Steve Berry - The Charlemagne Pursuit

Herbert Rowland heard nothing. His breath remained labored as his body continued to shut down.

Smith carried both guns and turned for the den.

What in the world?

SMITH RUSHED INTO THE DEN, LAID THE RIFLE ON THE KITCHEN counter, and fired two shotgun blasts into the curtains that draped the sliding glass doors. Cold air rushed in as the glass was obliterated. He used the moment of confusion to retreat to the kitchen, crouching behind the bar.

Shots from his right, in the den, sent him hurtling to the floor.

STEPHANIE FIRED INTO THE WINDOW ADJACENT TO THE FRONT door. She followed with another shot. Maybe that would be enough to divert the intruder's attention from the deck, where Davis stood unarmed.

She'd heard two shotgun blasts. She'd planned on simply surprising the killer with the fact that people were outside and wait for him to fumble.

Davis apparently had another idea.

SMITH WAS NOT ACCUSTOMED TO BEING CORNERED. THE SAME TWO from earlier? Had to be. Police? Hardly. They'd knocked on the door, for God's sake. One of them even called out, inviting a fight. No, these two were something else. But the analysis could wait. Right now he just needed to get his butt out of here.

What would MacGyver do?

He loved that show.

Use your brain.

STEPHANIE RETREATED FROM THE PORCH AND DARTED TOWARD the deck, careful with the windows, using Rowland's truck for cover. She kept her gun aimed at the house, ready to fire. No way to know if it was safe enough to advance, but she needed to find Davis. The grim threat they'd uncovered had quickly escalated.

She trotted past the house, found the stairs that led up to the deck, and arrived just in time to see Edwin Davis hurl what appeared to be a wrought-iron chair into the glass doors.

SMITH HEARD SOMETHING CRASH THROUGH THE REMAINING GLASS and rip the curtains from the wall. He leveled the shotgun and fired another blast, then used the moment to grab the sport rifle and flee the kitchen, reentering the bedroom. Whoever was out there would have to hesitate, and he needed to use those few seconds to maximum advantage.

Herbert Rowland still lay in the bed. If he wasn't dead already, he was well on the way. But no evidence of any crime was present. The tampered vial and syringe were safe in his pocket. True, guns had been used, but there was nothing leading to his identity.

He found one of the bedroom windows and lifted the lower pane. Quickly he curled himself out. No one seemed to be on this side of the house. He eased the window shut. He should deal with whoever was here, but far too many chances had already been taken.

He decided the smart play was the only play.

Rifle in hand, he plunged into the woods.

"ARE YOU COMPLETELY NUTS?" STEPHANIE SCREAMED AT DAVIS from the ground.

Her compatriot remained on the deck.

"He's gone," Davis said.

She carefully climbed the stairs, not trusting a word he said.

"I heard a window open, then close."

"That doesn't mean he's gone, it just means a window opened and closed."

Davis stepped through the destroyed glass doors.

"Edwin-"

He disappeared into the blackness and she rushed in behind him. He was headed for the bedroom. A light switched on and she came to the door. Davis was taking Herbert Rowland's pulse.

"Barely beating. And he apparently didn't hear a thing. He's in a coma."

She was still concerned about a man with a shotgun. Davis reached for the phone and she saw him punch three numbers.

RAMSEY HEARD THE FRONT DOOR CHIME. HE SMILED. HE'D BEEN sitting patiently, reading a thriller by David Morrell, one of his favorite writers. He closed the book and allowed his late-night visitor to sweat a little. Finally, he stood, walked into the foyer, and opened the door.

Senator Aatos Kane stood outside in the cold.

"You sorry no good-" Kane said.

He shrugged. "Actually, I thought my response was rather mild considering the rudeness I was shown by your aide."

Kane stormed inside.

Ramsey did not offer to take the senator's coat. Apparently, the map store operative had already done as instructed, sending a message through Kane's aide, the same insolent prick who'd strong-armed him on the Capitol Mall, that she possessed information concerning the disappearance of an aide who'd worked for Kane three years ago. That woman had been an attractive redhead from Michigan who'd tragically fallen victim to a serial killer who had plagued the DC area. The mass murderer was eventually found, after committing suicide, the whole affair making headlines across the country.

"You sorry bastard," Kane screamed. "You said it was over."

"Let's sit down."

"I don't want to sit. I want to punch your lights out."

"Which will change nothing." He loved twisting the knife. "I'll still have the upper hand. So you have to ask yourself. Do you want to have a chance to be president? Or would you prefer certain disgrace?"

Kane's anger was accompanied by a clear uneasiness. The view from inside the trap looking out was quite different.

They continued to exchange hard glances, like two lions deciding on who should feast first. Finally, Kane nodded. Ramsey led the senator into the den, where they sat. The room was small, which forced an awkward intimacy. Kane seemed uncomfortable, as he should be.

"I came to you last night, and this morning, to ask for help," Ramsey said. "A sincere request made to, what I thought, was a friend." He paused. "I was offered nothing in return but arrogance. Your aide was rude and obnoxious. Of course, he was simply doing as you instructed. Hence, my response."

"You're a deceitful bastard."

"And you're a cheating husband who managed to conceal his mistake with the convenient death of a serial killer. You even extracted, as I recall, public sympathy for your aide's tragic demise by displaying outrage at her fate. What would your constituents, your family, think if they knew she'd recently aborted a pregnancy-and you were the father?"

"There's no proof of that."

"Yet you sure were panicked at the time."

"You know that she could have ruined me, whether I was the father or not. Her allegations would have been all that mattered."

Ramsey sat ramrod-straight. Admiral Dyals had taught him how to clearly convey who was in charge.

"And your lover knew that," he said, "which is why she was able to manipulate you, which is again why you were so appreciative of my help."

The memory of his past predicament seemed to calm Kane's anger. "I had no idea what you planned. I would have never agreed to what you actually did."

"Really? It was the smart play. We killed her, framed another killer, then killed him. As I recall, the press applauded the outcome. The suicide saved a trial and execution and made for some terrific news stories." He paused. "And I don't recall a single objection voiced by you at the time."

He knew that the most dangerous threat any politician faced was an accusation from a supposed lover. So many had been brought down in such a simple manner. It didn't matter if the allegations were unproven or even patently false. All that mattered was they existed.

Kane sat back in the chair. "I had little choice once I realized what you'd done. What do you want, Ramsey?"

No Admiral, nor even the courtesy of a first name. "I want to ensure that I become the next member of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. I thought I made that clear today."

"Do you know how many others want that job?"

"Several, I'm sure. But, you see, Aatos, I created that vacancy, so it should rightfully be mine."