He could feel the congresswoman stiffen beneath his arm, but he paid her no heed, staring into Carol’s eyes.
Feeling her father staring back.
“And you thought I was going to leave you?” she demanded, and despite himself, despite the horror of the night — he found himself smiling.
“Come on, let’s get out of here,” he whispered, gesturing for her to take Gilpin’s other arm.
They had made it five steps when the theatre behind them exploded, the air suddenly filled with flying debris, the glass doors around them shattering from the force of the shockwave.
Harry felt a shard of something — perhaps glass, stab into the back of his thigh, his knee buckling. He threw out a hand to stabilize himself, catching at the wall.
But he didn’t go down. People were running now, running once more in terror — screams filling the resort. And he could smell the faint scent of camphor in the air now surrounding them.
Soman.
“Let’s go, let’s go!”
He felt the roof shudder beneath him, the explosion more powerful than even he had expected.
Perhaps it had killed her, the shaikh thought. Perhaps she was lying dead in the ruins of the theatre, choking on the nerve gas.
Perhaps…
He adjusted his eyes again to the Accuracy International’s scope, focusing it on the crowd of people running from the resort. Adjusting the zoom until he could see their faces.
There. Emerging from under the shadow of the carport — just within view of his perch. It seemed impossible that Gilpin could still be living, but there she was. He hugged the sniper rifle to his shoulder, centering the reticle on the congresswoman’s chest.
His finger curling around the match trigger, a gentle caress…
The flashing lights of emergency vehicles lit up the night — red and blue light washing over them as they ran from the Bellagio, helping the congresswoman along. Harry could hear her cough, prayed that her exposure had not been severe.
“Altmann,” he demanded, keying his mike as they ran. “We’re going to need those injectors. Our principal was exposed to the nerve agent in the explosion.”
It was barely a moment before the FBI agent responded. “Roger that — where are you?”
“Near the ambulances at the south end of the resort. We—”
A supersonic crack split the air and he heard the congresswoman groan in sudden pain, felt her twist away from him as if struck by an invisible force.
The sound of a rifle shot smote his ears barely a half-second later — the bullet traveling faster than the speed of sound. And he saw the crimson stain begin to spread across Gilpin’s blouse. The stain of death.
And she was falling — still exposed to the marksman.
In his mind’s ear, he could hear a rifle bolt being snapped back, ejecting the shell casing — slammed forward, carrying another cartridge into the breech.
The work of a second.
He bent down, covering Gilpin with his own body as he tried to lift her — to carry her into the cover of a nearby ambulance. “You never lose your principal — give your life for theirs, if it comes to that.”
Cohen’s words, ringing through his ears.
He could feel Carol at his side, her hands supporting the congresswoman’s head as they lifted, stumbling toward shelter. Gilpin was breathing heavily, her eyes flickering in and out of focus. Most likely shot through a lung.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Metro cops running toward them. Not soon enough, he thought as they lowered Gilpin to the ground. Not nearly soon enough.
And then he heard it, the sickening sound of a slug smashing into flesh — glanced up to see Carol staring at him, eyes wide.
God, no.
He saw her body sway, her legs seeming to give out from under her. She collapsed into his arms, her head against his chest as they both fell, into the shadow of the ambulance.
His hands came away from her back, fingers wet and sticky with blood. Her blood, he realized, feeling as if he moved in a dream. The rifle bullet had slammed into her back, penetrating through layers of ballistic vest and into her body.
No exit wound. He could have staunched the bleeding from her back and it would have done nothing — the internal damage had been done.
He heard a voice on the radio, a raw, inhuman voice — screaming for the paramedics. His own.
“Stay with me, Carol,” he breathed, his hand leaving a bloody smear as he caressed her cheek. “Dear God, please stay with me.”
Nothing else in the world mattered in that moment, all the noise…the shouts fading away into the distance. Only them.
“I’m…sorry.” She opened her mouth, struggling to continue, but he shook his head, tears rolling down his face as he held her body close to his…knowing that she was dying — his heart rejecting the truth.
“Don’t give up,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with desperation. “Don’t you dare give up — please, don’t give up on me now.”
“…there will be a future — for us. Beyond all the fighting. All of the war.”
All the hopes, all of the dreams — dreams worth more than life itself. All of them gone.
No future, nothing beyond this moment. He could feel her growing weaker, struggling to breathe. Those eyes that had once shone with defiance now fading…becoming glassy.
He bent down, kissing her softly, her lips still warm but no longer responsive to his touch. Always kiss them goodbye.
Even this last of all goodbyes.
He looked up to see Han kneeling there in the shelter of a vehicle not ten feet away, a look of reproach in his eyes. Where you go, Death follows…
Gunshots in the distance, he felt movement around him as the paramedics moved in, taking Carol’s body from his arms.
He heard their voices as if through a haze clouding his mind, tears of anger and grief cascading down his cheeks as he watched, clinging to her hand as to life itself. Heard the barked orders, words of detached professionalism as they endeavored to perform a miracle — to bring her back from the grave.
But all to no avail. Miracles? There were none to be had…not on this Christmas Eve.
“She’s gone,” he heard one of the paramedics announce. Felt the man’s eyes on his face. No.
He struggled to his feet, letting go of her hand with painful reluctance. She looked beautiful laying there, golden hair splayed out over someone’s jacket. Asleep.
Dead.
Brushing the tears from his cheek with an angry gesture, he strode out into the open road, the sirens ringing in his ears, the nighttime breeze rippling through his hair.
Red lights illuminating the face of death.
He might have been exposed to the sniper — might have been in his very cross-hairs, but he paid it no heed, walking as if lost in a nightmare.
None of that mattered. Not now. Not with her dead.
The end of all dreams…
Chapter 28
“It’s good to have you back, Ron.”
Yeah, Carter thought, glancing around at the familiar cubicles, the screens lit up with intel streaming in from around the world. “Good to be back, Danny.”
It was, wasn’t it?