“It gets worse. The face belongs to an international assassin, a contract killer. He worked for numerous governments till he fell out with one of them. I don’t know what’s happening yet I’ve got the face of a known assassin. Not a long life expectancy I’d say.” Matt turned towards the car. He fumbled in his pocket for the keys.
Nicole put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Look… Matt? Are you all right? I do want to help. And I do believe you.”
“At first I was a little unsteady from the drugs they were giving me, but that’s all cleared up-and I’m off the booze. In fact, I feel better than I have in years, though I’m not so sure I like this face.”
“It’s a funny thing, but when I met you briefly at the reception for Dr. Melikian, I instantly noticed your eyes, how light blue they were. To be honest I kind of fancied you, but then I saw you were, how should I say, attached?”
“That wasn’t one of my better evenings, and as you know it got a lot worse.”
“When you came up to me this morning in the campus yard the first thing I noticed was your eyes. I recalled the enchanting eyes, but the face didn’t match. It’s amazing, I thought face transplants were something out of science fiction. But it looks perfect. Quite swarthy and equally handsome as before.”
“Anyway,” Matt shrugged, “it’s mine now. But I came back to find my diary and here it is. Maybe it contains some details that will lead to this terrorist group before they strike again. If they even exist.”
Nicole watched him.
“In or out, Nicole?”
“In. I’m in. Definitely.”
“A great freelance story if we come through it alive.”
“Don’t patronize me, Matthew Richards.” She glared at him. “You’ve got yourself a partner, not a tag along bimbo.”
Matt unlocked the car door.
Loud voices rang out. A group of students dodged between the parked cars, chasing each other, laughing in the bright cold air. They both relaxed.
“Shit, if we’re late again for class the witch will kill us,” one of them squealed, dashing past Matt and Nicole, who flattened themselves against the car door to let her by. Matt reached for the door handle.
Blood splattered across the hood of the Passat. What the hell? The window exploded. Shards of glass flew in every direction, nicking the left side of Nicole’s face. The dead weight of the young student crashed onto the hood of the car. Nicole pulled Matt to the asphalt. No sooner had they hit the ground than they heard sharp pings ricocheting off the metal door frame where Matt’s head had just been. A sniper.
The young coed lay on the ground next to them, her neck gushing blood. The other girls screamed. Nicole grabbed the journal off the pavement and pulled Matt around to the other side of the car.
“We’re getting out of here,” she yelled over the screaming. “There’s a sniper out there trying to kill you. Follow me and run for your life.” Then she was up and away, sprinting and zigzagging behind parked cars toward a small wooded ravine at the edge of the parking lot. Several windshields exploded behind her.
Matt stayed put, his medical training kicking in. He crawled around the car toward the young woman, intent on checking her pulse. His heart sank. He yelled at the others to lie down, Only then did he sprint after Nicole, doubling over as he ran. In less than a minute they were both at the bottom of the ravine.
“Okay, Professor,” she said, breathing hard, “this is your campus-which way out?”
Matt got his bearings. “There’s faculty housing at the end of this ravine. Come on.” he jumped up and ran at a full sprint.
Had the sniper moved to another location? We can’t outrun a bullet. He stumbled over the frozen ground, suddenly weak. He looked around. How much longer before they get a clear shot and end his miserable life? If not today, then tomorrow, next week, or next month?
Well, maybe he could do a little damage before they blew his head off. The big problem was, he really didn’t know who they were. The best plan so far was to find a connection to the terrorist cell through his old Beirut friends. If I can locate them.
Minutes later, winded and cold, his legs shaking from exhaustion, Matt emerged from the ravine and stepped into the backyard of a small wooden house. His foot slipped on a patch of melting snow. He crashed onto the frozen lawn. Nicole, close behind and not breathing nearly as heavily, helped him to his feet. They scrambled up to the back door. “Stay here,” Matt whispered as he glanced around nervously. “I’ll only be a moment.” He slipped inside.
The house belonged to a faculty friend and Scotch drinking buddy. He knew the layout well and when he entered the kitchen a sense of relief flooded his senses. Hanging from a familiar nail in the wall were the keys to a battered Jeep Cherokee.
Two minutes later, Matt and Nicole were bouncing along a snowy track on the far side of the Sweet Briar campus. “This is a service road that comes out next to the Briar Patch Bar, near the town of Amherst.”
“Do you know all the bars around here?”
“That’s a low blow. I thought we were partners.”
“You asked if I could stomach the truth. Well, what about you?”
“It’s a bar the students and some horny faculty often frequent. It’s also right near the highway. I vote we head for the Charlottesville airport, leave the car, pick up a rental and get the hell out of this area.”
Nicole remained silent.
“Are you okay?”
“After shock, I guess. I’ll be fine.”
Matt glanced at her. “Hey, partner, you were pretty great back there. You sprang into action.” He paused. “Thanks for saving my life. I guess I froze.”
“To be honest, I was scared out of my wits. But I’ve covered conflicts and been caught in crossfire before, so I just reacted. Self-preservation is my middle name. But I got the journal,” she said, brandishing the leather volume. “What about that young woman?”
“Dead. The bullet must have passed through her neck, severing the carotid artery before it shattered the car window. Jesus Christ. Those bastards. They can’t just kill innocent people like that.”
“Look, Dr. Richards,” Nicole said, examining a torn fingernail. “Sweet Briar College is definitely not the real world. The world is a fucking jungle these days. Teenagers high on crack shooting their friends, corporate greed, political upheaval, state-sponsored terrorism, third-rate countries with nuclear arsenals, and the Middle East pushing everyone towards global war. Terrorists kill innocent people all the time and get away with it. And I’ll tell you this, whoever they are they must have a lot to lose.” Silence filled the interior of the Jeep, broken only by the mushy hum of the tires. Soon they were on US 29, heading north in the direction of Charlottesville.
“If we rent a Hertz car at the airport,” Nicole said, “I can use my corporate card from the newspaper. They won’t mind. Besides, if we live through this, it’ll be one hell of a story and they’ll probably make me managing editor.” She paused. “From Charlottesville we can drive to Washington. I know an ex-CIA guy who will help us. He’s retired. Got eased out about fifteen years ago during another round of budget cuts. Been doing freelance work ever since. And believe it or not, I trust him.”
“Is that an order or a suggestion?” Matt replied. Nicole punched him in the arm and slunk down into the passenger seat, warmed by the blasting heater.
“Nicole?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“Look, I…”
“No, I mean it. For being smart on your feet and keeping us alive back there. But mainly for believing me.” He looked ahead as the Jeep sped down the highway.
“I do believe you, Matt. Frankly, I wish I were covering a local garden festival. Definitely safer. But I do want to help.”
“And another thing.”
“What?”
“I need you.”
Nicole smiled. “I don’t know. You escaped from that clinic, stole a car and made it back to Sweet Briar. Looks like you can manage quite well on your own.”