“Shut up,” he said, nearly choking up. “You’re hurt much worse. Don’t move, Okay?”
She didn’t listen. Pushing against him as much as gravity, she raised herself up on her elbows, gasping slightly. She looked down at her stomach. “Roll up my shirt, Francisco. Let’s see how bad the damage is.”
It wasn’t pretty. There were several pieces of metal embedded deeply in her side, like shrapnel from a grenade. The wound was swollen around the metal, the bleeding slowed but not stopped.
“You’ve got to bandage this up. Find some supplies.” She motioned with her head to the room.
“We’ve got to get you to a hospital!”
“There isn’t time, Francisco. I understood. What you said before the explosion. We have to stop him.”
“Like hell,” said Francisco. He didn’t care about anything but her right now.
“Listen to me, Francisco!” Her breaths were raspy as she nearly shouted. “He’s not done, is he? This isn’t it. He’ll take it to the top. He’ll kill the president.”
Lopez shook his head. “No, not the president. Not this one, or even the last, Sara. He has a strange honor code, or we’d be dead. He wants only those who orchestrated the program.”
“The vice president?”
“Yes! He ran the program. It was his idea. Like his CIA death squads. The ex-VP is responsible for it all, and he’s the target. But I don’t care. Let it happen. I’m getting you to a hospital!”
“Francisco, no! We can’t let this madman assassinate the former VP. Maybe justice hasn’t been served, but Francisco, not like this!” She coughed out the last words.
Lopez paused, conflicted. Damn it! She’s right. How could they let something so terrible happen if they could prevent it? And he immediately realized that no one else could intervene. They were cut off from everyone. They could not turn to any law enforcement or governmental agency that would believe them. If someone was to stop this, it had to be them. But she’s dying!
“Francisco, look: it’s not a mortal wound. Not yet, anyway. The danger is blood loss. Bandage this damn thing up, stop the flow of blood. It will buy us some time.”
Lopez nodded, his mind racing. “The VP’s Maryland home is less than an hour from here across the border. Famous place, rumored bunker underneath. The old bastard’s been holed up there because of his heart problems for the last six months. The VP’s the last target. It will happen tonight. The wraith won’t risk us blowing his chance.”
“Please, Francisco. Stop talking and do something!”
Lopez rushed through the farmhouse, looking for medical supplies. They were there in abundance. The dead men sprawled around the living room had planned for the worst and had stocked several closets with medical kits. He returned quickly to Houston’s side and followed her instructions. She knew a lot more about wound management than he did. And she was tough as nails. Several times she asked him to do things that she knew would be painful but necessary, and she gritted her teeth as he followed through.
It was exhausting. He was hurting her, watching her suffer, and the emotional toll was severe. In the end, her entire abdomen was wrapped in gauze and taped. With his help, she was able to stand and walk.
“Now let’s get out of here,” she gasped.
“The car is nearly two miles away! You can’t walk that far.”
“Then find keys on these men. They had cars out front.”
She was right. He searched the men and found one of the guards with car keys. Gingerly, but as quickly as he could, he escorted her across the lawn to the front gate. The wraith had deactivated the security system, and the iron doors were opened. A black town car was parked across the street.
He helped her into the front passenger-side seat. He could see that she was in tremendous pain. Lord God, Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world, have mercy on us. He closed her door and rushed around to the driver’s side, opened the door, and leapt in. The car started with a scream as he overturned the ignition in haste.
“Francisco, you have to be calm. Iced. You need to be mission-oriented, or we won’t make it.” She began to cough, and it was several seconds before she could speak again. “Drive. Drive fast.”
He tried to slow his breathing as he pulled out. He tried to become a machine, to focus on the task that needed to be done. While this woman I love is dying. He reached into his pocket and handed her his cell phone.
“Call Simon again, Sara. If you can’t reach him, send texts, emails, secure, unsecured, to every address and contact we have for him. He won’t make it in time, but he’s the only other resource we have. The only one that can help.”
Houston nodded. “You’re right, Francisco. My God, I didn’t think to try.”
Lopez sped down the bumpy dirt road, every impact on the road jarring them, bringing gasps from Houston. He tried to focus. He tried to control his feelings.
Don’t die on me, Sara. Hold on.
55
The wraith drove with a maniacal purpose through the Virginia back roads.
The last mission would be the most rushed, the least prepared, and the most important. He should have killed the agent and the priest. He knew that. It would ensure that the final stage of his mission could not be discovered and would not be countered. Leaving them alive risked much, even if the dead leaders of the Renditions Branch had made them nearly powerless. Nearly was not the same as completely. Right now, the former vice president was unaware of the threat he faced. If those two got word to the right people, that could change. He should have killed them. That was pragmatic.
But not necessary. It was a calculated risk, and their blood was innocent. Whatever the consequence, he would not have that on his hands. As long as they stay out of my way.
His last target presented unique challenges. The vice president was not officially in hiding, but his public existence was coupled with lifelong Secret Service protection. Beyond that, this vice president was unique in all of history. With suspicions beyond even the legendary paranoia of Nixon, he was a man who saw threats everywhere and considered no response to those threats as too extreme. His attitudes made him a polarizing figure, a lightning rod for liberals and human rights criticisms.
These character traits also evinced themselves in the security he demanded after leaving office. He possessed an unusually extensive Secret Service assignment. He had wiped his place of residence from publicly accessible online mapping software. He had developed home security systems of an unparalleled nature for a residential, nonmilitary site. Those would likely have only been augmented given the events of the last few weeks. And by tomorrow, he would know that his dark forces had been routed. He would completely lock down.
These were obstacles in the path of the wraith’s mission. Locating the residence was the easiest — his hacking skills had already afforded him extensive access to secret CIA databases and computer networks. Early on he had located the home, obtained all the details of its security systems, and the standard force of Secret Service agents onsite.
The plan he had settled on for defeating these personnel and infrastructural barriers was his simplest to date: shock and awe. While stealth mode, followed by overwhelming power, had served best in previous engagements, paradoxically, the wraith had concluded that the most secure location, the most highly protected of all the targets, required the most blunt and brutal assault possible. And he would bring it. A Russian-born Israeli soldier returning from Mexico was his ace in the hole.