Max Collins - Fate of the Union

But the whump of the bodyguard falling to the floor spoke volumes. Some movement within the room indicated maybe Benjamin was trying to get out a window. He was just about to slide the key card down its slot when he heard coming from the lobby, “What the hell?”

A female voice.

Then from the mouth of the hall: “ FBI! Freeze! ”

That goddamned FBI bitch!

She was peeking around the corner. He pressed himself to Benjamin’s door in its slight recess, giving her no real sight line to shoot at him, then fired three quick rounds in her direction. When she ducked back, as the quiet shots loudly chewed the edge of the wall she was tucked behind, he took off the other way.

The bullets had distracted her enough to give Carpenter time to start down the hall, but then she was coming, and he hit the deck as her shots went wide and over him. He rolled and had both .45s out now, pointed her way, forcing her to cram herself against a hotel room door. He sent her two rounds to keep her there, and then that fucking Reeder was in the mouth of the hall behind her, coming his way, an automatic in hand.

On his feet now, on the run, Carpenter emptied his magazine back up the corridor, not bothering to see if he hit anyone or anything. He hit the exit-door crash bar and let cold in and himself out, sprinting into the parking lot. The Nissan was around front, and he abandoned it, taking off on foot.

If Reeder and that bitch had brought backup, he would be running into a world of hurt. But it appeared they hadn’t, and maybe he should lay back and wait and take them out.

But his larger mission remained, and that was the priority — that, and breathing.

He took off running.

Reeder helped Rogers up from the rough carpet — they’d hit the deck when their man emptied his weapon at them — just as the shooter went out the exit at the end of the corridor.

Arriving at the Holiday Inn Express, they’d spotted a Nissan Altima that, despite its different plates, seemed to be the vehicle the blond assassin had been using. Rogers called that in to the Falls Church police, and then they’d parked in the otherwise nearly empty lot and entered the lobby and its scene of unbelievable carnage.

“You okay?” Reeder asked her, still holding onto her arm.

She nodded.

“Go out the front,” he said, “in case our shooter heads for his car. I’ll go out the back.”

“He may not be alone,” she reminded him.

“Be careful,” they said to each other in perfect sync.

Reeder trotted down to the end of the hall, pushed through the door in a crouch with his SIG Sauer gripped in both hands, fanning it around as he quickly scanned the empty parking lot on this side of the building.

Nothing out here but cold.

Rogers jogged around, her Glock in hand, barrel up. “He ditched the car.”

Still scanning, Reeder said, “With the parking lots of these other motels and restaurants butted up against each other, he had plenty of escape-route options.” He lowered the nine millimeter, which he’d only today started carrying again.

“I’ll call it in,” she said, “and say our perp’s on foot.”

Before she did, however, they compared notes on what she’d say: BOLO issued for male Caucasian, six feet, two hundred pounds, slender athletic build, black combat fatigues, duster-type coat, armed and very dangerous.

“And blond,” Reeder said.

“All I saw was a ski mask.”

“Blond hair on the back of his neck. The Nissan out front. It’s our guy.”

“Okay. But did he have help?”

“If so, they booked it even faster than he did. But I’d say no. He’s good enough to pull this off himself, and the way he approached this meant other team members might just get in the way.”

“Agreed.”

“I don’t think there were any survivors here, but you better check the fallen. Then wait for the cavalry to make their late appearance.” No sirens yet. “I’ll check on Benjamin.”

They went inside, and Reeder stopped at Benjamin’s door while Rogers returned to the bloodbath in the lobby.

Finding a bullet hole punched through the peephole, Reeder stood to one side, back to the wall next to the door, and called, “ Mr. Benjamin! ”

No answer.

“ Adam! It’s Joe Reeder! Are you all right, sir?”

Not anywhere near the door, voice muffled and distant, Benjamin called back: “My man Asher’s been shot. He’s right inside the door — dead. I’ve called the police.”

“So have we, sir. But you best stay put till the building’s been cleared.”

Somewhat closer now: “What about my... man?”

Now came sirens.

“He’s not going anywhere, and for right now, neither should you. I’ll let you know when things are secure.”

Reeder joined Rogers in the ghastly crime scene the lobby had become and then met the uniformed cops outside, three two-man units, and greeted them with displayed ID.

A passkey was quickly found in a drawer behind the desk, where a painfully pretty young clerk lay staring up at nothing. Rogers knew how to use the key card scanner and made three more passkeys, handing one to Reeder. One uniformed man stood watch in the lobby, the other five began to search and clear the building.

Returning to Benjamin’s room, Reeder said, “Adam, it’s Reeder. Open the door.”

Behind it came: “I can’t. Brian’s body is... blocking the way.”

“I’ll handle it. Go back and sit down. You’re inside a crime scene and it needs preserving.”

Had the CSIs been there, they would likely have stopped Reeder from using the key card and carefully pushing the door open, moving the DB somewhat, so that he could edge in and step carefully over it. But they weren’t and he did.

Reeder emerged from the short entry hallway to find the billionaire seated on the edge of a made bed. His silver hair slightly mussed, dark eyes glazed behind the black-framed glasses, Benjamin was suddenly just a senior citizen in off-white pajamas with brown trim and slippers — somebody’s uncle or grandpa on a very bad night. A small automatic pistol was next to him. His face was blister pale and his expression blankly traumatized. After a moment, he looked up at Reeder, standing nearby.

“Joe. What the hell’s going on here?” The words were strong but their delivery weak.

“Appears there was a second attempt on your life.”

He looked up sharply, already coming out of it. “Have my men secured the building?”

“Your men are dead, Adam. A man in a black ski mask and fatigues came in and shot everybody. There’s no sign that anyone had time to even defend themselves. The killer was outside your room when Agent Rogers and I got to the scene. We chased him away from your door, but lost him outside.”

“I heard sirens. The police are here?”

“Yes. Clearing the building now.” Reeder nodded to the little weapon next to Benjamin. “Is that your gun?”

“A.25 I’ve carried in my briefcase for years. I have a permit.”

Reeder smiled. “I’m sure you do. I know it’s not terribly pleasant here...” — the stench of cordite and the bodyguard’s vacated bowels, laced with the coppery smell of blood, wafted nastily — “... but until the crime lab unit allows us to clear this room, you’ll need to sit tight. In the meantime, I’ll open the windows.”

“They don’t open. They’re sealed. Nobody trusts anybody anymore in this country. I’m... I’m afraid I tried to run.”

Reeder sat next to him. “Adam, I would have tried to run, too. Don’t apologize, and nobody doubts the necessity of someone like you carrying a gun for protection. You’re the victim here.”