Andrew Britton - The Assassin

Behind him, an alarm started to sound, lights coming up in the chancery. At the same time, hidden security lamps flickered up from the grass; it was as if the earth itself was conspiring against him.

He was gasping for air, the pain like a hacksaw blade digging into his side. He ignored it and ran harder.

“You know, I don’t think this is legal. You can’t hold me unless you have a reason.”

“Actually, I can,” Lowe replied in a bored tone. He had tried to ingratiate himself, but the woman had yet to respond to his mild flirtations, and he was beginning to lose interest. “Listen, ma’am, you should have just answered my questions. We could have saved ourselves a lot of trouble.”

“I did answer your questions, and I answered them truthfully. I don’t understand the need for this.”

“And I don’t understand why you’re still waiting for a tow truck at this hour of the morning. What time did you place the call again?”

Naomi took a deep, stalling breath and looked down at her hands. It was becoming more and more difficult to evade the officer’s inquiries. He had climbed back into the car a few minutes earlier, and he’d been peppering her with questions ever since.

“Officer Lowe, I already explained this to you. My engine started to make this strange noise on I-95, so I got off to look for a hotel. I thought I’d just find a mechanic in the morning. But then I got turned around and ended up here, which is when the engine died completely. So I called for a tow truck, and that’s when you showed up. You knocked on my window a second later… literally.” She allowed a note of indignation to creep into her voice. “If anything in there constitutes a crime, I’d like to know what it is.”

“No,” he replied patiently, “nothing you’ve done is a crime. But I do find it interesting that you decided to take an eight-hour trip starting so late in the day. More to the point, you left Richmond without ID or the registration to your car. Most people remember those kinds of things.”

“It was stupid, I know. But it doesn’t really matter, does it? It’s not like I can go anywhere. Once the tow truck shows up, I’ll catch a taxi to a hotel. Believe me, Officer, the first thing I’ll do is call my boyfriend and get him to send me my license. Or maybe I’ll have him drive up and give it to me. Either way, this problem is easily solved.”

“You’d think so,” Lowe said, shifting his weight in his seat. “But I’m afraid I can’t leave you here, Ms. Brown.”

Naomi did not react; after debating the risks, she’d decided it was better to give him a false name rather than nothing at all.

“I’ve already called my sergeant,” Lowe continued. “As soon as he gets down here, he’s going to have a little talk with you, but either way, you’re going to have to stay in the city tonight. You’re welcome to use the phone at the station… Maybe your boyfriend can overnight your license, as you suggested. With a little bit of luck, you’ll be on your way to Baltimore first thing tomorrow morning.”

Naomi felt a stab of panic, her throat constricting. She quickly looked out the window to hide her reaction. It was what she had feared all along. He must have made the call when he was out of the car. In doing so, he had sealed her fate; there was absolutely no way she could get out of this.

Commanding herself to relax, she tried to think of anything she might have missed. There had to be a solution. As her mind raced to find one, the radio sputtered to life.

“All units in PSA 205, this is D.C. 10–95 reported at the German Embassy on Reservoir Road. Shots fired, repeat, shots fired. All available units respond.”

Naomi froze, aware of the intense silence that followed the call. She couldn’t bring herself to face him, but she knew exactly what the officer had to be thinking; she was parked right next to the embassy, and she had refused to let him search her vehicle. It wouldn’t take a genius to connect the dots.

Lowe grabbed for the radio. “2054, D.C. I’m still in the area. I, uh, may have a subject of interest with respect to that call-”

He was cut off by a sudden flurry of activity outside the car. Their heads snapped forward simultaneously as lights exploded on the other side of the black-iron fence. At the same time, a distant alarm began to scream. It was piercingly loud, even inside the cruiser. Neither of them really had time to react; a few seconds later, a dark figure crossed the fence in the distance and began jogging in their direction.

From the moment Kealey crossed the fence and stepped into Foxhall Road, everything inside the car started to move much faster. Muttering something under his breath, Lowe reached for his gun, his left hand moving to open the door. It was clear he had made the connection between the call and what he was seeing. As his hand moved down to the right side of his belt, Naomi knew she had to do something, anything, to stop him from getting out of the car and drawing the weapon on Ryan. Without thinking, she reached over and grabbed Lowe’s right hand with both of hers just as the gun came out of the holster. Shocked by this unexpected assault, he shouted for her to stop and pulled his arm up violently, trying to break her grasp. Naomi held on desperately, even as her elbow smashed painfully against the dash in the struggle.

She had picked a fight she couldn’t win; that much was immediately obvious. He was much stronger than her to begin with, and she didn’t have any leverage. To make matters worse, there were a number of obstacles in her way, including the radio and the dash-mounted laptop. Still, she held on with all her strength, struggling to keep his gun hand immobilized. Through the windshield, she saw Ryan running hard toward the cruiser, though something about his stride seemed a little bit off…

Without warning, Naomi was blinded by a sudden flash of light. Momentarily stunned by the muzzle blast and the deafening noise, she released her grip and raised her hands instinctively. For a brief, terrifying instant, she thought she’d been shot in the face, but the pain never came. A split second later, the driver’s side door was yanked open. Lowe swung in his seat to counter this new threat as Kealey reached inside, grabbed him by the hair, and pulled him out of the car. Lowe was still screaming as his feet left the cruiser, firing his weapon without regard for his aim. One round missed Naomi’s right side by less than an inch, slamming into the passenger-side door; another whined past her ear and punched a hole in the roof. The next four drilled into the dash, the fifth exiting the windshield.

As the sound of gunfire faded into the night, replaced by the scream of approaching sirens, Naomi thought she heard a pair of sharp, brutal blows. She couldn’t be sure; for the moment, she was completely disoriented, her ears ringing, her head thumping. She found herself wedged against the door, trying to make herself as small a target as possible. She couldn’t see what was happening, and she wondered why, before realizing that her eyes were still squeezed tightly shut. Just as she found the courage to open them, the passenger-side door was pulled open, and a familiar hand reached in for hers.

Naomi could see he was hurt from the moment her feet touched the pavement. He was favoring his left side, and as she pulled him into the light, she could see that his face was drawn, pale, and shining with sweat. There was blood on his hands and a large wet stain on his shirt, barely discernable against the dark material.

“Oh, God, what happened? ” she asked anxiously. She moved to examine the wound, but Kealey waved her away.

“Don’t worry about it. Are you hit?”

She looked down and performed a quick visual check. She didn’t see any blood, and nothing seemed to hurt except for her elbow, which was still throbbing painfully. “No, I’m fine.”