Текст книги "Panic"

Автор книги: Nick Stephenson

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

Chapter 46

Everyone hit the ground. Leopold covered his head with his hands and screwed up his eyes, lying face-down on the lawn. They were too late. Just a few seconds earlier and everything would have been all right. Now he knew Christina was dead, and the leader of the most powerful nation on Earth was just a corpse on the grass. Snuffed out in an instant.

The ringing in Leopold’s ears faded. He slowly opened his eyes and looked around. At least two hundred people were sprawled on the grass, many of whom began to lift their heads and look around. Nobody appeared to be shouting or screaming. Three black-suited men were sprinting toward him from the direction of the President, who was also lying on the floor a good twenty feet away from Christina and surrounded by bodyguards. He was breathing.

Leopold turned his head and looked behind him, confused. Jerome was standing tall, his gun in his hand and pointed at the sky. The barrel was smoking. As Leopold realized what had happened, Jerome was tackled at full speed by the black-suited men, who wrestled him to the ground and pulled his weapon off him. As he went down, Jerome caught Leopold’s eye and winked. He had provided Leopold with the perfect diversion and now the President was out of harm’s way, separated from Christina by his Secret Service bodyguards and out of range of the explosives.

Leopold turned his attention back to the President, who was getting to his feet, and realised that the men who had brought down Jerome had left the Commander in Chief exposed, with only two security officers now remaining by his side. The pair of towering bodyguards seemed to have the same concerns, as they edged in closer to each other while ushering their charge toward the town cars.

They neared the safety of the vehicles, and the taller officer was suddenly thrown backward. A spray of crimson erupted from his shoulder as he fell, and what sounded like a thunderclap echoed across the park. The wounded bodyguard hit the floor hard and stayed down. The other dived on top of the President, knocking him to the ground and rolling them both behind the President’s town car and out of harm’s way. Two of the men who had wrestled Jerome to the floor joined them and took up defensive positions behind the vehicle, handguns drawn.

It looked like Stark was reverting to plan B.

Leopold got to his feet and ran toward Christina, his path clear now that everyone was down on the grass, and grabbed his cell phone from the ground as he passed. He reached her and thrust the device into her hands.

“Keep this turned on and with you at all times,” he said hurriedly, “it will keep you safe.”

“Safe? Safe from what? What’s going on?” said Christina.

“Your injuries. Stark implanted explosives under your skin. This cell phone will jam the detonator. I have to go find him.”

Her eyes widened in horror as the consultant’s words hit home and she stared in revulsion at the raw scars on her exposed skin. Quickly, she pulled herself together.

 “He’s here? You can’t go after him alone. You know what he’s capable of.”

“There’s no time to explain to the Secret Service. Even if they don’t shoot me, by the time they realise I’m not a threat, Stark will be long gone.”

“But he’s got a rifle – you’ll be killed,” said Christina, eyes wide and imploring.

“He’s not going to stick around, not now the President is safe. He had his chance, and he blew it; retreat is the only option. By the time he shoots his way through the Secret Service, the police will be here.”

“This place is huge. How can you expect to find him?”

“There’s only one vantage point with a direct line of sight within range. The sound of the shot came less than a second after the bullet hit its target, which puts Stark not more than about a thousand feet away. If I were him, I’d be up there.”

He pointed at a white marble mausoleum standing atop a set of steps that ascended a small hill in the mid-distance. The mausoleum was sheltered by thick trees and bushes stretching out almost the entire width of the park on each side. It was the only possible place Stark could get a good view of the funeral procession anywhere within range. Before Christina could say anything to stop him, Leopold sprinted in the direction of the steps, hoping that Stark hadn’t decided to stick around and pick off anyone coming after him.

He reached the top of the steps in less than a minute and paused to catch his breath, scanning the surrounding area. Walking slowly toward the entrance to the mausoleum, he noticed boot prints in the grass. Stark had definitely been here.

He heard a faint rustle to the right, coming from somewhere inside the long strip of trees that ran most of the width of the park. The cover was dense enough to hide anyone wanting to get in and out of the cemetery without being seen. Leopold ran into the trees, cursing himself for not bringing a gun and hoping that Jerome managed to convince the Secret Service he was on their side.

Fifty feet in, the cover of leaves blocked out most of the direct sunlight, except for the occasional ripple that made its way through to the dry ground. Other than this, the dense undergrowth was dark enough that Leopold couldn’t make out a clear path, and he had to slow his pace. He heard another rustle ahead of him, louder this time, and he crouched, ready to defend himself.

The cover of leaves burst open as a dark figure shot out and knocked him to the ground. Within a second he was back on his feet, just in time to see a large dog disappear around the corner, dragging its leash along behind. False alarm. Stark was probably long gone by now.

Leopold wheeled around as he heard twigs snapping behind him, expecting to get knocked to the ground by whatever animal had decided to make a quick exit in his direction. Instead, the consultant met the savage gaze of Jack Stark, his face set in frustration and fury. The colonel was dressed in full camouflage, with a rifle case strapped to his back and a handgun holstered to his belt. Leopold heard his pulse throb in his ears again and he tensed his muscles, ready to defend himself. He had to keep Stark occupied long enough for Jerome to convince the Secret Service to get up here and take him down. Leopold hoped he could last that long.

Stark crossed the distance between them in a single step and caught hold of Leopold, pulling him close. The consultant knew he was outclassed. This was a man who could hold his own against Jerome, and that was something he had never seen before. He didn’t stand a chance. But maybe, just maybe, he could hold him off long enough. Leopold’s brain was still spinning when Stark hit him, the force of the blow landing like a freight train. The spark of hope that he had kept in the back of his mind vanished immediately, as he realised he wasn’t going to make it out alive.

Chapter 47

Leopold felt his brain turn in his skull as the force of Stark’s punch wrenched his head to the side and blanked out his vision. He felt himself hit the ground just before his eyesight came back again, and the first thing he saw was his opponent’s heavy right boot fly toward him, slamming into his side. The impact knocked him on his back and he heard something snap. Probably another rib.

He gasped as he landed and tried to roll away, but Stark aimed another kick at his back. The blow landed hard to his shoulder and Leopold was on his front again. He managed to get up onto one knee and look up at his attacker, who was grinning. All the cold, calculating demeanor had vanished, replaced with a look that was almost gleeful. Leopold knew the look of revenge when he saw it. The colonel pulled out his handgun.

The fight was over. Leopold knew it. But he just had to hold on a little longer, just enough to let Jerome find his tracks and get the Secret Service up here. He got to his feet, swaying slightly as he stood. He raised his fists. Stark laughed.

“I was going to make this quick,” said Stark. “But you’ve caused me enough grief that I think I might enjoy some sport. The idiots down there have no clue what’s going on, so we have a little bit of time to spare. I’ll give you one free shot. Hit me anywhere you like. If I go down, I’ll admit defeat.”

Leopold knew it was a genuine offer. Stark really didn’t think he could possibly lose. The consultant considered his opponent, tall and thickly built, and knew that his fists would be almost useless. He would need a better plan. The colonel holstered his weapon and beckoned him forward.

Leopold charged at Stark, trying to gain enough momentum in his body to lend extra weight to his attack. He clenched his right fist and threw it with as much force as he could manage at his opponent’s exposed throat. Leopold felt Stark choke as the blow landed and watched him stumble backward, gagging for air. The consultant attacked again, making the most of the advantage he had just won, and aimed a kick at the colonel’s groin, with the hope of putting him down. Before he could connect, his opponent lashed out with the back of his right hand and hit him across the face with enough force to knock him off course. Leopold stumbled and fell into a tree, hitting his head and falling to his knees. He looked up at Stark, who was laughing.

The camouflaged giant walked casually over and drew the handgun from his belt. He pulled the consultant to his feet with one hand and brought the butt of the gun across his skull with the other. Leopold felt like he’d been hit with a sledgehammer. Stark lashed out twice more, and the gun came away dripping with blood. Leopold felt hot liquid dripping down the side of his face and felt dizzy. His legs gave out underneath him, but his opponent’s impossibly strong grip kept him held up. He knew it wouldn’t be long now. There was only one more move to try.

He reached into his jacket pocket, fumbling awkwardly and trying to buy some time. Stark drew closer, his hot breath pounding against Leopold’s face, not noticing what the consultant was doing with his hands. He was staring directly into Leopold’s eyes. The huge assassin pushed his quarry up against the trunk of the tree and pulled out a large, curved knife from a sheath he had strapped to his shin, concealed underneath his clothes. From the many zip pockets Leopold could see, Stark could have any kind of arsenal hidden on his person. He held the knife to Leopold’s left eye, bringing the tip of the blade close enough so that the consultant saw double. Stark sneered.

“If only we had a little more time on our hands, I’d like to have some more fun with you.”

He edged the knife closer. It was touching the eyeball now. Leopold could feel the steel scratching against his cornea and tried not to flinch.

“Unfortunately,” Stark continued, “I really do have to be on my way soon.”

“I have a question for you,” said Leopold, trying not to move.

His opponent paused, contemplating a response. Eventually, he relaxed the hand holding the knife and smiled. “I don’t suppose it will make any difference now. Be quick.”

“How did you manage it?” said Leopold, taking the opportunity to take a deep breath. “All the planning. All the political connections you would have needed. The money. How did you pull it off?”

Stark relaxed his grip a little further and pulled back the knife. Then he threw back his enormous shoulders and laughed.

“You honestly think I’m the biggest problem this country has to worry about? I’m just the tip of the iceberg.”

“So it was someone else pulling the strings the whole time?” said Leopold.

“Just be thankful you’ll never have the chance to find out.”

“Give me a name,” said the consultant, looking straight into Stark’s eyes.

“Why? It won’t matter. Nothing will save you now.”

“I just want to die knowing who beat me.”

Stark paused for a moment. “I don’t suppose it’ll make any difference,” he said, bringing the knife up to Leopold’s throat. “And it’s always good to know when you are bested.”

“Tell me.”

The soldier leant forward and whispered a name into Leopold’s ear. When he had finished, he drew away and tightened his grip.

“Now. How do you want to die?” asked Stark, holding up the steel blade. “Knife or bullet?”

“Bullet. Through the heart.”

“Very well. At least you’ll die with some honor.”

Stark threw the consultant to the ground at his feet and kicked him in the ribs, rolling him a few feet back toward the clearing.

“Now, stand up,” said the assassin, grinning as he pulled out his handgun.

Leopold complied, concealing his cell phone in the palm of his hand as he did so.

“Any last words?”

“Just one,” said Leopold. “Duck.”

Stark looked confused. Leopold dropped to the floor and hit the send button on his cell phone. The soldier’s eyes widened in panic as he realized what had happened, frantically patting down the zip pockets that lined the front of his fatigues.

“What have you –” Stark began, but he never got to finish.

The two micro-explosives that Leopold had planted on Stark when he had been forced up against the tree received the signal from his cell phone and detonated. The consultant felt hot air blow against his face and he screwed up his eyes as the blast hit him, shielding himself with his hands and dropping to the ground as the shockwave hit. His ears rang from the noise, a wet thunderclap that was much louder than he had expected.

He looked up. Stark was still standing, a frozen look of surprise on his face. The colonel glanced down at his chest. Most of it was missing, exposing raw, dripping flesh and charred bone. Leopold could see where the man’s rib cage and lungs had once been. He could make out the lower intestines, which had been ripped apart and were leaking a thick, yellow liquid.

Stark opened his mouth in a futile attempt to breathe before his eyes rolled back into his head and he crumpled to his knees, where he stayed for a few seconds until his dead muscles relaxed and he fell onto his front. His leg twitched and he lay still.

Cold air hit Leopold’s lungs as he finally took a breath. His ribs flared in pain and he felt his head throb from where Stark had hit him. But he was alive. The ringing in his ears began to subside, and he could make out the sound of footsteps approaching through the woodland. Lots of footsteps.

He felt his vision began to darken and he knew he would pass out any second. His eyelids flickered. He could make out flashes of movement and noise and what he thought sounded like people talking. All of a sudden he was on his feet, hoisted up by an unknown force. Then the pain hit him again and his eyes snapped open, the world shifted into focus and his brain figured out what was going on.

“Leopold, can you hear me?” Jerome shouted into his ear.

The consultant grunted and looked around him. Six police officers and three Secret Service agents stood nearby, guns drawn, checking for danger. One of the police officers checked Stark’s pulse, a futile exercise considering that most of the pulmonary system was missing, but protocol nonetheless. Another officer checked the colonel’s body for any hidden weapons. The three Secret Service agents looked at Leopold with curiosity and holstered their firearms.

“What you two did was pretty stupid,” said one of the agents. “But I’ve got to give you credit for getting the job done.”

Leopold stared at the agent. Now was the time for damage control. The Secret Service would brief the FBI, who would quickly put up a cover story in case any of the details went public. Leopold doubted he would come off well in the report.

“Area secure,” one of the police officers shouted.

The agent nodded and ordered one of the others to call in the medical and forensic teams. Then all three agents stalked off in the direction of the funeral procession. Jerome wrapped Leopold’s arm around his shoulder and began walking after them. The police officers busied themselves with cordoning off the scene.

“What happened?” asked Jerome.

“After the Secret Service took you out, I went to find Stark. I wanted to trail him. Unfortunately, he saw me coming.”

“How did you manage to cause so much damage?”

“I was able to plant the remaining explosives on him while he was preoccupied. Then I just had to hope I’d get the opportunity to get far enough back to detonate them.”

“Risky move.”

Leopold nodded and felt the bodyguard pick up the slack as more of the strength in his legs left him.

“Mary called,” said Jerome. “She’s on her way in one of the ambulances. I texted her to say you were okay once I eventually found my cell. Had to pry it out of Christina’s hands.”

“There was one other thing,” said the consultant, weakly.

“What’s that?”

Leopold told him what Stark had said during their encounter.

“Someone else was calling the shots?” said the bodyguard, once his employer had finished. “Did you get a name?”

“Yes. And it’s not a name I ever thought I would hear again.”

Leopold felt his legs buckle again. He managed to summon enough strength to keep from collapsing and told Jerome the name the colonel had whispered into his ear.

“That’s impossible. He’s lying. He must be.”

“Why would he lie? He was just about to kill me.”

“Maybe he just felt like messing with you one last time.”

“No. I heard it in his voice. He was telling the truth.”

Jerome didn’t press the point any further, but Leopold could tell he was worried. A few minutes later they reached the funeral procession. The President had gone, rushed away by the Secret Service, and the rest of the mourners were now back on their feet, many of them wearing confused and worried expressions. They eventually found Christina, who had claimed a seat near her father’s casket. She looked up as they approached.

“My father always told me that the legacy a person leaves is the only inheritance that matters,” said Christina, tears welling in her eyes. “But he’s left me nothing but pain and humiliation. How can I ever forgive him?”

“Maybe you don’t need to,” said Leopold, sitting down next to Christina. “Your father’s legacy will hang over your head for the rest of your life. It will shape you and your family forever. And, more importantly, your father’s legacy will make you work harder than ever to prove to the world that you are not like him. You can achieve amazing things with the right motivation, Christina. I have a feeling we can expect great things from you.”

She smiled weakly and began to sob. He put his arm around her, and the three of them sat in silence. After a few minutes, Leopold heard ambulance sirens approaching from a distance and got to his feet.

“Let’s get out of here,” said Leopold. “I don’t have the energy to answer questions. We’ve got enough medical supplies at home to fix me up.”

“What about Mary?” said Jerome.

“I’ll call her later. I’ve got work to do.”

The consultant stood and began to walk shakily away, in the opposite direction to the sound of the sirens. Jerome said goodbye to Christina and followed close behind. He called for a car to pick them up from the west entrance.

“What if Stark was just messing with you?” said the bodyguard, catching up.

“What if he wasn’t? Only a handful of people on the planet know that name and what it means. And if it is true, we’ve got a lot more trouble coming our way. This won’t be the last of it.”

The bodyguard put his heavy hand on Leopold’s shoulder and turned him around. “Don’t let this get to you. Whatever happens, we’ll be ready.”

Leopold nodded. He knew his old friend was right. There was very little he could do for the moment. He could make out the cemetery gates now; just a few more minutes of excruciating pain and he wouldn’t have to walk anywhere again for a while. When he was feeling up to it, he might even give Mary a call and see if she wanted to have dinner, assuming she forgave him for ditching her. He gave himself even odds.

In the meantime, there was a soft bed and hard liquor waiting for him at home, a tried and tested cure for broken bones and head trauma. The thought of spending some time off the grid brought a smile to Leopold’s face, despite the pain in his ribs and the throbbing in his head. He was looking forward to a well-earned rest; but in the back of his mind he knew it wouldn’t last long.