David opens the top drawer. I’m not sure what I expect him to pull out, but it’s certainly not a black pistol with an extra long barrel that I’m pretty sure isn’t the usual kind of thing doctors keep in their desks. The long barrel, I know from years of watching movies and TV, is a silencer. It doesn’t make the bullets completely silent, just suppresses the sound. Which I guess doesn’t matter much while a fire alarm is blaring and a strobe is flashing and people outside the room are no doubt becoming panicked.
“Sorry, Mom,” David says simply, and shoots her in the throat.
forty-four
Improvisation.
Zach hated the word. Even the idea of it pissed him off.
In his line of work, improvisation created too many unforeseen variables. Too many different ways things could spiral out of control. Too many chances of getting yourself killed.
That’s why he always liked having a plan. He knew the world wasn’t perfect, that plans were subject to change, but he’d been pretty lucky in his profession. Almost always things worked out as planned. Sure, there were the occasional hiccups, like those mercenaries back in New York, but for the most part Zach did a good job at sticking with the plan.
Like today, the plan was to wait for Eli and his group to pop up. Zach knew it would happen. After Eli showed up in New York to save John Smith, it made sense Eli would come for David Smith next. After all, David was the only one that hadn’t yet been killed. Eli probably knew they were using David Smith as bait, just as Eli had been using his own kids as bait. What Eli wouldn’t know was that David had a secret.
But improvisation-Zach hated it. It created risks. Sometimes those risks outweighed the benefits. Already things were getting out of hand. Besides the bookstore fire, there was the mess in Hoboken-a fucking police officer shooting civilians no less. The last thing they needed was for more of this to get out.
And so he and Hogan were rushing through the first floor when Tyson told him it was too late, that security was already on their way up to Neurology. And what were the rent-a-cops going to do once they got there? That was a good question. That was an excellent question. No matter how it played out, the end result would be a clusterfuck. Maybe Eli and his group might manage to escape. Maybe they would get taken into custody. And then what? Zach could get to them then, posing as FBI, or someone else could do the same, but between being taken into custody and the moment Zach or someone else got to them, what all would be said? Any chance of exposure was a chance they couldn’t take.
“Set off an alarm,” Zach said into the phone.
Tyson was quiet for a beat. “What?”
“Fire alarm, intruder alarm, I don’t care. Make it happen.”
He disconnected.
Hogan said, “What are you thinking?”
“Chaos.”
As if on cue, the alarms all throughout the hospital began to sound.
forty-five
Marta staggers back a few steps, her hands moving to touch the big bloody hole in her throat. Gravity pulls her down, her legs going weightless. Ashley, standing only a few feet behind her, rushes forward to catch her. She doesn’t make it in time. Marta hits the floor, not hard, but it’s enough to cause her to release a soft grunt. Incredibly, it’s the first sound she’s made since the moment David’s bullet entered her throat.
Eli reaches for his gun.
David says, “Don’t,” aiming now at the man we all had once thought of as our father.
My own hand, I realize, is reaching for my gun as well. Even as I realize this, it doesn’t stop. In the next second or two my fingers will penetrate the pocket lining of my jacket. A second after that, those fingers will wrap around the handle. How many seconds it’ll take for me to pull the gun out of my pocket, however, is another story. If I’m lucky, it will only take another second. If I’m not-if somehow the gun gets caught in the fabric and I’m left struggling with it like an asshole-then who knows how many more seconds before David fires off another shot and puts me out of my misery.
“Don’t, John.”
I blink. Look up at David.
Despite keeping his gun aimed at Eli, my brother is now watching me. “Let go of it.”
I let go of the gun.
“Take your hand out of your pocket.”
I take my hand out of my pocket.
“Now raise your hands.”
I want to tell him no. I want to tell him to go fuck himself. I’m not even sure why it is I want to say these things. Bravery has very little to do with it. At this moment, I’m far from brave. What I am, actually, is pissed. It’s one thing for nameless killers to come after us. It’s an entirely different thing for someone I know-someone who I have always believed was my brother, who is my brother-to kill the woman who raised us.
Hating myself, I raise my hands.
“Now,” David says, his gaze back on Eli, “take out the gun and set it on the floor.”
Eli doesn’t move.
“You don’t think I won’t kill you?”
Eli’s response is an indignant breath: “No.”
“I killed her with no problem, didn’t I?”
Actually, Marta isn’t dead quite yet. She’s getting there, there’s no doubt about it, but right now she’s still alive. Ashley is on the floor with her, cradling her head. Ashley’s entire body shakes as she tries to fight back tears. It’s clear she wants to do something for Marta, but there’s not much she can do but stare down as blood gurgles up from between Marta’s lips and Marta’s eyes stare up at the ceiling, growing emptier and emptier by the second.
“Yes,” Eli says, his voice gruff, “but I’m assuming Matheson’s main beef isn’t with her. I’m the one he wants. That’s why he wants me taken alive, and that’s why you won’t kill me.”
As if proving this theory, Eli takes a step forward.
“Stop!” David shouts.
Eli takes another step.
David squeezes off another round. This one doesn’t hit Eli, but the wall behind him.
Eli doesn’t push it any further. He stays where he is, his hands down at his sides.
David says, “You shouldn’t have come here.”
“Why not? You’re my son.”
“I am not your son.”
“Then whose son are you?”
David doesn’t answer. His eyes flick down at Marta on the floor, barely holding onto life. He shakes his head again. “I didn’t want to do that, you know. I’ve never … I’ve never done anything like that before.”
“How did they get to you?”
“Blood test. Did you hear about my wife?”
Eli shakes his head.
“Stupid bitch was sleeping around on me. The day I found out and kicked her out of the house, I went and had a blood test. Thankfully I didn’t contract anything.”
“Thankfully,” Eli says.
The space between them is ten, maybe twelve feet. The space between David and Ashley is more like fifteen feet. I’m the farthest away, over twenty feet. I’m also off to the side. I figure if I did decide to act-reach for the gun, pull it out without getting it snagged-I might have the best chance of squeezing off a round or two. That isn’t to say either of those rounds would hit David, or even be near him, but hopefully it would be enough to distract him and allow Eli the time he needed to grab his own gun.
I start to lower my hands.
“Don’t, John.” David glances at me from the corner of his eye. “Keep your hands up.”
Swallowing, I keep my hands up.
Eli asks, “What are we waiting on?”
“Them,” David says. “They’ll be here soon. They knew you were coming. They’ve been waiting all morning.”
“They gave you the gun?”
David nods. “Said that if you showed up, to keep you in the office as long as I could. Said if things got out of hand, I should use it.”
“They tell you to shoot your mother?”
“For starters, she isn’t my mother. And no, they didn’t. But she was the closest person. It just made sense.”