His eyes flicked briefly away from Bianca towards something in the distance, then locked back on to her with a newly calculating intensity. She didn’t miss the change in his attitude, but was unsure how to respond. Was there really something coming along the road behind her — or was it just an attempt at distraction?
She edged away from him, taking a quick look. A vehicle was approaching. She hurriedly tried to shield the gun from the driver’s sight with her body.
‘You really don’t have a clue what you’re doing, do you?’ said Harper, voice oozing condescension. ‘You don’t even know how to hold a gun properly.’
‘I know which end the bullets come out of,’ she countered.
Another flick of his gaze, then he looked back at the gun. ‘But you don’t know how to take off the safety catch.’
She almost turned the automatic away from him to check it — but stopped herself. ‘Nice try. But Adam wouldn’t have given me a gun that I couldn’t use.’
‘Well done, Dr Childs,’ he said, with a faint shrug. ‘You’re not quite as gullible as I thought. It doesn’t matter, though, because that gave Baxter time to get you in his sights.’
‘And I thought I wasn’t gullible,’ Bianca scoffed. But then she saw an expectancy in his expression as he glanced behind her once more — and realised that the oncoming car still hadn’t passed.
Keeping the gun aimed at him, she looked back…
And saw a black Suburban cruising slowly towards them. Baxter leaned from the passenger window, the needle-thin red line of his MP5’s laser sight fixed upon her.
‘Drop the gun!’ he shouted. ‘Do it or I shoot!’
Fear froze her, her hand refusing to obey Baxter’s order even to save her life. She stared helplessly back along the laser beam as it moved up to her head—
Thudding footsteps — and she was slammed painfully to the ground as Harper charged at her like a bull. He tore the gun from her grasp, twisting her arm up behind her back with such force that her shoulder joint crackled. She screamed. ‘Limey bitch,’ he growled. ‘Baxter! Get over here!’
The Suburban pulled up, Baxter jumping out. Two more SUVs came speeding in from the other direction. ‘Are you okay, sir?’ Baxter called.
‘I’m fine. How did you find me?’
He nodded towards the Cadillac. ‘All government vehicles have trackers. When you didn’t answer the phone, I realised that Gray must have got you, so we hauled ass to catch up.’ He surveyed the area. ‘Where is Gray?’
‘On his way to DC — with the disk,’ said Harper, standing. Bianca tried to move, but he shoved her back down with his foot. ‘He’s in a black Mustang — Maryland plates, registration BAR 643. He went west, towards the Parkway.’
‘We’ll get him.’ Baxter looked down at Bianca. ‘What about her?’
‘Leave her with me — you need to take out Gray.’
Baxter nodded to his men. ‘Okay, you heard him! We catch that son of a bitch and take him down. Let’s go!’ He hurried back to his vehicle. With a triple roar of big V8s, the Suburbans lunged away.
Bianca looked up at Harper. ‘What are you going to do with me?’
He sneered. ‘You’re going to be my chauffeuse.’ He stepped back, keeping the gun on her. ‘Get in and drive.’
Adam made a call as the Mustang raced along the Suitland Parkway, entering one of the numbers he had memorised earlier: the office of the National Security Adviser. ‘This is Admiral Gordon Harper,’ he said, his voice taking on his borrowed persona’s bulldog growl. ‘I need to speak to Alan Sternberg immediately.’
He knew that calling from a number not on the list of secure lines would invoke extra security precautions, but he was ready for them. ‘Please stand by, Admiral,’ said the operator. ‘Can you give me your G-2 code, please?’
‘Four-zero-two-five-baker-delta-seven,’ he replied, rattling out the sequence with machine-gun speed.
‘And your daily password?’
‘Anthracite.’
A short pause while the codes were checked, then: ‘Thank you, Admiral. Connecting you to Mr Sternberg.’
Adam waited, guiding the Mustang past slower traffic on the two-lane highway. Finally, he heard a voice. ‘Gordon,’ said Sternberg, dislike contained beneath a veneer of professional politeness. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘Sir, this is Adam Gray from the Persona Project at STS,’ Adam said, speaking quickly to prevent Sternberg from interrupting. ‘I apologise for the deception, but it’s of vital importance that I speak to you.’ The other man tried to cut in, but he kept talking. ‘I have proof that Secretary of State Sandra Easton was killed in Pakistan because a senior US official leaked her route to al-Qaeda.’
It took the startled Sternberg a couple of seconds to reply. ‘Agent Gray, as I understand it you’re currently on the run after stealing classified data from STS. Why should I believe you?’
‘Because I used the PERSONA device to take the memories of the official in question. I know everything he does — and everything he did.’
‘Who is this person?’ asked Sternberg, in a tone that suggested he had already worked out the answer.
‘Admiral Harper, sir.’
A pause. ‘That’s an extremely serious allegation, Gray. And I need more proof than just your say-so, even if you do have Harper’s memories.’
‘I’ve got a disk that the Admiral just took from the federal data repository in Suitland. He intended to destroy it. It’s a copy of the log files that show he interfered in a joint CIA-SOCOM undercover op to give disinformation to al-Qaeda in Pakistan, by switching the Secretary’s fake itinerary that was meant to lead a terrorist cell into a trap for the real one.’
Another moment of shocked silence. ‘Now, it’s no secret that Harper and I aren’t exactly best buddies,’ said Sternberg slowly, ‘but you’re saying that he’s a traitor? I can’t believe that.’
‘Nobody would. That’s why he thought he’d get away with it. Sir, I’m on my way into Washington right now to give you the disk. When you have it I’ll surrender myself and face any charges against me, but you have to see the evidence. Harper can’t be allowed to get away with what he’s done.’
‘All right,’ said Sternberg after brief deliberation. ‘Bring me the disk. But do I have your word that you’ll turn yourself in?’
‘Absolutely, sir. Once the disk is in your hand, I’ll surrender. Where are you?’
‘At the Eisenhower Building.’
‘I’m ten minutes away. Where will you be?’
‘Meet me at the north entrance on 17th Street. I’ll make sure that—’
The rear windscreen exploded.
Adam flinched as a bullet hit the back of the passenger seat’s headrest, blowing a hole through the leather. He dropped the phone and took the wheel with both hands, eyes darting between the mirrors.
Lights were coming up fast from behind. Three sets, large vehicles.
Baxter’s team had found him.
Chapter 48
No Limit
Headlight flare from a car on the other side of the median strip gave Adam a glimpse of Baxter leaning out of the lead SUV. Red laser light lanced from his MP5. Adam swerved. Muzzle flash blossomed in the mirror, the gun’s rattle accompanied by harsh clanks as rounds hit the trunk lid.
He heard Sternberg’s tinny voice from the fallen phone. ‘Sir, I’m under fire!’ was all he could spare the mental resources to shout before diverting his attention entirely to evasion and escape. The Mustang was on paper much faster than the SUVs, but with their upgraded engines and suspensions the Suburbans were no slouches.
He dropped down a gear and accelerated, the rev counter jumping up into the red. The speedometer reached one hundred and kept climbing. He checked the mirror. His pursuers were falling back…