Дэвид Балдаччи - Absolute Power

Jack flew past the kiosk, hurdled the turnstiles, raced down the escalator and across the train platform. He was vaguely aware of people staring. His hood had fallen off his head. His face was clearly exposed. There was a shout behind him. The kiosk guy. But Jack kept running and exited the station on the 17th Street side. He didn’t think the man had been alone. And the last thing he needed was someone tailing him. But he doubted if they had both exits covered. They probably figured he wouldn’t be leaving the station under his own power. His shoulder ached from his collision and his breath came in difficult gulps as the cold air burned his lungs. He was two blocks away before he stopped running. He wrapped his coat around himself tightly. And then he remembered. He looked down at his empty hands. The box! He had left the goddamned box behind. He slumped against the front glass of a darkened McDonald’s.

A car’s lights came down the road. Jack looked away from them and quickly moved around the corner. In a few minutes he hopped a bus. To where he wasn’t sure.

The car turned off L street and onto 19th. Seth Frank made his way up to Eye Street and then turned toward 18th. He parked on the corner across from the Metro station, got out of his car and went down the escalator.

Across the street, hidden behind a collection of trash cans, debris and metal fencing, the products of a massive demolition project, Bill Burton watched. Swearing under his breath, Burton put out his cigarette, checked the street, and made his way quickly across to the escalator.

As he got off the escalator, Frank looked around and checked the time. He wasn’t as early as he thought he would be. His eyes fell upon a collection of junk that lay against one wall. Then his gaze drifted over to the unmanned kiosk. There was no one else around. It was quiet. Too quiet. Frank’s danger radar instantly lit up. With an automatic motion he pulled his gun. His ears had pricked up at a sound that came from his right. He moved quickly down the corridor away from the turnstiles. There a darkened corridor awaited him. He peered around and at first saw nothing. Then as his eyes adjusted to the diminished light he saw two things. One was moving, one wasn’t.

Frank stared as the man slowly rose to his feet. It wasn’t Jack. The guy was in a uniform, a gun in one hand, a box in the other. Frank’s fingers tightened on his own weapon, his eyes locked on the other man’s weapon. Frank stealthily moved forward. He hadn’t done this in a long time. The image of his wife and three daughters veered across his mind until he pushed it back out. He needed to concentrate.

He was finally close enough. He prayed his accelerated breathing would not betray him. He leveled his pistol at the broad back.

“Freeze! I’m a police officer.”

The man did indeed stop all motion.

“Lay the gun down, butt first. I don’t want to see your finger anywhere near the trigger or I’m gonna put a hole right in the back of your head. Do it. Now!”

The gun slowly went toward the floor. Frank watched its progression, inch by inch. Then his vision became blurry. Frank’s head pounded, he staggered and then he slumped to the floor.

At the sound, Collin slowly looked around to see Bill Burton standing there, holding his pistol by the barrel. He looked down at Frank.

“Let’s go, Tim.”

Collin shakily got to his feet, looked at the fallen officer and put his gun to Frank’s head. Burton’s massive hand stopped him.

“He’s a cop. We don’t kill cops. We’re not killing any body else, Tim.” Burton stared down at his colleague. Discomforting thoughts flickered in and out of Burton’s head at the calm and accepting manner in which the younger man had stepped into the role of conscienceless assassin.

Collin shrugged, put his gun away.

Burton took the box, looked down at the detective and then over at the other crumpled mass of humanity. He shook his head disdainfully and looked reproachfully at his partner.

Several minutes after they were gone, Seth Frank let out a loud groan, tried to rise and then floated back into unconsciousness.

Kate lay in bed but was as far from sleep as she could possibly be. The ceiling of her bedroom had been replaced with a torrent of images, each one more terrifying than its predecessor. She looked across at the small clock on the nightstand. Three o’clock in the morning. Her window shade was open enough to reveal the pitch-black darkness outside. She could hear the raindrops on the windowpane. Normally comforting, now they simply added to the relentless pounding in her head.

When the phone rang, at first, she didn’t move. Her limbs seemed too heavy for her to even attempt to budge, as if each had simultaneously lost all circulation. For one terrible moment she thought she had suffered a stroke. Finally, on the fifth ring she managed to lift the receiver.

“Hello?” Her voice was shaky, one step from oblivion; her nerves completely spent.

“Kate. I need some help.”

Four hours later they sat in the front of the little deli at Founder’s Park, the site of their initial rendezvous after so many years apart. The weather had worsened into a hard, pelting snow that had made driving nearly impossible and walking only for the irrationally daring.

Jack looked across at her. The hooded parka was off, but a ski cap, a few days’ worth of beard and a pair of thick glasses obscured his features to such a degree that Kate had to look twice before she recognized him.

“You’re sure no one followed you?” He looked anxiously at her. A cup of steaming coffee partially clouded her line of vision, but she could see the strain on his face. It was clear he was near the breaking point.

“I did what you said. The subway, two cabs and a bus. If anyone kept up with me in this weather, they’re not human.”

Jack put his coffee down. “From what I’ve seen, they might not be.”

He had not specifically identified the meeting place on the phone. He now assumed that they were listening to everything, to anyone connected to him. He had only mentioned the “usual” place, confident that Kate would understand, and she had. He looked out the window. Every passing face was a threat. He slid a copy of the Post across to her. The front page was revealing. Jack had shaken with anger when he had first read it.

Seth Frank was in stable condition at George Washington University Hospital with a concussion. The homeless man, as yet unidentified, had not been so fortunate. And smack in the middle of the story was Jack Graham, a one-man crime wave. She looked up at him after reading the story.

“We need to keep moving.” He looked at her, drained his coffee and then got up.

The cab dropped them off at Jack’s motel on the outskirts of Alexandria’s Old Town. His eyes looking left and right and then behind, they made their way to his room. After locking and bolting the door, he took off the ski cap and glasses.

“God, Jack, I’m so sorry you’re involved in any of this.” She shook; he could actually see her trembling from across the room. It took a moment for him to wrap his arms around her until he felt her body calm, relax. He looked at her.

“I got myself involved. Now I just need to get myself uninvolved.” He attempted a smile, but it didn’t dent the fear she was feeling for him; the awful dread that he might soon join her father.

“I left a dozen messages for you on your machine.”

“I never thought to check, Kate.” He took the next half hour to tell her the events of the last few days. Her eyes reflected the growing horror with each new revelation.

“My God!”

They were silent for a moment.