Chalmont looked at him defiantly.
“Don’t let hurt pride jeopardize everything we’ve built,” Lawrence told him. “One day you may stand in my place, but not if you fail to curb this reckless streak.”
Chalmont wrestled with his emotions and finally tucked his pistol into his waistband. “Then we will take him and do it somewhere else.”
“I have no problem with that,” Finch replied. “But make sure it’s somewhere that isn’t connected to any of us.”
And with that, the king of Propaganda Tre had sanctioned my execution.
Chapter 79
Sam Farrell approached me and said, “Hold him.”
The two bodyguards tightened their grip on me and Sam slugged me in the gut, knocking the wind from me.
“I’m going to do what I should have done in LA,” he said, and nodded at my captors.
At his signal, they dragged me out of the courtyard to a small parking lot located behind the old stables. There were eight cars and a couple of unmarked vans.
Sam climbed behind the wheel of a silver Ford Transit and as the bodyguards manhandled me into the cargo compartment, I saw Andi get behind the wheel of a black Mercedes GLS, and Raymond Chalmont take the passenger’s place beside her.
The larger of the two bodyguards pulled the side door shut and Sam started the engine. The second bodyguard pushed me onto one of the bench seats. He and his companion sat either side of me and pressed close as Sam drove us out of Finch’s estate. Through the windows in the rear doors, I could see Andi and Raymond following in the Mercedes.
The headlights of the van illuminated the narrow lane, thick with shadows from the trees overhanging it on both sides. Ominous clouds hung on the horizon, still with the weight of an impending storm, crowding the light from the night sky. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of desperation as these evil and twisted men drove me to my fate.
We emerged from the lane and came to an intersection where we turned onto a main road cutting between hills and fields that remained indistinct under the dark skies. The van gathered speed on the deserted road, and I realized I might not have a better chance than this.
I moved suddenly, catching the larger of my captors with a vicious headbutt on his temple, using my skull to inflict as much pain as possible. He crumpled to one side, clutching his head, giving me the space to lean over and bring my elbow into the nose of the startled smaller man. As his hands went up to protect his face, I reached round and punched him in the stomach. I stood to unleash a furious volley of further punches and kicks to the men.
While I delivered the frenzied assault, fighting for my life, I sensed the van slow and turned to see Farrell braking hard, while reaching for something in his waistband. I rushed toward him, and he tried to fend me off with one hand as he kept the other on the steering wheel.
I punched him, grabbed the wheel and yanked it as hard as I could. The van veered onto two wheels with the sharp turn. Momentum fought gravity, and I braced myself as best I could as the vehicle rolled over onto its side.
Chapter 80
The van flipped and tumbled. I was tossed around the cab as metal crashed and ground against hard asphalt. I banged my head against the front passenger seat but fought the pain and black edges to my vision. I leaned into the surging adrenalin that coursed through my veins, so that when the vehicle came to a grinding halt, I was alert and ready.
The van was on its roof, Sam Farrell dazed but conscious. The two men in the back were out cold, their bodies twisted in ways that spoke of broken bones and hospital beds.
I popped Sam’s seatbelt. When he fell out of his seat, I leaned over him and opened the driver’s door. I pushed him out of the cab and found a pistol in his waistband as I hauled him to his feet. He could stand but wasn’t lucid, mumbling incoherently.
I held him in front of me as Andi and Chalmont stepped from the Mercedes, which had stopped a short distance away. They walked into the dazzling headlights and became silhouettes. The glare made it difficult to look at them for long periods of time.
“Let him go,” Andi said. “And put the gun down.”
“Give me your keys,” I countered. “And I’ll let him go.”
“You think you can escape again, Mr. Morgan?” Chalmont asked.
“Give me the keys to the Mercedes,” I yelled.
I alternated between pointing the gun at Sam’s head and aiming it in their direction.
“That’s not going to happen, Mr. Morgan,” Chalmont said. “You destroyed my life. Ruined me.” His voice was jagged with anger. “There is no escape for you. You will die here tonight, Jack Morgan.”
The sound of the gunshot startled me, and I felt the bullet hit Sam Farrell in the chest. He groaned and went heavy. Then came the second and third shots, cutting the stillness of the night like thundercracks.
Andi cried out as the fourth shot hit Sam in the gut and he slumped forward, dead.
I couldn’t hold him up. His body fell onto the road.
Raymond Chalmont stepped out of the blinding light, his gun raised and aimed at my head. Behind him, I heard Andi start to sob.
“Nothing will save you, Mr. Morgan,” he said. “Nothing.”
Chapter 81
“Sam?” Andi whispered between shuddering sobs. “Sam!”
She ran to the dead man’s side and fell to her knees a couple of meters from me. She took his head in her hands and stared down at his glassy eyes, sobbing.
“Sam,” she repeated, wiping her face. She looked at Chalmont, her expression hardening. “You killed him.”
“He was in my way,” Chalmont said.
Andi was on her knees between us, obscuring part of me, but when he uttered those words, she wiped away the last of her tears and stood up to face him defiantly.
“And what about me?” she asked. “Am I in your way too?”
Chalmont waved his gun at her. “Move aside.”
Andi stayed where she was, directly in front of me. “Sam was one of us,” she said. “He was loyal to the cause. He was true to his oath. He was a friend.”
“Step aside, Andi,” Chalmont told her.
Still she didn’t move.
“Step aside.” He was more insistent now.
“What does it all mean?” she asked, her tone hollow. “What does any of it mean? You tell us we have to keep the faith. That we are the true custodians of order and righteousness. That our day will come. That we’re making the world a better place.”
She hesitated and looked down at Sam’s body.
“But you just murdered him,” she said. “This wasn’t about making the world a better place. This was about you. What you want. You shot him as though he was worthless.”
I stayed perfectly still. I sensed the enormity of this moment for Andi, and knew if I said anything, I risked sending her back toward the beliefs that had twisted her mind. Sam Farrell’s death had made her see clearly that for all their talk about righteousness and honor, Propaganda Tre were only interested in themselves and in the power they could obtain through manipulating others. I think Raymond Chalmont also sensed the importance of the moment and recognized his loss of control over the mind of a previously faithful follower.
He raised his gun, and for a moment there was no sound except for the wind stirring the leaves and the creak of swaying branches.