Seven had become involved. And that was the straw that had broken the camel’s back. Sterling was now convinced of Red Cell Seven’s existence — and its power. And he wanted no part of it — even for three hundred million dollars.
Within thirty seconds of sending the ciphered abort message, Gadanz had responded, requesting a face-to-face meeting in the same code. It turned out Gadanz was visiting his new south Florida compound — probably not coincidentally, Sterling realized — and was willing to meet anywhere Sterling wanted to, as soon as possible.
They’d settled on the small town of Charles Town, West Virginia, which was only seven miles from Harpers Ferry. Why not meet with Gadanz, Sterling figured. Why not at least hear what he had to say? It wasn’t like he had to fly around the world and trek deep into an insect-infested jungle along a muddy path slithering with snakes. It was seven miles through some rolling hills across a paved road.
Gadanz had flown into the small airport of Hagerstown, Maryland, then been driven here in some kind of common-looking car, Sterling assumed. It was important for Gadanz to travel anonymously wherever he went, but it was especially crucial for him to do so in the United States. What the federal authorities wouldn’t give to nab Daniel Gadanz. There had to be a huge reward for information leading to his arrest — though probably not three hundred million.
It was four minutes past eight in the morning, and they were meeting in a nasty room of a shabby motel located just outside Charles Town’s small downtown.
“So,” Gadanz said, “you want to abort Operation Anarchy.”
“Yes, Daniel. There are too many—”
“I don’t care about your objections or your concerns,” Gadanz interrupted, holding up one hand. “I don’t care why you want to abort the mission. I just want you to change your mind and make it happen.”
Sterling had been thinking about what he’d do to Kyle when his men caught up with the bastard. Slowly tearing the man limb from limb seemed too kind. “Daniel, under no circumstances will I—”