Tom Clancy - Without Remorse

The shot startled him - the obvious thought was that it had been aimed at himself - but he was committed, and jumped into the square hole. It was like a parachute jump, keep your feet together, knees bent, back straight, roll when you hit.

He hit hard. It was a tile-over-concrete floor, but his legs took the worst of it. Kelly rolled at once, straightening his arm. The nearest one was Piaggi. Kelly brought the gun up, leveling the sights with his chest and firing twice, changing aim then and hitting the man under the chin.

Shift targets.

Kelly rolled again, trained to do so by some NVA he'd met. There he was. Time stopped in that moment. Henry had his own gun out and aimed, and their eyes met and for what seemed the longest time they simply looked, hunter and hunter, hunter and prey. Then Kelly remembered, first, what the sight picture was for. His finger depressed the trigger, delivering a finely aimed shot into Tucker's chest. The Colt jumped in his hand, and his brain was running so fast now that he saw the slide dash backwards, electing the empty brass case, then dashing forward to feed another just as the tension in his wrist brought the gun back down, and that round, too, went into the man's chest. Tucker was off-balance from turning. Either he slipped on the floor or the impact of the two slugs destroyed his balance, dropping him to the floor.

Mission accomplished, Kelly told himself. At least he'd gotten one job done after all the failures of this bleak summer. He got to his feet and walked to Henry Tucker, kicking the gun from his hand. He wanted to say something to the face that was still alive, but Kelly was out of words. Maybe Pam would rest easier now, but probably not. It didn't work that way, did it? The dead were gone and didn't know or care what they'd left behind. Probably. Kelly didn't know how that worked, though he'd wondered about it often enough. If the dead still lived on the surface of this earth, then it was in the minds of those who remembered them, and for that memory he'd killed Henry Tucker and all the others. Perhaps Pam would not rest any more easily. But he would. Kelly saw that Tucker had departed this life while he'd been thinking, examining his thoughts and his conscience. No, there was no remorse for this man, none for the others. Kelly safed his pistol and looked around the room. Three dead men, and the best thing that could be said was that he wasn't one of them. He walked to the door, and out of it. His car was a block away, and he still had an appointment to keep, and one more life to end.

Mission accomplished.

The boat was where he'd left it. Kelly parked his car, an hour later, taking out the suitcase. He locked the car with the keys inside, for that too was something he'd never need again. The drive through town and into the marina had been blissfully empty of thought, mechanical action only, maneuvering the car, stopping for some lights, proceeding through others, heading for the sea, or the Bay, one of the few places where he felt he belonged. He hefted the suitcase, walked out the dock to Springer, and hopped aboard. Everything looked okay, and in ten minutes he'd be away from everything he'd come to associate with the city. Kelly slid open the door to the main salon and stopped dead when he first smelled smoke, then heard a voice.

'John Kelly, right?'

'Who might you be?'

'Emmet Ryan? You've met my partner, Tom Douglas.'

'What can I do for you?' Kelly set his suitcase down on the deck, remembering the Colt automatic at the small of his back, inside the unbuttoned bush jacket.

'You can tell me why you've killed so many people,' Ryan suggested.

'If you think I've done it, then you know why.'

'True. I'm looking for Henry Tucker at the moment.'

'He's not here, is he?'

'Maybe you could help me, then?'

'Corner of O'Donnell and Mermen might be a good place to look. He's not going anywhere,' Kelly told the defective.

'What am I supposed to do about you?'

'The three girls this morning, are they -'

'They're safe. We'll look after them. You and your friends did nicely with Pam Madden and Doris Brown. Not your fault it didn't work out. Well, maybe a little.' The officer paused. 'I have to take you in, you know.'

'What for?'.

'For murder, Mr Kelly.'

'No.' Kelly shook his head. 'It's only murder when innocent people die.'

Ryan's eyes narrowed. He saw only the outline of the man, really, with the yellowing sky behind him. But he'd heard what he said, and part of him wanted to agree with it.

'The law doesn't say that.'

'I'm not asking you to forgive me. I won't be any more trouble to you, and I'm not going to any jail.'

'I can't let you go.' But his weapon wasn't out, Kelly saw. What did that mean?.

'I gave you that Officer Monroe back.'

'Thank you for that,' Ryan acknowledged.

'I don't just kill people. I've been trained to do it, but there has to be a reason somewhere. I had a good enough reason.'

'Maybe. Just what do you think you accomplished?' Ryan asked. 'This drug problem isn't going away.'

'Henry Tucker won't kill any more girls. I accomplished that. I never expected to do any more, but I took that drug operation down.' Kelly paused. There was something else this man needed to know. 'There's a cop at that building. I think he was dirty. Tucker and Piaggi shot him. Maybe he can come out of this a hero. There's a load of stuff there. It won't look too bad for your department that way.' And thank God I didn't have to kill a cop - even a bad one. 'I'll give you one more. I know how Tucker was getting his stuff in.' Kelly elaborated briefly.

'I can't just let you go,' the detective said again, though part of him wished it were otherwise. But that couldn't be, and he would not have made it so, for his life had rules, too.

'Can you give me an hour? I know you'll keep looking. One hour. It'll make things better for everybody.'

The request caught Ryan by surprise. It was against everything he stood for - but then, so were the monsters the man had killed. We owe him something... would I have cleared those cases without him? Who would have spoken for the dead... and besides, what could the guy do - where could he go?... Ryan, have you gone nuts? Yes, maybe he had...

'You've got your hour. After that I can recommend you to a good lawyer. Who knows, a good one might just get you off.'

Ryan rose and headed for the side door without looking back. He stopped at the door just for a second.

'You spared when you could have killed, Mr Kelly. That's why. Your hour starts now.'

Kelly didn't watch him leave. He hit his engine controls, wanning up the diesels. One hour should just about do it. He scrambled out on the deck, slipping his lines, leaving them attached to the dock piles, and by the time he got back inside the salon, the diesels were ready for turning. They caught at once, and he pivoted the boat, heading out into the harbor. As soon as he was out of the yacht basin he firewalled both throttles, bringing Springer to her top speed of twenty-two knots. With the channel empty, Kelly set his autopilot and rushed to make the necessary preparations. He cut the corner at Bodkin Point. He had to. He knew who they'd send after him.

'Coast Guard, Thomas Point.'

This is the Baltimore City Police.'

Ensign Tomlinson took the call. A new graduate of the Coast Guard Academy at New London, he was here for seasoning, and though he ranked the Chief Warrant Officer who ran the station, both the boy and the man understood what this was all about. Only twenty-two, young enough that his gold officer's bars still had the original shine, it was time to turn him loose on a mission, Paul English thought, but only because Portagee would really be running things. Forty-One-Bravo, the second of the station's big patrol craft, was warmed up and ready. The young ensign sprinted out, as though they might leave without him, much to the amusement of CWO English. Five seconds after the lad had snapped on his life vest, Forty-One-Bravo rumbled away from the dock, turning north short of the Thomas Point Light.