Jeremy Robinson - SecondWorld

Miller attempted to roll, but his body, already battered, resisted. With the wind knocked out of him, he fought to his feet.

“No one’s here,” Adler whispered, urging him on with her hands.

Something hard rattled across the floor of his apartment above them.

“Down!” Miller said, covering his ears as he curled into a ball.

The explosion was loud, but dulled by the floor above them. It was also far less violent than the first. A flashbang. But he knew what would come next. The assault team wouldn’t take chances, and they had no reason to hold their fire.

“Ready to run?” he asked Adler.

She stabbed a finger to the second-floor apartment’s exit. “Out there?”

“They think we’re still on the third floor.”

He sensed the argument would continue, but when the rapid-fire staccato of four assault rifles roared from above, she opened the door and dashed into the hallway. If they survived this, they would need to have a serious talk about tactics. He chased her out the door and was glad to see the stairwell leading up to his floor now empty. But that didn’t mean they’d left the front door unguarded.

He managed to grab Adler’s arm before she hit the last set of stairs and yanked her back. He held a finger to his lips. She instantly understood and moved so he could pass.

Leading with the Glock, he leapt into the stairwell and took aim at the man standing at the bottom of the stairs. But he held his fire.

Brodeur, gun in hand, saw him coming, and Miller’s gun pointed at his face. “Miller, what in all hell happened?” He saw Adler. “Who’s that?”

A red dot streaked across Miller’s arm and danced on his chest. He saw it and dove to the side, shouting, “Look out!”

Brodeur dove to the side, but crossed through the line of fire when he did. The red dot appeared on his back. A moment later, two holes appeared. Brodeur hit the floor without a sound, his body motionless. Miller bounced back into the open doorway, aiming for where he’d seen the two muzzle flashes across the street. He fired twice and saw the man drop.

Echoing footsteps pounded down the steps above them. The hit squad had either figured out the apartment was empty or heard the gunshots below. Either way, they were coming. The Glock 17 still held eleven rounds, but he had no idea how many men were coming down the stairs, how many were in the back, or if they’d lob another grenade. After quickly glancing at Brodeur and seeing two holes in the center of his back, Miller grabbed Adler and yanked her out of the apartment building.

“Where’s your car?” Miller asked as they ran down the hard granite stairs.

“This way!” She ran down the street while pulling her keys from her pocket. She pointed the keys out in front of her. A honk came from one of the cars parallel parked on his side of the street.

“You drive,” he shouted.

When Adler cut into the street in front of a tough-looking SUV, Miller felt a flash of hope. But she continued past it, opened the door to a pint-sized blue Mini Cooper, and threw her purse in the backseat.

“Europeans and your tiny cars,” Miller grumbled before climbing into the passenger’s seat. He didn’t know exactly what kind of weapons the men carried, but there wasn’t an assault rifle, or handgun for that matter, in the world that couldn’t tear this car to bits.

The small engine purred instead of roared, but Adler worked the car like a pro, throwing it into gear and peeling out and around the SUV. She hammered the gas and tore down the street—straight back past his apartment building. A line of parked cars and the occasional maple tree would help shield them, but when five members of the assault team emerged, dressed in all black and carrying M4 carbine assault rifles, Miller knew they’d need a little more help. With the butt of the Glock, Miller smashed the passenger’s window, took aim, and fired a volley of five rounds. The first struck a man’s leg, toppling him down the stairs. The rest of the men dove for cover while the Cooper shot away.

Miller sat back in the seat and looked at Adler. She was focused on the road, emotions held at bay for the moment, which was a gift not many people possessed. They’d both be a mess when the adrenaline wore off, but the woman had a dormant fighter at her core. “Turn right.”

She did.

“Know how to get to the highway from here?” The question triggered Miller’s memory. He’d asked Arwen the same question back in Miami. This time he got a nod. Miller watched Adler drive. She had the same blond hair, blue eyes, and determination as Arwen, though her face was more angular, more—

Adler noted his attention and glanced at him. “What?”

He cleared his throat and brushed the broken glass from his leg. “How much cash do you have on you?”

The question caught her off guard for a moment. “Uh, I— Nine hundred dollars.”

She saw the look of surprise on Miller’s face, and she added, “I thought if people at Interpol were a part of the attacks, then maybe other agencies were, too, and I could be tracked through my cards. I went to three ATMs.”

A fighter and smart, Miller thought. “Good thinking. When we reach Ninety-five, head north into Pennsylvania. We’ll get a room there.”

Miller leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes.

“What are you doing?” Adler asked, sounding incredulous. “Taking a nap?”

“I’m thinking.”

“About what?”

“About making a phone call.” Miller opened his eyes and removed the president’s iPhone from his pocket. A single number had been preprogrammed into the phone. He selected it and tapped the Call button.

The phone rang only once before Bensson answered. “You should be sleeping.”

“No longer an option,” Miller replied.

“What happened?” Bensson asked, getting straight to the point.

Miller gave him the short version of the story. “Special Ops squad took a shot at me. They missed.”

“Are you okay?”

Miller thought about the question. He was far from okay. But his heart still pumped, which was more than could be said for Brodeur. “A little banged up, but they dropped Brodeur.”

“Brodeur?”

“The FBI agent assigned to me.”

“Do you want someone else?”

“I’m fine,” Miller said. He’d trusted Brodeur, but didn’t want to risk involving another stranger.

“Where are you?”

“Would prefer to keep that to myself.”

“These phones can’t be tapped.”

As much as Miller trusted the president, he couldn’t take the chance that the person who designed this phone wasn’t a closet Nazi. There was no way to know, for sure, if their conversation was being listened to. He doubted it. But better safe than sorry. At least until he’d slept. “When I need you to know, you’ll know.”

Miller wasn’t sure how Bensson would handle being denied by a subordinate, but the man remained composed.

“Fair enough,” Bensson said.

“I might be a little late to that meeting,” Miller said. “In fact, it might be better if we made it a conference call.”

“You’d be safer here,” Bensson said.

“Coming to you will put me back on the radar,” Miller replied. “I’d rather be under it.”

“Listen,” Bensson said. “When you need something—anything—let me know and I’ll make it happen. If they’re already gunning for you, they know you’re a threat.” There was a pause before Bensson spoke again. “And I’m sorry about that. I can’t help but think my visit in the hospital painted a target on your head.”