She told him where and gave him directions to pedal along the lake to a more private place they could meet, as if understanding and not minding that his thing with the senator might be longer term than a picnic.
Flannigan took a taxi from the senator’s charming flat in a row of town houses—she was chairing a committee hearing until late afternoon—and walked down a short slope into the park to the rental place where they gave him a bike, a helmet, and a map.
It turned out to be true that one did not forget how to ride a bike. After a wobbly hundred yards, he was pedaling along just fine. The spot she said she’d meet him was only a half mile away, and by then he was actually enjoying himself. The pleasure of the warm sun, the crisp breeze, the truly attractive park with its sparkling lakes, lawn, and trees and the delicious sight of numerous good-looking women pedaling bicycles in short skirts and tight jeans ceased abruptly when he turned onto a path that ran closer to the water.
Out of nowhere, swooping down like wolves, Annie Oakley and The Wall blocked his way. They put firm hands on him before he could run. The Wall didn’t seem quite so big out of his jungle fatigues but was big enough to make mincemeat of him. Little Annie looked like she’d been in a bar fight, with sunglasses over a black eye, a Band-Aid parting her hair, and raw scrapes on her wrists.
“Don’t be afraid,” she said. “We’re on your side.”
“I’m not afraid,” he lied. He was so scared his face felt cold, as if the blood had drained from it.
The Wall noticed and said soothingly, “We are not the ones trying to kill you. We will protect you.”
That would be wonderful news, if he was fool enough to believe them. “How did you find me?”
“Your fellow tourists noticed the senator take a shine to you.”
“What do you want?”
“We want to deliver you safe and sound to ASC headquarters in Houston. As soon as your employer sees that you are alive and well, you’ll be free to go. No one will hurt you.”
“Either you’re lying to me,” Flannigan said, “or someone is lying to you.”
“What do you mean?” asked the woman.
“I don’t work for ASC.”
The two of them exchanged looks.
“I haven’t worked for them in five years.”
The woman said, “That is not true. You were aboard Amber Dawnwhen the FFM rebels attacked.”
“Well, that answers that,” said Flannigan, feeling a tentative glimmer of hope.
“What do you mean?”
“Now I know that you two aren’t lying.”
The man stepped closer. “Can you explain— By the way, Doctor, we’ve been through a bunch together, but we’ve never exchanged names. We know you’re Terry. I’m Paul. This is Jesse.”
Paul thrust out his hand. Flannigan took it and saw a degree of warmth in Janson’s watchful eyes.
“You wereon the boat, weren’t you?”
“I was on the boat. But ASC didn’t knowI was on the boat.”
“What?”The looks they exchanged this time were like clashing laser beams.
“No one knew I was on the boat.”
“What are you saying?” Jesse snapped. “You stowed away?”
“I hitched a ride. I had a little trouble in Port Harcourt. I had to get out of town. Amber Dawn’s captain was a friend of mine. She smuggled me aboard and hid me in her cabin. No one knew I was on the boat.”
“No one?”
“She’d have been fired. It was strictly against company policy.”
“Why didn’t you tell us earlier?”
“They killed everybody on the boat. How could I trust you? How could I trust anybody?”
A bicycle bell chimed merrily. Flannigan looked up the path from the lake. There was his little friend, even prettier than he remembered and frighteningly young. Wondering how dirty an old man Jesse and Paul thought he was, he said, “Can you excuse me a second? I’ll be right back. A lady I have to say hello to.”
They shot sharp glances at the blonde, took in the picnic basket attached to her handlebars and her shy smile. “Wait,” said Paul, moving between him and the girl.
Jesse walked over to her and smiled. “Hello. We are responsible for that gentleman’s safety. Would you mind if I frisked you for weapons?”
“Weapons? Is he all right?”
“He’s fine. We’re just making sure that he stays that way. This will just take a moment, with your permission.”
Kincaid checked her clothing, with gentle apologies, and the picnic in her basket. The forks and knives were plastic disposables. Kincaid nodded to Janson. Janson told Flannigan, “You’re going to have to ask her for a rain check, Terry.”
* * *
“YOU’RE A WOMAN,” Janson said to Kincaid while they watched the doctor explaining the situation just out of earshot.
“Yes, I am, Paul.”
“Can you explain how a guy who looks like that has women falling all over him? The purser’s wife, the flight attendant, the senator, not to mention the poor tugboat captain. And now this little knockout. Okay, she’s a hick kid, but a woman like the senator should know better, don’t you think? I mean do you find him attractive?”
“Depends upon what you mean by ‘attractive.’ ”
“Attractive enough to run off with the guy.”
“Watch how he talks to her. It’s like his eyes, his ears, every pore is with her—appreciating her. When a guy like him wants to be with a woman he’s totally there.”
“So women want concentration?”
“It’s in short supply—but there’s something else likable about Terry. Way underneath, he’s solid. And kind of sad— What?”
Paul Janson exploded into motion.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Kincaid whirled after him. Janson had moved so swiftly that he was on top of the couple in an instant, chopping with his open hand, breaking the girl’s wrist before she could stab Flannigan again with the stiletto she had pulled from the bike’s hollow handlebar.
Kincaid smashed her cheekbone below her helmet with her elbow as she raced past Janson, frantically searching for the assassin’s backup. It would be a sniper. In a tree in the gardens seven hundred meters across the lake. Or by the museum on a spit of land jutting parallel to the one they were on. Paul knew that and was dragging Terry to the ground, hauling him behind the thin cover of a bush, and shouting at nearby walkers and bikers, “Get down on the ground. Get down!”
Kincaid saw a flash on the roof of the museum—sun on a scope, nine hundred meters.
“Roof!” Pointing to the sniper’s position, diving to the grass, she rolled toward Janson. They pulled Flannigan behind the brow of a low mound. The rifle fired, unheard. A slug thunked into the mound. Earth flew in their faces.
“How many?”
“One, so far.”
Less than five seconds had passed since Janson spotted the stiletto. The assassin was trying to mount her bicycle, but she was staggering from the impact of Kincaid’s elbow and in shock from her broken wrist. The bicycle got away from her and fell over. She tried to run. Suddenly the airholes of her helmet spewed blood as a rifle bullet dissolved her skull.
Janson and Kincaid traded looks. Stabbing Flannigan would have been the killers’ plan B, if they had not intervened. Plan A would have been the girl luring Flannigan into the sniper’s sights. And now, before abandoning weapons and melting into the museum crowd, the sniper had killed the injured backup assassin so she could not talk.
Janson dialed 000.
“Ambulance. Lake Burley Griffin. Garryowen Drive. Across the lake from the National Museum. Stab wound.”
“Tell ’em not to bother,” Flannigan whispered. His face was white, his lips blue
“You’ll be fine.”
“Don’t bullshit a surgeon—she got my celiac artery. I have about two minutes.
“Listen, you gotta know this— Amber Dawnwas disguised as an OSV. They Rube Goldberged a secret exploration vessel. The people shot by the rebels weren’t roustabouts. They were petroleum explorers.”