“You’re alive! You son of a bitch, you’re alive! Why the fuck didn’t you say something?”
Wareagle raised himself gingerly to a sitting position. The front of his Kevlar vest showed a dozen splotches where hits had been recorded. The blood had sprouted from a flesh wound just above his collarbone. Blaine knew Johnny wouldn’t bother to feel it until he was ready.
“I didn’t come around until our friend made his appearance. You wouldn’t have heard me at that point.”
“I’ll say.”
With that Obie Seven’s torso suddenly whirled. Its empty miniguns traced a diagonal path across to the northwest of Williamsburg and the Governor’s Palace. A continuous beeping sound was its way of pleading for more ammunition.
“Abraham,” Johnny said.
“No way, Indian. No way.”
“He’s out there, Blainey.”
“He couldn’t have survived all that. No one could.”
“I feel him,” Wareagle insisted, trying unsuccessfully to get up.
“Take it easy, Johnny,” Blaine said. “This one’s on me.”
He palmed one of the pistols loaded with Splats and rushed off to the northwest.
The Governor’s Palace was a stately baked red brick building enclosed by the most elaborate landscaping Williamsburg had to offer. McCracken approached warily. Mazelike in construction, the exterior offered an infinite number of hiding places. But Blaine knew Abraham would be after escape, not concealment, and tuned his thoughts accordingly. The disciple would not have entered the building itself because it would give Blaine the advantage of a confined space to work in. A faint hope that Johnny was wrong, that Abraham had perished with the others, flickered inside McCracken. Only Johnny wouldn’t — couldn’t — be wrong about something like that. If he felt Abraham was still alive, then Abraham was still alive.
Blaine passed through the tall iron gate and looked quickly around the grounds. It was a sound, though, that grabbed his attention, from somewhere on the right. Familiar somehow, but what? The sound came again, a deep chortling.
It was a horse, a goddamn horse!
McCracken bolted for the stables on the eastern side of the grounds, sure now of how Abraham intended to make his escape. Blaine had reached the closed double doors out of breath and was raising his pistol when the doors blew outward. A team of horses, latched to a carriage Abraham rode from a standing position, charged straight for him. The pounding hooves made the ground tremble. Blaine tried to keep his balance to steady his shot, but one of the horses’ hindquarters slammed into him, knocking him senseless. The pistol went flying. Abraham snapped the reins and tore off across the fields.
By the time Blaine recovered both his pistol and his bearings, the final disciple had passed out of range on Lafayette Street, en route to the main roads away from Williamsburg.
Halfway back to Duke of Gloucester Street, McCracken met up with Sal Belamo and Johnny Wareagle. Patty Hunsecker was pushing Professor Ainsley’s wheelchair in an attempt to keep up. Wareagle was walking gingerly, a makeshift bandage already tied around his bleeding shoulder wound. His eyes asked the question for him. Blaine’s answered.
“Can you believe what Obie Seven did?” Ainsley said after Patty and he had caught up to them. “Can you believe it? Amazing! Truly amazing!”
“He missed one, Professor.”
The professor looked disappointed. “Oh.”
“I missed him, too.”
“We will find him, Blainey,” Wareagle said.
“For sure, Indian. But it won’t be here. Time to haul ass.”
“Where to, boss?” Belamo asked.
“Tell you once we’re on our way.”
Chapter 34
Virginia Maxwell’s summer home in Hampton Roads, Virginia, was a sprawling estate that had been in the family for generations, long before the town had become a popular spot for vacationers. The guards who had surrounded the area since late in the afternoon did so openly, their show of force obvious. Gossip would result, though not a great deal. Plenty of important Washington types kept homes in the area. Security guards, both uniformed and otherwise, were not an unusual sight.
By the time darkness fell, there were twenty patrolling the three-acre grounds. Virginia Maxwell spent the evening alone, and allowed herself a pair of brandies in anticipation of retiring early. Guards had been stationed both inside and outside her bedroom all evening, and Maxwell felt safe in locking the door behind her. Two guards would spend the night in chairs by her door, a shout away. Relaxed in her bedclothes, she sat down in her favorite chair to read for a bit.
The hand closed over her mouth as she opened to her place in the book.
“Hello, Maxie.”
The book fell to the rug. At first Virginia Maxwell’s bulging eyes swam wildly, then they were drawn to the cold stare of Blaine McCracken.
“You would do well to keep quiet. Screaming won’t end pleasantly for either of us.” McCracken took his hand away. Virginia Maxwell did not scream.
“How?” she managed.
“Did I get in or remain undetected? Neither was all that difficult. You really should hire better people next time. I’ve been in this room for hours.”
McCracken came around to the front of the chair and loomed over her.
“It’s over, Maxie.”
“And that’s why you’re here?”
“Not quite. I meant it’s over for you. I’ve still got some unfinished business. You heard about Williamsburg.”
“Some. Enough.”
“I hoped to use you as bait to lure the disciples there. Neat trick with the double. Almost worked. But you wanted me so badly, your legion walked right into the trap and now they’re finished. Your project is finished.”
“Then you’re here to kill me.”
Blaine shook his head. “Not my style.”
She regarded him questioningly.
“Abraham got away, Maxie. I want him, and I want you to deliver.”
“Abraham’s…alive?” Her surprise looked genuine.
“The sole survivor.”
So there was still a slight ray of hope for the operation. Virginia Maxwell’s eyes darted briefly to the door. If she screamed now, what chance was there the guards could burst in and kill McCracken before he killed her? None at all, reason told her and, more than that, without the rest of the disciples the project could not go forward. Another time, perhaps, but not now, not effectively.
“You want me to help you?” she asked incredulously.
“We can help each other.”
“How?”
“It’s all finished. You know that as well as I do. Takahashi gave me the list. I know the identities of you and the other Children of the Black Rain. I know about your plan to kill the president and your operation to destroy those nuclear power plants. Finally, without the disciples, I know the means to accomplish all this has been lost.”
“And how does that help me?”
“I’m going after the Children, Maxie, and I’ll find them no matter where they run. You know I will.”
“There’s still Abraham to consider.”
“My point exactly. You’re going to tell me where I can find him — and also the bunker where the Children have gone.”
“And in return…”
“I’ll let you live.”
“If I run away and disappear, of course.”
“Not at all. Just quit as director of the Gap. You can keep your money and your houses.”
“How benevolent.”
“I try.”
“I could scream for the guards now,” Virginia Maxwell snarled. “They’d kill you.”
“No, they wouldn’t, and then you’d die for nothing. Let’s talk, Maxie. It’s the best thing. Really.”