Джеймс Паттерсон - The 13-Minute Murder

Beck was willing to die. But he wasn’t sure he could live with sentencing Susan to torture and slow death.

The line moved forward, one agonizingly slow step at a time. The people around him were smiling like they were heading into a football game. This was the playoffs for political junkies. Pierce had been right about that, at least. She’d made the race more exciting.

Beck had to decide. Who was going to live, and who was going to die?

No one should have to make this choice, he thought desperately.

But here he was.

He was two places away from the metal detector now. He wondered if it would pick up on the wiring in the vest. Maybe he wouldn’t have to make a choice at all. If they pulled him out of the line and patted him down, would Howard trigger the bomb just to keep him from talking?

“You’re looking a little nervous there, Doc,” Howard said. “Just take a deep breath and try to enjoy it.” There was a chuckle in Beck’s ear as the agent laughed at his own little joke. Beck truly loathed the man.

Then Beck was at the metal detector.

He made his choice.

Susan, forgive me, he thought.

He turned to the man in the uniform and opened his mouth to speak.

Chapter 29

At that moment, Susan was looking at Agent Howard’s gun.

She and the agent were parked in the alleyway behind the university’s performing arts center, which was where the debate was being held. Morrison had gone off with Pierce back at campaign headquarters, while Howard had taken Beck and Susan. He didn’t even have to threaten them with the gun—one look at the vest strapped to Beck had been enough to keep them compliant.

Howard had bundled her inside the car with Beck, and then kept her as a hostage after dropping him off at the front of the building. Since then, he had been running the operation from the rear of the car.

The interior of the limo was outfitted like the cockpit of a high-tech fighter jet: screens showed multiple angles from security cameras inside and outside the auditorium. Howard’s microphone connected to radios carried by a half-dozen Damocles operatives who were involved in the plot—Susan had heard him giving orders over a secure channel—and he also monitored the Secret Service and police frequencies as well.

The limo itself was bombproof and bulletproof. Heavy ceramic armor plates were concealed under its panels, and it had a specially designed chassis that could shrug off anything short of a rocket launcher. It was one of the alternate limos used to carry the president and other high-ranking dignitaries. Howard had bragged about it when he put Beck and Susan inside. Like he was a tour guide.

Now Howard’s gun rested within easy reach of his right hand, on a small tray-table next to the command console.

Susan stared at it for what felt like a long time. She wondered if she’d be able to shoot him if she had the chance.

When she looked up, she saw Howard grinning at her, his eyes and nose swollen behind the bandages.

“Try it,” he said. “It’s been a long day, and I’d love to have an excuse.”

Susan lifted her hands, and sat back in her seat in the limo as far away from him as she could. She knew better than to antagonize a psychopath. Howard would act on impulse and worry about the consequences later.

Howard grunted. “Smart. A lot smarter than your boyfriend. Now just sit there and stay quiet.”

He turned his attention back to the tiny screens. She could see Beck at an odd angle, looking down on his head from above. Susan realized that she must be seeing him through a security camera at the entrance. He looked tense and nervous, but nobody else would really notice. You’d have to know him to realize that expression on his face wasn’t his usual way of looking at the world.

So Beck was going to make it inside the debate, unless he did something to change that.

He would try something, however. He wouldn’t take this quietly, and he would not allow anyone to use him as a weapon. Part of it was his need to do the right thing—that Superman complex she was always telling him about—and part of it was just his innate stubbornness. Randall was a fighter. He had to do something, even if it got them both killed.

She looked at Howard’s briefcase, sitting by his feet. That was where the agent had stashed the laptop after Morrison took it from her, and he’d brought it with them in the limo. She supposed they still wanted to know what was on the hard drive and make sure it was disposed of properly.

It was dangerous to them. They were afraid of it.

So Susan made sure she kept her eye on it.

When Beck made his move, she would make hers.

They might both get killed, but at least they weren’t going to surrender.

Chapter 30

Beck prepared to tell the security guard at the gate about the bomb under his jacket. He took a deep breath, and wondered if there was going to be time for pain, or if it would all happen too fast to feel anything.

Then he saw the logo on the man’s uniform.

It was the globe and sword of Damocles.

The man smiled at Beck and waved him through the metal detector.

Beck didn’t move.

The man’s smile froze into something more like a grimace. He stepped forward and put his hand on Beck’s shoulder.

“Come on now, Doctor, ” he said quietly. “You’re holding things up.”

He guided Beck forward and pushed him through the metal detector with a not-so-gentle shove.

Beck braced himself for a buzzing noise, for people to notice him, for the code that would blow him—and all these people around him—into pieces.

The metal detector didn’t make a sound.

A second later, Beck was through, and in the lobby outside the auditorium before he knew it.

Damocles had a man at the door. Of course they did. They were an elite security outfit, just the type of company contracted for events like this.

“See, Doc?” said Howard’s voice. “Told you we’d handle everything. Now all you have to do is wait.”

Howard was right. They were handling everything. He was surrounded by dignitaries and party officials and young campaign staffers. Not one of them expected to die tonight.

Beck would have to think harder. He would have to find a better way.

The doors opened behind him, and Senator Elizabeth Pierce entered the lobby, flanked by her Secret Service detail and her campaign staff.

Some of the people in the lobby broke out into applause and cheers.

“You can do it, Liz!” one of them shouted.

“You’re going to win!”

“Take her down, Senator!”

There was laughter and more clapping at that.

Beck barely heard it.

It was too late now. He had no more time to think. No more plans. No more last-minute, buzzer-beating, Hail Mary plays.

Any minute now, the president would arrive as well, and Morrison would trigger the bomb.

Beck was out of time.

Chapter 31

Agent Morrison took his position in the catwalk above the seats and the control booth of the auditorium. The Secret Service had already blocked off access to this section of the building.

It was, after all, the perfect spot for an assassin.

Morrison carried an H&K MP5 machine pistol. With its extendable stock, and set to single-shot fire, he could easily put a bullet into the head of President Sharon Martin. He was less than a hundred feet from her podium on the stage, standing above the seats, and backlit by all the lights.

No one would see him.

He’d wait until the candidates were both on the stage, and then he’d hit the button on his phone that would trigger Beck’s vest.

People would be distracted, looking back at the lobby. That’s when he’d kill the president.