Movement— Off to his right. Hakim — by the edge, facing away from him, on a graveled area of the roof. He swiveled his S&W toward her — and realized he had no idea how many rounds he’d fired in the basement. Were there any left in the magazine? Was there even one left in the chamber? So much commotion, so many bullets flying, it was all a jumble. As he inched toward her, he had to accept that he had no way of knowing what he had left — without ejecting the clip, which he was not about to do.
Hakim must have heard the crunch of his heel against the hard surface, because she spun, settling the red laser targeting beam of her assault rifle dead square on Uzi’s chest. Between them stood only a two-foot-high wrought-iron fence.
“So it’s come down to this,” she said with the confidence of someone who knew she was in complete control.
“You’ve killed three people that were very dear to me, Hakim. As well as countless others.”
“Countless? I know exactly how many I’ve killed in my lifetime.”
“That can’t go unpunished.”
“An eye for an eye, Uzi?”
He shook his head slowly. “You’re going to stand trial for your crimes.” He realized that with the laser burning a hole where his heart lay, and wearing no Kevlar vest, he was talking tough without the power to back it up. And with the building due to explode, she wouldn’t waste any more time with him. She wasn’t going to chance the possibility that he would — again — survive the blast.
Her right arm moved suddenly — and Uzi dove and rolled, and came up firing. But his round struck a vertical bar of the intervening fence.
Uzi squeezed the trigger again — and dry-fired an empty chamber.
Fuck.
He tossed the spent S&W aside.
Hakim squared her shoulders and smiled. She brought the rifle up to her face slowly, savoring the kill. The red beam once again settled on his chest.
Uzi turned and ran a zigzag route away from her while pulling his Tanto from its sheath. Like a driving rainstorm, bullets pricked the cement all around him. But in one motion, he spun and whipped the Tanto through the thick DC air.
It found its mark in her chest, slicing through breast and muscle below the fourth rib. Her body went rigid and she dropped the assault rifle. Her eyes bugged out. And the breath seeped from her lung.
Struggling for air, Hakim stumbled backwards, her hands feeling the front of her chest for the handle of the knife. Her left heel hit the low cement curb and she fell over the edge, disappearing from view.
Uzi sprinted for the adjacent rooftop. He hit full speed and leaped over the edge of the hotel, bicycling through the air across the twelve-foot gap before landing hard one story below, atop the United States Chamber of Commerce. Pain shot through his ankles and knees. He rolled and scrambled to his feet, then found the staircase that led to the street.
A moment later, Uzi headed up H Street, running toward the barrier where he had left his car. Behind him, the Hay-Adams was still standing, a glance at his watch telling him it was a few minutes past two. Either EOD had defused the bomb or his timing had been off. Or there hadn’t been a bomb at all.
He pulled his cell and noticed that the battery had been jarred loose. He reseated it and powered up the phone. He tried reaching DeSantos — and got through.
“Hakim’s history,” Uzi said. “She went packing and had an awful trip.”
“I noticed. She’s sprawled out about ten feet away from me. You want your knife back?”
“Evidence now. Make sure it gets bagged and tagged.”
“Hell with that. I think you deserve to keep it. Another tchotchke to put on your bookshelf, next to the canteen with the bullet hole.”
Uzi didn’t know how to respond to that. “How’s Rodman?”
“Medic thinks he’ll need surgery on his leg, but he’s a tough fucker. Speaking of which, he got Aksel out. Old guy’s pretty banged up. Nasty GSWs to the hip and arm, but he’ll make it.”
“What about the bomb?”
“There were two. The dogs sniffed ’em out. EOD defused them with six seconds to spare.”
Uzi closed his eyes. Six seconds.
“Where are you? Knox is gonna want to debrief you.”
“Headed back to my car. Debrief will have to wait. What about an ID on our masked avenger? Hakim’s accomplice?”
“Guy’s a freaking looney tune. Refuses to say anything, other than name, rank, and serial number. Says he’s some kind of ‘sovereign citizen,’ exempt from federal and state laws.”
“Classic militia claim.”
“Get this,” DeSantos said with a chuckle. “Guy claimed his name is General Grant.”
Uzi stopped in midstride. “General Grant?”
“That mean something to you?”
“Maybe nothing,” Uzi said as he approached his car. “Maybe everything.”
Before hanging up, Uzi told DeSantos to bring Knox to the warehouse where he had left Quentin Larchmont ninety minutes earlier. On the drive over, Uzi continued ruminating. He had secured vital pieces to the puzzle, but key parts were still missing.
Lewiston Grant in bed with Batula Hakim— How did that fit in with Quentin Larchmont and the NFA? With Knox? Was the Skiles Rathbone-Douglas Knox connection a dead end, or was it suddenly thrust to the forefront in view of the discovery of Larchmont’s involvement? If someone that high in the administration could be a conspirator, why not the attorney general and FBI director? Then there was Secret Service Agent Benedict, one of Whitehall’s security detail, a highly prestigious post—
Uzi forced himself to slow down; jumping to conclusions and accepting such a far-reaching conspiracy theory that involved the two highest law enforcement figures in the United States — and possibly even the president — might blind him to what was really going on. He needed to keep an open mind, to put things in play and see where they led.
And right now, with Knox and DeSantos on the way over to where Larchmont was being held, he would have two key figures in one place. He called his office and asked Madeline to have Shepard meet them at the warehouse immediately. He still held out hope that, should Knox be wrapped up in this, Shepard would be the one to stand witness and support him in what needed to be done.
He hung up — and Tim Meadows immediately called through.
“Uzi, I heard about the hotel. This ain’t your day, is it?”
“Hard to say, Tim. I’m still alive, I may be close to breaking this thing wide open — and I killed the terrorist who murdered my family.”
“I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news, but…”
“Bad news?”
“I found something else. I really think you should come by. We shouldn’t talk about this over an unsecured line.”
Never a fan of delayed gratification, Uzi said, “You got something important, now would be a really good time to tell me.”
Meadows hesitated a moment, then continued: “I did that check you asked me to do, on the digital files of all the federal—”
“Still kinda short on time, Tim. Get to the point.” Uzi pulled into the alley adjacent to the warehouse. The crimson blood spatter, though dry now, was still visible on the charcoal asphalt.
“My worm found some irregularities in another file,” Meadows said. “And this is where it gets hairy—”
Uzi pulled to a stop and waited for Meadows to continue. When he didn’t, Uzi asked, “Where what gets hairy? Tim?”
He checked the handset, then tossed it aside in disgust. The battery had finally died. He sat there for a second, wondering what digital file had been altered. Realizing that Knox and Shepard would be arriving soon, he got out of the car and headed into the warehouse.