He not only had to take care of the two out front, he’d have to somehow get through the electrified fence and dispatch the third man before he could bring the Uzi into play. Quinn had no real plan beyond that other than fighting his way forward until he found Oda or the woman. He really didn’t care which. It was certain to rain guards as soon as the fence was breached. Some would call that overwhelming odds. He thought of it as a target-rich environment.
Foot on the brake, Quinn tested his arms, moving them back and forth and feeling the wound open up along his ribs. He flexed his hands. His left still worked, albeit a little slower than normal. He still had a full range of motion in his right arm, and though his back was sore, adrenaline, brought on in anticipation of battle, loosened his muscles and dampened the pain. He was not in optimum shape, but he was as ready as he would ever be. And for the sake of Kim, Mattie, Miyagi, and Ayako — he could not stop now.
Holding the sheathed sword in his right hand so it ran along the top of the handlebars, he released the clutch and let the bike roll.
The two yakuza guards jumped back when Quinn and the silent Blackbird burst from the trees ten yards to their left. The nearest tried to raise his weapon, but Quinn hit him across the face with the sheathed sword as he rolled past, moving well over twenty miles an hour. The blow shattered the man’s nose and sent him stumbling backward into the electrified fence with a hiss and a puff of acrid smoke.
Rolling from the moving bike, Quinn shook the sword from its scabbard and came up on his feet directly in front of the second guard just as the five-hundred-pound Blackbird crashed through the gate. He swatted the Uzi aside and cut up obliquely, severing the single-point sling and the man’s jugular in one motion.
Quinn grabbed for the falling machine gun, but the sling caught on the dying man and jerked it out of his hand. With no time to waste fumbling with the tangled weapon, he sprinted toward the fence, clearing the demolished gate at the same moment the third guard stepped around the shack and raised his weapon. Still five meters out, Quinn knew he was too far away to do any good with the sword. A claxon alarm began to blare beyond the trees, but that didn’t matter. In less than a second the guard would send a volley of bullets into him that the torn armor of his Transit jacket would not be able to stop.
The phhhht of suppressed gunfire caused Quinn’s heart to sink. He marveled that he didn’t feel more pain or loss of motion — until he watched the guard ahead of him fall like wheat before a sickle.
Quinn pulled up short, touching his stomach where he assumed the bullets would have hit him. The guard’s weapon lay at his feet, carrying no suppressor.
A crunch of gravel behind caused Quinn to wheel, bringing the sword around in a fluid arc.
Jacques Thibodaux’s Cajun drawl stopped him cold.
“I know, I know, this boogerman is too dangerous for the likes of us. We should let you do this all by yourself.” The gunny trotted up with a suppressed MP5 in his shovel-size hands. He scanned the trees ahead. “But come on, Chair Force, did you really think Palmer would know where you were and not send us to give you a hand?”
Emiko Miyagi and Ronnie Garcia fanned out behind the Marine. Both women carried MP5s identical to Thibodaux’s, but Miyagi also carried a sheathed samurai katana slung diagonally over her back.
Quinn let the short sword hang by his side.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“ ‘Thanks for saving my myopic ass’ would seem appropriate.” Thibodaux scoffed. “A body would think you might actually be glad to see us.”
Quinn felt as if he might cry.
Ronnie ran to him, lowering her weapon long enough to give him a hard kiss on the mouth.
Thibodaux pressed a small microphone at his throat. “Tell me what you got, kid.” He motioned the group forward toward the cover of thick-trunked Japanese cedar, nodding as he listened to the information coming across his earpiece.
Quinn retrieved Fujin’s scabbard and stuck the sword down the back of his jacket, before scooping up the dead sentry’s Uzi and following at a trot.
Miyagi scanned the woods, saying nothing. She had yet to meet Quinn’s gaze. Considering the mission that lay ahead, it was easy to understand why.
Garcia had her hair pulled back in a thick ponytail, and Quinn found himself amazed that someone could fill out a set of khakis as well as she did.
She pointed skyward with her thumb when they slid up next to the trees, explaining Thibodaux’s conversation.
“Guttman’s got Damocles loitering above us.”
Quinn smiled at the news.
Damocles was an off-the-books stealth drone. Developed by Lockheed Martin’s infamous Skunkworks, it was extreme high-side technology, “over-the-top” secret. Few in the government, and certainly no members of Congress, knew of its existence. Hanging overhead like the sword on a single hair from the Greek story, the drone could be armed with Tomahawk missiles and, more important to Quinn, a Gorgon Starepod with an array of cameras capable of counting the fuzz on a dandelion blossom from the nether regions of the atmosphere.
“Here’s the deal, kids,” Thibodaux said at length. “Our young Sergeant Guttman says we have five guys heading our way. There’s a female coming around the north side of the main building and another squad of four spilling out of some barracks straight up the middle. According to the kid, some old guy appears to be directing things from on top of the main building.”
“That would be Oda,” Miyagi hissed. “Where on top of the building?”
Thibodaux consulted with Guttman for more information from the loitering drone.
“Northwest corner,” Thibodaux said. “Looks like he’s—”
Miyagi was gone before he could finish.
“Damn,” he muttered. “I was gonna say looks like he’s got four other guys up there with him.”
Quinn watched Miyagi meld into the shadows with the sword across her back. “I almost feel sorry for them.”
Approaching voices sifted through the trees, yelling commands and demanding answers from the dead gate sentries.
“I don’t think these guys know that there is anyone here but you.” Thibodaux winked his good eye, nodding toward the white building that was barely visible through the forest. “How about you pretend for a minute you’re not a lowly Chair Force officer but an honest-to-goodness Marine and help me charge this castle.”
The high likelihood of imminent death aside, Quinn couldn’t help grinning like a schoolboy as he ran into the trees alongside his friends.
CHAPTER 70
“Mister Speaker!” the House Sergeant at Arms shouted as he stepped through the heavy oak door and stopped. “The President of the United States!”
Thunderous applause rose from the House Chamber.
Governor Lee McKeon was lucky to have a seat among the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd. House and senate members took up most of the floor. Vice President Hughes and the Speaker of the House, Hartman Drake, faced the hall above the lectern under a large American flag. Drake wore a sling over his left shoulder, cradling his wounded arm and reminding the American public that terrorism could strike all too close to home. His bright red bow tie looked like a second smile as he tapped the desk in front of him in polite, one-handed applause. Cabinet members and justices of the Supreme Court occupied the front row near the raised dais. Secretary of State Melissa Ryan, close friend and protégé to the president, was conspicuously absent. Since September the eleventh, one member of the Cabinet was customarily asked to wait in an undisclosed location so the entire line of succession to the presidency could not be wiped out in one fell swoop.