His eyes kept following the second hand around the dial. It had circled more times than he cared to count — but fifteen minutes later, the jarring chirp of the cell phone made his heart skip. He stood up and forced himself to walk slowly across the room, where he had left his phone. He didn’t want to appear too anxious to answer the call. He closed his eyes and willed himself to relax while he waited for the fourth ring.
He pressed SEND and, in a low voice, said, “Yeah.”
“You said you had more information. I’m listening.”
Bradley brushed a sleeve across his wet forehead, then began laying out his terms.
Nick Bradley slipped the cell phone into his pocket and realized that what he had just set in motion was irreversible. He had told Scarponi about the plans the Bureau had to move Payne to a military hospital on the outskirts of D.C., outlining the specific route the ambulance would be taking. As far as Scarponi was concerned, the information was worth far more than the $10, 000 he had promised to pay.
Bradley walked into the bathroom and splashed his face with cool water, then, while toweling off, heard a car door slam outside his room. Could Scarponi have found him? Now that he had the information he needed, was Bradley merely an expendable part, worth no more to him than a disposable razor?
Bradley stood in the bathroom, his torso wet from an instant mat of perspiration. He crouched down and scampered across the room to the curtained window. If they were going to fire on him, they would aim for his chest, five feet off the ground. Keeping below their line of fire was an old trick he had learned two decades ago in the marines.
Bradley heard a room door close, then carefully parted the drapes and saw a taxi pulling away from the curb. No one was in the vicinity, though it was difficult to see in the stark lighting of the parking lot. Could it be Lauren?
The SIG still in his hand, crouched down low, he cracked open the door. All was clear. He moved outside, dressed only in pants and a cotton shirt. The cold night air stung his skin and induced a shiver as he stayed low, his eyes combing the parking lot.
He tried to slow his breathing, as he was blowing very visible wisps of vapor into the air. This not only drew attention to his presence, but to a sharp assassin, it was an instant tip-off that he was crouching.
With his left fist, he rapped on Lauren’s door. His placed his ear against the cold metal and listened intently for any signs of movement. There was nothing. He rapped again and thought he heard something — a hard object dropping onto a carpeted floor.
He moved to his right and stood up, his right shoulder leaning against the stucco wall. He stepped back, then coiled his leg and thrust it quickly into Lauren’s door. It burst open, the wood jamb splintering apart. He quickly ducked back, to the left, out of sight.
The dim light from the parking lot spilled into the room, which was otherwise dark. He waited a second, crouched down, and swung around square with the interior, his gun out in front of him.
Before he could react, he saw Lauren standing in muted light, at the far corner, her Colt aimed at him. Her eyes were narrow slits and her mouth was tight.
“It’s okay! It’s me, it’s Nick,” he shouted. He dropped his arms and waited for a look of recognition. But her body remained rigid.
He stood up in a gradual, measured fashion, keeping his arms — and his weapon — at his side. “Lauren, honey, it’s okay. Are you all right?” He moved toward her slowly, slowly, slowly, until her gun was pressed up against his body. Suddenly, she burst out crying and buried her face into his chest.
“You’re safe,” he said as he stroked her back. “There’s nothing to worry about now.”
Lauren was sitting in a chair in Bradley’s room, huddled over a cup of hot tea. Her face was drawn and her eyes were still and glazed. “That man told me to go a few blocks down, that Michael would meet me there. But when he got shot, I just ran away, I kept going.” She took a sip of tea. “I found this bar and I was, I guess, I was kind of in a state of shock. I was there, but I wasn’t. I think I had a drink, then called a cab.” Lauren looked at Nick’s watch. “It’s nine-thirty? Must’ve had a few, I was there a while.”
Bradley was sitting on the edge of the bed, forearms resting on his thighs, listening to Lauren. He eyed her for a second, and then looked away. “Did they have the news on while you were in the bar?”
“Some basketball game, I think. I wasn’t really paying attention. Why?”
“There was an accident,” Bradley said, his eyes downcast. “In all the confusion, Michael was shot. He’s—”
“Shot — is he okay?”
“He was taken to a hospital and treated, and everything’s going to be fine. But the news is reporting he was killed.”
“Why?”
“They received a statement from the FBI saying Michael was killed. The Bureau is hoping Scarponi will hear that he’s dead, so he won’t continue to go after him.”
“How do you know—”
“Trust me,” Bradley said. “I have my sources.”
“I need to see him. I want to see my husband, Nick.”
“They’re transferring him to a military hospital, for safety reasons. Scarponi won’t stop until Michael’s dead.”
“But I thought you said the FBI told the media he’d been killed so Scarponi would leave him alone.”
“Scarponi’s smart. He may not fall for that.”
“Get me in there, Nick. I want to see him.” Lauren reached onto the adjacent desk and picked up her Colt. She stared at it for a second, then began to run her fingers along the barrel. “First I want to talk to Michael, see that he’s okay. Then I’m going after Scarponi. I want him dead.”
“Maybe we should just let the FBI handle Scarponi. The guy’s a trained assassin, Lauren. You can’t—”
“Don’t tell me I can’t, Nick. I’ve been telling myself 'I can’t’ for four years now. I need to do this.”
Bradley got up from the bed and walked away from her. “Lauren, what you’re talking about is… well, it’s a suicide mission, not to mention first-degree murder if you do take him out.”
“How do we find him?”
“You’re not listening to me.”
“And you’re not answering me. How can we find him?”
Bradley sighed and leaned back against the wall. “I don’t know. He’s a fugitive, even the FBI hasn’t been able to find him.”
Lauren stood and shoved the gun into her waistband. “I’ve gone nose to nose with this man. I think I know what makes him tick. If I can find a way of contacting him, he’ll come to me.”
Bradley reached out, took her hand, and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “First things first. Let’s go see Michael, then we can revisit this.”
“You’re placating me, Nick. You don’t need to do that anymore.”
“I’m only trying to help you focus. Since the day I met you, your one and only goal was to find Michael. We now know where he’s going to be. Let’s go see him.”
“I guess my goals have changed a bit.” She put her jacket on and faced Bradley. “I feel like I’ve awakened from a fog, Nick. Something happened to me in that cabin. I don’t mean physically, that much is obvious. I’m talking emotionally. The Lauren Chambers of two weeks ago wouldn’t have handled that situation very well. But I’ve got my head back together.”
“You killed someone, Lauren. If that’s not enough to change someone, I don’t know what is.”
“It’s more than that. It’s not so much a change as it is a return to me, to a time five years ago, before things started to go wrong. Before the depression, the panic attacks.” She shook her head. “All the therapy, the medication. All it did was help me get by. But it didn’t really solve anything. It took Michael’s disappearance and the fear that I’d never get him back to give me the kick in the ass I needed.”